tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342376402024-03-13T13:20:38.360-06:00Write Where I Want to Be.Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.comBlogger164125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-87725748382544149722019-12-25T13:09:00.000-07:002019-12-25T13:12:31.719-07:00Merry Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-74780839048827939132018-05-23T15:27:00.000-06:002018-05-23T15:40:13.864-06:00Graduation Prayer<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>A Parent's Graduation Prayer</i></span></div>
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;">By Tina Pinson</span></div>
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;">Precious Son… Beloved to me,</span></div>
<span style="background-color: #cccccc;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;">
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I watch you walk away and I am filled with a sense of pride.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
for the man you've become, the man you will be.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
You've grown now, and you're heading off into a world to blaze that trail</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
To live your life.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Much has been accomplished in what seems too short of time.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I'm prouder than any parent could be.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
But deep in my heart, in that sheltered place,</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I feel as though someone has taken a knife and hollowed my soul.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I long to run after you, to continue this walk together,</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
But the path is only wide enough for you and one other.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
and I know I am not the one who can walk it with you.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Nor the one who should</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Oh, but all my senses cry out, begging me to run to your side,</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
take your hand in mine and never relinquish that hold.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
But my feet are planted, and I stand silently in the shadows, weeping,</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
watching as you walk away.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
My hands are limp and empty by my side.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Then in moments of sorrow, I look up and see who walks with you.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
I look up and see, like me, you are sheltered under His arm.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Close to His heart. And He'll never let you walk alone.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
And my hand, finding the strength to let you go,</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Lifts with prayer for your tomorrows,</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
lifts with praise as I lay you in the hands of the only one who can carry you.</div>
</span><span style="background-color: #cccccc; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
The one who always has.</div>
</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #383838; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , "trebuchet" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #cccccc; font-size: large;">God.</span></span></div>
Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-26379613873380534112018-05-22T11:48:00.002-06:002018-05-23T15:37:36.360-06:00Just Imagine by Tina Pinson (from the archives)<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
As a child I believed;</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Gravity held me to the earth, but if I spun hard enough I
would fly into space.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
If you killed a spider all its friends and family would come
crawl all over you while you slept.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Drinking chocolate milk gave you a tan.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
The clothes in my closet came to life after midnight and
held battles against each other. My blanket protected me from their weapons.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Trees came to life at night and their shadows moved across
the wall. You had to keep your window closed or they could snatch you out of
bed.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
When you eat your body fills from the toes up. When you get
to full you had to puke.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
You could fly with an umbrella.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
If I dug a hole deep enough, (as a kid that was probably ten
feet) I'd reach China.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
If I was quiet enough, I could hear the animals talking.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
People in Germany still lived in cave so my father put a camper on our truck when we moved to Germany
so we would have a place to live. (In 1969)</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
If I acted angry and growled real loud when I was mad, my
sisters would leave me alone because they were scared. Yeah, that one rarely
worked. They laughed and bothered me more.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
But you can see these were some silly things. And there are
others. </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I've grown up now. Matured. Put away childish thoughts and
things.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
For the most part. In reality though.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I still catch myself blowing on dandelions, hoping my wish
comes true.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I sometimes keep the wishbone.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Every so often I find myself skipping cracks.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I say knock on wood and cross my fingers.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I check my books on Amazon, religiously, thinking somehow if
I stare long enough the numbers will fall and my books will sell.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I wish on stars although I don't really believe my wishes will come
true.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I still wonder about those spiders and their families
sometimes.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I make tents with my grandchildren and pretend I'm camping
or on a wild safari.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I dance in rain puddles and sing. "Singing the
Rain."</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
But I have stopped sending out chain letters because I'm
pretty certain they don't work.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
You're probably wondering why I'm saying all this. Admitting
my childish thoughts.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Because imagination is a wonderful thing. It's a gift. It's
not to be misused. We shouldn't let it lead us astray and into trouble. No. Like
children, we need to turn our imaginations over to God and trust him to direct our
thoughts, trust him to take wrong thoughts captive and show us dreams we never
thought before. Like children, we need to look for the wonder in creation around
us.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
From the mind of imagination comes new concepts, new
stories. New Dreams.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Have you ever thought of an idea and kept it or used it for
yourself and did nothing more, only to find someone else took the further step
and got a patent? And consumers soon had a new product.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
You can't stop at imagination and hope to fulfill a dream.
Hope has to be engaged and steps taken to move you forward. I realize those steps
can be scary. So you might just want to sit down and give up. But don't. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I want you to engage your thoughts. Your
dreams.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
How many failed attempts were there before the telephone?
How many planes crashed before man flew?</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Hope and vision carried the imagination of inventors the
world over through trials and disappointment.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Just imagine how life would be if inventors and scientists
just gave up?</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
No Cars. No Planes. No Trains. No Electricity. No Toilet. No
Gum. No ATM's. No Books. No Paper. No… well you fill in the blanks.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
What would you miss?</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Proverbs 29 :18</b>
(KJV) Where there is no vision the people perish.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Acts 2:17</b> (KJV)
And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith the Lord, I will pour out my
Spirit on all flesh: and your sons and daughters shall prophesy, and your young
men shall see visions and your old men will dream dreams.</span></div>
</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; margin: 0px;">What
has God seeded in your imagination that you need to give more attention to?</span></b></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-23437309088617027872017-05-24T15:03:00.000-06:002017-05-24T15:49:16.018-06:00I was a Civil War Bride...I was a Civil War Bride.<br />
<br />
I was shot at Fredericksburg.<br />
<br />
I was a prisoner and nearly died at Andersonville.<br />
<br />
I married for convenience and lived in a haunted house.<br />
<br />
I rode the Orphan Trains and took a wagon train to Oregon.<br />
<br />
I was kidnapped by Indians and caught in a Buffalo Stampede.<br />
<br />
I mined for coal in Pennsylvania, dug for silver in Leadville, and hunted for Gold in the Colorado Rockies.<br />
<br />
I was a missionary wife on the island of New Guinea and was taken prisoner by the Japanese during WWII. <br />
<br />
I led several children through enemy lines to a US Submarine for rescue.<br />
<br />
I was blown up in a Terrorist attack and I've watched gunfights from my hospital bed.<br />
<br />
I've raised bees and traveled through time.<br />
<br />
I've buried many people I love and had to fight the demons of sorrow, regret, fear, and more.<br />
<br />
I AM A WRITER.<br />
<br />
Find my stories @ <a href="http://www.desertbreezepublishing.com/brands/Tina-Pinson.html">DBP</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/Tina+Pinson?_requestid=990895">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="https://www.christianbook.com/Christian/Books/easy_find?Ntt=Tina+pinson&N=0&Ntk=keywords&action=Search&Ne=0&event=ESRCG&nav_search=1&cms=1&search=">CBD</a> and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_2_11?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=tina+pinson&sprefix=Tina+Pinson%2Caps%2C257&crid=2SVX4A24T8YJE">Amazon</a>, and pray for me as I embark on new adventures.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-38764177843187014882017-05-13T22:32:00.000-06:002018-05-23T15:37:21.098-06:00A Mother's Musings - from the ArchivesA Mother's Musings<br />
