tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46873799272892965782024-03-17T23:03:33.654-04:00An SeanchaiMary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.comBlogger131125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-67178050102970427222022-06-21T23:09:00.000-04:002022-06-21T23:09:14.964-04:00In Memory of…<p><i><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Here in the United States, we Americans
celebrate the memory of those heroes who have fallen in the line of duty on the
last Monday in May. In recent years, this has also been extended to include the
first responders who have fallen in the battle against Covid-19.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">About three weeks ago, on May 30, 2022, we,
the people living in the USA, celebrated Memorial Day, the day in which we
remember and honor those men and women who gave their lives to protect the
freedoms that should be a given for all men, women and children wherever they
live. In more recent years, this honor has also been extended to include the
first responders who have fallen in the battle against Covid-19. It is right,
because they <i>are</i> involved in the battle for our lives.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">But today I want to talk about another
war, one that shouldn’t exist, because it regards a subject that should be
governed by common sense. Then again, in my opinion, if people would use common
sense more commonly, there would be no wars, battles or skirmishes, nor would
there be a need for them. The war that I’m referring to is the war against gun
violence, gun violence caused by people who SHOULD NOT HAVE GUNS IN THE FIRST
PLACE. Let me be clear here: I’m not referring to organized crime; that is
another war all on its own.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">This year, the US has been beleaguered
by an increase in mass shootings. It’s ironic, because this year marks the
10-year anniversary of the school massacre at the Sandy Hook elementary school.
On December 14, 2012, a young man, who should never have had a gun in his
hands, shot and killed 20 children and six adults in the mass shooting. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">This year, in New York State itself, there
have been several mass shootings, most notably the one in Brooklyn, where 23
people were shot and injured — some seriously, none fatally — in a subway
station; the man, who has since been apprehended and indicted on domestic
terrorism charges, launched a smoke bomb and then started shooting blindly and the people trying to
escape.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Another mass shooting took place inside
a neighborhood grocery store in Buffalo, NY. In this shooting, another young
man shot and killed six people; his intention, racially motivated, was to kill
as many blacks as he possibly could. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Besides these two, there were nine other
mass shootings in the United States so far this year, and the year isn’t even
half over. All were horrible, some could have possibly been avoided, but the
one that wins, at least in my opinion, the dubious “honor” of being the very
worst, is the one that most resembles the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary:
the one at the Robb Elementary school in Uvalde, Texas. In this senseless, horrific
shooting, 19 fourth-graders and two teachers were gunned down by a teen. And
one has to ask, “Why did this happen?” and “How could it happen?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Before I continue, I wish to state that
I have nothing whatsoever against guns per se. As has been said by others, guns
are not free agents unto themselves; they need someone to operate them before
they can kill. However, I do believe that guns should be used with caution and
only by responsible adults, which means that there must needs be measures that
serve to help determine who can fulfill the requirements necessary for
responsibly using these instruments.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">As a responsible adult I, personally, do
not own a gun of any type. The reason for this is that I enjoy having two feet;
walking is much easier with two feet, and if I were to ever own a gun, I might
possibly be tempted to use it and would most certainly shoot off one of my own
feet instead of the intended target. Therefore, I do not own a gun, something
for which the rest of the world should be very grateful; I know my Dad’s
younger cousin Jimmy is… Sigh.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">So, one might ask, why am I writing this
article? I have already stated that I am not anti-guns. What I <i>AM</i>
against, however, is allowing guns to reach the hands of people who would use
those guns for the wrong reasons, and I’m not referring to the idea of, like in
my case, shooting off their own foot, although that is also a pretty good reason.
I intend to state a case in favor of stricter gun laws, in order to avoid as
many massacre situations as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Many citizens quote the second Amendment
of the United States Constitution where it states that “A well-regulated
Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the
people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed ” to support what they
believe to be their right to own and use guns. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I’m not disputing their Second Amendment
right. But I think we need to take into consideration the context and the
life-style of the people when the Bill of Rights was ratified in 1791. The
Country’s independence from England had been gained just a few years earlier, and
relations between the two nations were still a bit iffy at best. There were
still British loyalists who supported neither the new government nor its Constitution.
And there were other enemies, too.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">A great many of the new Country’s
citizens were farmers who lived outside of the protection of the towns. They
needed guns to be able to provide food for their families. Fresh meat wasn’t
readily available to anyone, because there were no grocery stores and no one
had refrigerators. Hunting was a necessity of life. Livestock, such as cattle,
horses, pigs, sheep, and poultry all had to be protected from vermin and thieves,
as did grains, fruit and vegetables. I can totally relate to the problem…
squirrels!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Hunting is still necessary in certain places,
also. My ex-husband was a hunter, but he was also a responsible gun owner. He
kept his gun locked up in a wall-safe, out of reach of my young daughter and
her cousins, and even I was unable to open the safe. He used it only for
hunting for food to eat, and only during legal hunting seasons. We had dogs to
keep the foxes out of the chicken coop. He also had a license to use that gun,
and it was also duly registered with the Carabinieri. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Another thing to keep in mind is that
the Second Amendment didn’t provide an unlimited permission to own a gun. Nor
did they have automatic, machineguns or submachineguns. I can see why they
might be necessary — or considered such — for military use. I can’t understand
why non-military personnel, or even military personnel not involved in a war,
might need these weapons of war, registered and licensed or not. It goes way
beyond my comprehension.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Guns are much too easily obtained in
this Country, and because of what I feel is a gross misinterpretation of the
Second Amendment, anyone can obtain a gun: even me. Fortunately for all of you,
I’ll never buy one! But I’m the exception to the rule, as we have seen from the
sad experience of so many massacres of innocents because the guns were so
easily obtained.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The right to not only own guns, but also
to carry them is provided for in the U.S. Constitution. However, the provision
is also subject to interpretation. I understand the desire of many to own a
gun. What I <b>DON’T </b>understand is why serious, responsible gun owners
refuse to even consider the idea of more realistic, UpToDate laws regulating
their purchase and use. Don’t they realize that those using guns improperly are
ruining the reputation of <b>ALL GUN OWNERS</b>?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">So what can we do, especially since we
are facing a truly serious problem? I’d like to offer a few suggestions that
will probably never be seen by our legislators, but it’s what I personally feel
could be of some help:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Background
checks. Some people might think this is too invasive of their privacy. But I’d
like to ask: Would you actually prefer preserving your privacy or saving lives?
I know which I’d prefer, and I’ve already admitted that I’m not a good
candidate for gun ownership. That’s pretty up close and personal. If you have
something to hide, then maybe you shouldn’t own a gun?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Training
on gun use and care. It seems logical to me that if you are going to use
something, you should also learn <b>HOW </b>to use it and, even more logical,
how to take care of it. Guns are not toys, despite what some people might
think, and to get the most out of one, you need to know how to use them
correctly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The
above point should be followed by a test ascertaining that the individual does
indeed know what he’s doing. There is nothing wrong with learning correct usage
and proving you know what you’re doing. It’s what happens in the military, and it’s
just as important for civilians. You wouldn’t want to shoot your foot off, would
you?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Getting
a license. After training, it’s also Important to have a license. It should be a
logical result. If you have a license or permit, you prove that you know what
you’re doing and that you have passed a background check. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The license should be comparable to a
driver’s license, with your photo, address, birthdate, and expiration date. It’s
true, cars are not provided for in the Bill of Rights, probably because cars
didn’t exist in 1791; sincerely, they’re even more necessary in today’s world
than guns. And no, I don’t drive a car, either.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Last,
<b>ALL </b>guns should be registered. Now, I’m not a techie, but I’m pretty
sure that there is a way to make sure that all guns made with 3-D printers are
registered. If the owners of all guns are known and registered with the proper
authorities, I’m pretty sure owners would keep a closer eye on their property.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Folks, I don’t want to curtail your
enjoyment of your lawful rights and property, but don’t you think maybe we all
have a duty to protect, as stated in the Declaration of Independence, the right
of everyone to “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness”? And the first of
all is Life.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I wanted to do something in the
aftermath of the massacre at the Robb Elementary School of Uvalde, Texas, and after
listening to Mr. Matthew McConahey’s impassioned plea, I decided to do what I
do best: write. And I wanted to write something useful.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">So please, let us remember Irma Garcia
and Eva Mireles, from Uvalde, Texas and Victoria Soto, Lauren Rousseau, Dawn
Hochsprung, Mary Sherlach, Rachel Davino, Anne Marie Murphy from Sandy Hook
Elementary in Connecticut. Although dying on the job was not part of the job
description for these eight women, they each lay their life on the line in
hopes of saving the children in their care. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Please, let us not forget their
sacrifice, and let us work constructively together to find a way to make sure
that guns do not make their way into the wrong hands ever again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">Copyright
© June 21, 2022. Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.</span> </p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-61627537949860607832022-02-05T21:39:00.002-05:002022-02-05T21:39:51.958-05:00Spring Break: Destination California<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">California State has an area of 163,696 sq. miles, with 3,427
total miles of coast, making it the third largest State in the country. And,
most impressive of all is that California has something for everyone: rushing
rivers, crashing waves, sandy beaches, majestic mountains, towering trees, “desolate”
deserts, haunted ghost towns, unique wildlife, big cities, small towns, fertile
fields, idyllic mountain glens, and placid lakes. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You can find restaurants, hotels, amusement parks, quiet parks,
museums, fishing, skiing, water skiing, hiking, sunbathing, biking, swimming,
boating and cruising. You can find all this, and much, much more in California<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1) </span></b><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yosemite National Park</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Located in Mariposa County, in the Sierra Madre Mountain range,
Yosemite presents a look into true natural beauty. Pristine views of lakes, snow-capped
mountains and peaceful valleys are enough to take your breath away and have you
wishing you never had to leave. Towering Sequoias, considered the oldest trees
in the world, stand out against clear blue skies. Thundering waterfalls,
babbling streams, whispering leaves, chattering squirrels and beautiful birdsong
all blend to create a symphony that not even Respighi could duplicate. All this
add up to a true paradise. Bring along your camera, you’ll need it.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2)</span><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></b><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Coloma</span></span></b><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #4f4f4f;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Coloma is an extremely small town located in the Eldorado Hills,
about 46.5 mi from Sacramento. It is most famous for being the town where
Sutter’s Mill is located. Sutter’s mill is where James W. Marshall first
discovered gold, giving rise to the California gold rush in 1848. A restructured
Mill, in the original design, now stands in the same spot. And there is still “gold
in them thar hills” and panning for gold is still a favorite pastime. You can
also search for meteorite fragments from the 2012 Sutter’s Mill meteorite.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3) </span></b><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Calico Ghost Town</span></b><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Located in the Calico Mountains, in the Mojave Desert region,
lies an interesting ghost town named Calico. At one time, Calico was famous for
its silver mine, and was considered to hold some of the best silver veins in
the country. When the veins petered out, the mine was closed, and the town built
up around it was abandoned. As with many abandoned towns of the Old West,
Calico became a ghost town; several paranormal manifestations have been reported
in both the town and mine. There is a mine tour and museum, and mining
artifacts can still be found near the abandoned graveyard.</span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4) </span></b><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Buena Park/Anaheim</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p><span style="color: #4f4f4f;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In northern Orange County there are two fine cites sitting in
each other’s lap: Buena Park and Anaheim. Here, you can find sports events, theme
parks, fine dining, theatre events, great hotels, and plenty of museums. “Believe
it or not”, even Ripley’s is there. Just 30-minutes further north, you can find
yourself surrounded by prehistoric natural history at the La Brea Tar Pits, where
incredibly preserved artifacts can still be found.</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5) </span></b><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Irvine</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Unlike the relationship of most universities and cities of the
