Posts

Me Me Me

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Me Me Me Meme May 7, 2009-March 31, 2021 (for Meme )   Your tiny face looked up Introducing you not by name But by attitude You would not be forgotten A week later you reminded us You belonged in our home And then you introduced yourself To the kitten in my arms Claimed him in your charming way And home with us you both came. This was your home On naughty days and nice days Your cute face looking up  Reintroducing yourself every time Making sure we never forgot you Knew who you were and what you wanted Always letting us know you chose us Until the very last moment When we had to let you go I hope you never regretted your choice We did our best to make your life  As wonderful as you made ours Every time you looked up and said Me me me…

In Loving Tribute to Meme

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Meme May 7, 2009-March 31, 2021 Meme (pronounced Me-Me) died on March 31, 2021 at Albany Animal Hospital with her humans by her side. She was born Stitch in a Safehaven Humane Society foster home in Oregon on May 7, 2009.  She chose her us as her new family in July 2009 when we met her at Safehaven.  From the moment she joined our family, she made her presence known and earned her new name with her adorably sweet "me me me" ways. She was affectionate and opinionated. She was attached to her humans and didn't care for strangers. She hated being outside but would watch our every move (and the neighbors, too) from the window.  She loved dragging her fishy pole all over the house, up and down the stairs, to drop at our feet and demand we play with her. She loved to sit on our laps or to hide under covers with equal devotion. She complained loudly whenever I unloaded the dishwasher. She loved nutritional yeast and catnip. Meme communicated in numerous ways from intense looks

Idle Hands

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Daddy with a few of the Case tractors he restored Idle Hands (for Daddy )   Never one for idle hands You created and built A lifetime of memories and moments You left behind a legacy Of love and hard work You handed your family The callouses you earned On hands never idle Held to the very end In love and understanding Your hands building and rebuilding Making the old new again Seeing the puzzle of the broken As a challenge to make whole again What others couldn’t see Those hands never idle Even to the very end Taking care of everyone With actions greater than words Rest now Let your loving, calloused hands finally be idle

In Loving Tribute to My Daddy

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January 16, 1947-March 22, 2021 Gary “Dean” Cooper, age 74, resident of Tollesboro, Kentucky, died surrounded by family on March 22, 2021 in Maysville, Kentucky.  He was born on January 16, 1947 in Lewis County to the late Arthur and Georgia Cooper. Dean was a devoted and loving husband, father, and grandfather who took great pride and joy in his children and grandchildren. He spent his life connected to the land as a farmer and a logger. He was also a gifted mechanic. Never one for idle hands, he started restoring Case tractors in his retirement and always had several restorations in the works. He is survived by his wife, Glenda, two daughters, T. L. (Loay), and Tonya (Charlie), three grandchildren, Kenisha (Tristan), Kaylee (Austin), and Tyler, and one great-grandson, Brayden. He is also survived by six sisters, and a brother. He is preceded in death by two brothers. If you’d like to plant a tree in Dean’s honor, please visit The Gifted Tree . Daddy, thank you for making me the woman

2020 - Sighs!

  Here we are again... At the end of another year! I had such big plans for 2020! Yeah.... Sighs! I really want to write some empowering, inspiring, hopeful words right now, but they're not coming. They will come again but not today. I have never been one to think the clock ticking over to a new year is anything more than arbitrary. It changes nothing other than the number we have to write on dated material and resetting the tax year... It doesn't make us more whatever it is we want to be. It doesn't erase whatever bad we want to ignore. It doesn't change our habits or goals or daily lives. There is some comfort in that as well as some discomfort in it. It would be nice if that tick would actually reset things and make them better. If it would push us into a new phase or place or purpose, but it doesn't. I hear many people saying things like "I can't wait for this year to be over." and I've even caught myself saying it. Then I wonder why. I know th

Nothing Gold Can Stay

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I recently read A Collection of Poems by Robert Frost . It's a beautiful book and one I'd been salivating over for a while, ever since I saw it in Costco several months ago. It is filled with poems that speak to my heart, my imagination, my core. I was thumbing through one day while reading - yeah, I was looking ahead - and came across Nothing Gold Can Stay , and the first thought that popped in my head was "Stay gold, Ponyboy." I stopped in my tracks as a shiver went up my spine and a smile slid across my face. I remembered in that moment the first time I read The Outsiders   by S. E. Hinton . The first time I read Nothing Gold Can Stay in the book, The Outsiders , the first time I heard the poem aloud in the movie , the first time I read the letter at the end of the book, the first time I heard the letter at the end of the movie... Robert Frost and The Outsiders are forever linked in my memory because of this poem. S. E. Hinton used Nothing Gold Can Stay to

Hillbilly Roots

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Sometimes people are surprised to learn that I fit the description of a hillbilly, a person from a backwoods area (Mirriam-Webster Dictionary) because I'm not what people  often   expect a hillbilly to be. But I am. I grew up on a farm in a "holler" in a small town in Eastern Kentucky.  Both my parents grew up in the same general area where I grew up. They also both grew up on farms. My mom's parents lived on "the ridge" above our house on the other side of the woods. My dad's mom lived "over town" but back  yet  another holler, strictly speaking.  You don't get much more hillbilly than that. Hillbillies are individuals just like people within every group that exists. Hillbilly families are not all alike.  Hillbillies who move away take parts of the culture with them, but we also tend to adapt to new environments and create a whole new culture - a mishmash of our hillbilly upbringing, our other life experiences, and where we're living a