By Tina Pinson<br />
<br />
<br />
No one ever said Motherhood would be easy. Of course they never said it would touch your deepest emotions, enthrall and even scare you to death. <br />
<br />
When the doctor told me I was pregnant, I waited for the punch-line. I'd just stopped birth control and believed it still had to work its way out of my system. Okay so I was rather naïve.<br />
<br />
But I was… (gulp) Pregnant. The tests were right on, and my near fainting in the Coronado, California Surf confirmed it.<br />
<br />
Oh Lord.<br />
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With hubby in the navy, I got to spend a lot of quality time alone thinking about what being a mother entailed. Would I be a good mother?<br />
<br />
About then, I felt like I wasn't going to make it to the end of the pregnancy let alone motherhood. Morning sickness had me by the throat, or should I say stomach, and it wasn't letting go.<br />
<br />
Let's not forget all the tests, and the weight gain and the tests and the weight gain. And the indigestion, and the tears and the … Did I mention tests and weight gain?<br />
<br />
I remember thinking this <i>motherhood stuff</i> wasn't all it was cracked up to be. So far anyway. Then my baby moved. Just a flutter and something was released in me. The awe, the reality, the love. I don't know how to explain it.<br />
<br />
Now I was pregnant, it was more than a failed test. And I wanted everyone to know. So I bought shirts -- Baby on Board, Arrow pointing to Baby-- to proclaim my condition. And told anyone who would listen that I was pregnant and would be a mother soon. Hubby and I chose names, and began to build the nest for our child.<br />
<br />
The baby came, and strangely I was overwhelmed with this feeling of love, mingled with a sense of fear. Here was this child and I wondered if I was prepared to care for something so small, so fragile, so lovely. I was certain I was doomed for failure.<br />
<br />
I'm sure many of you can share the feeling. Maybe some of you can't quite remember. So allow me to take you back. In honor of Mother's Day, let me walk you down paths of memory. <br />
<br />
So there I was holding this child, this little boy, in my arms and nothing could mask the wonder of the warmth against my chest, or the heart beat that seemed to dance with my own.<br />
<br />
<br />
Mother and Child<br />
By Tina Pinson<br />
<br />
You're so small, so soft, so full of life<br />
And in need of my loving care.<br />
As I cradle you close against my breast<br />
You feel so warm and tender there.<br />
Your eyes, so blue, don't see too clearly now,<br />
But yet you seem to smile<br />
As if you know these tears I cry, fall joyously,<br />
From being blessed with you my child.<br />
You're my first and I am amazed<br />
At this miracle called birth,<br />
To have you grow, move and live in me<br />
Was the greatest thrill on earth.<br />
From this day forward my little one<br />
On you love and care I bestow.<br />
I promise to be the best mother I can,<br />
For Precious gift from God, I love you so.<br />
<br />
Heavens to Murgatroid… I was a mommy. This little boy with a full halo of black hair. This little boy that fit into the niche of my womb, changed my world. And left me with a whole new set of responsibilities. <br />
<br />
I had little rest. But who wanted to sleep when they could hold such a miracle. Yeah, that lasted for a day or so, then reality sat in. I was a mommy now. <br />
<br />
And I had a child prodigy to care for. My child crawled early, started to talk early, started to walk early and he had even temperament. I had the perfect child, but of course, I was the perfect mother.<br />
<br />
I could handle anything. But then, someone forgot to mention the wonders of Potty Training.<br />
<br />
I'd stand my son up to the toilet, because he assured me he only had to Pee, and then he'd go Potty as well. UGH. So, the next time I sat him down and knelt before him to offer my encouragement… only to get fired upon from a stream of Pee escaping from under the toilet lid. <br />
<br />
Why had no one given me rules?<br />
<br />
Potty Training<br />
By Tina Pinson<br />
<br />
Rolls and Rolls of toilet paper<br />
Have been strewn across the floor,<br />
<br />
As mommy tries to potty train<br />
Her child before he's four.<br />
<br />
She's learned the game to play,<br />
The one, hide, smell and seek.<br />
<br />
She's thought of giving up<br />
At least five days every week.<br />
<br />
She read the manual that tells,<br />
"How to Potty Train in just One Day."<br />
<br />
She drew the X at the bottom of the bowl,<br />
But her child didn't want to play.<br />
<br />
Patiently she tried the "Little" can<br />
And the "Sink the Cheerios" too.<br />
<br />
Yes, she tried every simple trick,<br />
But nothing seemed to do<br />
<br />
So she sat each day, coaxing him.<br />
"Please go potty for mommy," she implored.<br />
<br />
Her child replied, "But I don't have to go."<br />
Then smiles sheepishly, as he goes on the floor.<br />
<br />
Well we finally got through that and moved on to other things. Like: Talking in full sentences, tying shoes, riding a tricycle.<br />
<br />
Going to school.<br />
<br />
I walked my son to school and didn't want to let go of his hand. When he walked away, I stood there in stunned silence, tears making tracks on my cheeks, wondering how my son managed to get so big.<br />
<br />
That was to be the first time of many such moments. And everyone of them left me awed. <br />
<br />
He learned to write, learned math, and learned how to read. He started riding a two wheeled bike and wanted to go play with other friends. <br />
The days passed and he was in first grade, second grade, and then third. He was every changing, ever growing. <br />
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My Son, My Son<br />
By Tina Pinson<br />
<br />
Gone are the days of squeaky toys<br />
and the worn stuffed teddy bear.<br />
<br />
My Son has grown, he older now,<br />
my tiny baby is no longer there.<br />
<br />
He longs to play football and soccer.<br />
He wants a baseball glove.<br />
<br />
I just want to hold him tightly in my arms,<br />
and shower him with love<br />
<br />
He'll come up and grab my waist.<br />
Hugs are okay when no one sees.<br />
<br />
I want time to finger his soft hair,<br />
so I squeeze him close to me.<br />
<br />
Tears fill my eyes as I miss the child,<br />
who now stands four feet tall.<br />
<br />
I know he'll continue growing<br />
and will never again be small<br />
<br />
But I'm reminded of how amazing it's been<br />
just to watch him grow.<br />
<br />
I know he's not my tiny baby now,<br />
but I love him more than he'll ever know.<br />
<br />
<br />
And suddenly he was off to high school and learning how to drive. He wanted to go on dates, and get a job. And mommy was looking for ways to keep time from moving so fast. There's no formula for that.<br />
<br />
Time kept moving.<br />
<br />
Pages of life kept turning. Written upon until they were filled, and turned again to a new page.<br />
And just like someone had snapped their fingers, moments became hours and hours became days and days became years and soon my son was graduating.<br />
<br />
My baby… that little boy I'd carried all those years ago was… <br />
Graduating.<br />
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<br />
A Parent's Graduation Prayer<br />
By Tina Pinson<br />
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Precious Son… Beloved to me,<br />
I watch you walk away and I am filled with a sense of pride.<br />
for the man you've become, the man you will be.<br />
You've grown now, and you're heading off into a world to blaze that trail<br />
To live your life.<br />
Much has been accomplished in what seems too short of time.<br />
I'm prouder than any parent could be.<br />
But deep in my heart, in that sheltered place,<br />
I feel as though someone has taken a knife and hollowed my soul.<br />
I long to run after you, to continue this walk together,<br />
But the path is only wide enough for you and one other.<br />
and I know I am not the one who can walk it with you.<br />
Nor the one who should<br />
Oh, but all my senses cry out, begging me to run to your side,<br />
take your hand in mine and never relinquish that hold.<br />
But my feet are planted, and I stand silently in the shadows, weeping,<br />
watching as you walk away.<br />
My hands are limp and empty by my side.<br />
Then in moments of sorrow, I look up and see who walks with you.<br />
I look up and see, like me, you are sheltered under His arm.<br />
Close to His heart. And He'll never let you walk alone.<br />
And my hand, finding the strength to let you go,<br />
Lifts with prayer for your tomorrows,<br />
lifts with praise as I lay you in the hands of the only one who can carry you.<br />
The one who always has.<br />
God.<br />
<br />
<br />
I made it through graduation.(Three times) I was certain my eldest son would live in the same town and I would continue to see him daily. Ha. He joined the Navy and was sent around the world. To places of unrest. I spent a lot of time on my knees in prayer. I wanted that part of his journey over. I wanted my son home. He wanted to get married.<br />
<br />
I realize I've taken you on a pretty fast ride through the years of motherhood. But time would not permit the full run. And this is only a small part of the steps in my child's life. There are many more that have passed and many are yet to come. Now I am a grand mother, with nine grand children and another on the way. <br />
<br />
I want to encourage every mother out there to cherish the moments you have with your children. Take the time to make the memories cause time passes much too quickly. <br />
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<br />
Baby Steps<br />
By Tina Pinson<br />
<br />
I used to carry you, used to complain<br />
at how heavy you were becoming.<br />
So I sat you down and taught you to walk.<br />
<br />
Baby Steps…<br />
Look at you. When did you learn to walk so well?<br />
<br />
I used to hold your hand. Or you held mine.<br />
But a time soon came when you want to run.<br />
So I let you go and watched you trot away.<br />
<br />
Baby Steps…<br />
When did you learn to run so fast?<br />
<br />
I used to watch you play. You’d play close by.<br />
But running gave way to bikes and bikes gave way to cars.<br />
With a prayer, I handed you the keys and watched you drive away.<br />
<br />
Baby Steps…<br />
Where did that handsome young man come from?<br />
<br />
I used to listen for the roar from your car's engine,<br />
signaling your safe return home.<br />
But you've moved away<br />
Now I wait to hear your voice. I wait for you to call home<br />
<br />
Baby Steps…<br />
