tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21185961740234070862024-03-14T03:15:49.768-04:00Hannah's LandHannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16642468907520026131noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2118596174023407086.post-86681386401744810732010-11-19T21:47:00.005-05:002010-11-19T21:58:32.491-05:00The Net<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:lidthemecomplexscript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:splitpgbreakandparamark/> <w:dontvertaligncellwithsp/> 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mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Believe it or not, I think daily of subjects to blog about. I forget most of them by the end of the day (which is why my blog lies dormant for months at a time). At least half of them are unimportant concepts that only I would find interesting. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Tonight, as Dan watches our latest Netflix arrival (a typical tale of mobsters, guns and knives), I entertain myself with the computer (because I finished reading my library book and I don’t feel like sweeping the kitchen floor or organizing a closet). </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I know my parents and the generations before me feel this even more strongly than I do – but I frequently realize how attached we are to anything electronic. Every morning at the office, I turn on each computer, charge my cell phone, log onto the internet for the day’s use, sign into my e-mail account and work out of it throughout the day. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Fifteen years ago, we had nothing but a TV and VCR – how did we go about life? What did we do? How did we pass our time or accomplish any tasks without internet, e-mail, cell phones or any other gadgets? </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">My family first got “the internet” when I started college in 1998. We only got it because one of my professors at school assigned course work that students were supposed to do “online.” (He was a groundbreaking one in that regard.) I remember asking my dad, “Do you think we could get the internet here at home? I need it for a class.” We did already have dial-up-save-it-to-your-hard-drive-for-free Juno e-mail. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Free dial-up Juno e-mail, by the way, was great. Two or three messages could download in just under three minutes. It was thrilling to watch that little status bar climb to 100% as your mail came in. (Even advertisements and spam were exciting). A few years earlier, I remember trying to wrap my head around the concept of e-mail when a friend spoke about “talking to someone” via electronic mail on the computer. Ten years before that, it amazed me to watch how our local librarian's computer could "talk" to the library across town and see if the St. Matthews branch had my book. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I find myself trying to remember what we did with our time back then, and wondering how we accomplished all our day-to-day activities that now seem to require net browsing or phone apps. <span style=""> </span>There was no texting. No Netflix. <span style=""> </span>No e-mail. No forwards. People called each other on the phone (landline, of course), talked to each other, read books, studied things, played games. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Today, most people will consider you odd if you don’t have an e-mail address. If you don’t have one, you are either: </p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in; font-family: georgia;"><span style=""><span style="">a.<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span></span>Lying.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in; font-family: georgia;"><span style=""><span style="">b.<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span></span>Too young or too old to figure out how to use the computer.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in; font-family: georgia;"><span style=""><span style="">c.<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span></span>Amish.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in; font-family: georgia;"><span style=""><span style="">d.<span style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 7pt; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;"> </span></span></span>Living in a foreign country where it is impossible to find a computer.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Occasionally (and only for very small fractions of time) I want to rebel against the unveiling of <span style=""> </span>brand new amazing devices every week -- the newest iPhone, the newest blackberry capability, GPS for all your friends, the app for anything you’ve ever imagined, and so many others that I haven’t even heard of because I don’t follow electronics news. All handy tools.<span style=""> </span>I keep telling myself that I don’t want to be so connected to the rest of the world. Mostly because I know if I had a phone that made it easy to text or check mail, I’d be doing it all the time. <span style=""> </span>The way I see it, I’m already losing more than a few hours each week, suctioned away by typing and browsing the web. </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I wonder what I could become if I had each one of those hours back. I would get a lot more piano practice that way. Wonder what I could have done this evening if I hadn’t been sitting here writing about my time getting sucked away. It is a <span style="font-style: italic;">net</span>, after all.