same name, the city of Irvine did not come before the University. It was built
up around the university on land belonging to the Irvine company. Since then,
it has grown in magnitude, taking over a large part of what was once Santa Ana
Heights, an unincorporated area.</span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Among the many things that can be enjoyed in Irvine are the San
Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary, the Lyon’s Air Museum at the John Wayne Airport,
the Five Point Amphitheater, various other parks and ecological sites, and much
more.</span><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">6) </span></b><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Newport beach</span></b><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Whether you’re interested in simply relaxing in the sun,
swimming, body surfing or board surfing, walking along the shoreline, observing
small marine life in tide pools, deep sea fishing, or playing Beach Volleyball,
Newport Beach is the area for you. From the beaches and tide pools of Corona
del Mar to the wide-open beaches of the Balboa Peninsula, you’ll find yourself
in a Newport frame-of-mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">7) </span></b><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Big Bear</span></b><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Big Bear City is located near Big Bear Lake in the San
Bernardino Mountains. At only 87 miles from Newport Beach, it is located at
6,759 feet above sea level. The lake has just recently relaxed Covid
regulations and is waiting happily to share its nature hikes, picnic grounds,
camping areas and cabins with the lucky folks who choose to spend time in this
mountain paradise.</span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">8) </span></b><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Catalina Island</span></b><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Catalina Island lies twenty miles off the California coast, in
the Pacific Ocean. In the waters surrounding this island are found some unique
forms of marine-life, including the Garibaldi fish, which didn’t get its name
because Giuseppe Garibaldi discovered it (he didn’t). There are several ways to
discover why the fish has this name, and if you’re not into scuba diving or snorkeling,
there are always the glass-bottom boat tours for which Catalina Island is
famous. Add in the palm trees swaying in the gentle breezes and the white sand
beaches, and you’ll think you are in paradise.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">9) </span></b><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Mojave Desert</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">As
with most of California’s ecosystems, the Mojave Desert is unique. It includes
one of the hottest places in the world (Death Valley), but it also has a number
of plants and animals unique to the
Mojave. It has a more temperate atmosphere than most deserts, although it is
still, nonetheless, very hot during the day and chilly at night. Although taking
a warm jacket with you to the desert might sound strange, yet it is smart to
have one at hand. The Mojave Desert is also known as the Mojave National Preserve.</span></p><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Open Sans",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #4f4f4f; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">10) </span></b><b><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">San Diego<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-outline-level: 2;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">San Diego has
some of the most interesting theme parks in the State, and even in the entire
country. Where else can you go on an African Safari one day, coming into close contact
with elephants, rhinos and other animals close to extinction, and then go shake
fins with orcas, dolphins and sea lions, walk through an aquarium and meet face
to with a shark (and not swim for your life) the next? These surprises, and more,
will captivate your heart in San Diego.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This article was written with another scope in mind, but because of a series of mishaps, the article was unable to be placed in the intended venue. It seemed a pity to waste all those hours of work, so I hope whoever reads it will enjoy it and maybe take their Spring Break somewhere in California, hopefully in one of these 10 destinations.</span></p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-44105946234998947272021-04-19T00:01:00.021-04:002021-04-19T00:01:00.248-04:00AtoZ of Animals I have met: ‘P’ is for Pantero #AtoZBloggingChallenge#<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQRwvDe2dg56CxtlKTRmD02dKOatGOv3rIjnYhfmbzOseALxLrZBsqKGKUw7o3euViItOp0JJPWSKnz6Sz-Cz3RRYuOvzGkshA03KvvTX46v3J68slfTtc0H4oEnIRPwfYollF4YcQG0/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmQRwvDe2dg56CxtlKTRmD02dKOatGOv3rIjnYhfmbzOseALxLrZBsqKGKUw7o3euViItOp0JJPWSKnz6Sz-Cz3RRYuOvzGkshA03KvvTX46v3J68slfTtc0H4oEnIRPwfYollF4YcQG0/w200-h200/PP.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">And here is the last of
the endless black cats in this series of blogs. Don’t tell Missy Prissy, but
Pantero was my favorite black cat. I know, I know; moms aren’t supposed to have
favorites, but Pantero really was. He was a very good cat and despite the way
some people whose names shall not be mentioned treated him, he behaved himself and
was everything anyone could desire in a cat.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He was born in a barn,
but I can’t remember if he was brought to us by the barn’s owner or if Nino
brought him home, but he was still a very young kitten. His eyes were already
open and he had been weaned, and he also easily took to the litter box;
however, he preferred letting us know when he needed to go out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">From the tiny little
thing he was when he arrived at our house, he grew to be a more than decent
sized cat. In his prime, I would say he weighed close to 20 pounds, which is
why his name went from <i>Panterino </i>(little male panther) to <i>Pantero</i>
(male panther).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Despite this, he tended
to be reserved and a pacifist with humans, although he had his moments when people
(names again withheld) tended to be aggressive toward him. Then, he would put
his teeth and claws to work. The thing he particularly hated was when someone
would pull his whiskers and jowls. Those were the only times I would hear him
hiss, if that is what you can classify the sound that comes when someone is
pulling your cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsExZdPAm3zlpplEzDfp1k8hplPxYPqmC0I4iDGdt4uilaJV0BNQWCBZXWeRAZ0ajtCyKnUzOyIxGwiBsyrnjoktX1A7rgnNkNWoM5XAy87NIc9oH1MYJwDx9VrTkhJ6E1xc1JKJZ4WT4/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="149" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsExZdPAm3zlpplEzDfp1k8hplPxYPqmC0I4iDGdt4uilaJV0BNQWCBZXWeRAZ0ajtCyKnUzOyIxGwiBsyrnjoktX1A7rgnNkNWoM5XAy87NIc9oH1MYJwDx9VrTkhJ6E1xc1JKJZ4WT4/w138-h152/Pantero+%2528sort+of%2529.jpg" width="138" /></a></div>Pantero is another of
those four-footed babies of mine that I could write an entire book about, <br />but
space here is limited (sort-of) and so I’ll limit myself to one of his
adventures (not completely happy, but it did have a happy ending) and two
interesting habits. I’ll start with the habits:<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We had some very nice
chestnut two-by-fours on the stairs leading up to the bedroom. There was no
need for a bannister, because the slats went from slightly below the step to
the ceiling. I’m thinking some cats need a sort of observation deck, so they
can keep an eye on their humans. We talked about Missy Prissy’s reasoning, but
Pantero used his vantage point as a pillow. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Yes, a pillow. He would
sit up there to make sure everything was all right, and then… then he would fall
sleep, his head leaning against the boards. He would still be sitting straight
up, but the board kept him from falling off the stairs. I never actually
thought about it because it became commonplace. And then my Mom came to visit
us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She caught the quirk
the second day after she and my step-father came, and burst out laughing. Pantero
opened his eyes quizzically and then fell back to sleep. I still have to
chuckle whenever I think about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLi1YXIjp62JWBMi0_8tEC9__TOFeNlsxt-Qh4FCKYdmbn3r5bey6bREzsYkvsp-FxT_PtWKmlYALOe6IwVTWYPXL4aEiNx2ty0Dv2nlrcPg6fQ-JNjUtnAyOISVyPbx7bdDbjPQwDSGs/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="830" data-original-width="1280" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLi1YXIjp62JWBMi0_8tEC9__TOFeNlsxt-Qh4FCKYdmbn3r5bey6bREzsYkvsp-FxT_PtWKmlYALOe6IwVTWYPXL4aEiNx2ty0Dv2nlrcPg6fQ-JNjUtnAyOISVyPbx7bdDbjPQwDSGs/w200-h130/potato-chips-448737_1280.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>One other good thing
about him was that he ate whatever you gave him. He liked bread every bit as
much as he liked meat. And he liked barbecue potato chips. For him, they were
the best, and his ears perked up the moment he heard the rustling of the bag. I
know, they were bad for him and I didn’t give him more than two or three, but
we all have our weaknesses, and his were barbecue potato chips.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Pantero was an
excellent hunter, and this trait almost led to his demise. I had gone to
Switzerland for a week, and the day after I left he caught a mouse that had
been, unfortunately, poisoned. He made it home, but barely. Nino and my
daughter saw how weak and sick he was and immediately took him to the vet. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The vet was able to get
his stomach cleaned out and gave him some medicines to buck him up, but it was
touch and go there for several days, until the day I started back home. His
listlessness disappeared and he even started eating again. He went outside the
day I got home and came running down our little street to welcome me home.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Is there any doubt as
to why he’s my favorite of the endless black cats?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright
© 19 April 18, 2021. Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-7554146345097831442021-04-17T23:51:00.001-04:002021-04-19T01:19:20.849-04:00AtoZ of Animals I Have Met: ‘O’ is for Opossums #AtoZBloggingChallenge#<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1cZGKGEARO9GyPkcMwoYR5F3sPbmnY2wVkxjf-8RPZRrUFhexBuKilR9gzBebPw8r1aE97FXrHVLJkYhLPovkSBJpX7ei-XD0K9gulcd703nBHwh6wRhikY1MXKtXYuUlPYFECE5jul8/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1cZGKGEARO9GyPkcMwoYR5F3sPbmnY2wVkxjf-8RPZRrUFhexBuKilR9gzBebPw8r1aE97FXrHVLJkYhLPovkSBJpX7ei-XD0K9gulcd703nBHwh6wRhikY1MXKtXYuUlPYFECE5jul8/w200-h200/OO.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Although I live in Brooklyn,
New York, the area I live in is a lovely mixture of big city and rural area. I
have often called my backyard a forest because of all the trees growing in the
neighborhood. In fact, during the summer my backyard truly seems to be nothing
less than a small woods area. You never really have to worry about people
spying on you, because they’d need x-ray vision to see through the trees.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">There is also an
abundance of wildlife—besides the loud, chaotic, extremely annoying parties,
which are, thankfully, a thing of the past and future—which includes a few
feral cats; at least 16 types of birds (thanks to a nearby bird sanctuary)
including cardinals, a red hawk family (watching them court was amazing),
chickadees, blue jays (very annoying), a woodpecker (Woodie wasn’t joking: they
really do laugh!), and others and an unknown quantity of squirrels.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">And then, there are two
more animals, both of which tend to be a little shy. That’s fine, I don’t need
to be on a first name basis with the raccoons (there is one that is enormous
and a little bit scary; it’s pretty old, I think, and it’s been through the
mill a few times, which is probably how it lost its tail) and there are the opossums.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I like the opossums,
probably because the ones that come are usually pretty young. I think their
moms bring them and then leave. The poor babies are so ugly they’re cute and
they win over my heart every single time. Actually, I haven’t seen an opossum
for a couple of years. In fact, the last time I did, I even took a picture of
him. For some reason, Opossums look like their name should be Gertrude or Joseph,
or at least in my opinion.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I’d like to share the
story that I wrote on Facebook that accompanied the photo of Joseph:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Segoe UI Historic",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #050505; font-size: 11.5pt;"> “</span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #050505; font-size: 12pt;">Last night I was sitting in the kitchen when I
heard this shriek and I thought one of the cats had caught a bird (it was
definitely not a mouse--too loud and low-pitched). I didn't think anything else
about it until I heard this giant bag of leaves I have on my porch, rustling. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2CCBZB5lOtti7vAYAMmuWJd4N9wQoaav7N4aE4rMg3QiQ29rlnRR1FUsWIAYvt3mRrhbaXxNr7GWKJ8UE-BeKcUfW17L37PrZN_m1rEC5TT3KcRyg5bbhAjUhajS5oMwAolaoeuJq3I/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1449" data-original-width="1932" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2CCBZB5lOtti7vAYAMmuWJd4N9wQoaav7N4aE4rMg3QiQ29rlnRR1FUsWIAYvt3mRrhbaXxNr7GWKJ8UE-BeKcUfW17L37PrZN_m1rEC5TT3KcRyg5bbhAjUhajS5oMwAolaoeuJq3I/w200-h150/Joseph+the+Opossum.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #050505; font-size: 12pt;">Since I’d heard it the night before, I knew who it was:
Joseph, the opossum. Since I'm smart (sometimes) I connected the dots and
figured Joseph might be in trouble, so I went out to look. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #050505; font-size: 12pt;">The poor little guy, whose name should probably be changed to
Snoopy, had gotten his tail all tangled up in the bag. He knows me &
usually isn't afraid, but this time, when I grabbed the bag to help him, he
pulled until he got free and then took off. Of course, opossums don't take off
very quickly, but still...</span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="color: #050505; font-size: 12pt;"><br style="animation-name: none; transition-property: none;" />
<span style="background: white;">See, this is one of the reasons we should NEVER
leave plastic bags out in nature: nature is curious and tries to check things
out, and very often gets into trouble. Snoopy Joseph was lucky that I was there
and could help him. Most aren't that lucky. The photo is a slightly younger
Joseph.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">A funny thing happened
about six months later. First, though, I have to mention that Missy Prissy
tends to climb up my window screens to let me know she’d like to come in. That
being said, one night a terrible racket on the porch caused me to jerk awake
and bang my head on the ceiling about 10 feet or so above my bed. I looked over
whence came the noise and saw this big form splatted on the screen on my
bedroom window.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">My first thought was “What
the heck is that?” and then, I started to laugh: it was Joseph. The only reason
that I could think of that might explain his being on the screen was that he
had seen Missy Prissy climbing the screens and she got to come in. I guess he
figured that if it worked for her, why shouldn’t it work for him. He tried all
three screens and, as I think about it now, that may have been the last time I
saw him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">Anyway, now that you
know what the wildlife of Brooklyn, New York is really about, maybe you’ll have
a different perspective about this crazy, wildlife city. I sure do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 107%;">Copyright
© 17 April 17, 2021. Mary E. Purpari.
