tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281006152080412024-03-13T09:26:40.610-07:00Barbara Barth "Sparkle"Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-73295167800540337872016-02-29T22:44:00.003-08:002016-02-29T22:44:40.701-08:00No I'm Not Having A Breakdown<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I am not having a breakdown, but I am having something, I know that for sure. I want change, but have gotten stale in my desire to take chances. Perhaps it all has to do with my damn hip issues. But I am working on getting myself up and moving again, my hip replacement surgery (this time for the right hip - the left hip was replaced in May) scheduled for this April. Yikes, Déjà vu. Been there, done that, got a T-shirt. Who the hell wants to do it again? But if I don't I will forever be walking on my cane, popping pain meds, and overall feeling handicapped.</strong></span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I watch everyone, watch how they move, and want to move freely, too. It has been almost two years that my hips and I have done this dance. And not the type of dancing I like. Although, I have to admit, in the aftermaths of my last surgery, dancing to Bruno Mars <em>Uptown Funk</em> on my walker was exhilarating.</strong></span> <br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> wonder what craziness will follow. I looked at a house in a quaint little town over the weekend. My desire to move to an old house on a small parcel of land, and I mean old house, one older than I am, is constant. Life plays tricks on me, I feel content, and so I abandon this dream because I am having fun in town, close to my friends. The feeling of contentment lasts a few months, and then I am back to my dreams of finding, not Mr. Right, but the Right House. (Mr. Right has been gone now almost eight years.) The old age thing that bothers me, is when will it be to late to move? The drive after exiting the freeway was full of pastures with cows, for heaven's sake. COWS. Black and white, hundreds of them, grazing in fields. Charming. Could I look at cows on my drive rather than all the traffic and buildings surrounding me now? Perhaps. My farm fantasy is bigger than any man fantasy. Men fantasies: Been there, done that, got a T-shirt. But I've never had a farm. I've never had a Victorian cottage. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Every year, the same thought, I should move, change, be daring. Every year something holds me back. What does the universe have planned for me. I do believe this period of my hip issues is for a larger issue. Giving me time for the next big chapter. I'd have already made some sort of a move if I could physically move better. I know I am in a growing, discovery period, but, enough already. I need something more.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Being grateful is important in life, and I am happy, thankful, and grateful, I never doubt for a minute I am blessed. My question is this. At what point does being grateful keep you from moving forward? Change is growth. There is always a cliché for every thought. This one: Bloom where you are planted. I'm blooming. I need to be repotted, perhaps.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">So, Saturday night, after a glorious day in the country, I am back in my hood with a friend, eating dinner, watching younger folks dancing to old rock music. Tapping my feet to the beat, and drinking wine, I think about my upcoming birthday in August. If things go as planned, I will be dancing on the floor, not moving to the music at my table. A young woman was dancing that evening, and I want to be like her, at least, bolder in my dress like her. Wearing a dark Fedora, a blazer, short skirt, black tights and tennis shoes, she danced a few minutes with her wine glass and then vanished into the night. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">My sixty-fifth birthday I was wearing a straw Fedora at a Steppenwolf concert at a Harley Davidson dealership. That photo is my current avatar here. I don't see why I can't update to a black Fedora for my sixty-eighth birthday. That, and a lot of red lipstick. A girl needs a little color.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">In the interim, I am working on a new book. Years ago, in 2010 to be exact, after the launch for my widow memoir, I sat on my patio, dogs by my side, watching the moon slip in and out of the night clouds, and thought my house was the perfect setting for a Nancy Meyers movie, the movie adaptation of <em>The Unfaithful Widow</em>. (I love all her movies, my favorite, <em>It's Complicated</em>) Now, I wonder if I wouldn't like to be sitting in a rambling quirky Victorian farmhouse in a quiet, but literary community, an hour from Atlanta, if Nancy comes calling. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Time will tell, and if you know me, I will tell all. But no, I'm not having a breakdown. I'd like to say I am having a life surge, trying to figure my next move. Wherever I am, what ever I am doing, my faithful dogs will be by my side. I just need to keep their hair off my black fedora!</span></strong><br />
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-30459665660627344572016-02-03T07:45:00.001-08:002016-02-03T07:45:52.543-08:00Who Am I?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I've been asking myself this question more than I care to admit, but then I balance it with two excuses, so I don't feel so pitiful. My hip surgery has slowed me down to the point I sleep more than I should, can't move like I want to, and still need the other hip replaced sooner or later. My other excuse, I am getting older, not that I mind that at all, but I hate I am slowing down from excuse number l. That makes me feel old. Get the point? I've got to dig myself out of my bed and back into my life. Those that know me, know how social I am in spite of feeling sluggish and walking with a cane. You will find me at book events, out to dinner, visiting with friends, and shopping.</strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Being social has never been an issue. It's my nature. Being creative, pushing myself to be more, do more, make more, is the root of my problem. Writing was my salvation when my husband died. I wrote my first book. A week after my book launch I slipped (on dog pee in my kitchen from my naughty dogs- but what a perfect way to have an accident for me) and had to have rotator cuff surgery. Did that slow me down? Not on your life. Six months later I opened my shop in Old Town Lilburn, Georgia. An antique shop with a twist - we were a writing center, too. In 2014 I had surgery, but the week before I went into the hospital, I uploaded my naughty novel to Amazon. I had a book blog tour to come home to after I left the hospital. Still pushing along, I had hip replacement surgery May 2015. The week before that surgery, my picture book dedicated to animal rescue <em>A Dog Dreams of Paris</em> was for sale on Amazon. Later that month, a book blog tour to promote it from my desk chair. Then came the crash. While I was healing and feeling better, I realized my other hip needs surgery and that fogged my brain to a slow down. So not like me.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">This morning I hit Facebook first thing with my coffee in hand (morning ritual since I live alone) and saw this post from <a href="http://sixtyandme.com/jamie-lee-curtis-quote-about-aging/" target="_blank">Sixty and Me</a> (I've also signed up for their newsletter) about Jamie Lee Curtis and knew it is time to ask that question <em>Who Am I</em> and find out to head towards my next milestone - 70. I've got a few years to get in shape to be better than ever!</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>It's good to have goals!</strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Somehow, my health, while mostly great, but not perfect with another major surgery looming ahead, has depressed me. I worked myself back to a great life after gaining my widow crown - the hardest loss for me. So why can't I get my act together after surgery? My theory is simple - and don't think me jaded. I had perfect health after my husband's death. I was terrified I'd live with sadness forever. My salvation was pushing ahead to find the new me - and I did, as a writer. But now my health is tripping me up, and I can't run from that. Can't hide filling my hours like I did almost eight years ago. Yes, I can write, but my body hurts and I still take a few pain meds, which make me sleep. But no meds, no moving. It's a vicious cycle. And the other thing about resting - and this is a positive - all the dogs pile in bed with me, so it is a love fest. They can't believe how lucky they are I am the sixth in their six-pack and just want to sleep all day like they do. If I ask <em>Who Was I</em> in a prior life - well, it was a K-9 for sure! But it is this life I am questioning.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I have gotten lazy, no matter what my excuse. I need to push more, but still be kind to my body. I am questioning the title I gave myself seven plus years ago - Writer/Author. <em>Who Am I?</em> I am not sure. I am not a mother. Not a grandmother. Those two titles help define you as you age, too. I am just me, a sixty-seven year old woman with a bad hip, walking on a cane, trying to figure out my next move. I still write. Still paint. Still love the creative arts. Still organize small events. Love all my friends and my family. Am blessed. But to feel in my bones I am worth it all, I need to figure out who I am and get busy with it. The one thing I know for sure, I have to be creative to be me. That's a great starting place.</span></strong></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-44770493412762931802016-01-14T17:53:00.001-08:002016-01-14T17:56:08.349-08:00In Demand - Texas R.I.P. Alan Rickman<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Who couldn't love him. So happy I found this video clip. <br />
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-49860110606919080452015-07-07T05:10:00.001-07:002015-07-07T05:20:35.373-07:00New Blog Georgia Home and Life Features Mom & Pop Businesses, Old Homes, Artists, Writers and More<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>So, here I go again. I wish I could stay put with my current blogs, but I am a blog freak, and if I get an idea, I have to blog about it. Somewhat off my usual rounds of getting to my favorite places in Georgia while I am in physical therapy for my hip replacement surgery (done in May, which if you follow my other blogs, the Merry Month of May is when everything, yes everything happens to me!) So instead of choosing another month to break the cycle, I elected May for my surgery. No easy task either to have surgery when you live with six dogs! The best pet sitter in the world moved in to run the household for three weeks. But now, life is back to normal. I am on a walker, but still a bit off my rocker!</strong></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>And back to thinking of moving to a small farmhouse outside of Atlanta.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong>As I sat at the computer looking at tiny towns with big old houses, I realized how little I know of Georgia outside of metro Atlanta where I've lived all these years. Well, the lights did not go out in Georgia in my brain that night, instead a humongous f</strong><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"><strong>luorescent light bulb</strong></span> </span><strong>lit up ( I try to keep energy efficient with everything I do). <em>START A NEW BLOG. </em>The words whirled around my head as I thought of titles for my blog and checked to see if the domain names were available. Yes, I also am a domain name freak. My list is long, you never know when something big could happen!</strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">An hour later, exhausted, I came up with <em>Georgia Home and Life</em>. Anything with lifestyle was taken, but if you throw enough words together and run them through a domain name checker, you will sooner or later win the lottery and get your name!</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I sent an e-mail to a writer friend ( PEN, short for Penny, but perfect for a writer, agree? You can visit her <a href="http://www.cafepress.com/ontheqteez.1612519714" target="_blank">website here</a>.) to see if she had an idea or two for a post. She came up with something better. The phrase <em>Homegrown, </em>as in small business homegrown in Georgia. Can't tell you how much I loved that name. So back to my domain checker and now I own the dot com <em>Homegrown in Georgia.</em> And with that name the complete idea for the blog fell into place for me.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em>Homegrown in Georgia. Spotlighting small business, mom'n'pop restaurants, old houses, getaways, local artists, writer, and more. Discover all you didn't know about Georgia.</em></span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">You can <a href="http://georgiahomeandlife.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">visit the blog</a> and learn some things! You can also contribute if you have a special spot close to your heart in Georgia you'd like to share with us. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I'm energized again after surgery. Between my new blog and the launch of my picture book <em><a href="http://amzn.com/0983171556" target="_blank">A Dog Dreams of Paris</a></em> I have lots to do between my physical therapy sessions. As if living with six dogs didn't keep you on your toes even when you are dancing on a walker.