Oh that I could watch you toddling again.<br />
<br />
I remember when I led you and you walked in my shadow.<br />
When did your steps surpass mine?<br />
When did your shadow become so long?<br />
<br />
It felt like you grew up over night when I wasn't looking.<br />
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To every mother out there, to those who dream of the child they will have, to those who hold one in their arms even now, to those with children at home and those with an empty nest to those who have lost children.<br />
<br />
I just want to say Happy Mother's Day. May you know blessing and honor.<br />
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Since writing this back in 2011, I lost my mother. A day doesn't go by that I don't think of her and long for her. And on Mother's Day and special times in life, the feeling is much more acute. But, after her battle with cancer, I know she is in a better place. I have the hope in Christ that I will she her and my father again. Many of you have lost your mother, too. I pray your mother's day, though it may come with the sorrow of missing your mother, holds the beauty of the memories and love you and your mother shared.<br />
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Happy Mother's Day, Mom. <br />
<br />Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-37689146453268567802017-03-18T05:00:00.000-06:002017-03-18T05:00:07.785-06:00A Second Chance
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; margin: 0px;">by Alexis A. Goring</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><b><span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"></span></b></span><span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Newly single food critic and
newspaper reporter Traci Hightower is done with dating. After the man of her
dreams left her at the altar on their wedding day and ran off with the woman
she thought was her best friend, Traci resolves to focus on work and resigns
herself to being a bachelorette for life. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Marc Roberts is a political reporter
who is known as Mr. Nice Guy, the one who always finishes last. However, Marc’s
compassion and kindness are of invaluable help to his newly widowed sister Gina
Braxton who is trying to raise her two kids in the wake of her firefighter
husband’s death. </span></span><br />
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Traci and Marc may be the perfect
match, but they don’t know it yet. With God’s guidance and the help of Gina’s
matchmaking skills honed by her career as a bestselling romance novelist, there
is hope for a happily ever after for these two broken hearts.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">A Second Chance is available at <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Second-Chance-Alexis-Goring-ebook/dp/B01MSBMKEP/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1485529356&sr=8-2&keywords=Alexis+A.+Goring">Amazon.</a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; margin: 0px;">Author Bio (short): </span></b></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; margin: 0px;">Alexis A. Goring is a passionate writer with a degree in Print Journalism and an MFA in Creative Writing. She loves the art of storytelling and hopes that her stories will connect readers with the enduring, forever love of Jesus Christ.</span></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-43363392267796375352017-03-02T19:26:00.000-07:002017-03-02T19:26:16.143-07:00Feeling Artsy by Tina Pinson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-56467271633075684402017-03-01T10:34:00.002-07:002017-03-01T14:54:58.765-07:0037 years of marriage...Danny and I have been married 37 years today. <br />
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37 years. Wow. That is quite the accomplishment. I must have all the answers for any kind of marriage woe there is.<br />
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I should compile all my marital intellect and write a self help book. HAHA. We might get a chapter, <br />
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We've have been through a lot together. I met Danny in youth group at the First Baptist Church in Commerce City, Colorado. We went to high school together. and dated three years before getting married. I've known this man for long time.<br />
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We've been through his military service and cruises together. If I am honest those cruises sucked. One cruise our eldest son was 3 weeks old when Danny left. When Danny came back almost eight months later, Milton screamed because he didn't know his father.<br />
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We have three handsome sons Milton, Nathan, and Joshua, several grand children and some lovely daughters in law. We've started businesses and watched them fail together and are just insane enough to start another one. We've moved several times. I followed him to California, and Colorado and Montana and Arizona and back to Colorado. And we are still together.<br />
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37 and it was smooth all the way. Boy is that a fib or what.<br />
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Everyone knows a relationship takes time, patience, love and grace when you're just not feeling very loving. And I should know all about that loving stuff, it was my mother's maiden name. <br />
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If only relationships were that simple.<br />
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What I'm writing here, is just the bare minimum of our life together, the memories and love. We've had long years to create our story. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_WzSJTSZ3yuVmlndO_bv2YiZCAPxK55XCxVl4beINU6eMblafbJvmv4PGmQJKTJlVdqXTBA6Y3TXMWS77NxJQTesT3pomXgBX4JKp_Is7GvDUlSNvjPdgztYdo_R3uOFCgc9e/s1600/s42361ca110276_11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_WzSJTSZ3yuVmlndO_bv2YiZCAPxK55XCxVl4beINU6eMblafbJvmv4PGmQJKTJlVdqXTBA6Y3TXMWS77NxJQTesT3pomXgBX4JKp_Is7GvDUlSNvjPdgztYdo_R3uOFCgc9e/s320/s42361ca110276_11.jpg" width="240" /></a>Danny and I have laughed and cried together. Prayed together, loved together. Watched our children grow together. And now we get to watch our grand children as well.<br />
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Our sea of life together has had calm waters, and some rolling tides. There were times we barely got over some squalls and others nearly turned us over or crashed us against the rocks.<br />
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I wish I could say that was all due to my great relationship skills. We'd have crashed and burned if it were left to me. Or probably even to Danny, and my husband is a very gracious and loving man. And very patient too. When I was at my worst, he loved me and showed more mercy than I should've have been given. And I probably showed him some mercy and love and patience as well.<br />
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But... there were lighthouses in our lives. We would not have a relationship today were it not for friends and family coming along side of us and holding us up in pray or offering us a shoulder when life seemed ready to implode. And we certainly wouldn't have made it without the love and grace of God. <br />
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He blessed us with the friends. He blessed us with years. And there were many times when it was only His arms we could fall into. <br />
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And He held us.<br />
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On this day that celebrates our 37 years together, I just want to tell my husband Thank You. <br />
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Thank you so much for sticking beside me. Thank you so much for letting me be me and loving me still. Thank you for listening to my dreams and telling me to chase them and soar. Even if I don't sell a million copies of the books I write. You've been my biggest fan. Thank you so much for praying with me and sharing a love of God with me. Thank you for our sons and for our legacy. I hope others are as blessed as we've been.<br />
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Thank you for taking care of me and being the kind, gracious, generous man you are. <br />
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As I sit here and consider our time together, I am surprised at how fast it seems to have gone by. Too fast. I wished I would have written more down. How much was forgotten along the way?<br />
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I pray we are blessed with many more years together.<br />
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Love you... forever and ever and ever<br />
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<br />Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-847469320874176862016-10-05T10:56:00.001-06:002016-10-05T10:57:56.171-06:00This Election...I am not sure what to think about this election cycle, or if it really is a cycle.<br />
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It seems more like a long endurance run.<br />
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Heavens! When did the last election cycle end? I feel like all I've seen for the last 10 years are election commentaries, election pollsters, election ads and on and on. I think we the American people should put a stop to some of this bull and cut the election cycle back. Two years is just too.<br />
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I understand that I am supposed to be a good American and a good Christian and vote, but can I just say UGH?<br />
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There's so much mudslinging and lying, I feel like I'm watching a pig wrestling match. My apologies to the pigs. <br />
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Speaking of Pigs.<br />
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How is it we can drag something up from 20+ years ago and talk about how that proves a candidate is engaging in a war on women, but we can't bring up what happened four years ago or last year or three months ago, or last week, even, cause it doesn't matter now, it's over?<br />
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I could barely stand the last Presidential debate, I sat there looking for something presidential and got tired and finally turned it off. I watched the Vice-Presidential debates and cringed. One person in the debate gave me hope that there are still decent politicians in the mix. He was eloquent and didn't spend his time interrupting and spouting talking points with facial expressions that could turn a worm's stomach. I'll let you decide who I'm talking about.<br />
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All I know is, there is an election coming up and I am supposed to vote for candidate who will best serve our country. What in the world does serve our country? I see more people only pushing for what satisfies them and the American people be damned.<br />