All Rights reserved</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> <br /></span> </p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-2869159004683448832021-04-15T15:16:00.002-04:002021-04-15T15:16:45.792-04:00AtoZ of Animals I Have Met: 'L' is for Little Lambs Eat Ivy <p> <span style="font-size: large;">This Article Is Temporarily Unavailable</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p></p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-12319003635801752682021-04-15T15:07:00.000-04:002021-04-15T15:07:01.015-04:00AtoZ of Animals I Have Met: 'K' is for Kids—the Four-legged kind #AtoZBloggingChallenge#<p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitBcKblDe4NKe9ePFbYY5V9pVyHHFMN51CgIXxbJqHAkkfUHPotS3EuWosCdz9FUj_R4_0uMMMCX77Wfc8ivukkNkRYXpr9HQLiWzdpU_9rrPHWFY9rKvpcq5eaUjLFsV2Tf3nDdVDEbM/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitBcKblDe4NKe9ePFbYY5V9pVyHHFMN51CgIXxbJqHAkkfUHPotS3EuWosCdz9FUj_R4_0uMMMCX77Wfc8ivukkNkRYXpr9HQLiWzdpU_9rrPHWFY9rKvpcq5eaUjLFsV2Tf3nDdVDEbM/w200-h200/KK.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">This Article Is Temporarily Unavailable</span><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-59213485159809651982021-04-15T14:58:00.002-04:002021-04-15T15:11:52.796-04:00AtoZ of Animals I have met: “G” is for Good Morning Missy Prissy Pretty Kitty #AtoZBloggingChallenge# <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-GK3LBRjVeQ9CVl_e1mZJECixheV7Y4qFxYtAuds2tqZpOXJiR6As_P5K1zu2hUcM4zYYSaRhTELTG6hkxx7N-13dfxdT4M0LBvMqSX_URrq_EXTI8F3eoglLJb8KDShnBDb4kyazic/" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; font-size: x-large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">This Article is Temporarily Unavailable</a></div><p></p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-66523685001769594622021-04-15T14:49:00.001-04:002021-04-15T14:50:29.916-04:00AtoZ of Animals I have met: “F” is for Freccia #AtoZBloggingChallenge# <p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRcR8UStVMXl_TFvrBKUs0WhN5JnA7fVrcDU4WBNLwgSuod39sDiFequXzeGAMIusF0gnnYWXjnAGSsVPQuYy_FRJ3SkKNvQgJiGTkKQ6WdrMeHDJLUA4IuVfA8dojmFpZbeiHKtPYx4A/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRcR8UStVMXl_TFvrBKUs0WhN5JnA7fVrcDU4WBNLwgSuod39sDiFequXzeGAMIusF0gnnYWXjnAGSsVPQuYy_FRJ3SkKNvQgJiGTkKQ6WdrMeHDJLUA4IuVfA8dojmFpZbeiHKtPYx4A/w200-h200/FF.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">This Article Is Temporarily Unavailable </span><p></p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-20010653839941335122021-04-11T23:11:00.004-04:002021-04-11T23:11:54.794-04:00AtoZ of Animals I have met: “‘I’ is for Imp of the Devil” #AtoZBloggingChallenge#<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaPGIIvyuyB9iJnM_Khyphenhyphen3Yb-PRooKIoLZ9FLCoJbqY10BRD6lZT6WQR8eOqXiHa6hbtgFM0HAVMdiE_Jp8fKZuGlym0OO4fmqGClaa7dAZaj_aWAysH5Qf2HdRTiMkOQ4Z57f67yleqk/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaPGIIvyuyB9iJnM_Khyphenhyphen3Yb-PRooKIoLZ9FLCoJbqY10BRD6lZT6WQR8eOqXiHa6hbtgFM0HAVMdiE_Jp8fKZuGlym0OO4fmqGClaa7dAZaj_aWAysH5Qf2HdRTiMkOQ4Z57f67yleqk/w200-h200/II.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>When I was a fairly little girl, my
maternal Grandfather (Gramps) bought my maternal Grandmother (Grammy) a silver
toy poodle. I spent so many weekends with them that Beau Maurice became one of
my best friends ever. And you’re probably wondering what a silver toy poodle
named Beau Maurice (where did she get that name? She was English) has to do
with an imp of the Devil.<p></p><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">It’s a good question. I would also like
to know the answer to that one, to tell the truth. He was the sweetest little guy;
I just loved him to death. He did tend to leave to his toys all over the house in
the most unexpected places. And his howls were almost as shrill as the sirens
of the firetrucks that he howled with as they screamed past my Grandparents’
house. Or maybe it was because he would jump onto the back of the sofa under
the window so he could hear them better and be more in tune with <br />his howls.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">I don’t know. I really don’t. All I know
is, that that is what she called him. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">Something else I know is that when we would
call Grammy, she would say, “Where’s Mickie?” and he would run and jump onto
the back of the couch, with his whole back half wagging (I knew, because I’d
seen him doing it before.) Then she would tell him, “She’s on the phone” and he
would come and lick the phone. And when I said, “Hi Beau, I love you”, he would
give soft little yips in reply.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzruFjWtZzz62v0E4yljgVzmdvEo6RUQ6XR6zfqoRAk_gF19VQHMHI902l-8FrYggjN6CpusY-IIY0ucgfTsiFTg3J556TRqgymLrs4G5192oYX3L0S8R2qFELeXvo03Ndv6xlmBpGGs/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzruFjWtZzz62v0E4yljgVzmdvEo6RUQ6XR6zfqoRAk_gF19VQHMHI902l-8FrYggjN6CpusY-IIY0ucgfTsiFTg3J556TRqgymLrs4G5192oYX3L0S8R2qFELeXvo03Ndv6xlmBpGGs/w150-h200/Silver+Toy+Poodle.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">And when I stayed at their house, he
always knew I was coming, because he would be sitting in that usual spot
watching for the car to arrive, and then he would come greet me at the door
with a flurry of yips and jumps that any gymnast would envy. Yep, he was my
best friend.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">He lived to a very old age and was Grammy’s
companion for several years after Gramps died. She obtained another that looked
almost just like him, but it was never quite the same and when the second died,
she never got another. There was only one Beau Maurice, the little Imp of the devil,
and I’m so glad I got to be his friend.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">The silver toy poodle here on the right
has the same caring look Beau had, but he was immaculately groomed, at least
once a month.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 8pt; line-height: 115%;">Copyright
© 11 April 2021. Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-50978118571516064022021-04-10T23:55:00.002-04:002021-04-10T23:55:45.858-04:00AtoZ of Animals I Have Met: “’J’ Is for Jaws” #AtoZBloggingChallenge#<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvLRWto76IOXAT2Dx_VvPXD0qYDBVrkh0zt2Liy9kyIEgE25f3rb80Zyt4A1mZQ5mwaStx5pf7atVyLEmI8AXtUySUBojtavnTDe-vMMxMcK-5xB-4Tfsfehtqa_5Q3pu08A1mFzpEwyo/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvLRWto76IOXAT2Dx_VvPXD0qYDBVrkh0zt2Liy9kyIEgE25f3rb80Zyt4A1mZQ5mwaStx5pf7atVyLEmI8AXtUySUBojtavnTDe-vMMxMcK-5xB-4Tfsfehtqa_5Q3pu08A1mFzpEwyo/w200-h200/JJ.jpg" width="200" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Originally I had intended writing this
under the letter ‘S’ is for Squalo (Shark), which is the name of the movie “Jaws”
in Italy. I have two stories of unusual encounters with something that fits the
name “Jaws”.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Nino was a fisherman and hunter, and one
day he went fishing with another friend. Nino knew that I don’t particularly
like fish, and especially not freshwater fish, and he usually gave them to his
friend. One of the main types of fish they caught was carp, and one day he
brought home a live fish that had a very distinctive <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>coloring: he was a bright orange, and how
could anyone eat a goldfish?!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">One day as I was feeding him, I noticed
the interesting way he went for his food: he would</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiut1qRzoACzCHClmbZBlNZGuHhjjOSrSoTNve7t8a0GDH0xMCebjWf4F-M9K3bCn4hZWnd3GB68GEGTtduORWM1fYkwz_TdA7Q-ELUJDo4DHz2pUOWhVnbyWWFEeZaMwsuEH2kziHPi6E/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="900" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiut1qRzoACzCHClmbZBlNZGuHhjjOSrSoTNve7t8a0GDH0xMCebjWf4F-M9K3bCn4hZWnd3GB68GEGTtduORWM1fYkwz_TdA7Q-ELUJDo4DHz2pUOWhVnbyWWFEeZaMwsuEH2kziHPi6E/w218-h143/goldfish+going+for+food.jpg" width="218" /></a></div><br /> circle around the bottom of
his bowl, stop in dead center and then swim straight up with his mouth wide open
and grab as much food as he could. He did this several times until there was
nothing left in the bowl. I watched in horrified fascination and decided then
and there to name him Squalo, after the shark in “Jaws”.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">He actually stayed with us for several
years and was a never-ending source of hilarity. Then, we moved to Sicily, and
we went by train. Our daughter was only two months old and so we could only
take a couple of suitcases with clothing and our daughter. Some of our friends
asked if they could have him, because they got that same source of hilarity. It
was good to know it wasn’t just me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The second story is about my up-close, in-my-face
encounter with a shark – a real one this time. A group of teenagers and our
adult supervisors went down to Loma Linda, near San Miguel in Baja California;
we had a sister church there and we often went down to help them with various
works. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I loved going down for several reasons,
and they were usually happy to see me, too, because I spoke pretty good Spanish
and I think I was actually the only one in our group who spoke Spanish. And the
only one of our Mexican friends who spoke any English was their Pastor. And so,
I acted as official interpreter. It was fun. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">And so one time that we went down in the
summer, we all took our bathing suits with us, along with sleeping bags because
our leaders had decided, since it was summer and the temperatures were fairly mild,
we could camp out on the beach at San Miguel on the way home, and since the water
was also fairly warm, we went swimming. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxk8IZJt-PlZeSxSUCJ8ElmhwNVidBcVlnUkEKyAIawW1ZW92WxkEf81ky-donG2NZRw3H2c3qOpijHmMP3s09OsWtqbh4xW1Hn5MOxyAwuRQkN7wYKHizvll-DwJqXHUj3_5FWOnsaIQ/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="650" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxk8IZJt-PlZeSxSUCJ8ElmhwNVidBcVlnUkEKyAIawW1ZW92WxkEf81ky-donG2NZRw3H2c3qOpijHmMP3s09OsWtqbh4xW1Hn5MOxyAwuRQkN7wYKHizvll-DwJqXHUj3_5FWOnsaIQ/w320-h209/Blue-Shark-1-650x425.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />I am a more than decent swimmer – I was
swimming before I could walk and I was born on a Naval vessel; I considered
myself a mermaid (one can dream, no?). The waves were amazing for bodysurfing,
and that’s what I was doing. The others tired of it, but I just kept riding the
waves. That is, until I heard the others calling me and pointing at something
on my left. I turned in time to see a fin speeding toward me: not a dolphin
fin, which is common enough, but another, more sinister type of fin. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">There were no waves in sight; well, yes,
there was, but it was nowhere near enough, So, I put on my superpowered feet
and Aquagirl speed, and swam faster than I had ever swum before. I’m pretty
sure I could have out swum Mark Spitz and broken all speed records, and Mr. Jaws
never had a chance.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I don’t know if he was a local denizen
or not, but I decided I was never going to swim in San Miguel Beach ever again.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Copyright
© 10 April 10, 2021. Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved </span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-31573857611007887732021-04-10T01:01:00.000-04:002021-04-10T01:01:04.181-04:00AtoZ of Animals I have met: “H” is for Hairy and Mercurio #AtoZBloggingChallenge# <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilN0ijxq18KcRTtP9Eal0A_S5q7GW2N784jjUu5P8ZO2JbdQIaONyr9IBdAXv3Kk6Ndv85Ss9AwazDthSsPZ_cZXz5yvg78zCLfgIamc2k9qRx9ZElC6G2bGiIYYf48uhrUwoVjJL4jr0/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilN0ijxq18KcRTtP9Eal0A_S5q7GW2N784jjUu5P8ZO2JbdQIaONyr9IBdAXv3Kk6Ndv85Ss9AwazDthSsPZ_cZXz5yvg78zCLfgIamc2k9qRx9ZElC6G2bGiIYYf48uhrUwoVjJL4jr0/w200-h200/HH.jpg" width="200" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">When
I decided to name the baby buzzard that Nino brought home for me to mother
(have I mentioned that there is a sort of affinity between birds and me?)
Hairy, they all thought it was for Harry Potter, because of my obvious liking
of the magical boy; I had to tell them that I was thinking of the word “Hairy”
because he still had a lot of his down, which hung like strands of hair.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Okay,
I have an affinity with birds, as many can tell you, but man! I had never
played the part of a mother buzzard before. All I can say is that it’s a good
thing I’ve seen a documentary or three on rapacious birds, so I knew that the
mother bird ate the food and then shared it with her babies.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">And
no, there is no way in this world that you can get me to chew up raw meat. That’s
why they invented knives: to mince chicken livers so you can feed baby buzzards;
that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Also because it’s true. So, I whipped
out my handy dandy knife and minced my chicken livers and started my life as a
buzzard mom. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Nino
wasn’t really certain where Hairy had come from, but since a couple of days
later my daughter’s boyfriend brought me another, which he named Mercurio, and which
he had found in the same place Nino had found Hairy (the restaurant where Nino
was the Chef) we surmised that they had probably both fallen from the same
nest. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The
common belief that buzzards and vultures look alike is a terrible
misconception, although I will admit that I could wholeheartedly believe it at
the time, covered from head to ankles with a mixture of pinfeathers and down,
as they were. No, buzzards are beautiful birds, and are also a protected
species in Italy – as well as in the US, I have just discovered – so what we
were doing was also illegal; there is, however, no way I can turn away a baby
of any type that needs my help.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I
did my very best to be a good mom for those two bird waifs. And for once, Nino
also did his part. He brought a big cage home where they could stay unharmed
(we had a dog and a cat at the same period). They knew us; whenever they saw
Nino or I they started to trill. They also graduated from chopped chicken
livers to whole rabbit livers and moved from inside all day long to being outside
during the day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibLw-1DkDYQmclyyYVA5N68DBNeY03lA67aM7o7ACYbM2vtj1PfYZz5wF-2kPkusePv6qj2uv5F4Yc4lqxIkx7gdP4qhes8KzUVyXrSaoiRfIISJMKZk08xryYPlv9ItQiP1FUfs8MXEQ/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="410" data-original-width="615" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibLw-1DkDYQmclyyYVA5N68DBNeY03lA67aM7o7ACYbM2vtj1PfYZz5wF-2kPkusePv6qj2uv5F4Yc4lqxIkx7gdP4qhes8KzUVyXrSaoiRfIISJMKZk08xryYPlv9ItQiP1FUfs8MXEQ/w200-h133/Common-Buzzard.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Their
feathers grew in and suddenly they looked just like the bird here to the
right, and we knew it was time to teach them two more things: they had to learn
how to catch their own food and last, but not last in order of importance, how
to fly.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The
first wasn’t terribly difficult: we would toss the liver in the air and they
would jump up and catch it. The second was a little more difficult, and a bit
stranger. They had learned how to imitate, so Nino would run, flapping his arms and
I would nudge them off my arms and they’d flap their wings and fall beak first into
the soil. Oops! We’d try this several times and then let them rest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">And
then, the long-dreaded day came; they took to the air without doing a
beak-break dance, circled, trilled and flew off. I was heart-broken, but then,
what mother isn’t when her fledglings take off on their own.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Epilogue</span></b><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">A
couple of years later, Nino was out with one of his friends, herding the friend’s
sheep. The sheep were grazing, and Nino and Gino were stretched out on their
backs in the lush green summer grass. Suddenly, they heard a trilling sound;
looking up, they saw that a bird was circling above them. It took a lazy
downward spiral until the buzzard landed next to them on the grass. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">It
stayed with them for a couple of minutes of minutes, trilling the whole time. And
then, as slowly and lazily as it descended, it spiraled up again, circled
twice, and left.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Coincidence?
