tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57502592024-03-07T10:05:40.521+01:00A Roll in the UniverseMildred Hockstedder on Man's role in the universe: "I don't think he can. Roll. ...Not round enough."<br>(From "The Muppet Show", ep. 9, season 1)Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.comBlogger1403125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-80444508894447086732019-08-28T21:26:00.000+02:002019-12-21T21:35:13.199+01:00Tagged: Quotes on healthI have been tagged to dig up two quotes on health by a fellow blogger, Paula. <a href="https://lightmotifs.wordpress.com/2019/08/25/3-2-1-quote-me-good-health/">Check out her quotes</a>. She's included some of my favorites! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMJYsQ5sWOC01zIqPhLYgz79s0umNF5qHwQRcEBq-butyGt50W7RdvR1UrQ8WmdJdHRhnKsAm1SxaL245NDMv_xcol8NUsyh6CRJVcPzDtroiVwcFBMkn1HmAKXxemBnUkYtK/s1600/17103830_10154481248303251_8966459156323272987_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMJYsQ5sWOC01zIqPhLYgz79s0umNF5qHwQRcEBq-butyGt50W7RdvR1UrQ8WmdJdHRhnKsAm1SxaL245NDMv_xcol8NUsyh6CRJVcPzDtroiVwcFBMkn1HmAKXxemBnUkYtK/s640/17103830_10154481248303251_8966459156323272987_n.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Mental health is important, too!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hbPqBJzt2UnrYIo4Rb6trXmjS8VfDezNgJRNYNUAuU3g_GfzmQ18epwwzAAG7WkfWrqKaTwbEq7NRshvfCUYou06DmRnoxEbErGstBTerfasQ0HOFxQwYh2RYnwYcRQkF_FQ/s1600/Grandma_quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="187" data-original-width="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hbPqBJzt2UnrYIo4Rb6trXmjS8VfDezNgJRNYNUAuU3g_GfzmQ18epwwzAAG7WkfWrqKaTwbEq7NRshvfCUYou06DmRnoxEbErGstBTerfasQ0HOFxQwYh2RYnwYcRQkF_FQ/s1600/Grandma_quote.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size: x-large;">“To enjoy a good old age, take care of your eyes, hearing, teeth and feet.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">—Marion Mundal</span></blockquote>
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My grandma. I am taking her advice.<br />
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-38865698207037530452019-08-20T21:20:00.000+02:002019-12-21T21:25:55.600+01:00Brave enough, after all<b>Prologue</b>: I am no longer on partial sick leave. I am considered well and am back to work 100%! I have new tasks but am the master of my day, even though my work calendar has never been as full as it is now! <br />
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<b>Now:</b> I was tasked with teaching some part-time workers about what a beta tester does at work, the temporary position I was in for over 18 months while on partial sick leave. And having not ever done this before, I was easily driving myself crazy. Eventually, after trying to plan the lesson and more or less succeeding, I got to a point where I started to settle down. Where I realized that it was hard to know if I was doing this right because it had never been done before. There is no measure for success for this yet. <br />
<br />It started with a couple of things: A visit to my doctor's where I realized that "Trust, not doubt" (in Norwegian: "Tillit, ikke tvil") was my new mantra or motto. That was followed by an instruction from an online course that read, "Breathe in the words 'I choose ease'; breathe out 'I release.'" <br />
<br />I tried. I tried to calm the monkey brain, the atoms of fear that insist on making up my molecules. I ended up bringing the one anti-anxiety "drug" I have to work: A Bach flower remedy (Aspen). <br />
<br /> At some point, a part of me realized that I had done enough. Still, I had almost too many butterflies leading up to the day I was supposed to have the actual class. Today was the day for the class. <br />
<br /> A friend on Facebook posted this: <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">—Jon Acuff on Twitter </td></tr>
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What a wonderful message on today of all days! <br />
<br />During a morning team meeting another inspiring and apropos thing happened: We were discussing how to handle changes and new technology, when a co-worker quoted Pippi Longstocking, a character from Astrid Lindgren's children book: "I've never done that before so I'm sure I'll be able to do it." <br />
<br />What totally different approaches to the new and unknown! Instead of fearing failure, why not either embrace it or just assume it won't even happen? <br />
<br />This afternoon I found my two students and started our two-hour lesson with "Be brave enough to be bad at something new"—a message they needed, too, since what I was about to teach them was totally unknown to them. It lightened the mood and gave us a good start. <br />
<br />We ended up having a good session, and I have two co-workers who are eager to try out their new skills. <br />
<br /><b>Epilogue</b>: As I sum up my day, which ended on a wonderful high note—no failures!—I have to take a moment to be grateful for the guidance I got. Thank you, Universe<br />
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-18675698252606796092019-06-15T21:04:00.000+02:002019-12-21T21:20:37.209+01:00If you had lived<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;">If you had lived </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">we’d be still talking</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">If you had lived</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">we’d be hanging out at our favorite café</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">If you had lived</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I’d be visiting you in the nursing home</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">If you had lived</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">We’d still be creating memories together</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">But you didn’t live</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">You didn’t make it this far</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">with me</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I am left to create</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">memories with other people</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I am left </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">with memories of you</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">of us</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I have memories</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Because you once lived</span><br />
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My neighbor says she’ll be 91 next month. A quick calculation tells me she was born in 1928. And I remembered a friend I used to have, who was born in 1929. And started musing on the might-have-beens had she lived passed 73.<br />
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There are other might-have-beens, too, with other people.<br />
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Such is life. <br />
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It contains death.<br />
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And memories. Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-82112896205552183202019-05-13T20:56:00.000+02:002019-12-21T21:02:30.406+01:00Clearing outI think I’ve mentioned <a href="https://www.dailyom.com/">Daily Om</a> before, a website that offers life affirming essays and online courses. I’m currently taking a course on clearing. On any other website, it would be called decluttering, but it’s not just getting rid of stuff. It’s the why we hang on to things and how it feels to have them or let go of them. Not quite Marie Kondo, either, this. But rather a supplement to firm tossing and saying thank you to stuff. The course starts with exploring one’s attitude to things and to clearing them.<br />
<br />It’s slow going, which I like. I really do not understand “housework”. I’m not good with routines. I’ve followed other flaky people and their systems and have learned something from each of them. Still, I hunt for The One Method that will get me decluttering and cleaning and all that. <br />
<br />So why is this different? Maybe because it starts from the inside and you make the outside happen according to that. For example, one lesson was about movement. About how we get stuck in an attitude or a belief. We need to get ourselves unstuck. So act that out by moving something in your home: Find something that’s out of place and put it in place, or find something that is trash and toss it out. <br />
<br />That idea I could embrace: That the little household chore was about getting <b>me</b> moving, not about establishing some routine in the home. And that right there is the “hook” I need, the attitudinal approach that helps it make sense to me. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All the emptied and washed spice jars, <br />ready for the recycling bin. <br />This is the only "spice rack" I have <br />ever had or will need</td></tr>
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And from that desire, from wanting to get unstuck, from wanting more energy, I then get a routine: Every day I do that little thing in my home for me. <br />
<br />The course has motivated me to declutter all my spices today. That’s another thing: Understanding who I truly am, and what I’m actually likely to do. I will never do all the cooking all those spices suggest. Most of them were covered with a thin layer of gray concrete dust, so they haven’t been touched in the over 2.5 years since my bathroom was remodeled (!). So out the vast majority went. I even got a rhythm going emptying the little jars for recycling and felt really good about my little task. I was honoring my true nature: Salt and pepper go a long way with how I cook. And I finished, too!<br />
<br />I think that’s what has been missing: Feeling personal about the task at hand. Weird that I treat routines in my home like a service I do for a stranger. But housekeeping truly isn’t something I “get”. I do it because I understand intellectually that that’s what one does. (I admit, I do this quite irregularly.) I don’t understand it intuitively. It’s not second nature to me at all. <br />
<br />The things I do that “feed” me, that give me meaning on a personal or emotional level, those things I tend to do regularly. The penny dropped when I finally timed how long it takes to do dishes and realized it wasn’t that much of a chore. Now it’s something I do with pleasure. Also: The first place I can see in my home that my mental health is starting to stumble is my kitchen counter: the longer the dirty dishes don’t get done, the more “down” I’ve been. I’m back to my happy self again when I want to go into the kitchen and wash the dishes. Sometimes I’ll wash them anyway, because I know the cleared counters will make me feel better. <br />
<br />See, it’s an emotional thing, not a “let’s keep the house clean” thing.<br />
<br />And maybe, also, this is why apps don’t work for me. Lists somebody else comes up with overwhelm me because I don’t know how to use them for my own stuff. I don’t know where to start. Oh, yes, on an intellectual basis I know. I’ve read enough emails from <a href="http://flylady.net/">FlyLady</a> to have a pretty good grasp of what a daily routine should look like. But it’s not <b>my</b> routine. I can’t <b>feel</b> it. (FlyLady did help me finally do the dishes regularly, though.)<br />
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Happy accomplishment, Saturday’s decluttered travel stuff. <br />How many of those plastic toothbrush head covers <br />does one person need?</div>
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What works? Oddly, it’s writing a daily list by hand. Same thing with the grocery shopping. I can’t get comfortable with apps. I write my lists from scratch in Google Keep and when I’m done, “delete all checked items” and start over again next time. I think maybe this is how I focus and organize my thoughts.<br />
<br />Sometime last year I started writing daily to-do’s in a notebook I leave open on my kitchen table. It became a part of my healing journey through this past fall and winter. I saw the so-called “dot journals” or “bullet journals” and instantly felt overwhelmed by all the effort people put into those things. But I liked the idea of a dot in front of task and if you do it, write an X through the dot, else put a > there if you’re carrying the task over to the next day. I used to actually write little boxes to check, but the dot method is quicker and clearer. I also like that if I end up getting around to a task after all, the > easily becomes an X. <br />
<br />So finally, at age 58, I’m starting to understand myself, how I actually approach things, how I get meaning out of something. <br />
