Love, Laughter, and Life

Adventures With a Book Lover


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Visual Learner? That’s Me

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It has recently come to my attention that I have strong tendencies towards being a visual learner. I think visually and that impacts the things I do and how I do them.

Take for instance, my desire to learn French. This is what initially made me consider my bent towards visual learning. I love the French language. I adore seeing text – signs, words, symbols, and books in French. But hearing is a part of language learning, and I realized I can’t really hear what is being said and understand the different words. I kept thinking to myself If only I could SEE the words, I’d be able to comprehend what was being said.

Visual learner, yes I am.

Another example that points towards my tendency to acquire knowledge through visual means or to impart something visually is the way I plan for teaching. In my classroom, my displays – bulletin boards, posters, learning centers, student work, general decor – are of the utmost importance. I can’t rest until the room is visually arranged and attractive.

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Some other habits I’ve noticed:

~ In the teaching plans I write, I nearly always include suggestions for visual impact – displays, table decor, posters, signs, and room arrangement. Rarely do I include hearing-only activities. Good thing to notice right? Now I can make sure to suggest activities that lean towards the hearing and doing types of learning.

~ Photographs. I love taking photos of everything thing I do and every place I go. These photos become a visual diary of my pursuits.

~ Instagram. I love this app! Pictures and text inform and delight my visual brain.

~Pinterest. Same reason. Pictures and visual clues. I don’t often read the original post or seek out the origins of the image. I glean by reading the pictures, and my imagination goes from there.

~ Reading. I LOVE reading, and reading requires visual skills. I’d be happy if I could live in front of a fireplace sipping hot cocoa and reading a great book while snow piled up against the eaves.

The visual learning list goes on.

Do you think you are a visual learner? Check out this post I found that lists 10 Characteristics of Visual Learners here. I’d say I nailed it!

Of the learning styles, which are you? Visual, auditory, kinesthetic? I’d love to hear. I mean, see your name and comment in print. Wink, wink.

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Hoping for spring flowers. But first, the snow must melt.


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Love and Chocolate

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All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.

~ Charles M. Schulz

 

Love comes from many places: a spouse, parents, siblings, children, grands, friends, neighbors, and co-workers. Don’t stop there. Call it what you will, but I know my cats give me love, dogs give love, and pets of all sorts show attachment to owners. Living, breathing people and animals give love. Love is not easy to understand, is sometimes challenging to offer, and this side of Heaven is totally imperfect. It can’t be forced but it can be reciprocated. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to love, as difficult and trying as it sometimes is. Just trying counts. Hoping tomorrow I can do my part in spreading the love. And some chocolate.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16 (NIV)

May your Valentine’s Day be filled with love and dark chocolate.

 


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Snow Cream

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Today is it, folks. At least for the Yakima Valley. Maybe.

Time to get out there and grab a bowl full of clean fresh snow before the rains hit tomorrow. Let’s make snow cream!

Snow Cream

  1. Fill a cereal bowl with clean snow. If you are doing this with kids, give them each a bowl to fill.
  2. To each bowl add about: 1/2 tsp. vanilla, 1/2 tsp. sugar, and enough 1/2 & 1/2 or milk to desired consistency. Mix with a spoon. This is very light sugar, as I don’t care for syrupy sweet stuff, but you can add more sugar if you want. This would also be great with fresh fruit.
  3. Eat, enjoy, repeat.

My mom used to make snow cream for us when I was a kid. I think she used to add eggs. But I’m not a big fan of raw eggs, and I was a kid. I could be way off base. Either way, no eggs.

Brain freeze!

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Throwback Thursday: Sunday Markets, I Miss You!

Summer farmer markets, oh how I look forward to you! Enjoy this throwback post from August 2009.

The fountain at Place Monge on Sunday Market day

Place Monge (Paris) fountain on Sunday Market day

In France, one of the things we truly enjoyed was the Sunday market held in the Place Monge town square. One could buy ANYTHING needed for eating, drinking, or giving. One Sunday we encountered a simultaneous flea market, but I could never figure out when another was going to be staged. I so wanted another chance at finding treasures!

On any given Sunday, there was no lack of choices for purchase at the market. Fresh fruit, vegetables, and flowers were squashed in among stalls of stinky cheese and fish, raw meat and poultry. Lucious homemade breads competed for the winning fragrance award with occasional ‘meals made for you right now.’ The entire experience was a delight for the senses. Taking home the goods – mouth-watering sustenance.

flowers on Sunday Market

Flowers at Sunday Market

Meat vendor at Place Monge

Meat vendor at Place Monge

vegetable vendor at Place Monge

Produce vendor at Place Monge

Market fare from Place Monge

A meal comprised of market fare from Place Monge

Many years ago, in the Yakima Valley, a Sunday farmer’s market was hatched. Of course, being at church  most of each Sunday, we did not frequent the market. In fact, we boycotted it simply because it should be held on Saturdays (our opinion) so market workers and go-ers could attend church on Sunday. Granted, I don’t believe our boycott gained any new members of a church anywhere…

With our recent life change of full Sunday church responsibilities to experiencing ‘house church’ at a local park on Sunday mornings, we decided we would check it out – to see what the rest of the valley does on Sunday mornings. It seems that many residents take pride and joy at what is locally available, fresh from the fields, and the hands of gardeners, farmers, and crafters.

