My husband loves to be outside this nice weather working in the back yard. Every spare moment is spent out there, raking, hammering, sawing or just staring into space dreaming up his next project. I admit I get a little impatient on his days off when he only comes in for meals, or when he stays out there all morning on work days until it is time for his afternoon job. But I can’t get too upset when I see how happy it makes him, and how well he sleeps at night after such vigorous exercise.
Howard has been dragging home various miscellaneous boards he buys at the Habitat for Humanity surplus store. (His newly-acquired F-150 truck comes in handy for this.) He did a great job doing some repair work on the back of the garage, but the back yard never held much appeal to me. I prefer the view from the swing on our screened front porch. But today after he went to work as I stood at the kitchen sink doing our lunch dishes, I peered out the window at the yard. It was charming!
The newly-raked yard was showing green from the overnight moisture, dappled in sun and shadow by the emerging young leaves from the elm branches overhead. Howard had finished constructing an attractive yard bench and had set it between our little garden statue, Boy with a Jug, (which had reminded me so much of our four-year-old son when we bought it over 30 years ago) and a large bird bath with a gracefully swirled base and fluted bowl that he bought at a yard sale last week.
He had placed our fifties-style metal yard chairs before the little matching table and positioned a cushioned lawn glider chair and its mate in a cozy conversational grouping around it. The picnic table, swept clean of leafing residue, was nearby. Excess lumber had been stacked neatly behind a white picket fence enclosure, built last year in a burst of creativity, in one corner of the yard behind the garage. I was impressed! It looked positively inviting!
I had to go outside and sit a few minutes among the singing birds flitting through tree branches, attracted by the birdfeeders and dropping down to sip from the birdbath. I was able to identify a distinctive birdsong as coming from the brilliant red cardinal high overhead, his beak opening and his little body jutting forward with each trill. I had to hand it to my husband. He had created a veritable work of art.
Ever since Adam tended his garden, it’s been inherent in man to tame his environment and bring order to his little bit of creation. I joined my husband in his little Eden after supper, where we shared the binoculars and a new pastime of bird watching. After all, love isn’t just looking at each other, it’s looking in the same direction.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Out to Eat
The park and garden were beautiful. We had finished our picnic and were now dawdling in the welcome warm sun by the fish pools. I was getting a little tired, and the concrete bench carved with angels was hard, nonetheless. “Howard, sit with your back next to me,” I suggested to my husband, then I leaned back on him when he did. Wow! This was comfortable! I could sit here all day! The benevolent sun was warming us into indolence as we watched the hypnotic koi lazily swimming about, occasionally darting for a stray insect or some indefinable food underneath the water.
Spring was just coming to the gardens, the budding trees and branches mostly bare, but showing a promise of beauty, like a gangly 12-year-old who had not yet filled out, but whose face and features held a trace of womanliness. The soft greens that hinted of leaves and the violet of the red bud trees added to the pastel of blue sky, faded a little today with wisps of clouds veiling its brightness. We just couldn’t let this day go by without taking our sandwiches to the park; yesterday was a brilliant blue, but the winds were a little too sharp for an outing. And tomorrow promised rain.
“Look, someone’s got our place,” I had said to my husband when we first entered the park. A man dressed nattily in a business suit sat erect and preoccupied with papers spread out before him at a round table underneath an arbor. Maybe a salesman needing a brief retreat during this noon time, I thought. “It looks too sunny, anyway,” I consoled myself as we continued along the path. The first time we had eaten there, the overgrowth was actually stultifying with its denseness, but in the fall, with the leaves thinning, it was about right for our take-out lunch.
We veered from the path and took a shortcut across the sparsely greening grass to our destination: a gazebo, new last year, outfitted comfortably with side-by-side gliders, an octagonal picnic table, and benches encircling the walls. Egg-salad sandwiches with little pickles, iced tea, chips and snack cakes were a feast in this setting. All too soon, we were ambling our way back to the car. The arbor, empty by this time, would have been perfect with its dappled sunlight, I noticed as we passed it. Our gazebo, beautiful to look at, was shaded and a little cool within. But now soaking up the sun leaning back-to-back was a perfect way to get warm. Shaking off our sleepiness, we headed home for a nap.