<br />Thank you for reading all this! Here’s your reward: Edvard Grieg in the Bergen city park (byparken).<br />
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-90296276315367111832019-04-12T20:34:00.000+02:002019-12-21T20:53:48.661+01:00Spring magicThis year I seem to be more aware of budding trees. At this point in the season, where nights are still cold, although days are warmer, growth is slow, careful. I woke up to frost this morning, but now, as we approach sunset, my balcony is baking at a whole 26C/78F in the sun! <br />
<br />Won’t be long until leaves are bigger, blooms show better, branches are less naked.<br />
<br />In the meantime, I’m enjoying the magic of the slow awakening.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beech</td></tr>
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The beech tree is next to my balcony. This is the first year I’ve noticed flowers on it. It was planted about 25 years ago and barely reached up to my balcony then. Now it’s reached up to my upstairs neighbor’s balcony. One of things that happens when I blog, is that I end up doing a little research on behalf of my reader(s). The pink flowers mean that this is a copper or purple beech, a native of Europe. I did not know I had a purple beech!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosehip</td></tr>
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The rosehip bush is right below my living room window. I’ve watched its progress through the seasons many, many times. One of the sounds of summer is to hear a bumble bee’s buzz amplified by its wings touching the side of the rosehip petals while it hunts for nectar. And of course I love the scent of rosehip roses! I’ve even learned to like rosehip tea. But first we need to get more leaves!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cherry</td></tr>
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<br />The Japanese cherry tree is at the other end of my building and is purely for decoration. It is lovely, though, and will be at its showiest in May.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Magnolia</td></tr>
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The magnolia is by the main theater in town. I have wandered around in downtown Bergen and by the theater since 1981, and this is the first time I’ve ever noticed this tree. If it weren’t for the flowers, I’d never know there were magnolia trees in amongst the cherry trees lining the park below “Den Nationale Scene”. But this year I caught it blooming on naked branches. I have seen a magnolia tree in person only once before: Tucked in a cozy corner of the botanical gardens by the university. But that was memorable enough to help me identify this other tree, a snow magnolia. This particular species also comes from Japan.<br />
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Magic everywhere! Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-21660321335769155512019-04-07T20:32:00.000+02:002019-12-21T20:33:06.426+01:00Forgiveness<br />
“Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive others their trespasses.” Matthew 6:12<br />
<br />I remember when I first started to seriously forgive people with whom I had a difficult relationship. I thought forgiving them would end something. It didn’t. It started something (I wish I’d been warned). I thought forgiveness was a way to pull a bandaid off, revealing the healing wound underneath (warning: if you’re squeamish, this next part may be icky but it’s what I’ve got). But it was more like draining a cyst (I’ve done that a couple of times) and then the doctor packs the emptied hole and you have to keep getting that changed for up to a month while the wound heals from the bottom up, from the inside out.<br />
<br />That’s what forgiveness starts: A process of healing you from within yourself. Surprisingly little to do with the other person, actually. It’s not about justice or lack of; it’s about masochism. By forgiving the other person (or even yourself), you’re basically no longer hurting yourself. The other person already hurt you. They hurt you that time. You may or may not have gotten justice or an apology for that hurt. The thing is, it’s in the past, but every time you think about it and react to it. you hurt yourself. So instead of that other person having hurt you badly that time back in May of 2006, here you are, 13 years later, still seething about it. The other person doesn’t even know!<br />
<br />See how useless that is? See why forgiveness sets you free? Because that’s what it’s doing. It’s letting you off the hook, not the other person. It’s putting the past where it belongs: In the past. <br />
<br />I’ve mentioned ho’oponopono a few times. I come back to it because it is so easy. You don’t have to know what’s bothering you, you don’t have to know what’s stuck, you don’t have to know anything. These four deceptively simple sentences do a lot of work for you. Just keep repeating and repeating and repeating (in any order you want):<br />
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<br />I love you<br />I’m sorry<br />Please forgive me<br />Thank you</div>
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Any time a thought that isn’t the most supportive crosses your mind, do ho’oponopono. (I really need to remember to take my own advice.) Or fudge and play Jasons Stephenson’s wonderful track on repeat (I go to sleep to this).<br />
<br />Just let your wounds heal.<br />
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-2117793880991595562019-04-05T20:24:00.000+02:002019-12-21T20:28:31.697+01:00Another battleObviously, something deep in my subconscious wants to imitate Nedry’s lock screen in “Jurassic Park”, doing his finger-wagging “Ah-ah-ah”.<br />
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<br />I had bronchitis in February. Was out sick for two weeks. <br />
<br />Bronchitis was something I had a lot as a kid. Usually when the bullying over time finally got to me, my body would react with bronchitis. When I finally recovered, I blogged, intending to keep blogging. But I lost my routines, my momentum while sick and it took me until the end of March to get it back.<br />
<br />That’s when I hurt a knee, just standing with a very straight leg on my living room floor. Sheesh.<br />
<br />Got my PC from work delivered home because brain works, but dang, if this knee stuff isn’t darned distracting!<br />
<br />After a week at home, a friend shopped for me and showed me a good exercise for knees. Can’t overdo it, though. Can’t do the steepest hill between my place and the office so have been taking the bus to work. <br />
<br />It’s like everything just says “Ah-ah-ah” and I realize there’s something deep inside me I’m not addressing or even aware of. Time to go in deep and see if I can find it. And heal it. <br />
<br />I have always had a copy of Louise Hay’s “You Can Heal Your Life” and all the affirmations for all the ills. Bronchitis: The family is fighting. Knees: Stubborn ego and pride. So peace and harmony and forgiveness.<br />
<br />I think the bronchitis is a matter of feeling safe with the ones around me. Weirdly, I had it last year, too, at about the same time. I sure hope it’s not going to become a tradition!<br />
<br />But the knees… They’re about fear and the solution is forgiveness and compassion.<br />
<br />In a discussion with friends, we were talking about how forgiveness is the one thing that heals everything. I said something about being done forgiving others; now it was about forgiving myself.<br />
<br />But I wonder…<br />
<br />I may have peeled so many layers off the onion that is all me and my experiences that I’ve found fresh stuff to forgive, and it may involve others, after all. Some little remnant is left, like not quite emptying the existing bottle of shampoo or sauce before opening a new one. <br />
<br />Time to stop this battle and dig into healing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple blossoms</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-5187743422121668592019-03-09T20:17:00.000+01:002019-12-21T20:20:02.831+01:00The battle for springOf all the seasonal transitions, the one between winter and spring seems to be the most violent.<br />
<br />I’ve tried to predict weather using astrology (astrometeorology). The starting point are the seasonal ingress charts, i.e. the charts for the equinoxes and the solstices or the cardinal signs. For the spring equinox the chart is made for 0 degrees of Aries, which is ruled by Mars. For the summer solstice, it’s 0 degrees of Cancer and Moon ruling. For autumn, it’s 0 degrees of Libra and Venus ruling. And for winter solstice, the chart is for 0 degrees of Capricorn and Saturn ruling. These dates are approximately around the 21st of March, June, September and December, respectively.<br />
<br />I live where we have four seasons and am used to how they flow into each other, and how it can vary from year to year exactly when one can say that one season is officially over and we are fully in the next season. Spring glides into summer by budding, one type of bush or tree at a time, and growing the leaves and turning a deeper green by the summer solstice. July and August are rich thick foliage, but during August, ripening of berries breaks up the solid green. Still, the trees can look quite lush well into September. October is the month of changing colors, and November is the first month of naked trees. The first snow or frost may appear where I live at this time but not stay. In fact, a true winter chill doesn’t happen until January, well into the winter season. <br />
<br />But the part that has my attention, is the transition between winter and spring. This seems to be the most obvious conflict of interest. Whereas the other seasons move into each other on a gliding scale, even weather-wise, Winter seems to arm itself and do serious battle with Spring. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hedge had started to leaf, and then the snow returned</td></tr>
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I mentioned ruling planets above. I think they may be key. In traditional astrology, Saturn and Mars are called malefic. In more modern terms, they are challenging or difficult. These two planets require more self-discipline to use correctly than, say, Venus or Mercury do. In a person, Saturn and Mars in a bad relationship to each other can be volatile; it can mean a bad temper or bad impulse control. I have this myself, but maturity, meditation and some therapy have tempered these two for me.<br />
<br />But weatherwise, we have two planets both known for high energy, high winds and a desire to make bad weather. Saturn is the ultimate low pressure significator, while Mars is just volatile. Venus is a moderating influence on the weather (though she can misbehave if in bad company) and the Moon is about clouds and rain and wind, but the normal stuff, not the extreme that Saturn can be. Mars emphasises whatever is there, and brings on heat and movement, usually.<br />
<br />So in the transition from a Mars season to a Moon season, the force necessary to generate new life gives way easily to the force necessary to grow life (watering the plants). And later that growth force transitions calmly into the final ripening and harvesting energy of a Venus season. Venus then quietly passes the torch on to Saturn who sets about making sure everything acts dead.<br />
<br />And so Life reappears, with the Mars energy of spring (and of course, the increase in hours the Sun is up), and starts to throw its weight around old, cold Saturn who isn’t having any of that. Saturn demands proof that you are viable, that you deserve respect, and so throws whatever it has at the budding life lured by some mild weather. It’s snowing out as I write this, and I’ve already seen fresh dandelion leaves on our lawns. <br />
<br />The other seasons do battle too. It’s just so obvious with Winter and Spring and perhaps more so because we humans need to see life and warmth and growth again. We want Spring to win. We need to know the dead of Winter is not permanent. We’ve all had our rest. It’s time to get moving again.<br />
<br />Ultimately, Life wins. Aided by warmth and ever lengthening days, growth takes hold, and the dead of winter gives way until next time. <br />
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-11434195117353974932019-02-17T16:58:00.000+01:002019-12-21T17:02:30.799+01:00Moon landing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I cannot remember when men first landed on the moon, in 1969. I was alive and old enough to remember something like that. We had a TV. That is to say, my granduncle had a TV—up on the old farm, in a little valley above a fjord. There was nothing on it until 6 pm, when a children’s program would come on, then the news. All in glorious black and white.<br />
