tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56161232816702476812024-03-05T02:44:51.523-08:00MELODY SCOTT - Maria Sebastian MysteriesMelody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.comBlogger219125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-24925524150712080482016-05-17T11:02:00.000-07:002016-05-17T11:02:01.500-07:00Red Platoon Book Review
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Red Platoon, a book review.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">By Clint Romesha<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This riveting book likely would not have made it to my
bookshelf if I hadn’t known Mr. Romesha personally and that he won the Medal of
Honor for his actions depicted in the story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The good news is, it’s all true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bad news is it’s all true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This omniscient story, told from multi-viewpoints
simultaneously revealed, the background, the minute-to-minute description and
the aftermath is more moving than a space saga or a one-dimension super-hero
epic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Characters’ motivations are
fleshed out individually, both those who lived through the horror and those who
died trying to save each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The story begins with a routine settling in of four platoons
of eighteen men each assigned to two outposts in the truly outback of
Afghanistan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prayer would not be enough
to avoid serious conflict with the Taliban until the post could be closed down,
as was the primary goal they were given when they were sent to the post called
Keating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prayer also would not be enough
to assure these some fighters that the fifty Afghan military that made up the
contingent from the indigenous army would actually fight alongside them if it
was required.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">With no logic to the location of this post at the very
bottom of a ravine of three-thousand foot cliffs, no logic to how support staff
would be able to actually support and no logic to orders regarding cutting back
on everything from food supplies to security devices, these men were treated as
leftovers on a chessboard of the game called “chicken.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Unsafe enough that any man walking about the post would be
shot at by snipers or missile cartridges on a daily basis, the prospect of a
six month tear down made anything outside the stifling buildings a run from
cover to cover, and anything inside the rude rock structures confined men who
lacked real food, water for bathing and room size essentially the same as a
submarine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From boredom to panic with
almost constant daily raids of shelling, sleep became an elusive commodity and
fear a constant companion both individually and unanimously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And yet they persevered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They all but thrived individually with the goal of keeping each other
whole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As with any group with the same
goal, some excelled at existing and a few were challenged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Daily small raids aside, one day in October, 2007 from 6:00
a.m. until late into the evening, fifty some fighters held back four hundred
insurgents loaded with an inexhaustible supply of armaments to lob over the
cliffs from above.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every kind of
ordinance at the enemy’s disposal threatened to eliminate anything breathing
within Keating’s football size post surrounded with wire and four foot high
stacked walls of rock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eight men died
that day, their deaths exacerbated because medical helicopters could not land
in the firefight. Approximately thirty others were wounded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every step of the way is documented in this
amazing diary of the minutes of that day that depicts the most admirable
qualities in men and the most inhumane, barbaric traits from the other end of
the spectrum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Told from the perspective
of men in a man’s world, complete with the fun they could create, the misery
they could not tolerate but were forced to endure, the compassion and love that
overcomes all the shortcomings and impossibilities of war, the very best men
can compose, the true art form of battle lies exposed in detail in this one
isolated battle for freedom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-39683510017998341882016-02-14T07:09:00.001-08:002016-02-14T07:09:36.286-08:00Valentine Love Song<br />
<br />
So like your cotton clothes I wear when I'm all alone,<br />
I'm covered by a musky mist of finest "you" cologne.<br />
Tensile ions magnetize our souls with thinnest wire<br />
Speaking urgent love songs interlaced with sweet desire.<br />
<br />
You've become a place in me, a town where I belong,<br />
A church with altars to the gods, who give the stars their song<br />
Past the presence of this life, before all breath began<br />
You were everywhere in life and everywhere in man.<br />
<br />
Take my hand to paradise, to hell or crimson sea<br />
For matter sleeps with reticence when lured so willingly.<br />
Whatever toll existence claims, I have melody<br />
Beyond it all and back again, through eternity.<br />
<br />
<br />
Melody Scott<br />
<br />
<br />Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-36347710983073621992015-11-23T10:05:00.001-08:002015-11-23T10:06:07.728-08:00The Long Ride Home My blog for Nov. 23, 2015<br />
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV7RpqYRQqGnUWbGrH69vqhTU4OakQAVu0V7x2sTpSq7rBTcfj1Jelgy60UNm75NLxR_O97o98KAVFk4HWjsEbXTsf-b6y0EfOwZPoqG8svPBRNgt9oXvHMUeh6CGcc9PCEY79Az-oj58/s1600/horse+drawings+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV7RpqYRQqGnUWbGrH69vqhTU4OakQAVu0V7x2sTpSq7rBTcfj1Jelgy60UNm75NLxR_O97o98KAVFk4HWjsEbXTsf-b6y0EfOwZPoqG8svPBRNgt9oXvHMUeh6CGcc9PCEY79Az-oj58/s320/horse+drawings+003.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div>
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Once upon a time, in a previous life, I lived in an enclave
of horsepeople.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These were not
competition-driven horsepeople, but just backyard horsepeople.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, there were the roper types who regularly
went to the local arena to calf rope and head and heel and run gymkhana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The would-be cowboys began complaining when
the calves got so big they could no longer be thrown, but more or less threw
the cowboys instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The calves were
accused of having “rubber necks” which meant the cowboys could twist all they
wanted to dump the calves but their heads swiveled almost 360 degrees. The
atmosphere was festive, popcorn and candy were sold at the concession stand,
and all the little kids got to run around and climb on everything that wasn’t
moving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There was a lot of dirt, a lot of camaraderie and just plain
fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The calves probably knew every
rider there since the string hadn’t been freshened in a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">When nothing else was going on, “rides” were formed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where anybody who wanted to got
together with a group and all pointed their horses in the same direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In those days and parts, there were no trees
(on the edge of the desert), no fences, no complaining land owners, and we
could ride for days if we wanted to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Most of us didn’t want to, but those men, gosh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they knew a ride was coming up, they had
to go “practice” no matter the wind or weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One time a group of them took off and fortified their saddlebags with
peppermint schnapps because it was raining and maybe 40 degrees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course they got wet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The horses got wet, the tack got wet,
blankets got wet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently they hadn’t
gone very far, thinking they could get warm by going in some one of their homes
if they got too cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And everybody
lived within a mile of each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Five of them found a little box canyon and stopped to answer
the call of nature, but one of them had so much trouble solving his problem his
horse got tired of waiting for him and headed home, which he could see from
where they were standing, rain and wind pouring down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">That guy, who shall go nameless, yelled for his horse to
come back, which of course it did not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And the other four guys, all brains combined, decided the best way to
continue the ride was for the “extra” rider to ride “double” with one of
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The double rider fell off only
twice before they got to his house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The horses were then tied to rails and the riders “helped”
the horseless one inside his house, where they all got warm and fell asleep on
the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile the horses, standing
in the weather getting colder for lack of movement, decided to untie the merely
draped reins and go home too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There were some at first anxious wives making phone calls
when the riderless horses arrived at their home corrals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those ladies soon became angry women when
they found out just why their worry was needless and their husbands were
worthless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-79508062278455719422015-11-04T08:03:00.003-08:002015-11-04T08:03:59.179-08:00
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My blog for Nov. 4<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hair—Lots OF IT.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My house is filled with football and baseball during the
playoffs and championships so far in 2015.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I hadn’t watched the metamorphosis last year, if indeed there was one,
to a new category of ball players for the great American past times.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, suddenly there appeared men with hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not the sexy clean wavy look of something you
want to run your fingers through, but the shoulder-length, scroungy look of a
homeless dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Add a sweaty helmet to the
mix, maybe a couple of earrings<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(earrings?)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and then top it all
off with something resembling a beard.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The beard thing mostly looks like somebody forgot to
shave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But some look planned, at ten inches
long or more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There again, not the look
of smooth locks on the chin, but the look of a witch’s broom that has been used
daily to sweep up who knows what.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I understand that fans who think huge red fingers, balloons
that bang together quietly, their special players’ jerseys and lots of strange
body paint and tattoos are somehow admirable to show their loyal glee, feel the
need to emulate the beard thing by wearing beard wigs to the stadium.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At first I thought the players would shave every so often,
but no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s apparently about the tough
grunge look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m thinking it’s the only
thing left that men can do that women absolutely cannot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe men have finally tired of women trying
to be their equal(s).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, there
are those who really do want to be women and God had another plan for them, but
I think the regular testosterone filled male has taken his macho thing a step
further than used to be necessary.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Even the young men of today feel they look sexy with a day or two's worth of beard--even the elder ones with gray beards.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sexy? Sure, if you like Brillo pads to snuggle up to. I can only think about the rash I'd have for a week as a price for snuggling.</span></div>
Maybe it's a tool to be unattractive to women who are clamoring to get their hands on those guys.<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I used to really like looking at men. Now I just want to clean them up.</span><br />
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-71873070606572199592015-10-19T10:24:00.002-07:002015-10-19T10:32:56.206-07:00My Father's Tie<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"><br />
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Father’s Tie<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My father, Morrison Fenton Wright, was born in 1916 to a
Navy commander and a consummate housewife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They moved around a bit then settled permanently in San Diego,
California.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A significant part of San
Diego is a huge valley that runs from the sea, eastward about fifteen miles,
named Mission Valley (named, I suppose because of the mission near Old Town
that stands out on a hillside at the west end.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>San Diego was the southernmost point where, in the 1700’s, Spanish
Father Junipero Serra built the first of his twenty-one missions all up the
California Coast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My grandparent’s home was one of the homes along the top of
the ridge overlooking this valley and beyond the ridge on the opposite side of
the valley. This Spanish style house had rooms painted lavender, peach and sky
blue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the prettiest thing I ever
saw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had a little courtyard with two
stairs that was covered with bougainvillea and honeysuckle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The front yard had a rose garden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Behind the house where the wonderful view lay was a row of
Eucalyptus trees and behind the detached garage was a pomegranate tree, just
right for a child to sit in and eat pomegranates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the eucalyptus trees had initials
carved in it by my husband, DS loves MW.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I digress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My father was an Irish tenor who sang all the way through
high school and then in quartets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
also played a clarinet in dance bands around the San Diego area, especially at
Balboa Park, home of the San Diego Exposition grounds, which were built in 1915
to celebrate the opening of the Panama Canal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother said as
soon as she met my father on a blind date, she was in love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may have had something to do with the
white suit he wore. It may have had something to do with the bold purple tie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-8093364758940887212015-10-12T08:57:00.003-07:002015-10-12T09:00:38.360-07:0072 Truths About Writing<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">72 Truths About Writing</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“The road to hell is paved with works-in-progress.”<br />
—Philip Roth</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“The road to hell is paved with adverbs.”<br />
—Stephen King</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer
to everything. … It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to
build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to
let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of
life, even if it’s a cactus.”<br />
—Enid Bagnold</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“To gain your own voice, you have to forget about having it
heard.”<br />
—Allen Ginsberg, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Cheat your landlord if you can and must, but do not try to
shortchange the Muse. It cannot be done. You can’t fake quality any more than
you can fake a good meal.”<br />
—William S. Burroughs</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“All readers come to fiction as willing accomplices to your
lies. Such is the basic goodwill contract made the moment we pick up a work of
fiction.”<br />
—Steve Almond, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long
bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one
were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.”<br />
—George Orwell</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“It ain’t whatcha write, it’s the way atcha write it.”<br />
—Jack Kerouac, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Not a wasted word. This has been a main point to my literary
thinking all my life.”<br />
—Hunter S. Thompson</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“When I sit down to write a book, I do not say to myself, ‘I am
going to produce a work of art.’ I write it because there is some lie that I
want to expose, some fact to which I want to draw attention, and my initial
concern is to get a hearing.”<br />
—George Orwell</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“I don’t care if a reader hates one of my stories, just as long
as he finishes the book.”<br />
—Roald Dahl, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“The freelance writer is a man who is paid per piece or per word
or perhaps.”<br />
—Robert Benchley</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a
master.”<br />
—Ernest Hemingway</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life,
every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.”<br />
—Virginia Woolf</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Making people believe the unbelievable is no trick; it’s </span></i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">work<i>.
