tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48966903022073254172024-03-19T11:28:47.527-07:00A Wren's LifeCarrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-53564362184174572872016-05-13T06:13:00.001-07:002016-05-13T06:15:15.788-07:00'The Cold Room' is now available in book form!! <blockquote id="yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1463142968423_5398" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', 'Segoe UI', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin: 1em;" type="cite">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Thanks so much for all the love and support I've already received! My heart is so full! Please buy, please read, please spread the word and please post reviews on Amazon & on Goodreads! Thank you soooo much! You guys are soooo awesome! </span></div>
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http://www.amazon.com/Cold-Room-Balancovat-1/dp/153299902X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1463144342&sr=8-1&keywords=the+cold+room<br />
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Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-40205261856677326982016-04-13T06:48:00.001-07:002016-04-13T06:55:23.701-07:00My Book Launch Day! Today has really come! <div id="yiv9906563412yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1460550885219_2442" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span id="yiv9906563412yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1460550885219_2444" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">What a beautiful day already! I can't believe this day has truly come. My heart is so full. I'm trying to control my tears but they are such happy ones I will let them fall today. </span></div>
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Today is my birthday & the day I have dreamed about for so many years. It's the day my very 1st book is out for the world to read. I have mixed feelings about this as it's been my baby for so long and my characters have never left me. It's hard to let them be go for others to know and judge. Constructing this book has been such a haunting experience. Friends & family & those who are just starting to know me, please know, this book is my heart and holds so much of me in it. So many pieces of my life are tucked into the Balancovat history. </div>
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Please know this book is not perfect. Mike (my husband) and a few dear friends were my editors. We looked into a professional one but we were unable to come up with the funds. I feel my own editors did an amazing job and I couldn't be more pleased. </div>
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<span id="yiv9906563412yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1460550885219_2453" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;">I'm so thankful for those readers who where with me from the very beginning. It was a rough start but they stuck by my side because they knew there was a story in there somewhere. I needed them more than they will ever understand.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4DzQTnzHMh7oJqGXrWbNoWvxrHvIkrI5FyG6QQHNMOOvrBJiuVOLn9plTKf53Vy9yheOqwcJ3FkBJ0QiFj-nGpiaXHD78zvxhdYk7pQQ9q-N3LZI9kMDRC2VY3D4EnYsNC2qRq2LFc0/s1600/thecoldroom1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4DzQTnzHMh7oJqGXrWbNoWvxrHvIkrI5FyG6QQHNMOOvrBJiuVOLn9plTKf53Vy9yheOqwcJ3FkBJ0QiFj-nGpiaXHD78zvxhdYk7pQQ9q-N3LZI9kMDRC2VY3D4EnYsNC2qRq2LFc0/s200/thecoldroom1.jpg" width="200" /></a>I couldn't have done this without the love I felt from hundreds of miles away. My parents are such amazing people and the hardest working couple I have ever known. Never once did a phone call not include something about my writing and my books. They kept my dream alive and pushed and encouraged me along. When I was a young girl they gave me the experience of living on a farm which is the setting of my book. They let me explore and make up my own stories and run and fly and live. They never once stepped on my dreams. They are such perfect examples for me to follow. I love them so much! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMgyWR5pPf2vv2ahtSEbL02ecmzd5ub_P6eRpJujwEM0uN1w4Z8mbCkaLUx-wMdCMGaIFmoLmJTIXB6-Q37bBmYDUp3Z-aWapL7MU_UTWMqbs4yuufMYM2b8E5BD7z666fPt_p7zJCfqo/s1600/thecoldroom4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMgyWR5pPf2vv2ahtSEbL02ecmzd5ub_P6eRpJujwEM0uN1w4Z8mbCkaLUx-wMdCMGaIFmoLmJTIXB6-Q37bBmYDUp3Z-aWapL7MU_UTWMqbs4yuufMYM2b8E5BD7z666fPt_p7zJCfqo/s320/thecoldroom4.jpg" width="212" /></a>I couldn't have done this with without the love and support of my children. They prayed hard for this book to happen. They acted out the story in plays, they made paper dolls of my characters, drew endless pictures and some even used their own birthday wishes on my dream. The days I'd get discouraged, they would slip notes under my door telling me to never give up and they believed in me. They carried me through the hardest times. They've been my loudest cheerleaders and carefully carried my heart when it was broken.</div>
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Lastly I want to thank my husband. (I'm crying so hard as I type this). Without him this book truly wouldn't have happened. He was hard on me but it was because he believed in me and he wasn't going to let me throw this dream away. He knew I needed it and he knew I had a story to tell. So many arguments were a result of my stubbornness and he telling me I was doing it wrong. This conversations is embedded in our minds as it happened all the time and still does to this day. Mike: "You just can't say it that way, it's not correct!" Me: "but that's how I see it in my mind!" I'm starting to believe everything he tells me. He's always right. I adore him. No one else would have ever gone through this with me. Like my parents, he lets me fly. never once has he tried to clip my wings. I never really knew myself until I married him. I love you, Mike! </div>
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I hope you all will enjoy my book. Wren is such a dear girl to me. Her life is my life in many ways. Knowing her is knowing me. I hope you will take a chance on her. I hope she brings you adventures and headaches and frustrations but mostly I hope she keeps you cheering for her. I hope you fall in love with her.
Thank you for all your love and support! It means the world to me! Below is the link to my book. I hope you will enjoy it! (the selected images are not mine). </div>
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Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-91245824855291760062015-09-26T04:41:00.000-07:002015-09-26T04:41:19.048-07:00HAPPY BIRTHDAY EMMA!!! <div dir="ltr" id="yiv1365103622yui_3_16_0_1_1443232723185_5055" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
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Emma has been such a joy, a light, an amazing child full of life and determination. Ever since she was little she has been independent, and always doing things her own way. She's smart, talented, and beautiful. I still see her running around the house with pink bunny and her gaga's (pacifiers). She used to carry them everywhere. She believed in fairies, dreamed of being Cinderella, and pink was her favorite color. Her hair was thin and always a wispy mess, her cheeks were chubby and rosy, and she loved the PBS show Arthur. </div>
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Emma has always been such a hard worker, and one who makes goals and doesn't stray away from her mission to achieve. In high school, a talent awakened and she went with it. She tried out for community plays and always got the parts. Her talent grew even more when she preformed in her high school. </div>
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In high school her eyes were opened to the injustice around her and she extended her hand to the outcast, the lonely and the abused. She is loved by so many. It was here she realized she could make a difference in the world. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV2ewkoPzalWWlsswDIBIKmU2Dvwk4GFQfUKAMNAVz0yTOwzdvL90t0vpk_a1BN7SVCScoxO0AwR6MncfSODEw0_Ha8qEWqfcJC4vwRzuwxFIKhE66paiv3EETjBk8FrekLAOiibEhMb0/s1600/emmabday2015k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV2ewkoPzalWWlsswDIBIKmU2Dvwk4GFQfUKAMNAVz0yTOwzdvL90t0vpk_a1BN7SVCScoxO0AwR6MncfSODEw0_Ha8qEWqfcJC4vwRzuwxFIKhE66paiv3EETjBk8FrekLAOiibEhMb0/s200/emmabday2015k.jpg" width="176" /></a>Now she's all grown up and working 2 jobs, plus she gets up at 5am to take some of her younger siblings to an early morning church class before school each day, then takes them on to school. She comes home showers for her jobs and then doesn't get home until after 10pm. She does this every weekday with never a complaint. This January, she leaves on a plane for college in Idaho. There she will begin her new journey and it will be there where she learns how she can make an impact in this world. I know she will. </div>
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I can't even let myself think about the day we send her off. How I'll miss her cheerful chatter, our night visits about her day, and her little surprises she likes to give because she's thinking of us. Do I worry about Emma?, sure I worry because that's what mom's do, but it's nice having a peace in my heart that she's going to be just fine. What an amazing woman Emma has become. This next chapter in her life will surely rock the world as she spreads her wings. </div>
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I love you, Emma! I'm proud of you! Happy Birthday my little Gert the Squirt! You make my heart sing! <br />
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Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-10958080406208446502015-06-19T11:38:00.000-07:002015-06-19T11:44:31.401-07:00The Dark Intruder of the Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last night I was woken by a tiny squeaky noise and the flapping of wings above my head. I reached over to wake my husband but he was gone. I quickly flipped on the light and, to my fright, something came swooping down at me. I made my escape to the bathroom where I cracked the door and watched the little creature circle my bedroom. I stressed about what to do for I knew I couldn't leave it the master of my chamber. Finally resolved, I climbed my through the messy adjoining bedrooms and down the back stairway and through the library, where our ghost resides. Mr. Ghost is an old man who smokes cigars and doesn't like visitors in the late hours. I somehow escaped his snare and the chill that follows you if you enter his room. I found my husband in the next room sound asleep in the game room with his prized toy glowing in the background. The X-Files music fit the mood. "Mike!" I whispered, and upon my voice he jumped up. I told him of my resent endeavor, which he replied, "only you, Carrie, only you. Now where is that worthless cat you love so much?"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJyTIGMjCbnGB51moxv2UmbfLM1_NaYjIh88Lr3-Bb6AX3rjpjOLPtVZ0Xxki8LAXZHdtm2VpyUaG_gT9MZiR1Y2g3g_o8Ikaw7My0v65KBlUbmbbFJmJ47go5IW7YGQKbF7PHtvwHJY/s1600/draculasurvialkit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxJyTIGMjCbnGB51moxv2UmbfLM1_NaYjIh88Lr3-Bb6AX3rjpjOLPtVZ0Xxki8LAXZHdtm2VpyUaG_gT9MZiR1Y2g3g_o8Ikaw7My0v65KBlUbmbbFJmJ47go5IW7YGQKbF7PHtvwHJY/s200/draculasurvialkit.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EqqN52WZfoDrj4mdqCB60mvx59SANh0D3UP10Le8SfWYVWgtD0KCrAA2gcN5TavfcCBbsEUei9i-2JQbN4uJCi57QsKOJPN6MNJQj7tLBIx3kVoEgeeHjgn7n24w52CksYo7pXKHOHY/s1600/draculaandvanhelsing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EqqN52WZfoDrj4mdqCB60mvx59SANh0D3UP10Le8SfWYVWgtD0KCrAA2gcN5TavfcCBbsEUei9i-2JQbN4uJCi57QsKOJPN6MNJQj7tLBIx3kVoEgeeHjgn7n24w52CksYo7pXKHOHY/s200/draculaandvanhelsing.jpg" width="200" /></a>I found Poppy outside eating a frog. She growled when I snatched her up and she continued to do the same as I ran her upstairs where I cracked open the door to make sure the coast was clear. Mike was know where to be found and I whispered out to him. "Turn out the light," he said. We crawled into bed and I pulled the covers tight to my chin. "I assure you I saw what I saw." I told him. Within seconds he too heard the noise and we both froze as Poppy made her decent on the creature. "No!" I cried, "you can't let her eat it!" I flipped on the light against Mike's instruction and Poppy darted from out of a corner and retreated to the other side of the room. "Worthless cat," Mike mumbled. We found the little intruder behind a nightstand all founded up and tucked in so tight. We wondered what to do next and if it might have rabies and if it's teeth were sharp. As Mike grabbed a legal pad to smash it, I grabbed a bucket (which happened to have skulls on it) to catch it. The next few minutes would have won us a slot on America's Funnies Videos but we caught the devil under the bucket and we used the legal pad to slide under it. "Can we keep it?" I begged. In my mind I remembered the most adorable vintage bird cage I had in the shed. It being a tiny square thing with turquoise details. I always pictured a little finch in it but the monster under the bucket was ten times better. I didn't have to hear Mike to know the look on his face told me, "Absolutely not!" We ran the thing downstairs and opened the outside door and released the monster into the night. We didn't even see it take off in flight as the night was so dark and rainy. When Mike and I went back to bed, I whispered to my husband, "thank you Dr. Van Helsing," which he replied, "You are very welcome, Lucy." Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-90166949940688143672015-01-05T05:28:00.000-08:002015-01-05T05:28:28.944-08:00My Year of Getting Back in Shape<div class="yiv7412585936" dir="ltr" id="yiv7412585936yui_3_16_0_1_1419877610411_72050" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12.222222328186px;">
<span style="font-size: 12.222222328186px;">Rarely, did I have a moment to myself. With my husband away at law school, and me at home being mother and father to seven children, you can only imagine what life was like at times. I won't go into details; just know time for me just wasn't happening. (This picture is of me at my largest).</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCD4mYXoJ_A0WzkQCvfITM8u1GjgqBw1xy2HqkyXI5xm2zRHcRipRs-14e3s54Y1Q2OT76Syq2Yx5GnN_T_BTG_bA_RXfkJL-QiLR1C0AuxaLj-G0ZmHwTwJXtOuLbOfejHJi9tzzSko/s1600/mefat2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCD4mYXoJ_A0WzkQCvfITM8u1GjgqBw1xy2HqkyXI5xm2zRHcRipRs-14e3s54Y1Q2OT76Syq2Yx5GnN_T_BTG_bA_RXfkJL-QiLR1C0AuxaLj-G0ZmHwTwJXtOuLbOfejHJi9tzzSko/s1600/mefat2.jpg" height="320" width="227" /></a>This time last year, Mike started doing an online fitness program and when he suggested I start doing it too, I was offended. How dare he suggest I add one more something to my plate that was already overflowing with responsibilities. The last thing I wanted to do was exercise, even though I didn't like the way looked. I hated looking in the mirror. My petite frame of 5' was no longer so dainty. Still, the thought of exercising was exhausting. </div>
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I'm the kind of person who is a bit reserved when it comes to a new task because once I put my mind to something, I don't usually stop. I tend to turn into a machine until it's finished. So when I'm truly on board with something, I'm doing it 100%. </div>