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am writing this drinking coffee out of the official <em>Georgia Home and Life</em> signature mug. You can have one, too. Easy Peasy to purchase on CafePress in</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">the shop <a href="http://www.cafepress.com/ontheqteez.1612519714" target="_blank">On The Q-Teez</a>, along with some great writing and artists T-shirts and mugs designed by, who else but my friend PEN!</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Available through <a href="http://www.cafepress.com/ontheqteez.1612519714" target="_blank">On The Q-Teez on CafePress</a></span></strong></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-57927790154364409012015-06-30T06:02:00.001-07:002015-06-30T06:02:51.266-07:00A Dog Dreams of Paris Blog Tour With WOW Women On Writing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Blog Tour Dates:</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>June 29 - July 31</strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Link to <em><a href="http://muffin.wow-womenonwriting.com/2015/06/barbara-barth-launches-her-tour-for-dog.html" target="_blank">The Muffin</a></em> for dates and details!</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My dream for April's story became a reality in May this year. Her picture book was completed and up on Amazon.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I met my deadline of having this project completed before my hip replacement surgery May 12th. My book designer, and sister, made it happen by giving me her full attention! We pulled the project together in six weeks, although it has been in my mind for several years. Pam saw the project in Technicolor and made this book a beauty to hold and look at. Pages bursting with color and full of all the graphics and text I sent her. She is a one women wonder with her company <a href="http://www.pdkingdesign.com/" target="_blank">PD King Design</a>. While she does all my books with Gilbert Street Press, she works with other authors, too.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Below is the <a href="http://campaign.r20.constantcontact.com/render?ca=0e8104ea-a96f-443b-a123-91ea26145310&c=641560c0-42c5-11e3-9036-d4ae52724810&ch=6608a540-42c5-11e3-927c-d4ae52724810" target="_blank">kick-off e-mail</a> from <em>Wow Women on Writing</em> to launch my tour. How fun is it?</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have you ever seen a dog "sleep running"? The most common explanation is that they're dreaming of chasing something ... a car, a ball, a rabbit. But what if it's something else --what if they're dreaming of hightailing it through JFK airport to catch their flight to Paris? </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you're wondering who would come up with such an unexpected scenario, it's author and dog lover Barbara Barth. In her latest book, a charming picture book for dreamers of all ages, you'll meet April, a rescue dog turned diva. <em>A Dog</em> <em>Dreams of Paris</em> is a fantasy dog memoir -- April' travel diary on places she would visit in Paris.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">My other dream is to use this book to help raise money for my favorite animal groups. A portion of all sales goes to animal rescue and books can be purchased in wholesale lots for fundraisers. I live with six rescue dogs that rescued me after I became a widow. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I'll keep you posted on my blog tour and what's next in the writing world around here. I now have five other dogs that want a bit of fame, too. Perhaps 2015 will be the year I finally complete my dog memoir!</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em><a href="http://amzn.com/0983171556" target="_blank">Buy On Amazon</a>. Paper only. $10.95</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em> with part of the proceeds going to animal rescue!</em></strong></span></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-37174828147781574252015-05-04T07:42:00.001-07:002015-05-04T07:42:06.168-07:00What Have You Learned This Year?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>And just in time for Mother's Day . . .</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>Visit my Mother's Web</em></strong></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em><a href="http://www.audreyfrankauthor.com/" target="_blank">AudreyFrankAuthor</a></em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>My mother posted the following on her blog today. She is an author and a role model and taught us we could do anything at any age. Health issues have slowed her down this year - but not so much with her writing, as she has a new novella on Amazon. But it has slowed her down to getting out of the house and being active to do the things she likes. </strong></span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>As I approach my eighty-seventh birthday, I find myself
asking have I learned anything this past year? Yes, I have – patience. Patience to endure pain and not feel
sorry for myself. Humility and gratitude for the friends who have had the guts
to stick by me even when I knew they didn't want to listen to another gripe. My
best friend, Claire, (my adopted sister) should get a medal for bravery in the
face of turmoil. I have also reached that point in my life when I realize:
who matters, who never did. I have stopped worrying about people from my past. There's a
reason they aren't in my future. </strong></span></em><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I can never be the person I was, but I can make the effort
to be the best I am at this point in my life. </strong></span></em><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Thanks to my daughters Barbara and Pam. They are the joy of
my life. Thank you. Lord, for carrying me through the worst of times. If I'm lucky, I'll still be around to celebrate next year.</strong></span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I kid her we are living in parallel universes. My health has slowed me down this year, I am getting ready to launch a picture book this weekend, and I have hip replacement surgery scheduled for next week. I am out of sync with my normal life, too. It is so hard to walk. Everyone tells me surgery will make me a new person again. I hope so. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>We are both learning patience, although, me not so much!</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Last week I chatted with a realtor to let her know I want to sell my house as soon as I have had time to get on my feet after surgery and physical therapy. It is not a listing -just a heads up my house could be for sale. For some reason knowing I have put those vibes out to the universe makes it easier for me to relax and do what I have to do the next weeks. If it is meant to be, well, so be it. Someone knows I can be had - well, my house can be had! I am working on what needs to be done the week before surgery; letting the universe know I am ready to sell my house and finding the right flattering attire for physical therapy. I don't own sweat pants or T-shirts for working out. I found the cutest leggings (large size so I can slip in and out without trouble) and tops at Marshalls this weekend so I can be the PT fashionista. As I laughed with a friend. I am not vain. I don't think I look that great - but I know how bad I can look, and prefer not to share that with the world. In pain in pink sounds easier to deal with, too. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>My Chinese fortune cookie the first of the year told me all I needed to know. My dreams will come true by the end of this year! </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>But what is that dream, exactly. I am fickle and it changes with regularity. Right now, as I sit and visualize the days ahead, I see a charming farmhouse, an hour outside of Atlanta, on an acre or two of land (just like the farmhouse in my novel, <em><a href="http://amzn.com/B00IJN5U8W" target="_blank">Danger In Her Words</a></em>). A house that will work for me and with me. A writing center with classes, book club meetings, rooms and a cottage to rent to writers who want a picturesque retreat at a nominal fee for their writing getaway. Rooms for friends to visit. A place my mom can move too when she is ready to leave St. Augustine. A safe haven for my six dogs. It is something I can do, not outside the realm of possibilities, even though my few pain meds let me see this dream in Technicolor! </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>We all have dreams. Miss April in Paris, one of my dogs from a local shelter, dreams of visiting Paris, the city that shares her name. Her diary, <em>A Dog Dreams of Paris</em>, will be available on Amazon later this month. It is a charming picture book designed by <em><a href="http://www.pdkingdesign.com/" target="_blank">PD King Design</a></em>. Not a children's picture book, but a book for those who dream at any age. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I hope you will check out my mother's website and books. She writes romantic novellas about people that could be your neighbors! Unlike me, the writer with dogs!</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>The years pass so quickly. Some we have control of, some control us. I think my mother hit it in her post. <em>I can make the effort to be the best I can at this point in my life. </em>As always, she is an inspiration to me to be my best, no matter what, to be thankful for what I have, and, because of her encouragement over all these years, to dream big.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Everyday is an opportunity to learn something new. What have you learned this year? I love to share stories on how we grow!</strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Rambling as I like to do, I come back to how I started this most - in time for Mother's Day . . . Happy Mother's Day, Mom! Love you.</span></strong><br />
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-32560923396753218992015-04-09T06:43:00.005-07:002015-04-09T06:48:46.546-07:00Silence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>In the silence I rediscover who I am.</em></strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">There is something so cathartic sitting in silence in the early morning hours. My dogs are fed, they've run the yard, and I am at my computer listening to birds chirping, the soft breathing of the hounds, and the whir of the ceiling fan over my head. It is hypnotic. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I look out the window and my yard spans as far as I can see. It is not that my yard is so big - it is just that the right of way to the creek gives me privacy. Space to dream.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Yesterday the lawn ladies came and trimmed all my overgrown bushes, getting rid of that pesky privet shrubs that grew four feet high and invaded every space that once held cottage flowers. The only bushes that are still tall and proud, my rose bush that drapes and crawls over a pink iron cart in the back bed, and butterfly bushes in the side bed that look like they came out of a maze from Alice in Wonderland. I can see straight across the yard to the farm fence. It was hysterical to watch the dogs' reactions when they ran out yesterday afternoon and sniffed every open space. I can keep track of where the dogs are better now. The yard is fenced, but two dogs, Bertha Barth and Miss Chloe, like to try to dig under the edges of everything. Sadly for those two, I can catch them in the act. Their antics exposed before they get too far.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">This morning, my kitchen door is open and there is the faintest hint of fresh air coming through the door and circling out the sunroom window. Time stands still in a world that is way too active. I used to crave company in the morning, wanting to talk to someone, to hear a human voice, to have sound where I sat quietly thinking about how my life used to be. I realize now there is sound everywhere if you listen. A melody that sings without any voice that needs to be answered.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I've worried the past year that the universe has stopped giving me signs. If you know me, you know I follow those signs as though they were a road map. I think my head was too full of what I thought I needed to do, that inner chatter that confused me, rather than show me my path. I love the quote above. It is not mine, but I find it to be so true. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em>In the silence I rediscover who I am.</em></span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am due to have hip replacement surgery in May<em>. </em>I have postponed it for months my fear of surgery overwhelming me and the lack of signs from above (yes, my universe includes the man above!) as to what to do and when. The silence of the last few months has finally given me my answers. <em>May</em>. That month that everything seems to happen - love, marriage, death, rebirth, all in May over the years. Now surgery. It will be the rebirth of my getting control of my life again. The silence giving me strength. The universe bringing new friends, a great pet sitter, a diet plan and exercise. I am learning more about myself as I sit quietly and take deep breaths. Life doesn't always have to be full speed ahead to bring you what you want. This health interim has shown me that I need to slow down to move forward. I needed to clear my head of the image I had of myself that is so out of date. I love that at any moment life can give us an epiphany to help us find our true selves.