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I almost dread this upcoming election. But I will go vote. I will do my civic duty. A part of me wants to write in a name. (Please don't write me about how that will be awful because I'll be giving the vote away. I've heard it all.) I've been watching. I've been reading up on the candidates. Hopefully I will make an informed conscious decision because I took the time to look into it instead of just picking candidates because I heard their name or figure it's time to pick them.<br />
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I hope everyone else takes the time to know who and what they are voting for. I know I'm asking for a lot, but it could happen. (paste Big Grin here)(or weeping).<br />
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Until then, here is my latest attempt at cartooning. <br />
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<br />Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-62088827717133720672016-09-12T23:51:00.001-06:002016-09-12T23:51:43.748-06:00Been doodling <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-44217387767669463602016-07-06T12:09:00.003-06:002016-07-06T12:09:39.301-06:00Mountain Cabin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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thought I would share a little bit of drawing I've been doing.Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-18588892660547815662016-07-06T12:08:00.002-06:002016-07-06T12:08:28.434-06:00Cha... cha... cha... changesWow. Heading for the big 50... thought sure life would go on pretty much as it had. I'd tend to my world and my garden. I continue to write, and be around my children and grandchildren, but I'd be a year older. Life would continue as it had. My address would be the same as it had for the past twenty years. I would only be a year older. Maybe a bit grayer.<br />
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Maybe things would get better with finances, maybe I'd color my hair, (okay that might be a given). and I would be right here. Right here, where I planned to live out my life. Right here with my husband and family and friends. A year older, and hopefully wiser.<br />
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But... life happened along the way, and now... I find I may not get to live in my comfortable rut. Now, thanks to finances and my wonderful hubby, I may be pushed to move to a new state. A new world, as far as I'm concerned. Perhaps it will be wonderful, perhaps it will hold the key to new dreams.<br />
<br />
Perhaps I'll hate it. Who knows? <br />
<br />
For now, just the thought of moving out of my comfort zone, moving away from my family, scares me. So, I'm praying hard.<br />
<br />
A part of me wants to pray nothing changes. And my life goes on as it has. Me working through the moments of my days in rote, since I know it so well. But I remind myself, it hasn't always been easy here, either. I just know my way around better.<br />
<br />
A part of me prays I'm ready and willing to take the risk and believe that God has my life cradled in his hands. <br />
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And he does. He carries me no matter where I go, no matter what path I choose.<br />
<br />
Now I have only to remember that. In case my life is uprooted. In case the changes that seem to be in the wind come to light.<br />
<br />
We'll see... <br />
<br />
Wrote this five years ago and thought I would post it now, because the changes did happen. 5 years ago we moved to Arizona. But five years later, we are living back in Colorado. Not to say a lot didn't happen in those five years. Perhaps I'm a bit smarter and wiser. I lost people I loved. Lost my dog. Felt like I lost bits of my sanity and then gained some. I had to come back to a house that needed special care after having renters. Not fun.<br />
<br />
Finished a couple of books. Had them published. Still wishing people would pick them up and read them and then leave a review.<br />
<br />
But...<br />
<br />
Life still happened. Good and bad. And strangely I feel as though I am living in a bit of Deja Vu. I guess moving back into a house you lived in for 20 years can make one feel that way.<br />
<br />
Who says change has to be so scary? (okay sometimes it's downright terrifying.) And who says once you're gone, you can't go back home?Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-1977292851520703642016-03-26T14:58:00.000-06:002016-04-07T14:15:20.713-06:00Rewriting History<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh67tEOBD1G-FqCDzSAXm_0BQt9KE_zifooRGeKx4fBrVyKK-X4sSgaYjGVMa-erOnpma3BaSU0tElfGXoRIWhjtG8u6HrEOzgatCM-p1HXtNgTieG4iigKGVK0i70ip6NEy5R5/s1600/books+and+pen+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh67tEOBD1G-FqCDzSAXm_0BQt9KE_zifooRGeKx4fBrVyKK-X4sSgaYjGVMa-erOnpma3BaSU0tElfGXoRIWhjtG8u6HrEOzgatCM-p1HXtNgTieG4iigKGVK0i70ip6NEy5R5/s320/books+and+pen+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I love researching for my Historical Novels. It can be interesting, and there's so much I don't know. But sometimes… history can be a pain in the backside. It doesn't always fit my storyline.<br />
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Go figure.<br />
<br />
For my WWII Trail of the Sandpiper series, I wanted the submarine to be the Nautilus, I needed it to be the Nautilus, but I would have had to rewrite history.<br />
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I hunted ways to make the Nautilus fit into my story's time frame, but none of them would float. It would have been nice to have the Nautilus because there are tinges of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea in the second book of the series -- Rescued.<br />
<br />
I realize sometimes you just have to make stuff up. Isn't that what fiction writers do? So why can't I just rewrite history? Others have. Well, I think one does have to abide by historical facts, (to some extent.) I can put characters in historical time lines, but I can only do so much. Unless I'm writing a story about jumping through time and changing the past, present, and future, I have facts to follow.<br />
<br />
So I gave my submarine another name, Nandus. one that fit with the subs in Narwhal class during WWII. The Narwhal was in the area of New Guinea, where my story takes place, but it didn't fit the time frame either. And since Narwhal was a close sister to the Nautilus, I decided making up a fake submarine would have to do.<br />
<br />
The Narwhal class of subs, were all named after fish so my little Nandus is named after one too.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://tiny.cc/Betrayed_am" target="_blank">BETRAYED</a></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMJx-CGWw6fMKoXBKxLAtyMx9CWSzHdM7olZbmOabrX8qrGjJhrbyPmCDZ79ExAuvH7dT24xLnddyM1i0UCJaxfkjTcJkDTIORA73F7woMmzXirKz9WpbdYcFsoih5htTT_km/s1600/BetrayedCoverArt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMJx-CGWw6fMKoXBKxLAtyMx9CWSzHdM7olZbmOabrX8qrGjJhrbyPmCDZ79ExAuvH7dT24xLnddyM1i0UCJaxfkjTcJkDTIORA73F7woMmzXirKz9WpbdYcFsoih5htTT_km/s320/BetrayedCoverArt.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"></span></div>
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It's the summer of '42. The world is at War and Japan's Imperial Army is moving across the island of New Guinea. </div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">After their mission is attacked Justine is left with seven children to lead to safety through enemy lines. She leads them to a cave and goes back for her husband when she is taken captive. Upon her escape with the help of a friend, Virginia, she starts back for the children and runs into Lt. Tyler Merrick. She hopes he will help her. But he's drunk and doesn't believe there are children. He thinks Justine is the rogue spy he been sent to find.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><span style="clear: right; color: #333333; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">Justine goes for the children and returns to an even angrier Lt. Merrick. He wants to tie her up. She hopes to win his trust. Because if they can't stop fighting one another, they will never get off the island alive.</span><span style="clear: right; color: #333333; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://tiny.cc/TOTSRescued_am" target="_blank">RESCUED</a></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbzGlzVjxJN28LouSmBgkvLb-NIZvxpbjxfcXrgBR-zNeT7SWekjx62rb9X842d_17388hW4CgvQc28rtbVynirP-FfWCuVp7axxSL2fYzjpWR1Rmze_E1_xPA2AmxPiS0j2q/s1600/RescuedCoverArt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbzGlzVjxJN28LouSmBgkvLb-NIZvxpbjxfcXrgBR-zNeT7SWekjx62rb9X842d_17388hW4CgvQc28rtbVynirP-FfWCuVp7axxSL2fYzjpWR1Rmze_E1_xPA2AmxPiS0j2q/s320/RescuedCoverArt.jpg" width="213" /></a>The Imperial Army is moving across New Guinea. Tyler and Justine have managed to evade them, but they fear it isn't because of their own abilities.</div>
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Tyler wonders why the Japanese haven't taken them as prisoners. Is it to find the Sandpiper? Or the Nandus? Without a radio they can't reach the ship or let them know where they are. Meanwhile, the Japanese have been moving them like pawns, killing off members of the team as they go. </div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Justine leads them to a place of safety until they hopefully raise the ship, but how long can they fend off the enemy once they attack? They've yet to get off the island, and there is still an ocean to cross to reach the safety of home. Justine fears someone else will die before they can escape and she's just as certain it will be her. </span></div>
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</span>Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-6321370775367916082015-10-31T08:26:00.002-06:002015-10-31T08:26:43.452-06:00War and Pestilence<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">War and P</span><s><span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">eac</span></s><span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">estilence<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">At the time the US was
drawn into the war in 1941 the country was on the tail end of the Great
Depression. In truth, it was the war that put the country on the path to financial
recovery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">But it sent thousands to
their death, many in island places we call exotic paradises, and hope to visit
one day for vacation. We can visit these places having been vaccinated to hopefully
protect us from any virus or disease we might confront.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">But that wasn't true for
the soldiers in WWII. In 1942 the US Government vaccinated all personnel for
tetanus, thyphoid, smallpox, cholera, and yellow fever, which help eradicate
many of the disease and kept outbreaks of the disease from spreading through
the ranks like in prior wars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Having prepared their army
with every medical advance in their arsenal, the government sent them to war.