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I will never forget the day I started. I opened up the link Mike had sent me months ago to the free online fitness program called Hasfit. There I listened and followed my personal trainer, Coach Kozak, as he got me started on this journey. For the first 30 days, I faithfully did as I was told, hoping to see an improvement and though I felt better and stronger, I lost no weight or inches. After that 30 days, I felt discouraged, yet I moved on to the Warrior 90 day workout plan and for 90 days I got my butt kicked but I hung in there and I faithfully worked hard. This is when I started to see the first pounds drop and the inches leave. For 120 days I had been working faithfully giving it my all. <a href="http://hasfit.com/">http://hasfit.com/<br />
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When the weather started to warm up, I wanted to take to nature at times so I also took up jogging. I had been a runner in college and did 5k's for fun but after I got married and started a family, I stopped. Running was hard now, because I hate it. It's all mental for me. The entire time I would ask myself why I was doing this horrible torture, yet, I kept running. I started with a mile and then worked up to 2 then 5. I reluctantly agreed to race in a 5k with some lady friends and to my surprise, I did very well. This gave me a new motivation, to keep doing Hasfit and keep running. Soon my clothes were literally falling off of me. My size large tops just hung, and my size 10 jeans fell right off my hips. I couldn't believe I was fitting into size 6 dresses again! </div>
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Now, nearly, a year ago from when I started, I weigh 105lbs because I've lost 40lbs! And wear a size 2 in jeans. Those dresses I bought while in the middle of this journey don't even fit anymore. That size 6 is too big. I now wear a 2 or extra small. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDiib7ar9h78eSCz_IuGG3dvtQtghqP8BoNA3qfDkWD5cIn155pMSq1Ou_uFs7JZAIJsuch7KQWCKc8wx-3akdIYvbP6_feIJz8f3GiztZi9XmpH9bzTSAGc46VBNeNr1G_rrYZqGh7xI/s1600/meblog4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDiib7ar9h78eSCz_IuGG3dvtQtghqP8BoNA3qfDkWD5cIn155pMSq1Ou_uFs7JZAIJsuch7KQWCKc8wx-3akdIYvbP6_feIJz8f3GiztZi9XmpH9bzTSAGc46VBNeNr1G_rrYZqGh7xI/s1600/meblog4.jpg" height="200" width="149" /></a>People ask me how I did it, which is the reason for this blog entry. They ask what pill I took, what did I eliminate from my diet, heck, did I stop eating completely. Folks, this is the honest truth, I didn't take a pill or eliminate anything. I love sugar and I love bread and meat and creamy sauces. I love food. But I did teach myself that it's okay to not finish everything on my plate and to stop eating when your body tells you it's satisfied. Sure you want more of that pie or that other taco would be so tasty but your body doesn't need it. I cut my portions in half. I still ate what I normally did but not as much. I slowed down and I listened to my body. I never thought I would be satisfied with a 1/2 cup of ice cream but sometimes, that 1/2 cup is even too much. Sometimes all I need is a spoonful. And yes, I exercised.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Gb2M2raKmGXlB24UoB7ODZQS-hcs8Q_DJ9wUujKELx0HGlKtrw9EbcG1Q16jg1V6ZWqqwOBvFEoxnbAF4sTAg9Tikqva3lwRZ9N1lFu8rPKW1pKM2iJlrEntEDaWHNUWAHMqiwl6SVw/s1600/meblog3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Gb2M2raKmGXlB24UoB7ODZQS-hcs8Q_DJ9wUujKELx0HGlKtrw9EbcG1Q16jg1V6ZWqqwOBvFEoxnbAF4sTAg9Tikqva3lwRZ9N1lFu8rPKW1pKM2iJlrEntEDaWHNUWAHMqiwl6SVw/s1600/meblog3.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a>It feels good to be healthy again. It feels good to have done something for me. I like to go shopping again. I love to pull on a size 2 in jeans and zip and button them with ease and for me to question if they are truly size 2's only to see they are! This was the best thing for me to do for myself. Being in my 40's was once depressing but not anymore. I like who I am. I liked finding myself again. </div>
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Was this a hard journey? I'm not going to lie, you bet it was hard work. It should be and it still is. It took a year of dedication but it's been worth it. Next year will come, whether we are healthy or not. You might as well do it healthy and feel amazing in the end. </div>
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Now on to that 10k! Who wants to do it with me! </div>
Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-56967503009012726722014-12-30T06:06:00.000-08:002014-12-30T06:06:21.446-08:00A New Year of Goals and Dreams<div dir="ltr" id="yiv1480452052yui_3_16_0_1_1419877610411_2580" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiubGetiC7k5X_OrHS-CEwURsf0QrtPiOdglYWmNcunMZ7XAw8lfb0DAA-i73IsVbeZPMObXjqbddddsEI8Ok2NtKnHa-Vb0RC1Z6vVpMWOO-PF7WwJgqHADq1qxMy29dtHfSo4YNpLEY/s1600/meandlaptop6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiubGetiC7k5X_OrHS-CEwURsf0QrtPiOdglYWmNcunMZ7XAw8lfb0DAA-i73IsVbeZPMObXjqbddddsEI8Ok2NtKnHa-Vb0RC1Z6vVpMWOO-PF7WwJgqHADq1qxMy29dtHfSo4YNpLEY/s1600/meandlaptop6.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16px;">Has it been nearly a year since my last post? WOW! Hopefully with the new year on it's way, I will do much better and keep you readers up to date on the goings on in my neck of the woods. First, I wanted to send out a 'Thank You' to those who messaged me asking why I had stopped my blog. Some of you, I had never met and didn't know you followed. You will never understand my excitement to know I had folks out there reading my words. Thank you for taking the time to reach out to me and get me motivated again. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7sT6E_iVjEj9ufHY3lex2k4ReaYAlBJ79BPsAGh58Ot-zsBrUsQ8mthJ25u4Q0gtTduNvWIyUEosjnsVQALYKL3C95sHl3AVxqGuswVhl94IYK8KFk650YG7EptmOj8ri1BnUrLeOZEo/s1600/blog12-30-14c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7sT6E_iVjEj9ufHY3lex2k4ReaYAlBJ79BPsAGh58Ot-zsBrUsQ8mthJ25u4Q0gtTduNvWIyUEosjnsVQALYKL3C95sHl3AVxqGuswVhl94IYK8KFk650YG7EptmOj8ri1BnUrLeOZEo/s1600/blog12-30-14c.jpg" height="200" width="199" /></a>For me, I almost gave it all up. I was devastated, and I couldn't imagine starting all over again. Thankfully a publishing house heard about me and a dear lady asked for a sample. I sent her a piece of my YA book and she was hooked, but that's all I can say for now. It's not a guarantee and I have some work to do. I have hope this might be my year. So, I continue on with the plan my stories will meet the masses and they will touch hearts and fans will keep turning those pages.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYRIKhU6iDGr6GPrkuXZF5QpCKAZsQMUkHGB7UTqi53Ce3I0GjS6fuBFn3TNNC3oqcO5o6mkceOh7DQxtUVK8D_XeKP8imQ8FCbJAkXrrbLSPbqwmdQxLd958bQYYEzKDt6F4WJsk9pY/s1600/blog12-30-14f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYRIKhU6iDGr6GPrkuXZF5QpCKAZsQMUkHGB7UTqi53Ce3I0GjS6fuBFn3TNNC3oqcO5o6mkceOh7DQxtUVK8D_XeKP8imQ8FCbJAkXrrbLSPbqwmdQxLd958bQYYEzKDt6F4WJsk9pY/s1600/blog12-30-14f.jpg" height="320" width="97" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16px;">Thank you to all who root and cheer me along. It has been a journey, and one that isn't finished yet. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">To all of you new authors out there, let me give you a tiny bit of advice from someone who learned it the hard way, please...PLEASE, I beg you, do your homework when you search for an agent. I know how excited you are when you get one who finally says 'yes' but that yes can turn disastrous if in the wrong hands. Look at their website and search to see what books they have sold, if any. Talk to others before you get too excited. If something doesn't feel right, it might not be. There are some awesome literary agents out there who will move you on the right paths to publication and then there are some who will sit on your hard work and do nothing and tell you lies. You deserve to know what they are doing for you and they should be honest.</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, Lucida Grande, sans-serif;">Thank you friends for visiting me again! Now on to those edits! </span><div id="yiv8132699521yui_3_16_0_1_1419861330103_68355" style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
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Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-75478768391390647972014-02-14T07:26:00.000-08:002014-02-14T07:57:06.929-08:00Nothing like Vintage Valentines! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXb2l08VBcz3gi-7VEeB5JQdsedKO0ibNNikSWqLZmN8Ouc45qfXynFiwe2I9-x0ARF5VvrL7TGvpkh_hJUMvPXAS36PwR5fugT2IF4pQ5_kRHQzMvwI6GVUcXVIi2ZjrV-55XzQh5T6w/s1600/blogvalentine1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXb2l08VBcz3gi-7VEeB5JQdsedKO0ibNNikSWqLZmN8Ouc45qfXynFiwe2I9-x0ARF5VvrL7TGvpkh_hJUMvPXAS36PwR5fugT2IF4pQ5_kRHQzMvwI6GVUcXVIi2ZjrV-55XzQh5T6w/s1600/blogvalentine1.jpg" height="200" width="125" /></a></div>
My heart will always be with the retro Valentines! They were the cutest! Today's Valentines don't carry the personality they once did.<br />
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One of my favorite times of the year was the Valentine exchange in grade school. I had so much fun decorating my box and getting it just perfect.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1o2qPvN9TwEMTh_VNkTdCRjzWvu0f3bn2nBxOzcD-Ky5vhFQk_yW4lh4LrMx2ixE5JtI7x1dFyFGq5tSn9H0E6v16-tnk851vY73ss0tdxyVm_aXR3Mx54ed0l5VkdInT2I3BnZyoJk/s1600/blogvalentine2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs7ZKuLaVbexGIz-F7HCWxp3butmcvhpu6_g3g-bKhPEYa7Hg7Q7V3C_8mXbAEyjKgy03EQDZ8mLEoNNrB7ykVmCgMNCjp2v0do-3T5okVFUgMMCcGNVge0R0Fe4v9Klo3Pq38JuVYOqg/s1600/blogvalentine4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs7ZKuLaVbexGIz-F7HCWxp3butmcvhpu6_g3g-bKhPEYa7Hg7Q7V3C_8mXbAEyjKgy03EQDZ8mLEoNNrB7ykVmCgMNCjp2v0do-3T5okVFUgMMCcGNVge0R0Fe4v9Klo3Pq38JuVYOqg/s1600/blogvalentine4.jpg" height="193" width="200" /></a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA1o2qPvN9TwEMTh_VNkTdCRjzWvu0f3bn2nBxOzcD-Ky5vhFQk_yW4lh4LrMx2ixE5JtI7x1dFyFGq5tSn9H0E6v16-tnk851vY73ss0tdxyVm_aXR3Mx54ed0l5VkdInT2I3BnZyoJk/s1600/blogvalentine2.jpg" height="200" width="145" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GcVfXLw8ItoL-gmihR5iSlVC_SG8O7IpiCWExhth6O9Pd5IYiKEal0UhjbSvBIezvk2wKqyA_OPswca3KL6-SCi5H5SH3sg07GSMS8WE5EYwzj_S9_xcMOvi3gl8flyCvveVrjHtW2M/s1600/blogvalentine3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GcVfXLw8ItoL-gmihR5iSlVC_SG8O7IpiCWExhth6O9Pd5IYiKEal0UhjbSvBIezvk2wKqyA_OPswca3KL6-SCi5H5SH3sg07GSMS8WE5EYwzj_S9_xcMOvi3gl8flyCvveVrjHtW2M/s1600/blogvalentine3.jpg" height="188" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a><br />
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I loved getting the list of names of my classmates who I would give a special little card too. I couldn't wait to see the collection I would get in my box too! It was always a mishmash of fun and colorful designs that made my brain pop with excitement. I wish I still had every single one. Sadly I'm sure my mom did a bedroom clean out and they'd get tossed away because I would never throw them away.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtuAEZGU4HLd7mPogd1G6rcbTwninljecOm_ZZpRDUHnYHiBFvcXIQcm0AnRaqgMQehWHkPovfz8yxPhnY002YYPKIC9e_pbtVjDO5RL0ih4_T_XhvbXBIcizyenZWJ_Eg062uQ4Dhn6s/s1600/blogvalentine5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtuAEZGU4HLd7mPogd1G6rcbTwninljecOm_ZZpRDUHnYHiBFvcXIQcm0AnRaqgMQehWHkPovfz8yxPhnY002YYPKIC9e_pbtVjDO5RL0ih4_T_XhvbXBIcizyenZWJ_Eg062uQ4Dhn6s/s1600/blogvalentine5.jpg" height="200" width="116" /></a></div>
Thankfully we have eBay and yard sales and flea markets. It's been fun collecting pieces of my past again. Here are tiny few from my collection that I remember as a little girl.<br />
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I hope you all have a beautiful Valentines Day
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I was one of the lucky ones who got to read the ARC from the publisher, Immortal Ink Publishing. What a beautiful story! It will be one I treasure and read again and again.<br />
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This is my review: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBdd5nQ9AiS6wiXGWvvffYHCiKmiImhbGpx9h3UlGjImUr-xDzhWb0THZLfvJ_4-0E50jId9CYmJ1EFWX9jp81TBqu-CPWVp90OS58atgX4SpwBt8VcCaxIlnLs2y0d7KMdbIENE3CmQ/s1600/louise+caiola2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBdd5nQ9AiS6wiXGWvvffYHCiKmiImhbGpx9h3UlGjImUr-xDzhWb0THZLfvJ_4-0E50jId9CYmJ1EFWX9jp81TBqu-CPWVp90OS58atgX4SpwBt8VcCaxIlnLs2y0d7KMdbIENE3CmQ/s1600/louise+caiola2.jpg" height="320" width="233" /></a><i>"Living in Italy with Tommy would be any girl's dream come true, but to Ann Leigh a forgotten past begins to come alive, making her perfect life not so right anymore. Flashes of America's bread belt, a boy named Shane, and a pregnancy she knows was hers, </i><i>drives her to find out who she really is...and then she remembers the fire.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>From the beginning this story captured me with its pure beauty. It is obviously written with great love, thought and skill. What an amazing author Louise Caiola is! Too often I don't fully attach myself to characters but I couldn't help but love the ones who were brought to life in 'The Making of Nebraska Brown'. They were real. I never struggled bringing them into my heart and mind. They where beautifully flawed, making them believable as if they lived right next door. I could relate and felt myself wanting to extend my hand out to these characters in hopes to be there with them.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It has been days since I finished this book and the story is still on my mind. That lets me know I've read an instant classic. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I will treasure this book. It has earned a place on my shelves. I can't wait to read more of Louise Caiola's works. What an amazing author! I am a fan!" </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAwKcBke2aHbgMcUwumgxNHWgVoylH5wvUwMv98zjmXucpqs1-8tsYvPE23HE0ig1-gbN8-zs8b0fGBrGJX9lHBbdS-UddTxxUYUTn7DzTKWx3L6nGog734zG7sHgEoOH53SjgsnG3xTc/s1600/louise+caiola1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAwKcBke2aHbgMcUwumgxNHWgVoylH5wvUwMv98zjmXucpqs1-8tsYvPE23HE0ig1-gbN8-zs8b0fGBrGJX9lHBbdS-UddTxxUYUTn7DzTKWx3L6nGog734zG7sHgEoOH53SjgsnG3xTc/s1600/louise+caiola1.jpg" height="119" width="320" /></a><br />
Please pick up your copy today! You won't be disappointed! Follow the link to get your ebook or paperback! Congratulations, Louise! You deserve this! YAY!!!<br />
<br />
http://www.amazon.com/Making-Nebraska-Brown-Louise-Caiola/dp/1938750772/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-5720549403099527932013-11-25T06:43:00.000-08:002013-11-25T07:03:05.422-08:00My Literary Hero and My Literal Hero <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuya4y_oTNGmbYvDCUAly16SrfkkVFghx-aI9nSPyd2BZKeurEAK6q-vQ-jqxdKjg1aFx9mb9e6_pYZHUQOxCtMhegj3eBRbVOTaC5_6WI7z5IO6tm05pj3PXHuk6YCK6mff7JfOa9UU4/s1600/redferngrows1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuya4y_oTNGmbYvDCUAly16SrfkkVFghx-aI9nSPyd2BZKeurEAK6q-vQ-jqxdKjg1aFx9mb9e6_pYZHUQOxCtMhegj3eBRbVOTaC5_6WI7z5IO6tm05pj3PXHuk6YCK6mff7JfOa9UU4/s200/redferngrows1.jpg" width="150" /></a>There are many authors I look up to.
