tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20387408737047640972024-03-05T13:48:27.752-06:00Nesting NotionsHayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.comBlogger567125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-41421229300579692192016-01-07T18:54:00.002-06:002016-01-11T09:57:53.040-06:002015 Reading List <br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Where She Went</i> (G. Foreman)*</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Silver Star</i> (J. Walls)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Margot</i> (J. Cantor)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #e06666;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Kitchen House</i> (K. Grissom)</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #e06666;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Invention of Wings</i> (S. Monk Kidd)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>We Were Liars</i> (E. Lockhart)*</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Wild</i> (C. Strayed)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Lies You Wanted to Hear</i> (J.W. Thomson)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Still Alice</i> (L. Genova)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #e06666;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Tell the Wolves I'm Home</i> (C.R. Brunt)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Number the Stars</i> (L. Lowry)*</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Out of the Easy</i> (R. Sepetys)*</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #e06666;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>All the Truth That's In Me</i> (J. Berry)*</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>In the Shadow of Blackbirds</i> (C. Winters)*</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Husband's Secret</i> (L. Moriarty)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Girl You Left Behind</i> (J. Moyes)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Girl on the Train</i> (P. Hawkins)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #e06666;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>All the Light We Cannot See</i> (A. Doerr)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Winter People</i> (J. McMahon)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Me, Earl & the Dying Girl</i> (J. Andrews)*</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Big Little Lies</i> (L. Moriarty)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #e06666;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Fig </i>(S.E. Schanz)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Outsiders</i> (S. E. Hinton)*</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Weightless</i> (S. Bannan)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Minnow</i> (D. Sweeney)*</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Revelation of Louisa May</i> (M. MacColl)*</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The best books I read last year are highlighted; my favorite, by far, was <i>All the Light We Cannot See</i>, which was set in Saint-Malo, one of the places I visited on my trip last summer. Runners-up are <i>Tell the Wolves I'm Home</i> and <i>Fig </i>(I really love the cover on that one, too.)<i>.</i> The ones with a * are YA/Gateway books I read to be in the loop at school.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhBrXl6nK528xrBjyLhPUU48DdZj-ub9GgTk9hebYt31jC3cRl28FWrOa4aLMnfPX7I7wbDKFvxzP_zD52EZqlSlnzGqI-wNUyZagq-KORKezg6yhrnLRXqgnC3Vo2Q0WEoS-Umtb1WA-/s1600/fig-9781481423588_hr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhBrXl6nK528xrBjyLhPUU48DdZj-ub9GgTk9hebYt31jC3cRl28FWrOa4aLMnfPX7I7wbDKFvxzP_zD52EZqlSlnzGqI-wNUyZagq-KORKezg6yhrnLRXqgnC3Vo2Q0WEoS-Umtb1WA-/s320/fig-9781481423588_hr.jpg" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">“The burning moves toward my back, into my shoulder blades. <br />And this is where my wings would attach if only I could fly away.” </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">“There are dark black buttons tattooed on my heart. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">I’ll carry them for the rest of my days.” </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirk6DOcXX5nHhxa8vA30REuhj5or6akidV3FWo1sdrb2pY4EmXyvzkmBHp8ZIdsE4Ux0k_Yf77tmb58phR5oNZ_Eu8UVIWyiDUKxK85f2eHIa8hcagl8IadidB7KyUPNCOSP61CxbPIA7s/s1600/light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirk6DOcXX5nHhxa8vA30REuhj5or6akidV3FWo1sdrb2pY4EmXyvzkmBHp8ZIdsE4Ux0k_Yf77tmb58phR5oNZ_Eu8UVIWyiDUKxK85f2eHIa8hcagl8IadidB7KyUPNCOSP61CxbPIA7s/s320/light.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">“Open your eyes and see what you can with them </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; text-align: left;">before they close forever.” </span></td></tr>
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<br />Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-46472662205828563672015-05-19T12:28:00.001-05:002016-01-07T18:55:14.027-06:00Outta here<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Tomorrow is the last day of school (it's been a good year for me--my eleventh!--and my classroom is packed, grades are posted, and I'm just tapping my foot for that final bell) then it's summer...And it's going to be an exciting one. Macauley and I are going on a <a href="http://www.eftours.com/educational-tour/england-france"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><b>trip to Europe</b></span></a> with a small group from Kickapoo (all girls!) and we leave in just 11 days! We've been shopping and reading and making lists and pinching ourselves. I've been to Europe once, back in 2001, before I knew I would have a son. What a lucky boy he will be to have seen some of the most iconic and beautiful sites this world has to offer before he even reaches 7th grade. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We're also thinking of doing a family road trip just the three of us when we get back, maybe to <a href="http://www.frasercolorado.com/"><b><span style="color: #4c1130;">FRASER</span></b></a>, Colorado via Denver and <a href="http://www.jacksonhole.com/lodging/lodging-packages.html?gclid=CPmV7cGpzsUCFY-EaQodpTQA2A"><b><span style="color: #4c1130;">Jackson Hole, Wyoming</span></b></a>. So instead of making my usual mental to-do list filled with all the things I want to accomplish while I'm <b>HOME</b> for the summer, I'm approaching this break with the idea that I'll probably get nothing done task-wise but I'll see and DO so much. Life-wise. </span></div>
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<br />Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-79468088192410852102015-01-30T20:05:00.000-06:002015-04-03T21:45:36.680-05:00The sweetest<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Julian Jasper Cowan</b><br /><i>17 April 1922-25 January 2015</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On my 27<sup>th</sup> birthday, which
was several years ago now I have to say, I helped my grandpa move out of the
house he had lived in for over 42 years.
Many of you probably know this warm and cozy house on Cherokee with the
barber shop out front. When my sisters
and I were growing up, Grandpa Cowan’s house was a place of curiosities. There was buttermilk in the fridge, masses of
rubber bands on little nails hung at varying heights, chickens in a coop in the
backyard, a bed in the guest room with a set of box springs so bouncy and
unpredictable we nicknamed it the Bronco Bed.
Sometimes there would be a little bowl of food or milk on the back porch
for neighborhood cats that he never claimed as his own but looked out for. When the barber shop was in full swing,
Grandpa kept a stash of Big Red gum in one of the drawers behind his chair and
there was cold pop in an old-fashioned cooler in the narrow closet off the
waiting area. Back in the house,
photographs of our family, some in frames, some taped or tacked up here and
there, lined most available surfaces, from the top of the television to the
front glass of the huge clock that always hung above it, all the way over to my
grandpa’s old desk next to the wood stove. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It was an overwhelming task to sort
through and pack up 42 years of my grandpa’s history but we made a lot of
progress that day, enough that he could sleep in his brand new house across
town that night. As I was packing one of
the bookshelves in the living room, I came across this little wooden shoe. It had been on that shelf for as long as I
could remember and I said something to my grandpa about it. He told me to take it home with me and keep
it. He said when I was a little girl I
would put it on and clomp around his house.
There are pencil marks scrawled across the bottom of it, too, which I
must have been responsible for. He
remembered me, he knew me, when my feet were tiny enough to fit into that
shoe. He knew me before I knew
myself. I felt lucky, and I put the shoe
with my things and it’s been with me ever since, reminding me of my grandpa and
a life so well-lived.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He brought the shoe home from Europe when
he returned from the war. My sweet and
soft-spoken grandfather was once a young, brave soldier. A medic.
I teach English at a large high school in Springfield, Missouri. Every year, I ask my seniors to create a
tribute to a hero in their lives using photos and music and text. And every year I am so proud to show my
students the<b><span style="color: #4c1130;"> <a href="http://fraserfras.edu.glogster.com/hero-grandpa-jude/"><span style="color: #4c1130;">tribute</span></a></span></b> I created as an example about my Grandpa Jude. There is a picture of him as a teenager that
I’ve surrounded with images reflecting his background working on farms, one of
him looking like a young Elvis Presley next to an image of a guitar and music
notes. There’s even one of my sweet
grandpa standing in my living room in Springfield next to my dad and me and my
little boy from a few summers ago, four generations of us. There’s a picture of his Bronze Star and one
of a medic’s helmet. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My favorite photo, though, is front
and center. He’s in his Army uniform standing in front of a building in
Paris. I can only imagine the horrors he
must have gone through on those battlefields so far away from home, but despite
that, despite having seen some of the worst this life has to offer, he
remained, throughout his life, gentle and kind.