… Belief and reader absorption come in the details: An overturned tricycle in
the gutter of an abandoned neighborhood can stand for everything.”<br />
—Stephen King, WD</i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“If a nation loses its storytellers, it loses its childhood.”<br />
—Peter Handke</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“To defend what you’ve written is a sign that you are alive.”<br />
—William Zinsser, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“If I had not existed, someone else would have written me,
Hemingway, Dostoyevsky, all of us.”<br />
—William Faulkner</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“For your born writer, nothing is so healing as the realization
that he has come upon the right word.”<br />
—Catherine Drinker Bowen</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Each writer is born with a repertory company in his head.
Shakespeare has perhaps 20 players. … I have 10 or so, and that’s a lot. As you
get older, you become more skillful at casting them.”<br />
—Gore Vidal</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“We’re past the age of heroes and hero kings. … Most of our
lives are basically mundane and dull, and it’s up to the writer to find ways to
make them interesting.”<br />
—John Updike, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading, in
order to write; a man will turn over half a library to make one book.”<br />
—Samuel Johnson</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it. Or, if proper usage
gets in the way, it may have to go. I can’t allow what we learned in English
composition to disrupt the sound and rhythm of the narrative.”<br />
—Elmore Leonard</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Write. Rewrite. When not writing or rewriting, read. I know of
no shortcuts.”<br />
—Larry L. King, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Know your literary tradition, savor it, steal from it, but when
you sit down to write, forget about worshiping greatness and fetishizing
masterpieces.”<br />
—Allegra Goodman</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“I’m out there to clean the plate. Once they’ve read what I’ve
written on a subject, I want them to think, ‘That’s it!’ I think the highest
aspiration people in our trade can have is that once they’ve written a story,
nobody will ever try it again.”<br />
—Richard Ben Cramer</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“There are no laws for the novel. There never have been, nor can
there ever be.”<br />
—Doris Lessing</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Style means the right word. The rest matters little.”<br />
—Jules Renard</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Style is to forget all styles.”<br />
—Jules Renard</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“I do not over-intellectualize the production process. I try to
keep it simple: Tell the damned story.”<br />
—Tom Clancy, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“The writing of a novel is taking life as it already exists, not
to report it but to make an object, toward the end that the finished work might
contain this life inside it and offer it to the reader. The essence will not
be, of course, the same thing as the raw material; it is not even of the same
family of things. The novel is something that never was before and will not be
again.”<br />
—Eudora Welty, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“One thing that helps is to give myself permission to write
badly. I tell myself that I’m going to do my five or 10 pages no matter what,
and that I can always tear them up the following morning if I want. I’ll have
lost nothing—writing and tearing up five pages would leave me no further behind
than if I took the day off.”<br />
—<st1:city><st1:place>Lawrence</st1:place></st1:city> Block, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Don’t expect the puppets of your mind to become the people of
your story. If they are not realities in your own mind, there is no mysterious
alchemy in ink and paper that will turn wooden figures into flesh and blood.”<br />
—Leslie Gordon Barnard, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“If you tell the reader that Bull Beezley is a brutal-faced,
loose-lipped bully, with snake’s blood in his veins, the reader’s reaction may
be, ‘Oh, yeah!’ But if you show the reader Bull Beezley raking the bloodied
flanks of his weary, sweat-encrusted pony, and flogging the tottering, red-eyed
animal with a quirt, or have him booting in the protruding ribs of a starved
mongrel and, boy, the reader believes!”<br />
—Fred East, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Plot is people. Human emotions and desires founded on the
realities of life, working at cross purposes, getting hotter and fiercer as
they strike against each other until finally there’s an explosion—that’s Plot.”<br />
—Leigh Brackett, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“The first sentence can’t be written until the final sentence is
written.”<br />
—Joyce Carol Oates, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“When your story is ready for rewrite, cut it to the bone. Get
rid of every ounce of excess fat. This is going to hurt; revising a story down
to the bare essentials is always a little like murdering children, but it must
be done.”<br />
—Stephen King, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Genius gives birth, talent delivers. What Rembrandt or Van Gogh
saw in the night can never be seen again. </span></i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Born<i> writers of the
future are amazed already at what they’re seeing now, what we’ll all see in
time for the first time, and then see imitated many times by </i>made<i>
writers.”<br />
–Jack Kerouac, WD</i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Long patience and application saturated with your heart’s
blood—you will either write or you will not—and the only way to find out
whether you will or not is to try.”<br />
—Jim Tully, October 1923</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“All stories have to at least try to explain some small portion
of the meaning of life. You can do that in 20 minutes, and 15 inches. I still
remember a piece that the great Barry Bearak did in </span></i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">The<i> </i>Miami
Herald<i> some 30 years ago. It was a nothing story, really: Some high school
kid was leading a campaign to ban books he found offensive from the school
library. Bearak didn’t even have an interview with the kid, who was ducking
him. The story was short, mostly about the issue. But Bearak had a fact that he
withheld until the kicker. The fact put the whole story, subtly, in complete
perspective. The kicker noted the true, wonderful fact that the kid was not in
school that day because “his ulcer was acting up.” Meaning of life, 15 inches.”<br />
—Gene Weingarten, WD</i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Beware of advice—even this.”<br />
—Carl Sandburg, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“I would advise anyone who aspires to a writing career that
before developing his talent he would be wise to develop a thick hide.”<br />
—Harper Lee, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“I think the deeper you go into questions, the deeper or more
interesting the questions get. And I think that’s the job of art.”<br />
—Andre Dubus, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Geniuses can be scintillating and geniuses can be somber, but
it’s that inescapable sorrowful depth that shines through—</span></i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">originality<i>.”<br />
—Jack Kerouac, WD</i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“People say, ‘What advice do you have for people who want to be
writers?’ I say, they don’t really need advice, they know they want to be
writers, and they’re gonna do it. Those people who know that they really want
to do this and are cut out for it, they know it.”<br />
—R.L. Stine, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“I don’t need an alarm clock. My ideas wake me.”<br />
—Ray Bradbury, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Just write every day of your life. Read intensely. Then see
what happens. Most of my friends who are put on that diet have very pleasant
careers.”<br />
—Ray Bradbury, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Let the world burn through you. Throw the prism light, white
hot, on paper.”<br />
—Ray Bradbury, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Remember: Plot is no more than footprints left in the snow </span></i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">after <i>your
characters have run by on their way to incredible destinations.”<br />
—Ray Bradbury, WD</i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“I don’t believe in being serious about anything. I think life
is too serious to be taken seriously.”<br />
—Ray Bradbury, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“It’s none of their business that you have to <a href="http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/there-are-no-rules/%20http:/www.writersdigestshop.com?lid=wdssl/category/get-started-in-writing" target="_blank" title="learn to write"><span style="color: #4a7e97;">learn to write</span></a>. Let them think you were born
that way.”<br />
—Ernest Hemingway</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Writers are always selling somebody out.”<br />
—Joan Didion</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do
it in private and wash your hands afterwards.”<br />
—Robert A. Heinlein</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Keep a small can of WD-40 on your desk—away from any open
flames—to remind yourself that if you don’t write daily, you will get rusty.”<br />
—George Singleton</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“There is only one plot—things are not what they seem.”<br />
—Jim Thompson</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Anyone who is going to be a writer knows enough at 15 to write
several novels.”<br />
—May Sarton</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“I think all writing is a disease. You can’t stop it.”<br />
—William Carlos Williams</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and
reason writes.”<br />
—Andre Gide</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded
beyond reason the opinions of others.”<br />
—Virginia Woolf</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it.”<br />
—Elmore Leonard</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“You do not have to explain every single drop of water contained
in a rain barrel. You have to explain one drop—H</span></i><i><sub><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 7.5pt;">2</span></sub></i><i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">O. The
reader will get it.”<br />
—George Singleton</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“When I say work I only mean writing. Everything else is just
odd jobs.”<br />
—Margaret Laurence</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“The difference between the almost right word and the right word
is … the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.”<br />
—Mark Twain</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“I always start writing with a clean piece of paper and a dirty
mind.”<br />
—Patrick Dennis</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or
for another book; give it, give it all, give it now.”<br />
—Annie Dillard</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“A book is simply the container of an idea—like a bottle; what
is inside the book is what matters.”<br />
—Angela Carter</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“I almost always urge people to write in the first person. …
Writing is an act of ego and you might as well admit it.”<br />
—William Zinsser</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“When<a href="http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/there-are-no-rules/%20http:/www.writersdigestshop.com/category/novel?lid=wdssl" target="_blank" title=" writing a novel"><span style="color: #4a7e97;"> writing a novel</span></a> a writer should create living
people; people, not characters. A character is a caricature.”<br />
—Ernest Hemingway</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Write while the heat is in you. … The writer who postpones the
recording of his thoughts uses an iron which has cooled to burn a hole with.”<br />
—Henry David Thoreau</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“You don’t actually have to write anything until you’ve thought
it out. This is an enormous relief, and you can sit there searching for the
point at which the story becomes a toboggan and starts to slide.”<br />
—Marie de Nervaud, WD</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Whether a character in your novel is full of choler, bile,