<br /></p>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16642468907520026131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2118596174023407086.post-90568916072089802092010-07-03T23:28:00.001-04:002010-07-03T23:55:21.328-04:00More Lessons Learned<div style="text-align: center;">* * *<br /></div><br />While discussing how to make a proper stage bow for recital:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> "Be sure to keep your arms at your sides when you bow."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5-year-old student:</span> "But I want to bow like THIS..." <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />(Takes a very low bow with one arm in front of his body and the other behind his back.)<br /></span>"...it's how you bow to a KING!"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> "But that's not a good way to bow on stage. Besides, there aren't going to be any kings at the recital next week."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Student:</span> "God is a King. And He will be at the recital because He is everywhere."<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Another 5-year-old boy:<br />"I need help with this song I am trying to figure out. If you know this song, you can help me. If you don't know it, then I will teach it to you."<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">From the eight-year-old girl who loves scales and chords (and apparently quarter notes also):<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Me </span><span style="font-style: italic;">(Counting out loud in 2/4 time)</span>: "One...two; one...two."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Student: </span>"You forgot to say the other beats."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me: </span>"This piece is in 2/4 , so we only have two beats in each measure."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Student: </span>"Oh, I feel sorry for poor old beats 3 and 4! They get left out!"<br /><br /><br /></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">***<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">10-year-old girl, after listening to the composer Ravel for the first time:<br /><br />"And I thought BEETHOVEN was crazy!"<br /></div></div><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16642468907520026131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2118596174023407086.post-89219155670837075412010-07-03T22:49:00.001-04:002010-07-04T08:29:54.079-04:00Lawn-and-Garden<div style="text-align: left;">Dan and Bailey love yard work.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGwHJYdJhV1sZaIHFIf6HWZD5oh2pNS94LNfFmJfzK4EpdQ7l4KGWYdZV_9-PPpMoIMlbjWyRlaWVqT4VL4LqX6F1pTsbPVtK18UrzpKawF11Uc8JzMTCYGQ7gruj4dNI6J-k3AhzFvxg/s1600/GEDC0792.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGwHJYdJhV1sZaIHFIf6HWZD5oh2pNS94LNfFmJfzK4EpdQ7l4KGWYdZV_9-PPpMoIMlbjWyRlaWVqT4VL4LqX6F1pTsbPVtK18UrzpKawF11Uc8JzMTCYGQ7gruj4dNI6J-k3AhzFvxg/s320/GEDC0792.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489878446617041426" border="0" /></a>Dan mows the grass, Bailey trots after him, and they play a game of fetch the whole time.<br /><br />Earlier this spring, Dan tilled the back corner of our yard for a vegetable garden.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim22s8KunAF2kwJaOX1k5IpAeXj8QZQ7Y0kkVqMEapliqRVFJCnseC6eUUU635MdTTG6hxJFw3ct5UP9Yn4LzxtwvWgJxfKIbFKRbYlmCGICevGfQi2XF5vutXMyR9Az6vNuX53AxVeArH/s1600/GEDC0808.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim22s8KunAF2kwJaOX1k5IpAeXj8QZQ7Y0kkVqMEapliqRVFJCnseC6eUUU635MdTTG6hxJFw3ct5UP9Yn4LzxtwvWgJxfKIbFKRbYlmCGICevGfQi2XF5vutXMyR9Az6vNuX53AxVeArH/s320/GEDC0808.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489878454867850178" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_k1xHCTBwzUsKcXWCpmu_4YCPO0DyABn5Cb9H7sI5DzcQn4InsjOFaGt7wpv42TAJIS2TGLfFdwdLfB_8Eln1W11X954_RwUrcRQdah3q8NfvR8nuzKK4y1Cdii3onglmUo4ovkEHi7K/s1600/GEDC0809.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_k1xHCTBwzUsKcXWCpmu_4YCPO0DyABn5Cb9H7sI5DzcQn4InsjOFaGt7wpv42TAJIS2TGLfFdwdLfB_8Eln1W11X954_RwUrcRQdah3q8NfvR8nuzKK4y1Cdii3onglmUo4ovkEHi7K/s320/GEDC0809.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489878465291058642" border="0" /></a>At first, it looked like the picture above. But now, after a few short months:<br /><ul><li>The sweet potatoes are taking over the dirt that belongs to the other vegetables.<br /></li><li>The corn is much taller than we are.</li><li>The squash plants were so crowded that we had to transplant them AND hand-pollinate them since the bees aren't doing their job.<br /></li><li>The romaine plant gave us 4 salads during its lifetime.<br /></li><li>We have jalapenos every few days. </li></ul><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYaWzVjz_r2RtuIBhzgyBlrSsqn5a_93AfdiMlfvCQwY9QTVtGSRvn5qprPrF6Dmex5QpQ7Czp-mD05wIWw4wO1b0mOGmpv7j0wCjW7xi3INVyiHx3QTuvqcpQWv7kVjKzaHos5vF_pZF7/s1600/GEDC1091.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 344px; height: 257px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYaWzVjz_r2RtuIBhzgyBlrSsqn5a_93AfdiMlfvCQwY9QTVtGSRvn5qprPrF6Dmex5QpQ7Czp-mD05wIWw4wO1b0mOGmpv7j0wCjW7xi3INVyiHx3QTuvqcpQWv7kVjKzaHos5vF_pZF7/s320/GEDC1091.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490025750612750082" border="0" /></a><br />The garden contains 3 different kinds of peppers, tomatoes, zucchini, yellow squash, romaine (now deceased), 1 strawberry bush, cantaloupe (no fruit yet), sweet potatoes, corn, and beans. I don't think I left anything out except the innumerable species of weeds that also enjoy our dirt and water. (Why do the bees pollinate THEM but not the squash plants?)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezdkUEuYcZB562mN9OBYEe1zaXbb72JGS2OQYfU24-GlCXOGXcM9p3plbjEMzWEyS6o5Py0u-3gejHJ4VvI4KWnaCNZohmNCaXr03v6Ea4di1qd5Iy-66LC4bbdhHrzGs2U5T9ncdQVbB/s1600/GEDC1094.