I never heard him speak a callous word about anyone or anything, and I
love to tell my students about him. His
kind nature must have shone through even then, to his fellow soldiers, who
nicknamed him Mother Cowan because he was the one who would turn the meager
food they could scrounge up into some kind of meal when they were on foot and
taking shelter wherever they could. I
don’t think I’ll ever be as brave or even as good as he was, but I like to
think some of my quiet and calm demeanor and nurturing nature could be traits
passed on to me from him. He also never
seemed to be in a hurry to do most things, and to the occasional frustration of
my husband or others who have to wait for me, I am often the same way. I like to take my time and take things slow
the way he did. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My grandpa told me he actually got
this little shoe as a souvenir during his travels after the war had ended. I guess he figured an Oklahoma boy like him
might not ever make it to that part of the planet again and he wanted to see
all he could while he was there. I’ve
always loved the thought of him as young and curious and traveling like that,
and he might have seen more of the world than many of us ever will. He
loved to tell my sisters and me about where he’d been and hear about our visits
to some of the same places. He had such
an excellent memory and could recall so many things from so long ago in vivid,
specific detail. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He was able to travel after the war
because he’d saved his modest pay rather than spending it on luxuries or
cigarettes or things the other soldiers were buying. He saved lots of things, not only money, and
credited his inability to waste or discard things to living through the Depression
when people had to make do and make the most of what they had. Those rubber bands on the little nails all
those years came off the newspaper each day and he kept them, wanting to hold
on to something useful in case he needed it.
He was a hard worker—so smart and so frugal--and a humble success. When I was in graduate school at Missouri
State, a man in one of my classes mentioned he was from Muskogee. I told him I was too and that I still had
family there and come to find out, my grandpa had cut this man’s hair for
years. He knew my dad and had so many
kind things to say about my grandpa, and I felt so proud and delighted to meet,
quite by chance, one of Jude’s many loyal and satisfied customers. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I wish I’d had more time with my
sweet and gentle grandpa, but I don’t guess you could ask for much more from
life than what he was able to accomplish—a successful career, distinguished
military service, a good and honest reputation, a large and happy family who
always felt so loved and cherished by him.
He always told me what a pretty girl I was, even when I wasn’t a girl
anymore and I’d grown into a mother myself and he always told me how proud he
was of what I did in school, that I had become a teacher, small things really
compared to all that he had done in life.
When he visited the first house my husband and I lived in after we were
first married, I was rinsing a dish at the kitchen sink and my grandpa smiled
and said, “Well, Hayley is a homemaker,” and for some reason it made me feel so
special--coming from a man who was taken care of by one of the best homemakers
there probably ever was, my grandma Trula.
So I’ll keep this little shoe with me always, and I’ll look at it and remember
<a href="http://www.bradleyfuneralservice.com/book-of-memories/2033885/Cowan-Julian/index.php"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><b>who my grandpa was</b></span></a>—a hardworking, kind, brave, accomplished, interesting and special
person, someone so loved and so worth being proud of. And I’ll look at it and remember how he
always made me feel like I was those things, too.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">****A few months ago my grandpa asked my dad if I would write a piece to read at his funeral. So I did. I also read a sweet letter my dad wrote for his father. It was an honor and I hope I did the both of them proud...</span></i></div>
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"It's my father who looks diminished now. As if when someone close to us dies, we momentarily trade places with them, in the moment right before. And as we get over it, we're really living their life in reverse, from death to life, from sickness to health."<br />
<br />
"Such a strange ritual, to send the body into the ground. I am there as they lower him. I am there as we say our prayers. I take my place in line as the dirt is shoveled onto the coffin. He will never again have this many people thinking of him at a single time...I wish he was here to see it."<br />
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<i>Every Day</i> by David Levithian p. 268Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-66903715580811119362014-12-14T18:14:00.001-06:002015-12-01T14:20:38.376-06:00So long, old girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Our Allie cat left us early this morning. She was 18 and a half years old. Ryan pulled a batch of kittens out from under my parents' deck in Cassville the first summer we were dating in 1996. We had just gotten back from a vacation in Minnesota with my parents, sisters, Nanny and Papaw. A few weeks later we went back for the little girl who looked like a Russian blue and brought her to Springfield to live in Ryan's college apartment on Campbell. She was always his kitty, but she loved me too. When she was a kitten, she'd sit on Ryan's shoulder while he played on the computer. She'd lick his plate clean then sit down in the middle of it. She'd gotten so small in her old age, but at one time this spoiled kitty weighed in at 18 pounds, earning Ryan and me quite a scolding from the vet. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's hard to imagine our life--hard to imagine <i><b>us</b></i>--without this funny kitty...she'd been with Ryan and me all but three months of our entire relationship. She moved with us seven times, went through most all of our adventures, milestones, ups and downs with us. I think most people understand what it's like to lose a dog--they're so friendly and interactive and rely on their packs so much. Sometimes cats seem less likely to get attached, to be attached to. But for us, it's been really hard to let this girl go. She went when she was ready though, and seemed to go peacefully while I held her last night in our bed and tried to sleep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We buried her in Ryan's parents' backyard this morning. Macauley covered the soft patch of dirt with leaves and we came back to a house that feels different now. We know she lived a long, happy life and always felt safe and full and like she was truly one of us. We loved her so much, and we will miss her funny/grouchy chatter around the house, her cuddly nature here at the end, the way she'd pop out of the cat door as soon as the garage door went up to welcome Macauley and me home from school then roll around in the sunshine on the warm driveway. She'd been by our sides for so long...</span><br />
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Alice "Allie" Cooper</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">17 August 1996-14 December 2014</span></i></b></div>
Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-20032832433686994982014-08-27T14:40:00.003-05:002014-08-27T14:40:26.618-05:00The books of summer 2014<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;"><b><br /></b></span>
<img src="http://clifonline.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/summer-reading-list.jpg" /><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;"><b>The One and Only</b></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;"> by Emily Giffin</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<i><b>Every Day</b></i> by David Levithian</div>
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<i><b><span style="background-color: cyan;">Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald</span> </b></i>by Therese Anne Fowler</div>
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<i><b style="background-color: cyan;">Sisterland</b></i> by Curtis Sittenfeld</div>
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<b><i>Just One Day</i></b> by Gayle Forman</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<b><i>Just One Year</i></b> by Gayle Forman</div>
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<b><i>Breaking Beautiful</i></b> by Jennifer Shaw Wolf</div>
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<b><i>One Hundred Summers</i></b> by Beatriz Williams</div>
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<b><i style="background-color: cyan;">The Imposter Bride</i></b> by Nancy Richler</div>
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<b><i>In the Blood</i></b> by Lisa Unger</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<b><i style="background-color: cyan;">Orphan Train</i></b> by Christina Baker Cline</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<b><i style="background-color: cyan;">It's Kind of a Funny Story</i></b> by Ned Vizzini</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<b><i>Where We Belong</i></b> by Emily Giffin</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">
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<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;">
I was able to read quite a few books during my summer hiatus from school, only a few of which, highlighted above, I really liked. I'm working on Amy Tan's <i>The Valley of Amazement</i> right now, and then I'll read <i>Somerset</i> by Leila Meacham, a prequel to her <i>Roses</i>, which I read a few years ago. On my want-to-read list are Sue Monk Kidd's <i>The Invention of Wings, Paris: The Novel </i>by Edward Rutherford, <i>Reconstructing Amelia</i> by Kimberly McCreight, <i>We Were Liars</i> by E. Lockhart, and Lisa See's <i>China Dolls</i>.</div>
Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-17662705090456758212014-08-27T14:27:00.000-05:002015-12-01T14:22:12.394-06:00crazy/good<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We are settled back into the routine of school (summer passed by in a blink without me ever getting back into a blogging groove) and starting the day before 6...Ryan turns the TV on when I get up and we listen to the local news and then the Today show most mornings as we race around in the early morning darkness putting together outfits and packing lunches and preparing to go our separate ways when it's home together we'd all like to be...Sometimes the headlines are more than I can stomach any time of the day, much less first thing when I wake up. The world goes crazy--both far from us and just a three hour drive up the interstate--but still we get up, get dressed, head out into our little part of it and try to focus on the good to be done, the good to take in.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Then yesterday in my classroom I flip through the copy of Alice Walker's <i>The Color Purple</i> I've had since college--it's my favorite book of all time and I've read it over and over--and see my unfocused feelings spelled out in black and white:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Then Shug and me go fall out in her room to listen to music till all that food have a chance to settle. It cool and dark in her room. Her bed soft and nice. Us lay with our arms round each other. Sometimes Shug read the paper out loud. The news always sound crazy. People fussing and fighting and pointing fingers at other people, and never even looking for no peace.</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i>