Some headed to Europe to fight against the Nazis and others headed to the
islands of the Pacific to face the Japanese.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Those fighting in the
South Pacific, soon found out it was nothing like home. At home they fought
Tuberculosis, and Polio, Flu, and other diseases that scared them, but diseases
they understood and knew some precautions to take. In the South Pacific, they
marched into jungles ready to fight the Japanese unaware they'd battle extremes
of heat and incessant rains that would give them rashes and jungle rot so bad
they itched and bled profusely and could become gangrenous<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">They fought all kinds of
bugs and disease carrying vermin and ended up with; dengue fever, malaria,
hepatitis, dysentery, <span style="color: #262626;">Leishmaniasis (black fever,
sand fly disease), cholera and Scrub typhus (brought on by mites).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Living
conditions, and tainted drinking water caused cholera and dysentary, which
would inflict the already fatigued soldier with diarrhea and cause dehydration.
Canvas water bags (lister bags) treated with clorine were hung around camp to
give a fres supply of water, and many soldiers learned (some the hard way) the
importance of a clean canteen and a clean mess kit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Some
soldiers got </span><span style="color: #1c1c1c; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Dracunculiasis</span><span style="color: #1c1c1c; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">, or <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">guinea worm disease</span>, from drinking
water infected with water fleas carrying the the guinea worm larva. The soldier
would have no systems initially, but after about a year they would develop a
painful burning feeling, usually on their lower limbs. The worm would then come
out of the skin over a the next few weeks. This disease was usually deadly, but
could you imagine trying to figure out why your skin was blistering only to
learn it was from a drink of water you took almost a year before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1c1c; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">We know
about these diseases, but people today can still get them from visiting
countries where these diseases persist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1c1c1c; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">But in WWII many hadn't even heard of Dracunuliasis and for
every two men saved on the battlefield two or more might die from disease.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Soldiers
especially if taken prisoner and fed a staple of rice, also fought Beriberi, a
vitamin B1 deficiency that caused a loss of feeling in hands and feet,
vomiting, coma and even death.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Those
who contracted Malaria carried it for years after, as their wasn't much to then
to stop the disease from revisiting when it wanted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Another
disease that lasted years after the war, was PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress
Disorder (or Syndrome,) even then we didn't talk about it as much as we do
today. Like a mental malaria PTSD hung around and attacked uninvited long after
the soldier had returned home, leaving soldiers to relive the atrocities of war
over and over again. Pulling them from their now quiet existence back to the
battlefield. And yes, like to today, there were those who took their lives to
kill the echoes of war in their heads forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">In
</span><a href="http://tiny.cc/BetrayedAM"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Betrayed -- Trail of the Sandpiper</span></i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></i></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Book #1</i>, I talk about some of the pests and bugs on the island of New
Guinea. And show some of what Trauma does. Lieutenant Tyler Merrick lives with
reoccurring dreams from child hood and Pearl Harbor. And Justine Whitcomb is
haunted by her own memories. Remember PTSD doesn't just hit a soldier who's
been to war.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Betrayed </span></i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Justine Whitcomb, who,
after the missionary compound where she lives is attacked, is left to get
herself and several children off the island of New Guinea. Escaping might be
easier done if she didn't have to get through Japanese lines and fight Lieutenant
Tyler Merrick of the US Navy in the process.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Lt. Merrick is on a mission to find a rogue spy and
Justine's independent nature and knowledge of the island has him believing she
just might be the spy he's after. Were it not for the children she's protecting,
he would've followed his instincts and taken her prisoner already.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Now she wants him to follow her through the jungle. He not
certain he's ready to trust her. But, if they can't put their fears aside and
learn to trust one another, they might not get off the island alive.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p><b>Share on Twitter</b></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f2327; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Justine
has seven children to get through enemy lines. Does she have to fight the US
Navy too? Betrayed </span></i><a href="http://tiny.cc/BetrayedAM"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">http://tiny.cc/BetrayedAM</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f2327; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">
#ChrisFic</span></i> <o:p></o:p></div>
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Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-33008975376922022892015-10-07T23:39:00.000-06:002015-10-07T23:39:26.774-06:00Been Doodling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ5UucrXoYy2p6bPqoqfAQsZIZMBYCNvtT66kAKioMb96L2ooHqeP6ixO7n0VTAg6GgW9pWpOMfZJWc7J6UIUqZn09tX-OuAsP9c7G6NFCQruDW_1Qe4bcehrRafFpCoMzHaeD/s1600/No%252C+No.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ5UucrXoYy2p6bPqoqfAQsZIZMBYCNvtT66kAKioMb96L2ooHqeP6ixO7n0VTAg6GgW9pWpOMfZJWc7J6UIUqZn09tX-OuAsP9c7G6NFCQruDW_1Qe4bcehrRafFpCoMzHaeD/s400/No%252C+No.jpg" width="365" /></a></div>
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Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-80833303617887647862015-08-20T09:46:00.001-06:002015-08-20T09:56:25.238-06:00War and Brothels<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">War and Brothels<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">As
a wife and mother of military men, this subject is one that isn't so dear to my
heart, but I do find it interesting and think it is important to look at.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">During
WWII and probably every other war, when thousands of men left home to fight and
had to leave the calm of home and family, it is know fact that many found
solace in the arms of other women, and more often than not those women were
hookers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02449/war_2449612b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02449/war_2449612b.jpg" height="199" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">In
WWI many soldiers dealt with lice and bugs and trench fever among other things,
but the multitudes of men caused an uptick in sexually transmitted diseases. So many men found
escape from the horrors of war in brothels, the French set up the red light
districts and hookers who worked in the brothels were checked for STD's before
they could work there. 150,000 British soldier received care for venereal infection in France. It is said that 171,000 men visited the red light
district in Le Havre 1915 alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">In
WWII the Japanese had</span> <span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy";"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Comfort_women">Comfort Women</a>.</span> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Some of these women were
lured by the prospect of jobs in laundries and restaurants, most were kidnapped
from their homes in the countries Japan occupied and forced into sexual
slavery. Japan had well-organized and were open to prostitution at home and
decided they should have it on the field as well. The Comfort Women were
employed to keep the Japanese soldiers happy, which in turn was to keep them
from raping other women and should stave hostilities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/56/The_Allied_Reoccupation_of_the_Andaman_Islands%2C_1945_SE5226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/56/The_Allied_Reoccupation_of_the_Andaman_Islands%2C_1945_SE5226.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">While
some Japanese hookers chose to continue servicing the Imperial Army their
numbers were few. It is said some 20,000 (at the beginning) to 350,000 plus
women forced into brothels for the Japanese throughout Asia and the Pacific
Islands. So you could well imagine that kidnapping women and putting them into
sexual slavery didn't promote goodwill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">When
the bases opened on Oahu and the Hawaii islands, prostitution was legal. While
the islanders and the vast number of Asian settlers to the islands found
prostitution to be a necessary evil, views on open prostitution had been
tempered by the 'social purity movement', and laws were put in place, (that
were loosely enforced) to keep the women in line. It became unacceptable to
work as a prostitute unless you worked from a brothel (or boogey house).