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezdkUEuYcZB562mN9OBYEe1zaXbb72JGS2OQYfU24-GlCXOGXcM9p3plbjEMzWEyS6o5Py0u-3gejHJ4VvI4KWnaCNZohmNCaXr03v6Ea4di1qd5Iy-66LC4bbdhHrzGs2U5T9ncdQVbB/s320/GEDC1094.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490025769577743170" border="0" /></a><br />So far, we've eaten five strawberries, one zucchini, four jalapenos, one green pepper, and romaine leaves. Pulled our first ripe tomato off the vine today. It's probably going to go into some sauce for lunch tomorrow. It's a "Victory Garden," because it's a victory for me that I haven't killed anything in it yet. (Except the romaine, and that was on purpose.)Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16642468907520026131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2118596174023407086.post-50972343759536719402010-04-23T14:49:00.000-04:002010-04-23T15:16:07.580-04:00Continuation:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitilJjktKy3Qx8cRh2buWtGAHEh43kHgSOh0RfQIqJ3XE7QjS7umJYhdzfyA73DR7tWXgEaRWhKpeeKX5W5J7wmKdQ4NgZL7WMPpsqMU15bfY2QVOEX5aYnUUIWL5FQQ6InfqWa_O68jIm/s1600/Recital+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitilJjktKy3Qx8cRh2buWtGAHEh43kHgSOh0RfQIqJ3XE7QjS7umJYhdzfyA73DR7tWXgEaRWhKpeeKX5W5J7wmKdQ4NgZL7WMPpsqMU15bfY2QVOEX5aYnUUIWL5FQQ6InfqWa_O68jIm/s320/Recital+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463413622854767266" border="0" /></a>Remember the little girl who was thrilled to learn her scales and chords? (Here she is at the piano).<br /><br />She had a new statement for me at her lesson this week:<br /><br />"I learned how to conjugate the triads!"<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />(And I could barely remember if I had actually said that phrase in passing the week before... after all, she was SO excited about learning her C Major primary chords!)</span><br /><br />Let's hope she remembers this if she ever takes music theory in college!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16642468907520026131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2118596174023407086.post-70235780406639038262010-04-17T08:18:00.000-04:002010-04-17T15:42:00.054-04:00What they say...Here is another collection of things my students have said. (Parents, you will definitely recognize your kids here... I hope they keep it coming!)<br /><br />1. <span style="font-style: italic;">A homeschool answer for sure</span>...<br />Me: "Did you do anything fun while you were out of town on spring break?"<br />Student: "Yes! We went to some museums!"<br /><br />2. I was explaining dissonant intervals like 2nds and 7ths to an eight-year-old. I said, "Do you hear these two notes? They don't sound good together." She shouted, "Discord! Cacophony!"<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(Another homeschooler.)</span><br /><br />3. Seven-year-old girl: "I went to Burger King and got a drink... and I played 'Cuckoo' with my straw and the lid."<br /><br />4. Same girl, working on a song in her sight-reading book. "I just LOVE this piece SO much. I NEVER want to check it off. I always want to keep working on it!"<br /><br />5. Seven-year-old girl, putting hands together on one of her Suzuki pieces for the first time: "OH! I sound just like the CD!"<br /><br />6. As my students were getting ready to leave, the 5-yr-old brother came back inside with a dandelion in his hand and ran to his mom. "Mommy, I picked a flower for you!" he said. His older sister apologized to me, "Oh, I hope that wasn't from your garden."<br /><br />7. Same little boy came in for his lesson the next week and said to me, "Here is your money -- I'll pay you today after we finish our lessons." In his hand he had two quarters. I asked him where he got the money and he answered, "I found it in the car." Then he said, "Mommy, I'm paying for our lessons today so you don't have to."<br /><br />8. I encouraged my 7-yr-old violin student to practice a lot so he could get very good, and told him to watch a young violinist prodigy, David Horvat, on YouTube. (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgNOsCd-mqE&feature=related"><span style="font-style: italic;">See it here</span></a>.) My little student responded, "Oh, I've heard of him! My grandma says he makes $150.00 a day just by playing on the street! AND, he <span style="font-style: italic;">almost </span>got run over by a car!!"<br /><br />9. (This is my favorite...) Eight-yr-old student to her mother: "Mrs. Hall is so nice and sweet and always happy. And she's so patient, too. It's almost like having another mom!"<br /><br />10. Another 8-yr-old girl. The week before, we had practiced the C Major scale out of a "scale and chord exercise book" for the first time. I didn't realize how excited this had made her. At her next lesson, the first thing out of her mouth as she walked through the door was her absolutely jubilant exclamation, "Guess what! I'm all ready to learn the C Major Primary Chords!" <span style="font-style: italic;">(She is the first and only student I've ever seen to be excited about scales and chords...)</span>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16642468907520026131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2118596174023407086.post-55153178666107389372010-01-25T12:56:00.000-05:002010-01-27T17:05:56.551-05:00Sunday Baroque<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.acswebnetworks.com/2019/226/ourmotherofsorrows_lg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 195px; height: 132px;" src="http://images.acswebnetworks.com/2019/226/ourmotherofsorrows_lg.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>My Sunday mornings changed radically in November.