<i>"<b>People insane, say Shug. Crazy as betsy bugs</b>. Nothing built this crazy can last. Listen, she say. Here they building a dam so they can flood out a Indian tribe that been there since time. And look at this, they making a picture bout that man that kilt all them women. The same man that play the killer is playing the priest. And look at these shoes they making now, she say. Try to walk a mile in a pair of them, she say. You be limping all the way home. And you see what they trying to do with that man that beat the Chinese couple to death. Nothing whatsoever.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i>
<i>"Yeah, I say, but some things pleasant."</i></span><br />
<br />Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-38726265927643921562014-06-18T10:46:00.001-05:002016-01-28T08:54:46.179-06:00Z is for Zelda (Zelda is for me)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I finished a really great book last night. <b><i>Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald</i></b> by <a href="http://thereseannefowler.wordpress.com/"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><b>Therese Anne Fowler</b></span></a> reminded me of the spirit or intent of <i>The Paris Wife</i> in that it told a fictionalized first-person version of Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald's life based on deep and meticulous historical research (Fowler included her own rewriting of many of the couple's letters, which I liked) similar to the way <i>TPW</i> told one for Hadley Hemingway. I am 100% Team Zelda after reading the novel and felt sad to have reached the last page late last night. She had<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><b> <a href="http://chicvintagebrides.com/index.php/style-icon/style-icon-zelda-fitzgerald/"><span style="color: #4c1130;">style</span></a></b></span></span> and talent--as a writer, a dancer, a conversationalist--with a once fiery <a href="http://www.scottandzelda.com/"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><b>marriage</b></span></a> that ended up draining her and an adventurous, decadent lifestyle that took its toll. The book transported me to a time (and many places--Paris, NYC, among others) I have always been interested in and I enjoyed it very much, especially Chapter 39:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>"Beyond our royal lawn, the river flows past, broad and brown and silent, unconcerned with the little party gathered at its bank this afternoon, the twenty-first of May. It's 1927, but it could be a hundred years earlier or a thousand or three; the river doesn't know or care. It doesn't care, either, about the dramas playing out among the people at this picnic, or about the one taking place in the sky far to the northeast, where Charles Lindberg is attempting to cross the Atlantic Ocean to Paris with a single engine in a single flight.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>"If the river has a soul, it's a peaceful one. If it has a lesson to impart, that lesson is patience. There will be drought, it says; there will be floods; the ice will form, the ice will melt; the water will flow and blend into the river's brackish mouth, then join the ocean between Lewes and Cape May, endlessly, forever, amen...</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"My dress for this picnic is as brown as the river. As much as I'm succeeding in imitating the river's appearance, I haven't been able to assimilate its wisdom--and won't, not until years later...</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"The sight of one of the maids standing on the porch and waving a dish towel gets our attention. 'It was on the radio!' she calls. 'Mr. Lindberg just landed his plane in Paris!'</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"We foolishly look up at the sky past the treetops, as if we can see the plane, see it descending lower, lower, then disappearing from our sight. It is the end of an astonishing journey, I think. All done now, nothing more to see."</span></i>Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-23303878572852100812014-06-09T10:20:00.004-05:002014-08-27T14:47:56.880-05:00Farewell, sweet girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We said a sad but peaceful goodbye to an old friend this weekend. Our timid little Averie, the blonde kitty Ryan and I had for over 17 years, left us early Sunday morning. She had been acting different on Friday and then retreated to the master bathroom and stayed very still for the entire day on Saturday. She was always too skittish to be held, but when I got in bed Saturday night, I cradled her in a towel and laid her on my chest. She was limp but breathing softly. I dozed off but was awake when I felt her take a final soft gasp about 2 a.m. We buried her Sunday morning in Ryan's parents' backyard in Bolivar with our little kitty Emma Jean and a host of Ryan's beloved childhood pets. The house feels different today without her in her usual spot on the floor at the end of the couch in the living room. Ryan and I sat on the bathroom floor this weekend and cried, not only for her loss, but also in the nostaglic remembering of all the events of almost our entire relationship big and small she's been around for. He adopted her from a cage at PetSmart and gave her to me for Christmas in 1997, when we were living in our townhouse on Guinevere, and she has moved with us to five other houses since. She and our gray girl Allie had been constant companions for almost two decades. I hope she felt loved until the end. Goodbye, little Ave.</span>Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-85607093418564878902014-05-13T20:20:00.002-05:002014-05-13T20:23:36.018-05:00springing<a data-ved="0CAUQjRw" href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&docid=kNXcOKcUVNC-KM&tbnid=p9mjj9nq2_cHSM:&ved=0CAUQjRw&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.pfaf.org%2Fuser%2FPlant.aspx%3FLatinName%3DNicotiana%2Brustica&ei=88FyU_CWJ8K48QGVsoDQCQ&psig=AFQjCNF8tXFY88uIyrYQrQHnSi-sRmaL2A&ust=1400116051053488" id="irc_mil" style="border-image: none; border: 0px currentColor; clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://www.pfaf.org/Admin/PlantImages/NicotianaRustica2.jpg" height="320" id="irc_mi" style="margin-top: 156px;" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It's been a ridiculously long time since I have blogged, but I'm hoping to change that once school is out for the summer on 28 May. I'd have an awful lot of backtracking to do if I tried to cover all that we've been up to, but I have to tell myself it's okay to let some of it go and just jump back in. We were afraid that spring had skipped us entirely when we transitioned so quickly into 80+ degree temps, but this week it's gray and colder and I kind of hope the rain sticks around. The yard is green and I put some plants out in my containers (nicotania in the flower boxes on the back patio) this past weekend and mulched the front beds. I've got a mental list of clean up/clean out/redo projects to start checking off once my days are free and I've been thinking about what I want to read. We might do a cruise this summer, just the three of us, and my sisters and I plan to take a girls trip to Lindsay's new condo in Marco Island, Florida in July. Macauley is taking a break from swim team this summer, and I have to say I am relieved without that obligation hanging over us, especially because he was getting burned out and I hate to think I've ruined him on the one thing he really, really enjoys. He's been funneling much of his energy lately into trying to learn Swedish via an app on his ipod in hopes of one day being a foreign exchange student there. My mind has been full these last few weeks with all sorts of responsibilities and loose ends and finishing up at school. I've been enjoying my work there this semester (last semester, not as much) but I, of course, am ready to come up for breath this summer and leave it all behind. 9 and 2/3 days until then...</span>Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-63960165133929767512014-01-05T14:24:00.001-06:002014-01-05T14:24:14.675-06:00{s}no school<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We've already gotten the call that there is no school tomorrow due to the 6-8 inches of snow that fell last night and this morning, as well as the low temps and negative windchill in Monday's forecast. So we are nestled in here at 5380 South Woodfield. I got the Christmas decor put away before our holiday break was over and the house feels a little plain without it. I've been doing the quintessential organizing and cleaning out that comes with this time of year and have a few projects on deck. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ryan is really sick, so I made chocolate chip cookies for him even though he might not have the appetite for them. I'll have to wake him up in a bit for the 49ers playoff game, so I've got a fire going in the living room and Booker is warming up the couch for him. The snow has stopped, I think--at least for a couple of days--but I don't see us leaving the cozy confines of home any time soon.</span>Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-59465466436523759902013-11-14T22:28:00.002-06:002013-11-14T22:33:31.915-06:00celebrate {good times}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My sisters and I hosted a birthday party for my parents last Saturday at their house in Cassville. My dad turned 60 on 30 October and my mom's 60th birthday is 28 December. We figured 60 was a milestone worth celebrating, and a good reason to have an event for friends and family at their new-ish farm. The weather was beautiful, the yard picturesque, and the turnout was great. My sisters were in charge of the food and I did the decor and setup on the back patio. I used mostly things I already had--flea market crates, the pumpkins and mums from my front portch--to accentuate the fall decor my mom already had in place. We had a firepit in the driveway for everyone to gather their chairs around. It was nice to see lots of old friends from Cassville, but I was especially glad to have some of our family from Oklahoma there: my aunt Debbie and her husband Jerry (and her cute little dog, Chip!), my cousin's adorable little girl Gray, my dad's sister Cathey and my uncle Rick, and most of all, my sweet 92-year-old Grandpa Jude. I squeezed him often and much while I had a chance. Quite a treat to see him and so nice for him to be happy and getting around okay and enjoying himself. I took lots of pictures and also had guests write little messages, all of which I hope to package in a small scrapbook memento for my parents. An all-around lovely day!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm linking up to Debra's <a href="http://www.commonground-do.com/">Common Ground</a>..Hi Debra!</span></div>
Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-16207359834350642602013-11-10T21:44:00.000-06:002013-11-10T22:14:09.319-06:00we will miss you, Pop...<div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We lost Ryan's grandfather week before last. He was kind, generous and funny, a business success, a flirt and an animal lover. Most of all, he was a huge part of Ryan's life. We were just talking last night about how many of his personality traits, interests and abilities he inherited from Pop. There's a lot more to say, but for now I wanted to post links to <a href="http://bolivarmonews.com/opinion/berry-r-i-p-charlie/article_f9d83bce-46f7-11e3-92bb-001a4bcf887a.html?_dc=108421269804.23927"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><b>this tribute</b></span></a> from an old friend of Charles and <a href="http://bolivarmonews.com/news/he-enjoyed-helping-people/article_1a311854-4258-11e3-b40d-0019bb2963f4.html"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><b>this detailed write up</b></span></a> from the front page of the Bolivar town newspaper, as well as the link to his <a href="http://www.butlerfuneralhome.com/sitemaker/sites/BUTLER2/obit.cgi?user=1149374Fraser"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><b>obituary and online guestbook</b></span></a>. Ryan's parents have been receiving letter after letter these last couple of weeks from people they never knew who Charles helped over the years. I can't wait to look through them myself. He left a legacy and that makes his passing at the age of 94 a little easier, but it's just so hard to say goodbye...I personally can't thank him enough for some very generous things he's done for me over the years and also for helping to raise such a good boy for me to marry...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>RIP, Charlie</b> by Dave Berry</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Many throughout the region will have stories to tell about Charles Fraser, who died last Tuesday at age 94. There would be even more if he hadn’t outlived so many friends and associates.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Among the stories is the one about how several months ago he was given only a few weeks to live, but until just days before his death he could still be seen mowing his lawn despite near blindness and other maladies that would have idled the common man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And the one about his many treks back and forth to Parkview Residential Care Center, crossing a busy highway to care for his friend Elizabeth Teters over the last few years of her life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I developed an instant liking for Charlie the moment I met him in 1977. As a banker and youth baseball coach he reminded me of another banking Charlie who had done his best to coach me in Aurora Little League. As it turned out, they were close friends and golfing buddies over many years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And I grew even fonder of banker Fraser in 1978 when he loaned us $25,000 to buy what was then the Bolivar Bowl, sporting six lanes in what is now a warehouse for Roweton Home Center, alongside N. Springfield Ave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The wife and I would go back later to borrow more to buy used pinsetters to replace leased units that AMF was trying to force us to buy at an outrageous price. What AMF was saying was worth a fortune went straight to Yeargain Salvage for scrap after I happily told them to come and get them, because a friendly banker agreed they were trying to take unfair advantage of us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In both cases, Charlie had absolutely no reason to have confidence I would have the means or wherewithal to repay those loans, other than what he saw in my eyes or felt in my handshake. And, for that matter, neither did I.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">To this day I don’t know for certain if Commerce Bank issued those loans to us or if the bank just serviced what Charlie put up out of his own pocket. I would later find out he and other country bankers were prone to do the latter on occasion, something technically prohibited even then but out of the question in today’s regulated banking world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But truth be known, the loans probably had more to do with the other signature on those documents — my wife’s, whose smile and legs he appreciated. He was a safe flirt all the way to the end.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Either way, the loans were repaid in full and we gained a gold mine’s worth of experience that is paying dividends still today.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">There are countless stories like that out there involving people who were helped by Charles Fraser in some fashion. Some probably didn’t end with full repayment of the loans or mutual appreciation for the acts, but there are valuable lessons in that, too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Of course, I’ll also never forget him because of his donation of the land upon which John Playter Rotary Park was developed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Or for the column material he occasionally provided, such as when he, as a snowbird in Florida, set out plastic bags for the trash truck to pick up when preparing to head north to Bolivar. The bags turned out to be filled not with trash but with some of his wife’s best clothes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Or the time his wife, Georgia, received a sympathy card from a friend who, from a kitchen window many yards away, witnessed Charlie heeding the call of nature behind a bush on the Bolivar Municipal Golf Course.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Priceless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Rest in peace, old friend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>'He loved helping people' Friends remember Bolivar's Charles Fraser</b> by Matthew Barba</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Looking at the list of accomplishments which punctuate Charles Fraser’s life, it is easy to tell he touched many people’s lives. Some remember him as their competitor in business, a friend for life, and perhaps most importantly, a good golf buddy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Charles Ruel Fraser was born June 12, 1919, in Polk, the son of Elgie and Elpha Fraser. While he grew up working in the family’s grocey stores, many people remember Fraser as one of Polk County’s iconic bankers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In addition to his wife, Georgia Lee, Fraser was often found in the company of Gerald Stephens and his late wife, Helen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“We were the best of friends,” Stephens said. “His wife and my wife were such close friends, and Charlie and I played many, many rounds of golf together.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stephens said when he finally retired the Frasers would invite them down to their place in Florida for some rest and relaxation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Charlie and I would go play golf, and the girls would go shopping,” Stephens said with a laugh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stephens said that while others might have thought Fraser was a little “unusual” as a banker, his way of helping people in need is what really shone through about him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Everyone admired Charlie because he was good at helping people and he was glad to do it,” Stephens said. “I certainly miss the guy.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fraser was tapped in the fall of 1961 to run the Farmer’s and Merchant’s Bank of Bolivar. He had no previous banking experience but his work ethic and knowledge from operating grocery stores in Bolivar, Stockton, Buffalo, El Dorado Springs and Lebanon gave him an edge that showed in how he conducted business.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Charles was the most competitive human being that I ever met in my life,” recalled Dave Strader, vice president of Bank of Bolivar. “He was competitive whether he was vying for a bank customer or on the golf course.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“From a banking standpoint, he was good competition, but he was also a real proponent of Bolivar’s growth and development,” Strader added.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While Strader remembers Fraser’s competitiveness well, a fonder memory is from when the two were neighbors.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He was the greatest neighbor that anybody could ever have,” Strader said. “We were neighbors for many years. He and his dog, Bogie, were constant companions and an absolute joy to be around.”</span></div>
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<strong style="font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Shaping young lives</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Golf was a passion for Fraser but it was hardly the only sport he helped cultivate in Bolivar and Polk County. Bill Jones remembers when Fraser helped start up Little League baseball in Bolivar.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Fraser Yankees were one of four teams formed in 1956; other teams included Newport, a dime store; Foremost Dairy; and Houk Dairy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Charles Fraser was instrumental in forming a Little League here in Bolivar,” said Bill Jones, a player on the Fraser Yankees in 1956 and 1957. “Virgil Hogan had a vision to form a league, and Charles Fraser and others followed up on that vision while Hogan was here and after he moved from the area.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When Bill Jones played for the Fraser Yankees, Charles Fraser was the manager; other coaches were Joe Otradovec, Gerald Stephens and Jim Strange.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Fraser helped us young boys play baseball for several years before forming the league,” Jones said. “He helped take us to Springfield to play against teams there Sunday afternoons. We also played some of our games at Northward school — you could hit the ball over into the Dunnegan’s garden.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Jim Sterling, former publisher of the BH-FP, remembered Fraser fondly. “He was a great Polk countian.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sterling added, “When they opened the Farmer’s and Merchant’s Bank, it really helped the business community grow and the entire economy blossomed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Charlie was a good banker, a good grocer, a good citizen and a good family man and friend to many,” Sterling said. “And I supposed he’d like to be remembered as a good golfer.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One person who saw both friend and family man aspects of Fraser was David Cribbs, who described Fraser as “a partner, my banker, competitor on the golf course and one of my best friends.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“He was like a father to me,” Cribbs said. “My father [Clifford] died early and I came home to run the business. He and dad were very close, and Charlie became just like a father to me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One thing that Fraser was responsible for, along with others including Clifford Cribbs, was starting the Bolivar Nursing Home, now owned by Citizens Memorial Hospital, which was the start for local health care services.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cribbs said that without Fraser, who was humble and selfless, he would not be where he is today.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I really loved that man because without all of his advice, his character and loaning me money, I wouldn’t be where I am today,” Cribbs said. “That man has done a lot behind the scenes and he never wanted to be recognized.”</span></div>
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<a href="http://bolivarmonews.com/obituaries/charles-ruel-fraser/article_fc7446b6-419d-11e3-997a-001a4bcf887a.html"></a></div>
Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-89310348846209680332013-11-07T23:17:00.002-06:002013-11-07T23:17:55.465-06:00Our summer trip to Chicago...<object width="425" height="425" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab" classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000"><param name="movie" value="http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/slideshow/slideshow-ui.swf"/><param name="flashvars" value="configXMLURL=http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/slideshow/config/config-share.xml&slideshowModuleURL=http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/slideshow/slideshow-module.swf&projectGUID=0CaMWzds2aNjf4&swfName=slideshowFlashContent&showReplay=true"/><param name="menu" value="false"/><param name="quality" value="best"/><param name="wmode" value="transparent"/><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"/><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"/><embed width="425" height="425" align="middle" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" name="wrapper" quality="best" menu="false" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" flashvars="configXMLURL=http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/slideshow/config/config-share.xml&slideshowModuleURL=http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/slideshow/slideshow-module.swf&projectGUID=0CaMWzds2aNjf4&swfName=slideshowFlashContent&showReplay=true" src="http://images-community.shutterfly.com/flashapps/slideshow/slideshow-ui.swf"></embed></object><p style="width:425px;margin-top:0;text-align:center;"><a rel="nofollow" href="http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0CaMWzds2aNn-w&cid=SFLYOCWIDGET&eid=118">Click here to view this photo book larger</a><div style="margin-top: 10px; width: 425px; text-align: center;">Start your own Shutterfly <a href="http://www.shutterfly.com/photo-books" style="color: #6666cc;">Photo Book</a> today.</div></p>Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-19113878558092887222013-10-14T22:37:00.001-05:002013-10-14T22:37:44.603-05:00b-a-n-a-n-a-s<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-qAxfOH_oSXCiwBGxROY81wYrDEbNOJjKQY5jaGYH6OTLmMhh43NU6hprIc2kOf4NkAxwp_yaCtC8gEgo2K90LDTjVCKHWFw2bUdEn4yrxOB51unAamtdDQC-WLY_TIqoAG8-13le_95Q/s1600/069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-qAxfOH_oSXCiwBGxROY81wYrDEbNOJjKQY5jaGYH6OTLmMhh43NU6hprIc2kOf4NkAxwp_yaCtC8gEgo2K90LDTjVCKHWFw2bUdEn4yrxOB51unAamtdDQC-WLY_TIqoAG8-13le_95Q/s400/069.JPG" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I couldn't quite convince Macauley to commit to the banana he tried on at Target last week for his Halloween costume this year...We've been so busy that figuring out what to go as hasn't been on the radar, but Macauley did mention to me the other day that this might be the last year he dresses up for Halloween...Boo(hoo).</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jenn, Casey, Tonya, Andrea, Tina, Misty, Kara, Heather, Me</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">What's bananas is that I've known several of the girls in this photo for almost 30 years, all of them for at least 20...I met up with some of my friends from Cassville for a long overdue girls night at the Branson Landing last weekend. We got a big suite at the Hilton, had dinner and stayed up way, way too late catching up on years and years of happenings--some of us hadn't seen one another since graduation in 1994 or since our ten year reunion. We were missing a couple of key components of the old gang, but there's just something about the comfort of knowing you don't have to impress or prove anything to these old friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It feels like we have had plans or obligations more nights than not, both weekends and school nights. The above photo is one of 30+ we collected over the last week (and had developed today) for Macauley's extra credit math project entitled "Shapes in the Real World." We counted the wet floor sign as a pyramid, though it may only pass for a triangle. The poster is glued, labeled and packed in a trash bag for transport to school tomorrow (in case it rains as forecasted). He has struggled with fifth grade math thus far, and we could sure use all the points we can get.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">On Tuesday nights and Saturday mornings, we drive to Drury for Mac to practice swimming. He's been on burnout lately, and Ryan and I have been fretting that we've made him despise the one physical activity he's always loved. But once he's in the pool, he swims hard and seems happy and I think it's good for him. Plus we get to see our sweet little friend Ella. Adorable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As of tomorrow, the school year is officially 1/4 completed. I've been on a bit of burnout myself where school is concerned, but just like with Mac's swimming, I keep showing up. And once I'm there each day I swim hard and seem happy. We've got a workday with no students on Wednesday, and then it's a downhill slope to the weekend. I'll be seeing Keith Urban and Little Big Town in concert on Sunday with Amy. For now, though, I should be in bed. 6 am will be here in a blink. </span></div>
Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-46065682341210022382013-10-08T19:46:00.001-05:002013-10-08T19:47:01.411-05:00goodbye, funny pug<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Our hearts are breaking tonight for my sister Lindsay who had to say goodbye to her sweet Meena today. After 13 good years, her little pug body was giving out. We feel like we've lost a member of our family and we are so sad for my sister. But, as you have to do in times like these, we are trying to hold on to the memories and the thought that Meena had the very best life a dog could have. She was such a funny little pug and spent a lot of time at our house over the years. We will miss her very much. We love you, Linds...Hang in there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><strong>Meena Tate</strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">9 February 2000-8 October 2013</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em>aka our...</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em>Meenie Beens</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em>Meenie Beenie Been Dip</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em>Meeners</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em>Meena Pug</em></span></div>
Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-17826866437475154792013-09-25T23:21:00.000-05:002013-11-10T14:25:57.800-06:00come again<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9jB2uH_k30oqcTW27uIBMGkN8dNQ8zPXoRBVUme2d8SN9arJTkztSENK7pTm39ckNIGSWI3YXg673X5csA_g3QK0WAWT2QCXlrW75MQB8ZWhoo4nsCZCwjb1473zO2v1JZMWcck6HXgcl/s1600/pillow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9jB2uH_k30oqcTW27uIBMGkN8dNQ8zPXoRBVUme2d8SN9arJTkztSENK7pTm39ckNIGSWI3YXg673X5csA_g3QK0WAWT2QCXlrW75MQB8ZWhoo4nsCZCwjb1473zO2v1JZMWcck6HXgcl/s400/pillow.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dream Marks on My Pillow by <a href="http://onsitegallery.com/art/ana-iancu/dream-marks-my-pillow"><strong><span style="color: #4c1130;">Ana Lancu</span></strong></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Last night before bed, I stepped out onto the front porch while Booker T. raced with a predatory growl towards the woods behind our house. I waited for him to return, a triumphant skip in his step telling me all was safe and sound thanks to him, and from there on the front steps I noticed there was no moon out, or at least not one I could see. A few stars dotted the sky but the yard was darker than usual and my big black dog crept back up beside me almost camouflaged.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I had been thinking of her off and on all day--my sweet Nanny who left us in June--and another round of loss swept through me there...no moonlight only made me miss her more. I scratched Booker's ears and cried, soft so that no one would hear, as if anyone was listening at that time of night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'll never be a little girl again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'll never see her shrug her shoulders </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">the way she always did.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'll never see her handwriting on a</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">letter in my mailbox.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'll never see her listening with interest</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">to my little boy's chatter the way she </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">always delighted in whatever I had to say.</span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I'll never see her again.</strong></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ryan let Macauley sleep with us--a real treat on a school night--and with puffy eyes I slipped into the </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">tiny sliver of our king size bed left for me, my son's now long legs tucked in close to mine and my big black dog in a ball at my feet, my husband miles of blankets and pillows away. Our room was dark and warm and I read only a few pages of my book before I floated into sleep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And then, she was <strong>there</strong>...standing on my front walk, reaching out to me with a piece of paper in her hand. He was there, too, a few feet behind her and to the side in dark blue jeans and the striped shirt he had on in their only picture with Macauley when he was a baby. I grabbed her and squeezed her and cried for her to stay. She just stood there and let me, still holding the paper.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I blinked and turned to see the numbers on the clock pushing me to start another day. I stared at the ceiling, making myself remember seeing her, knowing how dreams come and go if you don't commit them to long-term memory...like so many days I spent with her or spent <em>not with</em> her...they just slip away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I could have cried in the car this evening when I told Ryan on the way to dinner. He said maybe it was a sign but he didn't say of what. If I cry for her again tonight, will she be there on my front steps when I close my eyes?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>the heart breaks and breaks</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>and lives by breaking</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>It is necessary to go</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>through dark and deeper dark</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>and not to turn</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>~Stanley Kunitz</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>"The Testing Tree"</b></span>Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-90136307045478633002013-08-17T12:19:00.001-05:002013-08-17T12:19:15.662-05:00Golden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today is Allie's golden birthday: She's turning 17 on the 17th. This picture is from a from a few years back, at our old house. She's looking a little rougher these days. Ryan and I have been together for 17 years, and this old girl has been around for all but about three months of our relationship. Can't imagine our lives without her...Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-43055931245512271972013-08-11T22:36:00.004-05:002013-08-11T22:36:59.234-05:00Summer 2013 Reading List<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
<img alt="Summer Reading 2013" height="320" id="Image1_img" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgiryY-wbx8ME6ObidA3-_IRdlszbttxUme9HSXo8fgoTy12O9oWVr4z8zh-gE6zR3le622HD-Ovx3KgpRxjLVGOoqNr_oE-vGJ0lkEfnrIHb01erXHuFI_VmQfXqRi3ITsFWrnjSoQwrJ/s320/cat+reading.jpg" width="229" /></div>
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A short list this time:<br />
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<em>Divergent</em> (Veronica Roth)<br /><em>All These Things I've Done</em> (Gabrielle Zevin)<br /><em>Shine</em> (Lauren Myracle)<br /><em>Delirium</em> (Lauren Oliver)<br /><em>The Legacy</em> (Katherine Webb)<br /><em>Between Shades of Gray</em> (Ruta Sepetys)<br />
<em>Insurgent</em> (Veronica Roth)<br />