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">My heart was sad over the holidays because my life seemed so isolated with my hip and knee issues. Now I have to smile. It was a time of growth, to look inward, to take that silence and rediscover what matters most. I've cleared my demons and the universe has room again to guide me.</span></strong></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-78647929483309982232014-12-09T05:56:00.002-08:002014-12-09T06:13:09.539-08:00Remembering Christmas Past <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>Old white cupboards, hand-crafted primitive signs, and Christmas socks. Fa la la la la....(Photo from Pinterest)</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I am feeling very nostalgic this week thinking about Christmas. Slow to put up my decorations, I have spent too much time on Pinterest looking at holiday photos. I pin my favorites to my <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/writerwithdogs/christmas/" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Christmas board</span></a> and am amazed to discover that while my life has had many changes, my idea of what a Christmas house should look like, has remained the same. Pinterest has reminded me of this, where in years past, collecting photos I loved out of decorating magazines showed me what I loved.</strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The magazine photos (from Country Living, Country Home, Victoria, my choices years ago of favorite magazines, before so many new ones hit the market) and my Pinterest board tell me I still dream of a story-book Christmas, filled with children's toys, antique books, garden items, and Charlie Brown trees. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">As a former antique dealer (I've removed that title 'antique dealer' from my list of accomplishments, labeling it 'former', but still put in bold letters - COLLECTOR RUN AMUCK.) I loved setting up for the Christmas extravaganza at the old Lakewood Antique Show at the fairgrounds south of downtown Atlanta. That show was the best and I was at my best during the few years I was a dealer there. My husband was still alive, my friends set up with me, I sold like crazy on Ebay so I could buy like crazy at the show. Selling was never the point of doing the show (this is why I wonder how I ever called myself an antique dealer in the first place) - the friendships and opportunity to spend Wednesday (my set-up day) to Sunday (when I skipped out early to avoid the rush at closing) in an environment I loved surrounded by every delight imaginable from old painted furniture, art, quilts, old toys, vintage garden items, antique books - and a food court, with its individual food trucks, preparing junk food at its finest, highlighted the reason for doing the show. In summer you could melt from the heat, in winter you could freeze your butt off. It didn't matter, it was the best of times. I wrote about Lakewood in <em><a href="http://amzn.com/B003GIRTJ8" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">The Unfaithful Widow</span></a></em><span style="color: red;">.</span> The transition from federal employee to antique dealer, sitting in the stinking hot summer air, listening to The Pina Colada Song on my cheap radio, was heaven to me.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The show I remember most, where I wanted to take my small booth home with me, was the last Christmas extravaganza before Lakewood closed its doors.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I had searched for months, storing away my treasures, falling in love with my merchandize, until that Wednesday I loaded my van and my husband's van, and our</span></strong> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>tiny caravan to the Fairgrounds began. </strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The antique chipped red paint twin size iron bed was the main attraction. God, I loved that bed and wanted to keep it, but there was no room at the inn. Piled high with quilts it looked ready for a cold winters night. Three tall Christmas trees (purchased at Kroger, of all places) with metal bases, tall trunks leading up to funky green branches filled with white twinkling lights, sat on top of a green painted book shelf. Pitiful trees that defined a Charlie Brown tree to perfection. An 1800's Cottage Dresser, brown, with gold leaf scrolls and tiny roses on all the drawers, sat next to my red iron bed. The booth was filled with all my favorites - old painted chests, a rocking horse some Dad had made for his children, folk art angels, and shiny brite ornaments, some still in their vintage boxes.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">My house took on the same feel at Christmas as it did when I was in the thick of being an antique dealer who didn't sell but played a good game of it. You would think over the years my style would change, evolve, but it hasn't. I still love all the things I've always loved. Sometimes, something new catches my attention and I work it in, like old tinsel trees and vintage-style white trees. But the basis of my Christmas decorating still revolves around the magic of childhood.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I've dilly-dallied enough. Today I will pull out my treasures and start to decorate. Check back for photo updates this week. In the meantime, enjoy the photos from Pinterest!</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>I have a collection of angels just like these! (Photo Pinterest)</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>Old shiny brites displayed on my favorite shade of blue primitive chair. I'll take that one please. (Photo Pinterest)</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><strong>A simple table-top tree in an antique German base. (Photo Pinterest)</strong></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>Antique toys make the very best decorations. (Photo Pinterest)</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>My love of all things garden related is evident every season! (Photo Pinterest)</em></strong></span></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-25631516159116718592014-11-27T06:49:00.001-08:002014-11-27T07:10:26.855-08:00A Happy Thanksgiving<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>Macy's Parade, 1967</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Ok - I am the first to admit it. It is hard for me to get away from dogs. So for this Thanksgiving post it seemed so appropriate to share a photo found on the web of the Macy's parade, 1967. The six-pack of hounds here support my use of this vintage image. And who doesn't love Snoopy!</strong></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">It is early yet, and I am at my computer as always. Sun is peeking through the overcast sky. It is a dice roll, the weather today. It will be sunny in my heart, no matter what.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The dogs have become simply impossible in the morning. I have no clue what has caused them to be so active at 7am. They are like children who have eaten too much sugar. Miss April in Paris jumps off the bed, all sixty pounds of her, racing up and down the hallway, barking, non-stop. Her call to action rallies the other five, who hit the floor, running to the kitchen, waiting for kibble. I drag myself out and putter down the hallway, let them out via the kitchen door, into the yard. I make a cup of instant coffee (yes, sometimes I am the laziest gal in town) and get their bowls ready. As soon as they eat, they crash. They are back to sleep and I am wide-eyed awake. It is a good time to write.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">What am I thankful for this year? <em>Everything.</em> I started out the year thinking I needed a huge change in my surroundings. The change I needed was inside me. A reflective year, as I've written about before today on this blog. Health issues, some cash-flow issues, and the desire to be in a different house, in a different state, so far from all that is familiar here. Part of that draw to move, was to be closer to my family. The other part, I had no clue what to do now, six years a widow, in my quiet world. I pushed so hard to find a new life, I didn't know how to relax.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I'd forgotten how lucky I was with my friends here and my family's love only a phone call away. In six years on my own I had found myself. How did I not remember that? Maybe I needed a bit of a shake-up, and this hip of mine, which has slowed me down, allowed me to <em>just be</em>. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Yes, my hip grinding as I walk (and the doctor telling me there is a hip replacement in my future - which I am ignoring for now) has kept me from participating in things that require me to be on my feet for hours at a time. When I hurt, I lay down and relax. Relaxing has given me the time to think. And thinking has made me grateful for all the goodness around me It has cleared my mind to forge a new path, one right where I am for the time being. That does not mean I might not shake-it up later, but for now, I am where I need to be.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I may be slow with my walking, but it hasn't slowed me down for other things I love - like writing, sleeping with dogs, dinner with friends, too much time on the computer, which is like an extension of my body. I have a new project that will launch on Tuesday.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em><a href="https://www.facebook.com/acupofchristmas" target="_blank">A Cup Of Christmas</a></em>, an e-book with thirty other writers, is a dream come true. In six weeks it pulled together. Once again, my heart was thankful for the trust these authors have I can actually do this and the spirit in which they participated - they were paid nothing for their time and all proceeds go to First Book, a children's literacy charity. Writers giving back. I've met these folks - some in person, some on Facebook, all linked together in the world of books, in the last six years as I started to write and find myself. I almost missed that I have a writing community of friends that are part of my new world, as I worried I was more alone this year than ever. Silly me.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">And something new in the last month, I am going to church. There is a Methodist church on the corner that I've wanted to visit for thirty years. I finally told myself it was time. The sermons are short ( as is my attention span) and relevant to today's world. The pastor is charming and young, breathing life into the church this last year, and into me this last month. I found a writing group that meets there. On my first Sunday visit, the bulletin announced they meet there once a week. All of this two minutes from my house. Perfect for the gal who can't get anywhere on time. I can scoot out of my house at the very last minute and find my seat before the service begins. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I look back on this year and wonder what is it that made me so restless. I have wonderful friends, some that go back with me thirty plus years, some new that seem like old souls that connected years ago. I've dwelled on the fact I live by myself, no children, no family in town, dissecting that issue in my writing. I have my six dogs that are my family here. They ground me on days I feel I may explode into the universe with stress and loneliness. On days when the world is right, I sit on my couch and look at the six-pack surrounding me, and know I have created this life, different from what I had when married, but one that matches my needs. How did I almost forget that?</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Family, friends, community, a passion to connect to others, my writing, a house that holds all my memories of a life well-lived, and a life that continues to grow. That is what I am thankful for today.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Yes, the dogs are glaring at me. I forgot to include them in the statement above. I am so happy to have my six-pack. They are a group of hooligans, but they bring life to a house that could be too quiet. They remind me a broken spirit can be healed with love. They teach me that the simple things are what count. They teach me to enjoy the moment. They make me laugh out loud and be silly. They remind me, that eating lots of food is a good thing! And I will chow down with friends later today!</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Wishing all a wonderful Thanksgiving! May you be as happy as a pup with its head out the car window, inhaling all that life has to offer.</span></strong><br />
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-38028408894774887972014-10-10T09:07:00.000-07:002014-10-10T09:19:12.739-07:00October Musings On Life, Change, And Shop Vacs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Listen! the wind is rising,<br />
and the air is wild with leaves.<br />
We have had our summer evenings,<br />
now for October eves.<br />
~Humbert Wolfe, <i>P.L.M.: Peoples, Landfalls, Mountains</i>, 1936</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last Saturday was my first October eve of the
new season where I sat outside wrapped in a fleece jacket watching the flames
of a small bonfire spark into the night sky. The moment was shared with
friends, some old, some new, in celebration of a dear friend’s housewarming.