But the one who stands alone from all the others, who shines a little
bit brighter than the rest, the one who changed my literary
experience, is an author from my childhood.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijeP2wM8AoLuSybdc4QJpSthpSY_IfO5nGdw32jIdXRvDIBEXHKW2Gm3HBo24th_GYc6HznYJT273vbhLPBYgH-t-vZS4WT7EtnKM1ck6X2aGc5gMkXeErm39UfY9YjRTW4ixRNmd7v2o/s1600/me&craig2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijeP2wM8AoLuSybdc4QJpSthpSY_IfO5nGdw32jIdXRvDIBEXHKW2Gm3HBo24th_GYc6HznYJT273vbhLPBYgH-t-vZS4WT7EtnKM1ck6X2aGc5gMkXeErm39UfY9YjRTW4ixRNmd7v2o/s320/me&craig2.jpg" width="320" /></a>Most don't know this but when I was a child, I struggled with reading. Books were very scary
to me. They were homework or something that kept me from
exploring the outdoors. Instead of reading, I made up stories in my
mind and to me, my stories were always better than the ones I was
forced to read.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wish I could remember why I came home
with a certain book one day, but I do remember being excited. It must
have been because I was a tomboy and I liked animals and I was always
looking for an adventure. This book was about a boy and his dogs and
they lived on a farm like I did! All the other books I tried to read
were supposed to be funny, but I'd never laugh, or they were all
about girl stuff I was terrified of.
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUL7FLludWBidBOfEuf3XhwbuCpA2cBGrg3OGrhbz-t7ZEuYVjnJ5l86AumuK3VoNW9HN-MvAqq-h0-JXzFkldMYc9PqvExYqcAqeGgdUqkCU1bwdEnW59XRj8y5Lb0XIAAHGzzzLudGE/s1600/redferngrows2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUL7FLludWBidBOfEuf3XhwbuCpA2cBGrg3OGrhbz-t7ZEuYVjnJ5l86AumuK3VoNW9HN-MvAqq-h0-JXzFkldMYc9PqvExYqcAqeGgdUqkCU1bwdEnW59XRj8y5Lb0XIAAHGzzzLudGE/s320/redferngrows2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I still remember my parents letting me
stay up late one warm night to finish my book. I think they were just
excited to see me wrapped up in a story for once.<br />
<br />
I can still feel my
tears as they ran down my cheeks and I can still feel the book in my
hands as I held it tight to my body. I can still smell it and feel
its pages. And in my heart, I can still feel the joy of finally
connecting with a story, with an author. I read this book over and
over and over.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgPo5WJe-4wxMSzG6EEHtuz80gg5R_hTF7NV5duw6onN8lL82pPr8KcfszsnMESF5YBGz73uivImuzbaRJzTQR9LWxIberUVH43ZRYdxEW1OZwT6amxQEEF_ylaZBfiedDrs41jSIgeA/s1600/me&craig1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTgPo5WJe-4wxMSzG6EEHtuz80gg5R_hTF7NV5duw6onN8lL82pPr8KcfszsnMESF5YBGz73uivImuzbaRJzTQR9LWxIberUVH43ZRYdxEW1OZwT6amxQEEF_ylaZBfiedDrs41jSIgeA/s320/me&craig1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now that I'm an author, I try to write
in the way that Wilson Rawls taught me. From him I learned emotion in
a story is important, characters need to be solid, likeable and real,
and your setting has to take you to a place you can see and know.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Owning an original signed copy of his
book, 'Where the Red Fern Grows' has been a dream of mine for years.
Wilson Rawls saw things the way I did when I was a little girl. Even
though I never meet him, he understood me.
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0tSxdo0eoAFPNL0BK_xRxwNxJu0XZTqKYXSS28F1rTP1bWTNo9bZpKVDGbwf4hILRY_GU8v5LrzBKug09a2hfGYhWmfP68yhMAdNWLPRumSAj8yHXUWIkr2UPR4WxGJ-zEunFDwxFHGk/s1600/redferngrows3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0tSxdo0eoAFPNL0BK_xRxwNxJu0XZTqKYXSS28F1rTP1bWTNo9bZpKVDGbwf4hILRY_GU8v5LrzBKug09a2hfGYhWmfP68yhMAdNWLPRumSAj8yHXUWIkr2UPR4WxGJ-zEunFDwxFHGk/s320/redferngrows3.jpg" width="224" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This weekend one of my older brothers
paid our family a visit. In our younger years, Craig was always that
big brother who watched over me, who asked where I was going and what
I was up to. In my teens, he even cleaned one of his guns in front a
date. I always smiled when someone came up to me and said, 'are you
Craig's little sister?' I always answered with a proud, “Yes!” He
was a dream come true when it came to big brothers. I treasure each
memory I make with him.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You can only imagine how he touched my
heart when he handed me the one book that changed my literary
experience! It being signed by the one author I admire more than all
others! Craig's giving heart allowed a dream I never imagine coming
true to happen.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My heart is full. My eyes are still wet
with tears. My soul still leaps for I now have a piece of history
from a man I owe so much of my writing to. I know Wilson Rawls is
happy I have one of his treasures.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm grateful for heroes in my life and
I'm grateful for one I can call my big brother!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Thank you, Craig!</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-29001634560421705112013-10-31T07:08:00.001-07:002013-10-31T07:08:34.653-07:00Halloween Card Exchange <div class="MsoNormal">
Even in a world of instant communication through emails,
snap chats, twitter and more, I still appreciate the good old mail box. I love
the walk down the road to it and the feel of opening the mailbox flap. I love to
look inside in hopes of something special waiting for me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrUvT0HVCH1kOGIUYLga5GIU5U-VGX7oA8AOUC7VWaIaFJ9ZfqoMQ19-YzPVPiFIQZNMZ-u8CTe2d4wNzole5FY1nN19ht4t_oUfYk7UkGVNEqNdAAkE0PhNP1I-DnYAKzUt0B0keXEaw/s1600/cardblog4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrUvT0HVCH1kOGIUYLga5GIU5U-VGX7oA8AOUC7VWaIaFJ9ZfqoMQ19-YzPVPiFIQZNMZ-u8CTe2d4wNzole5FY1nN19ht4t_oUfYk7UkGVNEqNdAAkE0PhNP1I-DnYAKzUt0B0keXEaw/s320/cardblog4.jpg" width="289" /></a>Every Christmas, cards come wishing my family a Merry Holiday
from loved ones all over the world. Ever since Mike and I have been married, I
have saved these cards. Along with them, I have collected antique cards as
well. Together the old and new greetings go up in my home as part of my holiday
décor. I love the way it turns out, pretty little pieces of Christmas art all
over my walls and doors!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many of you know my love for Halloween, and that I’m an
image junky. I can’t help but wish my Halloween walls had the same collection
as my Christmas wall have. So to solve that problem, I decided to randomly select
family and friends and invite them to participate in a Halloween card exchange.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rules were simple. If one chose to take part, they would
send me their address and I would send them mine. We then would send each other
a Halloween card to celebrate the upcoming holiday. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhamYU08BWZ9P5lIvNJ6krGQUC8_6SSAVq3d9zq8iwlx010zPqJNDI47xUZLTZPO_ySooOJhdj-sAV3fXzIggf8Heleud4vXlcvhp9h0oyYupHeKWGrKcy3UyJKvhEQZz6hua67f0aZyk/s1600/cardblog6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhamYU08BWZ9P5lIvNJ6krGQUC8_6SSAVq3d9zq8iwlx010zPqJNDI47xUZLTZPO_ySooOJhdj-sAV3fXzIggf8Heleud4vXlcvhp9h0oyYupHeKWGrKcy3UyJKvhEQZz6hua67f0aZyk/s320/cardblog6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So many cards and treats came! Day after day my mailbox
brought me orange envelopes with Halloween cheer inside. I figured one door
might hold the surprises, but the cards have branched out further and unto my
walls! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hope this might be a fun tradition! I’m so grateful for
all those who took part and helped my collection to grow. You can bet your card
will be treasured and up each year to help bring in the Halloween spirit. I
hope you might join in again next year!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you didn't get a message from me inviting you to join in
and you’d like to, please let me know and I will add you to the list. Sadly a
couple of my messages didn't go through as I had thought. Apparently, I
attached too many people to it. It is very possible you were on a list but your
invitation is still searching for you out in cyber space. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hope you all have a very Happy Halloween! Thanks again for
all who brightening my smile and brought me spooky Halloween cheer! Already I can’t
wait until next year!<br /><br />HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-19551220709512881082013-10-17T06:45:00.000-07:002013-10-17T06:45:14.900-07:00My Personal Graveyard<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9cKq5HJwMoZz2DwwdkhZg771_OxgUHIZGC7-v_iluH7oUtc4qRxBLX_kB6PGn2yhwPGkdEKEB0rvankr76CMwWqNjP_lAV7On4W623zCCEbhNFlyfCOoOUgDtzVnUVlhtdMXVjRVEpc/s1600/graverubbing8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9cKq5HJwMoZz2DwwdkhZg771_OxgUHIZGC7-v_iluH7oUtc4qRxBLX_kB6PGn2yhwPGkdEKEB0rvankr76CMwWqNjP_lAV7On4W623zCCEbhNFlyfCOoOUgDtzVnUVlhtdMXVjRVEpc/s200/graverubbing8.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, Lucida Grande, sans-serif;">After
a long week my husband, Mike, and I wanted to do something different
for a date. Mike grimaced at my idea but because he loves to see me
smile, he followed me to an old cemetery with a roll of paper and
charcoal in hand. We hunted the grounds reading names on the stones
and studying the dates, figuring out when the poor souls left this
life. Some gravestones were just rocks to us but there where others
that called out. When this happened, we’d place the paper over the
stone and with the charcoal, rub it causing an imprint of the history
of who was buried under our feet.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8FVEhCO8YI5tdVWYndO0D78cGLNyKamQwA6EVlgfVDQ7OblxCQTDyP3I0qWQcstagxbuLDxf5n-536V666X3uQiI0T0JqWtGwBo6IgCKKbMdCgc_kga6f9sRsUoZAOqeqXZ6eylhfumw/s1600/graverubbing6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8FVEhCO8YI5tdVWYndO0D78cGLNyKamQwA6EVlgfVDQ7OblxCQTDyP3I0qWQcstagxbuLDxf5n-536V666X3uQiI0T0JqWtGwBo6IgCKKbMdCgc_kga6f9sRsUoZAOqeqXZ6eylhfumw/s200/graverubbing6.jpg" width="162" /></a><br />
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="" name="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381950502902_4261"></a>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, Lucida Grande, sans-serif;">We
nearly filled the back seat of our car with rubbings! So many wanted
do come home with us. We imagined that night, when all the ghost came
out from their plots, they’d all gather together and some would
brag about how their stone got picked, rubbed and how a piece of them
got taken home with a living couple.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFNyzvjZvA-k4wXltqjWaZt3l0gnnQadPr1yMWPYR-ePksrM2_fXX7hEQ24o6ESuWZCf56wixFl3CEdnO3hMJjQEeHRq1x0eeNq6lWaLDyuuDl4rXGOUyQEgTuMTxVdY6Acseea0y-zZI/s1600/graverubbing4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFNyzvjZvA-k4wXltqjWaZt3l0gnnQadPr1yMWPYR-ePksrM2_fXX7hEQ24o6ESuWZCf56wixFl3CEdnO3hMJjQEeHRq1x0eeNq6lWaLDyuuDl4rXGOUyQEgTuMTxVdY6Acseea0y-zZI/s320/graverubbing4.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="" name="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381950502902_4264"></a>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, Lucida Grande, sans-serif;">Upon
returning home, I unrolled each paper and picked out my favorites. I
then picked out a wall and began making my very own graveyard. To add
effect, I covered the wall with black poster board and added a white
moon with weeds around each of the stones. It looks amazing. Each
stone has its own personality just as I imagined each of the people
the stones represented did.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHd0Qgqvr9yKj7WioKyaEO6n7Mt7QYWEXm6K6lD04pnTSd1Ll9HEmOU4hQj62Qci40jiVA0E2UgMmhxbVupVvsaItQl-cz0w6TPKUk4tfmQkIiFQHaGgwOh2T1DLFC70nBQ0qgq-G0nw/s1600/graverubbing3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHd0Qgqvr9yKj7WioKyaEO6n7Mt7QYWEXm6K6lD04pnTSd1Ll9HEmOU4hQj62Qci40jiVA0E2UgMmhxbVupVvsaItQl-cz0w6TPKUk4tfmQkIiFQHaGgwOh2T1DLFC70nBQ0qgq-G0nw/s200/graverubbing3.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="" name="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381950502902_4266"></a>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, Lucida Grande, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US">I
think my new friends like being part of our home. I think they like
being remembered again. All these graves were barren in the
graveyard, they seemed sad with no flowers and just stones sticking