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I don't know if I should blame Pinterest or what, but I didn't read as much this summer as I usually do. All of the books except <em>The Legacy</em> are ones I read for school...I enjoyed Divergent and Insurgent (hailed as the next Hunger Games) and look forward to reading the final installment in the trilogy when it comes out in October. <em>Between Shades of Gray</em> was probably the best book I read this summer--I had no idea that a number of educated families were taken by train from their homes in Lithuania to work in labor camps in Siberia prior to Hitler's invasion of that country. I'm back at work now and students begin on Wednesday. Once I get acclimated to the early mornings and mental and physical exhaustion of the first couple of weeks, I hope to get back to some good books...Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-36746350175226932372013-07-31T11:07:00.001-05:002013-07-31T11:08:51.889-05:00ready {but not}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Macauley will be going to a <a href="http://sps.k12.mo.us/wilsonscreek/"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><strong>different school</strong></span></a> for 5th and 6th grade. I think it's the only intermediate school in town. We were able to get all but two items on the school supply list on Sunday night and he has orientation on Monday, 12 August. He'll get a locker with a combination to learn and be put on one of three teams. He'll have four different teachers for the main subjects, plus music, art and PE. He got a new lunchbox and has been excited about different lunch possibilities since he saw the "student" microwave in the cafeteria on a visit last spring. He's going to miss sweet Wanda Gray Elementary--I think we all will--but he seems game for this new adventure.Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-69853240482593985702013-07-30T22:34:00.000-05:002013-07-30T22:37:27.484-05:00wedding card keepsake book {for my middle sis}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I can check a couple of things off that end-of-summer to-do list I mentioned: Macauley and I cleaned out his closet and his room in preparation for redecorating, which we plan to do next week after a trip to IKEA in Dallas for a new bed frame, mattress and some accessories. And, I managed to make a book out of Lindsay's wedding cards (she had a lot!) using her favorite color purple, some of the ribbons from her gifts, and a hint of the lovebird theme from the reception decor. All items I used (other than the <a href="http://www.officedepot.com/a/products/937633/Office-Depot-Brand-Loose-Leaf-Rings/"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><strong>3" binder rings</strong></span></a> I got at Office Depot) were purchased from Michael's. I started with a <a href="http://www.michaels.com/Heidi-Swapp%E2%84%A2-Albums/sb4002,default,pd.html"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><strong>wooden album cover</strong></span></a> by Heidi Swapp, to which I attached scrapbook paper on the outside and a complementary pattern on the inside. I added a felt bird that I found in a set from the dollar bin a long time ago, some <a href="http://www.michaels.com/Linen-Look-Flowers/sb4444,default,pd.html?cgid=products-scrapbooking-recollections"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><strong>linen look flowers</strong></span></a> by Recollections, a wooden J (for her new last name) that I spray painted black then sanded a bit, a purple ribbon from one of her gifts layered with some cream velvet ribbon and some pom-pom ribbon that I also bought from the dollar aisle around Valentine's Day. On the back cover, I glued a wooden medallion that I painted and sanded and some little pearl adhesive edging. I used <a href="http://www.michaels.com/Elmer%E2%80%99s-25g-X-TREME-School-Glue-Stick%E2%84%A2/gc2366,default,pd.html?cgid=products-generalcrafts-glueandadhesives"><strong><span style="color: #4c1130;">Elmer's X-treme glue</span></strong></a> for the paper and <a href="http://www.michaels.com/Super-Gel-Pen-Adhesive/gc2111,default,pd.html?cgid=products-generalcrafts-aleenes"><span style="color: #4c1130;"><strong>Aleene's Super Gel Adhesive</strong></span></a> for the embellishments and ribbon. Both worked great. Lindsay had organized the cards by each event (three showers and her reception) and I used the holes on the wooden book cover as a template to punch the cards one at a time using a plain-old metal three-hole punch. This took a while and my right hand was sore and bruised the next day! Perhaps there is a better method out there, but that was mine. The 3" rings were just barely big enough to hold all the cards and the covers. I could have split them up, I guess, but I liked the idea of a single collection, so I pushed it a little. I cut scraps of ribbon, all from Michael's I believe, into roughly 4" strips then tied them all along the rings down the side. I tied a couple of pieces of ribbon and tulle inside the book where a new section started (with the invitation for that event). I very quickly glued some scrapbook paper to a cardboard box, put the book inside and tied more of the purple gift ribbon into a bow to take it to Lindsay's house, but I didn't get a picture of that. I thought about writing a little message inside the front cover, too, but didn't do that. I really like this idea (not my own--I've seen it done several ways on Pinterest) of making a keepsake out of cards rather than stashing them in a box. I was going for a kind of shabby, scrappy, layered look, and I hope Lindsay and her new hubs like it. There's no going back now...those holes are punched!Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-46536197723778427022013-07-23T17:58:00.001-05:002013-07-23T17:58:23.663-05:00summer's edge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We went on a family road trip to Chicago last week, just the three of us. I took lots of pictures, but this one of us inside a plexiglass box 104 stories up at the top of the former Sears Tower might be the most dramatic. It's also the one I look skinniest in. Bonus. No sooner had we pulled into the driveway from our 8+hour drive home when my dad called and asked if Macauley would want to go on a trip to Minnesota with them this week. He said yes, so I've got a quiet week at home now, which is lovely. I plan to make a photo book of our trip on Shutterfly, hopefully before school starts again. Which is coming up. Teachers go back for meetings on Friday, 9 August and the kids start on the following Wednesday. It would be nice if I could muster up the motivation to do some painting and cleaning work in my classroom before then, but I also have a list of things I'd like to get done before these luxurious summer days have come and gone. 1: Read at least 4 more books. 2: Clean out Macauley's closet. 3: Rework Macauley's room with a more pre-teen feel. 4: Make Chicago photobook. 5: Make a mini scrapbook out of all of Lindsay's wedding cards for her. 5: Add to my flea market booth. There are others, but that's a good start. It's been quite a summer--some great trips, a boy who's growing up, the loss of my Nanny...I'm not dreading the start of school, but I will miss these open days so much.Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-42222889306346763062013-07-05T21:53:00.001-05:002013-07-05T21:53:03.062-05:00the {4th}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We had a blast (lots and lots of them) this 4th. My mom and dad came up from Cassville and spent the day, then our good friends the Swans came over for the evening. We met at our neighborhood pool, which we had totally to ourselves. Macauley and their 3 girls swam in the rather frigid water until we dragged them out, and we had a yummy potluck dinner. Then we made our way back to our house and the kids put on quite the fireworks show for us. Our front sidewalk has some major black scars now that may never go away, but all in the name of fun, I suppose...Today Macauley and I took my mom and dad to see Lindsay and Tyson's lake house near Kimberling City. We went out on their new boat and had lunch at a little dock. It was a beautiful day on Table Rock. On the way home, we stopped at an antique mall and I liked a pair of Audubon prints but didn't leave with anything. My mom and dad headed back to Cassville and when Ryan got home from work we were off to the pool at Twin Oaks CC for our friend Stephanie's birthday party. Tomorrow we are going to meet Lane and Derek at a cabin on Bull Shoals Lake. Feels like we have been constantly buzzing around for weeks now...Fun stuff, but busy, busy...Not sure when I'll get to put away the red, white and blue decor in the dining room. I am thankful to live in a country where I can do the things I want to when I want to do them, a place I feel safe and happy, a place where I am fortunate well beyond what I deserve. What I did in the grand scheme of life to be born here and not somewhere else, I can't say, but I am grateful and need to pay it forward.<br />
<span class="bqquotelink1"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-size: 15pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></span><br />
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<span class="bqquotelink1"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/b/barackobam453815.html" title="view quote"><span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;">We, the People, recognize that we
have responsibilities as well as rights; </span></strong></span></a></span></span></div>
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<span class="bqquotelink1"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;">that our destinies are bound together;
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<span class="bqquotelink1"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;">that a freedom which only asks what's in it for me, </span></strong></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="bqquotelink1"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;">a freedom without a
commitment to others, </span></strong></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="bqquotelink1"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;">a freedom without love or charity or duty or patriotism,
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<span class="bqquotelink1"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;">is unworthy of our founding ideals, and those who died in their defense.</span></strong></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="bqquotelink1"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><em>Barack Obama</em></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Helvetica","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;">
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Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-15968776640921978362013-06-27T16:18:00.000-05:002013-06-27T16:19:38.838-05:00{super}star<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" style="width: 100%px;">
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I'm still getting used to a world where the
stars and moon come out at night but my Nanny isn't here anymore to see them,
even from her window. My Papaw either. He's been gone since 2004, but I can
still picture his small figure standing in their front yard in the evenings
"checking the stars." We saw the <a href="http://earthsky.org/tonight/is-biggest-and-closest-full-moon-on-june-23-2013-a-supermoon"><span style="color: #4c1130;">supermoon</span></a><span style="color: #4c1130;"> </span>this
past weekend from our front yard in Missouri. Ryan and I are headed to the
desert for a quick getaway to Las Vegas. Temps are forecast at 110-117, but I'm
still looking forward to shopping and eating and seeing the new Michael Jackson
tribute show. He was such a superstar.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<h1 class="TITLE">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Summer Stars</span></h1>
</td><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span>
<tr><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><td colspan="3"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;">by Carl Sandburg</span></td></tr>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
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</span><td colspan="2" valign="top"><pre><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Bend low again, night of summer stars.