Nino didn’t think so, and neither do I. My only question is: Was it Hairy or
was it Mercurio?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Copyright © 09 April 2021.
Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-75863450303662059262021-04-07T23:51:00.008-04:002021-04-08T14:39:20.648-04:00 AtoZ of Animals I Have Met: “E” Is for Endless Black Cats#AtoZBloggingChallenge#<p><span face="Arial, sans-serif"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuxLMoDwIVYU-Yhm5OVX13vDzMMY4p-veqYhjDXEtYtUKe-GrJ-BCNi7Cwk48psGzsDynV1wnKUuiWNNHYyUjD79z0uHXyXsmyDPc3UdQp2loe_uS0CN31zDY6Hy4Ls1Pd2vrrD-fPAog/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuxLMoDwIVYU-Yhm5OVX13vDzMMY4p-veqYhjDXEtYtUKe-GrJ-BCNi7Cwk48psGzsDynV1wnKUuiWNNHYyUjD79z0uHXyXsmyDPc3UdQp2loe_uS0CN31zDY6Hy4Ls1Pd2vrrD-fPAog/w200-h200/EE.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span face="Arial, sans-serif">It seems that from the time I moved to
Italy and got married, that I had nothing less than an endless stream of black
cats. I’ve always loved cats as much as dogs, and usually gave space to both of
my loves, but this is a different sort of endless black cats. It’s one of the
tales I could tell about my first Italian cat, Panterina (Little Panther).</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">Panterina (or Rina Bina, as I usually called<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>her) was a feisty little character and was
curious about EVERYTHING. One day she was curious about what would happen if
she were to sneak up on me and insert her claws in my rear end while I was
studying on my bed. I believe that was her first (and only) flying lesson. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">She did a fine job of it, too, flying 10
feet and landing on her feet, as cats are wont to do. She had her question
answered… And she never tried it again, so I guess she learned the lesson well.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">She was also interested in learning how
to knit. Ah, she loved those knitting needles immensely; she always tried
taking them out of my hands. I will admit that she made it rather difficult for
me to knit with her hanging on the needles while trying to add new stitches.
One thing could be said about living with Rina Bina: life was <i>never</i>
boring.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">When she reached a certain age, Nino
decided she should have kittens. He thought totally black kittens would be nice
and he knew just where to take her: there was a place with a seemingly endless
number of black cats. He’d been living in that neighborhood far longer than I
had; I just took his word for it. I wasn’t convinced it was the best idea he’d
ever had, but I gathered her up and we walked to the black cat street, as we
ended up calling it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_aQ8UHzcSGefq4vM3Ob8-LLzX2rB-2vE7wwOiUFhCchtL1dtJAQuKOSP0OcAnlMz_IMsr5sDKJSat4wckjqcVGD404U3n6oUIJEJw5V3M_0kXjll2OIWKotmp9qXioiHb5dEctWK57j4/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="319" data-original-width="426" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_aQ8UHzcSGefq4vM3Ob8-LLzX2rB-2vE7wwOiUFhCchtL1dtJAQuKOSP0OcAnlMz_IMsr5sDKJSat4wckjqcVGD404U3n6oUIJEJw5V3M_0kXjll2OIWKotmp9qXioiHb5dEctWK57j4/w200-h150/Endless+Black+cats.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">I had never seen anything like it before.
The picture to the right might give a general idea if we multiply it by 50, but
even that might not reach the mark. There were black cats <i>everywhere</i>: on
stairs, on abandoned cars, on fences, in doorways, on the roofs of the houses,
sitting in trees, under trees, in the shade, in the sun and clinging to torn screens shielding broken windows. There were black cats
everywhere imaginable. </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">With some misgivings, I let the
miniature panther go join all the other cats; immediately, some of the pushier
cats came forward. From their attitude of studied nonchalance, I knew they were
males. There were others who studiously ignored her, which I assumed were
females. They might have been males who thought she was below their level of
expectations, though.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">We decided to let her stay over night
and then go get her the following afternoon, figuring that 24 hours in that
group would be more than sufficient. Arriving there, however, we ran into a
snag that I thought might present itself. Which of all those cats was my Rina
Bina? They all looked exactly alike, and when we called her name, she
nonchalantly ignored us, just like all the others in the neighborhood. So now
what? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">Well, I came up with a viable solution
that only a musician might think of. One of my favorite songs from the ‘60s was
Eddy Albert’s version of “Guantanamera”. I love to sing and I would sing this
song all the time to Panterina, inserting the words Pantera Nera, tu sei la
Pantera Nera (Black Panther, you are the black panther) and the song became
hers. So, when she decided to ignore us, I started singing “Pantera Nera…” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">One of the cats lounging on the porch
started twitching her ears. Nino went and picked her up. Since she was also the
only who didn’t scramble out of his way, we knew we’d found the right one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">She presented us with six beautiful
kittens, five of them with pure black fur, and one, an adorable, sweet-natured
male, was black. No doubt about the color of his fur, but the tips were white,
giving the impression of being dusted with a light layer of snow. We gave the
other five away easily, each one a mini version of their mother, including the
feisty attitude. We decided to keep Dusty, though.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif"> I like orange cats, but I guess black ones
aren’t all that bad, either. I’ve had that endless stream of black cats, and they’re
okay.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 10.6667px;">Copyright © 07 April 2021 Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-65463628161412544742021-04-06T00:24:00.002-04:002021-04-06T00:24:30.187-04:00AtoZ of Animals I have met: D is for Dnitra #AtoZ Blogging Challenge#<p> <br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwmma93pgHoTsLNo1U1DcUFaoVvKsJup_ziure3SrjRZet_IyOysUBx8FCiY57kpyxrwl4JWGWaRDRJv8Xy3D99TZC9D8Kmt8AjTaBhveBgcVaIIYw2hckDNI7Pbp2NDGip0Md3Gly_Lk/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwmma93pgHoTsLNo1U1DcUFaoVvKsJup_ziure3SrjRZet_IyOysUBx8FCiY57kpyxrwl4JWGWaRDRJv8Xy3D99TZC9D8Kmt8AjTaBhveBgcVaIIYw2hckDNI7Pbp2NDGip0Md3Gly_Lk/w200-h200/DD.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Once upon a time, there was a beautiful
Siberian Husky looking for a new home. Actually, there were seven beautiful
Siberian Husky puppies looking for a new home. Their mommy’s humans were
looking, more precisely, although their release to their new humans was still
several weeks away. This is the abbreviated story of a little silver,
short-haired female whose future name would be Dnitra and who stole my heart
the moment she tumbled over to me , climbed into my lap and fell asleep.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The day after Dnitra became part of my family,
I moved to Utah. It had never occurred to me that it would be the most ideal
place for a Siberian Husky to live, but when winter came, my four-month-old
puppy came to life. I woke up one morning to her yipping (Siberian Huskies don’t
actually bark, they yip or howl, especially at the full moon. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I bought a toboggan and a harness. She
was so proud of that harness and her ability to pull the toboggan. In fact she
was furious a couple of years later when I hitched one of her pups to the
toboggan with her (Dnitra’s) harness. I never made that mistake again.<o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOeOpqS1aWsEBDPIVpOnyJmrqPw_klGkOv6hFzLxnhIKFXGSQSNpd7xh26-eczMlE89C3D5KAD9MAfwj7ZtHXXzu6gsqcFC3VJCzQ21suOOGn39YC59X3PO__9sxFpTkbrXuRGM_TypB0/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="1100" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOeOpqS1aWsEBDPIVpOnyJmrqPw_klGkOv6hFzLxnhIKFXGSQSNpd7xh26-eczMlE89C3D5KAD9MAfwj7ZtHXXzu6gsqcFC3VJCzQ21suOOGn39YC59X3PO__9sxFpTkbrXuRGM_TypB0/w200-h133/Dnitra+type.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">One time Ms. Dnitra got picked up by the
dog catchers and we had to go pick her up at the pound (did I mention that she
was a master escape artist who could out-escape Houdini?). While there, a
mother cat and her tiny kittens was brought in. We offered to adopt the
kittens, but they said we couldn’t take them home that day. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">They called us a few days later and
Ellen and I went to pick them up. They were so small and we nursed them, until
Dnitra offered to do the job for us. We went into the living room one afternoon
and Dnitra had pulled the kittens out of their box and was laying on the couch
with the four kittens busily drinking the milk that Dnitra had somehow managed
to produce (Don’t ask me; I have absolutely no idea.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
big white cat, Snowman, was lying on the back of the couch. The photo I took
needed no caption, but I put one anyway: Snowman: “They’re not <i>mine</i>.”
Dnitra: “They’re mine, they’re MINE!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I could write an entire book on Dnitra
and her antics, but I’ll have to be satisfied with this last example of her
escapes, warm heart (like adopting four motherless kittens) and her hilarity. When
she escaped, which was pretty often and done with a BIG GRIN, there were only
two ways to catch her, because she could run like the wind and did so happily
and often.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The first way to catch her was pretty forthright:
my new roommate Jill had to drive down the street with the back door open. As
soon as Dnitra saw that, she would take a flying leap and land on the back seat
of the car. That was the one I preferred. You’ll see why.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">The other way was embarrassing and
anyone who knew could tell you that I was shy. But I had to use (at times) my
wits. I would walk to the end of the street, lie down on the grass and pretend
to cry very loudly. Dnitra would run up to me and then cautiously crawl close
to me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">When she was close to me, she’d lick my
face and the wrestling match would ensue. I’m pretty sure she enjoyed too much until
I put on the leash and we’d walk home. She was such a character. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I hope you enjoyed this story as much as
I did. I loved that girl and she was so funny. Thanks for letting me share her
with you for this short time. The Siberian in the photo above looks a lot like
her, except she had warm brown eyes instead of the cool blue.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 8.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Copyright
© 5 April 6, 2021 Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-12044321530220187622021-04-03T23:53:00.006-04:002021-04-05T11:08:02.917-04:00AtoZ of Animals I have met: “C” is for Cididù #AtoZ Blogging Challenge#<div class="separator"><p class="MsoNormal" style="clear: left; float: left; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype
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</v:shape><![endif]--><br /><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="mso-no-proof: yes;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAn7YzPfwlm-9HhN6KKM0x0-R6QYxMknVCNa8j75AUsXOSKWTkGS0SwRmv43DbdjSdIdi6_wq9P92P93-6TSgXUVmfdp_wemoOSSV4jLJc4EFdTfG8mH-OhEELG-t511wMRJXZj-9Pvf4/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="99" data-original-width="100" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAn7YzPfwlm-9HhN6KKM0x0-R6QYxMknVCNa8j75AUsXOSKWTkGS0SwRmv43DbdjSdIdi6_wq9P92P93-6TSgXUVmfdp_wemoOSSV4jLJc4EFdTfG8mH-OhEELG-t511wMRJXZj-9Pvf4/w200-h212/image.png" width="200" /></a></div>Here in the States,
when people listen to singing birds, they are usually canaries. That’s what
they listen to in most of Italy, too, as far as I know. But, when you arrive in
Mistretta, the norm followed by most people changes: the Mistrettesi listen to
European Goldfinches. <span face="Arial, sans-serif">I can fully understand
the reasoning behind </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif">why they would want to do so. When we were in Bologna, we
had a lovely Canary named Contessina. She was a beautiful “canary” yellow. It
seems that just about any animal that has come into my presence refuses to be
normal, because Contessina could sing and did sing. And yes, she was a female,
unless male canaries have started laying eggs.</span><p></p></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NENycc0vZ2AGgVHZhBU9zf1QwofziywtPbU2VrBhM4Ikz9U4NgTeRzzMCTy4OXGwXNgme8wm_gdeQ-aDfi2W1xaYoktYaPuCM6KOoDEEZscZpqWOjlfKnUd8ISpdSv2ILPywQjL0ToE/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="179" data-original-width="283" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NENycc0vZ2AGgVHZhBU9zf1QwofziywtPbU2VrBhM4Ikz9U4NgTeRzzMCTy4OXGwXNgme8wm_gdeQ-aDfi2W1xaYoktYaPuCM6KOoDEEZscZpqWOjlfKnUd8ISpdSv2ILPywQjL0ToE/w200-h126/image.png" width="200" /></a></div><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">Before moving to Sicily, we moved into a
new apartment building for about a year that didn’t allow pets of any kind,
including birds, although it seems that fish were allowed, but that is a story
for another time. And we found a new home for her with someone she already
knew. It seemed heartless to transfer her again, so we left her with Cristina
when we moved to Sicily.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">Once we arrived in Sicily with our
two-month-old daughter, Nino immediately set to work trying to reorient himself
in the town of his birth. And one of the first things he did was find someone
who could provide him with a cardito (cardellino or European goldfinch). They
were so cute, and they sang divinely. But I felt bad about keeping them in a
cage, especially since they looked so sad and tried so hard to get out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">We had a number of them over the years
and then suddenly, Nino came home with one that had been born in a cage. And it
was love at first sight. It was, basically, impossible not to love him. I think
Nino tried so hard because he wanted to find that same chemistry that he saw when
the sparrow flew out of the tree at the hospital and land on my hand and then
jump onto my head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">Well, we found it, Cididù and I. Nino knew
it from the time he walked into the house and heard the two of us singing “The
Eagle and the Hawk” along with John Denver. And while he did stay in a cage
most of the time (especially when our cat was around), he did venture out of
the cage when he felt at ease. He may have been in the cage, but the cage door
was always open so he could come out and stretch his wings. And he never left, even
when the front door was left open.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif">Cididù and I stayed friends until the
day I came back to the States. But people still talk about how we would sing
together with John Denver. Maybe he imagined himself an eagle. And I always
thought of him as my tiny eagle in cardellino feathers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 9pt;">Copyright © Mary Purpari 3 April 2021 All Rights Reserved</span></p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-73445432335352975622021-04-02T22:49:00.002-04:002021-04-02T23:24:49.188-04:00AtoZ of Animals I have met: “B” is for Bruiser, Blackie and Sofia #AtoZBlogChallenge#<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalP6YferzEAbELk37Zh7hBAFtPJzsuhyphenhyphenanxj2aOHVV3Z28n85wZJho_jUQbeB0FqOn3JYewjVw2Qe7iIPgRfL8wkeCZgqDpmV8l4shFKAlMLjJxWU1Df2tjRCMAfOZ1qMVnYriJ1DL60/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="150" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhalP6YferzEAbELk37Zh7hBAFtPJzsuhyphenhyphenanxj2aOHVV3Z28n85wZJho_jUQbeB0FqOn3JYewjVw2Qe7iIPgRfL8wkeCZgqDpmV8l4shFKAlMLjJxWU1Df2tjRCMAfOZ1qMVnYriJ1DL60/" width="150" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; text-indent: 0.2in;"> <br /> My husband, daughter and I had been
living in Mistretta, in the province of Messina for about four or five years,
when Nino’s friend Achille made him an offer he couldn’t refuse: Achille’s dog,
a black Italian griffon, had just given birth to three beautiful pups. The
father was an Italian hound, a beautiful breed. They would only be 20,000 Liras
for the three of them (roughly $10 US at the time).</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">He brought the offer up with me. I had
no problem with that, even though I knew perfectly well who would be taking
care of them. He forgot, however, to tell me that they were only two days old.
