tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-424666871075076682024-03-05T17:38:30.625-05:00Chatty Kathythoughts from an aspiring writerKathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.comBlogger226125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-71204534800564266932016-11-19T21:26:00.001-05:002016-11-19T22:37:52.962-05:00scenes from future novels.As a writer, I have so many ideas for future books. And when I get tired of working on my current novel, I write random scenes from those books that are yet to be. ;) Here are a few now. Hope you enjoy!<br />
<br />
A pilot at Hickam Field during the attack on Pearl Harbor:<br />
<br />
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<br />
"Do you think they'll be back?"<br />
<div>
Charlie scanned the piles of
twisted metal that had only an hour earlier been their invincible
planes. In the horizon, the sky was black with smoke except for the
sudden flashes of another ship's magazine blowing. The ground trembled
beneath his boots.</div>
<div>
"I think they have more important game, now." His voice was barely above a whisper. </div>
<div>
"Hey, McGuire! Your wife's on the phone!" </div>
<div>
"Tell her I'm okay!"</div>
<div>
"Don't you think I did that? Get yourself over here, she's having a nervous breakdown!" </div>
<div>
Panting,
Charlie ran to the office, his head still swimming from the adrenaline
surge. With a bloody hand he grabbed the telephone from Maxine. </div>
<div>
"Hello?"</div>
<div>
"Charlie,
thank God! What on earth is going on? I hear explosions and just now
two planes flew very low over the house. There's smoke coming from the
harbor, Charlie. Please tell me what's going on!"</div>
<div>
It was a solace to hear his wife's voice, even when she was panicking.</div>
<div>
"It's the Japs. Whatever happens I want you to stay inside, you hear? Don't go outside again. Got it?" </div>
<div>
There was slight pause, then Kim's tiny voice sounded.</div>
<div>
"Charlie, I'm so scared."</div>
<div>
"I
know you are, I am too. But I promise everything's gonna be alright.
It's gonna be okay." He kept his voice steady,
despite his heart pounding heavily inside his chest. "I love you."</div>
<div>
His wife's soft and high-pitched voice answered with the same words, but Charlie's ears were tuned in elsewhere.</div>
<div>
That
couldn't be the sound of approaching planes. Zero engines. Bullets
strafing the ground, kicking up dust. It couldn't be. <i>Please, not
again. </i></div>
<div>
"Charlie, what's happening?"</div>
<div>
Charlie hit the
floor as the Japanese ammo came whizzing through the roof. Outside,
Zeros swooped and men screamed. The ground beneath his face shook as
another American plane went up in flames. </div>
<div>
"Charlie? Charlie! Charlie!"</div>
<div>
Across the room, Kim's panicked voice sounded from the receiver, which dangled from the tabletop.</div>
<div>
Charlie gasped for air. Ignoring the warm stream of blood that flowed
down his neck and onto his white-cotton shirt, he stumbled forward and
grabbed the phone again.</div>
<div>
"Yeah."</div>
<div>
"Are you all right? What's happening? Charlie?"</div>
<div>
"They uh... They've dropped by for another visit. Gotta run. I love you."</div>
<div>
He hung up with a click, praying that he would live to tell her those words again. </div>
<div>
<br />
A young American woman named Samantha, captured by the British and forced to be a nurse on their side: </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">Sam ducked as a Yankee bullet whizzed past her ear. She swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat. <i>If I’m going to die, please let the ball be from the British. </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">She would gladly give her life for her country, but not if the fatal blow was from her own side. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">She
squeezed her eyes shut, as if it would help block out the morbid scene
in front of her. But no, even with closed eyes she could see the
horrible imagse in her mind. Dying British soldiers, musket smoke,
terror-stricken faces, bloody coats… She jumped as the boom of another
cannon sounded, followed by a near explosion and inhuman screams. <i>Dear God, let it stop. Let it stop</i>. <i> </i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">“Nurse!”
a voice screamed. She opened her eyes to see a British officer waving
frantically with one arm, the other supporting an injured man. Samantha
clutched the already-bloody cloths in her hand. Helping the British made
her feel like a traitor. Nothing was worse in her mind than a traitor.
But even the true-blooded Yank inside her could not ignore an injured
soldier, British or American. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">Sam
held her breath and darted out from the rock she had been hiding
behind. Every step she took, she braced herself for the pain of hot lead
ripping through her insides. At last she dove beside the British
Regular who had called for help, scraping her hands against the rough
ground. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">The soldier’s face was dirt-ridden and his black eyes sharp. With labored breathing he cried, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">"Help him to the tents! Quickly!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">She froze. The injured man could barely walk. <i>The tents are so far.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">"Go!” the regular shrieked again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">Hands
trembling, she helped the Redcoat to his feet and slipped an arm around
his waist. She felt warm blood seep through her sleeve. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">They
hobbled as fast as his weak body would travel, stepping over dead men
and ownerless muskets and ducking when another canon boomed through the
air. Her heart began to thump wildly in her chest. The tips of the
faded, British tents were coming into view. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">“Hang
on, we’re almost there,” she lied. In truth, they weren’t very far in
distance. But the speed at which they stumbled there was decreasing
every minute. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">"Hurry, soldier, hur-“ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">She gasped before the word was finished. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">The
soldier had lurched forward, his face ashen, then slumped to the hard
ground. Dead, with a Yankee bullet lodged in his back. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">Every
part of Samantha froze except her racing heart. The battle raged on
beside her, but her emerald eyes were fixed on the dead body that just
seconds ago had been leaning on her. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">More screams awoke her from her daze. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">“Nurse!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">“Girl!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">“Get some water!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">She
glanced at the foes around her, then up the hill at the front lines. Suddenly she saw a flash of blue. Not British red, or Hessian
green, but blue. The glorious dark blue of her colonial brothers. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">Fourteen months she had seen those blue coats in the distance, always in the distance. How sick she was of the red. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">Her
heart stopped. Could she? The hill was climbable, but far. The odds
were strong against her. But the drive to be on the American side was
much stronger. Sam clenched her teeth. Today, she was going home to the colonial camp, or she was going
home to heaven. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">She tossed her bloody cloths to the ground and grabbed the musket that lay at her feet. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);">A young Abolitionist, living in the heart of Dixie: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0);"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hugh observed the sight in front of him. In one corner of
his family's parlor, cigar smoke from the elder gentlemen wafted into the air.
Another corner housed the string quintet. Slaves, carrying trays of gourmet <i><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif";">hors d'oeuvres</span></i><i> </i>and expensive drinks, dodged the sea of dancers in the middle of the room. Nearby, Hugh's
mother chatted incessantly to an eager group of ladies - sharing the latest
town gossip, no doubt. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh, how
he detested parties. He wanted to be out of the stiff dinner coat and to be away
from the flirtatious eyes of every young woman in the room. He wanted to be out
in the fresh, night air with his best friend, away from the suffocating stench
of aristocracy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He glanced
at the ornate clock in the corner. In less than an hour, ten slaves from a
nearby plantation would begin their journey towards a new life. Artie was
seeing to that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hugh
gripped the glass of punch in his hand. Artie was lucky. He wasn't the heir and
future Master of Larimore House, one of the largest plantations in Virginia. He
wasn't required to attend every social gathering put on by his flamboyant mother.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly
the waltz stopped, halting the dancers and the swishing of skirts. Hugh's
father raised his hands to hush the room. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"My
guests, please listen. A tragedy has befallen our community. I've just received
word that Arthur Grantham has been found near the Calhoun Plantation,
mercilessly beaten. It is unknown who has
committed this heinous act or what his intent was."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hugh
felt the blood drain from his face. Someone out there had discovered their
secret. Someone who would sooner beat and kill... than see a single negro set
free.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hugs, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kathryn </div>
</div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-49376505271201465832016-09-05T20:31:00.000-04:002016-09-06T13:18:46.035-04:00writing tips.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDSEIoqL8386om0NhTCoLGrLgAdjNrRA2AgkneQ_4VECvdDSrIrXSemAWOe6d7As_HKU6X9C_Lar-02OWR1U5ieWDfH7bT7ewvt4XvH8hEaY24oODOOOASwwVZ_s3GKaE-i0ezCVi-uQ/s1600/IMG_1295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDSEIoqL8386om0NhTCoLGrLgAdjNrRA2AgkneQ_4VECvdDSrIrXSemAWOe6d7As_HKU6X9C_Lar-02OWR1U5ieWDfH7bT7ewvt4XvH8hEaY24oODOOOASwwVZ_s3GKaE-i0ezCVi-uQ/s640/IMG_1295.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kathryn Grace Photography</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Greetings!
Today I would like to share a post that I wrote for Aaliyah's blog a while back. I hope these writing tips will help you in some way! :)<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
I’m a writer. I don't claim to be a fantastic one, or frankly, even a good one. But I'm a writer.<br />
<br />
I love creating my own worlds. My own people. My very own little people that I can love, mold, mother... And then put them through the worst agony possible without killing them (well, most of the time), only to have them emerge stronger than before.<br />
<br />
Being a writer is having power. You see it in your head: the epic scene in which your character defeats the antagonist, or is reunited with her lover, or suffers a horrible accident, one that will change her life forever...<br />
<br />
But then it happens. You start typing. It looks like a 5th grader wrote it (with those spelling errors and run-ons), the characters feel about as warm and fuzzy as a robot and the dialogue sounds like it's from a B movie. What on earth happened to that scene in your head?<br />
<br />
If this has happened to you, don't worry. It happens to every writer. It's called... Never mind, I don't know what it's called. But we all know what it's like.
So I'm going to humbly attempt to give a few Dos and Don'ts on how to make your scene turn out more like the one that was in your head.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i> 1. Don’t be too anxious to get to your climax </i><br />
<br />
I know, I know. You’re dying to get to that part where the good guy kills the bad guy and the day is saved. But it means so much more if you slowly build up to it. Make your reader sit on the edge of his couch in anxiety.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Don’t:</i> I headed down the dark alley, holding tight to my gun. Suddenly, a loud crash sounded and I jumped around the corner, meeting Hal Barkley, the murderer, face to face. In an instant I pulled the trigger, and the man fell to the ground, dead.<br />
<br />
<i>Do:</i> My hand rubbed against the rough brick of Jenny’s Bakery as I crept down the dim alley. In my right hand I gripped my ever-faithful partner, my .38. She had gotten me out of countless jams. The smell of rotten garbage and sewer overtook me and I had to pause to breathe into my handkerchief. If Officer O’Hara ever teased me again about working the easy beats, I was going to brain him. It was when I was using the same handkerchief to wipe the sweat off my brow that a loud, crashing sound echoed through the alley. Trash cans. Someone was here; it was either a maid emptying her sweeper or it was my Hal Barkley. I wasn’t sure, but I had a feeling I was going to find out soon.<br />
<br />
<i>2. Avoid awkward and cheesy dialogue
</i><br />
<br />
<i>Don't:</i> "This is it, Hal. Your days of murdering are over."<br />
"That's what you think."<br />
<br />
<i>Do:</i> "Move a muscle and welcome hot lead to your mangy carcass."<br />
"You, the rookie cop? Get off your high pedestal. You're more scared than I am."
<br />
<br />
<i>3. Show, don't tell </i><br />
<br />
<i>Don't:</i> Dirt and garbage were all over the ground. Laundry hung from the windows. A rat scurried past.<br />
<br />
<i>Do:</i> I stepped closer to the muderer, my shoes crunching broken glass. Barkley backed up. With my right hand I held fast to my revolver, and with the other I pushed away a floral dress out to dry. A whiff of soap floated past me, a welcome smell. Rotten food was sickening.<br />
<br />
<i>4. Vary your sentence lengths </i><br />
<br />
<i>Don't:</i> Hal's eyes bulged. His lips were cracked. Sweat was on his palms. What would he do? He was trapped.<br />
<br />
<i>Do:</i> It was the only way out of the cavernous alley. Hal breathed deeply, a combination of bad odors filling his lungs. He fingered the knife in his pocket. He would do it. He had to.<br />
<br />
<i>5. Avoid unecessary words or conversations
</i><br />
<br />
Some formalities are necessary, but don't bore your reader.<br />
<br />
<i>Don't:</i> "Hey Parker, how are you?" Officer O'Hara greeted.<br />
"Great, thanks. How are you?"<br />
"Just fine, just fine." <br />
<br />
<i>Do: </i>"Parker!" Officer O'Hara greeted. He slapped me on the back and laughed. "Heard you had a little trouble on your beat today."<br />
<br />
These are just five small ways that you can improve your scenes. As writers, we should always be on the lookout for ways to become even better writers. We should never stop learning. :) I hope this helped or inspired you in some way!<br />
<br />
Hugs,
Kathryn</div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-62018051075376082822016-09-05T18:33:00.003-04:002016-09-05T18:33:41.108-04:00goodbye braces.Hello out there!<br />
<br />
Apologies for being practically non-existent in the blogging world. I hope to be posting more frequently. Thought I would give you an exciting update... After two years, I finally got my braces off! Yay! :)<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiyOHfvESlrrnLmLNALNQAxNLVwwdBzI0HaBDSHwq1Bv3V_FycNCfDlGJrq3iRBQ1NsvDzipiokhUErgbRGaJzN0ztV9P1gZlLPtzI60Ev00inWMf2w2YLLIeitflMF7y6XLvYfPwaOw/s1600/13913607_1635863066705301_5816482977441604112_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiyOHfvESlrrnLmLNALNQAxNLVwwdBzI0HaBDSHwq1Bv3V_FycNCfDlGJrq3iRBQ1NsvDzipiokhUErgbRGaJzN0ztV9P1gZlLPtzI60Ev00inWMf2w2YLLIeitflMF7y6XLvYfPwaOw/s640/13913607_1635863066705301_5816482977441604112_o.jpg" width="512" /></a></div>
<br />Hope to have some new posts up soon. Thanks for sticking with me!<br />
<br />
Hugs,<br />
KathrynKathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-85759777000144729532016-07-11T16:02:00.001-04:002016-07-11T17:11:40.489-04:00sowing seeds for Him. <div style="color: #454545; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left; word-wrap: break-word;">
Today I want to talk about sowing seeds for Christ.<br />
<br />
It's not easy sharing the gospel, I'll be the first to admit it. I'm an
extrovert, and even I find it hard to walk up to someone and hand them a
tract at times. Because more often than not, they look at me like I've
just flown in from Mars. Some people immediately throw the tract in the
trash. Others awkwardly thank me. Some don't even say anything. It's
uncomfortable. But then I am reminded of this verse.<br />
<i><br />
Isaiah 55:11 "So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it
shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I
please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it."</i><br />
<br />
You many not think it means much by handing that Starbucks barista a
tract. Maybe she throws it away. "What a waste," you think. But did you
stop to think about the janitor who sees it in the waste basket? The
trash-man who finds it when it drops out of the garbage can? You see,
God uses His word in amazing ways. Ways that we could never think of.