The warmth I felt went deeper than the heat from the fire and the pleasure of
being in the company of others. For a gal who lives alone with six dogs, being
surrounded by humans is a treat all to itself, but tonight the crisp air filled
me with so much more.</strong></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Writing this today I searched for the
right word . . . and found it. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anticipation</i>.
Fall brings with it the promise of what lies ahead for the remainder of the
year. It renews my spirit. It brings thoughts of family to me, where I am by
myself most of the time, with the exception of a pack of hounds. I am lucky to
have wonderful friends – but my house lacks the closeness of family. Who knew
at age sixty-six I would miss the fact there are no children, no grandchildren,
although I surely knew I would miss my husband when he died six years ago. The
children thing took me by complete surprise.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Those who know me know I am really not a
‘kid’ person. I’ve never been around babies. I love children’s books, antique
toys, but I’ve never been in the company of little people for more than a quick
visit. My mother had to correct me many years ago when I was trying to get the
attention of a small child. </strong></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong> </strong></span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>“You are calling to that little girl like
she is a puppy.” My mother shook her head and laughed at me.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>The good news, it worked. The little girl
came over to me. I tried not to pat her on the head.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not that I don’t like children.
Please don’t think of me as Scrooge! It is just that my life-style took me in other
directions, and my old friends were of no darn help either.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>They didn’t have babies. My best friends
had older children, teens and above. I have a wonderful nephew, but I missed
his toddler years. Now that he and his wife have two wonderful babies, I would
practice on them, but they are hours away.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My ‘new’ friends as I like to call the
people who are in my life in recent years, all have grown children and
grandkids. Married, widowed, single, most have the comfort of family nearby to
hold close. They talk about their grandchildren and I talk about my dogs. Would
I change how I lived my life to have children now? I know the answer is no. I
loved my life then and I love it now. I just have more questions than answers,
and I am searching for what’s next.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>This year has been an odd one
for me. I talk about it, write about it, and try to analyze what is different
than the previous years. It is the topic of conversation over dinner and
margaritas. My friends are patient, thank goodness for that. I bore myself with
my questions at times.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>What happened this year that has brought
on the winter of discontent? I had surgery in February. Is that the root of my
mood swings? My joints hate me and I am not moving with the freedom I did at
the first of this year. I’ve never given in to feeling badly. Why now?</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Spring and summer found me pulling away
from things I loved to do. “It is time to figure out what stays and what goes
in my life.” That was my mantra this year. Devote more time to writing. Close
out my antique business. And then the most challenging question of all. Should
I sell my house and move closer to my family? I’ve lived in the metro Atlanta
area since the late seventies. How shocking would it be to leave? How exciting
would it be to reinvent myself in a small town close to the St. Johns River
where I could see my mother, where my sister and her husband could visit, where
my nephew and his family could stop by on their way to Jacksonville.</strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I thought the universe had sent a sign it was time to move. There was water on my basement floor last month, after a heavy rain, after a year of my new French drain keeping the water out. But there it was, a small puddle on grey cement, right under my antique wicker sofa. The universe said, clearly and damply, <em>move</em>. It was even more clear to me when the floor was dry after the next rain, and the next. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">"The universe peed on my basement floor, " I said in language my dogs could understand. "It's time for us to move." I kept that knowledge of the peeing universe to myself and only now am sharing it with you.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I put my house up for sale the next week. Confident it would be whisked away by an investor. And within two days, an offer I couldn't refuse came in from an investor, who then went on to another house with another offer. My clear vision of moving to a pink Victorian cottage in Florida shifted to my making peace with my house in Decatur. Now I wonder what the universe really wanted to say to me and did I misread my sign?</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friends tell me to relax. Time will sort
it out. For a person who doesn’t give time a chance to do anything, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I am the one in charge</i>, this is a shock
to my system. Perhaps that is the biggest lesson of all for me. I can’t control
the real estate market and if moving is truly in my future, I'd better hunker down and deal with it.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I woke up this morning, the window in my
bedroom open, allowing cool air to surround me, the dogs cuddled up next to me,
sharing their warmth, as I had my quilt pulled up close around my neck,
partially to keep warm, and partially to keep a dog’s tongue out of my face,
and felt energized. </strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>It’s October. It’s fall. Anything is
possible. Maybe I needed some down time to sort things out. I always jump into
things without much thought, allowing the universe to guide me. The universe
has been hiding from me too, or maybe the message was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">relax, it’s not time yet</i>, and I missed that clue, because I am not
a patient person. Maybe water on a basement floor is just that, a small leak with no real life changing message. Although I seriously doubt that. When I find out what it was, you'll be the second to know.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything is the same. Everything is
different. Sometimes I am a free spirit, sometimes I am plagued with doubts.
This year has given me more questions than answers. I am lucky I can take time
to pull back and think. It is good if it doesn’t last too long. It is a luxury
of living alone, I can dwell on my thoughts without interruption, it is also a
curse, not having to answer to anyone. </strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The universe that speaks to me, for those who question my sanity, can be described also as faith, the man above, a gut feeling. I roll it into two words, <em>the universe,</em> but faith is my driving force.</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Fall reminds me that the seasons change
and that no matter what I am worrying about, life is full of color and beauty. I
am blessed in so many ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never
forget that. But sometimes you have to stop and take a step back, in order to
move forward. This year has been my step back. I can't wait to spring forward. </strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Maybe the universe will speak to me again on my basement floor. Just in case this conversation is not over, I went to Home Depot and bought a small 2.5 gallon wet dry vac. Be prepared for emergencies. At least that is one lesson I've learned from the incident of the water on my basement floor!</span></strong></span></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-49599214087453016262014-05-12T22:36:00.001-07:002014-05-12T22:38:54.071-07:00From GoodReads: Barbara Barth's Blog: Dogs, Books, Antiques, Roses - Oh My <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I've added a blog to my <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1776773.Barbara_Barth" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">GoodReads</span></a> page. </span></strong><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1776773.Barbara_Barth/blog" target="_blank"><strong><span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Dogs, Books, Antiques, Roses - Oh My</span>.</span></strong></a><br />
<span style="background-color: #ffe599; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>My first post was added this evening. Just silly ramblings, but that is what I love to do best! Click above and come join me!</strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>From my GoodReads blog:</em></span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>My dogs are behaving badly this week. I think they are reacting to how preoccupied I've been. Two events are taking place that have me either writing or scratching. I think the scratching is what has the dogs puzzled most. They are used to me sitting for hours at the computer. They are not used to seeing me wiggle about, scratch, and yelp.<br /><br />1. My blog tour for "Danger In Her Words" with WOW! Women On Writing started May 5th. I've been writing posts for the blog tour and doing a bit of media blitz. So my concentration is focused more than usual. It is amazing how the dogs sit and watch to see when/if I will get up to go to the kitchen and bring them bones. If I move in my chair, six heads jerk up, look around, then sigh and go back to home base. With all the itching going on, I am shuffling more than normal in my chair, which doubly confuses the hounds.<br /><br />2. I've been working in the garden, planting roses, digging in the dirt. I pulled a few long, three leaf vines off a tall pine tree too. I was quite proud of myself. Until three days later I started to break out on my arms. Poison Ivy. It didn't spread far, but it has a terrible slow burn. The meds make me irritable and a little on edge. The dogs noticed that too. I think I heard little Chloe whisper behind my back to the others . . . perhaps she has fleas.<br /><br />Seriously, I like to kid about life! My dogs are my best friends. Rescue dogs who rescued me! I'll bet you have dog stories of your own.<br /><br />It is a great week in spite of the scratching. I am excited about my tour. Women On Writing is the best site to learn and grow. My David Austin rose, planted over a decade ago, is finally blooming its lush delicate pink blossoms, and I'm still planting knock-out roses by my picket-fence. This time cautious about what evil lurks close-by. <br /><br />My fantasy life is coming true! Dogs, roses, writing, antiques, art, and the best of friends. I am blessed.<br /><br />Book Talk With Barbara Barth is a blog where I post about other authors dreams, books, and fantasies. Would love to have you join me there. <br /><br />Write me!</strong></span> </div>
Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-6215280682936021152014-05-02T15:44:00.005-07:002014-05-03T07:52:40.905-07:00Driving Miss Bertha<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong>Bertha Look-A-Like from the web.</strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>What no dog bones? </em>Six long faces stared at me last night. Midnight to be exact. And the six faces belonged to the six-pack. I forgot one of the house rules . . . never, ever, ever, forget dog bones. We ran out. I didn't have a back-up plan. If I'd been a perfect dog mom, well, I'd have gotten in the car and driven to the 24-hour Kroger, but I was fat and sassy, having eaten out earlier in the evening with my boomer girl-friends at a Greek Pizza place. My tummy was full. I didn't need any more treats myself. It wasn't as if the dogs hadn't eaten supper. They did not have treats for bed.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">If this was a children's story, I'd toss the keys to Bertha and send her out shopping with my debit card. But this is real life, so I did my best. I reached in the huge bag of kibble and pulled out a heaping handful of Iams mini-chunks, and, cleverly disguised as treats, handed a tiny little morsel to each dog as they stood there trying to see what I was dishing out. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Chloe was excited. Her tiny mouth was just the right size to make a mini-chunk seem maxi. Rascal, her roly-poly self, wiggled until I thought she would pop from excitement. I plopped a mini chunk in her mouth and she had no idea she'd gotten anything. She swallowed it as it hit her big pink tongue. She stared me down, one blue eye and one brown eye looking at me in disbelief. Bray, barked, and pranced about, his black hair flowing out as he raced up to me and then slipped backwards, not sure what he was staring at between my fingers. Being the skittish one, he wasn't sure if that morsel was friend or foe, or there at all. Perhaps I was trying to trick him. I could see he was worried. Being of good spirit, I offered him two mini-chunks, and his tiny pinkish black tongue darted out and grabbed them, so quickly, but gently. Then he turned and dashed out of the room. Miss April In Paris was game for anything. She grabbed her mini-chunk with gusto and ran into the sunroom with the tiny treasure wedged between her teeth. Annabelle, her lazy old self, was already asleep in the bed and had no idea she was being short-boned.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Bertha was not to be so easily convinced. She lives for bones. She behaves for bones. She expects bones at night when she is crated. She is the only dog that sleeps in a crate by the bed, the other dogs sleep with me. Bertha has a bit of a history . . . and at night she is best in her bed in her crate. She doesn't mind at all . . . because there are bones to reward her for being the odd dog out of the nest. There were no rewards tonight. Bertha went to her crate and curled up, one eye looking suspiciously at me, the one who forgot the bones. I tossed her twelve mini-chunks, which she picked at with her huge mouth until, one by one, she found them, and delicately ate them. It is amazing to watch her wide mouth so tenderly nuzzle a mini-chunk. She could lop off an arm with that over-sized jaw. She flung one last glance at me and turned her back to go to sleep.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I was exhausted worrying that I'd failed the dogs. They were happy to be in my bed and the bone incident was long forgotten. I could hear them snoring as I tip-toed down the hallway. Suddenly I was hungry. Starved in fact. It had been five hours since dinner, perhaps I should get a snack. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">What goes around, comes around. I opened the fridge and stared at its well lit empty shelves. I pulled open the cupboards and all that greeted me was a can of tomato sauce, an odd assortment of spices, and several boxes of Barilla pasta. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">No chips, no dip, no salsa . . . oh yes, and no dog bones.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">That was last night. Today I've been writing all day at my computer, getting ready for my blog tour with Women On Writing (WOW) that starts on Monday. I haven't left the house and it's almost seven pm. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Excuse me. I must run. . . Kroger is calling and I'm heading to get groceries. There will not be a repeat performance of last night. And since I am the only one with a license . . . just saying . . . </span></strong></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-75527569011130130912014-04-22T06:36:00.001-07:002014-04-22T06:36:20.504-07:00Garden Daze With Dogs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I have a bunch of lazy dogs. They take after me. On a lovely spring day you most likely will find us lounging in the house rather than out in the beautiful weather. It's not the pollen, not the heat, we are just a pack of sluggish hounds. <br />
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Snuggling on the couch under the ceiling fan is very relaxing. Looking out the large picture window in the living room, at the sloping yard that ends with a natural picket fence by the street, the grass speckled with sun as its rays push through the branches of tall pines, and the huge expanse of ground that rounds to the right of way, makes it a bucolic setting. Restful.<br />
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Who wants to get up and move? I wasn't always so lazy myself, but hanging out with six dogs is a great stress reducer, and I find it hard to get up and do stuff . . . garden stuff. I get up to write, eat, chat on my cell, drive off to meet friends for shopping and dinner, but work in the garden has been something I've avoided for a few years. The work was done, but by semi-professionals, and I would look at it later, after I'd written my check, and sigh . . . <em>so beautiful</em>.<br />
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This month things are changing. I am doing work myself. I still need a professional to mow the yard, but the clean-up, plantings, and other little jobs are now mine. It is a task I've told myself it's time to take on. Get some exercise, get the dogs out in the fresh air, save some money . . . the new me, sparkling at sixty-five.<br />
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Ready to drop in the yard at sixty-five. A few days of vigorous word, raking old leaves from the fall, bagging them, taking them in my little Red Ryder wagon to the street, all joyous activities, all finding muscles and joints I haven't used lately. <br />
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Yet I find I am smiling like an idiot. And so are the dogs. We love being outside in these glorious days. I've missed the simple pleasures of my yard. Digging in the dirt is so cathartic. Watching the dogs lounge on the deck, silly smiles on their faces as their heads point up towards the sky, drinking in the sunshine.<br />
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Glorious.<br />
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Thrilling.<br />
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Fun.<br />
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The couch will be empty while we all prance in the yard. There is plenty of time to snuggle at night and watch TV. <br />
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Perhaps a gardening show on HGTV.<br />
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You never know what tricks an old dog can learn.<br />
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Lesson Learned!</div>
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I did and so did the dogs. I bathed. They didn't. Now the house smells like dirt. That's so much</div>
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better than some of the smells from the dogs!</div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-88608057254990249972014-04-06T09:34:00.002-07:002014-04-06T16:27:47.603-07:00I'm not going bald. . . I am just going crazy!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Clip art from </span><a href="http://wondersofdisney.webs.com/pals/minnie/minclassic.htm" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Wonders Of Disney</span></a></em></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Okay, my friends will be howling at this one. The ones I told my story to earlier this week. Tee-hee. I can't believe I am writing this, but you know, I've written worse.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I have worried that my hair was thinning, especially on the left side of my temple. Concerned the blood pressure medicine I had been taking for a year was the problem, I Googled the pill to see what danger lurked in the background and a possible - mind you, just possible, not really for sure - side-effect is hair loss. Yikes. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Convinced that this small possibility was my huge reality, I called to make an appointment with my doctor to discuss alternatives. Like, get me off the darn pill. The doctor was out of town, but I could see her new physician's assistant. The next day I was at the office, my speech memorized on why I did not need to be on blood pressure medicine.</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The physician's assistant was great. </span></strong> <strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">She is the age of Susan in <em>Danger In Her Words</em>. We chatted like girlfriends on that visit, well I did. I told her about the book I was working on and that she could be the main character. Well, not really, she was married, in the medical field, and not the least neurotic. But she did have long dark hair and was the right age. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">"Let me take your blood pressure now." She smiled sweetly and put the cuff on my arm.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em>Easy Peasy</em>, I thought. She'd had me talking and laughing, she would see how low my blood pressure could go.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">"Oh my. It's rather high." She shook her head. "Perhaps we should up your dose."</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">"White coat fever." I made a cross sign with my fingers and backed away from her.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">"Make an appointment at the desk for next month. Let's keep an eye on this." She laughed at me. "I want to hear more about your book too."</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I got in my car to head home somewhat discouraged. At the first red light, I pulled down my visor and peeked at my face. Don't do that in the bright sunlight is all I will say. Then I pulled back my hair on the left side and cringed. Where was the hair under the dark layers above it? A question I was sick of asking myself. I also noticed a small halo of grey right at my forehead and knew it was time to color again.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Not to drag this on until you shake your head and call me crazy, or boring, both names I have been known to answer to.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I color my own hair, and have forever. I cut it too. In earlier years, I did my own perms. Sitting at a beauty shop was not for me. Tried it, spent the big bucks, came home and hated what I'd pay for. At some point I made the decision if I didn't like the results, I could not like them for free, and do it myself. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The drug store was on the path to my house and I decided I needed to tackle this issue right away. I had actually colored my hair the week before, but only left the mixture on my head for half the suggested time. I had dinner with friends and could not wait longer. I've seen touch-up kits, but never tried one. It was time to do something different. The box had a mixing bowl, two tiny tubes, and a small brush. Ten minutes was all the time needed for results.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I mixed the color, grabbed the tiny little brush with my fingers, and went about lifting the layers of hair around my face, especially that dreaded area that made me sad, and slowly brushed color on every strand from roots to end. This was different than how I normally colored my hair, with haste, running my fingers and a nozzle over my head and rubbing in.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">When my buzzer went off I washed my hair and blew it dry. I looked in the mirror and almost let out a yelp of joy. Where I thought I'd been bald was rich with color. I wasn't loosing my hair, I was an idiot who didn't know how to color it. What I thought was bald, what I had looked at without my glasses, was pale, almost silver white hair. Hair that I missed when I colored my hair in haste. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I called all my friends with the news. No one realized I colored my hair. Cat out of the bag.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Did turning sixty-five make me more peculiar than I normally am? I'll get back with you on that one. Right now I feel like my old self again. No pun intended with the word <em>old</em>. I bet if I had my blood pressure taken now, I'd get off that darn pill.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times;"><strong><em></em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times;"><strong><em>Clip art from </em></strong></span><strong><em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><a href="http://wondersofdisney.webs.com/pals/minnie/minclassic.htm" target="_blank">The Wonders Of Disney</a></span></em></strong></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Times;"></span></em></strong> </div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Age doesn't bother Minnie and she was created in 1928! </span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>So I'm not letting it bother me . . .</strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong> </div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong> </div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em>Disclaimer: My thoughts on grey hair in the great debate if you should go grey or color. I color my hair because if I let the grey come in around my face I look tired. If I didn't color my hair, I'd have to wear more make-up! Some of my friends look damn sexy with their grey. When I finally kick the bucket, some good friend of mine better come color my hair or put bright red lipstick on me before the viewing at the funeral home. Just saying.....</em></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span> </div>
Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-8256785796642391182014-03-31T05:27:00.006-07:002014-09-24T06:29:27.127-07:00Time To Get Under Control . . . Where Is My List?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Do you make lists? I don't. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>My late husband always had a little book with him, one that organized his day, plans, and thoughts</strong></span>.<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> <strong>I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off, never quite sure what I needed to do. </strong></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"Write it down." He told me this daily our first years together as a couple. "Make a list. Get a book," and he'd stop writing in his to show me a worn leather folder, the size of a check book, "A day timer."</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My reply was always the same. "Who would remind me to look at it." I'd never think to reach in my purse, look on the desk, or do whatever needed to be done to grab it and see what my list for the day was. So I did the next best thing, I placed my list where I would be sure to see it. On the bathroom mirror, on the medicine cabinet above the sink, not a slip of paper, or a post-it, but in lipstick. I'd see it every time I brushed my teeth. I brush my teeth more than the average person I am sure, so I knew I'd see my list without having to search for it. When I completed something, I'd wipe it clean and start over again. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">There was some flack with that idea, but he got used to it as I got a bit more organized.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">He made lists in Outlook on their calendar and every day a reminder popped up for him on the computer, yet he kept his day timer by his side. If he'd had a cell phone I am sure his calendar would have been full there too. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Me? I am spiraling down in disaster these days with what I am to do and when. </span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Last spring I did a bit of renovation on the house, replacing the old bathroom fixtures with new ones. The medicine cabinet was the first thing to go. My handyman Mighty Joe hauled if off to the dump. Years of lipstick lists had kept me on track. Did I put in a new medicine cabinet? No. I found an old Eastlake window an antique dealer friend of mine had fitted with a small mirror in the center and had that hung over my sink, where the old cabinet used to be. It is beautiful. You don't put lipstick notes on an antique. So two things became painfully apparent as I brushed my teeth every morning, noon, and night.</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">1. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with my day, what were the important things to accomplish.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">2. I had no idea where my makeup, ibuprofen, and other items were. I no longer had a medicine cabinet.</span></strong><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I adapted. I started sending e-mail lists to myself every night before bed that I'd get first thing in the morning to remind me what I needed to do. It was a great idea. I slept like a baby. The weight of worry off my mind. The next morning when all my e-mails came in, I'd forget to check the one marked 'list'.</strong></span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Then one morning while drinking coffee and reading e-mail in Windows Live Mail I looked to the far right side of my monitor. There was a sidebar with a weekly calendar next to the window where I read my messages. It was a light bulb moment. I could open up the larger calendar, make my lists, and they would show in the sidebar on each day of the week. How difficult could this be? All I had to do was remember to turn my head to the right when I was in my e-mail. I found a small sticky note and put it on my monitor with an important message to myself. <em>Look right when in e-mail. </em></strong></span><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I know better. <em>You don't write in lipstick on a monitor.</em> It was hard enough finding an old post-it, but this was as close to my lipstick theory as I could get. The first thing I do every morning, before I brush my teeth, is to check my e-mail. This may work if my note doesn't fly off into the dust bunnies on the floor I keep trying to remember to sweep up.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Yes, I have a cell. Yes it has a calendar. <em>So what is your point?</em></span></strong><br />
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-30491254555869373002014-03-05T07:51:00.001-08:002014-03-05T07:51:16.116-08:00Post-Op Delirium<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>Photo from <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/163888873914169029/" target="_blank">Pinterest </a>- Love the colors</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>Photo from </em></strong></span><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/290130400964733624/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>Pinterest</em></strong></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em> - An art studio for my painting.</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Yesterday I had
my post-op visit with my doctor and I am good to go. Still need to pace myself,
but I think two weeks indoors has played with my psyche. I’m thinking funny
thoughts today. Wildly crazy visions of a new life. I was on Pinterest looking at
mid-century modern flats in New York and European rooms in Paris, enjoying the views of tall
ceilings, huge windows looking over the cities, colorful furniture, and walls
of art and mirrors. Even a lovely French style sofa with tattered velvet covering made me
sigh, such perfection in its faded elegance. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not that I
don’t have my own house filled with color, art, and tattered furniture, which I
love. It is just that two weeks recovering from surgery has left me daft. So
much to do around here, and so little desire to do anything, except think of
extravagance and change.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My internet
service crashing as I was looking at photos didn’t help either. I called to be
sure they received my payment (I was late, but hey, I had surgery!) and it was
not my issue, but a neighborhood issue. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Give
it an hour</i> I was told by a tech. I am. But waiting is boring, for a gal who
is bored recuperating at home for two weeks already. So I let my mind play
games. I’m moving to new city, in a high rise, and going thoroughly modern
Barbara.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are the
thoughts that crossed my mind as my internet crashed:<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Move to Paris, if that is not possible, try
NYC.<o:p></o:p></i></strong></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sell my old cupboards and cottage furniture,
upgrade to modern with a hint of antique.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Change out all my vintage oil paintings
for prints and watercolors behind glass to reflect more light.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sell my car and buy a bike for city life.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dig out my paints and canvases, I feel a
still-life coming on.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get a cat. Hahaha. That is just a joke. My
six dogs are looking at me suspiciously as I giggle and write this.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wait, is that the
internet connection coming back? My goodness, it is. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never mind what
I just wrote! I think I’ll go back and look at more photos on Pinterest, you
know the ones I post to my boards on painted cottage furniture, garden style
art, farmhouses, and walls full of oil paintings. The cottage in my mind is still a dream, the flat in Paris, well, that is a wild fantasy brought on by too much time alone!<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> Six dogs won’t make it to Paris or NYC. And I don’t go anywhere
without them. I can drive again, my doctor told me so. I think my big adventure
will be tonight, dinner out. Anyone care to join me?</strong></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-77141298087288784742014-02-27T05:42:00.001-08:002014-02-27T05:58:20.262-08:00 Pizza Anyone?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0cFlpxo78DNBO0MGVBLLKZuZIToP62OT7ix49U7cleOEVXt_YAntLSZiHGd6Yk9bJRCWOUlpbSIV7-miqCByUfXSIfrawgzh_jTC5qj7AistzWOSwvJTajyljzMW4I1iw00bcyTJKA/s1600/chloe+pizza.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0cFlpxo78DNBO0MGVBLLKZuZIToP62OT7ix49U7cleOEVXt_YAntLSZiHGd6Yk9bJRCWOUlpbSIV7-miqCByUfXSIfrawgzh_jTC5qj7AistzWOSwvJTajyljzMW4I1iw00bcyTJKA/s1600/chloe+pizza.png" height="295" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>Chloe look-a-like from the web.</em></strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am restless. That is a great sign I am doing well. I can't rest much longer, although technically I have to take it easy. Next week I find out if I can drive. I've occupied myself with promoting my new book, <em><a href="http://amzn.com/B00IJN5U8W" target="_blank">Danger In Her Words</a></em>, online and am working on my dog memoir. Later today I will post on my book blog, <em><a href="http://barbarabarthbookblog.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Book Talk With Barbara Barth</a></em>, where I love to promote other authors. Perhaps I'll list on Ebay. When you are confined to your home with six canine companions it is a great time to think about the past and look towards the future. Surgery has a way of putting things in perspective. It also is a bit tedious if you are used to going full speed ahead! My wheels are spinning...but I am in <em>park.</em></span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Friends have visited, their bright smiles making me happy. I spent the entire day before surgery cleaning a house that has needed to be cleaned for two years. Not of dirt, I do sweep and dust, but of all the merchandise that needed to leave my house so people could fit in. My antique dealer friends understand what that is all about. I find it amazing that it took a bit of surgery to open up more than I realized. I've wanted to entertain in my home, but between the dogs and my stuff, it has been talk, just talk. Now it is a reality. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">How funny to me that last Saturday night, in my jammies, surrounded by dogs, a good friend came over for dinner and a movie. A first in, hmmm...four years. The dogs behaved well, the movie was hysterical. I laughed until I thought my sides would split, a pillow tucked close to my stomach. Then, later, alone, I looked at my sparkling hardwood floors, the gentle light from a few lamps highlighting their sheen, my antique cottage pieces no longer stacked high with 'stuff', and the art on my walls nodding back to me as if to say...about damn time. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The dogs are slowly bossing me around again. First Chloe had her breakdown and had to sleep with me. Two nights later I heard Bertha barking in her crate in the living room. It was three in the morning. I think she'd had it sleeping away from the others. She is crated at night, but in the bedroom. She felt exiled in the living room. I pulled myself out of bed and stumbled into the living room. "Good girl, Bertha." I reached down, bending as little as possible, and unhooked her crate. Bertha, all seventy-five pounds of her, trotted down towards the bedroom and into her open crate. She did a few circles, plopped down, and went to sleep. I pulled myself back into my bed.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Ten minutes later the racket from the sunroom was more than I could ignore. I pulled myself back up (and that is the hardest part of my surgery, getting up and down). Annabelle, my dear old hound, was barking, she could not find a spot on the couch, the others were there. I let Annabelle follow me back up the hall. She got her chunky butt up on the low bench at the foot of my bed, crawled under my quilt, and fell asleep. Chloe, of course, had to screech a few minutes that Annabelle crawled into the very spot Chloe had been sleeping. I pulled myself back to bed. We all slept well.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Three dogs back in the bedroom, three more to come. I'm getting there slowly. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The day looms ahead. I'll be here by myself with the dogs, figuring what to do to feel in touch with civilization. I have been so fortunate that my best friend for years, is a chef. She prepared twenty-six individual cooked and frozen gourmet meals, and I have eaten the healthiest and tastiest food one could imagine. I'd have been lost without her kindness, for I never cook and my cupboards are bare. (except for vintage treasures tucked in where food should be!).</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I've been very good. Eating the right foods, not drinking soda, glass after glass of water. I feel good. My system loves how healthy I've been eating. My mind is tempting me today. <em>Be bad, have fun. Should I, could I, would I? </em>I think the answer is <em>yes.</em></span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Tonight I'm thinking Pizza. Anyone care to join me?</span></strong></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-90627814120238155612014-02-24T00:23:00.002-08:002014-02-24T00:26:28.185-08:00Dogs Know<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>Chloe look-a-like from the web.</em></strong></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>My dogs know something is up. They are behaving themselves and stepping lightly around my body that is tucked up on the large wing chair, rather than sprawled out on my Tommy Bahama sofa, where we normally pile up most nights and watch TV as a group. Things are different this week. I had surgery on Monday. The dogs can not jump on me. They watch with gentle eyes and go back to sleeping on anything other than me. A sense that I am not quite well has taken over their normal wild ways, and they wait patiently for this to pass, and life to get back to normal.</strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">They are not allowed in the bedroom just yet either. Our ritual of running down the hall, jumping on the bed, each dog in the exact spot they have slept on over the years, has changed. A temporary change. Again, they understand and wait.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Except for Chloe, my little eight pound Chihuahua. She did well with the pack in the sunroom, the room I spend my days on the computer, Tuesday night, my first night home from the hospital. Wednesday night we had a dog freak-out. In the wee morning hours Chloe started to screech at the top of her tiny lungs. I eased myself out of bed, the way they showed me in the hospital to stretch and roll to get my feet on the floor, than padded down the hallway to see what had happened to cause the ruckus. I opened the door and Chloe flew out like a rabid animal, dashing up and down the hallway, her eyes bugging out of her fawn colored head, that tiny pink tongue poking out of her mouth, her ears pinned back and low. She ran one end to another, then sprinted up on my bed and ran in circles until she dropped on my quilt, exhausted. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I went back down the hall and closed the sunroom door, as five heads poked up, five tales wagged, and five dogs continued to huddle together, sleeping, undisturbed by the sounds of an eight pound dog gone crazy.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Chloe would not leave the bed. And I decided she did not have to. I moved onto my bed in a sitting position, then eased down to sleep. Chloe curled up by my side. Her breathing gentle now. Her forever place by my side secured. We both slept quietly and deeply until the morning. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Week one of surgery almost behind me. Things are going well thanks to my friends who have brought me food, a pet-sitter who comes by to feed the dogs and let them out several times a day, and a pack of silly hounds who have surprised me yet again with life lessons on understanding.</span></strong></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-30314813399668955412014-02-14T07:11:00.004-08:002014-02-14T07:13:10.129-08:00ChickLitLove Valentine'sTweetathon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Check out the Valentine's Tweetathon on Twitter #ChickLitLove and find some wonderful authors and their books! I've joined in, but my knowledge of Twitter leaves much to be desired. But a gal can learn! Proud to be included in ChickLitChat on Facebook!</strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Let the tweets begin. . . . I think!</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Danger In Her Words was released on February 12th. Currently in paperback only, but look for Kindle next week! On <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Danger-Her-Words-Barbara-Barth/dp/098317153X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1392390465&sr=1-1&keywords=danger+in+her+words" target="_blank">Amazon</a> .</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Happy Valentine's Day and Happy Reading!</span></strong></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-83864720950535822642014-02-12T11:59:00.000-08:002014-02-12T17:15:04.405-08:00"Danger In Her Words" Published In Time For Valentine's Day. A Romantic Romp!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Paperback on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Danger-Her-Words-Barbara-Barth/dp/098317153X/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1392233803&sr=1-2" target="_blank">Amazon</a>. Kindle coming week of February 17th.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The best of news on a snowed-in day in Georgia. My book is now available on Amazon. A work of fiction, a bit girly, sassy, sexy, and fun, I am so happy to have finished it. My life since spring has been centered on writing, re-writing, and editing. An anticipated publication date of Christmas with a marketing theme of 'naughty or nice' got postponed until Valentine's Day. I think it is the perfect romp for the most romantic holiday of the year!</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>A TV sitcom pitch gone wrong turns dog-column writer Susan Meyers in a tailspin. Sex Sells was the topic of the day at the writers’ convention. Susan decided to try something new and a steamy romantic novel seemed just the answer. A widow who hadn’t dated in three years, Susan was out of practice with men and sex. She turned to an online dating site to find inspiration for her book and unleashed a predator with the words she wrote. Tucked an hour away from her friends in a small town where she kept to herself, with only her tiny dog for company, Susan felt safe from the world. Little did she know her life was about to change.</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em> A romp of a story about writing and finding yourself in this book within a book. If you love girl-talk, farmhouses, antiques, country towns, a touch of murder, a sprinkle of suspense, and a bit of naughty fun, come join Susan as she learns about life from her character Jamie. Two widows looking for love in all the wrong places might still get it right if they live long enough.</em></strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Book and cover design by<a href="http://www.pdkingdesign.com/" target="_blank"> </a><em><a href="http://www.pdkingdesign.com/" target="_blank">pd king design</a>. Published by Gilbert Street Press.</em></span></strong><em></em></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-86894047150776328572014-02-07T07:12:00.001-08:002014-02-07T07:12:39.510-08:00My Hysterical Hysterectomy – Or Surviving Surgery With Six Dogs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><strong>Trust me. I promise not to hurt you.</strong> </em></span></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong> </strong></span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>So, my big idea to
start off 2014 by kicking it in the ass has a set-back. Surgery is in the cards
for me. I’ve actually postponed it, knowing it was lurking out there, figuring
if I ignored it, it would go away. I had bigger things to do late 2013, the
biggest was completing my novel. I was assured waiting was not a worry as it is
preventative surgery and not labeled as anything more than it is. Which is
enough in my book. I am sure that down the road I will be happy that this is
off my bucket list of things I really never planned, nor wanted to do. In the
scheme of things it is a mere bump in the road. It does take a bite out of my
favorite chant, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">no pain, no pain.<o:p></o:p></i></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>My book will be available on Amazon and
Kindle by Valentine’s Day. I’ve given birth to my first work of fiction and am
excited. Then three days later I head to the hospital for my surgery. I was
given the opportunity of going home at night or staying in the hospital
overnight. What made my decision for me? Time. To come home that night I had to
be at the hospital at 5:30 am. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Seriously?
</i>That was harder to get my head around than the fact by the next day a part of
me would be gone. So I opted to come in at 10 am and spend the night being
catered to in my hospital bed. Which actually made everyone I know happy. No
one wants me to go home to my house alone. I live with six dogs and my friends,
who have never met my pack, are horrified I will be dealing with dogs as I deal
with recovery. To tell you the truth, it worries me too.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dogs are my
kids and my family. Try to explain to the medical community that you have six
dogs, six dogs who are pretty finicky in their routines, six dogs that sleep in
bed with me, the smallest, my seven pound Chi insists on curling up on my
stomach. And that there are no other humans in the house to help. They don’t
get it. I finally looked at the physician’s assistant and put it in words she
might get. “It is like I have six babies at home that need to be fed, cleaned
up after, and played with. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I thought you
never had children.” She looked up from her chart. <o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Really</i>. She still wasn’t listening.
Perhaps in Pre-Op on Monday they’ll get it. I need to know what to expect so I
can keep my house in order.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have made some
preliminary arrangements. My pet sitter will be with my dogs while I am alone
in the hospital. They have a slumber party scheduled, I have a quiet night in
room number (tbd) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">whatever</i>. I guess I’ll
finally discover what everyone who has spent a night in the hospital knows, it
is not quiet or restful. On the bright side, perhaps there will be drugs.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My medical issues
over my life have been minimal. I have had one other surgery. Looking back, a
book was paramount at that time too. In 2010 after my big launch party for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Unfaithful
Widow</i>, which was a grand fete at a bed and breakfast in Atlanta in honor of
Animal Rescue, I ran into my kitchen in my bare feet and slipped on dog pee.
After landing hard on my padded butt I realized I’d dislocated my shoulder. It
was hard to miss, my left shoulder protruded out so far I got very scared. The
hospital is within a sneeze of my house and my neighbor drove me over to the
ER. I sat there alone, a small morphine drip, chattering that it was dog pee on
my butt, I had not actually peed myself. The drugs took hold while I waited for
three hours to see a doctor. In that short time I sold a few books by telling
the staff that kept checking on me I had just published my book. If I had only
realized there would be an interest, I could have packed a few copies to take
with me. But wait, I was in terrible pain! Not only had I dislocated my
shoulder, I tore my rotator cuff. I had surgery within the month. My dogs
tiptoed on all four paws when I came home from the ER. “Who peed?” My tone was
sharp. Their sweet faces told me all I needed to know, I would never know. I
better learn to tread lightly or wear shoes.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, within a few
days of my new book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Danger In Her Words</i>,
being released, history will repeat itself. I will have surgery. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Easy-peasy</i> I’ve been told. It’s a
non-invasive procedure. I am waiting for my list of do’s and don’ts. I am sure
top on that list will be, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">don’</i>t<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> let the dogs sleep with you! </i>And so it
will begin.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> My Hysterical Hysterectomy Recovery.