out of the earth. In our home, they are full of life again. My kids
run around playing, music is blaring, food is being cooked and
friends come to visit. They gaze up at the stones reading the names
and wondering who these people were and what made them smile </span><span lang="en-US">or</span><span lang="en-US">
even cry. It’s nice to see the connection.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxCQVVpKarbqs6lz00XZRQ97y8o2_ruojZjwGigZ8yZ-ydjBBON1oEK0A1qCJjQOnOtc1s6P-X6kut_mbcnSIrVSAOvu6K29CDg7NtoB7fmcWLb093SBet_3a_N6XX32-T8dNE6mBPiYQ/s1600/graverubbing11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxCQVVpKarbqs6lz00XZRQ97y8o2_ruojZjwGigZ8yZ-ydjBBON1oEK0A1qCJjQOnOtc1s6P-X6kut_mbcnSIrVSAOvu6K29CDg7NtoB7fmcWLb093SBet_3a_N6XX32-T8dNE6mBPiYQ/s320/graverubbing11.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="" name="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381950502902_4807"></a><a href="" name="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381950502902_4808"></a>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, Lucida Grande, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US">Last
night, I couldn't sleep. I gathered my pillow and sheet and went down
in the living room where my graveyard is. I laid down on the couch
that is up against my cemetery wall. Right before I fell asleep, the
thought came to me; I was now lying under all these graves! My first
inkling was a little frightening but instead of getting up from under
these stones, I stayed down and told Lilly Edwards, Cora L. Sasher,
Willie Shipley and many more, ‘good night’. </span><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">My
bones have never rested as well as they did last night when they were
under my graveyard friends.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-24619867194686606722013-10-08T06:51:00.000-07:002013-10-08T06:51:57.652-07:00Sometimes Losers Don’t Lose After All<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0iH-Ed-qUsT7EoNgyNMAacc0y5H5wuir8DHazu19GX3T29togYCD-HxOOw_qtXZIlb0qI59dKNH35LLH-tOpEDV39UB62kgzlp06fNpcPdycKUikiW-pM_scTDguHlvD87ScRLtcx6B8/s1600/mabblog3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0iH-Ed-qUsT7EoNgyNMAacc0y5H5wuir8DHazu19GX3T29togYCD-HxOOw_qtXZIlb0qI59dKNH35LLH-tOpEDV39UB62kgzlp06fNpcPdycKUikiW-pM_scTDguHlvD87ScRLtcx6B8/s320/mabblog3.jpg" width="277" /></a>A
few weeks ago, I noticed a contest hosted by Gallery Nucleus. A favorite
artist, Mab Graves, had offered one of her original pieces up for the show in
which her latest series ‘The Runaways’ was being unveiled. The rules stated
that one of the girls remained nameless and along with naming her, she needed
personality traits. The fan with the most ‘likes’ on the name and description
would win the original piece of art work. My heart jumped and though I knew the
chances of winning were slim, something told me to try anyway.<br />
<br />
I looked at the picture and the little girl seemed familiar in some odd way but
I couldn't place her. The more I thought about names, the clearer it came in my
mind. Cora Wren, the name I was never able to use because she was never born.
After typing in her name, I let my fingers take over. It’s how I write. It’s up
to my characters to tell me the story. Before I knew it, I had finished and
couldn't help but like the little person I created. She was familiar because
she had little traits as I did when I was a little girl. Of course she would
always be busy and of course she’d always be looking out for the bad guys. And
yes, she’d be drawn to abandoned homes because there is such emotion embedded
in the layers of wall paper and knotted wood.<br />
<br />
I was touched with the reaction from so many of my friends, family and even
strangers as they rallied behind me. The ‘likes’ came and I watched with great
hope that maybe Cora Wren was her name! Maybe I would win! Maybe my lost little
daughter’s portrait would hang in my home.<br />
<br />
It came down to the finale seconds between me and another contestant. I lost by
26 votes but in my heart I didn't. I cried when I lost but they were not sad
tears. Yes, I was sad this little girl's name would be different than what I
chose for her and I was sad her portrait wouldn't be hung on my wall, but my
heart was full because of all the support I received from so many. I cannot
begin to count the emails and private messages I received from those who
rallied for me and from those who regretted not seeing the contest until it was
too late. Because of this contest, I made new friends and I grew closer to
those who love and support me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn8lUbuxj4M2EH2mJFCbeOij2SRgvJJCz8XsmI9RJdvNdi4uM5kU5hBH7CT0TYOeZKZDZTRWvCzY4kZ-N1Ll9wIZ1KmX-zA_RO0KDxCCeZDaiva2Jo_Lw5g-Od3ZyVbWiqw4GVPn88nro/s1600/mabblog4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn8lUbuxj4M2EH2mJFCbeOij2SRgvJJCz8XsmI9RJdvNdi4uM5kU5hBH7CT0TYOeZKZDZTRWvCzY4kZ-N1Ll9wIZ1KmX-zA_RO0KDxCCeZDaiva2Jo_Lw5g-Od3ZyVbWiqw4GVPn88nro/s320/mabblog4.jpg" width="320" /></a><o:p> </o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="" name="yui_3_13_0_rc_1_1_1381171221472_4246"></a>After
the contest ended, I posted on my facebook wall a message of gratitude to all
those who tried so hard for me. Heartfelt replies came. Among them was one from
the artist. I was deeply touched by her messages, the one that came privately
and the one that was made public. The gallery which hosted the contest
contacted me with beautiful words too. My heart was full. I soon discovered that Mab Graves was
doing something special for me. You will never understand my excitement!<br />
<br />
From out of my mail box, I opened a beautiful piece of art signed by the
artist. Tears still fill my eyes as I look at it. To me, the little girl in the
original painting will always be Cora Wren but when I look at this new girl, my
spirit is touched even more. More because of so many friends, family and
strangers, because of new friends and because of a gallery who hosted a show
and of an artist who was touched by a little name.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2iUqHR4_rQkY2eCez_9uoU_n1E4twiWwCDStgxFltpEswhe7LVeksfOfJXg5ZEYpYhWOMil5InFCReQx2S_0pWk7XivU_qRR5dlIb9fXQJfeZh4ysPL9w5XYcOb_dmQqlOdJCyIHHh4/s1600/mabblog5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2iUqHR4_rQkY2eCez_9uoU_n1E4twiWwCDStgxFltpEswhe7LVeksfOfJXg5ZEYpYhWOMil5InFCReQx2S_0pWk7XivU_qRR5dlIb9fXQJfeZh4ysPL9w5XYcOb_dmQqlOdJCyIHHh4/s320/mabblog5.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />Sometimes losers
don’t lose after all.<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Thank
you for all those who made this possible! I will never forget! OXOXOXO<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Please
vist Mab Graves website: <a href="http://mabgraves.com/"><span style="color: black; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: black;">http://mabgraves.com/</span></a>
to learn more about her and her art. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
If you’re like me, you’ll
visit her Etsy page often and find little treasures you just can’t live without
: <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/mabgraves"><span style="color: black; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: black;">http://www.etsy.com/shop/mabgraves</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Please visit Gallery Nucleus
and support the artists they feature: <a href="http://www.gallerynucleus.com/"><span style="color: black; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: black;">http://www.gallerynucleus.com/</span></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p>Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-52625852564314022232013-09-22T14:21:00.000-07:002013-09-22T21:45:25.122-07:00Better than Birds and Streams<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-fZ2t6StbQAfw0UNhmCSNqwCc8yB-m0Rsgt6lQua8lSZXo8qM73Z3zGSJMXGmhile5ou80RLhZi7nfDXwdirHCnxZkNFt39LDAPQWCyIF8b3F15a2dcXDELRXx2KroIBr7EnAYtWfrR8/s1600/sundaytalk1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-fZ2t6StbQAfw0UNhmCSNqwCc8yB-m0Rsgt6lQua8lSZXo8qM73Z3zGSJMXGmhile5ou80RLhZi7nfDXwdirHCnxZkNFt39LDAPQWCyIF8b3F15a2dcXDELRXx2KroIBr7EnAYtWfrR8/s200/sundaytalk1.jpg" width="200" /></a>Since the church I attend does not have paid clergy, it’s up
to us members to do our part in assuring our Sunday meetings are taken care of.
The service each of the members dedicates
allows the church to run smoothly but that does not mean there aren't stressful
times. Our first hour of worship is done in the Chapel. There we all meet
together as a church family. Part of this hour speakers from the congregation
share their messages they have been asked to talk on. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew my time was coming up to be a speaker and every week
I escaped that hand delivered envelope, I breathed a little sigh of relief. But
luck ended a few weeks ago and I grumbled even though there was a piece of
chocolate taped to it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those who know me know I do what is required but I’d rather
stay at home or sit back and watch others give their talks and listen to their
messages. I find talking in front of a group terrifying! But I it do because I
know I’m supposed to, we all take turns and we all have a special message to
share. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih53_CXlV2jo4WG-rYV1yyBYQg-DLSAmGKYTEPUFi8DzmqZ0r5AzcIeNOtv0yPQ2TqUgmQQlGDmWLjf7EvFt_FYM0VL6meW2fAGUBQY3_jafYg_BAmzP4YzxP_mGsdPIX8wF8Wclz8-7U/s1600/sundaytalk3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih53_CXlV2jo4WG-rYV1yyBYQg-DLSAmGKYTEPUFi8DzmqZ0r5AzcIeNOtv0yPQ2TqUgmQQlGDmWLjf7EvFt_FYM0VL6meW2fAGUBQY3_jafYg_BAmzP4YzxP_mGsdPIX8wF8Wclz8-7U/s320/sundaytalk3.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
I posted this on my facebook wall concerning my talk: <br />
<br />
<i><span style="background: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This Sunday, I have to
give a talk and give a lesson. I just lost EVERYTHING on my computer that I've
prepared. Hours gone! Talking for 15 min in front of a whole congregation &
teaching for 45 min is not my kind of thing but I do it because I'm asked...now
I just want to give up. Sunday I want to dip my feet in a creek & listen to
the birds.</span><o:p></o:p></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As you can imagine, I
was in a bit of a panic! I am NOT an extrovert and standing and talking to
people is scary for me, plus being a mother of 7 children, plus home schooling
4 of them I really don’t have time for things like this to happen. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These were the replies by some of my dear friends who came
to my aid. Some go to the same church as I do, some have their own faith, and
some don’t have a faith at all. I was touched as they came to my moment of need to
offer support, humor and comfort. My soul was truly touched. I then knew I lost the
talk for a reason, I was supposed to share this experience and incorporate it
into what I was assigned to talk about.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~Everything happens for a reason! God must want you to
listen to him and speak from the heart...I know you will do great!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~Pray, breathe, and it will come to you<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~I say just skip it.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>kidding!!!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~Are you sure it's gone? What happened?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~I would love to hear you speak. Your preparation is still
in your heart and mind. God will draw out what he wants you to teach.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~Carrie..you are awesome and i think it doesnt matter what
you talk about....from you,anything would be heartfelt and who wouldnt just be
happy to hear whatever you speak of....remember
that....:-):-):-)....<3<3jus sayinnn..<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~you can talk about dippin your toes and listenin to the
birds....maybe some need a reminder....the best things in life are free and
happy and beautiful...:-):-):-)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~You always do a great job. Just speak from your heart. It
overflows with love and they will feel it.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~How old is your version of Word?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~You'll do fine. You're a wordsmith.....and a mom of many!