<br /><br />Since April 2006, I had been church pianist at Our Mother of Sorrows - I would go play for the 8:30 AM mass, and then hang out in the rectory until the next service. The music director is my good friend Chris, who I've known since college. In between services, he and the priest and the deacons and I would drink tea and coffee, eat snacks, chat, read the paper, run errands, and then walk back into church for the 11:00 mass -- Round Two of the same stuff (and usually more well-performed the second time around).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.acswebnetworks.com/2019/226/saintraphaelweb_lg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 161px; height: 120px;" src="http://images.acswebnetworks.com/2019/226/saintraphaelweb_lg.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>This past November, Chris accepted a position at the church of St. Raphael, and I was happy to be able to follow him there. Mass schedule is different; I now play one service on Saturday and one service on Sunday.<br /><br />And since I am the only keyboardist at the new place, I am now learning the organ.<br /><br />I have been a pianist all my life. Can't even remember what it was like NOT to know how to play piano, so this new musical challenge excites me. I've tried playing the organ a few times in the past, but with great difficulty. ("What's a hautbois?" "What happens if I push the Swell button?" "How do you make it louder?" "Why can't I hear anything?" "Why does it go so slow?" "What's a gedeckt?" "How do you turn it on?" etc.)<br /><br />I took my first lesson a few months ago... felt like I was sitting there with Johann Sebastian himself as my teacher explained the stops and pedals and other workings. So I've started (trying) to get to church early to practice organ before rehearsing with the choir.<br /><br />I'm hooked now. To touch a key and hear the instrument sound out of the walls... to hear your sound coming at you from the back of the church... the floor vibrating and the sound consuming the air. The whole <span style="font-style: italic;">church</span> feels like the instrument. The power is addictive.<br /><br />It's difficult to remember I'm there to <span style="font-style: italic;">practice</span> -- exercises, technique, fingering -- and not just to play around. I admit I do not usually resist the temptation to play every baroque piece I have memorized - with each and every different combination of stops. (The Bach minuets sound GREAT!)<br /><br />I do practice the obscure-yet-instructive organ samples put forth in my lesson book. They're all by Bach and Pachelbel and lots of people I've never heard of. Some are hard and some are easy... but they are all fun to play because it doesn't feel like *I* am the one making all that sound.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br />***<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">After the St. Raphael service, I drive over to Southeast to meet Dan and my brother Nathan so we can all go to church together. While I'm in the car, the classical radio station broadcasts a weekly program called "Sunday Baroque" -- playing all the greatest (but sometimes not-so-famous) works of Handel, Bach, and others. I turn it up loud. (This must be why Dan says I'm partially deaf). It's great inspiration for my next organ morning.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />I get to Southeast just in time to hear all of the sermon -- and also just in time to miss the boppy songs at the beginning of their service. My timing is excellent. I hope no one gets offended by that, but this is MY blog, and in it I type MY opinions. Some people love that music, but not me. I am a musical snob.<br /><br />When the morning of church and music is over, we go home for lunch and a day mostly of rest... and washing the dishes.<br /></div></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16642468907520026131noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2118596174023407086.post-70988361905326106602009-12-28T12:31:00.000-05:002009-12-28T13:47:48.353-05:00Christmas Eve - Part IEver since 2005, I have spent Christmas week with Dan's family in South Carolina. (Sorota Christmas is coming later this week!) Dan's dad takes the week off work, and we spend most of our time sitting around the kitchen table playing cards and eating.<br /><br />Everyone comes to Dan's parents' house on Christmas Eve. This year, it was Dan's Aunt Lynn; his cousins Beth and Cory; their kids Cody & Raegan; Dan's cousins Wayne and Rachel, their kids Kayla, Katie, and Olivia; and Dan's Uncle Lloyd.<br /><br />I don't have a group shot of everybody... I'm looking back now and seeing that most of my pictures are of the kids opening presents. Cody's greatest wish this year was for a Nintendo DS, and his great Aunt Brenda (Dan's mom) bought it for him. As you can see, he loved it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://hphotos-snc3.fbcdn.net/hs148.snc3/17547_220744371266_593686266_3257418_6294711_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 203px;" src="http://hphotos-snc3.fbcdn.net/hs148.snc3/17547_220744371266_593686266_3257418_6294711_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs148.snc3/17547_220744381266_593686266_3257419_7334089_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 273px; height: 204px;" src="http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs148.snc3/17547_220744381266_593686266_3257419_7334089_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">His little sister Raegan got a "talking dollhouse" -- also from Brenda -- and I think Bailey liked it as much as she did. Bailey was into everybody's presents, especially the wrapping paper.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-g.