phlegm, blood or plain old buffalo chips, the fire of life is in there, too, as
long as that character lives.”<br />
—James Alexander Thom</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<i><span style="color: #443f38; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">“Writers live twice.”<br />
—Natalie Goldberg</span></i><o:p></o:p></div>
<u1:p></u1:p><br />Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-69876408941374841752015-08-27T16:59:00.000-07:002015-08-27T17:18:25.121-07:00Leaving AbbyToday I had to take my dog to stay in a kennel for the first time so we can go to a wedding. Festivities are planned for two days and nights. Dogs are not invited.😯<br />
<br />
Since Abby hadn't been away from us and she has a heart condition, not to mention separation anxiety (imagined), I was worried.<br />
<br />
On the positive side, Holly's Bed and Biscuit specializes in my dog's breed---Cavalier King Charles Spaniels. They offer individual care only with others of the same breed. Not that we're as snobby as that sounds, but few Cavs can play with other breeds due to the Cavs' lack of aggressiveness. These dogs eat out of each other's bowls, turn reclusive when threatened by other breeds, and won't fight. You can see how that might be a problem next door to an aggressive breed dog.<br />
<br />
Abby began shaking terribly when we took her into the reception room. However, just then another car pulled up with another Cav and Abby was fascinated. I checked with the dog's owner to see if I could let Abby visit with her pup. The lady took one look at Abby and said her dog would love it. They were so happy to greet each other!<br />
<br />
Now I'm concerned Abby will get used to being a dog and not want to come home with us. Our house is very boring with nobody her same size to play with. I never thought I would be concerned with the psychological welfare of a dog. But, alas, not to worry...Holly's B&B even washes the dog and trims its nails before we pick her up, for a very nominal fee.<br />
<br />
They offer a spa treatment, but I haven't succumbed. I think I should go to a spa first before I send my dog to one.<br />
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Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-57500625184480836992015-08-12T12:31:00.002-07:002015-08-12T12:31:40.616-07:00Losing David by Cheryl Dale--Review by Melody Scott
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> LOSING DAVID (Review by Melody Scott</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 2in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">By Cheryl Dale</span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Losing David
was an extraordinary story about a man, an actor, who has been coached and
insinuated into the Harmony family in order to avoid misappropriation of
inheritance funds by the bad guy (Theodore Pack)..<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There were times that David was
really David, then he turned into the actor, Nick Downing, based only upon who
he said he was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was hard for me to
believe he was at first David, then Nick, but the change was so convincing I started
questioning how that switch could be, even though I read the true story from
the beginning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nick/David is a fun character who
teases everybody in the story and chameleon-like, becomes hateful and rude then
charming and cute, based on how he needed to manipulate the people he was hired
to convince of David’s reality.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Until the very ending I had a
question in my mind, which was eventually straightened up and made the story
click together.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The foil in the story, Megan
Mulrennon, charmed into loving Nick whether he claimed that day to be David or
himself, was torn through the entire story about her part in his life. She
realizes, to her the men are one in the same while everybody else knows he/they
are lying about one or the other. After being angry at the imposter(s) for
leading her on, Megan had to find enough positive things about them both that
it didn’t matter who the changling was. She more or less looked for a good
reason to believe in them both.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s an unusual and pretty exciting
story, especially for a romance, but you can identify with all of the
characters as they show their stripes one by one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-37457195805604435622015-08-05T11:18:00.006-07:002015-08-05T11:20:38.930-07:00My review of Mystery In Marietta by Deborah Malone<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>MURDER IN MARIETTA</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Deborah Malone<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Protagonist
Trixie Montgomery is a reporter for Georgia By The Way Magazine, whose editor,
Harv has assigned her to investigate mysterious, unexplainable occurrences
involving theft, smoke odor, and ghosts reported to the police from the
Marietta History Museum personnel and guests.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Trixie isn’t
real happy about being chosen to be a ghost catcher, but the fact is she needs
a paycheck and she needs her colorful dreams to alleviate, so she agrees to
spend one night in the museum with her best friend, DeeDee, and make up
something for the boss.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>However, the
museum curator, Doc, finds a dead body while the women are in the building. So
the curator, Trixie and DeeDee all become suspects to the murder of Jacob, who
is the president of the board of directors/</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nana,
Trixie’s great Aunt brings her best friend, Dora to see the museum when Dora
happens to break her hip falling down and is shipped to the hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nana needs intravenous southern fried greasy
chicken fixes between supporting Dora and helping Trixie and DeeDee find the
correct culprit and have them recognized as innocent.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ms. Monroe has
done a lovely job of inserting passages of Marietta building history and
relating them to the present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s a classic cozy/mystery that
leaves nothing out—murder, red herring suspects, frightening experiences that
seem to have no explanation, period balls, complete with the fun of old ladies
wrestling with hoop skirts. Sprinkled throughout the story are traditional
southern homilies such as “tick on a hound dog,” “quicker than a southern girl
could say ‘well bless her heart,’” etc.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Typically, Murder In Marietta is a
squeaky clean novel of a romp in old parts of Georgia. If you want a cozy with
a mystery, clean fun, outrageous characters with a little history thrown in, this
is it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-41155415141696670702015-06-18T08:53:00.002-07:002015-06-18T08:57:12.334-07:00Tennessee Walker National Celebration--Shelbyville, Tennessee.<br />
My Blog for June 18, 2015<br />
<br />
Since Silver Strutter is a Tennessee Walker champion in Silver Strutter Dead, my latest book, I thought I would share some continuing controversy about the way these amazing animals are viewed.<br />
<br />
At the end of summer, the last week before Labor Day is the time of the Tennessee Walking Horse Celebration in Shelbyville, Tennessee. While there is no question the animals are exquisite, the <br />
way many of them are treated is an ugly story. It's all about money again... whichever horse owner wins the plethora of competitions wins big purses. Add to that the money the owner/breeders can make in stud fees from winning horses and it adds up to offset owners' monstrous fees to keep their barns functioning.<br />
<br />
This information comes from a Tennessee Newspaper (out of context).<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: #555555; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="http://www.t-g.com/story/2151955.html"><b><span style="color: #004276; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Inspection data for Celebration
released</span></b></a> </span><span style="color: #888888; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 9.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">(12/31/14)</span><span style="color: #555555; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
The USDA inspection numbers for The Celebration show 52 percent of swab tests
were positive. A total of 125 swab samples were taken, with 65 showing positive
for foreign substances, USDA data shows. Not every horse is inspected. For
blood tests, five of 103 horses tested positive, according to USDA data... </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="http://www.t-g.com/story/2124448.html"><b><span style="color: #004276; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">The scar rule and
disturbing information</span></b></a><span style="color: #555555; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #888888; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">(10/02/14)</span><span style="color: #555555; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
During the 2014 Tennessee Walking Horse National Celebration, one thing was
evident; the scar rule was being interpreted differently by the United States
Department of Agriculture and the SHOW HIO. And since the show ended, media
have reported that violations doubled and soring is still rampant in the
Walking Horse industry. It's time to look at some facts...</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.75pt; margin: 0in 0in 1.5pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 2;">
<b><span lang="EN" style="color: #0f4883; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What is The HSUS doing to end soring?<br />
</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.75pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<b><span lang="EN" style="color: #464540; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Working on a national level</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.75pt; margin: 0in 0in 15pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #63615a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
Humane Society of the United States is actively working to end soring by
encouraging Congress to pass the </span><a href="http://www.humanesociety.org/issues/tenn_walking_horses/facts/about-the-past-act.html?credit=web_id84838937" target="_blank"><span lang="EN" style="color: #3f7ccb; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">PAST Act</span></a><span lang="EN" style="color: #63615a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">. We are also strongly
urging the USDA to step up its enforcement of the Horse Protection Act,
encouraging Congress to provide more funding for the HPA, offering awards to
bring horse abusers to justice and supporting breed and industry organizations
that promote the natural gait and humane treatment of Tennessee Walking Horses.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.75pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; mso-outline-level: 3;">
<b><span lang="EN" style="color: #464540; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Reaching out to law enforcement</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.75pt; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #63615a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As part of a </span><a href="http://www.humanesociety.org/issues/abuse_neglect/resources_law_enforcement.html?credit=web_id84838937"><span lang="EN" style="color: #3f7ccb; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">larger effort</span></a><span lang="EN" style="color: #63615a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> to educate and assist law-enforcement
agencies regarding animal cruelty, The HSUS has sent county sheriffs in Tennessee,
Ohio and Kentucky resources such as </span><a href="http://www.humanesociety.org/assets/pdfs/horse/soring_tip_line_billboardrd.pdf" target="_blank"><span lang="EN" style="color: #3f7ccb; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">posters</span></a><span lang="EN" style="color: #63615a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> advertising rewards for
tips on soring and details about how the </span><a href="http://www.humanesociety.org/about/departments/animal-rescue-team/animal_rescue_team.html?credit=web_id84838937"><span lang="EN" style="color: #3f7ccb; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">HSUS Animal Rescue Team</span></a><span lang="EN" style="color: #63615a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> can help law-enforcement