This too shall pass!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~you have a beautiful heart and a willing spirit, so I know
God will bless whatever you have to share.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~Ok Carrie. You give the talk-which will be wonderful, and
the lesson-which will be great, and I'll sit with you on the creek bank and
listen to the birds.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">~I agree with Tracy and Sherry about speaking from the
heart. Part of the typing and working through the message was a preparation in
itself. I bet you could tie the story into the message at some juncture too. I
usually find that in retrospect, interesting detours become clearer in reason.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FAFBFB; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FAFBFB; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">This
was my reply: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: #FAFBFB; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="background: #FAFBFB; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Thanks everyone. Working hard on it today & I'll try to
speak from the heart up there. The problem is, I'm a better writer than
speaker. I get so upset and flustered just standing up there and talking. I
have to think about every word. Most people think I'd be a good speaker because
Mike is such an amazing one and so often people put husband & wife together
as one, but speaking is not a talent I have. He stands alone with being so good
at it, I'm far on the other end. It's terrifying to me. It literally makes me
sick. I wish I had more confidence but I don't. It will be okay though. I got
the lesson all down last night & today my mind is where it needs to be. I
know with the help from the Spirit, I can do it. But I do look forward to it
all being over & then maybe I'll take that walk and dip my feet in the
creek & listen to the birds. I'm sure the Spirit will follow me there &
it will be even more beautiful.</span></i><i><span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br />
<span style="background: #FAFBFB;">Love you all SO much! Thanks for thinking
about me my heart is so full, I have happy tears. OXOXOXO</span><br />
<span style="background: #FAFBFB;">Oh, and I found out the talk is for 10 min not
15:)<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="background: #FAFBFB;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUFrr2ggAq-dYxH9ZNaguYOisYnjKtNs0UMZ6ifyEi5io0iTlsS0Gu1djNjmkYzUREywMM6HAKWnCvMbgHPKqrDdtpnn4EeC_hQKAKfyZlNoQ_H6gnbkFQFJyT_TIl-Xafn9krI6-ZHs/s1600/wrenbird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUFrr2ggAq-dYxH9ZNaguYOisYnjKtNs0UMZ6ifyEi5io0iTlsS0Gu1djNjmkYzUREywMM6HAKWnCvMbgHPKqrDdtpnn4EeC_hQKAKfyZlNoQ_H6gnbkFQFJyT_TIl-Xafn9krI6-ZHs/s200/wrenbird.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="text-align: center;">The topic of my talk
was: Strengthening the Feeble Knees, and Lifting Up the Hands Which Hang Down.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh, how appropriate! I
believe these people who stopped and gave me a message where prompted by the Spirit. They knew, in some way, I needed to be uplifted. Through
their words, I was touched by the Spirit. I then believed I could do it again,
I would not give up. They believed in me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Instead of having to prepare a new talk, the Spirit prompted
me to share this facebook experience. After the talk, I was greeted by so many
with words of gratitude but it’s not me who should be thanked. All thanks go to
those who took a moment in my time of need and strengthened my feeble knees and
lifted me up again. I will always remember this experience. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwYI8pInD5Km8KQc42hMZOMtAZ5j-NGhp7pu5cKCSrCGfaIP189ZwJYM-aau7nRVs24N8grbuwoETXO9No2JWYSH2nAgKmVlRVYM8O1HU2g10MCu6ShKSVg2fWGfkYfPFYbpIBuaJAho/s1600/sundaytalk9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwYI8pInD5Km8KQc42hMZOMtAZ5j-NGhp7pu5cKCSrCGfaIP189ZwJYM-aau7nRVs24N8grbuwoETXO9No2JWYSH2nAgKmVlRVYM8O1HU2g10MCu6ShKSVg2fWGfkYfPFYbpIBuaJAho/s320/sundaytalk9.jpg" width="320" /></a>That evening, I did take that walk to the creek and I did
dip my feet in the water and there I said a prayer, thanking those who helped
me. The evening became more beautiful and the birds sang sweeter tunes. The
flowers seemed to open up more and the creek bed was litter free. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As much as I think I would like to be alone with just the
natural world around me, how gloomy it would really be without friends who take
the time for each of us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Special thanks to: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
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Tracy Overfelt, Cleta McCreey Huston, Mandy Billingsley, Fred
Hanselmann, Rebekah Stanley, Rhonda Filetti, Sherry Bailey-Daniels, Chantell
Osejo, Cyndi Pilotte-Sanders, Linda Robinson Brendle, Phyllis Wangsgard, Troy
Rickertsen. </div>
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<o:p></o:p>Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-64692224094803181062013-09-03T13:07:00.000-07:002013-09-03T13:07:27.768-07:00My Latest Flea Market Finds <div class="MsoNormal">
I was never introduced to the joys of yard sales and flea
markets until I was married. As a child, my wardrobe was made up of
hand-me-downs but those things came from people we knew. I never thought it
gross or strange; in fact, I looked forward to those garbage bags and banana
boxes full of new styles. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjom1CSRRABQdY6wnYhyphenhyphenu5W9nUc_VyeSb8fwaKksg7EpkV4hdVAXdwwJEcwmHuIah3qZKn1NhpH4aCI1PqqIHHLvVngt4YOM73faGAgHG0GvBQWi5DA5J0kiQCfe4sjiC7BWlxuIBwU2Rg/s1600/fleamarket4a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjom1CSRRABQdY6wnYhyphenhyphenu5W9nUc_VyeSb8fwaKksg7EpkV4hdVAXdwwJEcwmHuIah3qZKn1NhpH4aCI1PqqIHHLvVngt4YOM73faGAgHG0GvBQWi5DA5J0kiQCfe4sjiC7BWlxuIBwU2Rg/s200/fleamarket4a.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgee_V4Rsv03_SnJgTLwguZG-zE3SZY9dMwQzelTP5-vQoZ4DrG5GdnuGSmXt1duTJp1WV-0nRuYawna5q3K48wQ8bKbozHirRO90Vy3R6iofvS9N8CZDwB_skhfMaLkgfQwBINt3foBdc/s1600/fleamarket3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgee_V4Rsv03_SnJgTLwguZG-zE3SZY9dMwQzelTP5-vQoZ4DrG5GdnuGSmXt1duTJp1WV-0nRuYawna5q3K48wQ8bKbozHirRO90Vy3R6iofvS9N8CZDwB_skhfMaLkgfQwBINt3foBdc/s320/fleamarket3.jpg" width="320" /></a>Way back then, I thought rummaging through a stranger’s
unwanted items was nasty and germy. After all, the junk was in their yard which
was so close to the curb where garbage was left and hauled off. When I heard
the word ‘Flea Market’ I only saw one thing in my mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytcoyPYKpfr6sp7yKwkVswmlVGu3XqmcY43zXrxYOJJgn1ipoyqAjXklljjrY1wGTgIebfDANMLhr4ZWHR0I_m3i4pooJ77tzTuCebPS4P9C56zRgtZ0AKRmg_5tWGX0pDGQ1XbGfu9M/s1600/fleamarket1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytcoyPYKpfr6sp7yKwkVswmlVGu3XqmcY43zXrxYOJJgn1ipoyqAjXklljjrY1wGTgIebfDANMLhr4ZWHR0I_m3i4pooJ77tzTuCebPS4P9C56zRgtZ0AKRmg_5tWGX0pDGQ1XbGfu9M/s200/fleamarket1.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL47LFDp4ZZTte71aZ0KHnPOlgSmtx68zTXyuO2JYYG7yD_E2Xz-Bs_kr_kDaAvA_ZiaUbkNDW23YCCtHmVBfSSvrD7DNCgEV41dRCmQD8oilkM62Ga7tQJkvgnzLEtHsKqIImz8951yc/s1600/fleamarket6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL47LFDp4ZZTte71aZ0KHnPOlgSmtx68zTXyuO2JYYG7yD_E2Xz-Bs_kr_kDaAvA_ZiaUbkNDW23YCCtHmVBfSSvrD7DNCgEV41dRCmQD8oilkM62Ga7tQJkvgnzLEtHsKqIImz8951yc/s320/fleamarket6.jpg" width="320" /></a> When I was just a
newlywed, my husband woke me one early Saturday morning and made the suggestion
to visit a yard sale down the road. I groaned and made the comment of not
wanting another’s junk in our tiny house. I told him I had never been to a yard
sale and had no desire to ever start going. He was floored that for 22 years I
had never been to one. Against my will, he made me go with him. He promised I’d
like it; I was sure I wouldn't.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWHRtNGD_MMWzmMNhqeWSmIakbRHgLoXjMwe56YvQKDUel5n4YrMiAq-w4KbK5fcsN1GyY6H9iP04en2THaZx6GGbJJxWndgQoTAYuZiuKGM6XNr6pbo2YGouP3S2sjbEuaId01i8S8k/s1600/fleamarket2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWHRtNGD_MMWzmMNhqeWSmIakbRHgLoXjMwe56YvQKDUel5n4YrMiAq-w4KbK5fcsN1GyY6H9iP04en2THaZx6GGbJJxWndgQoTAYuZiuKGM6XNr6pbo2YGouP3S2sjbEuaId01i8S8k/s200/fleamarket2.jpg" width="150" /></a>At first I wallowed around the junk at me feet and on tables
too good to go digging but then something caught my eye, and then the price on
the tag was even better. There was no turning back after that. The next
Saturday it was me shaking my husband awake and pushing him out the door so we
could find more yard sales. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dRt1Ej3uPwhG8ls2jxur-AKmi3KN6SZW5jCVHGkV5vK78CvE4nyUFp9Wk3awA7gb_EIGai0MjI2XjHzdPipbaGhGOr4NpgTmKK8HDqWxgHio73EkyLHb83tn1Kh-Wfnt3XHhljXt7M4/s1600/fleamarket5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dRt1Ej3uPwhG8ls2jxur-AKmi3KN6SZW5jCVHGkV5vK78CvE4nyUFp9Wk3awA7gb_EIGai0MjI2XjHzdPipbaGhGOr4NpgTmKK8HDqWxgHio73EkyLHb83tn1Kh-Wfnt3XHhljXt7M4/s200/fleamarket5.jpg" width="200" /></a>Even after all those years, the thrill of that perfect find
has never left. My husband and I are rather addicted to yard sales and flea
markets. Sometimes we do well with finding treasure, other times we come back
with nothing, feeling cheated in some way. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This last Saturday I did well with my finds. I couldn't be
happier! Already I’m counting down the days until next Saturday. I just hope I have room for all my stuff! </div>
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<o:p></o:p>Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-8219213911156900382013-07-25T12:55:00.000-07:002013-07-25T13:05:22.742-07:00Finally, I’m a Blythe Mommy!<br />
The first time I saw their round faces with their huge blinking/changing
eyes, I was in love. They seemed to talk to me. They are adorable and quirky,
with just the right amount of strange. If I were a doll, I’d want to be a Blythe.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPqvJEt-uohrw8-cnqO86lT7ezUn-0YV2vfUcdd_jFikKUZ34W9d9HEAQP0ck3iFw9rwwPzhNOpBHptU7D0Q_aNU-i2zZYkWevo1UyLYfN2px_0P6JaQsPSjxBEiPniDNHx6E5stk8FvM/s1600/corablythe6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPqvJEt-uohrw8-cnqO86lT7ezUn-0YV2vfUcdd_jFikKUZ34W9d9HEAQP0ck3iFw9rwwPzhNOpBHptU7D0Q_aNU-i2zZYkWevo1UyLYfN2px_0P6JaQsPSjxBEiPniDNHx6E5stk8FvM/s320/corablythe6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
When I was little, dolls scared me. I did have a couple and
those little girls were as friendly and timid as I was.