Spring was just coming to the gardens, the budding trees and branches mostly bare, but showing a promise of beauty, like a gangly 12-year-old who had not yet filled out, but whose face and features held a trace of womanliness. The soft greens that hinted of leaves and the violet of the red bud trees added to the pastel of blue sky, faded a little today with wisps of clouds veiling its brightness. We just couldn’t let this day go by without taking our sandwiches to the park; yesterday was a brilliant blue, but the winds were a little too sharp for an outing. And tomorrow promised rain.
“Look, someone’s got our place,” I had said to my husband when we first entered the park. A man dressed nattily in a business suit sat erect and preoccupied with papers spread out before him at a round table underneath an arbor. Maybe a salesman needing a brief retreat during this noon time, I thought. “It looks too sunny, anyway,” I consoled myself as we continued along the path. The first time we had eaten there, the overgrowth was actually stultifying with its denseness, but in the fall, with the leaves thinning, it was about right for our take-out lunch.
We veered from the path and took a shortcut across the sparsely greening grass to our destination: a gazebo, new last year, outfitted comfortably with side-by-side gliders, an octagonal picnic table, and benches encircling the walls. Egg-salad sandwiches with little pickles, iced tea, chips and snack cakes were a feast in this setting. All too soon, we were ambling our way back to the car. The arbor, empty by this time, would have been perfect with its dappled sunlight, I noticed as we passed it. Our gazebo, beautiful to look at, was shaded and a little cool within. But now soaking up the sun leaning back-to-back was a perfect way to get warm. Shaking off our sleepiness, we headed home for a nap.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Heartthoughts: Innocents at Large
The hearts of our son and daughter-in-law warmed with parental pride when, on a hospital visit where they had offered prayer for a friend’s child, their four-year-old daughter asked to pray. “Lord, we just pray,” she began as their faces beamed in humble gratitude for this pious child, “that it would rain eggs full of toys and candy down from the sky for Easter!” she finished triumphantly. By that time, they could hardly keep their composure.
Concepts of the divine are both so real and nebulous in the minds of kids that it sometimes borders on innocent irreverence. Like the time when a friend's little girl, also 4, stepped out into a surprise cool front one Spring morning on the usually balmy Gulf Coast. “Mama,” she observed, “I’m sure glad Jesus lives in our hearts and not down here!” Her mom asked why, and she replied, “Because He wouldn’t like this crazy weather!”
Or the time I heard my granddaughters, then 3 and 4, playing. “Corrin, do you know everything?” Rachel asked her bossy big sister, to which Corrin modestly replied, “No, Rachel! Nobody knows everything but God and Pa-Pa!”
A young grandson of one of my nieces had accompanied his grandmother as she helped clean her church. He was awed by this behind-the-scenes look at God’s house. Going into the kitchen, he said, “Is this where you cook for God?” She told him no, that that’s where they cooked for the people (though he had his theology right!). Then he saw the coffee pot, and not to be deterred, he asked, “Does God like coffee?”
I don’t know what my son was thinking, when, 10 or 11 at the time, we had gone to a church small-group meeting at a member’s house. It was the custom to bring a light snack for break time, and I had set my plate of cookies on the counter. A little later as I passed through the kitchen on my way to the rest room, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a bottle of liquor beside my cookies--the one my husband had received from a customer as a Christmas gift and had put in the cupboard thinking I might use it in cooking! Unbeknowst to his parents, Jamie had brought a hostess gift!
Now it’s his turn to be astounded by a precocious daughter who prays for Easter candy from Heaven. Jesus said the angels of these little ones are always beholding the face of the Father (sharing their antics?). And Jesus said the Kingdom of Heaven is made up of such as these. Well, with all these little sunbeams around, there will never be a dull moment!
Concepts of the divine are both so real and nebulous in the minds of kids that it sometimes borders on innocent irreverence. Like the time when a friend's little girl, also 4, stepped out into a surprise cool front one Spring morning on the usually balmy Gulf Coast. “Mama,” she observed, “I’m sure glad Jesus lives in our hearts and not down here!” Her mom asked why, and she replied, “Because He wouldn’t like this crazy weather!”