agencies care for animals who are at risk during natural disasters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-2863658717613226442015-05-30T10:20:00.000-07:002015-05-30T10:20:17.053-07:00May 30 blog -- Dahlonega writer's group.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Silver
Strutter is now published, so I was looking around for something interesting to
do and found a brand new writer’s group being organized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first meeting was in Dahlonega, which is
not in a high traffic area even though it met at 3:00 Friday afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I met some
unusually interesting people who are considering writing books, or have already
started their writing avocations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One person
is a sleep disorder person who monitors people as they sleep under a controlled
environment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a lot of questions
for her in the future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can see her
coming up with a good plot involving her career field.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Another
person has almost her second doctorate in the science field and writes in that
genre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if she’s going to let us
read her work, or if we would even understand it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel a little intimidated with my ability
to focus on such detail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you never
know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some people could write about soap
flakes and make it interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then there
are three people who are interested in the romance/sci-fi genre, fantasy, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t read much of that in the past, but
I guess I’ll learn how to appreciate it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Romance will be a push for me because it seems like the plot never
changes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously I haven’t been paying
enough attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These three people
vary in careers and want to work toward the same goal. How can that not be
interesting?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Another pair, one of whom just graduated from North Georgia College and State University, and the other teaches philosophy and one whose career field I missed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They want to co-op on a book together in the sci-fi
field.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That ought to be interesting—a
sci-fi philosophy teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hmmm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sadly,
nobody else writes mystery, which of course is where my mind stays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I can’t help think that any suggestions
would be appreciated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not necessarily
used, but always appreciated just in case.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We will all need beta readers, in case anybody out there would be
interested in giving his opinion about unfinished, unpublished books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feedback is crucial to writers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me know if you are interested.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-91815165776154051952015-02-09T08:15:00.000-08:002015-02-09T08:15:26.020-08:00My Blog for 2-9-2015 Silver Strutter Dead <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The long-anticipated Silver Strutter Dead is due to be
published soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I had a lot of fun with this book, as the characters got a
chance to participate in more adventures.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
One reader sent me what he felt about Maria’s and Mason’s
relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thinks it was rude of
Maria to consider Dallas Alexander as a boyfriend when Mason is doing
everything he can to save the world, one incident at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He actually has the same attitude as Maria’s
friend, Tommy Larkin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But of course that
has to do with the automatic “men’s club.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She had the relationship with Tommy first, but his allegiance slipped
over to Mason about five minutes after they’d met.</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The reader also said that <st1:city><st1:place>Dallas</st1:place></st1:city>
was a snake in the grass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder why
he said that.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
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o:title="SilverStrutter_small"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><img height="379" src="file:///C:/Users/Melody/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtml1/01/clip_image002.jpg" v:shapes="_x0000_i1025" width="250" /><!--[endif]--></span>Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-10653022867918568032014-12-26T11:27:00.000-08:002014-12-26T11:40:17.664-08:00Eulogy for Corina Wright (my mother)<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Corina was 98 years old in November 2014, as she was born in
November, 1916.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
In the year of her birth, cars were so new that nobody had
one in Imperial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Water was pumped from
an outside well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Laundry was done
outside in a tub with a washboard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
was no electricity in the ranch home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Telephones were not available. World War One was underway in <st1:place>Europe</st1:place>.
The dustbowl drought started around 1929 and lasted for about ten years. And
the stock market crash threw <st1:country-region><st1:place>America</st1:place></st1:country-region>
into the great depression.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Some of my dates may be off by a little bit, but it’s the
best I can recall at this time Corina graduated from the <st1:place><st1:placename>old
Rose</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>School</st1:placetype></st1:place> in <st1:place>Imperial
Valley</st1:place> about 1934. She remembered the desperate wagon loads of
people escaping the water-starved dust bowl area of the central plains, from <st1:country-region><st1:place>Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region>,
straight up the center of the <st1:country-region><st1:place>U.S.</st1:place></st1:country-region>
and into <st1:country-region><st1:place>Canada</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dust was so bad there were days when the
sun was blocked out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only thing for
farmers in the drought states to do was to move west where farming was still
being done due to available water, so great caravans of cars loaded with
everything a family could load on them passed right through <st1:place>Imperial
Valley</st1:place> and T.D.’s Rancho Corina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If somebody appeared on the back porch needing a meal, Cora, Corina’s
mother managed to supply them with something to eat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the same time, in 1929, the stock market
crashed and triggered the great depression that threw the economy of the world
into chaos, much like, but worse than, the “recession” America is just starting
to come out of today.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
After Cora and T.D. split, Cora worked in Imperial town at a
hotel as a maid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Corina lived with her
after she graduated from high school in 1934.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The next part is fuzzy because I have no dates, but Corina and Cora
moved to <st1:city><st1:place>San Diego</st1:place></st1:city> so Corina could
go to <st1:place><st1:placename>San Diego</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>State</st1:placetype></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To pay for this enterprise, Corina worked in
a “Five and Dime” Store as a clerk, in a theater as an usher, and any other job
she could find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cora worked in a
boarding house, which paid for her food, but not Corina’s food. So Corina had to
make enough money to eat as well as to pay for her classes, in the middle of
the dust bowl, the great depression and with World War II just raising its ugly
head in <st1:place>Europe</st1:place>.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
With the college teaching degree Corina finally managed to
complete around 1951, she taught school in her beloved <st1:place><st1:placename>Highgrove</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype>Elementary School</st1:placetype></st1:place> in <st1:place><st1:city>Riverside</st1:city>,
<st1:state>California</st1:state></st1:place>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She used very unconventional methods to get non reading children to be
able to read and she never in thirty years was not successful with any child.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She was an American through and through and stood against
all comers who dared to denigrate our flag or our country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So much so that disparagers would be treated
to a half-hour tongue lashing if they dared to complain.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Corina was a loyal McCall family fan who thrilled at all
accomplishments of any McCall family member.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She loved each one of us fiercely, protectively, proudly, just as much
as she loved <st1:country-region><st1:place>America</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she knew within her heart that there was
no family that had been or ever would be as brilliant and delightful as her
own.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
If I could sum up Corina McCall Wright Graves, I would say
“She endeavored to persevere against all odds.”<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN6KeGxZNdZMkQuljSKrgtycpl3Z5WYn0631GUanzhZ0FN7KTjfRjnHIq57wypHgstp4x_atrSg5cn8ljgRP5B7t04f5k43pv7chHHcDNkD_SJmcZg0P9ZuNeZevujrWU0_H1V8l5VVs/s1600/Dulce+age+21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN6KeGxZNdZMkQuljSKrgtycpl3Z5WYn0631GUanzhZ0FN7KTjfRjnHIq57wypHgstp4x_atrSg5cn8ljgRP5B7t04f5k43pv7chHHcDNkD_SJmcZg0P9ZuNeZevujrWU0_H1V8l5VVs/s1600/Dulce+age+21.jpg" height="298" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-25762764373757212152014-12-23T09:49:00.001-08:002014-12-23T09:49:12.730-08:00Auraria Dead Has Been Reprinted<br />
<br />
<br />
Goodreads now has Auraria Dead available through their website from Amazon. Mine is not to question why. It is currently ebook formatted but is soon to be in paperback. Meanwhile, you can get a paperback directly from me.Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-14303789994006129862014-09-20T11:23:00.001-07:002014-09-20T11:23:41.698-07:00Silver Strutter Dead Chapter One.<h1 style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">SILVER
STRUTTER DEAD for Blog.<o:p></o:p></span></h1>
<h2 style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">CHAPTER </span><st1:stockticker><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;">ONE</span></st1:stockticker><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></h2>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
The women
couldn’t get the horse to quit stomping on the man long enough to see if he was
alive.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Realtor, Maria
Sebastian, had an appointment to meet with her client, Donna Kelly and horse
farm owner Dixon Whitmire. A never-ending season of foggy night time ice and
stripping winds yellowed puddles, lakes and streams with pine pollen. Everyone in north <st1:country-region>Georgia</st1:country-region>,
depressed from constant sinus headaches, stretched tense hope for sunshine
while winter teased. Its grip held with alternating cold nights, rainy days,
five minutes of warm sunshine then back to the rain. During those five minutes
some of the buds on the trees burst open. But those five minutes passed
unnoticed when Maria and Donna heard the rampage going on inside the barn.
Though Ms. Kelly owned Arabian horses, the Whitmire farm raised prize-winning
Tennessee Walkers, and was the most beautiful farm in <st1:place><st1:city>Forsyth
County</st1:city>, <st1:country-region>Georgia</st1:country-region></st1:place>.
Also the most expensive.