So near you are, sky of summer stars,
So near, a long-arm man can pick off stars,
Pick off what he wants in the sky bowl,
So near you are, summer stars,
So near, strumming, strumming,
So lazy and hum-strumming.</span></pre>
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Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-82352797671169238812013-06-21T13:50:00.001-05:002013-06-23T16:09:47.319-05:00for her {not nearly enough}<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Four Generations: My Nanny, My Mother, My Boy and Me (July 2010)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Norma
Jean Curtis had 10 grandchildren, and I was lucky enough to be one of
them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 12pt 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We moved to Missouri from Oklahoma just before I turned 8,
but my family made the three hour drive back to Muskogee often to spend the
weekends or holidays or weeks in the summer with my Nanny and Papaw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many times, my sisters and I would try to
sleep on the long ride, but even with our eyes closed in the backseat, we could
just <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feel</i></b>
it in our bones when the car turned onto Smith Ferry Road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We'd feel the pull of that little gray house
on 24th Place and know as soon as we rolled into the gravel driveway that the
light on the post in the front yard would go on and that the two people who
made us feel the most treasured in all the world would be coming out onto the
low front porch to kiss us hello and bring us in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being at Nanny's house was <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always</i></b>
a treat, and I think even as a kid I knew and appreciated that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was so magnetic, and my sisters and I
were so drawn to her and prized our time with her so much, that we would often
even follow Nanny into the bathroom and sit with her so as to not miss even a
minute of basking in her warmth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
never seemed to mind the invasion of privacy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
her grandkids were coming, Nanny would stock her little kitchen with all sorts
of treats, many of them novelties my sisters and I didn't get to have at home,
like individually wrapped beef jerkies, Ritz crackers and the E-Z cheese that
came in the spray can, Borden ice cream and chocolate Magic Shell, tiny cans of
Donald Duck orange juice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember
there being such <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bounty </i></b>in that old kitchen...any craving satisfied by all the
snacks stacked on the metal cart next to the fridge, always feeling like I
could have my fill, that there was always more where that came from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How
many times in any given day must that wooden screen door from the garage into
the kitchen have slammed shut as us sweaty kids burst in to grab the scissors from
the drawer under the oven and cut the top off another plastic Flavor-Ice
popsicle or pour a tiny paper Dixie cup full of Dr. Pepper? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that same drawer there were all sorts of
notepads and pencils and pens and tape, even a little handheld label maker, all
at our creative disposal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never felt
like I had to conserve or skimp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is
not to say that Nanny taught us it was okay to waste--quite the contrary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was just generous in all she did and had
and was, and I know there are many people besides her grandkids who could
attest to that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Norma Curtis was such a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">giver</i></b>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
guess Nanny and Papaw's house was actually quite small, but that never occurred
to me growing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can imagine the
crowd at holidays when their four daughters would meet there with their
families, but we always made do, pulling a hodgepodge of stools and chairs
around the kitchen table and around pop-up tables in the living room for big
family meals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember piles of
presents and kids all over that little living room floor at Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At bedtime, the couch bed would be pulled out
and pallets spread on the floors in every room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The luckiest of all would get the cot next to Nanny and Papaw's
bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether there was a full house or
just a small batch of us visiting, the rooms would get quiet as we all settled
into bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nanny would remind us to
jiggle the handle on her "crazy commode" if we got up to use it in
the night and after a busy day of tending to us, she'd lay down next to Papaw
in their double bed at the back of the house and soon we'd hear them both
snoring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
think of those nights now as having such an <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">intimacy</i></b> about them, all
of us breathing there in that little house, whispers barely muffled by those
thin walls, the sounds of a train on the tracks a few streets over lulling us
all into a comfortable, familiar, communal <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In the mornings, Nanny would wake us with coffee breath greetings and enticing
offers of Eggo waffles or hard-boiled eggs or cinnamon rolls, all delivered
between succinct kisses on our cheeks from our stuffed animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We'd brush our teeth with the monogrammed
toothbrushes she'd ordered for each of us from Lillian Vernon and then the day
would unfold, each one as easy as the last.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
can still picture her side of the bathroom counter, with her Avon products and
her jewelry and her little plaques with wise words and phrases to live by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Around the house, she had shadowboxes filled
with thimbles she'd gathered on her travels and other shelves full of the
myriad frog figurines she'd been given over the years when word spread that she
liked the little green creatures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm
not sure she really did, at least not enough to amass such a collection, but she
did all things graciously, and must have accepted them knowing it was hard to
buy gifts for a woman who gave everyone else so very much.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If
we had the luxury of a long, unscheduled day at her house playing in the
backyard or riding horses or running back and forth to Aunt Lorene's house,
Nanny might settle into her chair just inside the front door and caddy-cornered
to the TV.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the small table next to
her, she'd have the Muskogee Phoenix, a word search book and a pen, the
Westside bulletin, her address book, her Bible, maybe the remote and an Avon
catalog, and a drink, usually tea or Dr. Pepper, always with a napkin wrapped
around the outside of the cup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes
she'd ride bikes up and down 24th Street with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of days she'd be in the kitchen canning
green beans and other vegetables from Papaw's garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We'd snap green beans for her, and I hope we
didn't whine too much about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'd find
the ritual of doing so such a comfort and pleasure if I could do it now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also used to sew and among many other
outfits she produced, I distinctly remember a pair of fruit-print
"jams" shorts she made for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She banned the phrase "I'm bored" at her house, but there was
enough to do that she probably didn't have to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She taught us kids to play dominos around the kitchen table, and I still
haven't figured out how she was able look at the dominoes already played and quickly
calculate which of the remaining tiles each of us must have as she coached us
on possible moves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was so smart and
quick-witted and I am grateful that she never just let us win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few of us even sat at that same table and
let Nanny give us perms over the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The whole house would fill with that familiar chemical smell as one of
us sat in curlers with her kitchen timer clicking there before us, confident
that Nanny would make us beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
took most of her pictures of us, beautiful or not, with a big, clunky Polaroid
camera.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The instant pictures were
magical and the film was an expensive luxury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She was the only person I knew who had such a thing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
was indulgent and would leave us kids to our own devices much of the time, but
I think we were all aware of her expectations of decent behavior and she'd set
us straight if need be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More challenging
grandkids like my sister Lindsay and maybe even my cousin Jeremy could recall
Nanny's discipline tactics better than I can, but it's my cousin Landon who met
the most legendary corrective action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was so long ago I can't remember the exact offense, but several of us sat
sheepishly and silently on the couch as Nanny had a more heated one-on-one with
Landon at the back of the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he
joined us back in the living room,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>he dramatically
warned, "Nanny spanks hard!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
spanks like this!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and swatted a
wooden bookshelf, rattling the clock and trinkets on it and causing Nanny to swoop
back into the room and grab Landon up for round two as the rest of us sat