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs128.snc3/17547_220744396266_593686266_3257421_2743734_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 287px; height: 215px;" src="http://photos-g.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs128.snc3/17547_220744396266_593686266_3257421_2743734_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs128.snc3/17547_220744391266_593686266_3257420_5052584_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 209px;" src="http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs128.snc3/17547_220744391266_593686266_3257420_5052584_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Bailey also likes tickling Cody!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs148.snc3/17547_220744441266_593686266_3257426_2327704_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 326px; height: 244px;" src="http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs148.snc3/17547_220744441266_593686266_3257426_2327704_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16642468907520026131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2118596174023407086.post-51894491344928135032009-12-03T19:34:00.000-05:002009-12-03T23:03:17.845-05:00Thanksgiving in Huntsville<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxVLHu10ImSYQpN-Jr2KYq3omdzYIm08rKf7Edy1eIkwfl0ASxu9mSGfA0vemrNFioskCTlI1_J0SB1ZAPZgRzVyZMAVcE09o-aSEteQ4rQiaGfxGO9JQ78yz3PyFv4UBhmFZI1RFAcEiD/s1600-h/086.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxVLHu10ImSYQpN-Jr2KYq3omdzYIm08rKf7Edy1eIkwfl0ASxu9mSGfA0vemrNFioskCTlI1_J0SB1ZAPZgRzVyZMAVcE09o-aSEteQ4rQiaGfxGO9JQ78yz3PyFv4UBhmFZI1RFAcEiD/s200/086.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411209545637586642" border="0" /></a>We spent Thanksgiving weekend at my great-aunt's house in Huntsville, Alabama. Most people probably think it's boring to spend time with their great-aunt, but <span style="font-style: italic;">mine </span>is amazing, and I love every minute I can be around her. She is my mom's aunt (my grandmother's sister) and we call her Aunt Sis.<br /><br />I was 14 the last time I had been at her house - she lives on a 50-acre farm with beef cattle, a lake, three German shepherds, a garden full of vegetables, and about ten tractors made between 1940 and 1990. It was my favorite vacation spot of all time when I was younger (I think it still might be), so I could barely contain my excitement, knowing we would be going there for Thanksgiving.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">THURSDAY:<br />Mom, Dad, my brother Nathan, Dan, and I drove down on Thanksgiving morning. Everything about Aunt Sis's place was the same as it had ever been. Here is a mini-tour of her farmhouse.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOintErVHVBANFsxL7JqbZBuJgAlACt-yBTxrJnzdqt8ZWiWtXkCRLDGGYdMPb_90zNWdyUIbUDT5FH8qpqCiGWGgv21w9pWuo2bbWZZkqybzN8QWNiDlavDeJh7T6KpukL2Hfga3kwv3p/s1600-h/045.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOintErVHVBANFsxL7JqbZBuJgAlACt-yBTxrJnzdqt8ZWiWtXkCRLDGGYdMPb_90zNWdyUIbUDT5FH8qpqCiGWGgv21w9pWuo2bbWZZkqybzN8QWNiDlavDeJh7T6KpukL2Hfga3kwv3p/s320/045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411181308478830402" border="0" /></a>Above is a view of the front porch from the inside of the house - note the freezer - it is full of frozen vegetables from the garden and other delicious things that Aunt Sis has cooked.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEm-EaixhRqJ3f0LYID_c1hR-9eENwjy6iNLZGr4Lx4djNWN7_KL_yGWQ1L-T9cS8eSTkCLMr6Jrg01pJm-AxWcGuAaWNZ0d381cHNmZss33Pq-nw4ThhEjg1nJ9MkiCFZNvjqNY2-Cn9l/s1600-h/027.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEm-EaixhRqJ3f0LYID_c1hR-9eENwjy6iNLZGr4Lx4djNWN7_KL_yGWQ1L-T9cS8eSTkCLMr6Jrg01pJm-AxWcGuAaWNZ0d381cHNmZss33Pq-nw4ThhEjg1nJ9MkiCFZNvjqNY2-Cn9l/s320/027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411182668338813138" border="0" /></a>This room (above) is not the kitchen - it is like a front-porch room where you do laundry, wash vegetables off when you bring them in from the garden, read magazines, and toast yourself by the wood stove (see Aunt Sis and me below). The stove keeps the whole house warm.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNUlXos9vjLZUfW4e2tGh5mBR2RUFJAcSqC9cF1WhrhUbpU5V-EnS3jVTxeDlxS39kiZYxVY9-CinMJAtVyhvMRpVpP10aJLwfMq33CLLnl_ZVZVO9SLgGOdP0ZYX6rDe2i4zWDz7IKnnG/s1600-h/062.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNUlXos9vjLZUfW4e2tGh5mBR2RUFJAcSqC9cF1WhrhUbpU5V-EnS3jVTxeDlxS39kiZYxVY9-CinMJAtVyhvMRpVpP10aJLwfMq33CLLnl_ZVZVO9SLgGOdP0ZYX6rDe2i4zWDz7IKnnG/s320/062.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411184341915803122" border="0" /></a>When we arrived, our first job was to enlarge the kitchen table:<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmC6fhAboBqS441rle0vNshe9jRpAQaF1H7xIQ_UN_OohhIhp_FVdEQ_514QU9eQxlsWINXogDc4HcGbTVNhssmdopUubgoSUOHQf1YEA5QGT68Xw6giOUvB5GP0iOSdwNbZYlYDZVdwRn/s1600-h/P1010009.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmC6fhAboBqS441rle0vNshe9jRpAQaF1H7xIQ_UN_OohhIhp_FVdEQ_514QU9eQxlsWINXogDc4HcGbTVNhssmdopUubgoSUOHQf1YEA5QGT68Xw6giOUvB5GP0iOSdwNbZYlYDZVdwRn/s320/P1010009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411225156041738770" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghj9i5B7yDCkhkQI32-4E_D40xCFh4ASdKLLTL6okgJZ6oZyKfMWT0JhHtYVVByEgz2x2FtzyKcU0bSkZaU2r34kZ_Qe0_7BseD8LgFJG2cIJ_mX-rU2K0-HYDsN8gRxJyP5qECkSiUVZq/s1600-h/P1010010.