Or the time I heard my granddaughters, then 3 and 4, playing. “Corrin, do you know everything?” Rachel asked her bossy big sister, to which Corrin modestly replied, “No, Rachel! Nobody knows everything but God and Pa-Pa!”
A young grandson of one of my nieces had accompanied his grandmother as she helped clean her church. He was awed by this behind-the-scenes look at God’s house. Going into the kitchen, he said, “Is this where you cook for God?” She told him no, that that’s where they cooked for the people (though he had his theology right!). Then he saw the coffee pot, and not to be deterred, he asked, “Does God like coffee?”
I don’t know what my son was thinking, when, 10 or 11 at the time, we had gone to a church small-group meeting at a member’s house. It was the custom to bring a light snack for break time, and I had set my plate of cookies on the counter. A little later as I passed through the kitchen on my way to the rest room, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a bottle of liquor beside my cookies--the one my husband had received from a customer as a Christmas gift and had put in the cupboard thinking I might use it in cooking! Unbeknowst to his parents, Jamie had brought a hostess gift!
Now it’s his turn to be astounded by a precocious daughter who prays for Easter candy from Heaven. Jesus said the angels of these little ones are always beholding the face of the Father (sharing their antics?). And Jesus said the Kingdom of Heaven is made up of such as these. Well, with all these little sunbeams around, there will never be a dull moment!
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
His Riches
The phrase “I have given you all things,” stood out to me as the Bible study teacher read a scripture. “What kind of things?” I asked. He responded by saying “All things.” Of course I was familiar with such scriptures as II Peter 1:3 that says He has given us all things that pertain to life and godliness, and the one where Paul says in II Corinthians 6:10 about Christian ministers, “as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things.”
My mind rationalized that we obviously don’t have all things, such as material wealth. But of course God gave us the world with all the resources and raw materials that provide for our lives since time began. Then it occurred to me that the resources for whatever the Lord leads us to attempt for Him will be provided! What a liberating thought! So many times we think of the obstacles and limitations that have to be overcome before we start an endeavor. But if He gives us all things, that frees us from those limitations!
Then there is the scripture in Romans 8:32, reminding us, “He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?” The more I thought about it and reflected on God’s blessings, I had to acknowledge his provision for us, even recently. A couple of weeks ago, Howard was granted a long-held desire when our son dropped the keys of a pick-up truck into his hand. He is as happy as a kid with a new toy. “Every man needs a truck,” he has said like a mantra for years. Now he wants to take it everywhere we go.
And just two years ago, we were given a second car, a nice little Honda that will probably outlast our other sedan, by another thoughtful son. Now we are a three-car family for a family of two! Not only that, the Lord has provided us with a snug, comfortable cottage that we have made into an attractive, comfortable home.
The Bible says, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ,” Ephesians 1:3. We are also beginning to see more spiritual blessings. Sunday night Howard shared that he had seen a vision of flames of fire in all the windows of the church during a time of praise and worship. He has had other experiences of this kind of spiritual manifestation, as well. I think we can say with Paul, that truly, “as having nothing, and yet possessing all things,” applies to us, too!
My mind rationalized that we obviously don’t have all things, such as material wealth. But of course God gave us the world with all the resources and raw materials that provide for our lives since time began. Then it occurred to me that the resources for whatever the Lord leads us to attempt for Him will be provided! What a liberating thought! So many times we think of the obstacles and limitations that have to be overcome before we start an endeavor. But if He gives us all things, that frees us from those limitations!
Then there is the scripture in Romans 8:32, reminding us, “He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?” The more I thought about it and reflected on God’s blessings, I had to acknowledge his provision for us, even recently. A couple of weeks ago, Howard was granted a long-held desire when our son dropped the keys of a pick-up truck into his hand. He is as happy as a kid with a new toy. “Every man needs a truck,” he has said like a mantra for years. Now he wants to take it everywhere we go.
And just two years ago, we were given a second car, a nice little Honda that will probably outlast our other sedan, by another thoughtful son. Now we are a three-car family for a family of two! Not only that, the Lord has provided us with a snug, comfortable cottage that we have made into an attractive, comfortable home.