Independent hooking was suppressed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Local
Police regulated the brothels and it was said that they meant the incoming
ships and unescorted woman who were possible madams there to ply their trade,
were handed a list of rules or "Ten Commandments" she was to obey;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">She may
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mountains from Honolulu].</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">She may
not patronize any bars or better class cafes.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">She may
not own property or an automobile.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">She may
not have a steady “boyfriend” or be seen on the streets with any men.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">She may
not marry service personnel.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">She may
not attend dances or visit golf courses.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">She may
not ride in the front seat of a taxicab, or with a man in the back seat.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">She may
not wire money to the mainland without permission of the madam.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">She may
not telephone the mainland without permission of the madam.</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">She may
not change from one house to another.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">She may
not be out of the brothel after 10:30 at night</span></i></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana;">.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">It is said these 'commandments' were enforced
with a heavy hand. Hooking on the island was a lucrative business. Some women made $25,000 to $30,000. Madam triple that or more. After Pearl
Harbor, many women went back to the mainland and others became nurses, leaving
just when the island was flooded with men. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUvutpB7sojK-24bruTuv5oCw7ADv5bNK1rQ5XzOuCHYhahSnd0tothkm_mFdd_5Zb1YBv7la7n5uqJ1fHJLl9uQyL9QTcRFHJ2b6l3DKbWBoQxJEFEWBVuRsFYAfiDpyS5_K/s1600/honolulu+brothel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUvutpB7sojK-24bruTuv5oCw7ADv5bNK1rQ5XzOuCHYhahSnd0tothkm_mFdd_5Zb1YBv7la7n5uqJ1fHJLl9uQyL9QTcRFHJ2b6l3DKbWBoQxJEFEWBVuRsFYAfiDpyS5_K/s320/honolulu+brothel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">When the ships came in the lines were long. Locals knew what the
lines were for, but said little about it. Many just walked through the lines as
they went about their everyday lives. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1d1d1d; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The women began to make so much money
they began to go against the "Ten Commandments" and spend it in
society. When the police tried to enforce the rules, the women ran to the Military. At that point, the military (though they wouldn't admit to it)
somewhat took over the brothels that lines Hotel Street. They said that the
women could be in society and the military even took over the weekly testing for STD's. The women stood up as well saying they were working for the war effort. Which
angered the local police. You can read more about it here.</span><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://maggiemcneill.wordpress.com/2011/07/05/honolulu-harlots/"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Honolulu
Harlots</span></a><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
remember walking around the streets of Ephesus as a teenager and finding a foot
engraved into the stones of the old road that gave directions to the nearest
brothel for the sailors arriving at the port there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Giving
credence to the old adage that "Next to motherhood. Prostitution is the
oldest profession."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdBcVcyjCuxCi7oNttr8xkJrssFAgY4KJaxyq15Y6xoW-WvBSQF2OA4Sbs105CpogEj7JP9FyD-IW_oUZe3vcFV8zdZDyO42ywXIn_pld6FURiZdZmQobthYI0pCM5BrfxkpJv/s1600/BetrayedCoverArt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdBcVcyjCuxCi7oNttr8xkJrssFAgY4KJaxyq15Y6xoW-WvBSQF2OA4Sbs105CpogEj7JP9FyD-IW_oUZe3vcFV8zdZDyO42ywXIn_pld6FURiZdZmQobthYI0pCM5BrfxkpJv/s320/BetrayedCoverArt.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span><a href="http://tiny.cc/BetrayedAM" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Betrayed</i></span></a></div>
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Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-84777875137326597052015-08-02T13:51:00.002-06:002015-08-03T15:41:11.306-06:00Cover Wars<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">To Carry Her Cross</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">is on</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://authorshout.com/cover-wars/" target="_blank">Cover Wars</a> all this week.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAQuaXQI5-hQlIV_cLhTNQLTzS1stUC8S-OVqrCOfOlv_thRzt9qoIO0yUscImPvTAZjhl7YdYYjSSzFJ-_ysWD6H0P8Gs0wHiK8p1zhKugBLQfVyOM4XHCrKn7luvo91t_Qq/s1600/To+Carry+Her+Cross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAQuaXQI5-hQlIV_cLhTNQLTzS1stUC8S-OVqrCOfOlv_thRzt9qoIO0yUscImPvTAZjhl7YdYYjSSzFJ-_ysWD6H0P8Gs0wHiK8p1zhKugBLQfVyOM4XHCrKn7luvo91t_Qq/s320/To+Carry+Her+Cross.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I would love your vote (daily votes are allowed) for this beautiful cover by Carol Fiorillo at Desert Breeze.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Follow this link to vote … </span><a href="http://authorshout.com/cover-wars/" style="font-size: x-large;" target="_blank">Cover Wars</a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">thank you for your vote</span></div>
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<br />Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-24182214822184771712015-06-22T11:54:00.000-06:002015-06-22T11:54:05.299-06:00Debonair Dog<span style="font-size: x-large;">Max's musings…</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjz81fsMtD8JxT08I08TwIGs98yWA7R5PSuy_zVBj2lcH5lby1nSdti9rl2TYySGdtxvge_rwXD9R5wZS0RPfhuH1iF_xwYlea93ANVj7fmSl3dYkpO_rMbQWhOb5M0pHHD0od/s1600/Debonair+Dog+Chuck+Norris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjz81fsMtD8JxT08I08TwIGs98yWA7R5PSuy_zVBj2lcH5lby1nSdti9rl2TYySGdtxvge_rwXD9R5wZS0RPfhuH1iF_xwYlea93ANVj7fmSl3dYkpO_rMbQWhOb5M0pHHD0od/s640/Debonair+Dog+Chuck+Norris.jpg" width="395" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-61121109159872338832015-05-27T21:51:00.000-06:002015-05-27T21:58:47.710-06:00Debonair Dog<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Max…</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0gXAs6LFvafN-pyM5GVhH5mBobph8Gwnw0Z-b945XjLBY1_d80GaUxsgV09rVN9irqRdFBh_x2uRlrb6zv-4Zdiz3btTD1zwy_LaIw6Z5l4Rx6GVO00lENYdbkz2BqtqkpN9c/s1600/Debonair+Dog+Voss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0gXAs6LFvafN-pyM5GVhH5mBobph8Gwnw0Z-b945XjLBY1_d80GaUxsgV09rVN9irqRdFBh_x2uRlrb6zv-4Zdiz3btTD1zwy_LaIw6Z5l4Rx6GVO00lENYdbkz2BqtqkpN9c/s640/Debonair+Dog+Voss.jpg" width="392" /></a></div>
<br />Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-36114233954568373262014-12-19T11:58:00.003-07:002014-12-19T12:52:53.577-07:00Merry Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><em>Merry Christmas</em></span></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: x-large;"></span></em> </div>
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from our house to yours. </div>
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This is a tough year as it is the first Christmas since mom went home to be with the Lord last January. And the first year that none of my children are living around us. Thankfully we will be getting together with them to celebrate.<br />
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It's funny how sights and smells bring memories of times past to mind. I'm reminded of Christmases past, spent with Mom and Dad, who are both gone. I remember laughter and yes tears. I remember sitting with family and listening to Dad read the Christmas story. I remember singing carol's while my dad played guitar. I recall the lights and presents under the tree.<br />
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Those are traditions my husband, Danny and I went on to share with our own children and grandchildren. I plan to make many more. I am grateful my parent's took the time to tell me the truth of Christmas and instill in me the wonder and joy of taking time out of the hustle of life and to rest in the arms of the Lord. I pray that gift for you this Christmas. I pray you find the wonder of child in the manger and take hold of the gift of love and life he came to bring to mankind.<br />
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What does Christmas mean to you? Share some of your fondest memories from Christmas past.</div>
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Above is a little drawing I did on the computer today. My Christmas card to you. Hope you have the merriest of Christmases and the brightest New Year.</div>
<br />Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-78021661701742016332014-07-01T19:28:00.000-06:002014-07-01T19:28:32.237-06:00Brain Exercises… Music <br />
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Gloria Estefan and the ______________ </div>
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Sting and the _______________</div>
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Captain and _______________ </div>
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Loggins and ______________</div>
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The Band _________________ </div>
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Mama's and ______________</div>
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Jars of ______________ </div>
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Smashing _______________</div>
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Foo _________________ </div>