If we’d had one yet, he would have spent the night in a doghouse.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Fortunately for him, we didn’t have one
yet and fortunately for those three sweet little puppies, I knew a thing or two
about raising new-born puppies and kittens. The first most baby mammals do when
they are around me is to go directly for my left thumb; it’s only slightly
smaller than their mother’s teat and if I dipped it in milk, they got quite
used to my scent and would equivalate it to “MOMMY!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">For several weeks I carried out all the
functions of a real doggy mommy (yes, those too, although I used a wet cloth
rather than my tongue) and a real bond was created between us. However, as the
weather started getting warmer, their eyes opened, they graduated to a baby
bottle and their big sister Sonia started taking on the chore of taking them
out for walks after they finished drinking their meals and my nose took a sigh
of relief. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT24lcXl-NTb6jO0prvdMamdXlRdDTn-KgNv7CLACQGMkCMHDbbTXXZcRycaSmRUzHdIcg9DDybSpSnEbEf2ua6FFU-w13bDVaEQly5dwdCx4byZv_CGfxbWmHs27qNnoBLpHCT8yfNd4/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="218" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT24lcXl-NTb6jO0prvdMamdXlRdDTn-KgNv7CLACQGMkCMHDbbTXXZcRycaSmRUzHdIcg9DDybSpSnEbEf2ua6FFU-w13bDVaEQly5dwdCx4byZv_CGfxbWmHs27qNnoBLpHCT8yfNd4/w200-h149/image.png" width="200" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">By the time they turned six weeks old,
Nino decided that they had become a handful (where he got that idea from I don’t
know, since he never got his hands around them) and decided it was time for
them to go into the campagna (our little vineyard). I didn’t disagree – basically
because it wouldn’t have done me any good anyway – and it gave me an excuse to
go to the vineyard and see to a few other interests there when I went to feed
them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><br /><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">They were all so beautiful. Blackie was
pure black, with short, smooth hair. He was a typical, grouchy hound and I
loved him dearly. Sofia was mostly black, with a few tan highlights on her ears
and feet. She was femininely dainty, although not at all against a nice, rough
tumble (with two brothers, one of them twice her size, how could she be?), but
sweet as sugar. And I loved her dearly, too. And then, there was Bruiser. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Bruiser was the pup that was twice the
size of Sofia. For that matter, he was also twice the size of Blackie… He was
just as black as Blackie, but his hair was much longer and wirier. And he had
Sofia’s sweet disposition. I tried not to show favoritism, but let’s face it, Bruiser
was my favorite. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><br />And then came the day of the distemper
vaccinations; I remember that no two shots had the same exact strength and that
they were required by law. I held them still as Nino gave them the shot,
because I was still their mommy, and they trusted me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ccsUDVM7_YxNaYmm-E9QMlOOlsd5ZGTwSFuYuIkc71gBmdvZcpLSkZb33RdjlRQE2tzRP1rNpIvj5wRIlk8bt59uZ8EpkMsba9qGVdP9tnNAD623i6GmldoNPWiqqRGFhz9U15DgG8w/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="252" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ccsUDVM7_YxNaYmm-E9QMlOOlsd5ZGTwSFuYuIkc71gBmdvZcpLSkZb33RdjlRQE2tzRP1rNpIvj5wRIlk8bt59uZ8EpkMsba9qGVdP9tnNAD623i6GmldoNPWiqqRGFhz9U15DgG8w/w200-h133/image.png" width="200" /></a></div>The next morning, when I went to feed
them, I knew before I opened the gate that disaster had struck. When I opened
the door to the tack room, I saw Blackie lying stiffly on the floor. He was
already gone; Sofia bravely lifted her sweet face, tears sliding down onto her
long, silky ears. I picked her up to comfort her as she took in her last
labored breaths. We said our goodbyes, and she died in my arms.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">And Bruiser? Was it because the dose
wasn’t as strong? Or was it his greater bulk? I’m not sure which of the two it
was, it might even have been a combination of the two. Whatever the reason,
Bruiser survived and became Nino’s beloved hunting companion. He still
remembered his Mommy, though. Always. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;">Copyright © Mary Purpari 2 April 2021 All Rights
Reserved</span></p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-38120746906810777252021-04-01T00:42:00.000-04:002021-04-01T00:42:33.198-04:00AtoZ of Animals I’ve Met: “A” is for Animals and Asher #AtoZBlogging Challenge#<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype
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</v:shape><![endif]--><br /><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrikpj6p8S4frheR6RUrQvAcv3GbHYOYCwjBlr-MTBuzgrD-cxv1EC9X3-hy9FNjnpz8KK7ReUmQcsZsRFbY-2VPK6a5u897wohGTYFGlCGyOxd57WDGA3LVC4PXgo7NhIvodnnOcnnY/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="150" data-original-width="150" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrikpj6p8S4frheR6RUrQvAcv3GbHYOYCwjBlr-MTBuzgrD-cxv1EC9X3-hy9FNjnpz8KK7ReUmQcsZsRFbY-2VPK6a5u897wohGTYFGlCGyOxd57WDGA3LVC4PXgo7NhIvodnnOcnnY/w200-h200/image.png" width="200" /></a></div>For those who know me well, my decision
to write about animals this year should come as no surprise. I have always loved animals and have met many, not always in a
pleasurable scenario, but all remembered to some extent. And so, after a much
too long hiatus from blogging of any kind, I am beginning with this year’s AtoZ
Blogging Challenge. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-no-proof: yes;">The first entry this
year starts off with a little kitten named Asher. I had been living alone in my
apartment for several months and was feeling a little lonesome, so my boyfriend
took me to this home and garden center nearby. He had seen these cute little
kittens and wanted me to choose one. (He knew that the best way to this girl’s
heart was with a kitten. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-no-proof: yes;">I looked into the cage and
my heart melted at the sight of this little orange kitten, just as he started
trying to reach me through the prison bars. He was so cute, with those sweet
baby blue eyes and those delicate paws. It was love at first sight for both of
us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-no-proof: yes;">A couple of months
later, while I was working for the L.A.Times, I met another girl who was
looking for an apartment. I had just recently joined the Church of Jesus Christ
of LDS and she had heard about both my baptism and my need for a new roommate;
because she was also a member of the same Church and we both worked together,
it seemed a “match made in Heaven.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-no-proof: yes;">Marion also had a pet:
a small green parrot named Pippin, after Peregrin Took, in "The Lord of the
Rings". Pippin liked to climb all over the curtains, and because he had sharp
claws and a sharper beak, he more or less destroyed said curtains. When our
landlady came to get our rent she saw the tears up and down the curtains and
declared that Asher had to go. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-no-proof: yes;">Never mind that Asher
had been declawed before he ever moved in with me; he was a kitten, kittens
climbed up curtains and tore them, so kittens must go. And Pippin just happened
to be hanging on to the curtain as she made this pronouncement. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-no-proof: yes;">Fortunately, I had
become friends with a girl who worked in the supermarket behind my apartment
building and she was already in love with Asher. She gladly took him into her
heart and home, and I was once again desolate. I moved into another apartment
soon after, but I have never forgot my dear sweet little Asher.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-no-proof: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .2in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; mso-no-proof: yes;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt;">Copyright © Mary Purpari 1 April 2021 All Rights Reserved</span> </p>Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-82805380948421136622016-04-16T23:35:00.003-04:002021-03-21T15:26:05.811-04:00AtoZ of Melody McDonald: “N” is for Nightmares
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdxRhPrOt2yeQ6UeY9aTJleuf9ONXYiZPtDQIAmuVgDY452fyo06L9U-7VQTiDoOxoY8x7dIxbvOdTOOE9bMA_0r8U4XxrxVu5Xc0ZdEOXNP5myqDkAkgCxYVLXOdf18DENpBdgkErrJ4/s1600/N.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdxRhPrOt2yeQ6UeY9aTJleuf9ONXYiZPtDQIAmuVgDY452fyo06L9U-7VQTiDoOxoY8x7dIxbvOdTOOE9bMA_0r8U4XxrxVu5Xc0ZdEOXNP5myqDkAkgCxYVLXOdf18DENpBdgkErrJ4/s200/N.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">If
there was one thing Melody was famous for – other than her built-in left fist,
that is – it was her nightmares. She usually had them after watching her
favorite kind of movies: horror movies. Don’t get me wrong, here; Melody also
loved movies about sports or animals, but it seemed that she were magnetically
drawn to scary movies. She </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">KNEW</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> she would
have nightmares and that those images would remain imprinted in her mind
forever, but as soon as </span><span style="font-family: Chiller; font-size: 16pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Chiller</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> came on, she
would be lying on the floor right next to Ross with her eyes glued to the TV,
ready for the very next show. And nightmares there would be!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She
also enjoyed watching “One Step Beyond” and the “Outer Limits” which would,
from time to time, also cause nightmares. And, it didn’t even matter,
sometimes, if the movie was scary; all that was necessary was someone hurting
an animal: that would have her screaming and crying at some point during the
night. Yes, Melody was a softie in certain areas. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One
memorable time, she, her siblings and several of their friends – if they
provided their own ticket and candy money, they were welcome to ride along –
had gone to the Costa Mesa Cinema to watch a movie called Dinosaurus! It was </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">NOT </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">a scary movie, in any way, shape or form, but there was one scene,
towards the end, when a gigantic brontosaurus, which Melody had decided she
would have liked as a pet, had gone onto the beach and suddenly a big, nasty,
toothy-grinned T-Rex, which had been the bad-guy during the entire movie, killed
the gentle and kind Brontosaurus. (To see a trailer of the movie, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aY3Spw0_Ouw"><span style="color: blue;">click here</span></a> ).</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That
night, the McDonalds’s sleep was interrupted by hysterical crying, as Melody
relived that sad moment when the evil T-Rex killed the poor Brontosaurus;
Melody was riding the brontosaurus when it happened and she tried to protect
him, but the T-Rex was too fast. And, just as he was grabbing for her, Melody
woke up. And cried for the poor, dead brontosaurus. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1IsW-ZBUNKn_zlQphLC8-Eq_YBtAaHnO6Tg6DUhNkRDS2c_qaKP7sw5RzqxmW3-lbmR8qxwIReJ8nh8mjU3D02TbVF2CEsXzLACIxZcbSj2v0xumljIAt72tjNQhG70qt6lUz_2r8v8/s1600/frankenstein%2527s+daughter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn1IsW-ZBUNKn_zlQphLC8-Eq_YBtAaHnO6Tg6DUhNkRDS2c_qaKP7sw5RzqxmW3-lbmR8qxwIReJ8nh8mjU3D02TbVF2CEsXzLACIxZcbSj2v0xumljIAt72tjNQhG70qt6lUz_2r8v8/s200/frankenstein%2527s+daughter.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One of the movies that gave her the worst nightmares
was “Frankenstein’s Daughter”. She had watched it at Steve’s house one Saturday
afternoon, and had thought it was the funniest “scary movie” she’d ever seen.