The Bible says, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ,” Ephesians 1:3. We are also beginning to see more spiritual blessings. Sunday night Howard shared that he had seen a vision of flames of fire in all the windows of the church during a time of praise and worship. He has had other experiences of this kind of spiritual manifestation, as well. I think we can say with Paul, that truly, “as having nothing, and yet possessing all things,” applies to us, too!
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Moment of Truth
“Look, Howard, would you like this?” I asked my husband at the estate sale yesterday as I pointed to a cast iron cornbread muffin mold. He is always asking me about the one we have that is shaped like little ears of corn, and I can’t find it. “It’s only 75 cents,” I said as I pointed to the tag. We added it to our handful of items, then put it with them in “our” box under the cashier table while we finished shopping. Later, as we drove home, I remarked, “I didn’t think we had spent that much,” of the total on our tab at the checkout.
He told me to add the items up, even though we were sure we hadn’t been overcharged at the always-reputable enterprise. “Oh!” I exclaimed, when I examined the still-attached price tags, “The cornbread mold was $7.00, not 75 cents!” That’s what I get for not wearing my glasses! And for talking and not paying attention when we paid! If I had thought about it, I would have known that was too little for something some consider to be a collector’s item, but I was beguiled by my bargain!
We saw another sale we couldn’t pass up, down an ordinary street that turned out to lead to a charming, picturesque setting. We’d never explored this neighborhood before (that’s one of the charms of garage sales--seeing new areas). A little bridge over a stream bed led to a cozy, wood-shingled house perched on a small hillock. Beside the driveway was a little tree-shaded alcove tucked into a curve of a board fence, furnished with a wrought iron bench, some statuary, a Gone Fishin’ sign and other interesting items that seemed to have been lovingly collected and placed in this sanctuary-like spot.
On the other side leading to an entrance was the biggest, black iron pot I had ever seen suspended on a stand to hold flowers. I loved their taste, and couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy. It just looked so homey my heart identified with it longingly. Howard spoke to the man sitting on a padded lawn swing in front of the open garage, behind some beautiful living room furniture for sale. “Looks like you have the best seat in the house!” he remarked genially.
The man began telling us that his daughters were having the sale, changing everything to make him comfortable. He went on to say he had lost his wife a few months ago, and his son had died not long before that. “How long were you married?” I asked him, to which he responded, “Fifty-four years.” I felt a pang. We’ve been married almost 53 years. I realized I should count my blessings and be thankful for my life. We don’t have a lot materially to show for our long marriage, but we have the things that matter most: God, love and family. In more ways than one, things are not always what they seem--a realization that was probably the best thing I brought home from the sales that day.
He told me to add the items up, even though we were sure we hadn’t been overcharged at the always-reputable enterprise. “Oh!” I exclaimed, when I examined the still-attached price tags, “The cornbread mold was $7.00, not 75 cents!” That’s what I get for not wearing my glasses! And for talking and not paying attention when we paid! If I had thought about it, I would have known that was too little for something some consider to be a collector’s item, but I was beguiled by my bargain!
We saw another sale we couldn’t pass up, down an ordinary street that turned out to lead to a charming, picturesque setting. We’d never explored this neighborhood before (that’s one of the charms of garage sales--seeing new areas). A little bridge over a stream bed led to a cozy, wood-shingled house perched on a small hillock. Beside the driveway was a little tree-shaded alcove tucked into a curve of a board fence, furnished with a wrought iron bench, some statuary, a Gone Fishin’ sign and other interesting items that seemed to have been lovingly collected and placed in this sanctuary-like spot.
On the other side leading to an entrance was the biggest, black iron pot I had ever seen suspended on a stand to hold flowers. I loved their taste, and couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy. It just looked so homey my heart identified with it longingly. Howard spoke to the man sitting on a padded lawn swing in front of the open garage, behind some beautiful living room furniture for sale. “Looks like you have the best seat in the house!” he remarked genially.