My older sister’s dolls, on the
other hand, were bold and evil! They
were too pretty, frilly and much too delicate. Their boxes were even treated
with the best care and stacked nice and neat in our closet with the original
pink tissue paper carefully folded inside. Most of these dolls were displayed
on our walls. Some even hung over my bed. In my nightmares, they came to life and liked
to bite me and pull my hair.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKXWcTketi3p39mujkbU37zgcc9yk7I2EyUbypaijOM4zakps3UqTXNmHrI4-3DuoC9DTOGyJlrPbZp2myINlUbIsoFe3uHimPY0j5PqCObbTElBoLoG7bB_E2HMGtKkCY-JJQDRnhpw/s1600/corablythe1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKXWcTketi3p39mujkbU37zgcc9yk7I2EyUbypaijOM4zakps3UqTXNmHrI4-3DuoC9DTOGyJlrPbZp2myINlUbIsoFe3uHimPY0j5PqCObbTElBoLoG7bB_E2HMGtKkCY-JJQDRnhpw/s200/corablythe1.jpg" width="200" /></a>I like to think that if I had a Blythe, when I was little in
the 70’s & 80’s, my sister’s dolls would have stayed away. The original
dolls sat on department store shelves because they were just a little too freaky
for that generation. I think they would have been freaky for those fancy dolls
too. But, they would have been perfect for me. I have always been a little strange.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKU9_MKRy8fpPDWJ0qKFrEe91lCxkaZTahlpU9D5rX5fSA9rYS77HMouTBbkPiiT8RiWU2BmglIneABJvejGso47EcwGa3cQuUWmp7xCjFzV6QjPS_Hb-KdFJJT1a2D6PlxWEVWRqEgE/s1600/corablythe4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKU9_MKRy8fpPDWJ0qKFrEe91lCxkaZTahlpU9D5rX5fSA9rYS77HMouTBbkPiiT8RiWU2BmglIneABJvejGso47EcwGa3cQuUWmp7xCjFzV6QjPS_Hb-KdFJJT1a2D6PlxWEVWRqEgE/s200/corablythe4.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Earlier in the year, one of my friends had a beautiful Custom Cinnamon Blythe dolly up for sale. The moment I saw the
doll, I was in love. More in love than I had been with any other Blythe. She
was perfect. This little dolly wanted me as much as I wanted her. After a
miracle of her not going into another’s home, things worked out and I was able
to adopt her.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8GAk1BjVu2N2EAMLd9rPDcapGF93Lge5VrmEBUldtTrVFcYBrPYl6T4_8omd1OVEobudS3MiCdIQea0QsKmntSOSVjDsH3F9_PXRj1rj-wrpMmRj7qZlrZnsoUUdXuo8_zg0R5XmICNM/s1600/meandcora13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8GAk1BjVu2N2EAMLd9rPDcapGF93Lge5VrmEBUldtTrVFcYBrPYl6T4_8omd1OVEobudS3MiCdIQea0QsKmntSOSVjDsH3F9_PXRj1rj-wrpMmRj7qZlrZnsoUUdXuo8_zg0R5XmICNM/s200/meandcora13.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="text-align: center;">Cora Wren is the name I was never able to use for a daughter
but now it has been given to a doll, my very first Blythe. She will always be a treasure and always stay in my care. It’s nice to be one
of those girls who will never grow up, the kind who collect old childhood toys
and always plays with her dolls.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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For more history on these amazing little dolls please visit
this site: <a href="http://www.blytheworld.com/eng/aboutblythe/index.html">http://www.blytheworld.com/eng/aboutblythe/index.html</a><br />
<br /></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Take a peek at my Cora Wren’s custom transformation: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sylviecola/sets/72157623667878713/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/sylviecola/sets/72157623667878713/</a><o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRIIioDPhhOfsOEQ9dD7Qg2j6BF6wEH6syVYAglbo8Jf731VxgkTvBZQm7dMy-8s1QmdfuBe4qbrGSMfQVwPlTSA77QKGKT9Pjd9SYl8cXzI_ZqEWET7yV35V9WmdFyjMS4KhqujwlY6E/s1600/corablythe9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRIIioDPhhOfsOEQ9dD7Qg2j6BF6wEH6syVYAglbo8Jf731VxgkTvBZQm7dMy-8s1QmdfuBe4qbrGSMfQVwPlTSA77QKGKT9Pjd9SYl8cXzI_ZqEWET7yV35V9WmdFyjMS4KhqujwlY6E/s200/corablythe9.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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Please take a look at Phillaine’s site as she’s such an
amazing Blythe artist: <a href="http://phillainecustomcreations.blogspot.com/">http://phillainecustomcreations.blogspot.com</a>
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-61762925587908124692013-07-16T07:51:00.000-07:002013-07-16T07:56:06.558-07:00First Time Author, Katie Lee and her Amazing Story, 'What Endures'<br />
I have been blessed with the privilege of getting to know an amazing little lady. Katie Lee is someone with much strength and character. She has over come so much in her life and is an inspiration to me. One thing Katie and I have in common is the dream of our books getting published. No one will understand the struggles, wishes and heartaches of book dreams unless you have lived it, and no one will understand the joy when it finally happens. Congratulations, sweetie! I'm so proud of you! Thanks for the chance to read your ARC!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNkRoJCMfe3pLkn_gNvya4vcR57D2O4-043Fi2v5IntDSbl-yGj4XA-iiyei4A8_OQ9ll-5gySUWdoVkSylFFSEPyF2F-u_1WU-pzdeQQcVdFQxDJ37AUjaDV0K2xDatFe_e8yKu0dNk/s1600/katielee1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNkRoJCMfe3pLkn_gNvya4vcR57D2O4-043Fi2v5IntDSbl-yGj4XA-iiyei4A8_OQ9ll-5gySUWdoVkSylFFSEPyF2F-u_1WU-pzdeQQcVdFQxDJ37AUjaDV0K2xDatFe_e8yKu0dNk/s320/katielee1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t normally read romance but I was ensnared from the
beginning all the way to the end with Katie's book, 'What Endures'. I love reading debut works from
first time authors. What a new and refreshing voice. What an amazing storyteller! I expect great things from this author.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m a rather picky reader. Bad dialogue is what I hate the
most but with this book, I could tell the characters controlled the story and
the author was only the fingers that typed their tale. Katie let her muse flow.
She allowed her characters to come to life. I love this book! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQDPWTuZlwqO2q1eaGwlZmQHXOg2w0E7_IMVTK4Xte3vxtjl7uFvViyhdk5vy8HPoRaenTp_spEa2sI0mQdrLG1rFy_3Uso91GcGXxKQORFsIjtfWJCpE5F2IxiJiK-isGznhWIgs6s0/s1600/katielee2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQDPWTuZlwqO2q1eaGwlZmQHXOg2w0E7_IMVTK4Xte3vxtjl7uFvViyhdk5vy8HPoRaenTp_spEa2sI0mQdrLG1rFy_3Uso91GcGXxKQORFsIjtfWJCpE5F2IxiJiK-isGznhWIgs6s0/s1600/katielee2.jpg" /></a>Jason has been involved in a serious car accident. When he
awakens from his coma, he discovers he has no memory of the last fifteen years.
His life as a major league baseball player is gone. His life as a super star and
living the high life is gone. And, his world with the love of his life has
faded away. He has no memory of Megan. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Megan has not left Jason’s side since his accident.
Faithfully she stays only to discover the dreaded news. Jason’s physical
injuries will take time but his memory might never come back. Carefully he is
introduced back into his world in hopes to re-learn the past. To prevent any
added post-traumatic stress, Megan’s and Jason’s relationship is put on hold. Megan moves out of their home together and
starts a new life as Jason’s friend and not his finance. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As the months move on hints of the past come to life but not
because of remembered memories. Can
Jason’s and Megan’s love be found again or is it just too hard to love a woman
he doesn't know.<o:p></o:p></div>
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If you’re looking for the kind of book to get lost in, the
kind you can’t put down, pick up Katie Lee’s book 'What Endures'. I’m still
thinking about this book weeks after reading it. It has stuck. Be one of the first to order your copy off Amazon on August 1st! <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m a Katie fan!<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-20525766424077828962013-05-31T08:59:00.000-07:002013-05-31T08:59:08.214-07:00The Birthday Boy Who was Almost Delivered By Daddy<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaZ-qrdpvdqQfQ7rl9AHJZc9dUXPTqjMY6qB-tAb5hLyTqfmDfi2Bk913zJbrb7b5ygMHR4ObJrMM-CE74tnjb43jAJraclaJWInteuS5UsDf39IKEJWWNxIOa-b38UL4CHVQKV8Yp2I/s1600/peterlittleboy1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPaZ-qrdpvdqQfQ7rl9AHJZc9dUXPTqjMY6qB-tAb5hLyTqfmDfi2Bk913zJbrb7b5ygMHR4ObJrMM-CE74tnjb43jAJraclaJWInteuS5UsDf39IKEJWWNxIOa-b38UL4CHVQKV8Yp2I/s320/peterlittleboy1.jpg" width="240" /></a>11 years ago today Mike almost delivered Peter all by
himself. It was a morning of comical mishaps that fits perfect with Peter as
his pregnancy was by far the oddest. To this day, he is my most peculiar child.
He was breech through the whole pregnancy and in hopes to get him to turn, besides
our midwife trying to turn him, I had to lie on an ironing board upside down
while Mike burned incense at my feet. Yes, I was 9 months pregnant lying on an
ironing board upside down. How I regret that we never got a picture. When Mike
and I started feeling loopy from the incense, we decided to only tell our
midwife we were doing her earthy ritual. </div>
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A week before he was born, he decided to turn
all on his own. Peter’s stubborn nature was evident even before birth. There
was no convincing him to do what the midwife wanted. When I was 2 weeks overdue,
I had to enjoy the delights of castor oil and an enema in hopes to get me in
labor. Still, there was no convincing Peter to come out into this strange
world. He must have loved being tucked in my ribs and listening to the beating
of my heart. He must have enjoyed the warmth and security of mom. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRqD1PRBSpmKESEMAUOA1tUQ2qvVk1NMRvhnCYWVGPwuPWHwurMUJ6hhiez1kNhbL9y2HV9FXb8odE2s4q6P-jJTpNLQmmNPH-IGQwvaIb9iqnr1cI6ajC3luQfNP3rcgqmSkjd-STBZ8/s1600/peter11birthday3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRqD1PRBSpmKESEMAUOA1tUQ2qvVk1NMRvhnCYWVGPwuPWHwurMUJ6hhiez1kNhbL9y2HV9FXb8odE2s4q6P-jJTpNLQmmNPH-IGQwvaIb9iqnr1cI6ajC3luQfNP3rcgqmSkjd-STBZ8/s320/peter11birthday3.jpg" width="320" /></a>When my water broke early one morning, I hurried downstairs
where Mike was sleeping on the couch. He remembered how long my last deliveries were and instead of calling the midwife, who lived an hour away, he
sent me back to bed in hopes we both would get some needed rest before the big
event. As Mike rested, I did not. A few hours later, I waddled down the stairs now
in hard labor and woke him. While I labored, Mike ran with the phone in hand
calling who he needed and getting our other four children up and ready to stay
elsewhere. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When our midwife and her assistant arrived, I didn't notice or
hear the grilling Mike was getting from the midwife as she thrust her equipment
on the table. It seemed like seconds after she arrived that Peter was born.
What I do remember is holding my new baby boy and gazing down at him as he
looked up at me. He was beautiful. To this day his nick-name has stuck; Handsome
Pete. To this day, older girls look at him and wish he was older or they were
younger. To this day I am still his most favorite person in the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He will always be a mommy’s boy. He will always hug and kiss
me. He will always invade my personal space when I cook and he will always tell he loves me. What a lucky mommy I am to have such an amazing boy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Happy Birthday, Peter! How our world would be less without
you! I look forward to another year of odd with you. We are kinder spirits I think! <o:p></o:p></div>
Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-26221053976271562452013-05-08T06:49:00.000-07:002013-05-08T06:52:51.405-07:00A Rare Interview with Mr. Bohns and Author Carrie Filetti<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Vp0KEuF3-SP31vWXizrufoDfTxmcyDm6mQWJPR30skPphy0Y_Sz45kul6c51Pc4qf4DC7KdfdC9zgEbbjBG9UVVGKXNRtsqCAO5IoZsyojhiukW0vQuq7naNzp7ufUAaLR6Z2DG5U5Y/s1600/me15+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Vp0KEuF3-SP31vWXizrufoDfTxmcyDm6mQWJPR30skPphy0Y_Sz45kul6c51Pc4qf4DC7KdfdC9zgEbbjBG9UVVGKXNRtsqCAO5IoZsyojhiukW0vQuq7naNzp7ufUAaLR6Z2DG5U5Y/s320/me15+%25282%2529.jpg" width="160" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhqyR0Mkb6CWGmuBtZAToPl4JOd368uv_UWUFiFOhHNmmus9dd9SaTQcOstaI84oyW9-zCOzPoZnRrIC0p5gJ_eBYbn8Z6oJTXEIKkcZPKhY1N_I1xIpZyqe5UyQjmkcULkPNz2Yo9EkQ/s1600/MrBohns2+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhqyR0Mkb6CWGmuBtZAToPl4JOd368uv_UWUFiFOhHNmmus9dd9SaTQcOstaI84oyW9-zCOzPoZnRrIC0p5gJ_eBYbn8Z6oJTXEIKkcZPKhY1N_I1xIpZyqe5UyQjmkcULkPNz2Yo9EkQ/s320/MrBohns2+%25282%2529.jpg" width="204" /></a>Special THANK YOU going out to my dear friend Krista Krueger for the amazing interview she had with me and Mr. Bohns. Mr. Bohns doesn't take his top hat and black gloves off for many but Krista made him feel right at home. Soon he sat back and answered her questions with ease. He even laughed a few times!<br />
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I hope you all will enjoy this interview as much as Mr. Bohns and I enjoyed being a part of it.<br />
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<a href="http://kompletelykrista.wordpress.com/2013/01/10/the-surprise-interview/">http://kompletelykrista.wordpress.com/2013/01/10/the-surprise-interview/</a><br />
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<em><strong>The Surpirse Interview: Carrie Filetti & Mr. Bohns</strong></em></div>
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I was lucky enough to get a chance to interview Carrie Filetti and Mr. Bohns recently and ask them about the process of a living woman writing for a dead man. I have to say they are an awesome team. Carrie is an amazing storyteller and Mr. Bohns has a great story to tell. I hope that you all get as much enjoyment out of these ten questions as I did because I smiled the whole time, which is rare. J If you’d like to learn more about Mr. Bohns’ daily life you can follow him at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BenjaminBohnsFactory" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(168, 239, 157); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-width: 0px 0px 1px; color: #a8ef9d; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: rgb(68, 68, 68) 0px 0px 4px; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/BenjaminBohnsFactory</a>. </div>
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<li style="border: 0px; list-style: decimal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(68, 68, 68) 0px 0px 4px; vertical-align: baseline;">So, Carrie, Mr. Bohns, how did you two meet and what made Carrie the one living person you felt you could tell your story. her talent, acceptance and love of the slightly macabre? All of those things?</li>
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Carrie: I was going about my days as a normal living housewife when out of the blue I was awoken by the oddest dream.</div>
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Mr. Bohns: Ms. Carrie might think she was ‘normal’ but I have known her for some time. She has never been normal. When you’re dead you have a gift. You kind of know everything about the living. I’ve been watching and waiting for the perfect time to open up to her. She had to almost die herself before it could happen.</div>
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Mr. Bohns, losing Carrie is a frightening thought, but let’s move on.</div>
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<li style="border: 0px; list-style: decimal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(68, 68, 68) 0px 0px 4px; vertical-align: baseline;">Since you confided in Carrie for her to be able to write this book, has she been able to take a tour of the factory? For documentation purposes, of course.</li>
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Mr. Bohns: Carrie is the only one who knows my factory better than me. When writing this story she pointed out a few nooks and crannies I didn’t know of. She is always welcome at my factory.</div>
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<li style="border: 0px; list-style: decimal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(68, 68, 68) 0px 0px 4px; vertical-align: baseline;">What exactly does your factory specialize in and Carrie what do you think of Mr. Bohns’ products?</li>
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Mr. Bohns: My factory is known for its spooky treats and gloomy dolls and toys. Some of my best sellers are my Black-Licorice Spiders w/ Candied Webs, Goblin Gumball Eyes and my Dog-Bite Joey Dolls. The doll is an inspiration from Carrie as she was almost eaten by a beast. I was able to reach her after that incident.</div>
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Carrie: Mr. Bohn’s products have opened my eyes to a whole new world! Candy is dandy but Mr. Bohns’s is so much more fun! When I suck on a lollipop, it’s now on a mummy’s head. When I chew gum, I now add candy to give it a little ‘boney’ crunch.</div>
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<li style="border: 0px; list-style: decimal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(68, 68, 68) 0px 0px 4px; vertical-align: baseline;">Carrie, what do you think of Mr. Bohns’ “life”?</li>
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Carrie: He will always be a loner. He has a problem accepting the fact that he’s dead. He still has a lot to live for. He still runs into trials. They don’t stop in death; we keep learning and growing after this life, folks.</div>
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I’d imagine he has a lot more stories to tell that we could learn from.</div>