But her screams that night had never been equaled. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Now, she has no desire to watch horror movies because,
more than scary, they’re just gory and bloody, complete eyesores. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: navy; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">How about you? Did you ever suffer from nightmares?</span></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Copyright © April 16, 2016. Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.</span> </span></div>
Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com23Brooklyn, NY, USA40.6781784 -73.944157912.367944563821155 -109.1004079 68.988412236178846 -38.787907899999993tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-27198461690227002472016-04-15T22:53:00.001-04:002016-04-15T22:53:04.398-04:00A to Z of Melody McDonald: “M” is for Mickey #AtoZChallenge
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<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHi-pBNdQQgRiIGNzKMzUK-UO5MOMO38R6l-L3br-6bcnjGKc17SIa1cYtIUhJjUHmekbHw5Q8vcVyUoXRR8fP5SRbLjQ6BL7LnKCnpBmAVY1zXfrD_WyLCaIHWtbQdVw9mPkEW9_Ki4/s1600/M.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHi-pBNdQQgRiIGNzKMzUK-UO5MOMO38R6l-L3br-6bcnjGKc17SIa1cYtIUhJjUHmekbHw5Q8vcVyUoXRR8fP5SRbLjQ6BL7LnKCnpBmAVY1zXfrD_WyLCaIHWtbQdVw9mPkEW9_Ki4/s200/M.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Like a lot of
people, Melody had a nickname</span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">. And like a lot of those with nicknames, hers was
based on her last name. And it seems that people with a last name beginning
with Mc or Mac always end up with one of the same three nicknames: Mick, Mickey
or Mack. And so it happened that two of the McDonald had names or nicknames Melody
was Mickie, and Mark’s middle name was Mack. Strangely enough, no one ever
called Mark, Mack, though. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What follows is an excerpt from Old McDonald Had a
Funny Farm; it’s a conversation between one of the newest neighborhood wannabe
bullies and Melody/Mickey. Mickey, in her own mind, saw herself as one of the
baseball world’s greats, someday in the future.<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">1</span></sup> Finding
Melody/Mickey’s left hand heading toward her mouth was her way of attempting to
not use it as the fist it resembled.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After assuring herself that the book was safely put
into the overnight bag that she would be taking onto the plane, Melody raced
out of the house to see if Blackie and Pink Ears had come back yet. She wasn’t
sure she would be going on the trip across America if they hadn’t come back by
the next afternoon. She’d been hoodwinked once, but it wasn’t going to happen a
second time, you could be sure of that. Not finding them there, she walked
disconsolately out into the front yard. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKqNO2vTh6uXIqDGSl3tP0VQ9rY2icdQpT-l8sqZQG85xtjFbkCSly2th7frl0oeTCSUUQwhVol7EESkk9Yl-T_iOQ89KojxZcdAaaDTv29qcmciF-EpYEPh606RKOXNPJ9micblZhlek/s1600/the+terrible+trio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKqNO2vTh6uXIqDGSl3tP0VQ9rY2icdQpT-l8sqZQG85xtjFbkCSly2th7frl0oeTCSUUQwhVol7EESkk9Yl-T_iOQ89KojxZcdAaaDTv29qcmciF-EpYEPh606RKOXNPJ9micblZhlek/s200/the+terrible+trio.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Wrapped up in her woe, she didn’t notice Juan sneak up
behind her until he shouted out in a sing-song voice, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mickey Mouse, Mickey Mouse, here we have a little Mickey Mouse</i>.” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Drawn out of her misery by the rascal’s taunting
words, an infuriated Melody swung around and shouted back at him, “Take that
back!” Her left fist crept threateningly towards her mouth. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Either not noticing or not recognizing the threat, the
boy continued his taunts. “Your name is Mickey, ain’t it? I heard ‘em call you
Mickey, so you’re Mickey Mouse, Mickey Mouse!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“I am not Mickey Mouse; I’m Mickey Mantle! I’m gonna
play baseball for the Dodgers when I grow up and I’m gonna be just like Mickey
Mantle.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The annoying boy gurgled with laughter. “You can’t
play baseball and be like Mickey Mantle; you’re just a dumb girl and girls
can’t play baseball like boys. Mickey Mouse, Mickey—“</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Juanito lay gasping on the grass where Melody had just
wiped him out flat. The wiry little girl looked down at him, flexing her
muscles, and said, “I’m Mickey Mantle and if I want to play baseball, I will
‘cause I can do anything I decide I want to do.” With that, she walked calmly
away from the very red-faced, very embarrassed boy lying on the grass. As he
watched her go, the suffering bully muttered under his breath, “I’ll make you
pay for that, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mickey Mouse</i>.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Did you have a nickname as a child? Do they still call
you by that name? Melody has a cousin whose nickname is also Mickey. She is the
only person who still has permission to call her by that name. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbiMcLaSBAdUMH_8OSHjMvSQMTcTEQ9MHCoEJDJslza_FtWH0R91VOVDd9nedUl3eRdln2fDAsYdqeich4IWDUhHvgs74cn4Ny6mvSyPYZfpxrCvPG3RCU5tTy6su_bpoq0Owh-dxBndU/s1600/Wooden-baseball-bat-and-ball-isolated-on-white-background-Stock-Photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbiMcLaSBAdUMH_8OSHjMvSQMTcTEQ9MHCoEJDJslza_FtWH0R91VOVDd9nedUl3eRdln2fDAsYdqeich4IWDUhHvgs74cn4Ny6mvSyPYZfpxrCvPG3RCU5tTy6su_bpoq0Owh-dxBndU/s200/Wooden-baseball-bat-and-ball-isolated-on-white-background-Stock-Photo.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<sup><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1</span></span></sup><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Old McDonald Had a Funny Farm</span></i><span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">, Mary (McDowell) Purpari, Amazon Kindle<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Old-McDonald-Had-Funny-Farm-ebook/dp/B00BAKH33G/ref=la_B00B56T2WK_1_1_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1413429653&sr=1-1"><span style="color: blue;">
Version</span></a>, pg. 220-221. Copyright by Mary Purpari September 2009. </span></div>
Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-49040008287814553822016-04-14T21:43:00.001-04:002016-04-14T21:43:21.444-04:00AtoZ of Melody McDonald: “L” is for Lightning #AtoZBlogging Challenge#
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<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIWmZcWSrhGYfRF2Anood46hT4Lqso_eqcWfd_0wWvhJCo3JsjhMSwxP7SHSb9aXtzosKqirdIzTNwUVl5r5gqIM9PurWvwj1J-QFxmIRIBMOuuXeVAdz7DYPNTSnNJCPCPOrsLQx-iQ/s1600/L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIWmZcWSrhGYfRF2Anood46hT4Lqso_eqcWfd_0wWvhJCo3JsjhMSwxP7SHSb9aXtzosKqirdIzTNwUVl5r5gqIM9PurWvwj1J-QFxmIRIBMOuuXeVAdz7DYPNTSnNJCPCPOrsLQx-iQ/s200/L.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">As everyone
knows, it </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">NEVER</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"> rains in
Southern California, so when Melody and her Grandmother drove across the
country in 1960, there was a new adventure. Of course, it’s not so that it
never rains in Southern California, and Melody </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">HAD</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"> seen lightning, of course,
but her experience had been a somewhat watered-down version of what she
experienced during her exciting vacation. The story below, though seemingly
impossible, actually happened and Melody has never, ever forgotten it. I hope
you enjoy the tale.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"> </span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfZs-aLShU7SwtqNzrVeKP3C9NZoDd0WXR9UWPhS7gf9mSnaKL0Shi4Rcf59O3pZoZmBa5kBQsYnTMXR304ollsbtik18xngAVCxtuvV3q34DlfejY0ujWkEs6DOI8aZQwiTLBwTQPuk/s1600/scan0054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfZs-aLShU7SwtqNzrVeKP3C9NZoDd0WXR9UWPhS7gf9mSnaKL0Shi4Rcf59O3pZoZmBa5kBQsYnTMXR304ollsbtik18xngAVCxtuvV3q34DlfejY0ujWkEs6DOI8aZQwiTLBwTQPuk/s200/scan0054.jpg" width="131" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melody, a few months after<br />
this story took place.<br />
Around 1960<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">B<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">asin, Wyoming Oug. 14, 1960</i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">Dear Grampa,</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">I am having
so much fun. Nauturly it rains every place we go. It thundered and lightninged
all night long. I hope you like your card.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div align="center" style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">Love Melody</span></i></div>
<br />
<div align="center" style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Jokerman; font-size: 18pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">“Thunder and lightning” was minimizing the “fireworks display” that had
gone on the night before. In fact, it was quite unlike anything that Melody had
experienced before, and very exciting. The whole thing had begun while she was
in the barn with Joe Sterling, in Wyoming,
helping him milk the cow. They had been standing in Bossy’s stall, while Joe
was getting the stool ready to sit down and begin when the first loud crash had
sounded just outside the door. The frightened Bossy kicked the stool over and
just as Joe bent over to put it right a second crash set the barn to ringing;
simultaneously, a long flash of light entered through the back door of the
building and left it through the front. Old Joe stood up as quickly as his
tired, surprised body would permit and stared down at Melody, eyes bulging with
wonder.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">“Melody,” he said in a somewhat strangled voice, “please tell me that you
just saw what I just saw. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Please</i>,” he
pleaded softly.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">“Yeah, I saw it. What was it?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">“That,” he whispered dramatically, reassured that he wasn’t imagining
things and gesturing towards the open doors, “was a bolt of lightning. It’s a
good thing,” he continued in a rather more normal voice, “we were here beside
Bossy and not standing in the middle of the corridor. We’d’ve been a pile of ashes
instead of standing here discussing what just happened.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">“Wow! You mean lightning like the stuff that flashes during a rainstorm? At
home we just see it in the sky and it looks like a fork. Gee,” she said,
shaking her head in wonder, “I didn’t know it could open doors like that and
just walk through a barn. Neat! Do you think it will happen again? Just wait
until I tell Gramma Mary; she won’t believe it.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzzXyWRaxvLPr005mevvS3yhjarD-BtkSpGJUOAxvWDWM3pHW18LpuWg6tJ0gvPCVQ_GVscUi8xXHAZypZ5qMVygDNrxDBf8kQGtJu4e8PoUdJD78LiwGUTfNLTwJbQdhmBTrNF7_rxhQ/s1600/lightning-strikes-tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzzXyWRaxvLPr005mevvS3yhjarD-BtkSpGJUOAxvWDWM3pHW18LpuWg6tJ0gvPCVQ_GVscUi8xXHAZypZ5qMVygDNrxDBf8kQGtJu4e8PoUdJD78LiwGUTfNLTwJbQdhmBTrNF7_rxhQ/s200/lightning-strikes-tree.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">“You can just bet your boots she won’t believe it; nobody will believe that
a bolt of lightning went right through here without burning up everything it
touched. Mind you, it didn’t touch much except for the back door. Let’s go see
if it left some kind of mark on the door so we can prove it went through here.
We’d better not say anything if there’s not, ‘cause no one’s gonna believe
anything except that we’ve been seeing things that aren’t really there, and
that’s not too good.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">They both walked gingerly towards the door, taking care to not touch
anything on the way; even though it seemed that the lightning hadn’t touched
anything, there was always a chance that some kind of electrical current had
been left behind. The first hint that they found that something odd had
happened was that one of the doors to the barn was hanging slightly off-center
because of a damaged hinge; this had been caused by the force produced by the
lightning as it flung the door inward. There were a number of new dents, but
these could have been caused by any number of factors found in and around the
Black Angus farm.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">“Nope,
there’s nothing here except this hinge that will bear out our story. I guess
we’d best not say anything to anyone. I won’t say anything if you don’t, and I
won’t anyway, even if you do.”<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">1</span></sup></span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">Have you
ever had a strange experience during a thunder and lightning storm? Would you
like to share it with us?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">1</span></sup><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">The preceding is an excerpt
from <u>Old McDonald Had a Funny Farm 2: New Friends and Old </u>by Mary
McDowell Purpari, publication date pending</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: IT;">Copyright © April 14, 2016. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mary
Purpari. All Rights reserved.</span></div>
Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-62349525787108774352016-04-14T15:04:00.001-04:002016-04-14T15:04:21.847-04:00AtoZ of Melody McDonald: “K” is for Kisses #AtoZBloggingChallenge
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdY9rSIeO0R-6hU3_q4N8YtHEgntHXVvzlnmf1mrB4TOzbwzPXoRQT1MFPyZb_h6yadltew61LxhQxkjhil1p6C1hVkkPeYq6XnXhDgjtIaDarVhyphenhyphenlnjTdNSVYVIvMVrYOS7RUzZtvY0/s1600/K.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRdY9rSIeO0R-6hU3_q4N8YtHEgntHXVvzlnmf1mrB4TOzbwzPXoRQT1MFPyZb_h6yadltew61LxhQxkjhil1p6C1hVkkPeYq6XnXhDgjtIaDarVhyphenhyphenlnjTdNSVYVIvMVrYOS7RUzZtvY0/s200/K.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyG8GKdkEQ-KyhspWjlifWTOlxgw2gMDGqCKbN4_qDP9hefxJHvx5xMximtUNBl3J5lXdiBweRfJ6dRaQNcYFEeQqQ5A2iCPqxNXZghVE9Kx_VTtqLt0kjjiK43FPDUO5eB4AjRY1cHMc/s1600/kisses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyG8GKdkEQ-KyhspWjlifWTOlxgw2gMDGqCKbN4_qDP9hefxJHvx5xMximtUNBl3J5lXdiBweRfJ6dRaQNcYFEeQqQ5A2iCPqxNXZghVE9Kx_VTtqLt0kjjiK43FPDUO5eB4AjRY1cHMc/s200/kisses.jpg" width="200" /></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There are different kinds of kisses and when</span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Melody was a
child, her very favorite kind of kisses was the kind she got from her
grandparents and parents on her cheek. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
kind was the chocolate kind made by Hershey’s and which they got only on very
rare occasions, like at the Coca Cola Company Christmas party or once in a
while in their Christmas stockings. Honey and Ross were of the opinion that
their delightful, ever-active children didn’t need more energy than they
already had. That’s okay – when Melody was old enough to make her own decisions
regarding chocolate, she made up for all the uneaten chocolate of her
childhood. When she made her way to Italy, the Italian kisses, known as Baci
Perugina, were her undoing. Oh my… But I digress.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But,
Melody outgrew her childhood and when she turned twelve, she had the first kiss
of another type. His name was Steve Crayfish. It was just before Christmas and
this new Steve had just taken Melody to the junior high school Christmas dance.