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Red Hot ____________ ____________</div>
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Paul Revere and __________________</div>
Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-79271749261392336482014-06-17T08:17:00.000-06:002014-06-17T08:30:32.942-06:00Happy Birthday to me...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIoqjT4dGfH0MzNsR74U9nHkMlBsquNv7QAKh-8nEdUW-MsL_74cwlgnMV4f_67yGBI4jlqcZs4hNRCkS3sEHLXzCi-1ffbvwzAlb29-MguyQOzh_ywQHcqGKStoBuUP2Kq-M/s1600/b-day+cake.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIoqjT4dGfH0MzNsR74U9nHkMlBsquNv7QAKh-8nEdUW-MsL_74cwlgnMV4f_67yGBI4jlqcZs4hNRCkS3sEHLXzCi-1ffbvwzAlb29-MguyQOzh_ywQHcqGKStoBuUP2Kq-M/s1600/b-day+cake.jpeg" height="184" width="200" /></a>As a kid, I couldn't wait for my birthday. There would parties and gifts and friends and fun. And each year that past made me wonder what the next year might be.<br />
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My life spread out before me like a mystery. I dreamed of what I might become.<br />
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I wanted to be a veterinarian, until I realized you had to deal with blood.<br />
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I wanted to be superwoman, to save the world. Really I just wanted to fly and have all those cool super powers. There was no end to what superwoman could do. Except for Krypton, I would be invincible.<br />
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I wanted to be a genie, like Jeannie, pretty much for the same principle as being superwoman. Jeannie could do anything. She could get herself in and out of trouble with a snap. And it would be nice to blink and clean my room or go wherever I wanted. Homework would be a breeze, and I could live in a tiny little bottle and not be disturbed. (Unless someone capped said bottle and made me their Genie slave) I could help the world.<br />
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I wanted to be an actress. The next Doris Day, singing and dancing across the stage, my name in lights. Of course to be that, one had to know how to dance. I had the singing down, but only as long as I was alone. Put me on stage and I'd freeze like a deer in headlights. So I had to set that dream aside.<br />
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I had other aspirations like becoming an archeologist, trekking through lust jungles, uncovering lost civilizations. Had to give that up when I realized I had to go into dark tunnels. Claustrophobic as I am, I'd probably come out screaming, if I ever went in. And let's not discuss spider webs and the beasties that make them.<br />
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I wanted to be a princess, (well really queen,) so I could rule the world. And if a charming prince were thrown into the mix, that might be okay as well.<br />
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I wanted to be an astronaut and travel to the stars, float around in a tube, seek out strange new worlds and…<br />
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I wanted to be dropped off back in time and become a gunslinging cowgirl.<br />
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And I'm excited to say that I've become all those things. Okay I've managed it because as a writer. I take day trips to places the human me can never go.<br />
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Now that I'm older, I don't spend my life wondering what I'll become.<br />
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(That's not to say that I don't have some dreams, because there are still things I'd like to do. Become a best selling author. Have a book become a movie. Become a photographer. President.)<br />
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Now, I spend more time wondering what I've done and whether or not my life has amounted to anything. To any of the dreams I had for me. Any of the Dreams God had for me. Did I use my time wisely? Did I glorify my creator?<br />
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Have I left a legacy? I realize I'll probably only be a brief blurb in history, (and that could be thinking big again) but will it a kind blurb? A blurb worth mentioning?<br />
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Will the life I've lived matter in time? Will the life I've lived touch others?<br />
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Only time will tell...<br />
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<br />Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-37894213627625367752014-06-02T00:00:00.000-06:002014-06-02T11:10:43.410-06:00Blog Hop...<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">I’ve been invited to participate in a
“blog hop”! The assignment is to write a post that answers four specific
questions about my writing, and then tag three other writers who will do the
same in their blogs. Be sure to see the links at the end to their blogs–you’ll
want to get to know these amazing ladies! Thank you to Dana McNeely for
inviting me to be part of this.<span style="color: #434152;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">What are you working on?</span></i></b><i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 13pt;">I have several irons in the
fire or perhaps several stories floating around in my head, which can get a bit busy when all the </span><span style="font-size: 17px;">characters</span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> want attention at once. But as of late, life has been a bit more demanding and my brain seems to be a bit on hold. Still, I'm working on
Her Secret Garden, a novella, Counting Tessa, a futuristic speculative novel
with time travel, with cloning, Tamed by Mercy and still trying to finish a
couple other Civil War novels, From Hell to Eternity which is about
Andersonville Prison and Finding Middle C, a story about a woman who loses much
in the war, but begins to find life's music again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">How does your work differ from others
in its genre? </span></i></b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-style: italic; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">While the stories I write may be</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> similar to the
stories of other writers, the difference arises because I put a touch of who I
am, my heart and insight, into the stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I try to put a new spin, or tell something in a different way, but
comparisons to other writers are still made. I won't complain because sometimes
that puts me in pretty good company.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Why do you write what you do? </span></i></b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">I write what I do because the thought of the story has piqued my
imagination and I want to delve into a new work and see where my characters
take me. I also want to touch readers with my stories. I believe my imagination
comes from God and He wants me to use it to His glory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How does your writing process work?</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Some days my mind is firing on
all cylinders. And I can sit down and write and write. I do most of my writing
my hand, because I find that helps me to think the story through better. Then I
put all into the computer. When I do input I do a bit of editing as well. I
don’t usually start with an outline, but later on I might jot down the finer
points of where the story is headed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 30.0pt; letter-spacing: -1.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Tag, You’re It!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">I didn't
exactly tag anyone to carry on, but here are the links to others on the hop. Sometime
in the next few days each of them will answer the same four questions in
their respective blogs. Be sure to check out their posts. They are:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-657DPdNZTE1LlMF4HWXkefqlDqDGVHwgItyf_sc9bDakf8qedSYzQ6oetNPgu0kATOyUlDhSjIqfpYiZ3sipUNr80ooqNwO2DWb5-UrVscdrJ_KUBAeiV-WA4Bf4SiRwfPvs/s1600/frogs2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-657DPdNZTE1LlMF4HWXkefqlDqDGVHwgItyf_sc9bDakf8qedSYzQ6oetNPgu0kATOyUlDhSjIqfpYiZ3sipUNr80ooqNwO2DWb5-UrVscdrJ_KUBAeiV-WA4Bf4SiRwfPvs/s1600/frogs2.jpeg" height="320" width="156" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-font-family: Times; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-fareast-font-family: Times; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13pt; text-indent: -0.5in;"> ◦<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span></span><b style="text-indent: -0.5in;"><i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Amory Cannon</span></i></b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13pt; text-indent: -0.5in;"> writes romantic suspense as Amryn
Cross. She is in <b><a href="http://www.acfw.com/"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">American Christian Fiction Writers</span></a>’</b>
with me. Her debut novel, <i>Learning to Die</i>, will release in
September 2014. Amory/Amryn blogs on her <a href="http://www.amryncross.com/"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><b>website</b></span></a>. Watch for her answers to the four questions there in the
next week or so.</span></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"> ◦<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Laura Hilton</span></i></b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;"> will post her answers at <a href="http://lauravhilton.blogspot.com/"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><b>her blog</b></span></a>. Laura and I used to be members
of a critique group several years ago. I've been privileged to see her writing
grow. She writes Amish fiction, and has published several novels in that genre.