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Actually, everything was in black and white until 1974 when Norway decided to allow the broadcasting of color TV even though protesters thought it would be bad for people. <br />
<br />People have the weirdest reasons for not wanting change. <br />
<br />My folks kept their black and white TV for quite a while. It wasn’t broken and we were used to it. The first thing I saw in color was at a friend’s house, a scene from a British series, “Black Beauty” (yes, the one about the horse). The only thing strikingly different from seeing the same show in B&W was the grass. Incredibly green in color. Black Beauty was still black. <br />
<br />But why can’t I remember the moon landing?<br />
<br />Because I was asleep. It was night time in Norway when Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon. I was 8 years old. I couldn’t stay awake even if I wanted to. But I remember my grandma telling me they stayed up to watch it.<br />
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My grandparents saw astronauts onto another world in real time. On a TV on the old farm Grandpa was born on in 1901.<br />
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<br />Today’s prompt: stripes, lemonade, <i>astronaut</i>Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-83118369564914850942019-02-16T16:30:00.000+01:002019-12-21T16:39:00.015+01:00Apples, APP and another abbreviation<i>Apples</i> makes me think of the old gold mining town of Julian in Southern California, a charming and tiny place that today specializes in apple pie. Warm apple pie with cheddar cheese on it is a wonderfully delicious combo!<br />
<br /><i>Lasers</i> make me think of when laserium shows were new. There were shows in Los Angeles, at the Griffith Observatory, and I loved it! I didn't have the sense then to appreciate the show’s choice of music from Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon". I appreciate the music more now, but it's still not an album I play much. It is, however, produced by Alan Parsons and I love Alan Parsons Project (APP).<br />
<br /><i>Michigan</i>'s two letter postal code is MI. I didn't have to look that up. I actually know all the state postal codes by heart.<br />
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I have no good pictures of the city itself, only Julian’s plaque explaining its history</div>
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Today's prompt: apple, laser, MichiganKeera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-67873175317136725812019-02-15T16:28:00.000+01:002019-12-21T16:39:43.352+01:00SeashellsSo something a bit shorter today, rather than the lengthy <i>letter</i> home of yesterday’s two blog posts (wherein I mention <i>yoga</i>). <br />
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I can’t ever seem to go to a beach and not want to pick up a <i>seashell</i> or smoothed rock. Bad habit, really. It sadly just becomes clutter because I’ll never do something fancy with these things like paint a face on the rock or glue the seashells to a picture frame “for interest”.<br />
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My dust-gathering finds do remind me of where I found them, but so do pictures. Here’s one of the last beach I collected seashells from. It’s in Normandy, France.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like how the waves are making waves in the sand</td></tr>
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Today’s prompt: letter, seashells, yogaKeera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-79881867946757768242019-02-14T16:19:00.000+01:002019-12-21T16:19:08.595+01:00Five year journey, part 2<a href="https://kafox.blogspot.com/2019/02/five-year-journey-part-1.html">(Part 1 here)</a><br />
<br />Sometimes, I think that I have undiagnosed ADHD. I relate too well to descriptions of people with ADD etc. Apparently, December children are overrepresented on the ADD spectrum. I am a December child. My therapist did point out that it doesn’t really matter if I have ADD or not; I hold down a job, own my own condo, have no bill collectors chasing me, etc. I adult just fine.<br /><br />The thing about being scatterbrained (besides needing to write everything down) is that things requiring a lot of discipline remain out of reach. I have, for years, disappointed myself in not being driven to try a 90 minute daily practice of yoga and meditation because enlightenment sounds so cool!<br /><br />Instead, I’ve done the spiritual equivalent of the buffet: A little of this, a little of that. Restless, curious, easily wowed, easily bored. Some things seep in and stick, though.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few of my spiritual books. <br />The wide unnamed one is a worn copy of <br />“A Course in Miracles”. <br />I had to give it a new cover.</td></tr>
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I was raised by a grandma who was into New Thought, theosophy and astrology. Her wisdom and guidance and free thinking guided me during some crucial years. The idea that God is not a being but Love has stuck with me ever since my mother introduced me to Science of Mind at age 17. Affirmations have stuck with me. I used guided meditation a lot in college and it mitigated my scatteredness; I was able to focus and remember better. But I did that sort of thing on a whim or once a week or whenever. The experience and knowledge didn’t leave me; it became what I call my spiritual toolbox.<br />
<br />My spiritual toolbox contains the fruit of many classes, books, sermons and seminars over the years. Affirmations, faith, astrology, meditations, yoga, etheric oils, reiki, crystals, Tarot, etc. I can tell you this: There is one constant and that is Love. If whatever you are being taught or told is not promoting goodness, it’s not True. I have also remembered Grandma’s words that God will always be stronger than any tool I use (such as astrology); a reminder to commune with spiritual source. <br />
<br />The thing is, I have disappointed myself by not having routines, for not having a regular practice, for not being disciplined. This has applied to both the spiritual and the physical.<br />
<br />Yet, here at the start of 2019, I know I’m not the same as in 2018. When panic starts, I recognize it far more quickly than before and I stop it far more quickly. It no longer becomes something I must care about; it’s just there and I shove it aside. <br />
<br />It has occured to me that this is something to be proud of. That I have, in spite of my monkey brain, been able to do the work that has changed my thinking and beliefs and will continue to do so. I know that it’s very important not to get frustrated. Feeling forced or “shoulding” myself is not healthy or helpful and just makes me want to abandon whatever it is I’m trying.<br />
<br />I took small steps. I talked with my therapists and healers and friends, sorted my thoughts and my beliefs, journaled a bit, found a meditation that let me visit my childhood, and talked some more. Bit by bit, a new structure took form. The thing is, it wasn’t just one thing and it certainly wasn’t just one steady thing, as in daily or regularly. My curiosity drove me to books and articles, learning about complex PTSD, about mantras that can heal depression, about my own family dynamics.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Learning the Gayatri mantra by heart in the shower</td></tr>
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And I have realized something: Having variety is what works for me. The moment the novelty wears off, so does my dedication. But switching it up a bit or keeping it short is doable. For example, my I-planned-to-this-daily yoga routine is 15 minutes long and I choose to target different body parts each time. My morning Om chanting takes only as long as it takes for my tea kettle to boil (about 2 minutes), maybe a minute longer. That’s it.<br />
<br />For years, I’ve recited a “prayer” on my walk to work. I’ve used it for so many years, I can’t remember its source. It goes like this:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Close your eyes or focus on something natural, like clouds or trees or a flower. Hold your palms open and facing up, if you can. Breathe in while saying silently to yourself, “I breathe in the cosmic forces of the Universe, asking for strength protection and guidance.” Exhale. Repeat once. </blockquote>
<blockquote>
If you want something extra, do this a third time, changing what you say after the comma. My standard is “…asking that each and every encounter with each and every person be a joy and a blessing for all concerned.” If I have more things I’m concerned about, I end up holding my breath for quite a bit!</blockquote>
The above is now part of a new morning routine, one that got tacked onto a regular activity I do. The best way to start a new habit is to stick it to an existing one. (My problem is that I don’t have many existing regular habits.) So, while my tea kettle boils water for my morning coffee, I do 9 Om chants (because I like 9) while raising and lowering my arms, then I do the cosmic forces prayer. I now also start with some yoga forward bends which help loosen me up.<br />
<br />I’ve tried apps. They are rarely a perfect fit so I lose interest or get frustrated. I also don’t want my cell phone in bed with me. So something I can do myself, that involves my body, seems to be a better method.<br />
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I finally own my flighty self; I acknowledge and accept that buffet-style is what works for me. I no longer want to be someone else, be different. I can accept who I am, how I function. I’m not stupid or irresponsible; I just have to understand what motivates me and what helps me.<br />
<br />When it comes to my own mental health, I have done what matters. I have listened to all my helpers, and I continue to listen to them. I have taken responsibility for my healing, in my own way.<br />
<br />I’m not usually proud of myself, but this time I am! Yes!</div>
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-46539551596003060262019-02-14T13:09:00.000+01:002019-12-21T16:11:55.418+01:00Five year journey, part 1I’m thinking about the last five years, because the blog I started in
2014 went poof as I switched providers. (Always read the instructions
thoroughly before switching website hosts, kids.) Then a bit of magic
happened and I could save my texts and restore posts; the photos were
already saved. <br />
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As I went through and relinked photos, I saw that I’d been talking about stress and things bothering me on and off. It isn’t just a process to heal; it can also be a process getting sick. (These posts now have the tag “personal” for my own purposes, but they may serve you, too.)<br />
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The communists of the Cold War era would make five year plans. Life coaches and career advisers often ask you where you see yourself in five years’ time. That’s a question I’ve never been able to answer. In 2014, I was on a healing path, having explored A Course in Miracles and finding ho’oponopono since 2009. A big rift in my family relations had been healed at this point. I was feeling pretty darned good in 2014.<br />
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I remember I found myself in a situation a couple of years earlier, where I had to learn a lot of new things. Nothing like doing that to confirm that an old dog can indeed learn new tricks. And a good thing that was, because in 2014, I lost my job in one department due to downsizing, but got another job in another department, requiring me to learn entirely new things. And I did. <br />
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I was still riding high on whatever wave this was through 2015. Slowly, in 2016, something was catching up to me. Not the age of my bathroom (a museum piece at this point, and finally renovated in 2016), but something else. We were downsized again; everybody in my (new) department had to reapply for their jobs. I got lucky, once again, and got my job back, but it was one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had at work because of what it did to all of us. So the winter of 2016/2017 sucked. Easter week of 2017 came and sucked with only one day of warmth and sunshine; the rest was chilly, cloudy and wet.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer of 2017 as seen from inside a boat</td></tr>