Sometimes God has already been working in a person's life (someone has
already planted a seed) and He can use you to work in this person's life
even more (watering the seed).<br />
<br />
<i>1 Corinthians 3:6 "I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase."</i><br />
<br />
Did you know that by handing out just one tract, or telling just one
person about the gospel, you have the possibility of changing
generations?<br />
<br />
Don't believe me? Let me tell you a true story.<br />
<br />
On March 23rd, 1912, in Gate City, Virginia, a boy named John Carter was
born. When this boy was 10 years old, his father died. John went to
school like all the other children, but only until fourth grade. When he
was a teenager, his mother left his family. John and his eight siblings
were left to fend for themselves.<br />
<br />
John had made a profession of faith at the age of 12, but it is unknown
whether it was genuine. If it was, he did not grow in the Lord or choose
to live for the Lord. In his teens and early twenties, life grew very
rough for John. He drank. He gambled. And he was always running from
people who wanted to get him on drugs. He owned a piece of a pool hall.
He even went to jail for a time.<br />
<br />
Sometime in his 30s, John went to a prayer meeting. During that prayer
meeting he heard the gospel and was convicted... And John either
accepted Christ as his personal Savior or rededicated his life to the
Lord, depending on whether his profession at age 12 was real or not.
From this point on, his life changed forever.<br />
<br />
When he was 34, he moved to Indianapolis, Indiana and began attending
church there. He met a woman named Marilyn in July of 1946. Two months
later, they were married. John had a deep burden for sharing the gospel.
He wanted so badly to talk to people who had been like him - drunks,
gamblers- and show them that there is hope. For around 40 years, he would go to
the city jail every Sunday morning and hold a service there. In the
summertime, he would go to University Park in Indianapolis every Sunday
afternoon with his family and preach there. He was even put in jail for a
time for "disturbing the peace", though the charge was soon dropped and he was released. Not everyone appreciated his
preaching.<br />
<br />
John helped start the Good News Mission, which still exists today, and
was even president of it for a while. Even before that, he would go to Indy restaurants at
night and take their left-over food to the mission. He would
participate in many evening services there during the week, where rough
people would come and the smell of alcohol lingered in the air.<br />
<br />
John even traveled back to his hometown in Virginia simply to share the
gospel there. While on vacation, he and his family would toss tracts out the window of
their car (before littering was against the law).<br />
<br />
John was a witness to his own lost family and many of siblings were
saved. He died in 1995. But his wife Marilyn is still living, at the age
of 91. She continues to be faithful in sharing the gospel by handing
out tracts to doctors and nurses and restaurant workers. She puts a
tract in every bill before she mails it.<br />
<br />
Why do I tell you all this? To show you that sharing the gospel is no
small matter. Someone chose to tell John about the love of Jesus. And
even though he went through years of drinking and gambling and sinning,
his life was changed forever when he accepted Jesus. Not only his life
was changed,but his family's as well. Generations were literally
changed.<br />
<br />
How do I know this? Because I am a member of one of those generations. John Carter was my great-grandfather.<br />
<br />
Though I regret deeply that I never was able to meet him (he
died a few years before I was born), I have known my Grandma Marilyn
my entire life. I have seen their children serve and love the Lord, and
their children's children. I want to follow in their wonderful example. I
cannot wait to meet Grandpa Carter one day. Right now he is rejoicing
and serving his Lord. :)<br />
<br />
Friends, never forget what sharing the gospel can do. Obeying the Lord will never be a waste of your time.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYpH2m9fkX6YT6NEcYY5MWatWn3VRdY0-rks7-9p0EG1mWWC2RS6Z0gBzl_JEm98wBOH7YsOmGoDDFnL-7vvOb4kdQJDwtyNCvk4hNA2y0QmbSGcixjg-yCkTGzYHRDW51-QC07GOxug/s1600/image1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYpH2m9fkX6YT6NEcYY5MWatWn3VRdY0-rks7-9p0EG1mWWC2RS6Z0gBzl_JEm98wBOH7YsOmGoDDFnL-7vvOb4kdQJDwtyNCvk4hNA2y0QmbSGcixjg-yCkTGzYHRDW51-QC07GOxug/s640/image1.JPG" width="617" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandpa Carter preaching</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSAvgbPQCthoMJBj2iUSrJiwLZCTx4WKxOYwJnIRpEgPOt4ywfHnkOgg3i3NGuxsEZq7UmjkZAczoK3opLt2h8W2Bzmd22ooeIFXzqCaacbHTO85bh63rJNkIXfGL5spc0zlfSgsbbA/s1600/image2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxSAvgbPQCthoMJBj2iUSrJiwLZCTx4WKxOYwJnIRpEgPOt4ywfHnkOgg3i3NGuxsEZq7UmjkZAczoK3opLt2h8W2Bzmd22ooeIFXzqCaacbHTO85bh63rJNkIXfGL5spc0zlfSgsbbA/s640/image2.JPG" width="506" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandpa and Grandma Carter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0wJf5OXEgb_lEsM0lNqn4oWqW9txO9s18bnmnpM6NpWqHTV8X19BDRGx-f2rRiP3aQKpCc8XXMH7aC0aFI_mipcrd4FiYyDh_4ULvzLdFcVkT81Co8QULdv7hLSKbxYQbfCxx4LocNw/s1600/image1%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0wJf5OXEgb_lEsM0lNqn4oWqW9txO9s18bnmnpM6NpWqHTV8X19BDRGx-f2rRiP3aQKpCc8XXMH7aC0aFI_mipcrd4FiYyDh_4ULvzLdFcVkT81Co8QULdv7hLSKbxYQbfCxx4LocNw/s640/image1%25281%2529.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma Carter <3</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I hope this was an encouragement to you in some way.<br />
Hugs,<br />
Kathryn<br />
<br />
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Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-73009681077386839722016-07-09T16:43:00.000-04:002016-07-09T16:51:02.694-04:00kitties / birthday / independence dayMellow greetings, yookie dookie! <br />
<br />
It's been a while since I've posted, so here are a few things that have been going on.<br />
<br />
After our twenty-year-old cat died in December, we got two brand new kitties! They are siblings, a boy and a girl. Their names are Oswald George and Harriet Louise, from you guessed it... <i>The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet</i> (if you haven't seen that darling show, you must). Our kitties are known as Ozzie and Harri around here, unless they are in trouble. Which is actually a regular occurrence. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgshjKXuxtv-QcpIG0i3zL8-t6_HpBoxwKJ7CkYK9RI673LJaHzvIxkfIotDPMhsPN5T5XwzYJxi7cLkfAylhZMIJgjNB-3A8DHToZgx3DyODyvBrefwDEj02SsW_43PMriKW6IwiWbrA/s1600/IMG_4740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgshjKXuxtv-QcpIG0i3zL8-t6_HpBoxwKJ7CkYK9RI673LJaHzvIxkfIotDPMhsPN5T5XwzYJxi7cLkfAylhZMIJgjNB-3A8DHToZgx3DyODyvBrefwDEj02SsW_43PMriKW6IwiWbrA/s640/IMG_4740.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Secondly... I aged on the 17th. (Which means we had a party, whoot whoot!). I turned 17. <br />
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Papa found a friend.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyFvZXyJQCPzdBbr0LLzeSttQgAVPmSQiWVE15Y_VJqsFfEyH7B79CB6HoCD8Xq86kVBRPMC5Bx4WFV9JPDqlmKcpmqH1yPB2nPVW66OXgp2O4CrTcxuUp6iwM8MhsFXR8Oq7wGVqK9Q/s1600/IMG_6402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyFvZXyJQCPzdBbr0LLzeSttQgAVPmSQiWVE15Y_VJqsFfEyH7B79CB6HoCD8Xq86kVBRPMC5Bx4WFV9JPDqlmKcpmqH1yPB2nPVW66OXgp2O4CrTcxuUp6iwM8MhsFXR8Oq7wGVqK9Q/s640/IMG_6402.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmuZQfPMPxgXLDt5px_oJ7yfAN_P3U8qCUahiyegP6KMqCYzRRLWUuh_5E6SvD4YavEa9ASr0tIRZsK5Gu9Q5ucgKc8hgBqcommLYn9oAgL5CrHCebksdn52aJDYijPU_DXfzZewoEKA/s1600/IMG_6422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmuZQfPMPxgXLDt5px_oJ7yfAN_P3U8qCUahiyegP6KMqCYzRRLWUuh_5E6SvD4YavEa9ASr0tIRZsK5Gu9Q5ucgKc8hgBqcommLYn9oAgL5CrHCebksdn52aJDYijPU_DXfzZewoEKA/s640/IMG_6422.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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How to make a girl happy: Give her clothes and chocolate. YES.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-hiBCxK53a0qzYUO-3AklbTgA7KgRaBYVQ9_Ma9dobCjZOTKxks8mvukb1EZbqyEhldm08oHKJn2tfC1A7pQmtnHlUUWr9UyogN2GQSicgDWoApTzibGaMc8AemlMIjofHCIk1lB9ug/s1600/IMG_6429.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-hiBCxK53a0qzYUO-3AklbTgA7KgRaBYVQ9_Ma9dobCjZOTKxks8mvukb1EZbqyEhldm08oHKJn2tfC1A7pQmtnHlUUWr9UyogN2GQSicgDWoApTzibGaMc8AemlMIjofHCIk1lB9ug/s640/IMG_6429.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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Ma frere and I.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VvNbNcNmQ3mplXQUcsUysdOZ7Cc5Qt3kdUawjV_AiO9eWqSbcSto6dbPRBQWpshRhHDCH5efGfbiLFg-MxqxyUjutosR-aKhDM2fbwzVJd2zJcRf_9ThnwUjChNlytIOYe8909MdrA/s1600/IMG_6459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VvNbNcNmQ3mplXQUcsUysdOZ7Cc5Qt3kdUawjV_AiO9eWqSbcSto6dbPRBQWpshRhHDCH5efGfbiLFg-MxqxyUjutosR-aKhDM2fbwzVJd2zJcRf_9ThnwUjChNlytIOYe8909MdrA/s640/IMG_6459.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I blew out all of the candles but two. *sigh* And it keeps getting harder every year! ;)<br />
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Lastly, here a few pictures from our Independence Day celebration. :)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBqol36q5oKO8fWsyTRpeubPaSEd3z_Q0tQXzrlhk0wYkcAR-ieaR3WF9F6Wb7pF1A0ZFpfxNWwjhAocHILAWSSX1JweWlMySukHarvfzTVnkycgpxyaP4dgw1ZS-S1sXN8wJAKuU1w/s1600/IMG_6637.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBqol36q5oKO8fWsyTRpeubPaSEd3z_Q0tQXzrlhk0wYkcAR-ieaR3WF9F6Wb7pF1A0ZFpfxNWwjhAocHILAWSSX1JweWlMySukHarvfzTVnkycgpxyaP4dgw1ZS-S1sXN8wJAKuU1w/s640/IMG_6637.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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My Great-Grandma. Always doing some sort of puzzle from the newspaper. :)<br />
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Second cousins. :)<br />
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My little buddy Maddax. What a sweetie he is!<br />
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That's it for now! I'm trying to get back into posting more regularly. Hopefully I'll be back soon. :)<br />
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Hugs,<br />
Kathryn Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-43659452544596978942016-01-24T22:22:00.003-05:002016-01-24T22:22:55.689-05:005 Tips to Improve Your Novel Scene <br />
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Hey-ho, people of the blogging world! <br />
<br />
Anyhow, the lovely Miss Aaliyah over at <a href="http://growinginhisimage.blogspot.com/">Growing in His Image</a> asked me to guest post for her 4th Blogaversary. :) The post is 5 Tips to Improve Your Novel Scene, and can be viewed <a href="http://growinginhisimage.blogspot.com/2016/01/blog-party-day-3-kathryn.html">here!</a> Please go check out Aaliyah's blog, you won't regret it. :)<br />
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That's it for now!<br />
Later,<br />
KathrynKathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-2006737317848602912015-11-17T22:55:00.002-05:002015-11-17T22:55:45.332-05:00captured.Back in June, my parents graciously gifted me with a DSLR Canon camera for my 16th birthday. As you can imagine, I was ecstatic... <br />
<br />
It was a big upgrade from what I had been using, so I'm still learning how it all works. But here are a few of my favorite pictures so far.<br />
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Later,<br />
Kathryn Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-27249501929839013692015-09-05T22:05:00.000-04:002015-09-05T22:56:31.540-04:00thank you.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">picture courtesy of google images</td></tr>
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<br />
Every person has hobbies they enjoy. Mine are music, photography and writing.<br />
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As a writer, I do a lot of research. From bilge pumps to 1800s fashion to plane diagrams, I read about a lot of subjects. But one of my favorite subjects to study has always been World War Two. Sometimes I get thick books from the library full of pictures of battles, camps and soldiers from the War. As I flip through it, I become sobered. So many young men-covered in blood and dirt and sweat-giving their all for their country. I can't help but think of what happened to them... Did they survive? And if they did, what became of them?<br />
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This reality check got me thinking. Thinking of veterans. Not just from World War Two, but from Korea, and Vietnam... and others.<br />
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I had never noticed or paid special attention to them before, but when I started becoming aware of them, I realized... They're everywhere. At the grocery store, at Wendy's, at the library.<br />
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So I started thanking them. It's sounds easy, but it's another thing to walk up to a total stranger and talk to them. Even for me, who is no shy person. But what I found when I started doing this, broke my heart.<br />
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They were surprised.<br />
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Nearly every time I have approached a veteran and thanked them for their service, they looked up with shock written on their face, stuttered, and then said, "Why... You're welcome. Thank <i>you</i>."<br />
<br />
Why should it be this way? Why should it be such a shock to be told thank you? Our society has become so focused on<i> </i>ourselves-it's all about <i>me, me, me</i>-that we forget to look around us. We're too busy to stop and talk to that elderly Korean War veteran sitting on that bench at Walmart or the disabled Vietnam veteran down the street. <br />
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My urge to you is to look around you. Thank your local veterans. Show them we care... But why not take it a step further? Why not give them a gospel tract-the good news of Jesus Christ-as well as a word of thanks? It's the most important message anyone can ever hear or read. God can do miraculous things with a small piece of paper with the Salvation message written on it. You're never too old or too bad to have your life changed.<br />
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So let's stop sitting in our comfort zone and start making a difference. <br />
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And to all our veterans: <i>Thank you. </i><br />
<br />
Kathryn<i> </i><br />
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<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-9532718391742421152015-08-30T15:51:00.003-04:002015-08-30T15:51:54.346-04:00long time no... write.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you steal this picture, that's kind of rude... because it's mine... so, don't do that.</td></tr>
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Hey-ho and mellow greetings to all you cyber people. <br />
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I've decided to revitalize my blog (bahahahaha, good one!). I know, I know... with school, writing and having a life, this may not happen. But, one doesn't get anywhere on a journey unless you take the first step. *cue polite clapping* <br />
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I hope to improve my writing, meet more <em>homo sapiens</em>, and just have fun blogging about the important and also mundane things of life again. If you're still around, comment down below and introduce yourself. :)<br />
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Well, th-th-th-that's all, folks! <br />
<br />
Kathryn <br />
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Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-6181390932011784372015-01-24T22:04:00.000-05:002015-01-24T23:16:03.904-05:00to all the young women out there.<br />
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<br />
A message to all the young ladies out there, including myself: <br />
<br />
Don't give your heart to any guy that wants it. Protect it. Keep it. Save it.<br />
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I have seen too many girls go through boyfriends like hairstyles. There for a week and *poof* gone. <br />
I don't think dating before a marriageable age is a good idea. It's a controversial subject, I know. But to me, dating is getting to know someone more, with the intent of <i>marriage</i>. You can't really do that at 16, can you?<br />
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Our single years are ones that you can never get back. I'm looking forward to meeting the "one" (if he exists; we are not all called to be married) as much as anyone else, but I also realize that is years away. So what do I do in the meantime?<br />
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1. <i>Grow close to God.</i> This is so important. God should be #1 in your life, <i>always.</i> This doesn't change when you get married, so why not start now? Spend every day in His word. Pray. Years to come, when my path crosses with that of my future husband, I want him to find me as a mature, godly young woman, serving the Lord and striving to please Him in all I do. <br />
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2. <i>Use your talents to glorify Him.</i> I don't want to spend these precious years doing nothing. We should be doing our best in everything (school counts, guys). If God has given you a talent, use it for him. I enjoy being able to serve in the music and children's ministries at our church. I also love to write, and pray that God uses this passion of mine to firstly glorify Him, but also be a blessing to others. <br />
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3. <i>Pray for your future spouse.</i> Who knows, he may be praying for <i>you</i>.<br />
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We shouldn't worry or fret about our future. Whether we get married or not, our goal in life should be to glorify God, honor Him, and share His gift of salvation with those around us. <br />
<br />
I am reminded of a beautiful song written by William Himes. The chorus is as follows:<br />
<br />
<span data-reactid=".pzqen6tnuo.1.3.0.0.0.1.0.3.0.1.0.$lyrics-body" id="lyrics-html"><span class="annotable-line"><span class="line"><span id="line-0">All that I am, All I can be
</span></span></span><br /><span class="annotable-line"><span class="line"><span id="line-1">All that I have, All that is me
</span></span></span><br /><span class="annotable-line"><span class="line"><span id="line-2">Accept and use Lord
</span></span></span><br /><span class="annotable-line"><span class="line"><span id="line-3">As you would choose Lord
</span></span></span><br /><span class="annotable-line"><span class="line"><span id="line-4">Right now today
</span></span></span><br /><span class="annotable-line"><span class="line"><span id="line-5">Take every passion every skill
</span></span></span><br /><span class="annotable-line"><span class="line"><span id="line-6">Take all my dreams
</span></span></span><br /><span class="annotable-line"><span class="line"><span id="line-7">And bend them to your will
</span></span></span><br /><span class="annotable-line"><span class="line"><span id="line-8">My all I give Lord for you
</span></span></span><br /><span class="annotable-line"><span class="line"><span id="line-9">I’ll live Lord
</span></span></span><br /><span class="annotable-line"><span class="line"><span id="line-10">Come what may</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<i>Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. Proverbs 3:5-6</i><br />
<br />
Later,<br />
Kathryn <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-73160129615218507122015-01-24T19:36:00.000-05:002015-01-24T19:36:51.378-05:00big news.Hey, peeps.<br />
<br />
Not dead, don't worry. Just a horrible blogger!<br />
<br />
Quite a while ago (I'm talking July, here), I FINISHED the first draft of my novel, <i>Saved Alone! </i>*happy dance* And it only took a few years (please note heavy sarcasm). I'm super excited to announce that I'm in the process of editing it, with hopes of publishing it soon. Stay tuned!<br />
<br />
Here's a little snippet:<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
My breathing became more erratic as
I desperately tried to get their attention. My raspy, almost non-existent voice
sounded like one who had been smoking multiple cigars each day for years. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Help! Please help me!” I cried.