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghj9i5B7yDCkhkQI32-4E_D40xCFh4ASdKLLTL6okgJZ6oZyKfMWT0JhHtYVVByEgz2x2FtzyKcU0bSkZaU2r34kZ_Qe0_7BseD8LgFJG2cIJ_mX-rU2K0-HYDsN8gRxJyP5qECkSiUVZq/s320/P1010010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411225296864090690" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Here is the beginning of our Thanksgiving feast (just the salads):<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxZWD_vr4pPIjMHWyH9zOCf7TVeIyQvMVph6FAyfndA1vqJ7Z3X3J5M6qnxHbXYpNClO1navf6nfi1awCepV2PJRYxkwtJ8wpa5_fkvFUEFlNbtfAR6csrqIojBVlmzCaBpsAYWKKMph1/s1600-h/023.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQxZWD_vr4pPIjMHWyH9zOCf7TVeIyQvMVph6FAyfndA1vqJ7Z3X3J5M6qnxHbXYpNClO1navf6nfi1awCepV2PJRYxkwtJ8wpa5_fkvFUEFlNbtfAR6csrqIojBVlmzCaBpsAYWKKMph1/s320/023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411186909253092290" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">After lunch, the guys (Dan, Dad, Nathan, and cousin Michael) went to practice shooting with multiple types of pistols. Mom, Sis, and I took a leisurely walk around the lake.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbVmly7UIQ_gK_DTs96RTJuEeHFtxBW3v6QVJEqe0IQ09VKPIaw1uooPEkFfSOg4hlKI5myAYQPrXuy_s-G6nuAAgt61uaoL8J-YTTWvLYNEFIHWIk21_SN-sDjQkQwcwk8e3uhst5BS1/s1600-h/030.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbVmly7UIQ_gK_DTs96RTJuEeHFtxBW3v6QVJEqe0IQ09VKPIaw1uooPEkFfSOg4hlKI5myAYQPrXuy_s-G6nuAAgt61uaoL8J-YTTWvLYNEFIHWIk21_SN-sDjQkQwcwk8e3uhst5BS1/s320/030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411190660425670130" border="0" /></a>A while later, we returned to the kitchen for a supper of taco soup and other treats: pie, ice cream, tassies, and a huge tub of homemade cracker jacks.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />The evening ended with a game of Balderdash. I can't remember who won [winner, feel free to comment if you are reading this blog post], but the funniest round of the night was one about a crazy law. It went something like this: "In Japan, during childbirth, it used to be required for the father of the baby to________." and of course everyone is supposed to fill in the blank with their own answer. The <span style="font-style: italic;">correct </span>answer was "lie in bed and imitate being in labor." (Sorry to ruin it for fellow Balderdash players who haven't come across this one yet.)<br /><br />Nathan's answer was: "The father of the baby is required to drape himself with not less than three pounds of meat, symbolizing 'breadth' and 'depth.'" Guess who racked up the points on <span style="font-style: italic;">that </span>round.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">FRIDAY:<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Played with the dogs - here is Mack, the puppy.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG_XemIPSKtBRha4aH3u2zPGc1gzaErW7_1UjXLOlUbmltNZrYZ6qoMl-3m9QgVM7S0qx1Oayd8Rwm8pSR8SCshcZehMQhCgWP1xdVTS0y4igt6WS65usZTBwxe7h-9km-K8pAqce62FD1/s1600-h/P1010038.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG_XemIPSKtBRha4aH3u2zPGc1gzaErW7_1UjXLOlUbmltNZrYZ6qoMl-3m9QgVM7S0qx1Oayd8Rwm8pSR8SCshcZehMQhCgWP1xdVTS0y4igt6WS65usZTBwxe7h-9km-K8pAqce62FD1/s320/P1010038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411225647835301730" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXu9lo9P0LegFG7tVxB28DtIhfYXs-7LKzLWHpLzEq1te7QjBTxXHq62aWhc3WEKfkNy4VK_TU6kR2Kw5obQWyH9fR_7R2pKOLXQYhShIiDn0uy0rPz333Xiq4CagPfzEqnEJglEZm5tt/s1600-h/P1010039.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXu9lo9P0LegFG7tVxB28DtIhfYXs-7LKzLWHpLzEq1te7QjBTxXHq62aWhc3WEKfkNy4VK_TU6kR2Kw5obQWyH9fR_7R2pKOLXQYhShIiDn0uy0rPz333Xiq4CagPfzEqnEJglEZm5tt/s320/P1010039.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411225804630687778" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xCpXTdVblNU4bsmrhN4hrHYocfgpiwhNogQLyyKrMUvJfVbbWVHX4wq3jtTlAb-n-I3zfsm0PW4U1fY513RJdD1b0nyveqhcWavLfpqu2iZhMlPEMSyQy_wtJ1Havagr8NDHx1etPhl8/s1600-h/Mack+%26+Hannah2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xCpXTdVblNU4bsmrhN4hrHYocfgpiwhNogQLyyKrMUvJfVbbWVHX4wq3jtTlAb-n-I3zfsm0PW4U1fY513RJdD1b0nyveqhcWavLfpqu2iZhMlPEMSyQy_wtJ1Havagr8NDHx1etPhl8/s320/Mack+%26+Hannah2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411216801972293378" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Took a walk to check on the cows and make sure the fences were in good shape.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjbqHv8CarrROpoyRTK7SrDhzi5uZhZ1UOmWeyDOUa7pW2O9SiOAXDIMOX9oSZQ3JUS1knX5WhctfemF1D7KDCuaLYtTU76exs4dS_azeXAEhSqS_7Qi4qy6c-xOJL7Toy7t_r3KFxFZ-7/s1600-h/057.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjbqHv8CarrROpoyRTK7SrDhzi5uZhZ1UOmWeyDOUa7pW2O9SiOAXDIMOX9oSZQ3JUS1knX5WhctfemF1D7KDCuaLYtTU76exs4dS_azeXAEhSqS_7Qi4qy6c-xOJL7Toy7t_r3KFxFZ-7/s320/057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411197250216725714" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfnRi080aTd_a2ssuV4UdMOYZSn-CgKCPQOhJB9ukqSj_rVAvIvKFvvER0vkZI4FwOwkYvyg5VQoDG_sPkThsdI7Eii5nbAmH0ZIdP_d61gVJS5EOd6VsasSrGVpZRhbJDJZaUtsoWDocC/s1600-h/059.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfnRi080aTd_a2ssuV4UdMOYZSn-CgKCPQOhJB9ukqSj_rVAvIvKFvvER0vkZI4FwOwkYvyg5VQoDG_sPkThsdI7Eii5nbAmH0ZIdP_d61gVJS5EOd6VsasSrGVpZRhbJDJZaUtsoWDocC/s320/059.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411197758057793010" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Nathan and Dan wanted to learn how to re-load bullets (make new ones from gunpowder and old brass), so the guys all went to collect their shells from shooting the day before.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSqhcZXYjYVxosfZ2gHOKuE0x5BS3RW2hK8epiO5QnyTS79LFNPwBEECUB07kov2_LgmrH4Ba2iVKjhxS0Tgy-qxnY0Y_czeyPs4acSkdh8M4dyF7WlVI7EvLVtF_-6Vwd4mKYj2LsXaYl/s1600-h/Collecting+Brass.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSqhcZXYjYVxosfZ2gHOKuE0x5BS3RW2hK8epiO5QnyTS79LFNPwBEECUB07kov2_LgmrH4Ba2iVKjhxS0Tgy-qxnY0Y_czeyPs4acSkdh8M4dyF7WlVI7EvLVtF_-6Vwd4mKYj2LsXaYl/s320/Collecting+Brass.