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I had family visiting that Easter and the visit became rather challenging and disappointing. It did feed the thing catching up to me. By the fall of 2017, I was not doing well, calling in sick to work after a panic attack. I basically stood at my own front door in tears because I couldn’t bear the thought of walking through and going to work. That’s a pretty strong message! I’m sure that a rainy, cool summer with no trip abroad hadn’t helped my spirits, either. My boss thought transfering me to a temporary position as a beta tester for IT would be a good fit. And for a while it was.<br />
<br />
In the midst of all this, I was taking evening classes, dealing with a frozen shoulder, catching up on US tax filing in order to renounce my US citizenship, getting a Norwegian citizenship, and finally severing one of the last ties to my country of birth on January 30, 2018. (Still have final tax return to go as of this writing.)<br />
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The summer of 2018 the thing catching up to me finally introduced itself. “Hi, my full name is Depression Anxiety Panic-Attack. I’m moving in. I’m going to terrify you and make you feel useless and helpless and keep you from going on vacation. For starters.”<br />
<br />
Well, this was unfamiliar territory. I’ve always been a worry-wort but I’ve also been able to think it away. But this time, two things happened: This new feeling was stronger than anything I’d experienced before—and I seemed to be locked into it, not thinking about my spiritual toolbox and how it could help. The library was open but I didn’t think to go in. <br />
<br />
But, even when shit happens, I’m a lucky girl. A friend had been through the same thing and was ready to spend time with me and let me talk. I got a full refund on the vacation trip I had to cancel. I had the satisfaction of knowing that canceling had been the right thing. I enjoyed a relaxing “staycation” with a few museum visits and lots of sunshine and heat. (2018 was a record-breaking hot and dry summer.) Back at work after my summer vacation was over, I seemed to be all right—until I wasn’t. <br />
<br />
On August 30 2018, I went on partial sick leave. It’s almost 6 months later, and I’m still on partial sick leave. <br />
<br />
I talked to the company psychologist back in September/October. That handful of meetings did me a lot of good, and helped me be gentle with myself. I identified the triggers and the latent self-talk I didn’t know I had. Childhood stuff, of course. A whole story of good and bad, of guilt, loss and confusion. Of me trying to be a Good Girl so the family will start being loving and supportive again like it used to be. I didn’t know I was still trying to be a Good Girl 40-50 years later.<br />
<br />
My insurance through my employer then got me another therapist for 10 more sessions. As I built myself back up with her help, I stretched the sessions out more. I have two left. Here too was some lovely synchronicity: I’d discovered yoga mantras and my therapist practiced yoga and gave me some tips.<br />
<br />
My GP, who is fresh out of med school, also turned out to be a fantastic listener and the one who reminded me that no matter what I learned in therapy, that was just the start, getting the necessary tools. All the healing and work was going to come after and take time. Bless him for reminding me that this stuff takes time! And for a constant diet of partial sick leave.<br />
<br />
So here I am. Feeling a lot better than in a long while. So good, in fact, that I feel like applying for work. I realize now that the job that saved me in 2014 is not a good fit in the long run. 2019 will be the year I figure out where to go next. I’m too old to leave my employer, but changing departments is no problem. I’ve just got to make myself ready.<br />
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But baby steps. Bit by bit.<br />
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A version of the Gayatri mantra that I learned by heart to help myself. More about that in <a href="https://kafox.blogspot.com/2019/02/five-year-journey-part-2.html">part 2</a>. Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-38204004987948073812019-02-13T15:46:00.000+01:002019-12-21T15:50:11.196+01:00Elevenie "Darkness"<br />
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Inspired by Paula’s “elevenie” poem (“Elfchen” in German) ending in <a href="https://lightmotifs.wordpress.com/2019/02/12/everyone-is-doing-it/">darkness</a>, here’s mine about the end of short winter days:<br />
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Darkness</div>
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Occupies daytime</div>
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In the winter</div>
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Until a climbing sun</div>
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Returns</div>
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<i>An elevenie poem has 5 lines with one word on line 1, two words on line 2, three words on line 3, four words on line 4 and one word on line 5 that is different from the word on line 1.</i>Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-57905964019068940112019-01-30T15:07:00.000+01:002019-12-21T15:41:10.263+01:00Paved versus cobblestoned<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The charm of Bergen is its old streets and equally old houses. The classic tourist photos look something like this:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old residential street</td></tr>
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<br />
So I thought I'd show you the less charming, more modern side. The side of the city I usually see. Honestly, I like this part, too. It's just not the most photographed.<br />
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Bergen is a constantly growing city. The population has doubled to 250 000 in the last 40 years. As for most cities, at some point you can't expand out; you have to start expanding up. So we've been seeing more and more taller buildings, although not in the city center itself (regulation rules and stuff).<br />
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I live in one of the suburbs, Fyllingsdalen, a mere 10-20 minute bus ride into town, depending on time and route. It's a trip I take a lot because I love going to "the city".<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt Løvstakken, watching over Fyllingsdalen, one morning. <br />
In front, the
local mall on the left and an apartment building on the right. <br />
This is
what I see on my walk to work.</td></tr>
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Downtown Bergen is the big draw for me: Tradition, cobblestones, bars and restaurants and the easiest place to meet friends from other suburbs. But before you get to that medieval city center, there are the more modern edges. Two of them—a 2 km tunnel (Løvstakktunnelen) and a bridge (Puddefjordsbroen)—are the first ones I constantly encounter going to town. <br />
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So on a lovely late autumn afternoon two months ago, I got off the bus right after the tunnel. First thing you see starting up the bridge that goes across the Puddefjord is one our newest apartment buildings, and is (as of this writing) the tallest modern structure made out of wood, named Treet (The Tree or The Wood as in what a tree is made of; wood for burning is "ved"). All I can think is that there's not much privacy on those balconies; you can see everything, including the beginnings of hoarding.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading to town; "Treet" next to the bridge</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb62_ETIFfTsz3ot_TaZUubL_Jls2d-wYO8TovNmMBRjtxbPqtAENErvDO2lkYtsU2gGoHJrayy3_RrHnfJb94t3MHTYW48KwL3vXdRVxVERCBulcDVkvhC95V8-1J7Zf9i62l/s1600/2018-11-21+14.16.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb62_ETIFfTsz3ot_TaZUubL_Jls2d-wYO8TovNmMBRjtxbPqtAENErvDO2lkYtsU2gGoHJrayy3_RrHnfJb94t3MHTYW48KwL3vXdRVxVERCBulcDVkvhC95V8-1J7Zf9i62l/s640/2018-11-21+14.16.06.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Behind me, the tunnel home</td></tr>
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They do have an awesome view of Damsgårdssundet (Damsgård sound). On Treet's side of the sound (south side) is a neighborhood built mostly after WWI in one of the city's earlier suburban sprawls. Across from Treet is a mix of newish and not so new apartment buildings, several built by union members for union members, also from a good 100 years ago. Hence the little neighborhood called Trikkebyen, "Street Car Town" on the north side of Damsgårdsundet. The fjord continues to Solheimsviken, an old industrial area, now all modern office buildings. And of course, off in the distance, our tallest mountain, Ulriken (642 m).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gaSF0SeznfHL4zOV2NMPyKGVXU09-A4AOyVq1CQzaXI2ufN4Q82zIi_S6rWDGjSaF4veUBfW_GGiZddzC72qsb-HhOe6_rgQ6aYLV1YKCtUlYqNZuj0GYlPqxw3Movw9T9D2/s1600/2018-11-21+14.20.00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6gaSF0SeznfHL4zOV2NMPyKGVXU09-A4AOyVq1CQzaXI2ufN4Q82zIi_S6rWDGjSaF4veUBfW_GGiZddzC72qsb-HhOe6_rgQ6aYLV1YKCtUlYqNZuj0GYlPqxw3Movw9T9D2/s640/2018-11-21+14.20.00.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">West, "Treet"</td></tr>
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<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/AVvXsEgHzsb8ONsWe0eoAP4oG5hG1AWI3RDTZ8bI1-3eUDPg_8eOZoWXhFp72BszF3dP4-hy535-MOMBd0I-_rgzN6DJOykvDGUF0DY2I2f_ctbNKHEuiVOmz9z9hCGTTArPXoJRCI5b/s1600/2018-11-21+14.17.23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzsb8ONsWe0eoAP4oG5hG1AWI3RDTZ8bI1-3eUDPg_8eOZoWXhFp72BszF3dP4-hy535-MOMBd0I-_rgzN6DJOykvDGUF0DY2I2f_ctbNKHEuiVOmz9z9hCGTTArPXoJRCI5b/s640/2018-11-21+14.17.23.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">South, Mt. Ulriken</td></tr>
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<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/AVvXsEjpwTbbE5-3FEvUoPJ4YgxGKy_Et9tKwv3oonciub-TFhPYxjXMePJHhg8tY2emX5A4mzNjhy8BAbxmOMIzF2zsDOw4LBeo1VdzvpXpktEVNHrt7fRtzhlxAX3y6AV7tZMFKYWz/s1600/2018-11-21+14.17.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpwTbbE5-3FEvUoPJ4YgxGKy_Et9tKwv3oonciub-TFhPYxjXMePJHhg8tY2emX5A4mzNjhy8BAbxmOMIzF2zsDOw4LBeo1VdzvpXpktEVNHrt7fRtzhlxAX3y6AV7tZMFKYWz/s640/2018-11-21+14.17.18.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">East, Trikkebyen</td></tr>
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<br />
"Trikkebyen" is a nickname for a few blocks within a larger and much older neighborhood, Møhlenpris, named after a guy with a mill. When I was studying insurance a couple of autumns ago, I walked through this neighborhood to one of the most modern buildings on Damsgårdsund. Rather charming area and I want to go back and walk the new pedestrian bridge across the sound. Møhlenpris itself was the Jewish neighborhood of Bergen, back when we had Jews. There are memorial stones commemorating the lives lost during WWII. Today's population tends to be ethnically mixed, too, but everyone is proud of their neighborhood and it shows in their creativity:<br />
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<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/AVvXsEguU29y0SNh8O7ZshzSUMFbw7SC2mFZkPrYxENOeJrYlh-rGBIegGENXTIsrHzbOpJocNQo5eJ8e6nxH5oa8dUVAlukxUuZZp_jyUts8ZRyQ5VnHFFpQNbgK472nn8l1UJHhDNf/s1600/2018-11-21+14.22.25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguU29y0SNh8O7ZshzSUMFbw7SC2mFZkPrYxENOeJrYlh-rGBIegGENXTIsrHzbOpJocNQo5eJ8e6nxH5oa8dUVAlukxUuZZp_jyUts8ZRyQ5VnHFFpQNbgK472nn8l1UJHhDNf/s640/2018-11-21+14.22.25.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As you approach Møhlenpris bus stop towards downtown Bergen</td></tr>
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<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/AVvXsEhUuav7GIYc79S4Ta1YJoyCJUgP6h9xD5zXvRyhqyut8T1S0kW5-sCtVqJiRCIs_OJDWzdOKmqAwVsyPQJ8rARCr_TJ_r13OQsNCUaGn0XfqvuTqQjXhizEgVGpfTdMYxLVnzVN/s1600/2018-11-21+14.25.22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuav7GIYc79S4Ta1YJoyCJUgP6h9xD5zXvRyhqyut8T1S0kW5-sCtVqJiRCIs_OJDWzdOKmqAwVsyPQJ8rARCr_TJ_r13OQsNCUaGn0XfqvuTqQjXhizEgVGpfTdMYxLVnzVN/s640/2018-11-21+14.25.22.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mural in Møhlenpris, depicting children from different eras</td></tr>
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<br /><br />From here, I go up the stairs from the bus stop at Møhlenpris (optionally, up the hill under the cultural history museum). At the top of the stairs is our Human Rights Square, next to the human rights organization the <a href="https://www.rafto.no/about-us/history">Rafto Foundation</a>. And now we get into what is now considered downtown Bergen, but even this area is a relatively new development, not being part of the original downtown area, but one of the first extensions of the city. We are now near the university, museums and where the rich first built modern (for that era) homes on this side of the city bay. The original botanical gardens are also here, currently in hibernation.<br />
