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baptized by fire
As if on cue for the season, our breakroom conversations at the sawmill have taken a distinct turn toward the spiritual side of things this week. Hours have been cut with all of the chaos involved therein, so the opportunity to sit and have a meaningful discussion is at a premium. We are Baptist/Methodist/Church of Christ/Pentecostal + many more variations of the Christian church. Our common demoninator is a belief in the eternal easter gift from Big Ernie that came in an tomb rather than a basket full of plastic eggs. I was fascinated to find that several of them had never heard of the ritual of getting ashed on this particular hump day following the big party on the Gulf Coast. Go figure.
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My nephew, whom we shall discreetly call AT, is THE cutest baby I've ever laid eyes on, except for Babygirl, of course. Okay, we'll call it a tie. His long black hair stands straight up in the middle, mohawk style, giving the appearance of a troll doll in overalls with a great big smile, shining blue eyes and a side order of dimples. I miss him already.
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I had every intention of listening to each and every word of President Obama's speech last night but fatigue won out when all the wannabes paraded out to be announced. I did get a kick when Ruth Ginsburg joined the party, looking wise as ever. Radicals just wear my old ass out, no matter which side they're on. Must be the hippie in me.
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Daddy called for a Mylanta pickup this afternoon so I killed two birds with one stone and did a little grocery shopping. As I headed toward the dairy section I spotted an elderly woman intently studying the yogurt and sour cream with a big black smudge on her forehead. I recognized it immediately and realized once again that all you have to do is show up and let the big guy do the rest.

Keep the faith ^j^
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