</i>Stayed tuned for the continuing posts if you have the stomach for it!<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a note, I have
a wonderful group of friends that have offered to help. I find it interesting
that I am shy about having them in my home to see what life with six dogs
entails. I am sure I will get over that as soon as my wimp factor hits.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-90514026765413202552013-12-12T11:18:00.001-08:002013-12-12T11:26:04.810-08:00Christmas - A Little Bit Of This A Little Bit Of That<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">As much as I love glitz in some things, I love a country old fashion Christmas. When I used to set up at the Lakewood Fairgrounds south of Atlanta, I loved their holiday show in October. My booth that last year had an old red iron bed, quilts in red and green, a dark brown cupboard, Charlie Brown Christmas trees with lights that twinkled on the tall skinny trees with their long thin trunks and shelves full of vintage toys . . . bears, china head dolls and handmade rag dolls. The funkier they looked, the more the charm. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I haven't changed in the years since the show closed. I wish I had kept the red iron bed with its chipped paint and rust! Not that I would have had a place for it, but I could have stored it in the shed and brought it out at Christmas to prop in the yard and scare my neighbors!</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I started putting out my decorations between edits on my new book. A gal needs a distraction in the middle of such concentration! Two early China Head dolls, an antique jointed bear and a hand crafted black Santa, dressed in a vintage quilt, sit nicely in front of a chipped green paint short shutter. The old white cupboard was a purchase years ago made over a pay phone at Barnes & Noble to my antique dealer friend who was not in the shop and I had to secure my purchase. Pay phones...hmmm, that was a long time ago! But the memory is fresh in my mind!</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I managed to pop into <em>The Last Chance Thrift Shop</em> on Tuesday and found a few Christmas treasures. The snowman wreath was $1.99. I had to glue a few glitter balls on it to fill in where others had fallen off. I found two huge bags of Christmas ornaments, the funny plastic kind that are inexpensive new, but my shopping good luck netted the two bags for $1.59 each. One was full of red balls, the other large white ones.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The mantle in my kitchen has more thrift store ornaments. The silly garden girl was $1.99 and the Christmas balls came from that $1.59 sack mentioned above.</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">This year I may be the laziest gal in town. I am tucking ornaments in with decorative items I keep up year round. I pulled down my boxes from the attic, opened them up, smiled at the lovely things I saw and closed the lid. My house will be festive, but in a slightly different way this year. I'll be posting photos as I go. </span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">My dogs are very interested in the flurry of activity with boxes stacked and ribbons flying through the air. Last year my tall white tree did not catch their attention, but I sense boredom on their part with all the rain we've had, and they may need a romp through the house to be naughty dogs even though the sun is bright today. We'll see how they do!</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The very last photo is from last year. My tree in the sunroom by my computer. It is a favorite of mine. Chloe dreams of a stocking full of milk bones!</span></strong></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-59469400469969082482013-12-03T01:01:00.002-08:002013-12-03T01:01:33.063-08:00My Brain Is Popping - My Book Is Written! In Praise of Animated Gifs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I am a sucker for animated gifs! I love the movement and never stop to be amazed that things sparkle before my eyes that I put down flat on my blog!</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>This image is my brain today! It is on overdrive! I finished my romantic thriller "Danger In Her Words" this morning and it is being formatted for Amazon and Kindle by Gilbert Street Press. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Writing about my own life seems a simple task, writing fiction is daunting! This has been a joyful experience, however, as I've bonded with my characters and we've had a heck of a wild ride!</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Look for my book launch in January. We didn't make it in time for Santa, but it will be a great way to welcome the new year!</strong></span><br />
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-46593266292016604142013-11-21T11:51:00.000-08:002013-11-21T11:51:28.533-08:00Addicted to Jewelry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>My latest fix - necklaces with old religious medals.</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>There. I've said it. I am addicted to jewelry.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Now I need to clarify that statement. Not expensive diamonds and gold, but artist made pieces that are full of imagination and spirit. Vintage jewelry with a history and patina. Junk jewelry I find at thrift stores. Mingle it all together and you have what I call 'my style'. You also have my drug of choice. Buying jewelry calms me down when I am stressed. It is also my main distraction when I am writing late at night and need a break. At 2AM you'll find me sneaking up to Etsy to find my latest fix.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>It is a relief to me that I have narrowed it down to jewelry. I became an antique dealer because I was addicted to huge old painted cupboards. You can't just toss those on a tray on your vanity and walk away. Then it was art...then it was vintage clothes...I have downsized my craziness to fit in my pocket. You know, that pocket that has no money in it, but is filled with beautiful things I love. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>When I wrote my memoir </strong></span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unfaithful-Widow-Fragmented-Memoirs-First-ebook/dp/B003GIRTJ8/ref=sr_1_1_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1385061302&sr=1-1&keywords=the+unfaithful+widow" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>"The Unfaithful Widow"</strong></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong> my jewelry choice then was vintage turquoise Native American pieces. I found it didn't matter what I wore, everyone noticed my jewelry. I layered it around my neck and up my arms. There were two rings on each hand. I felt 'interesting' during a time I felt so alone. Wearing turquoise jewelry eased the word 'widow' that had become a part of my vocabulary.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>My very first - and actually only - book club signing - the gals all wore turquoise jewelry in my honor. I stepped into their warm surroundings, soup simmering on the stove, wine punch in a bowl, and felt at home. Several of the members came up to me waving their arms to show turquoise bracelets. "We loved your chapter on Turquoise jewelry." Then I took off my coat and realized I was wearing only silver. My turquoise was piled up on the dresser at home. My mood that day called for vintage Mexican silver. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>It seems my mood dictates many choices for me. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>My latest passion - crosses, and lots of them, dangling on silver chains and surrounded by vintage rhinestone necklaces. I wear 'dead people' around my neck as I was reminded by a group I had dinner with a few weeks ago. My latest purchase from Etsy arrived. An assemblage necklace with an 1800s tintype photo of an old woman, hair pulled back in a stern bun, and dressed in black. It was in a small antique gold frame circled with tiny rhinestones. I was ecstatic it arrived in time for my dinner adventure.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>"Is that a relative you have around your neck?" I looked up from my shrimp salad confused. She pointed to my necklace. "That old woman in the frame."</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I smiled and looked at the group. "No, it's a dead person I don't know." I suppose I got a bit of joy out of the moment. The young gal that ushered me to my table had complimented my necklace only minutes before. "It's so cool." My dinner companions looked at me with peculiar expressions. End of conversation.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I plan to wear another 'instant relative' - the more politically correct phrase, dead person is a bit gauche, to dinner tonight. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Sometimes I leave the house and am naked of jewelry. That is always a buying situation ready to happen. I will walk into my favorite thrift store, check out the jewelry counter, find an odd little piece for under $3, reach up and feel the empty spot right below my throat, and point to the case. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>"Can I look at that piece please?" </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Most likely I will leave wearing it.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>A bit of a game, but easy-peasy, and inexpensive at best.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>My choices are simply what I love at any given time. Not to impress, not to shock, but to feel good when I pull myself together. I love art in any form, and the pieces I buy now are one-of-a-kind visions of artists who love old things as much as I do. Or used bits and parts I may fashion into something.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I've made jewelry before and sold it in our Botanical Gardens gift shop. My back room is full of oddities ready for me to pick up and design again. Perhaps after the first of the year I will. It may be time to lighten my jewelry load! Right now I am too busy writing. I only have time to shop online at night.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>In celebration of my upcoming release, "Danger In Her Words" I will offer a raffle of a naughty or nice piece of jewelry. Details are coming.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Some of my recent purchases below. Are you addicted to jewelry? If so, share your comments below and be entered in my give-a-way.</strong></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgbzbV0qicLqBXCtSv9UbKmwdYf48DHCtyBixFKA9azfxdkb6pZP8e9mctvkCHLlGqHY3nOjkUwjAphFkoa4YDREec5jfjIXnuaR_p0yC-ihEVbqiUax60HnraSAgTQxTd4RAZ6BFOQ/s1600/etsy+st+kitty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsgbzbV0qicLqBXCtSv9UbKmwdYf48DHCtyBixFKA9azfxdkb6pZP8e9mctvkCHLlGqHY3nOjkUwjAphFkoa4YDREec5jfjIXnuaR_p0yC-ihEVbqiUax60HnraSAgTQxTd4RAZ6BFOQ/s400/etsy+st+kitty.jpg" width="285" /></a></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53028100615208041.post-19300116473098067042013-11-06T10:46:00.005-08:002013-11-06T12:05:12.977-08:00Jewelry Give-A-Way - Read On<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMjz0oP37zY-dhViifCVRTXOmAJWFqDfE4AYQOMILtBAl9_WprW_nvpwIMdqN_qO6ZdMdiZzRC4MHKplfKoUtqkXkSOMnCKHTqwX3cafz3MeQSK1vRKotfwBUwTpNS_mRNJrqtL0MTw/s1600/il_570xN_281783524.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMjz0oP37zY-dhViifCVRTXOmAJWFqDfE4AYQOMILtBAl9_WprW_nvpwIMdqN_qO6ZdMdiZzRC4MHKplfKoUtqkXkSOMnCKHTqwX3cafz3MeQSK1vRKotfwBUwTpNS_mRNJrqtL0MTw/s400/il_570xN_281783524.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<em><strong>Purchased from Etsy to be included in jewelry give-a-way!</strong></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Did I get your attention? I hope so, because I have fun news to share. I'll be giving away jewelry on this blog in a few weeks.<span style="color: black;"> <span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;">Read to the bottom and see how you can enter in a pre-publication drawing by commenting here now.</span></span></strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>My romantic girly thriller will launch the end of the month. I'll be posting more information here and on Facebook about some fun give-a-ways to celebrate my first fiction book. So follow me if you'd like to join in.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>The queen (I've crowned myself queen since no one else has) of memoir writing is writing fiction. This has been such an interesting and fun time for me. I've read that many fiction characters hold traits of the author, and that may appear to be so in my romantic thriller. But baring my soul is nothing new to me.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>If you read my memoir<em> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unfaithful-Widow-Fragmented-Memoirs-First-ebook/dp/B003GIRTJ8/ref=sr_1_1_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1383763532&sr=1-1&keywords=the+unfaithful+widow" target="_blank">The Unfaithful Widow</a></em>, or any of my blog posts on other sites, you know I don't hold back. I share everything. My favorite remark from a much older friend of mine after she finished my widow book..."I was just shocked at one thing." I held my breath, ready to turn a bright red if she picked up on a few of my dates. "I can't believe you only own one bra!" </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Yes, I confess, in 2009 I only had one. I've corrected that. It is terrible when you only have one bra, and one of your six dogs has made it his. I found my bra tucked in Bray's teeth and paws as I was trying to get dressed for work. That excuse for being late to work was quite embarrassing!</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>But writing fiction, it's a dream! I can twist and turn and have fantasies galore that hopefully will be fun for everyone. I love my characters, they have become my friends as I sit late at night, my pack of dogs by my side, and plan their fates. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I don't always get the final say with them, however. Susan and Jamie have thoughts of their own, and are not shy in pulling me in a different direction. I let them. It is, after all, their story.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>It is an amazing experience. So much different than non-fiction memoir, where I stick to the truth, the whole truth, so help me...well, almost always.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I am in the editing stages now. Soon... my book (title to be announced) will be available on Amazon and Kindle. And you might win a fabulous necklace for the holidays. </strong></span><br />
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<strong><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Georgia;">Have you been <em>naughty or nice</em>? I hope you'll share your story with me too! Leave a comment below and enter in a pre-publication drawing!</span></strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuA5d5N3Lc9FCseJSFONoYi8lm7_Dt5FqDUs1kq5FEhNaWlSTEsuUIyr3ss4pepTFmmudJ-rdbyhIju3hyphenhyphenPa1DNNmfkYdmC_Buggt0M5ylV24GSRG7DmNFB1OGLwXvV37NfsSEQHZd9A/s1600/naughty+nice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuA5d5N3Lc9FCseJSFONoYi8lm7_Dt5FqDUs1kq5FEhNaWlSTEsuUIyr3ss4pepTFmmudJ-rdbyhIju3hyphenhyphenPa1DNNmfkYdmC_Buggt0M5ylV24GSRG7DmNFB1OGLwXvV37NfsSEQHZd9A/s400/naughty+nice.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><strong><em> Purchased from Etsy to be included in my jewelry give-a-way.</em></strong></div>
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Barbara Barthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12094942513984046193noreply@blogger.com3