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<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/AVvXsEgu52EN_Mbq7BxxFuIMCUSSwTodXAfYmpnNBeIvRHXoARreo80EfEGbOYuaM1R7IuMJmJaUcL22fEM0Sq-sWZTHdasjbEbXBz7BVCVR0j8CTSpBq1zU5ERbNnJOfNM5MawEo5y3/s1600/20181121_142732.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu52EN_Mbq7BxxFuIMCUSSwTodXAfYmpnNBeIvRHXoARreo80EfEGbOYuaM1R7IuMJmJaUcL22fEM0Sq-sWZTHdasjbEbXBz7BVCVR0j8CTSpBq1zU5ERbNnJOfNM5MawEo5y3/s640/20181121_142732.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="image-caption-wrapper" id="yui_3_17_2_1_1576937191369_947">
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Human Rights Square</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGz0rIVWPLUfBaabRbpgls7DiExMS3YXHsAxsmZ26pTsjno-TPZM-66q-wMRY9arzFzqOZPeZmJqJ4snyghZDua3o4tMRkPL8TatscCwqaxFonqLUCxejOwbGrVN2H8NKytHt1/s1600/2018-11-21-14.32.18-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGz0rIVWPLUfBaabRbpgls7DiExMS3YXHsAxsmZ26pTsjno-TPZM-66q-wMRY9arzFzqOZPeZmJqJ4snyghZDua3o4tMRkPL8TatscCwqaxFonqLUCxejOwbGrVN2H8NKytHt1/s640/2018-11-21-14.32.18-1.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
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Fish(less) pond; former fancy homes in background</div>
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<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/AVvXsEimxDCGYGdny0SXHzvlEmmFSrJUshKHpRnPEOLzy7aefsEY2Szh7qdPgKcIslR5efzWyyTMjhiZ_IABQCFaQ0dYkZU-CSzMpoUXdskqNRGKJZbrIWyEJ7Jwj_EL04OJKzmv9pcx/s1600/20181121_143105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxDCGYGdny0SXHzvlEmmFSrJUshKHpRnPEOLzy7aefsEY2Szh7qdPgKcIslR5efzWyyTMjhiZ_IABQCFaQ0dYkZU-CSzMpoUXdskqNRGKJZbrIWyEJ7Jwj_EL04OJKzmv9pcx/s640/20181121_143105.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="" data-pm-slice="1 1 []">
Our museum of natural history backs onto the gardens</div>
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<br />From here, the neighborhood consists of a lot of late 1800's buildings. Norway, and Bergen, were experiencing a population explosion, and were also trying to keep the number of city fires down, so larger, stucco buildings became the norm, then. Seen with today's eyes, the neighborhoods are still charming. Here are a few examples as I leave the university area:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0_O0wTc9K-zQdC4vumbvRtqTvWe_kpD7inTpgbwVwkFUrOCv16BaH03aJaA2Ct2mz1CuPE78Rr2H8PHxvuXlVo-zioWN3asl8ZY4OEhRg2EhkNP9AamcJPyTxRb-x3Du_oJG/s1600/2018-11-21+14.39.24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_0_O0wTc9K-zQdC4vumbvRtqTvWe_kpD7inTpgbwVwkFUrOCv16BaH03aJaA2Ct2mz1CuPE78Rr2H8PHxvuXlVo-zioWN3asl8ZY4OEhRg2EhkNP9AamcJPyTxRb-x3Du_oJG/s640/2018-11-21+14.39.24.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="" data-pm-slice="1 1 []">
Sydneshaugen (South Point Hill)</div>
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<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/AVvXsEjftn-3Gh9epM-eoiojG8f1qTUjLOQpwmMOu-ra3Y509j3dsxiqSehxj9mXgdDeLnevL8Y7VWopteligK_X3CanAnHugrRj3RCC93Ds46OT_ibCh_Ba5PP3ogAx6HRTMys3iqTs/s1600/2018-11-21-14.42.23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjftn-3Gh9epM-eoiojG8f1qTUjLOQpwmMOu-ra3Y509j3dsxiqSehxj9mXgdDeLnevL8Y7VWopteligK_X3CanAnHugrRj3RCC93Ds46OT_ibCh_Ba5PP3ogAx6HRTMys3iqTs/s640/2018-11-21-14.42.23.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="" data-pm-slice="1 1 []">
Roadworks and streetcar tracks</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgKgC_lE4MgMMUq8T0CqLu6rbm-zUduftzRyhrpt8d86CGXuTIenk2uCRt-smrAwT9EJ3MSFv-Ok-fFjy4mqSxc8Rv1cgHC0CGfXVhBZlCzUd5byF4xBIRYbS_F6IrIn8BO6vV/s1600/2018-11-21-14.43.23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgKgC_lE4MgMMUq8T0CqLu6rbm-zUduftzRyhrpt8d86CGXuTIenk2uCRt-smrAwT9EJ3MSFv-Ok-fFjy4mqSxc8Rv1cgHC0CGfXVhBZlCzUd5byF4xBIRYbS_F6IrIn8BO6vV/s640/2018-11-21-14.43.23.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="" data-pm-slice="1 1 []">
It isn’t just dogs that use lampposts for messages</div>
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<br />And then we get back down into one of the older parts of town again. The neighborhood between the university and back towards Puddefjorden is called Sydnes (South Point). This is one neighborhood that still has the charming jumble of small wooden houses and cobblestoned streets that Bergen is known for.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3pP8yW8lm6mJ_oQy_AX00rslPTxGbHeeIdp7-WZ2fVjnStTBIlSq1lpj9-vMjUkT0k_bOr-deUehGdvSLS_HA6c_KbQWnXRS4VLfeHSlPnf27dV2LeI6uMzn9XlzlTTfoBbJC/s1600/2018-11-21-14.47.46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3pP8yW8lm6mJ_oQy_AX00rslPTxGbHeeIdp7-WZ2fVjnStTBIlSq1lpj9-vMjUkT0k_bOr-deUehGdvSLS_HA6c_KbQWnXRS4VLfeHSlPnf27dV2LeI6uMzn9XlzlTTfoBbJC/s640/2018-11-21-14.47.46.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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Sydnes neighborhood</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzBwmhutab__sX96-9cewCTiPq3CRKD6gnoXzWNqpAesrhQkMurJjqjoc9-uBXAu_UVQvnoke8-0Q7IAgUaWEvpjJYX4s5pXv42qDIwp7YgnL4J08iZzkEr7QaumYJQXEpG09/s1600/Walk-map-2019-11-21.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="708" data-original-width="575" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzBwmhutab__sX96-9cewCTiPq3CRKD6gnoXzWNqpAesrhQkMurJjqjoc9-uBXAu_UVQvnoke8-0Q7IAgUaWEvpjJYX4s5pXv42qDIwp7YgnL4J08iZzkEr7QaumYJQXEpG09/s640/Walk-map-2019-11-21.png" width="518" /></a></td></tr>
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A map of my walk - sort of. Tunnels confuse teh Google. :-)</div>
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-39383327417402816042019-01-15T14:29:00.000+01:002019-12-21T15:03:38.616+01:0090, if you wantA friend commented on another blog post of mine about how we're told that loneliness shortens a life span like a smoking habit does. Her married parents are now within waving distance of 90; she doubts she'll get to that age.<br />
<br />I have a theory, or maybe it's just a good ol' opinion about longevity and it's this: People live a long life because they want to.<br />
<br />I know where my friend's coming from. I have thought the same: That making it to 90 (or even 80) just might not be in the cards for a single, childless woman who has nothing but seated hobbies like knitting, watching TV, surfing the 'net, blogging…<br />
<br />I grew up with "The Greatest Generation", the people who practically starved to death during the Great Depression, then went through a world war (and maybe starved then, too) and still made it into their 90's before giving up this earthbound life.<br />
<br />So the researchers think they lived long because they ate little. Underfeeding yourself makes your metabolism slow down which makes you live longer (is the theory I've read). I have, however, also read the opposite: That people with a hearty appetite for food also have a hearty appetite for life. And we do know that for both people and animals, going off your feed is not a good sign.<br />
<br />Here's the thing: The folks I grew up with, my "Greatest Generation" grandparents (or maybe they're the generation before), made it well past 90 before deciding to leaqve this earth. Grandpa was torpedoed and divorced during the war—and subsequently estranged from his son ; Grandma has been widowed twice and never got along with her own mother. They've moved countries, getting stuck with a kid in their retirement that they weren't planning on. Both had a past as smokers. Grandma was always overweight and hypertensive. Big stressors. They went through a lot of unhealthy shit and still they made it past 90.<br />
<br />Yes, they were married. They had each other and they got along, and they both had a positive, friendly disposition. They had both stopped smoking decades earlier, and I guess having me around in their old age was also a positive. <br />
<br />These are my two data points. Still, the question is: With everything going on, why live into your 90's? Why did my grandparents?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing says "I've been here a while" like a moss veneer</td></tr>
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For Grandpa, the end started when the war came back to him. Psychosis brought on by PTSD robbed him of the last of his strength and he spent his last months in a nursing home. He was hard of hearing, had cataracts and was basically hard to communicate with but also restless. He calmed down when Grandma and I visited and just talked like we always did. Us gals yapping, Grandpa just listening—the way it had always been.<br /><br />He didn't die until I gave him permission to. I didn't know that's what I was doing at the time. Same thing with Grandma. She didn't die until she knew I would be OK without her.<br /><br />With Grandpa, it was a Sunday visit, him oblivious to Grandma's and my presence. Knowing he would never come home again, I started talking, telling him that bringing me to a foreign country, away from my parents, was OK. It turned out well. I wasn't angry; I was grateful. The deaf man turned his head towards me as I was speaking, his cataract-covered eyes looked clear and focused and he was: Focused on me, on what I was saying, alert. And I am damned sure he heard every word I said. Two days later the nursing home called and said he'd died. <br /><br />He needed closure. Then he could go.<br /><br />Grandma was 9 years younger than Grandpa and we got to enjoy another 11 years of talking about everything and anything before it was her turn. With her it was the body that gave out first. A lot of sitting probably gave her more pain than necessary. It was frustrating for me with her in the nursing home; I handled being the adult and having to be responsible for both of us rather badly (sorry, Grandma). Bless her, she always stayed patient with me. Our last conversation ended with me telling her I had as much in my savings account as she had in hers. "You do?" she said. Later than evening she had a stroke that put her in a coma and she died within a week.<br /><br />She was always after me to save, always worried about my finances (she had worried about her daughter the same way, so I guess it was habit). Knowing I'd got the message and was doing fine let her know she didn't have to stay around any more, so she left. Keep in mind, this was a woman who would wonder why she'd lived so long. What for? Now you know.<br /><br />So if people actually choose when to leave this earth, what is all the advice regarding longevity about?<br /><br />It's actually about 1) pain avoidance and 2) purpose. Taking care of the body through regular movement and eating well helps mitigate problems with aging or illness. Having meaningful relationships and hobbies gives one purpose. <br /><br />It's like making sure your aging car is well-maintained; it won't break down as often if it is. Also, a car needs to be used regularly so the battery doesn't go flat and the oil doesn't turn to sludge. That analogy of regular use also applies to human minds and bodies.<br /><br />Here's the thing, though: We can't all do all the things researchers think will make us live longer. If you want to live a long and happy life, do it your own way. I mean, if you hate exercise, exercising will just be another life-shortening stressor in your life, especially if skipping it makes you feel guilty. Likewise with anything mental. Creating stress and guilt in ourselves defeats the purpose. Find something that lets you move that works for you. And for your mind, same thing. Find something that sparks your own creativity, something that makes the hours fly by. And if it's done sitting, so what. Peace of mind and joy far outweigh sitting.<br /><br />Speaking of peace of mind, my adventures with Norwegian sick leave, therapy and having a depression have taught me a few things about myself. I thought I was strong and positive about myself, but whadya know: I too have a skeleton in a closet. I made the closet; I put the skeleton there. It's named Guilt and it has very strong bones. (Obligatory Astrology: This whole blog post is nothing but Saturn/Capricorn stuff.)<br /><br />So the new lesson I'm learning is how to be gentle with myself, how to have a healthy perspective on who I am and what I am capable of. Also: Practicing forgiveness. Forgiving myself, and forgiving others (mostly myself, these days). The healthiest thing I have found I can do for myself is to be my own best friend, to accept and love myself.<br /><br />
We have to make our own rules for living. Knowing how to make ourselves happy has huge value. Who wants to be ancient but miserable? Find your peace of mind and your joy, and enjoy for as long as you <i>want</i>.<br />
