I am afraid.
Afraid of what you might see.
My eyes.
My thoughts.
My dreams.
My heart.
My soul.
Everything that makes me who I am.
My feelings.
My emotions.
The truth of my own reality.
The reality that I am scared.
Every second.
Every minute.
Every hour.
Every day.
Scared of not being perfect.
Scared of looking stupid.
Scared of being in the way.
Scared of getting comfortable.
Getting comfortable means stability,
Stability means forever.
I dread forever.
So, I am ready,
to move on,
to continue my journey,
To continue my life….
I AM READY!
Mary Pat uses her gift of poetry in hopes to help others find their own special gifts. http://www.reflectingrace.com
Lladro figurines are made in the City of Porcelain, in the town of Almaserra, Spain. Three Lladro brothers started this business in 1953 in the courtyard of the family home. Today they employ more than 2000 people and Lladro figurines are sold all over the world. Earth, color and fire are the three main elements in the creation of each of the Lladro figurines as they are hand sculpted to perfection.
Lladro figurines are sold in specialty boutiques all over the world. However, you can browse an online catalog for figurines from Lladro from Spain and have the ones you want shipped to you. Use the Lladro website to locate all of the figurines they have and the retailers nearest you, if you prefer to make your purchase in person. If you have specific figurine that you want and are unable to find it in the catalog, you can email the Customer Service Department giving them the description of the figurine you want.
If you happen to break one of your figurines, there are Lladro repair locations where you can send the piece. The company does not have its own repair shop for Lladro figurines, but if you contact the Customer Service, a representative will be able to give you the name of the company that does its repairs in your country. When you purchase a Lladro figurine and you are not sure of its authenticity, you should check the bottom of the figurine. If it has the Lladro prototype printed on the bottom, then you are the owner of an authentic figurine of Lladro from Spain.
There are several different series of Lladro figurines - open series, limited series and numbered series. A Lladro figurine from the open series are produced in an unlimited number. In the limited series, there are only a set number of figurines created and when they are sold, they are not produced any more. This is what makes these figurines so valuable and why people who have them want to get the proper Lladro repair if something happens to them. The numbered series of figurines by Lladro from Spain are also produced in a limited number and carry a certificate of authenticity.
Along with buying Lladro figurines, you can also buy accessories to complement your Lladro from Spain pieces. These pieces are not made of porcelain like the figurines and include such things as parasols and flowers, which are stuck to the figurines in the firing process. When you purchase Lladro figurines, you can also purchase special insurance against breakage. Purchase of this insurance allows you to become one of the privileged members of the Lladro Company.
|
To find out more about Figurines visit Peter’s Website Angelic Figurines and find out about Crystal Figurines and more, including Medieval Figurines, Animal Figurines, Dragon Figurines and Spun Glass Figurines |
A friend recently suggested a use for my daughter’s first wardrobe, which I’ve dutifully saved in the back of the closet, and lugged on two long distance relocations. Turns out she’s done the same thing with her daughter’s first clothes, and we’ve decided to make memory quilts. This playtime project preserves my little girl’s everyday playclothes for no other reason than that they are hers.
Having been raised in a somewhat non-sentimental household, I jumped at the chance to engage in something that could possibly boost child emotional development at the same time that it provided a way for my daughter to feel connected to happy childhood events. I suppose it’s my way of compensating for something I always wished I had. By the time I was born, the fascination with baby girls was past, and whatever I used and wore was handed off to Goodwill when I was finished with it.
The project lets you conserve storage space by cutting those favorite 0-3 month outfits into workable squaresor if you’re an experienced quilter, you may feel confident experimenting with different shapes. I’ve never tried this before, so I don’t want to complicate it with my perfectionist tendencies. I want to turn this into something we can do with our daughtersit always surprises me how young children can take to things that we assume are beyond them.
I went through the clothes to separate them according to “cuttability.” Fearful of violating airline luggage allowances, and mindful of movers’ square footage guidelines, I’ve unwittingly reduced the cherished collection little by little; this last relocation I was so desperate to conform to the rules that I left behind many of the pieces I had faithfully saved. Our having been in the Caribbean this past hurricane season further persuaded me to fork over even more of the little wardrobe to children whose homes (and wardrobes) had been destroyed. The pieces that remain are so few in number that I find I cannot bear to take the scissors to any of them.
And so the playtime project will consist less of quilting, and more of time spent sitting on the floor, arranging tiny high-tops, Mary Janes and workboots into shadow boxes. There’s also the first jean jacket, overalls and the dress Little One wore to “school” when she was four months old. All of these are small enough to pass for doll clothes, and therein lies their preciousness. The rest are tiny crew neck sweaters, a little rain slicker, and the pajamas she wore in the Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit. These, with selected Boston Globe front pages will go into a trunk alongside the baby book (volumes I and II), the photo albums of the first years, and The Scrapbook; to be opened with great fanfare on some birthday after “we” have reached the Age of Appreciability.
Tricia Wellington is the mother of a bright, creative, energetic preschooler. She is also the founder of www.little-turnips.com, an online parenting resource for for one-parent families, and Sweet Girl’s Cookie Press, maker of “The homemade chocolate chip cookie as it should be.”
[Episode Five]
Arizona BlueGunfighter
The Wolves Nestin the North
[Episode Five]
Northern Minnesota Area-
Winter of 1877
Chapter One of Seven: The North
The area was known as Pigs Eye [St. Paul, Minnesota]; Northfield was a little more notorious since Jessie James robbed the 1st National Bank, in September of last year, and more to the West. But that was neither here nor there for Arizona-Blue. He didn’t like this part of the country for no other reason than it was cold, unpredictable weather, and he didn’t seem to offer enough freedom, it wasn’t bad thirty years ago, but it had become too tame, Even Mark Twain thought so. His conclusion of why he was here was: ‘Sometimes you just keep on riding and riding and end up where you don’t care to be.’