But it didn’t carry. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God,
let them know I’m here. Let them find me.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I held fast to the wooden plank
with my left arm, and waved the other wildly in the air.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Here, here!” I screeched. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The light began to move farther and
farther to my right. My last hope of survival was disappearing and there wasn’t
a single thing I could do. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why
aren’t you helping me? </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Before I could make another plea-or
rather, accusation-to God, my left hand slipped. A huge splash later, I was
immersed in the cuttingly cold Atlantic Ocean. Darkness surrounded. The surface
grew farther and farther away, and I began to sink. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i>Saved Alone</i>, coming 2015 </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Later,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Kathryn </div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-71206394545566824152014-08-18T21:13:00.000-04:002014-08-20T12:09:35.143-04:00childhood discoveries.We all had those moments as kids when you discover something isn't exactly what you thought. Or you totally believed something that was totally untrue. Here are a few that happened to me. <br />
<br />
1. When you discover that The Lone Ranger theme song isn't really The Lone Ranger theme song at all. <br />
<br />
2. When you find out gum really doesn't take years to digest. <br />
<br />
3. When for years you thought your preacher was saying, "and you've been baptized by a merchant?" when it was really, "and you've been baptized by immersion?" *face palm* I always wondered who this strange merchant was.<br />
<br />
4. When you find out Daniel Boone really didn't look like Fess Parker at all. Bummer.<br />
<br />
5. When your favorite author, Carolyn Keene, is not real.<br />
<br />
6. That bed bugs ARE. <br />
<br />
7. When the the wise men weren't really three, and the star wasn't on the night Jesus was born.<br />
<br />
8. When you dance with your church shoes on in the kitchen, you aren't really dancing like Shirley Temple.<br />
<br />
9. That Steve didn't really go to college. He left his beloved friend Blue with some guy named Joe because he was going bald. <br />
<br />
10. That if you swallow a watermelon seed, a watermelon won't grow in your stomach. This was probably more of a good discovery.<br />
<br />
What were some of yours?<br />
<br />
Later,<br />
Kathryn (aka Chatty Kathy) <br />
<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-78233217436926370492014-05-02T13:48:00.000-04:002014-05-02T13:48:17.362-04:00a note to myself<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PK-TZNkc1D4JefvipawWuQDyQIaGle2xb_VgO8kdFvqk0uCQicJwRqL60VrBSb5r4Y7kK47xX7idNgHyQ237zARP8nVE7uXIKpI88LeSPhyphenhyphen1UDgg_U6yMT93nGZKb1LPtiR6zmE6fQ/s1600/writercaffeine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PK-TZNkc1D4JefvipawWuQDyQIaGle2xb_VgO8kdFvqk0uCQicJwRqL60VrBSb5r4Y7kK47xX7idNgHyQ237zARP8nVE7uXIKpI88LeSPhyphenhyphen1UDgg_U6yMT93nGZKb1LPtiR6zmE6fQ/s1600/writercaffeine.jpg" height="252" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Dear Self,<br />
<br />
I can't help but notice you seem to struggle with writing every single day. Sometimes you just have to force yourself to sit down and write. The inspiration won't always come and it just may not be a "good writing day". But it doesn't matter. The only way you'll become an author is if you write. Write. Write. Write.<br />
<br />
I've found that once you sit down and actually try, you might find that ideas will start popping into your head, and that "bad writing day" will disappear.<br />
<br />
Oh! But the excuses are endless. <i>It's so pretty outside</i>, you say. Oh, look, you're right. Go write outside, then. <i>I just don't feel like it. </i>And your point is? <i>My story is just not turning out the way I wanted it to</i>. Then go fix it.<br />
<br />
Even when you are trying to write, things can be a distraction. Just keep on swimming, and stop being like Doug.<br />
<br />So go grab your iced coffee, gather your notes, and GO WRITE.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
Kathryn<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-7803043086660532132014-03-29T14:01:00.002-04:002014-03-29T14:01:33.688-04:00Dessa Part 9, the Final Part <br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> "Charlotte!" Mother cried.</span></span><br />
<br />
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div.Section1
{page:Section1;} </style><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What?”
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mother
rushed into the bedroom, soaking wet. Her eyes were wild as she held up a
sopping newspaper with the headline:</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Playbill; font-size: 36.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Gen. Lee Surrenders!</span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
shrieked and jumped off the bed, grabbing the newspaper from Mother’s hand. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
don’t believe it!” I exclaimed, still staring at the paper in shock. “Do you
know what this means? Jack is coming home!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dessa
jumped up and down on the bed as Mother and I cried in each other’s arms. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sure
enough, a few days later the telegram arrived.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Colonna MT"; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Western Union</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Lucida Handwriting";">Coming
home in few days –(stop-) can’t wait to see you and girl –(stop)- love Jack
–(stop)-</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Every day after that, Dessa and I
watched eagerly for the carriage to arrive. We would even eat our meals on the
porch if the weather allowed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I was in my bedroom making my bed
when I heard Dessa. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“He’s here, Charlie, he’s here!”
she yelled. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
My heart pounded and already my
eyes were filling up with tears. I lifted my skirts and flew down the stairs
and out the front door. Standing by the carriage was Jack, still clad in his
dark blue uniform. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Jack!” I sobbed, running towards
him. He wrapped his arms around me as I cried into his shoulder. He planted a
kiss on my cheek and then looked deep into my misty eyes, his own eyes filled
with tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Are you alright?” he scanned me up
and down. “I got a telegram saying-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Oh, that. I’m fine, honest. I’ll
tell you all about it later. But first-“ I stopped and turned towards the front
door where a little girl peeked out. “Darling, I’d like you to meet Hadessah.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Jack smiled and approached the
front door. He knelt down to Dessa’s height and gave her a hug. Dessa beamed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“It’s very nice to meet you,” he
said. Jack glanced at me and I knew exactly what he was thinking. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How on earth did you get this girl out of
the south?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I’ll explain everything later,” I
smiled. “Right now I’m just glad you’re home and safe.” I put my arm through
his and we walked into our home together for the first time in months. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Later that evening, after a hearty
supper, the three of us sat on the couch and Jack was eager to hear our story. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Oh dear. Where to begin?” I
sighed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“How about with the frying pan?”
Dessa grinned. We shared a good laugh as Jack looked thoroughly puzzled.</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Shall we tell her now?” I asked.
Jack nodded his head and tried not to smile. It was a week after he had arrived
and we had very important news for Dessa. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Dessa!
Would you come here for a minute, please?” I yelled from the bottom of the
stairs. She came down and I motioned for her to go into the living room and sit
down. Jack had his arm resting on the mantle of the blazing fireplace, next to
the photograph of us both on our wedding day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sit
down, Dessa,” he said. She obeyed, and I sat down next to her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Charlie
and I have something important to tell you,” he started. “We’ve found a family
for you to live with.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her
face fell immediately. But within seconds she put a smile on her face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh,
that’s very good news!” she exclaimed, her voice quivering a bit. “I’m sure
I’ll be quite happy and-and-“ she struggled to hold back the tears. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Dessa,”
I said softly. “We want you to be in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">our</i>
family.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her
mouth fell open and she looked back and forth from Jack to me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
mean, live here?” she whispered, warm tears starting to stream down her face.
“For good?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jack
came and sat on the other side of her, grabbing her tiny, light brown hand. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“For
good.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then
came the sobs of joy that brought tears to Jack’s and my own eyes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“You’ll never be alone again, darling.
Jack and I will be here for you always.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We threw our arms around each other
and had group hug. And by the light of the flickering fire in the hearth, we
discussed all our plans for the future. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Hadessah Grace Hamilton,” Dessa
said, grinning. I turned and looked her in the eye. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Grace?” I asked, raising an
eyebrow. “No wonder you thought up that name so quickly!” I laughed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I must have missed something
again. I swear, you two have more inside jokes than-than-I don’t know what!”
Jack exclaimed, visibly frustrated. We laughed and both gave him kiss. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
had never been happier in my life. The war was over, Jack was home and we now
had a daughter. Every part of the journey-the cold, hunger and pain-was worth
it. I would do it over a thousand times if I had too, for my sweet Dessa. </div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-28923952287909584242014-03-08T16:05:00.002-05:002014-03-08T16:05:24.754-05:00Dessa, Part 8
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> I apologize for the rather poor writing here... I was running out of time and had to finish the story as quickly as possible. I read it now and cringe... But I hope you enjoy it, anyway. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A woman fingered the picture frame that sat on the fireplace
mantle in front of her. She smiled, revealing the deep dimples on her face. A
salty tear escaped and ran down her wrinkled cheek. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
two people in the photograph, her daughter and son-in-law, were both away
at war. She had offered to take care of their house while they were gone, since
she lived right down the street. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
thought about the strange telegram she had received from her son-in-law, over a
month ago. It said that her daughter was traveling somewhere to get some little
girl. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but it didn’t surprise her.
Charlotte was always on some sort of an adventure. After all, how many women
went to war along side her husband? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
woman stared out the window and into the busy street beyond. She prayed that
one day both of them would walk safely through the white gate leading to the
house once again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
laughed and shook her head. They would be all right. She actually felt better
that Charlotte wasn’t on the battlefield; it was too dangerous for her baby
girl. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.5in; text-indent: .5in;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I groaned. My eyes opened and the
sky above me spun around and around. I winced from the throbbing pain in my
arm. I was afraid to look. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
sat up, my head still spinning. Immediately blood started spilling down my left
arm. I grabbed the wound with my right hand and tried to stand. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My bag was gone, which meant so was the
revolver. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
took a few tries, but I finally found the strength to stand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Dessa!”
I yelled, although it came out as a whisper. “Dessa!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
knew that I needed something on my arm. The only thing I had was my shawl, so I
carefully wrapped it around the painful wound and knotted it. I was beginning
to feel faint, but I refused to pass out. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">had</i>
to find Dessa.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
stumbled forwards, back into the woods from where we had just come. Before I
had gotten very far, I had to sit down on a fallen tree, for I was quite out of
breath. Oh for a drink of cold water right now! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Then suddenly I heard a noise. Or
did I? Yes, yes, there it was again! It was voices! Were they real or was I hearing
things? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why
don’t you fix something for the little lady to eat?” I heard someone say. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
stood up and stumbled forwards. Through the thick brush I spotted horses, then two men kneeling over a
fire. One of them was the man who had shot me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
clenched my teeth. Sitting on a tree stump, her hands tied behind her back, was
Dessa. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why?
Why did you shoot my Charlie?” she sobbed. “Why?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Be
quiet, or I’ll make you be quiet,” one of the men retorted. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They
turned their attention to the food they were cooking and that’s when I made my
move. I sneaked around behind Dessa. I knew that if I tapped her on the
shoulder I would startle her and be found out. I felt bad for doing it, but I
knew there could be no other way. So I clapped my hand right across her mouth,
tightly. She jumped, but the men didn’t notice a thing. I slowly pried my hand
away and began working at the rope. Once it was untied, I grabbed her by the
hand and motioned for her to start running. I could tell she wanted to throw
her arms around my neck and give me a kiss, but we had no time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
second we started running, the men saw us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey!” Their voices echoed through the woods.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Run,
run!” I screamed. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Please don’t let me faint,</i>
I prayed. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Please. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></i>Dessa
was leading the way. Her sharp eyes immediately spotted the perfect hiding
place. A cave, its entrance covered by hanging vines. I was growing weaker and
weaker by the second, but she helped me make it safely into the cave. There we
collapsed on the wet ground and prayed the men wouldn’t find us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
waited in the darkness, the only sounds our heavy breathing and water dripping
somewhere deep within in the cave. To our great relief, the men did not see the cave and ran right by
it. After she was sure they were gone, Dessa threw her
arms around my neck and exclaimed,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh,
Charlie! I’m so glad you’re alive!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So am I,” I whispered, a small smirk appearing on my face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s
Charlie and Dessa!” someone cried. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
looked up in shock and saw three very blurry people. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Estie?