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Longevity: My maternal grandmother when she was 93. <br />Those are her painting on the wall. Art was one of her joys. <br />I try to be like her.</div>
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#astrology: Transitting Mercury (writing) in Capricorn (old age) is right on my natal Saturn (long-term stuff) today. Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-46358734486858005672018-11-30T14:21:00.000+01:002019-12-21T14:27:46.676+01:00Golden<div class="sqs-block html-block sqs-block-html" data-block-type="2" id="block-562296b4ac5e458c72eb">
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If you follow me on Instagram, you will recognize some of these photos. Leaving the good stuff only to IG isn't fair to my blog only readers, so here you go!</div>
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First up is from earlier this fall, in the neighborhood of our university, at Øysteins gate. I think Øystein was a king. We have a bunch of king names in this neighborhood, like Sigurd and Sverre and Magnus Barfot (Magnus Barefoot; apparently, he wore shorts). </div>
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Next is from two months later, i.e. last night. Another street named for a king: Olav Kyrre, who was the founder of Bergen, Norway, in 1070. The street now is a main transit hub in town. (Weirdly, our bus station isn't.) I was waiting for my bus after my annual lutefisk dinner. (It was delicious.) I need to go back because the Christmas lights in the city park (Byparken) are new this year.</div>
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And finally, one of those rare moments when everything just comes
together. Right place, right time kind of thing. Last week, we were
covered in frost, and everything was coated in glittering, white fuzz. A
low, warm sun added perfect light to a corner of my local pond,
Ortuvann, transforming ordinary into magical.</div>
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You may be thinking the above was taken late in the day, but it's date-stamped with a time of 12:54. Nearly high noon and yet shadows are very long. Such is winter at 60 degrees north.</div>
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-59657678742469014422018-11-21T14:19:00.000+01:002019-12-21T14:28:46.827+01:00Lisa's Eleven<span style="font-weight: normal;">A little musing and sharing via eleven questions thought up by <a href="https://allaboutlife.blog/2018/11/20/sunshine-blogger-award-2/">Lisa</a> and found via <a href="http://static1.squarespace.com/static/5c570a9e8155122023f54d2c/5c5f51bb3bb0537c9a0151a4/5c5f52263bb0537c9a01614d/1549750822156/?format=original">Paula</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">1) Socks? Love them or hate them? </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Handknitted socks a co-worker made for Secret Santa. <br />And I won them! They keep my feet toasty in rubber boots.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">— I have cold feet. Socks, please, and they have to cover my ankles. I've chosen to get different patterns and stuff, inspired by a co-worker wearing a pair of bright orange ones. That's when I realized that colorful socks are important. IMPORTANT. Nobody ever sees mine since I wear bootlets at work.</span><br />
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2) Is there a God?<br />
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— Paula starts off with "I wonder why peeps are so obsessed with this question." Since I have constantly asked myself this question, I don't find the obsession weird. <br />
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The answer is yes, by the way. <br />
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The real question is: What is God?<br />
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3) Is a pizza a pizza without cheese?<br />
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I like Paula's answer (must have cheese!), but since pizza is one of those incredibly flexible dishes, it can also lack cheese. I mean, I still remember how upset I was when Mexican pizza became a thing (blasphemy!!!) but they do taste good so I gave up caring.<br />
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4) What’s your favorite book and why?<br />
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For the longest time my favorite was "Illusions" by Richard Bach. I've outgrown it now, but I still have two copies. Favorite book does not equal most used, however. In that category I could put my ephemeris because of my astrology interest and Louise Hay's "You Can Heal Your Life" because of the affirmations for everything that ails a body. If I have to bring just one book to a deserted island, it'll be an illustrated, unabridged encyclopedia.<br />
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5) Do aliens exist or are we floating around in space all alone?<br />
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Both. Maybe we're the Mt. Everest of the universe and only the most daring make it for a visit. That's why it looks empty in this neighborhood.<br />
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6) Do you still have the teddy you slept with as a child?<br />
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I never had a teddy bear. Don't actually like them. Anything with eyes tended to bother me as a kid and still does. The only stuffed animal I remember having was a yellowish snake I named Oscar. I don't have Oscar any more (moving countries tends to leave stuff behind) but I actually still kind of miss him. I didn't sleep with the snake or any other stuffed toys at all. I had a (real) calico cat who would fall asleep under my chin and move to the foot of the bed after I'd fallen asleep.<br />
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7) Brussel sprouts? Yes or no?<br />
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Fresh ones, gently boiled, are actually almost sweet in taste, so yes to that!<br />
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8) Christmas? Do you love it or hate it?<br />
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I'm not Christmassy in that my home turns into Santa's workshop, but I love the lights because it gets dark early where I live so anything cheering is a plus. It's also the only time of year I turn into a romantic, indulging and overindulging in sappy movies with happy endings and a bit (or a lot) of Santa magic. In Norway, we get a bit of time off so people are pretty chill between Christmas and New Year which is nice after the hectic preparations before Christmas. And the solstice means the days have stopped getting shorter! Whee!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas tree at Håkonshallen with the Norwegian tradition of white lights only</td></tr>
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9) What’s sexier – a beaming smile or thigh high boots?<br />
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Both are sexy, but I'd only stay for the smile.<br />
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10) If you were stuck with one view for the rest of your life, what would it be?<br />
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Either the smile from question 9 or nature. I have to have a tree or something that attracts birds. Ideally also a mountain or body of water. Actually, I want to see the sky, to see sunsets.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Autumn also has frosting</td></tr>
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11) Which do you prefer? Spring or Autumn?<br />
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Autumn. The stars come back (because the nights get darker), the air gets crisp, and I get to wear sweaters again! Spring in Norway is just stressful for me: Too many people outside doing things that stink (painting houses, barbecuing).<br />
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-34822229080961253672018-11-13T13:46:00.000+01:002019-11-03T13:53:26.221+01:00ExpectingIn my ongoing journey to figure myself and life and all that stuff out, I’m now trying to learn about non-attachment. Attachment = expectation. In “The Shack”, they suggest you ditch the noun and go for the verb: Expecting. That is making more and more sense to me. Expectation sets you up for failure; expecting opens you up.<br />
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I have noticed lately that unopened messages produce their own kind of stress in me. I have been feeling overwhelmed so am back on 50% sick leave (had tried to reduce to 30%). It just doesn't take much to get me worked up, and it doesn't feel like excitement or anticipation. It feels like dread. So not good.<br />
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The thing is, it's just the mind playing tricks. Because every single message or email I opened was harmless. Utterly harmless. Nothing overwhelming or negative or difficult. Just a message.<br />
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There are a variety of techniques for dealing with stuff, some physical (like taking deep breaths), some more mental (like saying you're safe as long as you're breathing). I have been trying to meditate, unguided, silent, blank. And of course my mind wants to fill the space. That's what minds do. So I have to gently shove the thoughts aside but the process itself has led to some discoveries.<br />
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Like when Taylor Swift's "Blank Space" shows up because I said to myself I want to focus on a blank space. I said to my mind I'd share that later. And that wording gave listening to music a whole new level. It made a two-way street. "I'll listen later" is one-way. All about me, the listener, and the music is just an object. But "I'll share later" seems to acknowledges the original effort of the musicians. They aren't next to me now, but "sharing" creates a more active form of listening; the music becomes a bridge. This could, of course, just be wordplay, but I like it.<br />
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Anyway, back to messages. The Universe has been deliberately setting me up, to force me to learn to think differently.<br />
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My 50% sick leave started with 3 days of 100% (that overwhelmed thing). I texted my team leader at work twice on Friday: Once to tell her I was off sick, and later to tell her I would be back at 50% and what schedule would work for her? I got no reply on Friday and the back of my mind was sure I'd pissed her off in some way.<br />
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Sunday I was set meet a friend for coffee, a most reliable friend. If he says he's picking me up at 1 pm, he's picking me up at 1 pm. He usually texts me to let me know he's in the parking lot. But I got no text, and immediately entertained the idea that he had driven off the road and was dead somewhere. After telling myself I'd survive losing him and I was also being utterly ridiculous, I texted "Did we have a date at 1?" and waited for a message back that didn't come.<br />
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That's when I noticed that my birdfeeder had … a pair of blue tits! So far it's been mostly sparrows and one timid great tit (a young one so that's why; he hasn't learned yet). Blue tits! Cool!<br />
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My phone rang. My friend wondering why I wasn't meeting him in the parking lot. I hadn't got a text, I said, but I'm on my way. That was 1:04 pm.<br />
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Later on Sunday, I got my missing texts. The delayed text from my friend let me see the birds. Texts sent Friday from my team leader also showed up. All was well.<br />
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I just really need to stop assuming the worst. Or assuming at all.<br />
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<br />A tit is what the bird is called in Europe. The North American cousin is called a chickadee. But saying great tit is great fun, ain't it. ;-)<br /><br />Also, here's a video that explains fractals the way I wanted to explain it in my last post. :-)<br />
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<br />Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-12088183687683680232018-11-07T11:20:00.000+01:002019-11-03T11:43:05.969+01:00At the root: Fractals<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Once physical disease is ruled out, it is time to consider the root cause of most mental depression: a lack of love and connection in life (not a lack of serotonin).</span></blockquote>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVmqAqn1qyNllvI-t7X1WgrwYQ5cvPIlz9DxrToGwtDYPAsICiGqDr55tR2RfT_30rgcwrmCtN79PF1UzL0nNYodFa4lrHtrhK2obh3vYrSEHvUyt2ZRMbDZafnJ-TjpsOD7Jc/s1600/512px-Fractal_Broccoli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="512" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVmqAqn1qyNllvI-t7X1WgrwYQ5cvPIlz9DxrToGwtDYPAsICiGqDr55tR2RfT_30rgcwrmCtN79PF1UzL0nNYodFa4lrHtrhK2obh3vYrSEHvUyt2ZRMbDZafnJ-TjpsOD7Jc/s640/512px-Fractal_Broccoli.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: Wikipedia Commons</td></tr>