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411199075401491938" border="0" /></a>By evening, we were all back inside the house, discussing the laws of physics. (Really.)<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQR9JWQt7BFuXE6GW-iJnQWAzh7pYgrbqgGz416FKwZYVHvkWyZjobi1klweT2nHQ-et7zDwsHSBfIgalkg7lk0sWJEsiGe30-_G_zWgFCdMfRROXZQf7HftrOhOAWXfiv3fTlifoJszE-/s1600-h/Night+at+Sis%27s.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQR9JWQt7BFuXE6GW-iJnQWAzh7pYgrbqgGz416FKwZYVHvkWyZjobi1klweT2nHQ-et7zDwsHSBfIgalkg7lk0sWJEsiGe30-_G_zWgFCdMfRROXZQf7HftrOhOAWXfiv3fTlifoJszE-/s320/Night+at+Sis%27s.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411207460852709986" border="0" /></a>Aunt Sis is a mathematician/physicist and used to work for NASA in the rocket department. When she retired from that, she taught higher math and physics in high school. It makes you feel smart just to look at her bookshelf:<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKm7ox-nFa0bCXz4_mCGWYt-z111u425Dmk92gzVHf7useFaisR9QrtpcZ8qQXdL9bEzDEv8oZzq9EAs0MEczAyjQrSZUixAvDZhxfKozqI69HZWeKAaEk7VSwnuUs-B5IoqXnN9Ow7wUs/s1600-h/P1010019.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKm7ox-nFa0bCXz4_mCGWYt-z111u425Dmk92gzVHf7useFaisR9QrtpcZ8qQXdL9bEzDEv8oZzq9EAs0MEczAyjQrSZUixAvDZhxfKozqI69HZWeKAaEk7VSwnuUs-B5IoqXnN9Ow7wUs/s320/P1010019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411226128589964498" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinNTZKF9Qbb4wmpWnL1cdcYSDn927qwddSp8YMOcmw6kb99kAOah1-ea2aVLcwE5zVIP2_t3RZfiUSS6rsnsPsW_K-i_DisgUWZML2zyqvbWIS3W3wZsS9SNJ5jLNAVScUdIHF3ILLWicj/s1600-h/P1010013.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinNTZKF9Qbb4wmpWnL1cdcYSDn927qwddSp8YMOcmw6kb99kAOah1-ea2aVLcwE5zVIP2_t3RZfiUSS6rsnsPsW_K-i_DisgUWZML2zyqvbWIS3W3wZsS9SNJ5jLNAVScUdIHF3ILLWicj/s320/P1010013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411226131422799154" border="0" /></a>Aunt Sis always made me want to be good at math... it's because of her that I loved trig and calculus... (though I am sad to say I don't remember much of it). You never know what you'll find sitting on her shelves here and there.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4cQqPy2qFnhGqMclwPvyYMdDGymEWApJpqnuh89NT9b7Xv71Ub9ZfP6VMgou6OVkqCMIOzZYdrJ_sMlN3h7tX4CQ2-Uq7P8sg6UaxMFJp2yZ-Xn6qdX8SyZrT-U83qHntLxuO9zWnDkqi/s1600-h/protractors+001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4cQqPy2qFnhGqMclwPvyYMdDGymEWApJpqnuh89NT9b7Xv71Ub9ZfP6VMgou6OVkqCMIOzZYdrJ_sMlN3h7tX4CQ2-Uq7P8sg6UaxMFJp2yZ-Xn6qdX8SyZrT-U83qHntLxuO9zWnDkqi/s320/protractors+001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411205231990382610" border="0" /></a>I don't know what Dan and Nathan are discussing in the picture below, but somehow I don't think it has anything to do with a science lesson.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHwh1wyLkU8WbK9ULQaepzqAE1gyikT_iUuJxoWNthXO8mGo4Wwf1wy49zymE8hsnkOfdhNVfxujwSY5CyozJSqo0iH5yymOt0xWv68jCm6BD78G6XOP_GRKsrwrEoQZ3lg7nl4P4gzv4/s1600-h/014.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHwh1wyLkU8WbK9ULQaepzqAE1gyikT_iUuJxoWNthXO8mGo4Wwf1wy49zymE8hsnkOfdhNVfxujwSY5CyozJSqo0iH5yymOt0xWv68jCm6BD78G6XOP_GRKsrwrEoQZ3lg7nl4P4gzv4/s320/014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411206305886997122" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">SATURDAY:<br />Spent more time outside, playing with the dogs. Here is Sarah, another of the German shepherds, and the back of the house.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3EY4LL3OZcReUbZhARZpUKuro2_n_kYXW5X8SS2hiH1TwnL3W6PnOvpWcRGx5f8WfIG37O2j31ao5sXcvCandriw7XA7h5uAu3X4AGWpNmMcEwL4FdsHBftpW9R-4PJ9PE4lCbsUH4syy/s1600-h/P1010054.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3EY4LL3OZcReUbZhARZpUKuro2_n_kYXW5X8SS2hiH1TwnL3W6PnOvpWcRGx5f8WfIG37O2j31ao5sXcvCandriw7XA7h5uAu3X4AGWpNmMcEwL4FdsHBftpW9R-4PJ9PE4lCbsUH4syy/s320/P1010054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411226547193486770" border="0" /></a><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbbuvpCF1jCpo8tJjsJ-fZ6kCWFcvTKO4XYkYp_tI5OkiXNfgv5PvQIhoLyqfPrFdY5PpwgFCY9UaKfOMyFpjnVjoi9F2HKzk4kML_GFfoBvSAmzW8H6Q9UN4PzqD36BPwZHY_Upb_jjMF/s1600-h/P1010055.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbbuvpCF1jCpo8tJjsJ-fZ6kCWFcvTKO4XYkYp_tI5OkiXNfgv5PvQIhoLyqfPrFdY5PpwgFCY9UaKfOMyFpjnVjoi9F2HKzk4kML_GFfoBvSAmzW8H6Q9UN4PzqD36BPwZHY_Upb_jjMF/s320/P1010055.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411226553567900658" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Mom, Sis, and I looked at old family photos like the one below. This is Aunt Sis and her twin brother (Uncle Bud) when they were babies.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV6LdJ5q6hAtDjH1IfoMJ80eMFv3cTy5NEmiefKQREOJWCXAA6atv6snAgT8d4pWZ_6qdgbg1G87jhegVxux4LXCHIPVerwtbDyxouuO3Pe2x5g_TmzGzeJcE0wUUoyujZAheq0kkCrx_o/s1600-h/P1010072.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV6LdJ5q6hAtDjH1IfoMJ80eMFv3cTy5NEmiefKQREOJWCXAA6atv6snAgT8d4pWZ_6qdgbg1G87jhegVxux4LXCHIPVerwtbDyxouuO3Pe2x5g_TmzGzeJcE0wUUoyujZAheq0kkCrx_o/s320/P1010072.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411221679323478322" border="0" /></a>It was very hard to leave that afternoon - we could have stayed for days. To Sis and Michael - THANK YOU FOR SUCH A WONDERFUL TIME! Can't wait to come back.<br /></div><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifWuRTcRkF3ESusDGQZGruGx49-eP_sRMq8SQskdiAA54ceFO6SIIIYYJ2xuLXcQ5ghIm3BONX5Nr7eZbolqBLJDdybH2mpEg2B_m8K1R6yCxUJYrmqQnHNmBPeuH4CLgo6wFTlFAwTYFW/s1600-h/P1010097.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifWuRTcRkF3ESusDGQZGruGx49-eP_sRMq8SQskdiAA54ceFO6SIIIYYJ2xuLXcQ5ghIm3BONX5Nr7eZbolqBLJDdybH2mpEg2B_m8K1R6yCxUJYrmqQnHNmBPeuH4CLgo6wFTlFAwTYFW/s320/P1010097.