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<li style="border: 0px; list-style: decimal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(68, 68, 68) 0px 0px 4px; vertical-align: baseline;">I’ve heard of a girl named Maryanne that works there, how important of a role does she play at the factory and in the book?</li>
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Mr Bohns: Maryanne plays a HUGE part in both. Most people are captured by me because of what I am but Maryanne is the real hero.</div>
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Carrie: (Smiling over at her friend) Mr. Bohns is the hero too. You can’t help but love characters that grow and overcome their weaknesses.</div>
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<li style="border: 0px; list-style: decimal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(68, 68, 68) 0px 0px 4px; vertical-align: baseline;">Carrie, I imagine Mr. Bohns is an interesting gentleman, how was the experience of writing about him?</li>
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Carrie: Mr Bohns is dapper and a fine gentlemen. He is prideful but it’s because he knows a lot. It makes him very angry to see the living throwing their lives away. He has taught me to live my life to the fullest because we only have one life to live and we must be careful and obey the laws.</div>
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Mr. Bohns: Always drink your milk and wear your seat belts!</div>
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I have to tell you, Mr. Bohns that I love my milk and my father instilled that you should</div>
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Always wear your seatbelt.</div>
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<li style="border: 0px; list-style: decimal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(68, 68, 68) 0px 0px 4px; vertical-align: baseline;">Okay Carrie. You have a little hideaway to do your writing, what kind of things do you keep nearby to keep yourself inspired?</li>
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Carrie: Oh, boy! Do you have all day? I have so much! Some of my favorites are my childhood toys. Fisher Price little people and my stuffed toy, Ziggy the Zebra. I love vintage so I have some fun pieces from the 40’s & 50’s. I have spooky things galore, like my vintage Halloween collection and my spooky/odd Valentines. I have little button-eyed dollies, Monster Legos, skeleton keys; my daddy’s old circus books (because he and I have always shared the same secret, to join the circus). I have such wonderful friends who have sent me little treasures and all those are in my room too. I have artwork from friends, stuffed monsters, a coffin key, figurines and I even have a set of silver spoons a friend made skull faces in. Oh, and I must not forget…the skeletons. I love my boney friends.</div>
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That sounds like a lot to keep you on track. I have my own coffin key as well. J</div>
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<li style="border: 0px; list-style: decimal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(68, 68, 68) 0px 0px 4px; vertical-align: baseline;">How did your family feel about you spending so much time with Mr. Bohns? Were they jealous of the time it takes to write a book, supportive?</li>
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Carrie: I have to be one of the luckiest mommy’s ever! My kids LOVE Mr. Bohns. They quote him at the dinner table, they pray for his story to find the right publisher. Some have even surrendered their birthday wishes over to him in hopes the world will know how amazing he is. They bug me constantly (even the teenagers) to read his and Maryanne’s story. My family will not let me give up when I get discouraged. They literally get angry when I let doubt in.</div>
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You’re a lucky woman Carrie with a family that obviously loves you and believes in you very much; as Mr. Bohns must to have waited for you to be ready for his story.</div>
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<li style="border: 0px; list-style: decimal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(68, 68, 68) 0px 0px 4px; vertical-align: baseline;">Mr. Bohns, did the factory run smoothly while you and Carrie worked together or were there mishaps?</li>
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(They both laugh) Mr. Bohns: Oh, there were mishaps! Plenty of mishaps! You’re bound to have mishaps when you work with the living.</div>
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Not all of the living are so bad, Mr. Bohns. Carrie seems to have done very well by you.</div>
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<li style="border: 0px; list-style: decimal; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-shadow: rgb(68, 68, 68) 0px 0px 4px; vertical-align: baseline;">And finally I have to ask, will there be or are you working on another book about our favorite dapper dressed living skeleton?</li>
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Carrie: My Dreadville books will be stand-alones but if you read them all, you will find clues and mysteries of old characters. My new book is about a different monster but you can bet you’ll run into Mr Bohns.</div>
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I love the idea of a place called Dreadville and that the stories will intermingle. And I’m glad we’ll run into Mr. Bohns again. I’ve grown quite found of you, sir. I can’t wait to see what Carrie has in store for us.</div>
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Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-38763627507349925412013-04-08T08:06:00.000-07:002013-04-08T08:17:04.894-07:00The Invisible Red Thread and Three Little Ladies <br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #211922; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><b>"An invisible red
thread connects those destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or
circumstances. The thread may stretch or tangle, but never break."</b></i> -
Ancient Chinese Proverb</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_gatz5Tfhe0ScpG0KDyFLgZAazojiIUyKMlEkH1JigZSNYHtJWP7h3GySdi8EYoePacwo3uyZsWKyXhTgIH8qoNKiePrfUzeGpK1ZR4WrldXNId_0UaUBiRjD7yzn7DtAxHF554zGhQ/s1600/redtread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_gatz5Tfhe0ScpG0KDyFLgZAazojiIUyKMlEkH1JigZSNYHtJWP7h3GySdi8EYoePacwo3uyZsWKyXhTgIH8qoNKiePrfUzeGpK1ZR4WrldXNId_0UaUBiRjD7yzn7DtAxHF554zGhQ/s320/redtread.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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For years I didn't believe in soul mates. I never had one. I
never believed there was another girl in this entire world like me. But the
moment Dana and I connected, we were finishing each other’s sentences. Out of
all the hours in a day, we’d pick the exact moments to send emails. We would
find images online to share only to discover the other was saving that same
image with the same plan. The list goes on and on. We seemed more like twins
than new friends.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dana has been very ill for a long time and she recently
found herself in the hospital hanging on hope for survival. Her communication
to me was very limited as it was too painful to even type. Her jaw was so
swollen she couldn't talk or even eat. Dana’s
father read her my messages and I waited patiently for her father’s updates. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Miles and miles separate us but that invisible thread was
never cut. Somehow our bond grew. Somehow we continued to know about the other
with little contact. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For her birthday, I went online in hopes to find that
perfect image. I wanted something she could hang in her room and at her weakest
moments in her illness, she could remember us and all our future plans. It had
to be extra special. I wanted an image of hope. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_hzaQ6kF9bcJuRKQrF70CFeuWMp9H1tCzP39aQGqzkrkjh4CkPLOUmqVM__xty_6DA_4sgDT433gZoeg-rAcFC9LS5uXeAeP9LhqBsawWtHghonbSmQJ1OW8VYP7isT1pX1c00H-rbS8/s1600/bestfriendsmabgraves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_hzaQ6kF9bcJuRKQrF70CFeuWMp9H1tCzP39aQGqzkrkjh4CkPLOUmqVM__xty_6DA_4sgDT433gZoeg-rAcFC9LS5uXeAeP9LhqBsawWtHghonbSmQJ1OW8VYP7isT1pX1c00H-rbS8/s320/bestfriendsmabgraves.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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The moment I visited Mab
Graves’s site her piece ‘Best Friends’ spoke to me. It was me and Dana. Mab had captured us
perfectly. Tears welled up in my eyes when my husband nodded yes. I believe he
felt it too.</div>
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I contacted the artist with my desire to purchase this
limited image. In our communication, I shared with her a brief history of Dana.
Being the darling Mab is, she took the time to find out a little more about
Dana. She visited her blog and she too was touched by this amazing little
lady.</div>
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It wasn't long before Mab contacted me. She shared how she
was drawn to Dana and how alike the two of them were. In her discovery
something awoke and to help Dana in her healing, she wanted to do something
special too. Along with ‘Best Friends’ (and a few extra little pieces), Mab
took the time to illustrate Dana and sent it with a special note of healing and
good cheer. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisjv7AVd0TXD9bP8mfv90vFH5X8lV1ley6hhYK9kbED83c-0-3iUrmw7xyOekA2ybobWEs88e9vmwEf5jobLeoRg7e3hySC2Pn75kE-hGI4XhDj83QVoY9VNXN5t4BDdgp0tgRXImZgPs/s1600/mabofdana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisjv7AVd0TXD9bP8mfv90vFH5X8lV1ley6hhYK9kbED83c-0-3iUrmw7xyOekA2ybobWEs88e9vmwEf5jobLeoRg7e3hySC2Pn75kE-hGI4XhDj83QVoY9VNXN5t4BDdgp0tgRXImZgPs/s320/mabofdana.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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When the pieces arrived, my heart sang. There was so much
love in this gift. I took them to be framed, making them perfect so all Dana
had to do was find the spots on the wall. Those who helped me in the different
shops were drawn to the images and the story. Power was there. Strangers were
touched. </div>
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I wish I could have been there when she opened both gifts. I
wish I could have seen her face. I still tear up knowing I felt it when she did
open them. I could feel joy and gratitude hundreds of miles away. It didn't take long before Dana, being so sick, found the energy to contact me.</div>
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It is nice to know there are dear souls in this world. While it may seem bleak at times there are
still good people in it. There are people who take the time to reach out and
truly feel the spirit of another. Thank
you, Mab Graves for what you have done for my friend. Thank you for somehow
connecting to mine and Dana’s red thread and drawing ‘Best Friends’. And thank
you Mab for going the extra mile, for extending yourself even further and
painting Dana perfectly. It will forever be a treasured masterpiece. I am one of your biggest fans, not only because
of your amazing talent but because of what you have done. I consider you a
friend. One of the dearest, and so does Dana. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For more information on my dearest friend and her illness,
please visit Dana’s blog. <a href="http://shewalkssoftly.com/2013/03/23/the-real-story-of-where-ive-been/">http://shewalkssoftly.com/2013/03/23/the-real-story-of-where-ive-been/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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And please visit and support Mab Graves. She makes this world
a little more beautiful in many ways. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://mabgraves.com/">http://mabgraves.com/</a> <a href="http://mabgraves.blogspot.com/">http://mabgraves.blogspot.com/</a> </div>
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Don’t forget to visit her Etsy shop! <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/mabgraves">http://www.etsy.com/shop/mabgraves</a><o:p></o:p></div>
Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-64952099353680982172013-02-22T18:06:00.001-08:002013-02-22T18:06:17.853-08:00Happy Birthday, Mr. Edward Gorey!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8zJmsrQQm6vTWr3N1Of3Vc7cxPp5fffjOnW2RsbMlX1EylMXU6ozYkvgA_MoMw5NCKuCS8Mb8VEIlpTK195toLgK_gNfbHd56K6gS3zvvV_bSOplks_RNDuMfE6DKTasYfWoNNHYuAa0/s1600/edwardgorey1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8zJmsrQQm6vTWr3N1Of3Vc7cxPp5fffjOnW2RsbMlX1EylMXU6ozYkvgA_MoMw5NCKuCS8Mb8VEIlpTK195toLgK_gNfbHd56K6gS3zvvV_bSOplks_RNDuMfE6DKTasYfWoNNHYuAa0/s320/edwardgorey1.jpg" width="319" /></a>Every year when Edward Gorey’s birthday passes, I reflect on
how badly I wish he was still around. How I wish I could save my pennies so he
might create a piece of art for only me. How badly I wish I could hang out in
his home town in hopes of a glimpse. How badly I’d wish for a kitten from one
of his many cats. How I wish I could have been his friend.<br />
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I have never been the kind of person who dotes on others and
collects autographs but his would be one I’d treasure. Once, I watched one of his ‘Little Red Riding
Hood’ pieces climb and climb out of my price range on eBay. How I wished
I was very rich at that moment. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Edward Gorey’s works move me. They are full of despair which
triggers so much emotion. When I look upon art, I want to feel something; I
want to see a story. His works do this for me. There is a twist of Gothic flare
mixed with everyday occurrences. Some are
a bit bizarre but aren't our lives all unusual at times. Don’t the unbelievable
things happen? Sometimes we are smothered under rugs. Sometimes bears do eat
us. Sometimes we find ourselves face to face with the bad guy, and sometimes
that bad guy wins. Edward Gorey takes us to the edge and lets our minds play
out the story.</div>
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Oh, the despair! Oh, the tragedy! I would have been a
perfect character in one of his books. I sometimes wonder what tragic end he
would have given me as child and I do hope it would have been disastrous. I
think he would have liked doing that for his friend. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-34325179137048276592013-01-14T07:37:00.000-08:002013-01-14T12:27:41.287-08:00Watch for the Wolves, Little Red <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTrqN7UzTntYQYN-R4t1muzZszpagNxyoCzbDZ3XfjzIEpGj4sRntbesRiAu-nE1bgDC73mUJofzN287xyj1trqeT6wPDBsaFDUPQnMLfZxFCE3uguAV-L8Efi7vVNNSBYkqjJI4vggk/s1600/littlereddoll2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTrqN7UzTntYQYN-R4t1muzZszpagNxyoCzbDZ3XfjzIEpGj4sRntbesRiAu-nE1bgDC73mUJofzN287xyj1trqeT6wPDBsaFDUPQnMLfZxFCE3uguAV-L8Efi7vVNNSBYkqjJI4vggk/s200/littlereddoll2.jpg" width="150" /></a><span aria-live="polite" class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" style="background-color: white; display: inline; outline: none; width: auto;" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">At a young age my parents introduced me to a little tale. Ever since then Little Red Riding Hood has been my favorite. I had books and stuffed dolls. One doll was a topsy turvy. On one end was Little Red, she was perfect with her red cape, braids and </span><span style="font-size: 12.727272033691406px;">dainty</span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"> face. When you turned her upside down the doll transformed into the loving Grandmother with her </span><span style="line-height: 17.99715805053711px;">spectacles and</span><span style="line-height: 18px;"> bed cap. When you lifted grandmother's cap up and over her face, the wolf was there. He was gray and had yellow eyes with sharp pointed teeth. I spent hours playing with that doll. In the woods outside our home, I was Little Red and I was taking a basket to my Grandma Hasek. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px; text-align: center;">The tale of Little Red has such an important lesson. Girls, watch out for the wolves because they are out there. They will hurt you and those you love. Stay on the path and don't ever leave it. Listen to your parents and loved ones. Be cautious and wise to what is around you. And if you find yourself in trouble after falling to temptation, (because flowers are so lovely) there is hope. But while wolves are out there, hope is also out there. Heroes still exist. Let them lift you out of the belly of sadness and hopelessness. </span></span><br />
<span aria-live="polite" class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" style="background-color: white; display: inline; outline: none; width: auto;" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="color: #333333; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">And always, always, always wear red. Be who you are, but be smart.</span></span></span></span><br />
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Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-44211370745672542022012-11-26T13:17:00.000-08:002012-11-26T13:17:46.377-08:00Coach’s Last Words, ‘Just don’t get Pinned’<br />
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My son Forrest is that good character in a book. The
character everyone loves and roots for. You can’t help but like him because of
his goodness. It radiates from him. He’s not loud. He’s humble, quiet and observant. When he became smarter than me, in the
sciences and math, I knew I had to let him go. This last fall he skipped a
grade, left my home school classroom and started high school as the youngest
freshman. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This was all new to him.