</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Maria pulled
up to the stud barn, expecting to find busy people brushing, working, and
washing horses. However, no evidence of human life was found, only wild
kicking, thrashing and whinnying instead.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Donna Kelly’s
black F-10 pickup truck had parked beside Maria’s Jeep Cherokee. Both out of their trucks, they looked at each
other questioningly then hurried into the barn.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
The horse that
put <st1:country-region>Georgia</st1:country-region> on
the <st1:stockticker>TWA</st1:stockticker> map this year, paused only a second
when he saw them from his barred stall. A plaque over the door read, “Silver
Strutter.” Unconcerned with niceties the
frightened animal aimed his big feet at a body lying in his stall, pulverized
from the horse’s one-thousand pound stomps. Maria gagged and controlled a
scream when she saw the bloody mass that used to be a person. The stallion in
the neighboring stall was so upset by the odor of death and Strutter’s
adrenaline rush that he also kicked the walls, bucked, reared, rolled his eyes
and made the awful stench take second place to the horror.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Maria dialed
Dixon Whitmire’s cell phone number, hoping he was not the dead man. When a cell phone rang from somewhere in the
barn, it set Strutter off again kicking the side of the stall, causing the next
stall’s horse, Ambling Ambler, to do the same.
</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“I think it’s
my phone call that caused them to go off on another tirade. If this poor man is
Dixon Whitmire, his phone is under him or somewhere else in the barn. If you’ll
call 911,” Maria said, “I’ll see if I can find a way to divert the horses’
attention.” </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Donna
immediately stepped back out of the barn to assure reception on her cell phone,
and Maria searched for an oat bag to lure the wild horses into a lull. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Maria checked
the second stallion to see why he was following Strutter’s lead. The
overpowering odor permeated the whole end of the barn where the stallions were
kept. Clean fresh straw bedding could
not be smelled. The second stallion threw his head as if to get away from the
stink. Maria gagged, then breathed through her mouth as she pawed through a
grain storage room three stalls down. She poked her head into the storage room,
flashed on hoof picks, various horseshoes, an ancient, ragged shoe puller
nobody had ever cleaned, ropes, chains, leads, halters, bridles, dangling
leather reins and two oatbags all hung on a dusty pegboard. She snatched the
bags down, added oats from a fifty-pound bag lying on the floor and trotted
back to the stalls thinking about mice probably nesting in the bag as well as
the oats. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Donna,
returned inside the barn, excused herself from the 911 operator, set the still
live phone on a stall post and took one of the bags from Maria to swoosh
enticing grain toward Ambler.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Strutter
slowed his killing rage and perked up his ears at Maria’s offer of a treat,
despite dripping sweat and blood from a hundred welts on his chest. He huffed
at the oats, dived his head into the bag, snuffed twice and started chewing.
Maria fastened the bag over his face and ears.</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Amber had done
the same with Donna’s offering. </div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
The women heard
sirens in the distance, along with the sound of a tractor running somewhere
nearby.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“I’m going to
move the black out of this stall to that one over there.” Maria pointed across
the barn. First she slid the end doors
closed and turned on the overhead lights.
Opening the stall door cautiously, she noticed Strutter’s shoulders had
also been beaten pulpy, blood running down his legs to his heavily shod feet.
He wore no halter. She patted his neck gently and fashioned a war bonnet over
his head with a nearby rope. He cooperated while he still blew and munched
while walking jittery down the barn’s center aisle to a clean, straw-bedded
stall.</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Now the women
could check the man on the ground. </div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Is he dead?”
Donna asked </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“I can’t tell,
but he doesn’t seem to be breathing.” Blood ran out of his body in every
direction. Oh my God, there is no place
to feel for a pulse.” It sounded like O by God, since she’d stopped using her nose
to breathe. With nothing she could do to help the poor man, Maria backed away
from the body.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
*
*
*</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Sheriff
Deputies swarmed the barn, stringing yellow tape as they cordoned off the body
for the investigators. Emergency Medical Technicians carried a stretcher into
the stall Maria pointed toward. Cameras flashed at the ghoulish center of
attention.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
A sheriff
deputy stood with Maria at the outside door. His name badge read D Willis. “Tell me why you’re here and everything that
happened since you arrived.” Willis, with curly dark hair buzzed around his
ears, wore green slacks and tie with a tan shirt. A fragrance Maria couldn’t
place wafted from him but it didn’t help the odor in the barn.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: .25in;">
Meanwhile, a woman deputy
took Donna Kelly outside to question her.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Maria said,
“I’m a realtor with Garrison Realty. She spelled her name for him as he wrote
in a small notebook. “I had an appointment to meet my client Donna Kelly and
Dixon Whitmire, the owner of this farm to discuss details for sale. Something
looked wrong from the minute she and I pulled up.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“How is that?”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Nobody is here.
The horses were rampaging in their stalls.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Ms. Kelly rode
with you in your vehicle?” he asked.</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“No, we arrived
at almost the same time—both our trucks are parked outside the barn beside the
emergency vehicles.”</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Suddenly weak,
Maria’s knees threatened to buckle, so she threw her arm over the top rail of a
neighboring stall. She was about to lose her breakfast when the deputy moved
them further from Strutter’s stall.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“We heard a
faint cell phone ring from inside the barn. Every time it rang back, off the
horses would go again, kicking, rearing, screaming.”</div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-indent: .25in;">
“You looked in the stall
where the body was found?”</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Yes, to see
what would cause the horses to go nuts. We saw the body. We couldn’t tell if he
was breathing, so we managed to get the horse in the same stall settled down enough
to move him down the way to see if the victim was alive.” She pointed toward
Strutter. “But we couldn’t tell anything.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“It’s too bad you
messed up the crime scene.” His blank cop eyes looked at her.</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“The horse wasn’t
going to let us in to see if the guy was still alive.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Did you touch him?”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Maria gagged.
“There was nowhere to touch that wasn’t covered in blood and...”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Okay, I got it.
Is the victim the man you came here to meet?”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“I don’t know. I
never met him, only talked with him on the phone.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Did you go to
the house?” he asked.“See if anybody was up there?”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“No. I called the number I have but nobody
answered.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Can you think of
anything else you can tell me?</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Only that I
heard a tractor running way off across the property. I don’t know if it was
part of this farm or not.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“You seem to know
a lot about horses.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“I was raised
with horses. I sell horsefarms.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Why do you think
the horse would kill a man?” The deputy tapped his notebook with his pen.</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“I think the guy
was beating the horse with a quirt. If that’s true then the horse did not
accept the beating. You can see the horse’s chest and shoulders are striped and
bloody.” </div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“So you think the
horse retaliated? Just turned into a killer, like a lion or bear sometimes
does?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
<span style="display: none; mso-hide: all;">e askH<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“No, I don’t
think so. Horses react to how they’re treated. If Strutter killed the guy in
the stall, he was probably trying to avoid being killed himself. I hope your
photographer gets pictures of Strutter’s open wounds.” </div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Do you think
somebody or something else could have killed him?” </div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“It’s just that
the coroner needs to know that every horse’s shoes and feet are different from
each other. Four different wounds, four different hooves.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Why were you
showing a property when you hadn’t met the owner?”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“It’s not my
listing. I represent the buyer only. Mr. Whitmire was expecting us.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“You have the
listing broker’s name?”</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Yes. Her name is Rita Conyers with Blackman
Realty.” Maria reached in her jeans pocket for her business card and took the
other realtor’s card from her jacket pocket.
She looked up Rita’s phone number on her cell phone address book and
wrote it on the card. “Here are my contact numbers and Rita’s phone number.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Why isn’t Ms.
Conyers here today?” The deputy asked.</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“She told me she
had an appointment near <st1:city>Chattanooga</st1:city>
she couldn’t break.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“If you think of
anything else, please call me at this number.” David Willis handed her his
business card.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“I think I
want this farm,’ Donna Kelly said as she and Maria waited for the emergency
crews to move their equipment so they could get their trucks out. “But I
realize that it’s going to be a problem if Mr. Whitmire is dead.”</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Yes. It will probably be tied up in probate for
awhile. And of course we have no idea if the heirs will want to sell it. I’ll
call you as soon as I learn what the plans will be. I’m so sorry about this
whole mess.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“Pretty
horrible,” Donna said. “I’ll want to see the farm again without the disaster.”</div>
<div class="MsoList2" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
“As soon as I can
set that up.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
*
*
*</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
The image of
the dead man replayed over and over in Maria’s mind as she drove back to the
city. She wasn’t likely to forget it. Ever.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
The one phone
conversation she’d had with Whitmire didn’t qualify as a relationship. She had
never seen him. And now he may be the man with the pulverized face.</div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
A few dark
clouds still clustered on the east side of the lake moved on a new burst of
wind Maria hadn’t noticed at the horse farm. The sky looked like a dirty pond.
April had started in February and, like an annoying visitor, had stayed. Some
day May would show up, hopefully dressed for spring. Maria dodged fat wet drops
as she hurried into her office at Garrison Realty. “Michaela, I need to talk to
you” she said as she passed through the front door. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin-left: .25in; text-indent: .25in;">
Michaela lived
at the front reception counter. “Sure.
Meet me in the conference room.” She stopped typing and started her
printer. Garrison’s office manager wore her red hair fluffed down over her
shoulders in a retro style. Her long colorful skirt swirled around cream
colored knee boots as she hustled into the meeting room and closed the door.