Is that you?” I whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh,
miss Charlie!” she exclaimed, running over to where I was propped up against the
cave wall. “Oh ma gracious! You’re hurt! Joe, Daniel, she’s hurt!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
remember only a few things after that. Being carried out of the cave by Joe, and
being laid in the bottom of a canoe or some sort of water raft. After that, my
mind goes blank until I woke up in a soft bed, surrounded by everyone plus a man
who was examining my arm. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’tcha
worry, hon,” Estie said softly. “Good ol’ Doc here says you’s gonna be just
fine.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
smiled and tried to say something, but the doctor stopped me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Just
rest, Mrs. Hamilton. You’re weak from blood loss. But I suspect you will be
able to travel to your home within a week or two.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Where
am I?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I whispered, despite the
doctor’s orders to stay silent.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This
is the next station,” Daniel said. “And don’tcha worry 'bout Doc Linden, he’s on
our side.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We’re
in Indiana?” I asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes
hon. You were sleepin’ like a baby when we crossed de Ohio,” Estie said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The wait to go home was practically
unbearable. Even with Joe and Estie and Dessa trying to cheer me up. I didn’t
want to stay in bed for weeks and be catered to every day! I just wanted to go
home. I wanted this wretched war to end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wanted Jack. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Jack knew that my trip was going to
take a long time, but he didn’t know why. I couldn’t mention the underground
railroad in any telegrams, so I had a lot of explaining to do when Jack got
back home in Indiana. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Doc Linden did, however, send this
to him:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Colonna MT"; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Western Union</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Mistral; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Wife was injured –(stop)- she is
fine –(stop)- expected home in few weeks –(stop)- Doctor Amos Linden, Basketville,
Indina –(stop)-</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I knew Jack, and that simple “she
is fine” would not do. If he wasn’t an officer for the Union Army he would have
been on a train to Basketville, Indiana as soon as he received the telegram. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
I was able to travel, Dessa and I made plans to go home to Bloomington by rail.
We were in Indiana now, and I felt more comfortable traveling in the open. Joe
and Estie were heading to Illinois, so we had to say goodbye. It was hard, for
we had all grown very close. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“God
bless you both,” I said. We exchanged hugs and kisses and went on our ways.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.5in; text-indent: .5in;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
jumped out of the carriage, my eyes filling up with tears. The door burst open
and my mother came running out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Charlotte!
You’re home!” she cried. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed tight. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh,
mother… How I’ve missed you!” I said. For a few minutes she wouldn’t let go. “I
want you to meet someone very special,” I said at last, turning to the
carriage, where a little girl sat. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mother,
this is Dessa,” I said, helping her down.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
think my mother was a bit surprised when she saw Hadessah. She had no idea that
Dessa was half negro. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hello,
darling,” she said, giving Dessa a warm hug. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
felt so good to walk in the front door of my house again. It wasn’t a large
house. But it was cozy, just the way Jack and I liked it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
walked through the hall and into the living room, where Jack and I had spent
many evenings sitting by the warm fire or eating our supper at the table on the
far end of the room. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
three of us sat down on the couch, as I giggled like a schoolgirl at seeing my mother
again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How
have you been?” I asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh,
just fine. How have you and Dessa-that’s right, isn’t it? How have you both
been?” she asked, her dimples standing out on her pale cheeks. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
looked at Dessa and smiled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh,
uh, just hunkey dorey!” No sense worrying my mother over things that had
already passed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hunkey
what? Now what on earth is that supposed to mean?” she asked, as Dessa and I
laughed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Never
mind,” I smiled. “Let’s go get something to eat. I’m starved!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.5in; text-indent: .5in;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Charlie,”
Dessa said quietly. It was a rainy afternoon, a few days after we had arrived.
We were on my bed, and I was writing letters to friends and family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hm?”
I asked, not looking up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What’s
going to happen to me?” came the blunt question. I looked up and into her brown
eyes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
do you mean?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Where
am I going to live?” she asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well…
um… Your daddy said he-well-wanted you to have a nice family,” I stuttered.
“Don’t worry. We’ll figure that all out later,” I said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Suddenly
the front door slammed shut and someone came hurrying up the stairs.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> To be continued!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kathryn (aka Chatty Kathy</div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-5780588039001467702014-02-22T15:34:00.004-05:002014-02-22T23:16:18.150-05:00Dessa, Part 7<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few days later, we reached the Tennessee and Kentucky
border. Micah left us here, and another conductor took over; a white woman,
named Elaina. We were staying in the basement of her own house.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In
Kentucky, there were many open fields that were dangerous to cross, even at
night. But Elaina was prepared. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We
will travel through the country with my wagon. I can take you as far as Ashton.
There you will meet another conductor,” she said. “There is a secret compartment
in my wagon where Joseph and Esther may hide. Hadessah will have to sit up top
with you and I,” she told me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
if we get stopped?” I asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Say
that she is your slave, and hopefully no one will recognize her. I have some
clothes for her to wear that will cover her more, like this bonnet here,” she
said, handing it to Dessa. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That
afternoon we started for Ashton. Joe and Estie were hidden in the wagon’s
compartment, which was then covered in bales of hay. Dessa rode in the back,
while Elaina and I sat up front. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
had been riding for about 20 minutes or so when I felt the older woman tense
up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
is it?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A
group of Confederate soldiers up ahead. Keep calm,” she warned. We pulled up
slowly to the handful of grey-uniformed men on horses. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Halt!
What are you carrying?” the leader asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hay,”
Elaina said, roughly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
man motioned for his men to check the hay. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Who’s
that?” he asked, pointing to Dessa.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My
slave,” I replied, with as confident a voice as I could muster. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Stand
up, girl.” He ordered. Dessa hopped out of the wagon. The captain began
whispering with the officer next to him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“State
your name.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
held my breath. I knew the officers had seen wanted posters and were wondering
if that was Hadessah. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Grace,”
she replied, calmly. I closed my eyes and tried very hard not to smile. Smart
girl.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
captain stared at her for a minute. His eyes searched her up and down. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Alright,
you can go,” he finally said, after his men found nothing in the wagon. Elaina
whipped the reins and we jolted to a start once again. I could feel them
staring at us as we drove away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That
was rather close,” I said, when we were well away from the soldiers. “It’s a
good thing you didn’t tell them your real name, Dessa.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Frankly,
I’m surprised they accepted that,” Elaina remarked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
days and weeks passed by. We tried to take comfort in that fact that every
mile, every step even, was bringing us closer to our end goals. Freedom, for
Joe and Estie. A new life, for Dessa. And home, for me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.5in; text-indent: .5in;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was a dark night in April. We were near the Ohio River, and had plans to cross
it that night. We were traveling with our white conductor named Daniel, a
family man in his 30s. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
wasn’t sure how it happened. I’m still not even sure how it happened. But it
did, and that’s all that matters. We got separated. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
believe it was around 2 or 3 in the morning, and very dark. I called out for
Daniel and Joe and Estie, but they were gone. I tried to keep Dessa calm, even
though I was terrified, myself. Knowing that wondering around would get us more
lost, I decided it would be best to find a place to sleep and wait until it got
light. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
settled down by the trunk of a fallen tree, and tried to get some rest. I was
getting used to sleeping in the dark woods, but the fear of not finding the
others kept me awake. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Morning
came with the chirping of the birds and the squirrels chasing each other.
Everything always seemed better when it was light out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Come
on, let’s see if we can find the others, eh?” I suggested. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Do
you think they left without us? Charlie, what are we going to do? They’re
probably long gone!” Dessa cried. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hadessah!
Do you really think-“ </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
just kidding,” Dessa grinned. “I know Uncle Joe and Aunt Estie wouldn’t leave
us.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why
you little-“ I teased, reaching over and tickling her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Charlie,
listen!” Dessa suddenly cried. I stopped. In the distance I could hear a
roaring sound. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The river!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Whippee!”
I yelled, picking her up and swinging her around. “Come on, I’ll race yah!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So
off we ran. As we got closer, we could begin to the see the blue water appear
through the trees. At last we reached the bank and gazed in awe at the huge
river. Excitement filled my heart as I stared at the other shore. Indiana.
Home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well,
well, what do we have here?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
flew around and gasped. A rough-looking man stood behind us, a pistol pointed
in our direction. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A
lady aiding a little slave girl, I assume? Now ain’t that sweet.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Dessa
get behind me.” I ordered. She slowly moved behind me, the man’s gun barrel
following her the entire way. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Who
are you?” I asked, my heart pounding. I already knew who he was. But I
remembered the revolver in my bag, and I was trying to think how I could get to
it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Who
do you think?” he asked. An evil smirk appeared on his face as he cocked the
gun. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,
don’t shoot!” Dessa screamed, running forward. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“DESSA!”
I shrieked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
all happened so fast. I grabbed hold of Dessa. The loud crack of a gun sounded.
Pain shot through my body and I fell to the dirt. Then suddenly, everything
went black. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> To be continued!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kathryn (aka Chatty Kathy) </div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-31510628491128454992014-01-20T12:27:00.001-05:002014-01-20T12:27:55.134-05:00Dessa, Part 6<br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Joe,
Sam, Estie!” I cried, arriving at our little camp in the woods, quite out of
breath.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
is it?” our conductor, Micah, asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“They’ve
got wanted posters up in the grocers,” I puffed. “offering a cash reward for
your return.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We
need to leave,” Micah said. “There are probably slave hunters on our trail this
very second!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
could see the fear rising in Dessa’s eyes. She ran up in her usual way and flung
her arms around my waist. She was trembling. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’t
be scared, dear. Everything will be all right,” I comforted. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But
what if they catch us? I don’t want to be punished by the mean man with the
whip! Please don’t let them, please!” she cried. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
group grew silent. Dessa’s words were a sharp and painful reminder of the consequences
they would face if caught. Why did it have to be this way? Why? Why must a 10
year-old girl worry about being whipped? I struggled to hold back tears of
frustration and anger. I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>
going to let that happen to her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>That
night, we headed to another station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We were stumbling through the thick forest, with no light to guide us.
The moon was shining, but the trees blocked its beams.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are
you getting tired, sweetie?” Estie asked Dessa. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A
little,” came the reply. “but I can keep going.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
my girl,” I said, squeezing her hand. “It won’t be too long before we reach the
next station. Right Micah?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Right,”
Micah said, pushing away the thick brush in front of him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Shh!
Did you hear that?” Joe hissed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We stopped dead in our tracks. My heart began to pound in fear as I heard the
terrifying sound that Joe had heard.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The
hounds!” Estie cried. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Run!”
Micah yelled. Dessa looked at me with panic-stricken eyes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Go,
go, go!” I screamed, pushing her ahead of me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Our
feet pounded against the soft earth. It was too dark to see, but I could hear
Estie crying as she ran. The dogs’ barks grew louder and louder. The noise was
joined with the sound of horse hooves and men shouting. Suddenly I heard the
crack of a gun. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Get
down!” I cried, almost tackling Dessa to the ground. We lay in the cool soil,
hidden behind a wall of bushes. I fought the urge to gasp for breath, for the
men were right beside us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
what you get for trying to run away!” one of them said, roughly. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What were they talking about? </i>I let go
of Dessa and peered through an opening in the bush. I strained to see in the
darkness. Two slave hunters were off their horses standing over a-no, it
couldn’t be-a dead body. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Claybourne
wants any bodies taken back to the plantation. He said it’ll put away any
thoughts of escape from the other slaves,” another said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This
one wasn’t traveling alone. I saw some more,” the first one said, slowly.
“They’re around here somewhere, I know it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
held my breath as I could hear the crunching of the leaves underneath the slave
hunter’s boots. Dessa gripped me a little tighter. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Come
on, they’re gone.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
didn’t relax until the sound of the horse hooves disappeared. We slowly emerged
from behind the bush and saw Joe, Estie and Micah coming out of hiding, too.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The
poor boy!” Estie wailed. “So young…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
mind still couldn’t wrap around what had just happened. Sam was dead. And
Dessa, poor Dessa. What little girl should have to see a man shot and killed? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Still
in shock, we pushed on with one less member. I don’t think any of us would
forget what we had just seen. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> To be continued!</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kathryn (aka Chatty Kathy) </div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-46823025623221589742014-01-10T11:22:00.000-05:002014-01-10T11:22:39.989-05:00a new year, a new look.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ToP24ORpaNmfgAnpK0xFE2olj-dAplN2FNYjMB1CPR3AiOIuevgzY0c9TblM6MpRT-FEU5wl3XEwfUvYh4IVIHIE4X9goAzL6rLuBKcApCqLEVY0L0QYXfqhx9lVcr_nNqcnnRrrzQ/s1600/newprofile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ToP24ORpaNmfgAnpK0xFE2olj-dAplN2FNYjMB1CPR3AiOIuevgzY0c9TblM6MpRT-FEU5wl3XEwfUvYh4IVIHIE4X9goAzL6rLuBKcApCqLEVY0L0QYXfqhx9lVcr_nNqcnnRrrzQ/s1600/newprofile.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
January 10: The day I started my "Blogger" blogging journey.<br />
<br />
I cannot believe it's been two years! I realize I haven't posted much this past year, but I'm hoping that will change.<br />
<br />
I have met so many wonderful people in the past two years. So many friends. And I was even able to meet one of them in "real" life!<br />
<br />
In honor of my "blogaversary" I have a new design up! I hope you like it.<br />
<br />
Thank you all for following, reading and commenting. Look out for more posts coming soon! <br />
<br />
Later,<br />
Kathryn (aka Chatty Kathy)<br />
<br />
P.S. Check out my updated "About Me" and "My Wonderful Family" pages!Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-77652026016264303422013-12-30T17:39:00.002-05:002013-12-30T17:45:26.518-05:00Dessa, Part 5<br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We reached the spot in the woods
where Ella Mae had told us to go. After waiting a few minutes we could hear a
group of people approaching. A beam of light appeared, growing bigger each
second, until at last we could see four people-three men and one woman. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Hello,” I whispered. “I’m
Charlotte and this is Hadessah.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I am your conductor, Henry. This
is Joseph and his wife Esther, and this is Sam.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The strangers nodded their heads in
greeting. Joseph and Esther were middle-aged. Sam was young; in his 20s I would
guess. I could tell from the moment I saw him that he was an independent man
who longed for freedom and would give anything and everything for it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We didn’t talk much, for fear of
being heard. We traveled through the dark woods at a quick pace, and Hadessah
struggled to keep up. It was a very dangerous trip for even the strongest of
men, let alone a small 10 year-old. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We walked for hours. By the time we
stopped to settle down for the night, we were all ready to collapse. But we
wanted to get as far away from the Claybourne plantation as possible. You never
know when a group of slave hunters might be right behind you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Having a light to sleep by was
impossible; it would give us away. So in the jet-blackness of night we all laid
down on the cold, wet grass. Hadessah snuggled up close, for the poor girl was shivering.