They’d been accompanied to the dance by Steve’s mom, while Ross brought them
home…</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Remember,
this is Southern California, and at a certain point – the room becoming too
warm – Steve accompanied Melody outside the school gym and then, in a
completely unexpected move, he kissed her. On the </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">LIPS</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">!!!!!! Needless to say, but I’ll say it anyway, she was shocked and a
little embarrassed… at first. But then, she thought it was kind of neat and
kissed him back. (Did I ever mention that Melody was a bit, shall we say,
precocious?) It was a very chaste kiss and was never repeated. Probably because
Steve’s family moved away shortly after the beginning of the new year. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQNi6mUU4wZ-PjRjWo3PqMyUe2SJaBv5-DC44YreH-gdsbyrqAP6CZ2v4pGzr3UrdBY5zwvfo5IjmtIQVphwzLA4cyqcVcCGsCxhx0P8rGWoQrotclkZ9cfu_l_juzu3CeHOsK70ZoD0I/s1600/kissing+lips.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQNi6mUU4wZ-PjRjWo3PqMyUe2SJaBv5-DC44YreH-gdsbyrqAP6CZ2v4pGzr3UrdBY5zwvfo5IjmtIQVphwzLA4cyqcVcCGsCxhx0P8rGWoQrotclkZ9cfu_l_juzu3CeHOsK70ZoD0I/s200/kissing+lips.png" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Her
next kiss came around a year and a half later, during the summer before she
started high school. There was this cute boy named Larry who was visiting his
aunt and uncle who lived down the street from the McDonalds, who she liked a
lot, but he was going to be a junior when school started again and she would be
a mere freshman. She didn’t realize that she had blossomed during the summer…
Anyway, she was washing the dishes after dinner one night when Larry came in.
He usually came to deliver messages for his aunt and uncle, but that particular
evening he headed straight for Melody, just while she was washing a big, sharp
knife. He called out to her and she turned to look at him; she was so startled
when he kissed her, that she involuntarily tightened her grip on the knife.
Unfortunately for her, it turned out that the part of the knife she was holding
was the blade…</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As
Honey disinfected and bandaged Melody’s hand, Larry quietly finished washing
the dishes and left. That was the last time he came over and she never saw him
again.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Her
next kiss was again an unusual awakening. It also turned her completely off
French kissing. She got a birthday card on her sixteenth birthday that said “Happy
Sweet Sixteenth: If you swear you’ve never been kissed…” open card “…You have a
perfect right to swear!” Well, at least she couldn’t swear about that.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Those
random kisses were the only ones she got until she hit college. But, that is a
different story and different times…</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMly9rZRJNVxo305U-U7MlET3ILNn5hSZmSQJO6tgYz9OQ6MY4zIDX8bDiTA6w5KtIV4NhJovjwoVtVAyXJ3NdJjX1MNEMP6OaYTPkSyVYQBYpnlsCl-_E6Ca9n1CA-pxWdMX_DytgoXc/s1600/baci-logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMly9rZRJNVxo305U-U7MlET3ILNn5hSZmSQJO6tgYz9OQ6MY4zIDX8bDiTA6w5KtIV4NhJovjwoVtVAyXJ3NdJjX1MNEMP6OaYTPkSyVYQBYpnlsCl-_E6Ca9n1CA-pxWdMX_DytgoXc/s200/baci-logo.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Copyright © April 14, 2016. Mary Purpari. All
Rights Reserved.</span></div>
Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-2643499326611143612016-04-13T13:38:00.003-04:002016-04-13T13:38:47.901-04:00A-Z of Melody McDonald J is for Jump Ropes and Jacks
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7AvVcDOlA8PWz3w2p5U7v4-HC9CyON38BLMR7VzXSYzAY8h3YYXS46qvpZyFXG45cImO8vwE1ASUkrP5u1rb1wlNssG-0OCt3PoQAfs-HCV2Q9YMeue2MPSXmcUsVIT6uwU-sxenDmAk/s1600/A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVeT45YeuEUQMBs_lYSYY6ffNOXPZBA-DA1RzGZYBCMA8kDgsud-F8nQ0zQCYTyUyT3yiBhw8ecfxBX5eFwTTWkHJg-t0Q-ZpODx2oW6TTY3IkcLeGS3lfPJMz7586gsbvIxB71_NGX0/s1600/J.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVeT45YeuEUQMBs_lYSYY6ffNOXPZBA-DA1RzGZYBCMA8kDgsud-F8nQ0zQCYTyUyT3yiBhw8ecfxBX5eFwTTWkHJg-t0Q-ZpODx2oW6TTY3IkcLeGS3lfPJMz7586gsbvIxB71_NGX0/s200/J.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Although Melody spent a great deal of time with Steve
Evens, she </span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">also spent an even greater deal with her girlfriends during breaks at
school. And one of the things she liked to do, other than play tetherball, was
play jump rope. She was pretty good at jumping rope all by herself – probably
because it was one of things that people said she couldn’t do (aka the magic
words). </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But,
it was more fun, indeed, to play up rope with her friends, especially as they
graduated from a simple back and forth with the rope, as we sang “Bluebells,
cockle shells, easy ivy overs” and then they began swinging the rope over the
jumper’s head. The rope turners would then star going faster and faster,
counting. If one of the jumpers made it to 50 without tripping, she would then
exit without having to turn the rope.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYc3YHgceLPz7zqe2QGhyphenhyphenV1eVHgjjRfGeoa4mJbnEwulV-Qa3vKyfkk8uRIiBTFJVenmWidK4j8A1k_3L0WkTZGETt10ohvwe9mXEEcPxZVH4nbRS2iV5k4QR3Ewe6ckZH5FXrLfWmCA/s1600/jumping-rope.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCYc3YHgceLPz7zqe2QGhyphenhyphenV1eVHgjjRfGeoa4mJbnEwulV-Qa3vKyfkk8uRIiBTFJVenmWidK4j8A1k_3L0WkTZGETt10ohvwe9mXEEcPxZVH4nbRS2iV5k4QR3Ewe6ckZH5FXrLfWmCA/s200/jumping-rope.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Melody’s
favorite, though, was double Dutch. That was tricky, and it took her a little
while to gain enough speed and confidence to give it a try. Melody’s biggest
problem was that she had way too much energy, and she could actually go an
entire break without stopping. </span></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And
then, Chinese jump rope made it to Bay View Elementary School. Melody and her
friends took advantage of her father’s newspaper delivery job and used the
rubber bands to make huge chains that they could do all the intricate footwork
involved in Chinese jump rope. It was easy to get tangled up in those double
rows.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEz9f3CkinMgGRvdijPps0gCZFL1oM2PBvEl2LaW2SPafpXL68gGeClf3nGI0rwP6uf07793PPgV6zcu4xecCO3lyxeDXyVDMdDrDPJ2lT7NKqBt6wMRGd_xR_w4dfvUoAo5vlNyBl-_4/s1600/SingleJacks_800x800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEz9f3CkinMgGRvdijPps0gCZFL1oM2PBvEl2LaW2SPafpXL68gGeClf3nGI0rwP6uf07793PPgV6zcu4xecCO3lyxeDXyVDMdDrDPJ2lT7NKqBt6wMRGd_xR_w4dfvUoAo5vlNyBl-_4/s200/SingleJacks_800x800.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
game that she enjoyed was playing jacks. She was very good at jacks and rarely
had to start over from the beginning. Even when they got to the last stage,
when they had to gather up all ten jacks </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">AND</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> the ball </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">BEFORE</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> the ball could hit the ground. This was one game where being a tomboy
stood her in good stead, because she used the same skills she used for playing
marbles (she won all the puries in the neighborhood games.)</span></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Did
you have any favorite games that you played as a child? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Copyright © April 12, 2016 by Mary Purpari. All Rights Reserved.</span></span></div>
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Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-60931036322612772952016-04-11T13:35:00.001-04:002016-04-11T13:37:54.654-04:00The A-Z of Melody McDonald “I” is for Imagination<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpNFWlWRWfbQbw7pOynBG9pCLEJSA2c4mXRJ2bWKIEOKxcECborET5PdpRFhK9ChvqJ3MFdNFUaDN9-BvlYmBpZRLTXqn3-l-6-ecMsgDyyOvsRlD_UDgKpcftKmMfFjTBpJwDuPY6jAc/s1600/I.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpNFWlWRWfbQbw7pOynBG9pCLEJSA2c4mXRJ2bWKIEOKxcECborET5PdpRFhK9ChvqJ3MFdNFUaDN9-BvlYmBpZRLTXqn3-l-6-ecMsgDyyOvsRlD_UDgKpcftKmMfFjTBpJwDuPY6jAc/s200/I.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Melody
had a very vivid imagination, which often got her into a lot of trouble. It was
also the reason that her parents rarely left her without reading material for
long periods of time. They valued the integrity of the house and remembered
often the moment that Melody’s chemistry set almost left a very large hole in
the roof. It was, of course, her last chemistry set. Oh well; it had been fun
while it lasted.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">However,
her imagination was also one of the reasons that people who knew her well
tended to question the veracity of the stories she told. Not that she was
lying; in her mind, these things really happened. (Saturday’s story of the
haunted house trailer was true, though). It was this imagination that allowed
her to write stories, too.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When
she was in the fifth grade, she wrote a series of stories about a little
fire-breathing dragon that she and her brother Mark named Hotstuff. The reason
Mark had the right to help name him was because Mark was the illustrator of the
collection (even Melody had to admit that Mark drew much better than she did). </span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5lNeVglG7imJG8tcoJv7cKuojX7oqguQ57InaR5pwJ_Wfg2NJGm7qNoZHl-Xdouxx6FfPndismchZ00k-g8JEYIF06dRL6cAD1h-tLUctjRIgzzg4u9ZnCyKnhDr5lJ900nzEatBGX6c/s1600/dragon.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5lNeVglG7imJG8tcoJv7cKuojX7oqguQ57InaR5pwJ_Wfg2NJGm7qNoZHl-Xdouxx6FfPndismchZ00k-g8JEYIF06dRL6cAD1h-tLUctjRIgzzg4u9ZnCyKnhDr5lJ900nzEatBGX6c/s200/dragon.png" width="168" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This little dragon slightly resembles our Hotstuff </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
series was actually so well-liked that one of the school teachers, Mrs.
Dietrich, who taught the hearing-impaired children, asked if she could borrow
it to share with the children in her class. Melody and Mark entrusted it to her
care; it was the last time they saw it again. At that time, the only copying
machines were mimeographs and the process was long and unavailable to young
children. Mrs. Dietrich had been transferred to another school and so the
little book went with her.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It
may only have been a coincidence, but many years later, when Melody was a
mother, she was watching cartoons with her little daughter. She looked closer
at the TV and almost fell off her chair; there, on the screen, was a little
dragon that looked exactly like another little dragon she had seen almost
thirty years earlier, whose name was Hotstuff. The story-line was also a more
than a little familiar, too. But, without a personal copy, there wasn’t much
she could do about it. At least a lot of people could enjoy the fruits of
Melody’s and Mark’s vivid imagination.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
example of what some say was Melody’s imagination was Fluffy. Melody insists to
this day that Fluffy truly existed; she carried that little ball of feathers
all over creation with her. And, she wasn’t the only one who saw him. Her
Grammy saw him, too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She
found Fluffy one day as she was lying out in the backyard counting ants. It was
another of those boring summer days when she had nothing to do and that usually
tended to get her into trouble. She had awoken from her five minute nap
perfectly refreshed (or at least as much as was possible on a hot summer’s day
in Southern California) and raring to go. Unfortunately for her, her brothers
and sister were still sleeping and Honey had told her to be quiet. She had
already counted two hundred forty-nine ants…</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And
then she saw the little ball. It was weird the way it kept popping up, and some
might have called it an imaginary friend. Indeed, no one else saw it except
Grammy. In fact, even Melody didn’t remember putting it in her suitcase when
she went for a week to Grammy and Grampa’s house, but Grammy found it there in
the suitcase as she was helping Melody put her clothes in the chest-of-drawers.
But then again, she and Grammy had a lot in common…</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She
imagined being a wild horse running on the plains; an eagle, flying high above
in the sky; sitting on clouds. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
dreamed of singing like an angel and of becoming a writer.</span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Maybe
it was because of her imagination that people imagined that she lived in a
world all her own… It could be, but there is one thing you could say about her:
when you were with Melody, you could count on not being bored. </span></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Did you have a wonderful imagination when you were a child. Did you have an imaginary (according to others) friend?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Copyright © April 11, 2016. Mary Purpari. All Rights Reserved.</span></span></div>
Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-41311357450822353512016-04-09T19:34:00.001-04:002016-04-09T19:34:43.013-04:00A to Z of Melody McDonald: “H” is for Haunted House #AtoZBloggingChallenge
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<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFYVE75cRpc7Ft8Dw0vEBXhKErJDDY0vhac4uyvSXMBAkCTj3WsqGdyFagurBzMka_BtlHSh0sxFQtyzWx8011boEOREOGDoc7_c-2YhWuMIuuNxw2BNQbZThqiQfGBniw_moRLKvcxBk/s1600/H.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFYVE75cRpc7Ft8Dw0vEBXhKErJDDY0vhac4uyvSXMBAkCTj3WsqGdyFagurBzMka_BtlHSh0sxFQtyzWx8011boEOREOGDoc7_c-2YhWuMIuuNxw2BNQbZThqiQfGBniw_moRLKvcxBk/s200/H.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In
reference to Melody and her explorations, perhaps one of the most compelling
was the one where she and her friend Steve went to explore the Acacia Street
haunted house.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One
day, walking home from school, Steve said to Melody, “I found a haunted house;
wanna come see it?” Did she want to go see it? What a question! Of course she
wanted to see it! She tore into the house, put on her play clothes, tore back
out the door and caught up with Steve before he reached the corner: it was a
two house walk. She did shout out to Honey that she was going to Steve’s house,
so at least Honey knew what to name the cyclone that whipped through her living
room.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Steve
was already wearing jeans, but he also had his books with him, so they dropped
them off on the way to the haunted house on Acacia St. And then, they were off.