The man began telling us that his daughters were having the sale, changing everything to make him comfortable. He went on to say he had lost his wife a few months ago, and his son had died not long before that. “How long were you married?” I asked him, to which he responded, “Fifty-four years.” I felt a pang. We’ve been married almost 53 years. I realized I should count my blessings and be thankful for my life. We don’t have a lot materially to show for our long marriage, but we have the things that matter most: God, love and family. In more ways than one, things are not always what they seem--a realization that was probably the best thing I brought home from the sales that day.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
To Market, To Market
What a beautiful day for the start of the garage sale season! How could the city have known of this break in the weather when they planned a city-wide garage sale event months ago? Most weekends, there are only a few of our favorite shopping venues listed, but today there were so many we could pick and choose. And of course, we had to go to the stellar attraction, THE ESTATE SALE!
Not being in the market for anything in particular, it was just fun to be surprised with little finds: an old pewter pitcher, which makes a lovely still life with the large, lop-sided ceramic apple beside it that I bought; a lovely basket of the softest weave, the woven handles threaded inside and beneath to come up and make large loops for carrying; a toss-pillow cover, hand embroidered with birds and butterflies in red on a white background; framed art with just the right colors for my living room, and a beautiful Guideposts book on marriage called, “A Match Made in Heaven.” I can’t wait to read it.
And that was only what I found. My husband got his usual assortment of hand tools and noticed a great birdbath. He went back to the estate sale to get it for the backyard when it was half price a little later. I remembered a painting we had both admired, a charming rendering of a row of rural mailboxes and told him to see if it were still there. It wasn’t, but he got the birdbath and the top for another one! Insanity reigns after a long, long winter of garage-sale deprivation!
Days like this must be like market days in the old countries, a sociable time of strolling, examining wares, chatting with friends or acquaintances bumped into, and just getting out and enjoying the weather. A little perk here and there never hurts either, such as something the clerk at the estate sale said as we checked out. “I love your book!” she exclaimed. “I read it every night in the bathtub!” She asked if I had another one yet, and I was able to tell her about the Literary Arts Festival we’re having next month, when I should have both my books.
“Did you know Ree Drummond’s book is going to be made into a movie, with Reese Witherspoon?” she asked, referring to another “local” author from nearby Pawhuska, Oklahoma. We’ve had book signings at the same bookstore. Wow! A movie, and only her second book! She began as a blogger, too, featuring recipes and snippets of ranch life. Well, stranger things have happened, and my book may just hit the right market yet!
Not being in the market for anything in particular, it was just fun to be surprised with little finds: an old pewter pitcher, which makes a lovely still life with the large, lop-sided ceramic apple beside it that I bought; a lovely basket of the softest weave, the woven handles threaded inside and beneath to come up and make large loops for carrying; a toss-pillow cover, hand embroidered with birds and butterflies in red on a white background; framed art with just the right colors for my living room, and a beautiful Guideposts book on marriage called, “A Match Made in Heaven.” I can’t wait to read it.
And that was only what I found. My husband got his usual assortment of hand tools and noticed a great birdbath. He went back to the estate sale to get it for the backyard when it was half price a little later. I remembered a painting we had both admired, a charming rendering of a row of rural mailboxes and told him to see if it were still there. It wasn’t, but he got the birdbath and the top for another one! Insanity reigns after a long, long winter of garage-sale deprivation!
Days like this must be like market days in the old countries, a sociable time of strolling, examining wares, chatting with friends or acquaintances bumped into, and just getting out and enjoying the weather. A little perk here and there never hurts either, such as something the clerk at the estate sale said as we checked out. “I love your book!” she exclaimed. “I read it every night in the bathtub!” She asked if I had another one yet, and I was able to tell her about the Literary Arts Festival we’re having next month, when I should have both my books.
“Did you know Ree Drummond’s book is going to be made into a movie, with Reese Witherspoon?” she asked, referring to another “local” author from nearby Pawhuska, Oklahoma. We’ve had book signings at the same bookstore. Wow! A movie, and only her second book! She began as a blogger, too, featuring recipes and snippets of ranch life. Well, stranger things have happened, and my book may just hit the right market yet!
Friday, April 1, 2011
Gone With the Wind
A friend on Facebook remarked that she was excited about doing her laundry so she could hang it out the next morning. A flurry of remarks resulted, split half and half between the pros and cons of line drying clothes. I was surprised at the zeal of those who were in favor-- if they loved it, they really loved it! Of course, the others disliked it equally intensely.