I gave her my shawl, but it didn’t do much good when the night breeze blew. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
stared up at the black trees above us, the leaves rustling softly. It reminded
me of the nights back in camp. You could always hear the trees rustling and
sometimes the hooting of the owls. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Soon
my eyes could stay open no longer, and I fell asleep to the sound of Hadessah’s
soft breathing beside me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.5in; text-indent: .5in;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Everyone
up! Come on! We must hurry!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
groaned at the sound of Henry’s voice. My eyes opened slightly and I was
unhappy to discover it was still dark out. Hadessah stirred beside me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why
must we leave <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">now</i>?” I asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We
will reach de first station at dawn. Dere we will rest till night,” Henry said.
“But we must hurry!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So
the six of us trudged through the woods once again. We were all very hungry and
still a bit sleepy. I tried to stay positive, but sometimes it was just so
hard. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
Henry was right. Just as the sun began to rise, we reached the first house or
“station” as he called it. The “stationmaster” living there would help us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
woods had thinned out a bit, and there was now a dirt road. In clear view from
the road was the white house where would be staying. Looking both ways, Henry
quickly led us to the front door. An old, white-haired lady answered and let us
in. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Follow
me,” she said, leading us up the stairs with a candle. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
were taken to the attic, and then to a secret room hidden by a sliding panel.
The lady was most kind, and gave us food, blankets and anything else we needed.
It was nice to rest and talk without worry of the slave hunters being right
behind us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Our
conductor returned to his home, but another one was supposed to meet us when we
left the house that night. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Meanwhile,
we were able to learn more about each other. Joseph and Esther already knew Sam
somewhat, from the plantation. And they had seen Hadessah, but since she was
new they hadn’t been able to talk to her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well,
we’ll start, eh Estie? I am Joseph, but you can call me Joe. This is Esther, or
Estie, my wife,” Joe said. “We’ve been slaves all our lives and we’re ready to
be free.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s
nice to meet you both,” I said, extending my hand. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
Sam… Dere’s not much to tell ‘bout me. I’m 21 and was born a slave. My parents
are dead, and I’ve got nobody else. I want a new life. I don’t want to be
nobody’s property! I want to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">free</i>!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
could hear the passion in Sam’s voice. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’d
feel the same way,” I said. “Well, my name is Charlotte. But you can call me
Charlie, like everyone else does. I’m a nurse for the Union Army. My husband,
Jack, is a first lieutenant. I traveled here to bring Hadessah to the north,
like her father asked me to,” I said, gently stroking Hadessah’s curly hair. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Was
your papa a soldier, child?” Estie asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes
mam. He left to fight when I was 6.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And
your mama?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“She
died when I was a baby…” Hadessah answered. Suddenly her face lit up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If
I can call you Charlie then you can call me Dessa, okay?” she said, unintentionally
changing the subject. I laughed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Okay,
it’s a deal.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I stared at Hadessah as she chatted
on with the others. I was growing quite attached to the little girl. I couldn’t
help but laugh when I remembered Harriet Sorenson’s last words to me. How could
anyone do anything <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">but</i> love this
child? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Night came quickly, but we were
ready to travel again. Thanks to the socks and sweaters that the kind lady had
given us, we were a bit warmer, too. So out into the darkness we plunged again,
ready to continue our journey.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.5in; text-indent: .5in;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Don’t pout, silly. I’ll be back
soon.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
It was a few days later, and I was
heading into a nearby town to get food. It was too risky to take Dessa, and she
wasn’t very happy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Hurry, okay?” she said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Yes, pumpkin,” I laughed, pinching
her cheeks. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
In town, I headed into the grocers.
Of course no one suspected me of helping slaves escape, but I couldn’t rid the
uneasiness I was feeling. Every time someone else came in the store and rang
the bell I would jump. I quickly bought the food and started to leave the store
when a paper hanging in the window caught my attention. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Runaways</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Cash
reward offered for four runaway slaves:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Joseph-middle-aged,
tall, black hair, dark brown skin</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Esther-middle-aged,
black hair, brown skin, wears bandanna in hair</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Sam-age 21,
tall, brown hair, dark brown skin</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Hadessah-age
10, small, brown hair, light-brown skin</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">-
Hubert Claybourne, Belmont, Tennessee</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
My stomach did a somersault. They
had caught up with us! I clutched the food a little tighter and hurried out the store. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i> To be continued!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Later, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Kathryn (aka Chatty Kathy)</div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-80388152741924706882013-12-05T17:33:00.000-05:002013-12-05T17:33:35.851-05:00Dessa, Part 4<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I reached the first building and
carefully pushed open the wooden door. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure
it would jump right out of my chest. I had almost opened the door enough to
squeeze through when it suddenly squeaked very loud. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Who’s dere?” a man’s voice cried. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“My name is Charlotte and I’m so sorry
to intrude, but I’m looking for a little girl!” I exclaimed. “It’s very important!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A match was lit then suddenly the
whole was filled with light. Five or six <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>slaves were in their beds, staring at me in shock. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Please, you must help me find
her!” I pleaded. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Who-who yo lookin’ for?” one of
them asked, still a bit startled. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Her name is Hadessah…” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Oh, yo mean dat new little girl?
She’s in da one with dat big washtub in front,” he said, sleepily. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Thank you!” I exclaimed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Leaving the slaves still in shock,
I closed the door behind me. I scanned the area, and sure enough, I saw a
building with a large washtub in front of it. Looking both ways, I hurried
over. My hands shook; partially from the cold and the realization that I was
about to meet the girl I had been trying to find for days. With a deep breath,
I pushed the door open. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Annie get yo’ fryin’ pan, dere’s
somebody in here!” someone shrieked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
There was a shuffling noise then a
loud clang. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Yo hit de wall! Towards de door,
de door!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“No, stop!” I screamed. Suddenly
there was silence in the pitch-black room. Again, the room suddenly lit up with
the light of a lantern. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Two women stood in front of me,
clinging onto each other for dear life. One gripped the handle of a frying pan.
In the back of the room was the trembling Hadessah, who had lit the lantern. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Who on earth are you?” one of the
women asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“My name is Charlotte Hamilton. I’m
terribly sorry I frightened you!” I apologized.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The women relaxed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Dat’s alright, I haven’t seen Ella
Mae dat excited in a long time!” Annie laughed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Well yo were de one who hit de
wall with her fryin’ pan,” Ella Mae exclaimed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Who are you?” Annie asked again,
turning to me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“My name is Charlotte. Charlotte
Hamilton. I’m a nurse for the Union Army and I’m here to see Hadessah.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The women glanced at each other,
then at the shocked Hadessah in the back of the room. Timidly but curiously,
she walked up and stood next to Annie. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I-I don’t know quite how to begin…
maybe we could sit down?” I suggested. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
So the four of us sat down on the
rickety cots and I began to tell my story. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I’m afraid I have bad news,” I
started, choking back the tears that had suddenly gathered in my eyes. “Your
father was killed last week.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Hadessah’s face grew pale and
anguish filled her eyes. She tried to control herself, but the quivering of her
bottom lip soon turned into sobbing. Ella Mae wrapped her arms around her and
rocked her gently. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Dat’s right…. Jest let it out,
child, let it out…” she comforted. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
It was as if I had taken a hammer
and smashed all her hopes and dreams in one blow. That one thing that drove her
forward each day, that thing that she endured five years of slavery for. Gone.
Gone, in six little words. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We sat there for a few minutes, until
Hadessah was able to stop crying and listen to what else I had to say. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Full of emotion myself, I knelt
down on the floor and grabbed Hadessah’s hands. I looked deep into her moist
eyes and said,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Your daddy asked me come and get
you. He wanted me to bring you to the north so you could live with a nice
family there. He loved you more than I can ever explain,” I sniffled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Hadessah smiled then to my surprise
threw her arms around my neck. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Thank you,” she whispered in my
ear. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Annie and Ella Mae began whispering.
They finally turned and looked at me; I was still hugging Hadessah. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“We think we can tell yo dis…” Ella
Mae began, her voice lowered. “Dere are a few slaves who gonna escape tomorrow
night. Dey meeting in de woods. You should go with Dessa.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I stared at them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“You mean they’re running away?” I
asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Dat’s de only way yo gonna get her
outta here. Master Clay gonna have wanted signs up fasteh den you can
say-well-anything,” Annie said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I thought for a minute. I looked at
Hadessah, who was clinging tight onto me. Annie was right… there was no way I
could just take the train back to Indiana. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“If that’s what we’ve gotta do,
then that’s what we gotta do, right?” I asked Hadessah, wiping a lingering tear
from her cheek. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She had suddenly become very
attached to me and didn’t want me to leave. She began to tear up again when I
told her that I must. But we’d see each other soon. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The next evening, I did the same as
before. I paid the driver, but told him this time he did not have to stay. I
sneaked around to the slave houses, thankful that the moon was full and gave
lots of light. I opened their door, only this time I was welcomed with a hug,
not a frying pan. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Hello again,” I whispered. “We
need to hurry, so tell them goodbye.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Hadessah went and hugged both the
ladies, who were sniffling and wiping their eyes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Good luck, child.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I wish de best for yo both.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Thank you,” I smiled. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Hand in hand, Hadessah and I shut
the slave house door, never to return. We stared at the dark blotch of woods in
the distance. A long, long journey lay before us, but we wouldn’t give up. One
word pushed us on. Home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i>To be continued! </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Later, Kathryn (aka Chatty Kathy) </div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-76063011973426902872013-11-26T17:22:00.002-05:002013-11-26T17:23:18.607-05:00Dessa, Part 3<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Realizing I didn’t have a cabriolet, I started to walk for
town. So many things were going through my head. If I were a little girl
running away, where would I go? The woods? Alleys? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No wait</i>, I thought, my heart beginning to pound. What if someone
saw her running and assumed she was a runaway slave? What if she was captured
and put in a slave auction? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I decided that the best thing to do
was to stay in Belmont for a few days and watch all the auctions. If I didn’t
see her there, well, I didn’t know what I’d do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When I reached town, I headed
straight for the telegraph office. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Colonna MT"; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Western Union</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Handwriting - Dakota";">Things
not as planned –(stop)- Will be delayed –(stop)- No need to worry -(stop-) love,
Charlie -(stop)- </span><span style="font-family: "Handwriting - Dakota";"> <style><!--
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.5in; text-indent: .5in;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I sat in my hotel room and stared
at Jack’s telegram. It was two days after I had visited Harriet Sorenson, and I
still hadn’t seen Hadessah. Jack encourged me to continue looking and wished
for my safe return. It was nice to hear from him, to know he was all right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
There was going to be another slave
auction that afternoon. Half of me wanted to go and the other half dreaded it.
They were so hard to watch! Those poor human beings being sold to cruel
masters… Families being torn apart… I had to hide my face from the crowd
because I cried almost every time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
An hour or two later, I headed down
to the auction house. It was a fair sized building. Inside was a platform where
slaves were brought up to be sold. A man would give their names, ages and how
they would be useful. The hardest part was when members of a family were bought
by different masters. I sometimes got so emotional I had to leave. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Alright folks, step right up,” the
auctioneer said. “The first one we have is a boy around 13. He’s a real hard
worker and learns quickly.” </div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
People started throwing out numbers
until finally the boy was sold and taken away. I couldn’t help but wonder where
his mother was. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“This lil’ lady is 10 years old.
She can sew, cook and do most anything! How much for Hadessah, folks? Come on,
you can see how able she is!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
My heart stopped and for a second I
couldn’t breathe. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hadessah?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could it be? She was small, had
light-brown skin and curly brown hair. It had to be her! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The price kept rising as I
hurriedly counted the wad of bills I had.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
300!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“350!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“375!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
My heart sunk. I didn’t have
enough.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“400!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Handwriting - Dakota";"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Handwriting - Dakota";">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“400 do I have 425? 425? 400 going
once, twice, sold!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I wanted to run over tell them no,
no, they couldn’t have her! She wasn’t a slave! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I wanted to give her a hug. I
wanted to tell her it would be all right. Her eyes were wild with fear as they
led her off the platform and to her new master. And when I saw a warm tear slip
down her cheek, I could have wept, myself. There wasn’t any way I was letting
her out of my grasp now. </div>
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The man took Hadessah outside and
into his carriage. I leaned over to a woman standing next to me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Who’s that man?” I whispered. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Hubert Claybourne. He owns a
tobacco plantation a few miles away,” she said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Thank you.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Inside my mind I was planning.
Somehow, someway, I would rescue her.</div>
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*** </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
moonlight seeped in through my hotel room window, lighting up the room in an
eerie sort of way. I moved quietly around, gathering my personal belongings,
for I wasn’t sure if I would be back or not. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
hopped into the cabriolet I had waiting, and headed off through town. Only a
few people were out at this hour, mostly drunks wondering aimlessly down the
street. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We trotted down the dirt roads, the
moon gleaming down on the fields. I couldn’t help but wonder if Jack was
looking up at that same big, yellow moon. A breeze blew and I pulled my shawl a
little tighter. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A few minutes later, we arrived at
the Claybourne mansion. I paid the driver and said, “I may or may not be back. Wait 20
minutes and if I’m not here, you may go.”