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411221182358572674" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhguNSrryznnXFJvqmna8-cyC0vmOueJnFTcDg7Xa1U2DyxJLk8EXpDNbUDXKnlY9x8dyv7T_9h19I5TLRm-nUTHBkM4v6Ghyphenhyphena_n5BHXaaTpewF5XR1-27ssb-LuUojNN7g8_euUgh7GLn9/s1600-h/P1010091.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhguNSrryznnXFJvqmna8-cyC0vmOueJnFTcDg7Xa1U2DyxJLk8EXpDNbUDXKnlY9x8dyv7T_9h19I5TLRm-nUTHBkM4v6Ghyphenhyphena_n5BHXaaTpewF5XR1-27ssb-LuUojNN7g8_euUgh7GLn9/s320/P1010091.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411221186246239458" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(See facebook for more photos.)</span><br /></div>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16642468907520026131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2118596174023407086.post-52133891608228689842009-11-24T21:03:00.000-05:002009-11-24T23:41:50.820-05:00Smashed<span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" >Broke a glass the other day. It happened as I was washing a set of crystal-looking juice glasses that had lived in a cardboard storage box for over three years. I set a clean one in the drying rack, and then... it crashed onto the floor and landed in a thousand pieces.<br /><br />At first I was mad that I hadn't taken time to set the glass in the rack carefully enough.<br /><br />Then I was sad because the glass broke.<br /><br />Then I was aggravated because I needed to clean it up - huge shards along with bits as small as dust.<br /><br />Then I thought, "I need to go put some shoes on."<br /><br />Then I thought, "And now I'm sounding like Mom."<br /><br />So, the kitchen floor has been swept with a broom, the swiffer, and the vacuum. I can't help thinking I'll find a piece with my foot later on.<br /><br />I apologize to our 6th guest who will not get the fancy crystal juice glass like everyone else. Sorry, but you'll have to drink out of a jelly jar.<br /><br />On the bright side, the floor is really clean. And there is more room for stuff in my cabinet.<br /><br /></span></span>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16642468907520026131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2118596174023407086.post-26801011949984830912009-11-22T16:03:00.000-05:002009-11-24T11:28:32.867-05:00First PostMy friends and family inspired me to start a blog. (They've also been encouraging me to publish my first post, too!) So, to Megan and Ellie especially: here it is! I hope you enjoy reading my blog as much as I love reading both of yours.<br /><br />It's not going to be a "business" blog, or a chiropractic-educational blog, or a music blog - just notes about normal life.<br /><br />I've recently been collecting cute-and-funny quotes from my students (that's what you do when you don't have any kids of your own that you can talk about), so I will share. If any of my student parents are reading this and you happen to recognize your own child's brilliant wit or humor, enjoy! Thank you for letting me teach your child - it's wonderful to watch them grow and advance.<br /><br />Here are just a few. Some of them I may have talked about before.<br /><br />1. My 7-yr-old violin student. He kept dropping his violin onto the floor, at least 4 times during lesson. I finally said, very seriously, "The next time you drop your violin, I am going to charge you a quarter. Make sure you bring some money to your next lesson." After a few minutes, we started working on "playing position" and the exercise of holding his violin under his chin with no hands to support it. Finally he said, "I think you have something you REALLY want to buy, and you must need 25 cents more... because you are trying to GET me to drop this thing!"<br />(I bet his family listens to Dave Ramsey)<br /><br />2. Random comments from a 7-yr-old piano student (she gives me a hilarious quote every week):<br />-"I wish this was a glass piano that you could see through, and I wish it had butterflies on it."<br />-"My fingers are like robots."<br />-"The Twinkle variations are my counselors."<br />-"When I come into my lesson, all I ever think about is piano. I forget about my family, school, and even my toys."<br />-"Judy Carmichael [professional swing/jazz pianist] plays all sloppy." (She said this after attending a Judy Carmichael concert).<br /><br />3. "Mommy, take notes!!" (whispered urgently by 8-yr-old piano student, one of my best ones.)<br /><br />4. A nine-yr-old girl, working on a Schumann piece. I explained to her that it was from the Romantic period, and that it needed rubato and dynamics and emotion so it didn't sound like a machine. She responded: "Romantic?! Ughghg! That's yucky! I hate romance."<br /><br />5. Older sister occasionally takes baby sister to the bathroom while middle sister has her lesson. The girls would always come out of the bathroom, with the little one holding a few squares of clean toilet paper. I finally asked the big sister why. She said, "Oh, Mrs. Hall, she LOVES your toilet paper because it's so soft!"<br /><br />6. Same girls: I used to teach in an apartment building with loud neighbors. One day my student came in, and neighbor was BLARING rap music from their stereo. My student said, "I told myself, 'I know that's not Mrs. Hall - she would NEVER play music like that!'"<br /><br />7. "My daddy spilled wine on my book." (6-yr-old violin girl).<br /><br />8. Overheard this at a recital. Little sister whispers to her older brother after his performance, "You made FIVE mistakes!"<br /><br />9. From an 11-yr-old girl: "I like the recitals better when there aren't any BOYS on them. Boys make me nervous."Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16642468907520026131noreply@blogger.com2