I have been having the urge to dry clothes outside, myself. There is nothing like the fragrance of sun-dried sheets and towels. No dryer softener sheet can match it. I often hung our laundry when the kids were young, especially when our dryer would go on the blink. There is something invigorating about getting out into the fresh air and sunshine and going through the homely task of hanging a husband’s shirt, a child’s pair of jeans, or pajamas out to dry.
One day a few months ago, I checked the clothes in the dryer and they were still wet and cold. The dryer had breathed its last! The warm days of autumn were upon us, and I tried to persuade my husband to put up a clothesline for me. I didn’t want one strung across the yard, though, but one on a single pole with multiple lines forming a square around it. That way I could discreetly hang unmentionables and raggedy items on the inner lines, shielded from view by towels and sheets on the outside. Then the whole thing would fold up when I took the dry clothes inside.
Alas, he didn’t want to dig a hole, set the pole in concrete and put up my new appliance, nor spend the money on it, either. Instead, my husband replaced the dryer, and a good thing, too, since winter was coming on. But warm weather is here again, and I think I will renew my efforts for the clothesline. Call me old fashioned, but I even wash my dishes by hand. I got tired of streaked glasses from the dishwasher, so now I use its racks to store food containers and miscellaneous dishes.
Like all kids, when I was young I hated washing dishes. Once in fourth grade, our teacher tried to shame us by saying, “You should be glad to wash the dishes for your mother. When you have good Dreft, and hot water, it’s not hard at all.” That was in the days before dishwashing liquid, and it was a choice between milder Dreft detergent and Oxydol or Tide to do the dishes in, if I remember right.
I noted on Face book a favorite memory I have of my sister’s homespun philosophy when she said, “Many a time I’ve gotten a new lease on life under the clothesline.” I’m sure it was a brief reprieve from other household tasks of the mother of six to be outside surrounded by nature, her perspective renewed and inspiration gained seeing her children’s clothes dance gaily on the line. No doubt her spirit was refreshed by God’s creation, the wind billowing the laundry like clouds above, floating her cares away. She expressed my sentiments exactly.
I have been having the urge to dry clothes outside, myself. There is nothing like the fragrance of sun-dried sheets and towels. No dryer softener sheet can match it. I often hung our laundry when the kids were young, especially when our dryer would go on the blink. There is something invigorating about getting out into the fresh air and sunshine and going through the homely task of hanging a husband’s shirt, a child’s pair of jeans, or pajamas out to dry.
One day a few months ago, I checked the clothes in the dryer and they were still wet and cold. The dryer had breathed its last! The warm days of autumn were upon us, and I tried to persuade my husband to put up a clothesline for me. I didn’t want one strung across the yard, though, but one on a single pole with multiple lines forming a square around it. That way I could discreetly hang unmentionables and raggedy items on the inner lines, shielded from view by towels and sheets on the outside. Then the whole thing would fold up when I took the dry clothes inside.
Alas, he didn’t want to dig a hole, set the pole in concrete and put up my new appliance, nor spend the money on it, either. Instead, my husband replaced the dryer, and a good thing, too, since winter was coming on. But warm weather is here again, and I think I will renew my efforts for the clothesline. Call me old fashioned, but I even wash my dishes by hand. I got tired of streaked glasses from the dishwasher, so now I use its racks to store food containers and miscellaneous dishes.
Like all kids, when I was young I hated washing dishes. Once in fourth grade, our teacher tried to shame us by saying, “You should be glad to wash the dishes for your mother. When you have good Dreft, and hot water, it’s not hard at all.” That was in the days before dishwashing liquid, and it was a choice between milder Dreft detergent and Oxydol or Tide to do the dishes in, if I remember right.
I noted on Face book a favorite memory I have of my sister’s homespun philosophy when she said, “Many a time I’ve gotten a new lease on life under the clothesline.” I’m sure it was a brief reprieve from other household tasks of the mother of six to be outside surrounded by nature, her perspective renewed and inspiration gained seeing her children’s clothes dance gaily on the line. No doubt her spirit was refreshed by God’s creation, the wind billowing the laundry like clouds above, floating her cares away. She expressed my sentiments exactly.
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