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I wasn’t about to walk those few
miles back to town. I’m sure the driver’s curiosity was aroused when I walked
around the side of the huge house, in the dark. But I didn’t care. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I made my way through the tall
grass and towards the many stone buildings I could see off in the distance. I
was careful not to be seen by any of the night guards. As a battle nurse, I was
pretty good at crawling on the ground. The hard part would be finding
Hadessah’s living quarters. There were so many! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
To be continued!<br />
<br />
Later,<br />
Kathryn (aka Chatty Kathy)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-63036704013251183792013-11-20T17:22:00.000-05:002013-11-20T17:22:21.035-05:00old movies.<br />
We all have those handful of movies that you watched all the time when you were little. Here are a few of mine that bring back so many memories.<br />
<br />
The Sound of Music:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix-cjDg7jueig3pYMnKFzOOB6UM9sGraLnn_S-SRTPKK-81j21if_5JozbVsEV6u1bVb5Ew_Y-ohskzJY1TJY7lLv4wg99dSsg3pGTN73UpJuntNyoZjQyNtDmi42UX4IUSp5n0-4MrA/s1600/The-Sound-of-Music.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix-cjDg7jueig3pYMnKFzOOB6UM9sGraLnn_S-SRTPKK-81j21if_5JozbVsEV6u1bVb5Ew_Y-ohskzJY1TJY7lLv4wg99dSsg3pGTN73UpJuntNyoZjQyNtDmi42UX4IUSp5n0-4MrA/s400/The-Sound-of-Music.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maria</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEw4yoHOWoa1zfFHMvaiOSJfF7GCAehGQamGuBeuRSCRJ2_t6nlgKYATw04R0sFWk2-aswBcupALtnqfcmUYt7oVjWeaE8QLNFqLg3YRlKjkb3U0ZqSoqY2duoNboHHwSx8zGGbatNbw/s1600/SoundMusic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEw4yoHOWoa1zfFHMvaiOSJfF7GCAehGQamGuBeuRSCRJ2_t6nlgKYATw04R0sFWk2-aswBcupALtnqfcmUYt7oVjWeaE8QLNFqLg3YRlKjkb3U0ZqSoqY2duoNboHHwSx8zGGbatNbw/s400/SoundMusic1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The children, Maria and Captain von Trapp</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHx9LRcUodz2u-Oym7sLU7h_L971qHObqBe2vF1xcxjegX1-f_vS5rOhxSOmEinpDFHSqpm9QPKjVYeBCU9HHCSfApjfwJuU_BU39Fr5x_dmOjiDr5Ih57xVtn72O0lnaw1wuan9aEtw/s1600/Maria-In-Her-Wedding-Dress-the-sound-of-music-7601735-300-400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHx9LRcUodz2u-Oym7sLU7h_L971qHObqBe2vF1xcxjegX1-f_vS5rOhxSOmEinpDFHSqpm9QPKjVYeBCU9HHCSfApjfwJuU_BU39Fr5x_dmOjiDr5Ih57xVtn72O0lnaw1wuan9aEtw/s400/Maria-In-Her-Wedding-Dress-the-sound-of-music-7601735-300-400.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maria</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Quote:<br />
<br />
<i>Captain von Trapp</i>: Fraulein Maria, did I or did I not say that bedtime is to be strictly observed in this household?<br />
<i>Maria</i>: Yes, well the children were scared of the thunderstorm and... You did, sir. <br />
<i>Captain von Trapp</i>: And do you or do you not have trouble following these simple instructions?<br />
<i>Maria</i>: Only during thunderstorms, sir.<br />
<br />
Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKGyinFtzvL66zqq_ky4PNqFDkruPyVJ1MmwgzWGduYBYwtpkZgUrm1xMLSnsdBa99MiUX4MFola4mpwJmazgRyvXYoZdHnNm08yh7WeNCcR8IsKdxaBxYBXQS2yNR-DSErXDojXysGA/s1600/anne2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKGyinFtzvL66zqq_ky4PNqFDkruPyVJ1MmwgzWGduYBYwtpkZgUrm1xMLSnsdBa99MiUX4MFola4mpwJmazgRyvXYoZdHnNm08yh7WeNCcR8IsKdxaBxYBXQS2yNR-DSErXDojXysGA/s400/anne2.jpg" width="321" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anne</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFozDz51uU0EbCCK3bE0xmYpoaXNBLjZuPQ2jaqw9caBIpXbHLT7U1ymYH1jhZPYu2URt7vMceqTrNiAmRNhYTiIfjJ5ZYrWhWnvnh7DYwQD5S0ldKS9kcfRBKirStUgm9ShgPD38GA/s1600/AnneDiannaMUD_OP-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFozDz51uU0EbCCK3bE0xmYpoaXNBLjZuPQ2jaqw9caBIpXbHLT7U1ymYH1jhZPYu2URt7vMceqTrNiAmRNhYTiIfjJ5ZYrWhWnvnh7DYwQD5S0ldKS9kcfRBKirStUgm9ShgPD38GA/s400/AnneDiannaMUD_OP-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diana and Anne</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeyL24pv2qcEC6DpbBAfYYv-Z1ootsboUMQ6gIgb8nXCPBF4VTbJcbaqnn2cxBkPF2FpAkDMPF_nofW4hDkMORaL4fTP5PJW96eh9aO5-taz3TT2xAalgYP_3WzeRmsuLvxfLy4azT0Q/s1600/together.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeyL24pv2qcEC6DpbBAfYYv-Z1ootsboUMQ6gIgb8nXCPBF4VTbJcbaqnn2cxBkPF2FpAkDMPF_nofW4hDkMORaL4fTP5PJW96eh9aO5-taz3TT2xAalgYP_3WzeRmsuLvxfLy4azT0Q/s400/together.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anne and Gil</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Quote:<br />
<br />
(Anne of Green Gables) <br />
<i>Anne Shirley</i>: I thought nothing could be as bad as red hair. Green is ten times worse. <br />
<br />
(Anne of Avonlea)<br />
<br />
Gilbert Blythe: It'll be three years before I finish medical school. Even then there won't be any diamond sunbursts or marble halls.<br />
Anne Shirley: I don't want diamond sunbursts or marble halls. I just want you.<br />
<br />
Singing in the Rain:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitAE31kuDXGwBhsxnObcGIWkwR3S0tNdvT9lobC6dHMqgZQHUUsnAd4-LLJuChfsw3f8OvYEe0W-AE_Sss6b9q6EF64IWa_0EoXsOt5fgKnPGny4od2KSVo6B_xWAK8J80DkT4ir7e9w/s1600/singin-in-the-rain-classic-movies-865382_1024_768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitAE31kuDXGwBhsxnObcGIWkwR3S0tNdvT9lobC6dHMqgZQHUUsnAd4-LLJuChfsw3f8OvYEe0W-AE_Sss6b9q6EF64IWa_0EoXsOt5fgKnPGny4od2KSVo6B_xWAK8J80DkT4ir7e9w/s400/singin-in-the-rain-classic-movies-865382_1024_768.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don, Kathy and Cosmo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv5NfInceMnxl1Z3UInsCGyzCRulQrzOSEQqFiPOoUwtk41pZplsFOjHnXdgwgDTAp-oBgJPuTXrGZYp2qPqD0uN1qh8CiWMTGz4-VUZVye1aCbQctd_WSM62AzUXAzTGoVJUywFbsKw/s1600/stage1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv5NfInceMnxl1Z3UInsCGyzCRulQrzOSEQqFiPOoUwtk41pZplsFOjHnXdgwgDTAp-oBgJPuTXrGZYp2qPqD0uN1qh8CiWMTGz4-VUZVye1aCbQctd_WSM62AzUXAzTGoVJUywFbsKw/s400/stage1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don and Lina</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGd3YdC50TxnYlWAYsf1IwPHnPKnfBOKAKzoBfrFUhKjvCBxSXn1N_2b9VP5DXrbQQiUElPMGFaeZBn-ORkCXEtE1ok23NdFYnQgQObT25qdMOqZq_Ara7thTsc_97ehKhpfFBak5QAg/s1600/SingingTrap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGd3YdC50TxnYlWAYsf1IwPHnPKnfBOKAKzoBfrFUhKjvCBxSXn1N_2b9VP5DXrbQQiUElPMGFaeZBn-ORkCXEtE1ok23NdFYnQgQObT25qdMOqZq_Ara7thTsc_97ehKhpfFBak5QAg/s400/SingingTrap.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kathy and Don</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Quote:<br />
<br />
(after filming a love scene)<br />
Lina: Oh Donny! You couldn't kiss me like that and not mean it just a teensy bit!<br />
Don Lockwood: Meet the greatest actor in the world! I'd rather kiss a tarantula.<br />
Lina: You don't mean that.<br />
Don Lockwood: I dont-- Hey Joe, get me a tarantula. <br />
<br />
Holiday Inn:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmR0DckoDk_hADWdtMOf08nTKOpdLjhIYA846h6BkhxEQ4_VD_z1PnCUMkX7GHQQy2OCBbwjPl6T5zi110w7qk5wHbUDSiLYz93oL8nlnzGzm4Aw0sWTT5_Gc11JIaxdoE6BefjgQCog/s1600/Xmas-hol-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmR0DckoDk_hADWdtMOf08nTKOpdLjhIYA846h6BkhxEQ4_VD_z1PnCUMkX7GHQQy2OCBbwjPl6T5zi110w7qk5wHbUDSiLYz93oL8nlnzGzm4Aw0sWTT5_Gc11JIaxdoE6BefjgQCog/s400/Xmas-hol-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jim, Linda, Ted and Lila</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4cM0r0d7KR2AFBYF9FO-OXqD0N_cH4oLF4wHoQINxYHSe6whnwNbA5a44q-UcLClABVJ-WkT_PzzrsVQHO5bhSXCUX36GDBR5CvOYVWqkuXyvEWpDOuTgED-MZWNv-bPZBobP2McNwg/s1600/6a00d83451cb7469e2019104160604970c-400wi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4cM0r0d7KR2AFBYF9FO-OXqD0N_cH4oLF4wHoQINxYHSe6whnwNbA5a44q-UcLClABVJ-WkT_PzzrsVQHO5bhSXCUX36GDBR5CvOYVWqkuXyvEWpDOuTgED-MZWNv-bPZBobP2McNwg/s400/6a00d83451cb7469e2019104160604970c-400wi.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jim and Ted</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jqqK2f7aCqdP13n9KUTNF08MiY6MZEo-FvMhyphenhyphenPeCoBtmoeXGROX3pYsuVWMRKnEgfgDPNDVN-0ttEWnDVFQrABLcSUmHHM8GndvH37ZJi3-YXGqrfGKzs8PxsJg9-a2812DrIr35Rg/s1600/10359579-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jqqK2f7aCqdP13n9KUTNF08MiY6MZEo-FvMhyphenhyphenPeCoBtmoeXGROX3pYsuVWMRKnEgfgDPNDVN-0ttEWnDVFQrABLcSUmHHM8GndvH37ZJi3-YXGqrfGKzs8PxsJg9-a2812DrIr35Rg/s400/10359579-large.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jim and Linda</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Quote:<br />
<br />
<i>Ted Hanover</i>: I like it here... with you and Linda.<br />
<i>Jim Hardy</i>: And we love having you here. When are you leaving? <br />
<br />
Meet Me in St. Louis:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7d8OkChqPvZvxFRevVzNusVIDTg1Q5A7ubQN0TG1KAQqlTmmv_iHcikO9zKaidvXylrVLyZxdfHxmtLxIqYiBiPxbI9-udgbSQKMyCr2Dm38-D9R9ao5dt2QY_fRn_OxS-xEq3LCtxQ/s1600/boynextdoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7d8OkChqPvZvxFRevVzNusVIDTg1Q5A7ubQN0TG1KAQqlTmmv_iHcikO9zKaidvXylrVLyZxdfHxmtLxIqYiBiPxbI9-udgbSQKMyCr2Dm38-D9R9ao5dt2QY_fRn_OxS-xEq3LCtxQ/s400/boynextdoor.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Esther</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-vATLS6qUuZasvQd39K2n49iHQwov8suVDBFjbPx6tfs3tuIeso7CPtKYrJdHhgrHJvWNksqvnE8_MskZNhq_IgOA1ZfxMapoBLx8lpmaOwrJV3QMcnrbbLPdYMth086JdOwoyUlrOw/s1600/sjff_01_img0316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-vATLS6qUuZasvQd39K2n49iHQwov8suVDBFjbPx6tfs3tuIeso7CPtKYrJdHhgrHJvWNksqvnE8_MskZNhq_IgOA1ZfxMapoBLx8lpmaOwrJV3QMcnrbbLPdYMth086JdOwoyUlrOw/s400/sjff_01_img0316.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Esther and John</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidCgnVWWfABaX2uT9s2DFWwdncMyRpZUkLjjJEnFY_98kzKa4K2cqx15-nzcoSFsn_d-goAVJ44jmQGSL7lKkzO7syRU7VFB4MNENPZ2H0dHgo5sUqU_ND_msIjCuf5wRG_wa6mjCq5g/s1600/meet-me-in-st-louis-gentleman-caller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidCgnVWWfABaX2uT9s2DFWwdncMyRpZUkLjjJEnFY_98kzKa4K2cqx15-nzcoSFsn_d-goAVJ44jmQGSL7lKkzO7syRU7VFB4MNENPZ2H0dHgo5sUqU_ND_msIjCuf5wRG_wa6mjCq5g/s400/meet-me-in-st-louis-gentleman-caller.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Esther and her family at dinner</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Quote:<br />
<br />
(after John tells Esther he couldn't pick up his tuxedo from the tailor because he was busy playing basketball)<br />
<i>John Truett</i>: This is a fine going away present I'm giving you for Christmas. I'll bet you really hate me.<br />
<i>Esther Smith</i>: Oh, no, John, I don't hate you! I just hate basketball!<br />
<br />
The Court Jester:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6SuFrEK87ZCL_Ac4yrmH6FXg7dBHK3FOgnJSvnQPvWf4sMFjVuIOV-YLIPmkpXbiTHC8yvNUFaENTe1qTdpMzES75qYEoanTB39u3d3Q6TNxcc2opfizLPXyZqCjYCZGIc3KzzX-R-w/s1600/vlcsnap2010010716h26m41.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6SuFrEK87ZCL_Ac4yrmH6FXg7dBHK3FOgnJSvnQPvWf4sMFjVuIOV-YLIPmkpXbiTHC8yvNUFaENTe1qTdpMzES75qYEoanTB39u3d3Q6TNxcc2opfizLPXyZqCjYCZGIc3KzzX-R-w/s400/vlcsnap2010010716h26m41.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hawkins and Ravenhurst</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgAfdIVIc67HtE7NHkWYC6zyWNGYH6sKIs5kksgv7269NLargT7Syhi-092Qt2yQD37NQVNMaMHK2k6wRkh2j3gNA9SFfPrfCtSotmj9_iRrd3pEgD0G0J0xHPn9BQLb73o6MuYqNtw/s1600/Annex+-+Kaye,+Danny+(Court+Jester,+The)_NRFPT_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgAfdIVIc67HtE7NHkWYC6zyWNGYH6sKIs5kksgv7269NLargT7Syhi-092Qt2yQD37NQVNMaMHK2k6wRkh2j3gNA9SFfPrfCtSotmj9_iRrd3pEgD0G0J0xHPn9BQLb73o6MuYqNtw/s400/Annex+-+Kaye,+Danny+(Court+Jester,+The)_NRFPT_01.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Princess Gwendolyn, Hawkins and Jean</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjon7rH7AYsnTjPKT7LJfgPUSC0psG6Ph-NkaugKzxUvzRx0cSebGuBn4ChS8g0PjgCY2Q8gfN5FwhfBcttX6IK103_TPKl1EpU2P_HMxXqlSYkrQbQtJAo7pFMGHZ3K1hw05AO011A1A/s1600/court-jester-the-basil-rathbone-danny-kaye-glynis-johns-1956-358617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjon7rH7AYsnTjPKT7LJfgPUSC0psG6Ph-NkaugKzxUvzRx0cSebGuBn4ChS8g0PjgCY2Q8gfN5FwhfBcttX6IK103_TPKl1EpU2P_HMxXqlSYkrQbQtJAo7pFMGHZ3K1hw05AO011A1A/s400/court-jester-the-basil-rathbone-danny-kaye-glynis-johns-1956-358617.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ravenhurst, Hawkins and Jean</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Quote:<br />
<br />
(picking his weapon for the joust against Griswold)<br />
<i>Hubert Hawkins</i>: I'll take one of those, one of those, ooh, a couple of those.<br />
(he pauses and glances over at Griswold)<br />
<i>Hubert Hawkins</i>: I'd better take them all. <br />
<br />
By the Light of the Silvery Moon:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY0HoD-iu4iEjfK7925uV9eFuwZgsC1XbUviNOmRHN4tS4Cug24xMc9urndI7Y3QuOH9r8IPKF6rTSnjzKLl0-yoOyndP84ig_BJLnB3p2q0HmfWVr7SWnzS-qwY61Pd6slzYoN5Zmsg/s1600/by-the-light-of-the-silvery-moon4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY0HoD-iu4iEjfK7925uV9eFuwZgsC1XbUviNOmRHN4tS4Cug24xMc9urndI7Y3QuOH9r8IPKF6rTSnjzKLl0-yoOyndP84ig_BJLnB3p2q0HmfWVr7SWnzS-qwY61Pd6slzYoN5Zmsg/s400/by-the-light-of-the-silvery-moon4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marjorie and Bill</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQELu67CCj_OAFVIAiW4w19SSkuZYrL7lRpa8ITqpuBzvfc6ApJp_2vld1fboyl8BmZz-g6vzVQj9HawQdP04iWK9_sNpAJVBwLugqwgA2RDPOf69LFeFqgGBhGHG98XOhbyXOqEStnw/s1600/8187019114_92e0f1f6e5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQELu67CCj_OAFVIAiW4w19SSkuZYrL7lRpa8ITqpuBzvfc6ApJp_2vld1fboyl8BmZz-g6vzVQj9HawQdP04iWK9_sNpAJVBwLugqwgA2RDPOf69LFeFqgGBhGHG98XOhbyXOqEStnw/s400/8187019114_92e0f1f6e5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marjorie, Stella (the maid) and Wesley</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ge1HwvWd1Y05z0J9QoksQb2R2QenzYIgxa-F4j7Qnd1sufp2tIdPa5zUP8VdvRztFvg-ae9WYi-fy0DpjCOhMRDXGzfCDw6nyN9bNx2ehPVy3fRkEqKZKG-OO4JY3QnUfBvDi0DkUQ/s1600/1176159523_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ge1HwvWd1Y05z0J9QoksQb2R2QenzYIgxa-F4j7Qnd1sufp2tIdPa5zUP8VdvRztFvg-ae9WYi-fy0DpjCOhMRDXGzfCDw6nyN9bNx2ehPVy3fRkEqKZKG-OO4JY3QnUfBvDi0DkUQ/s400/1176159523_1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marjorie, Bill, and Mrs. and Mr. Winfield</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Quote:<br />
<br />
Stella (to the camera): Wesley is their second child. If he had been the first, there never would have been a second! Oh... You're probably wondering who I am. Well, don't be so nosy!<br />
<br />