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Via <a href="http://static1.squarespace.com/static/5c570a9e8155122023f54d2c/5c5f51bb3bb0537c9a0151a4/5c5f52263bb0537c9a01614b/1549750822132/?format=original">Paula's blog</a> comes the idea of grabbing some book, going to page 62 and line 6 on that page to use for a blog post. I opened Kindle to the last book I'd been reading (Graves MD, Harrison. <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Mantra-Meditation-Alternative-Treatment-Depression-ebook/dp/B015DCHEVC/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1541604130&sr=8-1">Mantra Meditation: An Alternative Treatment For Anxiety And Depression</a> (pp. 62-63). Novus Energia. Kindle Edition) and Kindle being what it is, I chose what it claimed was page 62 and what was the sixth paragraph (or line shift, if you will) because the sixth line was a header. My sixth paragraph is the quote above.<br />
<br />The quote also echos another book I'm reading: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Shack-William-P-Young-ebook/dp/B002S0KB5Y/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1541604313&sr=8-1">The Shack</a>. I saw a quote paraphrased from it on Facebook: "Why am I here?" "Because this is where you got stuck." That resonated with me, so I decided to reread the book.<br />
<br />I'm stuck, you see. Stuck somewhere in the past. Stuck with habits that served me in the past but aren't serving me now. I'm trying to get myself unstuck.<br />
<br />That right there, though, is part of my problem, my challenge: I am trying to get myself unstuck. Me, by myself. Just like the protagonist in "The Shack", I haven't been willing to just trust in the Divine, to devote myself to that trust.<br />
<br />I'm not in a good place right now, so today I called in sick and stayed home and read. So many good lines in this book, but the one that suddenly had me bawling was the description of the protagonist's soul: A messy but beautiful garden, rich in layers and details:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">[T]his garden is your soul. This mess is you! Together, you and I, we have been working with a purpose in your heart. And it is wild and beautiful and perfectly in process. To you it seems like a mess, but to me, I see a perfect pattern emerging and growing and alive— a living fractal.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Young, William P.. The Shack (p. 138). Hodder & Stoughton. Kindle Edition.)</span></blockquote>
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<br />Fractal. And the tears started. The whole paragraph made me cry, but the word "fractal" was the trigger.<br />
<br />You see, in all my attempts and trying to understand not only myself, but humanity, the planet, the universe, it seems to me that the best model to understand it all is fractals.<br />
<br />Fractals are a seemingly complex image but it is made out of many smaller images that look exactly like itself. If you keep zooming in on a fractal, you just see—the fractal. It doesn't change and it can go on forever. It's eternal and no matter where you, what viewpoint you have, you are seeing the fractal.<br />
<br />Where do patterns repeat? All over, in many ways. Some examples:<br />
<ul>
<li>We marry someone who is like that same-gendered parent, and we repeat our parents' marital pattern.</li>
<li>Stressors we experience as adults actually go back to our childhoods.</li>
<li>The model for an atom looks just like the model for our solar system.</li>
<li>Under a microscope, neurons and ganglia look like the roads of a metropolitan area.</li>
<li>Anything you need to learn and heal in this lifetime can be found in this lifetime; you don't need a past life regression.</li>
</ul>
Sure, you could call that macro and micro. For me, the fractal idea is a better visual description. It shows why the macro and the micro have so much in common.<br />
<br />The other thing about fractals, is the repetition. You <a href="http://sierra.nmsu.edu/morandi/CourseMaterials/JurassicParkFractal.html">keep repeating something simple</a> and you end with something complex, like the <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Fractal_Broccoli.jpg">broccoli</a> pictured above. Also, something about the growth, about it never wavering from its original pattern was what got to me in a good way while reading today. It's another way to have eternity.<br />
<br />Repetition shows up in another way, too: In all the help I have received, in all the friends I have who can relate, in all the messages abounding about how to approach the Divine, how to have a regular, spiritual practice and a regular, spiritual connection. This isn't my first time trying to figure stuff out, but I'm hoping it'll be the last time I'm in this much pain. (I admire those of you who have struggled with depression your whole lives and still keep going.)<br />
<br />Something has been growing, in spite of my efforts to ignore it. Some gardener has been tending to my soul, to that which is good and right with me, underneath the veneer of human life. It is time for me to join in the gardening.<br />
<br />Let me just finish the book first.<br />
Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-42271359985998824352018-10-18T11:09:00.000+02:002019-11-03T11:20:40.708+01:00HelpThe spring of 1969, I traveled across country with my grandma and grandpa. Just before leaving California, I had heard The Beatles song "Help!". The movie had been showing on TV one evening at my mother's. I liked the song and I remember singing it in Maine, where we'd stopped off at Grandma's son's place and I got to meet my cousins. Only days after that visit, we were on our way to Norway.<br />
<br />In trying to understand where my anxiety comes from, I've tried a number of different meditations (I've shopped <a href="https://hemi-sync.com/">here</a> a lot lately). In the latest one that I tried, I was to name my anxieties. I had only one: Helplessness.<br /><br />Moments from my childhood made me feel helpless. I fended for myself on Saturday mornings when my parents slept in. I didn't actually like that. (To this day, waking up to the sounds of voices or activity in the kitchen is hugely pleasing to me.) I would rather a grown-up helped me because I was a clumsy child.<br />
<br />Moments from an imagined old age make me worry about being helpless. Gave one knee a slight twist a good week ago and found myself unable to walk down hill. Well, I'm surrounded by hills! So now what??? And what about 20 years from now? Oh, no!<br /><br />
Quite the contrary: Over the years, many good people have stepped up to help me—a random positive comment here, a full package of therapy there and everything in between. And the timing is impeccable. Just as I wonder where to go next, an article shows up in my newsfeed, or a friend calls, or my doctor makes a brilliant suggestion.<br />
<br />I may have problems, but I have even more blessings. And most importantly: I am able to admit I need help and to ask for it. Just like in "Help!"<br /><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Speaking of needing help on hills: Cobblestones set an angle helped horses get a foothold up and down steep streets. From Sydneskleiven, Bergen, Norway</td></tr>
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<br />In the meditation I was guided to see my anxieties differently. First of all, they aren't linked to the here and now. My knee is fine again. And I most definitely am not helpless!<br />
<br />Quite the contrary: Over the years, many good people have stepped up to help me—a random positive comment here, a full package of therapy there and everything in between. And the timing is impeccable. Just as I wonder where to go next, an article shows up in my newsfeed, or a friend calls, or my doctor makes a brilliant suggestion.<br />
<br />I may have problems, but I have even more blessings. And most importantly: I am able to admit I need help and to ask for it. Just like in "Help!"<br />
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-26914597918876632452018-09-12T11:00:00.000+02:002019-11-03T11:09:31.497+01:0026 questionsI stole this from <a href="http://static1.squarespace.com/static/5c570a9e8155122023f54d2c/5c5f51bb3bb0537c9a0151a4/5c5f52263bb0537c9a016149/1549750822100/?format=original">Paula's 2 x 13 questions</a> (which had me thinking about one half of a deck of cards, and the fact that the Norwegian alphabet has 29 letters, but I digress). <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXIom8UR0Y0vAC8QCQUxJSutZClzUVXykA4vfrzLCeSSq02VXdCz49XxYoBNJXB4yhk0wHvpaS8NJtdesUuhW8T-ce9zC4NCB9-YjRgHdiFvtbwHxkCPRWS6qWk4V58KmJYdw/s1600/ProfilePic.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXIom8UR0Y0vAC8QCQUxJSutZClzUVXykA4vfrzLCeSSq02VXdCz49XxYoBNJXB4yhk0wHvpaS8NJtdesUuhW8T-ce9zC4NCB9-YjRgHdiFvtbwHxkCPRWS6qWk4V58KmJYdw/s200/ProfilePic.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Current profile pic from last year. Heh.</td></tr>
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1. Share your profile picture.<br />Shared.<br /><br />2. Who are you named after?<br />Nobody. My mom saw "Keera" in an obituary.<br /><br />
3. Do you like your handwriting?<br />Yes. But sometimes I can't read it.<br /><br />4. What’s your favorite lunch meat<br />Gudbrandsdalsost—Norwegian brown cheese.<br /><br />
5. Longest relationship?<br />That would be either my friend Ann in actual years or my friend Torleif in years in a row of regular contact. Or the parental units.<br /><br />6. Do you still have your tonsils?<br />Yes. The only thing I've had removed are my wisdom teeth.<br /><br />7. Would you bungee jump?<br />If I'm sitting in my own couch with VR goggles, sure.<br /><br />
8. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?<br />Always. I was taught that to not to would ruin the shoes. Wait, do I even still have shoes that tie?<br /><br />9. Favorite ice-cream?<br />My favorite used to be pistachio but I don't know any more. Everything tastes too sweet now.<br /><br />
10. What’s the first thing you notice about people?<br />I have no idea. Hair? Is it supposed to be the same thing every time?<br /><br />
11. Football or baseball?<br />If I have to choose, baseball. Then I won't root for the wrong team because I can't tell what they're doing.<br /><br />12. What color pants are you wearing?<br />Dark blue. Actually, denim blue. I'm wearing jeans.<br /><br />13. Last thing you ate?<br />Soft tortilla taco.<br /><br />14. If you were a crayon what color would you be?<br />Periwinkle!<br /><br />15. Favorite smell?<br />Roses.<br /><br />16. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone?<br />Hah! I've actually spoken to someone on the phone this year so I can answer this: Receptionist at the doctor's office. (Text me.)<br /><br />17. Hair color?<br />Ash brown with a few strands of silver. See profile picture above.<br /><br />18. Eye color?<br />They look blue on the profile picture above so my passport is correct. But up close they are actually dark gray-blue irises shot through with white and with a bit of central heterochromia.<br /><br />19. Favorite food to eat?<br />Having discovered buckwheat pasta, I'm back to a childhood favorite: Spaghetti.<br /><br />20. Scary movies or happy endings?<br />Scary movie with a happy ending. I don't watch movies to think. That's what books are for.<br /><br />21. Last movie you watched?<br />"Star Trek III: The Search for Spock". I'm rewatching all the Star Trek movies these days.<br /><br />22. Favorite holiday?<br />I used to love them all. Now I can hardly be bothered. I think maybe Advent/Christmas because the lights come up during the darkest, wettest, grayest part of the year.<br /><br />23 Beer or wine?<br />Gin & tonic.<br /><br />24. Favorite day of the week?<br />Friday. Happy mood at work, the whole weekend ahead, something good on TV, maybe even something good for dinner.<br /><br />25. Three (or four) favorite bloggers you want to learn more about?<br />Uhm… Er… How about you make a suggestion or three (or four)? :-)<br /><br />26. Added info you didn’t know you wanted.<br />Q: Pluto: Planet or planetoid?<br /> A: PLANET! It was never demoted in my mind.<br />