wide-eyed in fear until much later when we felt it was safe to giggle at the
irony of the situation. These times were rare, but I just know that while we
were about as spoiled as any kids could be in many ways, Norma Curtis had a
strong sense of what was right and expected the same of us when we were under
her roof.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If
we weren't busy at the house, we were out on the town in Muskogee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nanny would fit as many of us as she could
into her Ford Crown Victoria and have us countdown to see who could buckle up
the fastest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She'd lean in for a kiss
and say "my corner" at most turns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She'd take us to the mall or to Hobby Lobby or to T G & Y, maybe
Honor Heights or the USS Batfish outside of town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the mall, she'd sit on a bench outside the
stores and let us browse for things she could treat us to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we'd come back to her, she'd always say,
"Well, did you find anything you couldn't live without?"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we'd get home, she'd have us pull our
new clothes and shoes and treasures out to show Pop at his seat on the end of
the couch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We'd carry a big stack of
refillable plastic drink cups into Big Cheese Pizza, and I remember Nanny
loving the breadsticks dipped in their cream sauce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She signed several of us up for swimming
lessons at the Red Cross building in the summers, and generously invested the
money and many hours sitting in the hot, steamy air on those concrete bleachers
it took for us to become confident swimmers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
still laugh about how she would introduce us to just about anyone we encountered
around town, so proud of us that she thought even strangers would want to know
where we all lived, how many hours we drove to get there, how old we were, what
we were up to for the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I became
a teenager, I would often bring a friend on my visits to Nanny's house, and she
always made them feel not only welcome as guests, but like they were one of her
own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of her many "adopted
grandkids."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Even
when I wasn't at her house, I still felt close to her because we exchanged
letters, probably from the time I could string sentences together until well
after my college years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The letters
thinned as she got older and thought that her penmanship wasn't easy to read
anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today we have email and cell
phones, but nothing really compares to how I felt at any age when I would see
her handwriting on an envelope addressed just to me, or when I'd hear her voice
over the phone long-distance launching into "Happy Birthday" as soon
as I answered on my special day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can
still see her there at the white, rotary dial phone on the wall<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in her kitchen, with phone numbers scrawled
in pencil directly onto the drywall beside it, some of them in my Papaw's
handwriting also if I remember right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was a calendar there, too, with everyone's birthdays and
anniversaries labeled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She always
remembered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
might have first learned to write as I sat beside her in church and doodled on
stationary she'd brought from her job at Oklahoma School Supply, and I know exchanging
letters with her regularly only strengthened my love for and mastery of the
written word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nanny and Papaw were so
good to take us trips across the United States, and I smile when I think of how
Nanny would keep written travel logs in little spiral notebooks during each one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if she just recorded where we stopped
for gas and how many hours we were in the car, she was a writer and I now see
that she is much of the reason I am one, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nanny
would commemorate the days leading up to every Christmas of my childhood, maybe
even up into my college years, with a construction paper tree she had cut out and
festooned with 25 pieces of Dentyne gum to pull off day by day in anticipation.
All the grandkids got one, and other kids at church probably did as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we were older, Nanny and Papaw put
together a complete set of the commemorative quarters released for each of the
50 states over a five year period.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
made a duplicate set for my husband Ryan and I think even made sets for my
sisters to give the men they'd eventually marry, men they hadn't even met yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was always thinking of us.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There
are countless people, many of them here today, that knew my grandmother and
experienced her love and generosity and warmth in their own ways, and I am
aware that her legacy here in Muskogee may be one of always helping anyone in
need, of being a dedicated churchgoer and a woman of good works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had so many friends, and I'm certain even
strangers she met at Braum's or in the grocery store could feel the bright,
friendly goodness that shone from her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
take that light and magnify it by a million, and you might get close to knowing
how it felt to be her granddaughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I was growing up, she'd always end her notes to me and sometimes
our conversations with a line from an old song:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>"You light up my life."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She always made me feel like I really did make her life something
special, like I was the most important thing to her, like she delighted in
everything I did and said and became.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
always expressed her feelings, she never withheld her affection, and she always
remembered and acknowledged the things that mattered to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I've
certainly missed that affirmation and adoration and connection in these recent
years as she lost her memories of me due to her illness, and that may be
selfish, but if you've been loved by Norma Curtis you know what a gift we've been
missing out on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I so wish my own little boy could have really known
her and felt the goodness and love that she radiated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I've struggled with the most, however, is
not that my Nanny might have forgotten me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It's the thought that, because she was sick, she might have no
recollection of how loved she was, of how much she meant to me, of how much she
mattered to and shaped me, of how so much of what I cherish about where I come
from is all wrapped up in her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To keep
my heart from breaking at that possibility, the only thing I can think of to do
is grab on to as many of these everyday memories of my time with her as I can
for the both of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm going to do my
best to live as graciously and generously as she did, to be a giver, to radiate
light and warmth and love, to capture life in pictures and writing and trips to
places near and far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'll fall short of
being all she was, I know, but she would expect nothing less of me than to be
good and do good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
world without Norma Curtis breathing and laughing and giving and loving in it
is going to take some getting used to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I'm not sure just how I'll come to terms with this idea that she's gone,
but my memories of my Nanny will always, always light up <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i></b> life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2038740873704764097.post-54650979780571454492013-06-19T10:14:00.000-05:002013-06-19T10:14:01.523-05:00Gone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEGrj8_Joj4Er_210L5D5JG9jVL9cxojpeIXCfpulGrMnG3kbrvKZbjmDeFAdKxZUqheF_QwOXOb8Fu2GGgNJOlbbR-DwYMpgt8hNGIo9k-3n8eNmwupqn1UC4BqZQamWBFcsMnFazIUP/s1600/DSC_0147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEGrj8_Joj4Er_210L5D5JG9jVL9cxojpeIXCfpulGrMnG3kbrvKZbjmDeFAdKxZUqheF_QwOXOb8Fu2GGgNJOlbbR-DwYMpgt8hNGIo9k-3n8eNmwupqn1UC4BqZQamWBFcsMnFazIUP/s320/DSC_0147.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
My sweet Nanny left us last night. Macauley and I were eating dinner in Branson with Lane when my dad called to tell us. I know she is at peace like everyone keeps saying, but I cried the whole way home for her anyway. It's almost her birthday. When we visited her in March and took these pictures, she didn't know who I was. She certainly didn't know my little boy. She didn't say much and only barely smiled once...My sister and I sat with her for a couple of hours just to be next to her, aware it was likely the last time we would be. There's a lot more to say and I've been making notes for a longer piece about her...For now, though, I'm just sad...missing who she was to me for all those years, wondering where she is now, knowing this is the way life goes, wishing it didn't have to be.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDtGvq82MTdUvLMYaY4c9eS_Jd30kjvuoHmd6ApxYI5JJsH6_VK6Jto9MpAzRVsdVqiv-Fi9XLA0nmOFMNOjhiEvDYYpyOOg3R57FlNVocLIQ2rGdfm7rAR-4MWDV7yyliZ9engW5MFHQ5/s1600/DSC_0145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDtGvq82MTdUvLMYaY4c9eS_Jd30kjvuoHmd6ApxYI5JJsH6_VK6Jto9MpAzRVsdVqiv-Fi9XLA0nmOFMNOjhiEvDYYpyOOg3R57FlNVocLIQ2rGdfm7rAR-4MWDV7yyliZ9engW5MFHQ5/s320/DSC_0145.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><em>Norma Jean Fricks Curtis</em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><em>10 July 1926-18 June 2013</em></strong></div>
Hayley Fraserhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02065802813330958478noreply@blogger.com5