Such a big step in the quiet life he lived at home. To help Forrest come
out of his shell, Mike (Forrest’s dad) and I thought it good for him to go out
for a sport. Forrest had never played an organized sport except when he got his
family together to play some backyard baseball. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Because of mine and Mike’s great love for wrestling, we
suggested to Forrest that he go out for his high school team. I don’t think it
was his first choice but he was willing to give it a try for his parents. He trusted us. We (and he) knew going in he wasn't going to be as experienced and strong as many on the team. Some of the
other boys had been wrestling since they were little kids. Still, he gave it
his all. He worked hard; harder than he had ever physically worked before. He became stronger and confident. He became
part of a brotherhood as those on the team welcomed him in. Because of his lack
of experience, he didn't make the varsity team but he wore his JR varsity place
with dignity. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Last Monday was the team’s first match. Because the teams
are small in our area, instead of one team to wrestle, sometimes there are
more. Monday there were a total of three teams and they would all be considered
varsity matches. Rarely are there enough guys for Jr. Varsity matches. Only the
best come out for the teams.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In hopes to give Forrest the chance to wrestle in a match,
his coach arranged for him to wrestle a varsity opponent from one of the other
schools. Cocke County happens to have very strong wrestlers. They are solid and
thick farm boys. As a mother, this worried me. My fear that Forrest would be up
against one of these boys had come true.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The meet starts with the middle weights, then goes to the
heavy weights and last are the light weights to wrestle. Forrest’s weight class
is 120 lbs but he is lighter than this, much lighter than his opponent. His match happens to be the very last match
with this school. To top it all off, the score is 42 Rebels (us) and 36 Gamecocks
(them). If Forrest’s opponent can pin him, their team will tie with ours and
not lose. I’m sure Forrest’s opponent was counseled to destroy my boy. When he stood up to Forrest, he was taller
and stronger. You could tell he was experienced and<span style="color: #4f81bd; mso-themecolor: accent1;"> </span>an upper underclassman But what he didn't know is
that my boy had more heart. What he didn't know is that my boy came in with a
mission too. He could not let his team down.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Forrest didn't win the match but what he did win was that as
many pinning combinations as his opponent put him in, Forrest fought out. As
hard as he squeezed my boy, Forrest fought back. Never once, did Forrest give
up. He fought and fought and fought. When the crowd, his team, his coach,
thought the match over, he didn't He fought on. By the second period, the
crowd, his team, the other team who were only watching and waiting for their
time to wrestling, were cheering and chanting my son’s name. His coach was
weeping. What was once just me and Mike turned into a gym full of support for
one little underdog. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The underdog became the winner and the perfect ending to the
story. Sometimes you don’t have to win the match. Sometimes you just have to do
your best. Our team one by one point because of a boy, my boy; the boy who
refused to be pinned. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-29896275847881484592012-10-31T04:31:00.000-07:002012-10-31T06:41:32.131-07:00The Treasures Inside My Haunted House <br />
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I wish Halloween could stick around for a few more weeks. Every year it seems to come faster than the last. All year I’m on the hunt for spooky vintage finds. Every year my collection grows. I love every single piece but I do have favorites.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhI8i1hbhBHuCj2sKW65cynb51NfF2yjdA1eKbFeKLqu0_hXoyV5c3vwOQSHnStWYt82MdHN_XpoY23NGbnXRnRVUNPS5oJZMCTLYbcJ-pODeIwOFHZco-AU27O6wC0OAaOM-sdsdEe0/s1600/hhouse3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhI8i1hbhBHuCj2sKW65cynb51NfF2yjdA1eKbFeKLqu0_hXoyV5c3vwOQSHnStWYt82MdHN_XpoY23NGbnXRnRVUNPS5oJZMCTLYbcJ-pODeIwOFHZco-AU27O6wC0OAaOM-sdsdEe0/s320/hhouse3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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One of my favorites is my 1980’s Beistle jointed scarecrow. He is as tall as me and in mint shape. I found him hanging in a little lady’s garage. She had bought him for her son’s Halloween party and had never bothered to take him back down. I was thrilled with my find and she was happy to tell her story. He was given to me, free of charge.<br />
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Another priceless find was discovered at the local flea market. I was drawn like a magnet to a certain table. Standing behind the table was a toothless man. It was rather funny when I picked up a 1950’s dentist chart that was full of real human teeth! When the man saw the light in my eyes, he then showed me an old lab coat and all kinds of beakers and cylinders. That beautiful discovery cost me $10.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have saved the best for last. One Saturday my husband and
I saw a moving sale. We had $5 cash and decided to stop. Into the house we went
and there on the living room floor was an osteology map from the 1920’s. Those who know me know I love skeletons so you can imagine the excitement I
felt when I saw what was at my feet! It was calling to me. I wouldn't leave the chart in fear someone else would grab it. Finally Mike got
the owner. When she started talking about antique dealers coming to look at it,
I knew it was out of my price range. She asked me to make an offer and I pulled
out my $5. She smiled and shook her head. Without any control, these words came from of my mouth, “But you don’t understand, I love skeletons. An antique dealer
will just sell it. I’ll treasure and love it!” Her smile never faded; instead
she held her hand out and took my five bucks.<br />
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<div style="text-align: start;">
Here is a tiny peek inside my haunted house, there is so much more. Most of these treasures hardly cost me anything. Halloween is over today but my Halloween never ends. I will hit the after Halloween sales tomorrow and never stop my hunt for that priceless vintage find. </div>
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Happy Halloween! </div>
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Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-87373326638200197102012-09-26T06:01:00.002-07:002012-09-26T06:24:41.772-07:00Two Lives That Decided to Live<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
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A day before today, 16 years ago, my husband and I were
signing the final papers on our first home. We ran from here to there,
making sure all those important details were done; getting the power turned on and changing our address. This all happened in the eleventh hour. We were to be out
of my childhood farm house the very next day. My parents had sold it and the
new owners were moving in.</div>
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I was starting to feel a little discomfort in my ever-growing
belly and thought...‘this is going to be easy. I can do this. I'm strong and
healthy’. The last night I would ever sleep in my childhood home is the night
the rest of my life began. Childhood was
over. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It started to storm and the pains in my belly increased. My
husband called our midwife and we timed my contraction. She suggested we stay
at home and do most of my laboring there. The storm continued as did the one
inside of me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Early the next morning the contractions told us it was time
to go. The only easy part about Emma was raising her. But I would do that birth
all over again knowing I’d have the daughter I do today. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Not many of you know but she and I were very close to not
making it. It was a scary moment for all those who were assisting us. I only
remember a few things in that fog. I remember my midwife yelling to me, “Talk
to your baby! Talk to your baby!” They had taken her away and they were all
around her working on my new creation. I saw little pieces of her, an arm, a
leg. I called out to her, not understanding why but obeying. “Emma…Emma…Mommy
is here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thankfully the
midwives were full of knowledge and got her little heart going and got her
breathing. Then one looked over at me. I remember fading. I can still see myself in a room, seeing it
all. Seeing me, my baby and my husband.
I remember seeing the midwives. I was there and I wasn’t. I was happy and calm.
There was some loving force surrounding me. Someone from somewhere was with me.
She/He was reminding me I was new a mom. That I had always dreamed of this
moment. The day had come. I was there living it. Everything seemed so innocent
and peaceful. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I won’t go into details of what happened next because
sharing it might chase the peace away but know that<span style="color: #4f81bd;"> </span>through it, I was calm. Someone was holding my hand. Someone was talking
to me. It might have been my husband but through him some other force was there
too. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I think I would have been okay about leaving this world if
she would have come with me. It wasn’t our time though. I was released back
into the world because I was to be a mother on earth and my first born had a
mission to fulfill. I had to help her do it. Emma is living it. She is an
amazing young lady. More than I could ever be. Her soul is of a tortoise or
wise owl. It’s full of knowledge and perception. She will continue to lead and
bring light wherever she steps. She is my constant calming force.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The farm is sold, my childhood is over but with my daughter
my life began 16 years ago.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Happy Birthday my little Emma. You are now 16! I cannot
believe it! You have given me 16 years
of joy, laughter and proud moments. How my life would be empty without you.
And, no, you may not move to Europe. But you know you have my support if that
is where the winds carry you. I LOVE
YOU!!! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4896690302207325417.post-84366941203184010572012-08-02T15:37:00.001-07:002012-08-02T15:37:14.881-07:00My Vintage Sticker Collection<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWDsGFCVqA55FHbkUQoC9MB5xoEVVv7QTIjuehe-epJxoiL3zZw4JmBoi7Pb7QOpPJFVqlmMaU-dRHld3lc3vZBjNpmaJdfUQ-n1_aPmv6DSAdCNuPm0UUQ8wxEWdUWDf1zhYGMbbfEfk/s1600/stickers3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWDsGFCVqA55FHbkUQoC9MB5xoEVVv7QTIjuehe-epJxoiL3zZw4JmBoi7Pb7QOpPJFVqlmMaU-dRHld3lc3vZBjNpmaJdfUQ-n1_aPmv6DSAdCNuPm0UUQ8wxEWdUWDf1zhYGMbbfEfk/s320/stickers3.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m a sucker for vintage, especially when it’s
something straight from my childhood. <span style="color: red;"> </span>I’m transported to the past, to a time I
wish I hadn’t grown so fast from. If I would have met Peter Pan, I would have
followed him anywhere. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Some of my favorite things as a child were my
stuffed animals. I also enjoyed my Fisher Price little people play sets. I
would lose myself in play as I acted out daily life with these little
friends. I had favorite story books,
puzzles, trinkets and even clothes. Because of the internet, and my great love
for flea markets, I’ve been able to collect several treasures I remember as a
child. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But there was one treasure I was never able to find
or the price on the internet was always out of reach. I wasn’t always the best student so when I
got a sticker on my homework, I was thrilled. The best stickers were the ones
you scratched and sniffed. I loved those
and coveted them. At recess we would trade our stickers like baseball cards. Thankfully
our teachers bought different kinds. At home I would carefully scratch my
stickers and let the aroma of root beer or bubblegum fill my nostrils. I was careful not to rub the image all up,
though they would eventually end up that way. Sadly they all disappeared one day after mom
cleaned my room. The teachers in Jr.
High stopped passing out stickers so all I had were the memories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Just this week, and out of the blue, my mom sent me
a little package in the mail. I opened it in a frenzy, not sure what she had
sent me. You can only imagine the thrill I got when I dumped sheet after sheet
after sheet of these vintage scratch and sniff stickers in mint condition! Many identical to the
ones I remember as a girl! Many I wanted but didn’t get that 100% on my
spelling test. The memories flooded back. I was seven years old again. I had
pigtails and bell bottom jeans. My kitten’s name was Ashes and my best friend
was Pat Parker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What might be garbage to one person can be a
treasure to the next. I’m grateful for those parents who didn’t throw their
children’s things away. I’m grateful that they tucked their children’s toys in
closets and attics and kept them safe from mice and dust, acting as sentinels
to precious memories. I’m grateful for those who can’t throw anything away.
Because of them, I can relive my childhood. Because of them, I have scratch and
sniff stickers again. Thanks, Mom! <o:p></o:p></span></div>Carrie Filettihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06114261978604842961noreply@blogger.com9