Acacia St. was just around the next corner after Steve’s house. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When
they arrived at the haunted “house” (it was really a trailer) Melody knew as
soon as she got there that it really was haunted, even if it wasn’t really a
house. The door was hanging on one hinge and it was screeching as the wind blew
it back and forth. It looked like a house from a typical cowboy movie ghost
town. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a miniscule bit of
trepidation – the atmosphere really was eerie, even in the bright sun – but,
tiptoeing quietly, they edged their way to the creaking door. Steve, ever the
gentleman, let Melody go in first. She carefully turned her head around the
corner and shrieked. Steve bumped into a paralyzed Melody in his hurry to see
what their exploration adventure had brought them to. The drops on the blood on
the floor stopped him for a moment, too, but then their intrepidity returned
and they entered the house and started following the trail of blood. The fabric
on the furniture in the house was torn and tufts of filling were strewn across
the creaky, rain-sodden floor of the trailer. Melody jumped back when she saw something
moving ghostlike from the corner of her eye; she landed on Steve’s foot,
causing him to shout in pain. Melody turned and glared at him and he shrugged his
shoulders. They avoided the ants and flies crawling around on the floor, but
Steve just couldn’t resist picking up the shed snake sin lying on the floor. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And
then, Melody froze as they reached the door into the kitchen. Steve also looked
into the room; the look of was horror that appeared on his face mirrored the
one on Melody’s. The blood on the kitchen floor, almost black from the presence
of flies and ants, seemed much fresher than the tiny drops dotting the other
floors, but it was the giant blood-stained knife lying in the center of the
floor that inspired their terror. The slamming door was too much for them: they
turned around and skedaddled out of the trailer as fast as their legs would
carry them. They didn’t stop running until just before they reached Steve’s
house. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPeLAZUdaC-0ncrqRqv1alhHxBIgjLWQTtp-C8FTirpZKNLpuHaaWIakWP6MLd2WsnI13IOEwDMH3raOpJA1aDKuF7kqUlW8vV9nFOLHg4wHG2L-cIPPjVo4-jI1vEIeSywFjBUiunWY/s1600/haunted+mobile+home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPeLAZUdaC-0ncrqRqv1alhHxBIgjLWQTtp-C8FTirpZKNLpuHaaWIakWP6MLd2WsnI13IOEwDMH3raOpJA1aDKuF7kqUlW8vV9nFOLHg4wHG2L-cIPPjVo4-jI1vEIeSywFjBUiunWY/s200/haunted+mobile+home.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Right
then and then, even before they could properly breathe, they vowed to each other
that they would never, ever tell another soul about what they had seen. Who
could they tell, anyway? Melody’s parents would shoot her if they knew she had
been on Acacia Street; she was only supposed to go as far as Steve’s house.
And, who would believe them? Melody’s imagination was well-known, and Steve was
just as imaginative as Melody. Or almost, anyway. Nah, it was better to just
leave things the way they were; now, if they could just convince their
imagination to leave it alone…</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
above story is true. I thought I had told Honey, but I guess I kept my word.
When I was talking to her last night, I said, “Who could we have told?” She
suggested, “Your parents, maybe?” And I said, “Right, and risk being grounded?
Are you nuts?” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There
you have it folks. Have you ever explored a haunted house in your lifetime? I
mean, other than the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland/ Disney World. I’d love to
hear about it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Copyright© Mary Purpari. April 4, 2016. All Rights
Reserved.</span></div>
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Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-58137488150234981682016-04-08T23:56:00.002-04:002016-04-08T23:56:39.797-04:00A to Z of Melody McDonald: “E” is for Exploring #AtoZBlogging Challenge
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjVf-9WncXGs-nJSuF-NLFuzggJo4N4dBaxKEtIXUxKtASusY4caw1Y6PyjjVxmzDv9zMDSpns4yGIJKVOdvUlFLf7cvyRdfm2Q_pxfVqW-sQaofYJowc7SXEgFM9jaswNk4rGRzlQzsk/s1600/D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjVf-9WncXGs-nJSuF-NLFuzggJo4N4dBaxKEtIXUxKtASusY4caw1Y6PyjjVxmzDv9zMDSpns4yGIJKVOdvUlFLf7cvyRdfm2Q_pxfVqW-sQaofYJowc7SXEgFM9jaswNk4rGRzlQzsk/s200/D.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Another
thing that Melody liked doing was exploring. There was never a single spot
ANYWHERE that did not come under Melody’s careful scrutiny; no tree was left
unclimbed (did I ever mention that you would be safe in calling Melody a
tomboy?); no alleyway uncombed (unless she was bodily dragged away) and no
cinder-block left un-poked or unturned (you never knew if there might be a
blue-belly lizard hiding in some chink there…).</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When
she wasn’t busy hunting for lizards under rocks or blocks, she was busy exploring
with her friend Steve Even. And, when the two of them started exploring, watch
out! That’s when her exploring sometimes got her into some kind of trouble. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Steve
moved into the neighborhood just before school started in the third grade, but
Melody<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVuQH8qVFNJMtKKXYeWo4T7SGHkvbviYdEJG53zCFM37nqveis63ba9BzBm4TDHBnVBdtC3aWL0AK2JckjFa1AufF1O89de6QWmTgq7o5mhnePu66ORVmqlDoK0txhpHxZK6QkSC5yD-k/s1600/blue+belly+fence+lizard.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVuQH8qVFNJMtKKXYeWo4T7SGHkvbviYdEJG53zCFM37nqveis63ba9BzBm4TDHBnVBdtC3aWL0AK2JckjFa1AufF1O89de6QWmTgq7o5mhnePu66ORVmqlDoK0txhpHxZK6QkSC5yD-k/s200/blue+belly+fence+lizard.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue Belly Fence Lizard</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
didn’t meet him until school started. He was in her class, and she
really disliked him at first, because all you had to do was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">look </i>at him to know he was Trouble with
a capital “T”, but then, when she found out they had a really neat tree in his
yard with a Tarzan vine hanging from it (it was really a rope, but hey! Melody
had no compunctions about using her imagination to create memorable moments),
she was ready to join forces. And whatever other misgivings she might have
about him, he liked animals <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">almost</i> as
much as she did.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Together,
they explored places that alone they might have had some qualms about. One of
the places they explored was a haunted house (see “H” is for Haunted House, to
be posted in the future). Another was what they called the peacock farm, which
indirectly caused a great many nightmares for our girl. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">They
also explored down at the Back Bay, which was really fun and just across the
street from their school. There were a lot of small canyons running through the
whole area surrounding the bay itself. The Back Bay has now been named a
Natural Reserve, which should give a pretty good idea just how interesting it
was.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">They
found gourds and lizards and snakes (no rattlesnakes). They found salamanders and
jack rabbits and lots of holes that were, fortunately, too small for them to
get into. They saw lots of birds and flowers. And gophers and lots of junk. And
mud; lots of mud, along with salt. It was a paradise for two young explorers.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">They
also explored around Steve’s house and discovered Steve’s dad feeding their
kittens brandy “because, he said, “it stunts their growth.” His intent was to
create a breed of “teacup kittens”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both
Melody and Steve were highly incensed over that particular discovery, because
it went against everything they loved and believed in. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Everywhere
they went there was something to be explored, and explore they did.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When
you were a child did you like to explore new things (or old) or did you just
like to read about explorations? Share with us, if you’d like.</span></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></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/AVvXsEjIAoret_8hXmleotSPsgvZfhoWZ3gHXzGiR4BfOIpOTZYHxpdtF2sQNUxpHRHgUnZmp0aL4eDqa7RVNmFZtxblt72HYMOrXeMHlkdPrDDqQNpRDZZ6Fi7poqPQqBGvxmaXTfJhRK_Aqh8/s1600/Upper_Newport_Bay2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="54" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAoret_8hXmleotSPsgvZfhoWZ3gHXzGiR4BfOIpOTZYHxpdtF2sQNUxpHRHgUnZmp0aL4eDqa7RVNmFZtxblt72HYMOrXeMHlkdPrDDqQNpRDZZ6Fi7poqPQqBGvxmaXTfJhRK_Aqh8/s640/Upper_Newport_Bay2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By Basar - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8879663">https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8879663</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687379927289296578.post-40447965654167078842016-04-08T12:32:00.002-04:002016-04-08T12:32:30.578-04:00The A-Z of Melody McDonald: “D” if for Drawing #AtoZBloggingChallenge
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFrMZuXiMyPxu6MT38eAQCn36MN_DvB8UbA8ekY2dadBd9y2IfVdjhyDhVcZPJilrPG7EI0leLhgLLuNszYl4tzvHvW-uQ4yzE9rgstwJI2OqraWflIGRTyN6NFsPV_DRIr12hp_j0cI/s1600/D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFrMZuXiMyPxu6MT38eAQCn36MN_DvB8UbA8ekY2dadBd9y2IfVdjhyDhVcZPJilrPG7EI0leLhgLLuNszYl4tzvHvW-uQ4yzE9rgstwJI2OqraWflIGRTyN6NFsPV_DRIr12hp_j0cI/s200/D.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">One
of the things that Melody enjoyed doing more than anything else was drawing.
She wasn’t too bad at it, either. Okay, so she would never win a prize
competing against the Italian or Flemish artists. She might have had a chance
against Picasso, because at least her results were understandable to someone
with a normal mind-set. A frog looked like a frog and a horse looked like a
horse… sort-of… With a little training she might have had hope.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Anyway,
her Gramma Mary abetted her in her endeavors. Actually, all of the McDonald
kids were aided and abetted by Gramma Mary, because she provided endless
amounts of paper, and pencils were always there. Gramma Mary worked as a
draftswoman for the U.S. Navy at San Pedro, California. And there, she was able
to get her hands on pads of paper of two sizes, nicely stapled and ready to go.
</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvXARTgLbvebt_Bg4fiOvREZohbXQiQ3vzVNN6nTla1iNWtN4SRg23WMO75OjfA-1oFi7Nxk6kbpKqWKJiyQwpAo8DiQ_tCdcaPW4XZgQ8lZo8lrOBS8fbp3CUgr2e4EQRmxaJVV278c/s1600/D+is+for+Drawing+Elephant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvXARTgLbvebt_Bg4fiOvREZohbXQiQ3vzVNN6nTla1iNWtN4SRg23WMO75OjfA-1oFi7Nxk6kbpKqWKJiyQwpAo8DiQ_tCdcaPW4XZgQ8lZo8lrOBS8fbp3CUgr2e4EQRmxaJVV278c/s200/D+is+for+Drawing+Elephant.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She
wasn’t stealing; this was recycled paper of a sort. When a project in her
office was finished, the paper, instead of being shredded (this was before
those times began) the papers were lined up, cut to size and stapled. They were
the put out for the disposition of everyone in the office. And she would gather
up a goodly amount and give them to the kids the next time she saw them.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And
they made good (or bad) use of them. Melody had so much fun drawing seasonal
scenes. At Halloween, she would draw haunted houses with rickety fences around
them and ghosts stretching out of windows. There would be bats flying in the
sky, jack-o-lanterns sitting on fence posts, and witches flying across full
moons. Sometimes she would even draw clouds across the moon so all you could
see would be their hats or shoes. So much fun!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ufWE2AsRETSk186ZzPOikcuwDx3zXpEv2Myg4M3kE5pMVvvrYplYqBjvi3D-70O6fS8K04wPneZR1j26AZqdJojz05b5-qqHHXS8uxhAUb8Aji1KUzZMUKhfJrlcQbO6THhPGTCTSis/s1600/D+is+for+Drawing+Frog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ufWE2AsRETSk186ZzPOikcuwDx3zXpEv2Myg4M3kE5pMVvvrYplYqBjvi3D-70O6fS8K04wPneZR1j26AZqdJojz05b5-qqHHXS8uxhAUb8Aji1KUzZMUKhfJrlcQbO6THhPGTCTSis/s200/D+is+for+Drawing+Frog.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">And
they had never-ending amounts of crayons, so those pictures were always colored
after being drawn. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Christmas
was time for Santa Claus, winter scenes, Christmas trees, snowmen, snowy skies,
sleds plum full of presents and of course, the reindeer. I especially liked
drawing Rudolph. I also liked drawing winter scenes and hanging them all over
the house. I guess they just reminded her that it was winter, since there
wasn’t that much snow falling on the ground there in Southern California.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There
were horses in fields eating, running, rearing on two legs. Bugs, butterflies,
giraffes, rabbits. The two animals she wasn’t very good at were cats and dogs,
strangely enough.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">She
still likes to draw, especially for the enjoyment of little children. She still
can’t draw cats or dogs, though.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-image: none;">
</div>
<div style="border-image: none;">
</div>
Mary Purparihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09115707814297485372noreply@blogger.com0