The conference room had soft gold wallpaper with faux crown molding and deep
gold carpeting. She turned to her friend. They sat down across the mahogany
conference table from each other. “So. What have you been up to now?”</div>
<br />
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“I think you should know
what happened today.” </div>
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-59254087685709833512014-06-12T07:51:00.000-07:002014-06-12T07:53:29.384-07:00My blog for 6/12/2014 Optimist Club of Cumming, GA.<br />
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQl3ljXr6V7bgx3Gp89PqQewO26rs_dqnmTI_X6vcuNt9c4cvhqQw" /><br />
<br />
Today I spoke at the Cumming Optimist Club and not only sold some books, but also was very impressed with their "Optimist Creed." Please see it below:<br />
<br />
The Optimist Creed<br />
<br />
Promise yourself:<br />
<br />
To be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.<br />
To talk health,happiness and prosperity to every person you meet.<br />
To make all your friends feel that there is something in them.<br />
To look at the sunny side of everything and make your optimism come true.<br />
To think only of the best, to work only for the best and to expect only the best.<br />
To be just as enthusiastic about the success of others as you are about your own.<br />
To forget the mistakes of the past and press on to the greater achievements of the future.<br />
To wear a cheerful countenance at all times and give every living creature you meet a smile.<br />
To give so much time to the improvement of yourself that you have no time to criticize others.<br />
To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.<br />
_______________________________________________________<br />
<br />
The Optimist Clubs: Sponsor Oratorical Contests for children<br />
Sponsor annual Essay Contests for High School Youth.<br />
Sponsor Christmas party for Mentor Me with their sister club.<br />
Sponsor a track and Field event twice yearly for elementary age children<br />
Sponsor a Fishing Derby yearly.<br />
Honors "Youth of the Month" monthly.<br />
Donate funds to various organizations with Mini Grants.<br />
Provides multiple college scholarships yearly.<br />
Provide supplies for local youth organizations<br />
Provides Christmas gifts for seniors at a local retirement home.<br />
<br />
They also, for a small donation, they supply a US flag placed in your yard every President's Day, Memoriald Day, Flag Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, and Veteran's Day, which are delivered and retrieved till next holiday.<br />
<br />Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-32105551021985733352014-04-07T05:17:00.002-07:002014-04-07T05:17:56.119-07:00My blog for 4/4/2014 (Cavalier) King Charles Spaniels<br />
<img alt="English Toy Spaniel" src="http://static.ddmcdn.com/en-us/apl/breedselector/images/breed-selector/dogs/breeds/english-toy-spaniel_01_lg.jpg" /><br />
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I got my dog several years ago, and people kept telling me that my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel was really a King Charles Spaniel (without the Cavalier part). I did not know the difference between these supposedly two different breeds. Since then I have learned the difference isn't very much except in size and to the breeders.<br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The English Toy Spaniel (above) Also called "King Charles Spaniel" are identical. It is a gentle, happy and playful loving breed that is naturally well-behaved and intelligent. They are good family companions and play well with children. Their small size makes them ideal for an apartment. All varieties of the English Toy Spaniel are easy-to-groom and require regular twice-weekly combing and brushing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><b>In the late 1600s the King Charles Spaniels were interbred with </b></span><a href="http://www.dogbreedinfo.com/pug.htm"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><b>Pugs</b></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><b>, which resulted in a smaller dog with flatter noses, upturned faces, rounded heads and protruding eyes. It was developed in the </b></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><st1:place><span class="style51">British Isles</span></st1:place><span class="style51"> and was a favorite of British Royalty. The breed was recognized by the </span><st1:stockticker><span class="style51">AKC</span></st1:stockticker></b></span><span class="style51"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b> in 1886</b></span>.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<img class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTY6wQn8354aQ4mv3wwP_OBSyNaY28t5YVO5vRyk_FAQmtNR-4U" data-sz="f" name="8ZUj1t-HqramcM:" onload="google.stb.csi.onTbn(0, this)" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTY6wQn8354aQ4mv3wwP_OBSyNaY28t5YVO5vRyk_FAQmtNR-4U" style="height: 169px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: -12px; margin-top: 0px; width: 299px;" /><br />
Cavalier King Charles Spaniel<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #545454; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">If you are looking for one of the most charming
companions in the canine community, consider the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.
Cavaliers are the largest breed in the Toy Dog category and make wonderful pets
for people with many different lifestyles.<br />
<br />
</span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #545454; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></span>
<span lang="EN" style="color: #545454; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #545454; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</span><span lang="EN" style="color: #545454; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Cavalier Spaniels are indoor dogs that were traditionally
bred as lap dogs. They become quite attached to their "people
companions" and do not tolerate being left alone for extended periods of
time well. If your pet will be alone often, particularly as a puppy, consider
choosing a breed that has less separation anxiety than a Cavalier.</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span lang="EN" style="color: #545454; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Cavalier Spaniels are indoor dogs that were traditionally
bred as lap dogs. They become quite attached to their "people
companions" and do not tolerate being left alone for extended periods of
time well. If your pet will be alone often, particularly as a puppy, consider
choosing a breed that has less separation anxiety than a Cavalier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH7-M-sadosYbwmGyP0U3firRRkVUD3fTtnv7OfnyW4PbchlWeZxveMAXa9C08T_68ywYOl9fT_MCjhhF4of4TluasPvwP0pMFjh5cu-YKiznvJ7LTZ53RQQYxu-s85NeH_XYfUuzpt4I/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH7-M-sadosYbwmGyP0U3firRRkVUD3fTtnv7OfnyW4PbchlWeZxveMAXa9C08T_68ywYOl9fT_MCjhhF4of4TluasPvwP0pMFjh5cu-YKiznvJ7LTZ53RQQYxu-s85NeH_XYfUuzpt4I/s1600/003.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, Abby.<br />
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Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-91689465447351506632014-04-02T07:32:00.000-07:002014-04-02T07:32:37.820-07:00My Blog for 4/2/2014 Cowboys and Indians
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I was in a movie one time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All our neighbors had horses for their only form of recreation, as we
did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the guys had a brother in
law who lived in <st1:city><st1:place>Hollywood</st1:place></st1:city> and knew
a lot of people who had access to film, cameras, projectors, and sound
implements. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was at a time before
digital cameras, so all of this equipment was rare to the average person.</div>
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One day the brother in law decided we who lived in this
neighborhood (about 20 of us counting the kids) should make a cowboy
movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anybody who could ride was dubbed
either a “cowboy” or an “Indian.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
an Indian, so we donned warpaint, took our saddles off the horses and rode on
blankets like the real movies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Counting
about three families per hill and there being four hills, we had people on all
of the unpopulated hills running back and forth on rabbit trails with their
scripts, and being filmed with a huge shoulder-held camera.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others threw on anything they thought
resembled their “part” and there were very few lines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like, a lot of “head them off at the pass,”
“wash-da,” and “Um, kemosabe.”</div>
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I don’t know the plot, if there was one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just know all the Indians, on signal, came
tearing up the hill on our horses and were filmed bursting out from a ravine,
in our Indian stampede.</div>
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I was 27 years old and both of my small children had their
parts on their ponies as well.</div>
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The “movie” was shown on a regular 76 millimeter pull down
movie screen from <st1:city><st1:place>Hollywood</st1:place></st1:city> that
was propped in the bed of a pickup truck at night in an arena we’d made by
removing the sagebrush from a flat area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We called it “the arena.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Somebody made a huge pile of popcorn and we had cokes as well for that
movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the houses which were pretty
far apart had people walking back and forth in the night with flashlights to
use the facilities or avoid the insanity for a little while.</div>
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A lot more people than the actors attended the movie out of
neighborly curiosity.</div>
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Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-2540204879589421942014-04-01T11:23:00.000-07:002014-04-01T11:23:08.356-07:00My blog for 4/1/2014 From Sea To Shining Sea Serial Part 16<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Oct. 21.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thursday</div>
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We stopped to see some friends in Park
City, Utah (7000 ft.).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They both looked good though we’d caught them
at a bad time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were just back from
a couple of months in Hawaii and
were leaving in a few hours to a funeral in southern California.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We only had a few hours to visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their home is unlike any other I’ve seen, and
I’ve seen a lot of homes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This one was
probably worth five million dollars in an ordinary market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took pictures and lapsed into fun
conversations about everybody we know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They fell in love with Abby (normal course of events).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went out for beer and Mexican food and
laughed over all our old nonsense.</div>
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Today we’re headed to Laramie,
Wyoming , as there’s a snow storm headed
this way from the south.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s now 28
degrees and I nearly froze my hands getting us ready to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trailers require a lot of work inside as well
as outside whenever you want to move.</div>
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The rolling hills are perfect in the morning sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About fifty miles east of Park
City the sky’s filled with smoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in
the middle of nowhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can’t see a
fire’s origin.</div>
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The whole road has turned wheat color.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wyoming
is only 400 miles wide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fire is a
bit of a forest fire we see as we pass by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Range cowboys are out there with massive herds of sheep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hadn’t associated Wyoming
with sheep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>next appeared a small forest of windmills
lines along the mesas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose this is
because the wind whips up from the valleys and is at its best on the
mesas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otherwise, the wild west is stark
and scattered buttons of sage kept it from looking like moonscape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not even any billboards.</div>
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Snow fences run along the highway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That fire we passed must have been pretty big
for its smoke to spread out all the way to Ft.
Bridger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe Ft.