You Were Never Lovelier:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRKlijFsBsOY1FW6bkG6nrSjwQLNEkYL76Y_Okvwd0LgHqagwrxIxJx3ONDoX6HaJ9S672HZaBvca5Kg7_IAsxP-TVWli8J25IuoIJrLlYmbZU30X68Aa7wB5jv_567iF9Dj6qykzBg/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-05-29+at+3.19.39+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhRKlijFsBsOY1FW6bkG6nrSjwQLNEkYL76Y_Okvwd0LgHqagwrxIxJx3ONDoX6HaJ9S672HZaBvca5Kg7_IAsxP-TVWli8J25IuoIJrLlYmbZU30X68Aa7wB5jv_567iF9Dj6qykzBg/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-05-29+at+3.19.39+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maria Acuna (third from the left) with her sisters and her parents</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvoka9ujsWWXwLwgF3BRxYxt7yV4q4zHnxmjEYbyCk6-ePuqO5L_RgITK55ZZBmoY7dk-EMkWKDt4eJB2YFOJTtuD-uQO5X3qiUsVZrH3HS6d63UD5l3NsEG5o1-roPrXav5z4eWgng/s1600/lovlier-song-copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvoka9ujsWWXwLwgF3BRxYxt7yV4q4zHnxmjEYbyCk6-ePuqO5L_RgITK55ZZBmoY7dk-EMkWKDt4eJB2YFOJTtuD-uQO5X3qiUsVZrH3HS6d63UD5l3NsEG5o1-roPrXav5z4eWgng/s400/lovlier-song-copy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maria and Robert</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZIQUALlO5TKLsZhUNdN-n-fEXDngHPFHOZheYn5S1tDEIOGMLAnCv7Wsg8GhpVD7jFB9N20ogzQ7AnDMVH0uoheasJlYduBKVUR6DbyJX5BYhTIT2GEwUztrfB38GwrjjN2QhKsu1g/s1600/you-were-never-lovelier-rita-hayowrth-fred-astaire-1942.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7ZIQUALlO5TKLsZhUNdN-n-fEXDngHPFHOZheYn5S1tDEIOGMLAnCv7Wsg8GhpVD7jFB9N20ogzQ7AnDMVH0uoheasJlYduBKVUR6DbyJX5BYhTIT2GEwUztrfB38GwrjjN2QhKsu1g/s400/you-were-never-lovelier-rita-hayowrth-fred-astaire-1942.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maria and Robert</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Quote:<br />
<br />
<i>Robert</i>: When do I start dancing?<br />
<i>Eduardo Acuna</i>: You do not start dancing.<br />
<i>Robert</i>: But didn't you want to see me about-<br />
<i>Eudardo Acuna</i>: About one of my daughters. The one you so gallantly referred to as "the inside of a refrigerator"?<br />
<i>Rober</i>t: Oh... but I'm afraid I don't follow you.<br />
<i>Eduardo Acuna</i>: She thinks you're in love with her.<br />
<i>Robert</i>: Would it be rude of me to inquire if insanity runs in your family? <br />
<br />
Bringing up Baby:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFLEcNOrL6OKr0hOL81Pfx6MgWLyo6pNR9Dk2Ypl2-abtNZeU-Y_tYzRVaeB4-jkjbCfbh_HjM7OEd16EVE6mZKTPLG4ermpiifghP2oLmVzy-bltTmLix9JwS9RR5lBRI06-qhg6Mw/s1600/bringing-up-baby-4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFLEcNOrL6OKr0hOL81Pfx6MgWLyo6pNR9Dk2Ypl2-abtNZeU-Y_tYzRVaeB4-jkjbCfbh_HjM7OEd16EVE6mZKTPLG4ermpiifghP2oLmVzy-bltTmLix9JwS9RR5lBRI06-qhg6Mw/s400/bringing-up-baby-4.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Susan and David</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJtPUeqo0dcqjBT12mTh6nM92HsrdLp6O-9x7WqOd2HIIeQIEQyU0FsTgbvra7eVcuKdFeZ39QnkvCcRNFVN3nzgVrzMxhEMIaC6O_k_tS_7eEQhtag9wECu7SK91hTv_fVmdPDk-DnA/s1600/Bringing-Up-Baby-Nissa-the-leopard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJtPUeqo0dcqjBT12mTh6nM92HsrdLp6O-9x7WqOd2HIIeQIEQyU0FsTgbvra7eVcuKdFeZ39QnkvCcRNFVN3nzgVrzMxhEMIaC6O_k_tS_7eEQhtag9wECu7SK91hTv_fVmdPDk-DnA/s400/Bringing-Up-Baby-Nissa-the-leopard.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Susan and Baby</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1h9VtdW6X0oRds9n0jOYo0ol1XPMhRs0mIOupNhR0fBQEAd8UHT6T3JGEyCllfwoXbhBBrjEBbJALBuUm-aXWcgO9OCFIVW5nzk1QJMf1pXIDmjnGYlx2qumg97SXEKUrbo8RQyeK8w/s1600/Grant_Hepburn_Bringing_up_baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1h9VtdW6X0oRds9n0jOYo0ol1XPMhRs0mIOupNhR0fBQEAd8UHT6T3JGEyCllfwoXbhBBrjEBbJALBuUm-aXWcgO9OCFIVW5nzk1QJMf1pXIDmjnGYlx2qumg97SXEKUrbo8RQyeK8w/s400/Grant_Hepburn_Bringing_up_baby.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David and Susan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Quote:<br />
<br />
(Susan is stealing David's car from the golf course)<br />
<br />
Susan: Now, don't lose your temper.<br />
David: My dear young lady, I'm not losing my temper. I'm merely trying to play some golf!<br />
Susan: Well you choose the funniest places; this is a parking lot!<br />
<br />
Do you have any movies you watched all the time when you were little?<br />
<br />
Later,<br />
Kathryn (aka Chatty Kathy)<br />
<br />
P.S. I found all the pictures on Google Images.<br />
<br />Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-68235020579925808322013-11-15T15:30:00.000-05:002013-11-15T15:30:52.606-05:00Dessa, Part 2<br />
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<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span>Morning
came<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">,
along with clear blue skies and the songs of birds as they flew over camp. I
woke up feeling refreshed and ready to get back to work. Edward Bryers was
still on my mind, but I knew my work helping the wounded was more important at
the moment. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jack
was already up when I awoke, as usual. He got up every morning at the crack of
dawn. He was definitely not one to waste time sleeping. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I yawned and sat up, running my hand through my mop of brown
hair. I was beginning to get up when I noticed a bag and a piece of paper on
the ground beside me. The paper read:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Mistral; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">You’ll need these for your trip.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Mistral; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Love,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Mistral; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Jack </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mouth fell open. Did I read it right? I reached for the
drawstring bag and looked inside. I saw all my warmest clothes, a wad of bills and
a revolver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prayed I wouldn’t
have to use the latter. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I changed and hurried out into the
brisk morning, not sure how to react to the note. I was excited, for sure. A
bit nervous, and a bit sad, too. I knew that if I was able to bring that girl
back with me, there was no way I could take her to the camp. Which meant I
would have to go home to Indiana, leaving Jack in Virginia… </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
As I made my way to the medical
tent, my eyes searched the sea of blue uniforms. Sure enough, standing with his
group of men and waiting for drill to start, was Jack. He was taller than most
of them and his sandy-blonde hair stood out against his dark blue uniform. He
turned and his eyes met mine. I grinned just to let him know that I saw his note.
He winked, then we both returned to our work.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.5in; text-indent: .5in;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
stared solemnly out the train window. I would be reaching Belmont at any
minute, and I was somewhat depressed. I fought back the tears that had gathered
in my eyes as I remembered the emotion-filled goodbyes I had said a day
earlier. I had no way of knowing whether that would be the last time I would
see my husband alive again. What if he were killed in battle? What if something
happened and I couldn’t bring the girl home? What if-no, no, I wouldn’t think
these awful thoughts. I had to stay positive. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
train pulled slowly into the station and I took a deep breath. The whole trip I
had been wondering what I was supposed to do with this girl. Why couldn’t she
stay with her great-great aunt and uncle? Why did <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I</i> have to be involved? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You’re
not staying positive</i>, I scolded myself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
stepped off the train and looked around. It was a fairly good-sized town with
all your normal things; a grocery, post office and slave auction house. I
clenched my bag a little tighter. The building made me angry just looking at
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Excuse
me, sir,” I said, stopping a man. “Could you tell me where Harriet and Thomas
Sorenson live?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Head
down that road and you can’t miss it. Good day,” he said, tipping his hat. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
wasn’t sure what he meant, but after changing some of my bills into Confederate
money, I got in a cabriolet and headed that direction anyway. It was a dirt
road, lined with trees. It was very pretty, but it was when the trees
disappeared that I gasped in awe. Standing before us was a huge, pillared house
that towered over all the surrounding tobacco fields. My jaw was still dropped
when the driver pulled in the driveway and up to the front porch. This is the
house I had to rescue someone from? Something was wrong. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Madam?”
the driver asked, waiting for me to take his extended hand. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh!
Uh, thank you,” I stuttered, climbing out. After I paid him, the man drove off,
leaving me standing in front of the huge house alone. I took a deep breath and
headed up the many steps. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
double doors opened slowly and a negro butler appeared. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes?”
he asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’d
like to speak to Mr. or Mrs. Sorenson, please.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“May
I tell dem who is calling?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Tell
them it’s Mrs. Charlotte Hamilton, although that won’t mean a thing to them,” I
said. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
was lead into a parlor and told to wait. The room was absolutely stunning, and
it seemed like everywhere I turned there was a priceless vase or work of art.
Even the couch I was sitting on looked expensive. The more I looked around, the
more foolish I felt for coming to take the little girl away. Why wouldn’t her
father want her in a place like this? It was gorgeous! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The grandfather clock ticked loudly
in the corner and I started to grow impatient. I stood up and wondered a bit
around the room. I walked over to the large fireplace, admiring the many nice
things on the mantle. Suddenly the two double doors leading into the parlor
burst open. Startled, I gasped and flew around, only to meet face to face with
a thin, white-haired lady. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I hope what you have to say is
important, Mrs. Hamilton. I’m a very busy woman you know,” she said, motioning
me to the couch. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
sat down in a chair across from me and placed her wrinkled hands in her lap.
Her face was cross and stern, and to me she looked as if she could pass as the
commander of the Confederate army. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Do
you know an Edward Bryers?” I asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mrs.
Sorenson’s face turned white. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re
wasting my time. I’ve never heard of the man.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Then
why are you wringing your hands like that? You’re lying. Edward Bryers is your
great-nephew,” I declared. She looked at me with her piercing eyes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
do you want here?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’ve
come for the girl. Edward’s daughter.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well
then you’ve come to wrong place. She isn’t here,” Mrs. Sorenson said, looking
away. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
lied once, I don’t doubt you’d do it again. Now where is she?” I demanded. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
told you, she’s gone! She ran away a few days ago. And what business is it to
you?” she asked, rising from her chair. I stood up and looked her in the eye. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
am a nurse for the Union Army. Your great-nephew sent me to get his daughter
away from you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ha!
I should have known you weren’t a southerner from the moment I walked in this
room,” she scowled. Suddenly her scowl turned to laughter. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
wants her back now, does he? After leaving her on our doorstep years ago with a
note begging us to take her, he wants her back? Go ahead! If you can find her,
that is!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Edward
Bryers is dead.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
stopped laughing, but her face showed no grief. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Do
you not even care?” I asked, shaking my head in disbelief. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Edward
Bryers was a disgrace to this family,” she snapped. “He knew how respected we
are in this town. He knew we have the biggest tobacco plantation and the most
slaves around. But what does he do? He goes and marries a negro woman! He <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">marries</i> her! They have a child who is
half-white half-negro, and after the mother dies he expects us to take care of
her while he’s away fighting against our own south!” she cried, her voice
rising in anger with every word. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
mouth dropped open. No wonder he wanted her away from them and out of the
south! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My
husband and I couldn’t fathom having a child like that be known as our own
relative. We wouldn’t let our reputation be ruined because of her. Out of the
kindness of our hearts we let her stay as a domestic slave. I could have sent
her into those tobacco fields to be under the overseer, do you hear? She could
have been out there working from dawn till dusk. But I let stay in my house as
long as she didn’t utter one single word about her father.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How
cruel can you be?” I exclaimed. My heart ached for this poor child.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
would only understand if you were in my position. Hadessah is gone and that’s
all that matters. I don’t know where she is, and frankly, I don’t care. You may
now kindly remove yourself from these premises or I shall have you thrown out!”
she huffed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
walked quickly through the parlor and the hall and out onto the porch. She came
to the door and said, <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>“And
don’t bring that girl back when you find out what she’s really like!”