As his rode through the thick of the snow, he had come to a cabin, up in an area where the deer was running as wildto and froas the mavericks were down in Arizona, Texas and Wyoming. He smelt the smoke from a nearby chimney. He was a hundred and fifty plus miles North of St. Paul, but it seemed like he was in the Artic.
As Arizona came to a cabin, a man came out of the front door onto his porch. Two wolves stood by his side, a rifle in his hands. He noticed in the back of his house about thirty-more wolves tied to the fence; ‘…strange…’ thought Blue.
“Can I help yaw stranger?” asked the man on the porch.
Blue knew most everyone in this area did not know his name, and that was one unconscious reason he chose the Midwest I suppose, a time for a rest of wondering whom was going to shoot you in the back, or who you had to tangle with next. His reputation out West was preceding him wherever he’d go, but here, up here in the Midwest who could know his name? No one he speculated. Northfield was to hot for anyone like him, after the James Gang shoot out, and St. Paul looked like St. Louis, a conservative little city on the banks of the Mississippi, not enough get up and go for him, plus they sold little books on him: “The Fast Gun of the West: Arizona-Blue.” They did on all the gunfighters such as: Billy the Kid, Jessie James, Wild Bill, and so forth.
“I need a place to lodge for a day or two. I’m half frozen.”
The man laughed and motioned for Blue to tie his horse up out side and come in.
As Blue descended his horse, a young boy came out and took his horse saying,
“I’ll bed him down a spell, feed him for you sir.”
Blue heard the Midwest was quite hospital to strangers, they had to be, because sooner or later you ‘all ended-up needing the others help. ‘This kind of gives yaw a nice feeling,’ he told himself.
As Blue entered the house, he noticed a slim middle aged woman, boiling some stew (about thirty-six years old he’d guess).
“Some hot cider Mister?” she asked.
Blue was not sure what that was, but he knew it wasn’t whiskey.
“Sounds warming, I guess that’ll be just fine Miss…,” unsure how to address her.
She smiled, and commented:
“You’re not from around here I gather, you got a Southwestern accent?”
“I’m called Arizona; I guess because that is where I am from.”
“Arizona what? She asked.
“That’s it Miss, just Arizona, that’s what my pop called me, no more no less.”
She smiled again, the man came back in from the backdoor of the house, stomping the snow off his feet.
“Hi yaw, my names Harry,” he extended his hand to shake Arizona’s, “and this is my wife Feba, she’s Spanish, and a little cute wife at that.”
“Harry! stop making me blush.”
“Well,” said Arizona, “it looks like you got enough wolves around here.”
“I raise them. They can come in handy.” That was all that was said about the nest of wolves. Arizona got the drift of things, it was private, and he wasn’t about to step in on a man’s privacy.
“Mr. Arizona, please give your jacket to my boy, Tony.” He was standing in the back of Arizona. He hadn’t heard him come in. As Arizona took off his jacket, Harry, Tony and Feba noticed the guns. Arizona had one tight against his thigh, and one tucked into his belt.
“You won’t need them here sir,” said Harry with a little concern.
Arizona smiled. He was not a wanted man in Minnesota, or for that matter anyplace, just a notorious man, and seldom heard of way up in the North Country; and this was new country for him; if this was Wyoming, or Texas, or for that matter Tombstone, or Deadwood, the guns would stay. But he started to unbuckle them; then handed them to Harry to put away for safe keeping.
“How are the Indian problems up here?” Blue asked.
“Sometimes it ok, other times you just don’t know. We had several cabins up here a year ago, and the Chippewa’s burned three of them down. Rapped the women, after getting drunk, and took off. The Indians are all over the place. You just never know. I hunt bear and fox and sell the furs down at Fort Smelling. And yaw, some of the Wolves you see, end up being furs. Yaw got to eat. I hate killing them though.”
Harry noticed Arizona watch where he hung the guns up; right on the coat rack that lead to the front door.
“If you need them mister, they’re right there for the grabbing.”
“I got the picture, Harry.”
“Now for the dinner, it’s about 11-below zero out there, not too bad for the dead of winter. You’d think it was 10:00 PM, but it gets dark quick up here, its only 6:00 PM. Not much daylight in the heart of winter. Tonight it will get down to 20 + below. It’s like the cold knocks the sun out early I swear. It’s going to be a cold, cold winter, stranger, I mean Arizona.”
As they all four sat down to eat, Harry said grace, thanking God for his wife, son, and that the stranger did not get frozen like an ice cycle before he found his cabin.
“Let’s eat,” says Harry, and plunged into the hot stew.
The stew was great, though Arizona, as he took his third helping.
“My name is Alex, Mr. Arizona. Are you a gunfighter? You know, like Jessie James, and Billy the Kid?”
“Hush,” said Feba, “Mr. Arizona is a gentleman, not a killer.”
Said Harry, a bit uncomfortable with the guns hanging where the coats and hats hung:
“Mater-of-fact, if you don’t mind, what is your line of work?”
“Well, that’s a good question. I’ve been a soldier, fought at the Battle of Chickamauga, and I was sheriff for a while, and a deputy. And I guess you could say a cowboy of sorts. Not sure what a gunslinger is, but maybe that to.”
“Jack of many trades I see,” commented Harry.
Feba looked at Blues eyes; she was almost frozen by them. But her husband was the jealous type, and said nothing, just smiled and continued to eat her stew.
Dennis Siluk is finishing up his most recent book, “Peruvian Poems” it shold been done shortly, and published in the following months [29-poems in English and Spanish] look for it. You can see his other works at http://www.bn.com or http://www.amazon.com