Bridger was once a military
outpost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now it’s a little town of 400 people,
situated at the base of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a vertical
series of mesas with a river at the bottom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Aspens and Cottonwoods soften the area’s presence.</div>
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People coming through here on a stage coach would either be
tough cookies or lost puppies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Canadian
geese are hurrying south overhead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
bunch of pinto horses were running<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and
playing that morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to stop
and watch them but there really was no place to pull our rig off the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if the horses will be left out in
the coming snow with the sheep and cattle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I also wonder why people are all crowded into huge cities when so much
of our country is absolutely empty. </div>
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Next we could see the mountains, striped horizontally from
their different mineral generations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They all had flat tops and thankfully no wind machines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fire smoke still followed us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun is so far south that time of year
that I had a ball of sun on my face all day in the Excursion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even sunshades didn’t help much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pretty soon I considered doing a mother and
putting newspapers up to block the sun.</div>
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I don’t know how, but it was even more desolate near
Granger, on I-80.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At Green
River we spotted about ten chemical plants spread along the
horizon north to south.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were
natural gas plants that are in time going to run from here to California.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We saw the other (west) end of the pipeline
in Cedarville, where a whole village was being built to house the workers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pipeline sits like a snake along the top
of the ground for a thousand miles where it’s being welded in sections then will
be buried in the trenches also being run alongside it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a massive enterprise from Wyoming
to central Oregon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its green line runs from both our horizons,
east-west.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Green River
town seems to be a giant ten-track trainyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The river itself is a beautiful big thing if there’s anything alive left
down there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You gotta wonder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Train tracks squat, holding innumerable train
cars spread out like dirty snakes along the valley floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rock Springs
is equally ramshackle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This area is
where the Oregon Trail, The Mormon Trail, the Pony
Express Route, The Cherokee Trail, The overland
Trail, Old Emigrant Trail and the California
Gold Rush Trails
converge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A person could spend months
researching the routes of all the trails still existing as well as their
history.</div>
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I think the charm of the place must be that it’s between the
Sierra Mountains
and the Rockies and is basically flat and high.</div>
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We saw Pronghorn Sheep grazing along I-80.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otherwise THERE WAS NOTHING HAPPENING out
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think we needed to find a back
road so we could see civilization sooner or later.</div>
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-64743541824621098822014-03-30T13:56:00.000-07:002014-03-30T13:56:22.343-07:00My blog for 3/30/2014 Dahlonega Gold Coins<img src="http://ts1.mm.bing.net/th?id=HN.608009305824232553&w=285&h=148&c=7&rs=1&pid=1.7" style="height: 148px;" /><br />
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Above you can see what a Dahlonega Gold coin that was minted in 1855 looks like. " By law, gold coinage during the operation of the Dahlonega Mint (1838-1861) was 0.900 fine, meaning 900 parts per thousand (by weight) pure gold. The remaining 100 parts constituted the alloy (pure gold being too soft and malleable to prodce coins that would stand up to the rigors of circulation). By law for that time period, the alloy for gold coins was copper and silver, provided that the silver did not exceed one-half the alloy. Thus, the silver content could be up to 50 parts per thousand. It was therefore lawfully possible to have coins with varying concentrations of silver, about which we can today make observations relative to the coloration differences.<br />
Generally speaking, a gold coin with 100 parts per thousand copper alloy is distinctly orange in color. Gold coins with silver and copper tend to be less orange, and if the silver content is high enough, the coins do not look orange at all, possessing a light "green gold" color. As a consequence of this imprecise specification for the alloy, the mints at Dahlonega and Charlotte had the flexibility to have a higher silver content than the parent institution, the Philadelphia Mint." <em>Carl N. Lester, GOLD RUSH GALLERY, INC.</em><br />
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Remember that when gold was discovered in Auraria, Georgia, in 1829 the subsequent gold miners had no place to put their accrued gold in a safe place. There were no nearby banks. No way to create their gold into coins. If the miner traveled to a bank, then he might return to find someone else working his plot of land, i.e. stealing his gold. Land with possible gold could only be obtained by lottery. No choices of land parcels were available. It was pretty critical that a mint be established in Dahlonega, about eight miles from Auraria. The owner of a parcel won in a lottery could sell his parcel, often for an exorbitant price. The owner would have to hide his gold, or possibly have it stolen or himself killed for it. Auraria is actually quite small and there were some 5000 miners working to strike it rich at the peak of the gold rush in this area.<br />
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Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-2602814690997136262014-03-24T12:04:00.000-07:002014-03-24T12:04:03.943-07:00My Blog for 3/24/2014 Summer In The SouthI'm so far behind with this travelogue, I've decided to put some new information that seems timely.<br />
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" 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Summer In The South consists of fireflies darting through the lush forests at dusk; of air so humid it appears cloudlike in the heat and you can see what you are breathing. There is a pervasive silence as the woods breathlessly await any passing gentle breeze for relief. Even squirrels have better sense than the lazy bumblebees out making their living lethargically moving from flower to flower.<br />
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Begonias line my entry walk, thriving as usual, before the lavender Hostas and bright Day Lilies. They all think they live in a greenhouse. Canopy is the truly right description of the trees. I look up through the lacy leaves to see the sky, grateful for the gentle filter of the heat. My little Garden of Eden. <br />
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The cicadas (also known as katydids) have at last begun their nightly chant, somehow relating that all is right with the world. And the full golden moon now begins its helium ascent at 9:28 p.m.Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-79992214615887317802014-03-05T09:19:00.001-08:002014-03-05T09:19:31.994-08:00My Blog..New Series..From Sea to Shining Sea. Part 15<img align="middle" alt="Rowena Wildflowers" class="showcaseimg" id="PromoSTELPRDB5201931" name="PromoSTELPRDB5201931" src="http://www.fs.usda.gov/Internet/FSE_MEDIA/stelprdb5201931.jpg" width="218" /><img class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRQJ0VoPAn1glNUpLelWP0YgDPClg5rjZa53R_E5x70dK7MJrc2uA" data-sz="f" name="b9u5gArGcO2tcM:" onload="google.stb.csi.onTbn(0, this)" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRQJ0VoPAn1glNUpLelWP0YgDPClg5rjZa53R_E5x70dK7MJrc2uA" style="height: 165px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; width: 248px;" /><img class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSW7KEbft5aIUkmfctn7cdPjZLrXLYpsc07xvAJTGc9FbJzZlcF" data-sz="f" name="edneSSMQNVew1M:" onload="google.stb.csi.onTbn(0, this)" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSW7KEbft5aIUkmfctn7cdPjZLrXLYpsc07xvAJTGc9FbJzZlcF" style="height: 179px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; width: 281px;" /><img class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQbEziZxbzctmAfhEoFUts8KQRJZx7zQaR4xtKa2FD_2cQZQYDAMg" data-sz="f" name="MB-6fHcHLHvQHM:" onload="google.stb.csi.onTbn(1, this)" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQbEziZxbzctmAfhEoFUts8KQRJZx7zQaR4xtKa2FD_2cQZQYDAMg" style="height: 160px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: -5px; margin-top: 0px; width: 253px;" /><br />
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October 18<br />
The Columbia River gorge's cliffs are lined with windmills as it turns out. The night before, all we could see were the lights at each one--they stood out like stars so far overhead. The gorge itself makes you feel like you're at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. We found the windmills in daylight. The river changes names as others merge with it. We passed maybe four dams and locks, where ocean barges work their way inland against the current. It's so amazing that the road we were on was cut through solid rock a couple hundred feet straight down, at the bottom of about 200' cliffs. It feels like a huge wall. At the top of Oregon, the river looks like an ocean and must be a mile wide. It's all barren of trees and shrubs, with only a little grass that shares space on the hills with windmills for another fifty miles or so. A couple of green patches off on the Washington side must be watered from the river because they stand out like a couple of oases. We think they're citrus orchards, but they were so far away we couldn't be sure, but there were jet engines planted we think to ward off frost.<br />
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We headed to Pendleton--the place where super well made wool clothing is made. We hope to see a lot of woolens. We next passed Arlington with its little marina full of sailboats. We were in Umatilla County, which I suppose is a Nez Pearce name. A friend, Jess Wright, had a horse named Umatilla in my past life when we rode with him in the 1970's. Hmm. Of course there is a railroad track running along side the freeway. All the traincars have graffiti on them. I guess nobody is exempt. Right where the snake river comes in from the north the land has flattened to desert, again complete with sagebrush and tumbleweeds--also a bombing range. Which is across the Columbia from Horse Heaven Hills. Go figure.<br />
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Next we were in power line jungles. I would think the dams we've seen could power the whole United States. But it looks like a bad day in El Paso, Texas, the ugliest town I have ever seen.<br />
Scrubby trees suddenly appeared--and ah! A reason for the smog--a huge chemical plant mixing in with the wires. A good place to leave--ugh.<br />
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Suddenly desert forests of densely planted tree farm trees that looked about fifty feet tall appeared as farmed crops mixed with hundreds of acres of trees, onions, citrus, hay. Monster commercial agriculture. Pacific Albus Trees, a sign said. Whatever that is. This area look like Southern California rather than Western Oregon--arid but just enough rain to make parts of it green, with oleander bushes, bottlebrush, citrus trees and lots of decomposed granite. The temperature was 47 degrees.<br />
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On the overpass railings/fences, are running horse sculptures. I guess there are wild horse herds in this area. The Umatilla Indian Reservation includes Pendleton. Oregon soon looked like Iowa--farmland to all horizons. Half of Pendleton is a prison. Home of the Pendleton Roundup. Home of Pendleton woolens. So we stopped and bought a blanket at the factory. It's a beautiful piece of work we intend to use for a bedspread at home. Pendleton is a cute, old-fashioned 1950's style Western town. It included the Wildhorse Umatilla Indian Casino. Next we continued off the flat mesas into the Blue Mountain Umitalla National Forest--a bald forest that's east on I-84. We saw the longest horsetrailer in the west, as well as a triple trailer longhauler, which we'd never seen before. They kind of looked like trains. Trees there are at about 4000 feet--which includes snow fencing. The hills looked like gold cushions with pines, cattle, deer and antelope. No higher mountains were around us, but chain signs were required and we saw the occasional Sno cat. The temperature changed to 53 degrees. Baker, Oregon, has a sign that says we were half way between the North Pole and the equator. I've been wondering about that. I-84 is a good place to be if you don't want any people. I have a hunch that area's weather is treacherous.<br />
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-32659166288363110122014-03-01T08:19:00.000-08:002014-03-01T08:19:00.561-08:00Book Review: The Dwelling by Catherine Cookson.