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-11767087805429199562018-09-10T10:42:00.000+02:002019-11-03T10:57:20.001+01:00Fjord flashbackHere's a blast from the past (September 13 2008). I love the play of shadows and the blue reflecting in the water.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere-north-of-here fjord</td></tr>
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I actually did not recognize where the above was until I looked at some of the other photos from the same day: This was from an overnight trip with my then-department. We went to Flåm and Nærøyfjord. The latter is on the UNESCO World Heritage list. The former is the destination for the "Norway in a Nutshell" trip that combines bus, train and bus—not necessarily in that order. The photo above is as we sailed out the Aurlandsfjord from Flåm.<br /><br />Below the highway headed to Aurland, decoration made out of rocks and plants mimic Viking hieroglyphs. Or maybe it's just modern art deer. <div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where the deer <strike>and the antelope</strike> play?</td></tr>
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Nærøyfjord has tall mountains on either side, and in the winter only the midday sun manages to shed any light there. The rest of the time it is in deep shadow. In September the sun was making its way down one side.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love how the shadows create a second row of mountain tops</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entering Nærøyfjord. Such drama. Such contrast.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3s-Z2CHAJ-J1MaktmVybZGs3JTI3QBgSnlIwF1wFGLeZA-q-_5xj1XKWBTKWXbhPk6uvsxfStxEHgFRg2FzZEYvEqqTNGhOzGUcZbVNj21pC6Mbx1VWpnhksSwVyizXN3YBvo/s1600/Naeroyfjord-reflection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1201" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3s-Z2CHAJ-J1MaktmVybZGs3JTI3QBgSnlIwF1wFGLeZA-q-_5xj1XKWBTKWXbhPk6uvsxfStxEHgFRg2FzZEYvEqqTNGhOzGUcZbVNj21pC6Mbx1VWpnhksSwVyizXN3YBvo/s640/Naeroyfjord-reflection.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A more classic view from Nærøyfjord (pronounced NAIR-oy-fyord)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6xnxubBNWJzRdJT7UjgSdEb7C-jCtZNlehyKJRGruAQfK1plLT3RHmogjHh-Ehelr9B6tKPdi0yZ69c8AzvSypEZfpnCTpcPSSh5XmkcUyrVO5xjnNy2gLBYqWsLcwet9FSse/s1600/Company-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6xnxubBNWJzRdJT7UjgSdEb7C-jCtZNlehyKJRGruAQfK1plLT3RHmogjHh-Ehelr9B6tKPdi0yZ69c8AzvSypEZfpnCTpcPSSh5XmkcUyrVO5xjnNy2gLBYqWsLcwet9FSse/s640/Company-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, hey, we've got company!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzaUZM0x7C50UjvIVXCT9OxcbAVEiE7Ovyr_wYuAeY4PaqFEzp59eMD_O4GFcKbrm-F83k9y3KZU612aZQR_dgD1MpXC1K-YOa5Qb5R4AITOTYZAtQRff17nkRLWT-tQeIJEE/s1600/Gudvangen-next.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzaUZM0x7C50UjvIVXCT9OxcbAVEiE7Ovyr_wYuAeY4PaqFEzp59eMD_O4GFcKbrm-F83k9y3KZU612aZQR_dgD1MpXC1K-YOa5Qb5R4AITOTYZAtQRff17nkRLWT-tQeIJEE/s640/Gudvangen-next.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a reason why tourists love this fjord. So do I!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXwFlcIN7F1fIh9vYTceRTh4u2ryPdri7tHMP_pHwVe_P8pNUnxNJ1UELhwo6FMIBbw9ptWmMOI4yN6Rl7e9cZnz3lNe8GV47S8z1yNoGE7-ocvTwQbUFsMK0metA13Fn3Qv6z/s1600/From-Naeroyfjord.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXwFlcIN7F1fIh9vYTceRTh4u2ryPdri7tHMP_pHwVe_P8pNUnxNJ1UELhwo6FMIBbw9ptWmMOI4yN6Rl7e9cZnz3lNe8GV47S8z1yNoGE7-ocvTwQbUFsMK0metA13Fn3Qv6z/s640/From-Naeroyfjord.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking behind us in Nærøyfjord</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #424242; font-family: proxima-nova; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #424242; font-family: proxima-nova; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I</span>n the old days (like, when I was a kid and a good while after), ferry service connected Gudvangen with Flåm. Then two longish tunnels gave the two towns a land connection. Norway is riddled with tunnels because it's way harder to build a road on the outside of the mountains than to burrow through.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkbdleGZjNraNO6I-DTg3q507DUX6Mx0AHm99frLVxAGl3EzSvH-PQutjQQ27WU73Le0iQ0EHZLehgT5gyHdCEo5JSqQ9aX0HFF3z4yR2s5UqIZXV_SJy-cbmadVwON2GZ7M5x/s1600/Main-drag-Gudvangen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkbdleGZjNraNO6I-DTg3q507DUX6Mx0AHm99frLVxAGl3EzSvH-PQutjQQ27WU73Le0iQ0EHZLehgT5gyHdCEo5JSqQ9aX0HFF3z4yR2s5UqIZXV_SJy-cbmadVwON2GZ7M5x/s640/Main-drag-Gudvangen.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Main street, Gudvangen. Gudvangen and Flåm both live off tourism.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHXCAZvGbeSQbdrYAIGLrPttvW4x1-dh4D6i8wVhmNIcSFV4FrlkEL4B8oKpIwoadLlR_3VOqCWY8mFIRvwaG1-tl12IXD6XFisSXs403cOcReCTG0bmJMFmtz8IgZ6sKLgxze/s1600/Obligatory-waterfall-pic-Gudvangen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHXCAZvGbeSQbdrYAIGLrPttvW4x1-dh4D6i8wVhmNIcSFV4FrlkEL4B8oKpIwoadLlR_3VOqCWY8mFIRvwaG1-tl12IXD6XFisSXs403cOcReCTG0bmJMFmtz8IgZ6sKLgxze/s640/Obligatory-waterfall-pic-Gudvangen.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obligatory waterfall picture</td></tr>
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<br />Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-49911120173928960602018-09-04T10:37:00.000+02:002019-11-03T10:41:34.683+01:00A tale about teethNorway has been good to me, dentally. My grandpa was also good to me. Orthodontics are subsidized but still cost out of pocket. So the year I had no cavities I started wearing a retainer.<br />
<br />One thing Norwegian children have been through together, is the school dentist. In my part of Norway, the school dentist got the nickname "pinaren", which translates to "the tormentor". An awful lot of kids ended up afraid of the dentist.<br />
<br />Somehow or other, I didn't. I got my first filling at age 8 while I was still living in California. They filled my mouth with all kinds of weird things there; I remember a ring-like device jammed in to keep my mouth open and some sort of small rubber sheet jammed in there, too, in addition to the usual suction device and tampon. In Norway, it's just suction and a tampon.<br />
<br />When I was 12, the school dentist looked me over, then called my grandpa in. Grandpa had been waiting in the hall. Seriously, the dentist told me grandma that I had no cavities. I teared up in joy and relief and knowing I had no cavities but why the serious tone? That's when the dentist suggested is was time to take care of my serious overbite and crooked front teeth. So Grandpa ended up taking me to the orthodontist's.<br />
<br />Back then, there was one place in town and one orthodontist "all" the kids went to. A friendly bearded, guy who made me a retainer, a big pink thing molded on both my lower and upper teeth. I was clueless so I wore it during the day. Didn't realize it was to be worn at night until some graceless adult said it was nice something shut me up. (That's when I realized it was to be worn at night, duh. And that some grown-ups aren't really grown up.) I had nevertheless managed to wear it enough to make a difference. After two years of that, a weak, my receding chin was strong and properly positioned. I got another small, light retainer to wear to straighten out my upper front teeth and close the gap between them.<br />
<br />Kind of weird to think back and realize my look since age 15 wasn't the one nature gave me. But yeah, sometimes when I look in the mirror, I send Grandpa (and the school dentist) a bit of thanks.<br />
<br />Orthodontics for children is subsidized and so is mandatory oral surgery. The one wisdom tooth that had to be removed with a scalpel I ended up paying only half price for; the social security office refunded me the rest.<br />
<br />Today I got my teeth X-rayed, checked and cleaned. In Norway, the dentist does all that. Not like the US, where a dental hygienist does all the advising and cleaning and flossing, and then you see the actual dentist for 5 minutes in case of cavities.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEBtiKF4S6OsCodXqCSwNYhszb9TS2m7JeVPv1ZO7bVaQscaG1COYODI-xq4QBD69t7A9GRyIDDln5ztNAQBfrqZBEMyjUu6cuJe2BgTNwzw6_80bgq07dw8Fr5nkZgTV5NX_/s1600/2018-09-04-13.45.55.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieEBtiKF4S6OsCodXqCSwNYhszb9TS2m7JeVPv1ZO7bVaQscaG1COYODI-xq4QBD69t7A9GRyIDDln5ztNAQBfrqZBEMyjUu6cuJe2BgTNwzw6_80bgq07dw8Fr5nkZgTV5NX_/s640/2018-09-04-13.45.55.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The art in my dentist's waiting room:<br />Monkey? Child? Clown?<br />At least it's not scary</td></tr>
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<br />My current dentist has a surprisingly light touch. He pokes and prods and scrapes and I hardly feel it. This time around, he seemed to be even gentler than ever. I wonder if it's because I was saying to myself "Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Om" (I'm trying out some things). At any rate, the annual check revealed no issues, no cracks or holes in either teeth or aging fillings, and a price hike from last year.<br />
<br />Dentists in Norway are not subsidized like doctors. My GP works for the city and is part of the universal health care system. I saw him today, too, and paid NOK 155. My dentist, who runs a private practice, as most do, charged me NOK 1150 (includes the pretty pictures of my teeth). It's cheap insurance, really, to keep my choppers chomping (why aren't they called "chompers"?).<br />
<br />I don't remember the clown painting from last year. I also don't remember the drawing of a sleeping cat on the wall opposite the dentist chair, a perfectly round circle with triangular ears poking out of it. The cat, not the chair. But I like that there's a picture of a cat on the wall. I like cats. And sleeping cats have always meant that all is right with the world. Today, at the dentist's, it did feel that way.Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5750259.post-85664242791559010302018-09-03T10:28:00.000+02:002019-11-03T10:37:38.399+01:00// marks the spotI have seen the plans for the <a href="http://static1.squarespace.com/static/5c570a9e8155122023f54d2c/5c5f51bb3bb0537c9a0151a4/5c5f52253bb0537c9a016147/1549750821996/post.php?format=original">light rail station</a> coming to my bit of the 'burbs. I know that the footbridge I have crossed to and from work since 1986 will become history and I'll get a new bridge about 50 meters to the west. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueAYjZaUnYDmW5V52bsv4DoW2HqJsrs2Y-PqqBYacqOAACm9UJghFU3gJZVR4ePbbbBVocPpx4tw2Jd92s5HKmBU_ji5eZqYbvkdb9S2E8wiBJKIl5DT7ThByt3IuKsQNpqqx/s1600/2018-08-22-08.57.02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueAYjZaUnYDmW5V52bsv4DoW2HqJsrs2Y-PqqBYacqOAACm9UJghFU3gJZVR4ePbbbBVocPpx4tw2Jd92s5HKmBU_ji5eZqYbvkdb9S2E8wiBJKIl5DT7ThByt3IuKsQNpqqx/s640/2018-08-22-08.57.02.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"My" footbridge as seen on the way home</td></tr>
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<br />It may happen sooner rather than later. At some point, the slope this bridge connects me to, where the trees are, is going to be dug into and reshaped. A new path to a new bridge will appear, forever changing my walk to work.<br />
<br />It may happen sooner than I realize. Barely two weeks ago, I noticed neon streaks on the pavement. I'd seen them before and knew the construction crew had left them. Today I saw why:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcJVmG5d6sV-3l3-tNwS2lcFYSEROPRyYdSb_rcgDquPZ8x78nOMZg_E_em23jAaNs8dimZxQe9rimk1arCjAIQADxvx2uF26VNvv6C4dVRod1bJDHpLg1HMWy7rhXEP5G7aJ/s1600/2018-09-03-16.19.24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcJVmG5d6sV-3l3-tNwS2lcFYSEROPRyYdSb_rcgDquPZ8x78nOMZg_E_em23jAaNs8dimZxQe9rimk1arCjAIQADxvx2uF26VNvv6C4dVRod1bJDHpLg1HMWy7rhXEP5G7aJ/s640/2018-09-03-16.19.24.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aha! A hole!</td></tr>
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<br />They're still moving pipes and stuff around underground.<br />But I see more paint streaks. I wonder how much longer I'll get to enjoy the sight of this tree:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiND3ldw8oU-faRO-Ur1qbwkvdYvYAjeXLe8ywOzm5AX9i1psbB13c5fDA_Tvr7ZEUAXWrj32zQeZ6U3eTJV8e4zlmeDI1DlS5WGw1sWOGwyv41J14sZ2_PgbGx8Q4HZLI6dEna/s1600/2018-09-03-16.21.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiND3ldw8oU-faRO-Ur1qbwkvdYvYAjeXLe8ywOzm5AX9i1psbB13c5fDA_Tvr7ZEUAXWrj32zQeZ6U3eTJV8e4zlmeDI1DlS5WGw1sWOGwyv41J14sZ2_PgbGx8Q4HZLI6dEna/s640/2018-09-03-16.21.12.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More digging to come!</td></tr>
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Keera Ann Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07466103379725251225noreply@blogger.com0