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
door slammed behind me as I hurried down the front steps. I was extremely
frustrated and disappointed. How on earth was I to find her now? There was one
good thing… I knew her name. Hadessah. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> To be continued! </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kathryn (aka Chatty Kathy) </div>
Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-89240359098847121022013-11-11T19:37:00.000-05:002013-11-11T19:37:25.102-05:00Dessa, Part 1<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
This is part one of a story entitled <i>Dessa,</i> which I wrote last week for school. It stars a Union Army nurse named Charlotte (Charlie). Please keep in mind that I wrote this in only a week... </div>
<br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">February, 1865</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Thick smoke from the artillery
still lingered in the air. I flew through the swarms of battle-fatigued men, my
mind focused on a single thing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“More bandages!” I cried, bursting
through the flap of the medical tent. Dr. Winston, the surgeon, wheeled around
and looked me straight in the eye. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“We’re running low on supplies,
Charlie. How bad is it?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I panted from exhaustion and shook
my head from side to side. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Bad. There are hundreds of men who
are to be dead in a minute unless we get some help to them.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Suddenly two soldiers brushed past
me with a makeshift stretcher. On it lie a man covered in blood.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I’ve got patients piling up. Take
these bandages and do what you can out there,” Winston ordered, thrusting a
pile of cloths in my hands. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I raced back outside, towards the
front lines. I could barely hear myself think, there was so much noise. Men
were shouting orders and in the distance I could still hear the cracking of
muskets. My stomach churned, uneasily. I feared for the life of my husband,
Jack, a lieutenant of the Union army. Every time I saw a dead body being
carried away, my heart pounded with a fear that it might be him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I wasn’t a trained nurse. In fact,
I knew very little about medical things. But when I marched along side my
husband to war, I knew I would be tending to the wounded. They needed all the
help they could get. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The battle was over, but my work
had just begun. So many men scattered on the ground, dying. Each one of their
faces seemed to plead with me to come. Where to go first? They all needed
immediate care. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I knelt down to the nearest man. I
reached out to his neck with my cold hands and felt his pulse. Nothing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Nurse….” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
head shot up and I looked around. Who said that? I scanned the battlefield. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nurse…”
the weak voice came again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I turned around to see a
middle-aged man lying still on the cold ground. I took in a quick breath as I
saw his chest red with blood. I knew at that moment there was no way I could
save him. Yet I hurried over anyway. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Shh, shh, it’ll be all right,” I
comforted. I began to place some cloths on his open wound, when he grabbed my
hand. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Please,” he begged. “You must help
me…” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I will, if you let go of my
wrist,” I said softly, although he was so weak I could easily remove his hand
myself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I’m Edward Bryers… My daughter.
You must get her… Please…” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What? Where?” I exclaimed, looking
around. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Tennessee…. Belmont… You must save
her from them…” he panted. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I stared at the soldier in shock. What
did he just say? He wanted <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i> to go
to Tennessee to get his daughter? I whisked away a strand of brown hair that
had fallen from my bun and leaned in closer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Save her from whom?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Great aunt… uncle… Harriet and
Thomas Sorenson…” he whispered. Suddenly he grabbed both my hands and looked up
with pitiful eyes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Promise, please!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I-I promise, I promise,” I
exclaimed, my hands trembling. With my words his face suddenly changed. His
eyes closed and he leaned back slowly. I felt the tenseness in his hands
disappear. A smile formed on his pale, chapped lips. Before I could say another
word, his hands dropped lifelessly to the ground. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
My mind was in a blur. What had
just happened? Our conversation played over in my head. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What were those names again?</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Charlie! What are you doing?” I
turned to see Jonathon, one of Winston’s nurses. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Coming, I’m coming…” I mumbled. I
stood up, taking one last glance at Edward, then hurried off to help the
soldiers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Night came, and most of the men had
been brought to the medical tent. Winston was still working feverishly. I remember
walking past the tent and seeing his shadow in the flickering lantern light,
performing operation after operation on our wounded boys. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
With the last of my energy I
stumbled into the small tent where Jack and I slept. My heart sunk. The same
bedrolls were laid on the cold ground and the same tin mugs and plates set
between them. Nothing had been moved. I dropped to my knees in exhaustion. Why
wasn’t he here yet? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
As the minutes went by, worry
turned to fear. I sat in the dark tent, the ticking from Jack’s stopwatch
driving me mad. I was about to go looking for him when a tall silhouette appeared
in the tent opening. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Jack!” I cried, jumping up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I’m sorry to worry you, dear. I
had to stay and discuss things with some officers. Are you hungry?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Jack walked over to the lantern and
lit it. The tent flooded with light and I saw him gather up our tin plates and
cups. I was a bit frustrated and upset that he didn’t realize exactly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">how </i>worried I really was. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I’m starved… lets eat in the tent
though, okay? I have something I want to talk about,” I said, as he left to go
get our supper.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
A few minutes later he returned
with two plates of hardtack and some coffee. I eagerly took it. We sat down,
and in the flickering light we began to eat. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Jack was a unique man. He wasn’t
one for flowery words or speeches, but he had a heart of gold. We had been
married for two years, and I didn’t regret one minute of it. We didn’t
always agree on things and I knew convincing him that I needed to go get that
little girl would be difficult. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Well?” he finally asked. I took a
sip of coffee and held tight onto the warm cup. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I made a promise to a dying
soldier…” I said, looking pleadingly into his blue eyes. “I told him I would
get his daughter from his great aunt and uncle… I guess he doesn’t like them, I
don’t know… What was I supposed to do, Jack? He was dying! You can’t very well
deny a dying man’s last request. And about his own daughter… I just couldn’t
say no!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Jack stopped chewing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“You <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what</i>?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Look, I just have to go to Belmont,
Tennessee and bring her back-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Belmont? You want to go down south
to get some girl who’s name you don’t even know, and bring her here?” Jack
laughed. “I don’t think so.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“But Jack, I promised!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The arguing continued for quite
some time until we both agreed to settle it in the morning. The stress of war
was wearing on us both. We were utterly exhausted and needed a good night's
sleep. But even as I lie in my bedroll all I could see was Edward’s face after
I promised to get his daughter. There was no way I could break that promise.</div>
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Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42466687107507668.post-70114140756973203732013-11-05T17:29:00.000-05:002013-11-05T21:58:59.486-05:00weddings.<br />
I don't know about you, but I <i>love </i>weddings. <br />
<br />
So when my mom asked me to post a picture of my grandparents' wedding so my great-aunt could see it, I got this idea to post a few pictures of some weddings in my family. And for some of them, I uploaded a picture of them now. <br />
<br />
Grandma and Grandpa (my mom's parents): Married November 8th, 1963<br />
<br />
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Mema and Papa (my dad's parents): Married July 20th, 1968<br />
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<img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0W30ojRE4QHjBW2I2QqOkD0GOKqA5pgoZvhRfphoDBKqgcwFZlVy0nzLrzHbp8l-WbrqCFk-htwEC0zh_xP2H1tXSyMWMJJtM5WOvTc9FviXsE8m5vSdT6fCqFd0CjQ-VMaBMPd6XoA/s640/photo-1.JPG" width="640" /></div>
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Aunt Elaine and Uncle Brian: Married August 15, 1987<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyIxocW-2VAoAqiKGNmq_HuFaVqNoyg9N4Smd80aGtj90F_m8DSZdqnCxY4H82FvrlHQPpCAd5qB9MbTP_jH0TYCnGGt2KFAx-DxMxO2bygDMf8Lhw8VT9GQw_SD3b7tRD5eXnkQ_6zA/s1600/Elaine's+wedding+party-tiff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyIxocW-2VAoAqiKGNmq_HuFaVqNoyg9N4Smd80aGtj90F_m8DSZdqnCxY4H82FvrlHQPpCAd5qB9MbTP_jH0TYCnGGt2KFAx-DxMxO2bygDMf8Lhw8VT9GQw_SD3b7tRD5eXnkQ_6zA/s640/Elaine's+wedding+party-tiff.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's my mom in the pink dress LOL!</td></tr>
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Mom and Dad: Married March 7th, 1992<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEY5hgNt0y1141-eZBNoRy6bL5oHkGauqeg3Y3byRKo3bk-tbdRH-fgR9GTZ9Tti0Fsl5BpzN3SeL0_WDulQo0jreZ16zfwYPn2-3dCAo2jYRrzWDLX5hqrqjn6DhfxvEzz103kVcGg/s1600/VN7K7420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEY5hgNt0y1141-eZBNoRy6bL5oHkGauqeg3Y3byRKo3bk-tbdRH-fgR9GTZ9Tti0Fsl5BpzN3SeL0_WDulQo0jreZ16zfwYPn2-3dCAo2jYRrzWDLX5hqrqjn6DhfxvEzz103kVcGg/s640/VN7K7420.jpg" width="470" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left to Right: Mema, Mom, Dad, Papa</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr4HsNWG-TdtzXwWqayK6AF5QyRil4FYol8kyeeSVxDCAYrNxkhQ3v171fEJaFHM34I7kC2c_DLLEdW7sxJ8QdrA_tOEomrS43gsQrZjMspVrAttsvitPQ1t8iyuRWpZD_6S4ed23lZQ/s1600/DSC00632.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr4HsNWG-TdtzXwWqayK6AF5QyRil4FYol8kyeeSVxDCAYrNxkhQ3v171fEJaFHM34I7kC2c_DLLEdW7sxJ8QdrA_tOEomrS43gsQrZjMspVrAttsvitPQ1t8iyuRWpZD_6S4ed23lZQ/s640/DSC00632.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(sorry it's blurry)</td></tr>
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Uncle Steven and Aunt Erica: Married August 11th, 2001<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_B1IzryQi00mQ4KllvUK2IW4MkXW9gBhK42y5HvrilfJ8iT0cEjgaAIwPIUM3M3_RwNvRM82A-A8zaDfAiHzAiE51yutbmQXu8NI4ixLTmqkfiUDnehz49i5HwH6KlZAjPYFiR7uTw/s1600/VN7K7470.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_B1IzryQi00mQ4KllvUK2IW4MkXW9gBhK42y5HvrilfJ8iT0cEjgaAIwPIUM3M3_RwNvRM82A-A8zaDfAiHzAiE51yutbmQXu8NI4ixLTmqkfiUDnehz49i5HwH6KlZAjPYFiR7uTw/s640/VN7K7470.jpg" width="512" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm the little girl sitting on my Mema's lap.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJ4n1KAppHg_1UN1JcZsVAJCiZeKzC9RCDJm3xDsr6K4iKTHcxk5PiUoQy3nnMfJ_Hb1N-6D9kbplM-2XEHjCPQFYba6rOu5xR_D-EfSkj8FuKjmFMya3obzcYm0OpadfCqVT0hyphenhyphenHGw/s1600/LKPhoto_+%252833%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJ4n1KAppHg_1UN1JcZsVAJCiZeKzC9RCDJm3xDsr6K4iKTHcxk5PiUoQy3nnMfJ_Hb1N-6D9kbplM-2XEHjCPQFYba6rOu5xR_D-EfSkj8FuKjmFMya3obzcYm0OpadfCqVT0hyphenhyphenHGw/s640/LKPhoto_+%252833%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Uncle Danny and Aunt Bree: Married May 2005<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIv_FKXENyLyTr1lvia_KFqZLNUnnEPHC33a7UZDcqqf0SB9z9YvVQcW5ghBCvgmDw2NiQro9a5uw0Q3EA_s7ze6od_Da-wJ_IqKIZ-KuXbobAWBRyzu0ljI6-Q3iYxyhBao46riBQVQ/s1600/Wedding+party+Bree+&+Danny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIv_FKXENyLyTr1lvia_KFqZLNUnnEPHC33a7UZDcqqf0SB9z9YvVQcW5ghBCvgmDw2NiQro9a5uw0Q3EA_s7ze6od_Da-wJ_IqKIZ-KuXbobAWBRyzu0ljI6-Q3iYxyhBao46riBQVQ/s640/Wedding+party+Bree+&+Danny.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See the flower girl? That's me!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLnl20L8AxHq3MJU__Lc5OkRQuk1Y2fQeqdZ8TgTbye9Jn68tlmaoz3pYlL6hZ0gZtb871Ai9isJB-V4KdlaJck8X2gPk9Vu6bAcogREhkxt7o5SRBD7yjFSbUKI6E5J3y3plXleNR6Q/s1600/Bree+&+Danny+Wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLnl20L8AxHq3MJU__Lc5OkRQuk1Y2fQeqdZ8TgTbye9Jn68tlmaoz3pYlL6hZ0gZtb871Ai9isJB-V4KdlaJck8X2gPk9Vu6bAcogREhkxt7o5SRBD7yjFSbUKI6E5J3y3plXleNR6Q/s640/Bree+&+Danny+Wedding.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Megan (my cousin) and Adam: Married January 2010<br />
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<img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Q1qVzN_Qk0neYaCXD4pYh2hxwnuJCPvzMtzh57Qoqa_lfujzaXS-Xn3KQytlkTsLI4TJzQoSpojWgp-pJI3BjWQxGCU-rBN5rS2RfWlhjFI96xCJJgMWAAWA3Ivz21X2Nl2bzT7hCA/s640/meganwedding2.jpg" width="426" /> </div>
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<img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietNAcYGzs2Orygp5LyjcJVtTX2KInAyrAoCjNZOWdfjGKUOHb_APCu0R_m2IX1Za2kUaB6tu1r2CoHLqKNgNV-Ew1mKnZdhSvdAjre06t8fb3fO-6iudbjx7jT-7614ftPuzSN9olYQ/s640/meganwedding1.jpg" width="424" /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfCGZtoBSDZkOzbQYgvWf0sJLleZQAI81fwPh-jHD93W33XeRqynE-4h4ls2r502cmTdigKW7ipcenRs9bzzJ6lVj2oeACbXGNTa0-nLK5imzs8vdhED9h7gmDghFheXqdGHZUcNctg/s1600/DSC08955.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfCGZtoBSDZkOzbQYgvWf0sJLleZQAI81fwPh-jHD93W33XeRqynE-4h4ls2r502cmTdigKW7ipcenRs9bzzJ6lVj2oeACbXGNTa0-nLK5imzs8vdhED9h7gmDghFheXqdGHZUcNctg/s640/DSC08955.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls and I played music for their wedding!</td></tr>
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Levi (my cousin) and Beth: Married August 4th, 2012<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizX_ZmkDXK0oxMo5afCLbE8D_ZVjJDvJB2vuGJeO2Mx2Np4pjkq2dL-S_dWZj3l_cMyhSVRW51gomjRe8UWhgp9P-dHBCEsuOvmwgdXUiFx6Pc0QWW3SwQnzsOBzGIgokCbEZnQBr1Sw/s1600/IMG_4309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizX_ZmkDXK0oxMo5afCLbE8D_ZVjJDvJB2vuGJeO2Mx2Np4pjkq2dL-S_dWZj3l_cMyhSVRW51gomjRe8UWhgp9P-dHBCEsuOvmwgdXUiFx6Pc0QWW3SwQnzsOBzGIgokCbEZnQBr1Sw/s640/IMG_4309.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtePdOZxyuDxbN61BFvQf6b0KbzI65AK7ECtQ8aljYD2rF9c2nQkza7-9XhtVGJYTzpqnwwXdIIOZC7kvJJIj-a4MVx9KbCiGfWlO4PXMk8UpfxISU-4eKm8i3ka9SBVrEYf28eSHXEQ/s1600/IMG_4369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtePdOZxyuDxbN61BFvQf6b0KbzI65AK7ECtQ8aljYD2rF9c2nQkza7-9XhtVGJYTzpqnwwXdIIOZC7kvJJIj-a4MVx9KbCiGfWlO4PXMk8UpfxISU-4eKm8i3ka9SBVrEYf28eSHXEQ/s640/IMG_4369.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We played for their wedding too. </td></tr>
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Later, <br />
Kathryn (aka Chatty Kathy)Kathrynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14341486923447415490noreply@blogger.com8