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Book Review:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Dwelling, by Catherine Cookson.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Review by Melody Scott</div>
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The Dwelling is a story about how it’s possible to overcome
an adverse life.</div>
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I loved the “voice” of the story, which includes the
“gutter” dialogue between half the characters.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It seemed
to have several stories interlaced into one book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The beginning of a family of 18 children and
two parents in early <st1:country-region><st1:place>England</st1:place></st1:country-region>,
whose dad and children worked<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in the
coal mines as soon as they were old enough to hold open underground
doors--about 8-10 years old.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The story
begins after nine of the children, the mother and the father have all died from
the current rash of Cholera.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nine
children, the oldest one 14 are huddled together in a house where they were
evicted from, since the father held the use of the house as long as he was
alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With his death went the rights to
the company house.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The options
the children had were all awful--from workhouses to indentured servants, and
the gallant eldest, Cissie, refused to separate the family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems the elder boys who worked alongside
the father were among the nine who died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Two boys, nine and ten were useable, but only for conditions like death
traps.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It seemed
to be constant winter with the second main goal was to figure a way for the
last nine to not freeze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cissie found a
cave in the side of the “fells,” which I never figured out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I assume a cliff face above swampland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She took everything from the house they
children could manipulate and moved into this cave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was very tiny for nine, but it was deep
and rather out of the weather.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
kindnesses they received were few and far between, the cruelty and selfishness
they confronted daily was rampant.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The fellow
who saved them from starvation pinched foods from the mill-owner’s daughter,
who was homely and about whom he didn’t care for particularly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They just had good manners with each
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This Matthew sacrificed himself
to marry the millowner’s daughter in order that he could keep his true love
(Cissie) from starvation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think this
guy was the hero of the story, even though things changed regarding that issue
later in the book.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As soon as
the reader felt these people are going to be okay, something else would happen
to make things even worse, as life sometimes spins out of control.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The hard to
believe part was how a person who had actually raped a young girl and caused a
pregnancy could end up being the one the girl fell in love with.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if he had
supposedly grown up to be a decent man.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>child from the rape became as a pawn between divorcees--who
would raise him, who would have what rights, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cissie, for her part, agreed to never see the
child again in exchange for keeping her brat sister out of jail for stealing,
and sealing a deal for pay to keep the rest of them alive, clothed and in a
house of her choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Well, life
became full circle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The huge number of
conflicts, with no outcome being a good choice but only the best of the worst,
Cissie bumbled through, keeping all the children together as she had said, in a
cave the children shored up with rocks<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>mud and industry, i.e. the Dwelling.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This story
brought out the class differences, the hardscrabble life with a dirt floor.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
You were either born into the gentry or you were not claimed
by them as humans with needs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were seen
as somewhere between a dog and a slave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How could a fine</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
family even live with a homeless person in their house?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet the unfortunates waited on them hand and
foot, with ten more ready to take their places if they messed up or even looked
like they might mess up.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was an
excellent read, though the premise I mention above seemed unlikely.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-18447059184287061312014-02-28T10:39:00.000-08:002014-02-28T10:40:24.963-08:00My blog: New Series: From Sea To Shining Sea Part 14<img src="http://ts3.mm.bing.net/th?id=HN.608007836903280291&w=300&h=188&c=7&rs=1&pid=1.7" style="height: 188px;" />Mt. Hood<br />
<img class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ5RSRpoVgnb4nj2A2JAhNBQ1NW1Y7MlgypheM3vn71YzSzhJkE" data-sz="f" name="BTNWjCDcjGX-BM:" onload="google.stb.csi.onTbn(0, this)" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQ5RSRpoVgnb4nj2A2JAhNBQ1NW1Y7MlgypheM3vn71YzSzhJkE" style="height: 182px; margin-left: -2px; margin-right: -3px; margin-top: 0px; width: 277px;" /> Columbia River<br />
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Sunday, October 17<br />
We arrived in Bandon last Tuesday, found Gary (the brother ) at the state park. Gary already had a site for us and the weather was sunny at 73 degrees. We walked a trail through underbrush to the Pacific Ocean and we were rewarded with a deserted beach cluttered with driftwood. Abby was a happy dog tearing around like a coocoo. Richard, our nephew and excellent artist, was there to paint which he'd been doing for two weeks. He intends to be a world class painter and I suspect he'll do it. Gary and wife, Jean, took us sightseeing the next day. Some amazing state parks with majestic ocean views, harbors coves and rivers. But the temperature dropped and fog rolled in so it never got over 48 degrees for four day. We were glad to head to warmer weather. Their puppy, "Precious," was excited to see us and Abby, Precious's mother. Precious has never met a stranger. By Saturday she and Abby were doing the tandem run thing Cavaliers do with their playmates. Also playing chase, they found a neighbor dachshund who participated with them. Fun! for them and fun for us to watch the glee.<br />
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On our way out on Sunday, we decided to go ahead north as planned, even fearing more cold weather. We've never been on I-84 and thought it was about time. The bleak desert didn't sound so good to us and we'd have to retrace through the whole state if we had gone south. So we hit 5 North to Portland, Oregon. The Unipqua is a major river running all over the place. More lumber mills were at Roseburg--I think we've seen five of them. I'm not sure how forestry works but I suspect it's 100% controlled. All of Oregon seems to belong to the government. Everybody seems to work for the state. I'm not sure how the state owns so much land. Oregon is all about mountains and trees, good roads, tourist oriented, user friendly. Fall is turning leaf many different colors, except for the pines of course. Wildflowers are in bloom in little meadows between the tree clumps of Oaks, birch and cottonwoods, and we're weaving between the mountains and hillocks. It's no wonder I've always been enamored of Georgia's forests. The only forests I'd ever seen till I was 33 years old were California Pines and Oregon Pines. It came to me how much we must be like Europe--their counties and our states so different one from the next. We are totally impressed with the beautiful cities of Salem and Portland. The freeways are showplaces--of course they are on Sundays. Rivers make the Chattahoochee look tiny and the trees make us feel we're driving through a park. It's all mowed and landscaped--green, lush and inspiring. 45 degrees and sunshine at 4:30 p.m.<br />
We were stopped in a traffic jam due to a crash for about a half hour. People all got out of their stopped cars. A man saw Abby in our truck and asked if I had a leash he could borrow to walk his lab puppy. I gave him one. We were there long enough there was no problem with him returning it. I expected someone to ask about our restroom on wheels (the Coyote) but nobody did. Sunday was a slick day to get around Portland. Traffic heave but flowing well. Tons of state parks are on the map on 84 after the city. We planned to use one with wifi for a change. <br />
Mt. Hood peeks at us as we drive through/around Portland. It's 11,239 feet--it looks like the perfect Littering fine--$6250.00. I think these people are serious greenies..$97.00 seat belt usage fine. Hmmm. Washington State was right over there on the next hills to our left. The Hood River is as big as the Mississippi and navigable with a series of locks. We're dwarfed by the massiveness. We're in Lewis and Clark territory. A canoe on that river which becomes the Columbia River, would look like a pebble on a beach. Our road follows this river. Perfect Christmas Trees are everywhere.<br />
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<br />Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5616123281670247681.post-77440055662349041322014-02-26T11:37:00.002-08:002014-02-26T11:41:40.171-08:00My blog--new series, From Sea To Shining Sea, Part 13-<br />
<img src="http://ts1.mm.bing.net/th?id=H.4852107406148702&w=222&h=173&c=7&rs=1&pid=1.7" style="height: 173px;" /><img src2="http://ts3.mm.bing.net/th?id=H.4648886736454467&w=283&h=188&c=7&rs=1&pid=1.7" src="http://ts3.mm.bing.net/th?id=H.4648886736454467&w=283&h=188&c=7&rs=1&pid=1.7" style="height: 188px;" /><br />
<br />
Tuesday, Oct. 12. Last night we had dinner with cousins in Medford, Oregon. A lovely chicken stew with homemade noodles, which was a first for me. Today we went to his sister's house and we met Cindy. I find it interesting how differently people live. On this property of a few acres, Ted keeps his huge shop. He builds airplanes from scratch for people who can afford it. Some say they would never get inside a plane that Ted hadn't built. The owner has a problem and doesn't bend so well to get in and out, so Ted made doors that open upward, like a DeLorean car I saw once. And standing outside this building was Ted's 28 foot boat that he took up to Vancouver Island on a five week trip. It looked like a fishing boat with a cabin and very deep hull.<br />
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Medford is a gorgeous city, especially in the spring, even with all its growth. It looks all brand new, like there's been no recession at all.<br />
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Mountains and hills endlessly spread around chains of valleys with rivers and almost solid trees. I hadn't remembered just how beautiful Oregon is. The next day we took off on I-5 for about 120 miles then West on 42 to the coast and Coos Bay. We had called Darrel's brother earlier, who works as a campground host each October. All we had to do now was find him. So we looked for some bars on our cell phone. We passed through Roseburg which is a whole city lumber mill--probably two miles of pine 2 x 4s and plywood stacked four stories high. The little town is crouched around the lumber yard's perimeter. Traincars stand loaded with wood ready to be hauled to Iowa. Huge pines that make 12 Georgia Pines each. Gas is $3.48. Hiwy 42 is a log truck road but incredibly scenic Aspens and Cottonwood trees are just coming yellow. It's 61 degrees. Expresso kiosks are on every corner of the little towns. The largest buildings are fire departments. Pines are managed and mountainsides display stripped areas that have been deforested but looks like a green quilt with other stages of new growth remaining. The current fire danger, which this entire state monitors, is low. We felt lucky.<br />
<br />
The closer we got to the Pacific ocean, the more lush and green the woods became. Abby is still sleeping from her trauma with Grace the English Bulldog at Cindy's house, who smurfed Abby first then launched herself on her rope swing, hanging by her teeth. Abby was mesmerized.Melody Scotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18021178729693942319noreply@blogger.com1