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"> ◦<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b><i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">Dana McNeely</span></i></b><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;"> is a semifinalist in the American
Christian Fiction Writers Genesis contest in the historical category.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Watch for her answers to these questions in a
few days on the <b><a href="http://cwowarizona.blogspot.com/"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Christian
Writers of the West blog</span></a>.</b></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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◦<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><b><i><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Renee Blare</span></i></b><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> I've met Renee online through American Christian </span><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-indent: -0.5in;">Fiction Writers. she is a semifinalist in the American Christian </span><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-indent: -0.5in;">Fiction Writers Genesis contest. You can find out </span><span style="font-size: 17px; text-indent: -0.5in;">more</span><span style="font-size: 13pt; text-indent: -0.5in;"> about her at </span><a href="http://reneeblare.blogspot.com/" style="font-size: 13pt; text-indent: -0.5in;"><b>her blog</b></a><span style="text-indent: -0.5in;">.</span></div>
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Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-91891576397441505522014-05-11T00:00:00.000-06:002014-05-11T00:31:30.735-06:00For Mother's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Happy Mother's Day</span></div>
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and especially to my mom, who I miss this year. </div>
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The first is over 50 that I won't be able to call </div>
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or say I love you.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Baby Steps</i></span></div>
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by Tina Pinson</div>
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<i>I used to carry you, used to complain</i></div>
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<i>about how heavy you were becoming.</i></div>
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<i>So I set you down and taught you to walk.</i></div>
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<i>Baby Steps...</i></div>
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<i>Look at you. When did you learn to walk so well?</i></div>
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<i>I used to hold your hand. Or you held mine.</i></div>
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<i>But a time came when you want to run.</i></div>
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<i>So I let you go and watched you trot away</i></div>
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<i>Baby Steps…</i></div>
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<i>When did you learn to run so fast?</i></div>
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<i>I used to watch you play. In the sandbox. On the slide.</i></div>
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<i>But running gave way to bikes and bikes to cars.</i></div>
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<i>So I folded my hands with a pray, and watched you drive away.</i></div>
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<i>Baby Steps…</i></div>
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<i>Where did that handsome young man come from?</i></div>
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<i>I used to listen to the roar of your car's engine,</i></div>
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<i>signaling your save return home. But you've moved away.</i></div>
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<i>It was time I suppose, but your room is so empty.</i></div>
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<i>Baby Steps…</i></div>
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<i>Now I wait for the phone to ring and you to call home.</i></div>
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<i>Oh that I could watch you toddling again.</i></div>
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<i>I remember when you held my hand and walked in my shadow.</i></div>
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<i>Baby Steps...</i></div>
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<i>When did your steps </i><i>surpass mine?</i></div>
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<i>When did your shadow become so long?</i></div>
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<i>You take the steps of a man now. So sure, so strong.</i></div>
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<i>You don't need my hand to hold you anymore.</i></div>
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<i>Forgive your mother her tears.</i></div>
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<i>Forgive your mother her dreams that we could go back</i></div>
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<i>and I could snuggle you and hold you again.</i></div>
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<i>See, you may be grown, and have a family of your own,</i></div>
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<i>but you'll always be my little boy.</i></div>
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<i>Baby Steps.</i></div>
<br />Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34237640.post-87822054089028908132014-05-06T21:47:00.002-06:002014-05-07T15:24:16.842-06:00Just Imagine...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria;">Tina here. I showed you my doodles a few days back and thought I would share the post they went to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">You know I hate to admit it, but as a child I had some quirky ideas about life. My imagination was on constant overload. ( I got in trouble quite often for telling whoppers)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">As a child I believed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><o:p><strong>Trees came to life at night and their shadows moved across the wall.</strong></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><o:p><strong>You had to keep your window closed or they could snatch you out of bed.</strong></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">Gravity held me to the earth, but if I spun hard enough I would fly off into space.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">If I killed a spider all its friends and family would come crawl all over me while I slept.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">Drinking chocolate milk gave me a tan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">The clothes in my closet came to life after midnight and held battles against each other. My blanket protected me from their weapons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><strong>When I ate my body filled from the toes up. When I got too full I had to puke.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><strong>I used to stare at my feet just to see if I could see them fill up.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">If I dug a hole deep enough, (as a kid that was probably ten feet) I'd reach China.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">If I was quiet enough, I could hear the animals talking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">My father put a camper on our truck when we moved to Germany so we would have a place to live. People there still lived in caves. (And this I believed in 1969)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><o:p><strong>I could fly with an umbrella.</strong></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><o:p><strong>It could happen if the wind blew just right.</strong></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">If I acted angry and growled real loud when I was mad, my sisters would leave me alone because they were scared. Yeah, that one rarely worked. They laughed and bothered me more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> Y</span></o:p><span style="font-family: Cambria;">ou can see these were some silly things. And there are others, but I won't bore you.</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Cambria;">I've grown up now. Matured. Put away childish thoughts and things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Cambria;">For the most part.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><strong>I still catch myself blowing on dandelions, hoping my wishes come true.<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">Every so often I find myself skipping cracks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">I say knock on wood and cross my fingers.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">I check my books on Amazon, religiously, thinking somehow if I stare long enough the numbers will fall and my books will sell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">I wish on stars although I don't really believe they'll come true.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">I still wonder about those spiders and their families sometimes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">I make tents with my grandchildren and pretend I'm camping or on a wild safari.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">I dance in rain puddles and sing. "Singing the Rain."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">But I have stopped sending out chain letters because I'm pretty certain they don't work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">You're probably wondering why I'm saying all this. Admitting my childish thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">Because imagination is a wonderful thing. A gift. It's not to be misused. We shouldn't let it lead us astray and into trouble. No. Like children, we need to turn our imaginations over to God and trust him to direct our thoughts, trust him to take wrong thoughts captive and show us dreams we never thought before. Like children we need to look for the wonder in creation around us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">From the mind of imagination comes new concepts, new stories. New Dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">Have you ever thought of an idea and kept it or used it for yourself and did nothing more, only to find someone else took the further step and got a patent? And consumers soon had a new product.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">You can't stop at imagination and hope to fulfill a dream. Hope has to be engaged and steps taken to move you forward. I realize those steps can be scary. So you might just want to sit down and give up. But don't. </span><span style="font-family: Cambria;"> I want you to engage your thoughts. Your dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">How many failed attempts were there before the telephone? How many planes crashed before man flew?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">Hope and vision carried the imagination of inventors the world over through trials and disappointment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">Just imagine how life would be if inventors and scientists just gave up?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">No Cars. No Planes. No Trains. No Electricity. No Toilet. No Gum. No ATM's. No Books. No Paper. No… well you fill in the blanks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;">What would you miss?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><b>Proverbs 29 :18a</b> (KJV) <em>Where there is no vision the people perish…<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria;"><b>Acts 2:17</b> (KJV) <em>And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith the Lord, I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh: and your sons and daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions and your old men will dream dreams.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";">What has God seeded in your imagination that you need to give more attention to?</span></b></div>
Tina Pinsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03543877589435104324noreply@blogger.com0