Sunday Market in Yakima

Sunday Market in Yakima

Pleasantly surprised, we found a plethora of aromatic and tasty produce, fruit, home-produced crafts, and food items. Mixed in was a variety of ethnic food stalls (I love the panset and lumpia) and shoppers galore.

Checking out the goods

Checking out the goods

An added bonus was musical entertainment. Steel drum music was such a wonderful accompaniment to the outing.

My grandbaby hits the Sunday Market

My oldest grandbaby (now he is 7) hits the Sunday Market

We encountered people we knew, interacted with community members, and socialized under the hot sun. Purchasing fresh produce and showing off our grandson were top prizes for the day.

Hayden with Papa at the Yakima Sunday Market

Hayden with Papa at the Yakima Sunday Market

I guess the boycott was a misguided waste of time. The Master Gardener did not stick Himself in church and stay there all day on Sundays. He was out among the people, out in the community. Perhaps more productive to relationship building, making new friends, and reaching out is to be where the people are…not where we think they should be, but where they actually are.

A challenge to myself – where are the families in my community on any given Sunday morning? Maybe it’s time I found out…and made some new friends.


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Expectation – A Poem

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Expectation

of falling leaves

laced windows

crinkled edges on mud puddles

 

Nesting

for darkened skies

steaming breaths

everlasting winter nights

 

Embrace

need for warmth

bundled outings

dampness pervading excursions

 

Breathing

knife edged air

smoke heated rooms

Savor the moment

 

Peace

over bounteous tables

quilted beds

in heart and home

 

Tranquility

The seasons change

all is well

Nested


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Digging Out the Tree (Christmas Tree, That Is)

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There I was. Putzing around while my honey worked up a sweat digging out a fresh little Christmas tree. I couldn’t really help him, one shovel and all.

In our area, we can purchase a tree permit from the forest service and dig or cut a tree up to 15 feet tall. As long as we follow the rules of where and where not, we get to choose whichever tree we love!

The first tree ‘we’ loved was a beauty! Between 5-6 feet tall, symmetrical, gorgeous. Plans were changed and we decided to dig up this pretty baby (by we, I mean he) and immediately plant it in the pasture before the ground froze.

Uhm. 5-6 foot evergreen trees do not come with short and easy-to-remove-from-the-dirt roots. After probably 25 minutes of heavy duty grunt work, we told the tree we love you and grow well and strong and shoveled all the dirt back and tamped it down. The tree would not budge. It loved where it lived.

The results from this attempt made us decide to dig up a smaller tree. MUCH smaller.

We found a lovely, adorable little tree stuck on the side of a hill. It called out to us – “Take me home!”

So my honey started digging. We had expectations for a shorter dig time. This prediction did not account for the rock. We also planned on potting this cutie and enjoying it inside the RV and planting it later in the spring.

Except for the rock. And the huge curvy taproot wrapped around the rock that would have forced us to use a pot the size of a small car in order to cover it with soil. That sort of container does not fit in the RV.

Plan C. Bag up the cute tree which still required 15 or so minutes for extraction, and immediately introduce it to the new home in the pasture.

Our second tree, originally planned as a larger cut tree, then switched to “Let’s dig out 2 trees,” was then maneuvered back into the original plan after the digging marathons. A stately and fragrant tree became our cut tree.

One can never tell what is lurking below the surface. Rocks, roots, acres of soil – depth of stability, secure anchorage, ablility to withstand hurricane force winds or mountains of heavy snow. Baby trees face all sorts of dangerous conditions out in the wild. And each one causes the tree to grow stronger and more resilient, develop even deeper roots, and hang on tight.

I should have taken a picture of that root wrapped rock. As a reminder. But the mushrooms were calling and I didn’t realize the significance of the rock. It’s like that sometimes. Upon later reflection, insights swivel my viewfinder to see what’s truly important.

Sometimes I feel like a baby tree, stuff coming at me from all directions. I bend, shudder, and quake, tossed like a dandelion puff on the wind. But as long as my heart roots are wrapped around the Rock, I am safe and can rest in His care and protection. I can continue to grow and become stronger as I sink my roots deep and wrap them ever tighter around my source of strength.

The Rock.

“Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness.”

– Colossians 2:7


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Waiting

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Waiting is never easy, but manageable. (Photo by Angie Quantrell, 2016)

Stand – lean – patient forms.

Windblown tractor ride groupies.

Next in line, we wait.

 

– Haiku by Angie Quantrell

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Bill’s Berry Farm tractor ride extravaganza, 2016 (Photo by Angie Quantrell, 2016)

 


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Rock or Fish? Haiku

See the little face?

Swimming amidst the wet sand.

Rocky bed for fish.

 

– Haiku and photo by Angie Quantrell

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He Sold the House While I Was Gone!

Colors from our garden

By Angie Quantrell @AngieQuantrell

Go on vacation, buy an RV trailer.

Go to see my friends, the hubby sells the house.

What next?

The rest of the story . . .

When we sold our first home, I was at a conference in New Mexico with some wonderful ladies. Kevin repeatedly called me, updating the news and asking questions. Finally, his calls took on a list-like look.

“Honey, I sold the fridge.”

“Honey, I sold the boat.”

“Honey, I sold the . . .”

In desperation, I turned to my ladies, who were totally tuned in to the situation. “I’ve got to get home before he sells the kids!”

Many, many years later, the story is similar.

Last week was vacation. We enjoyed a few days with my cousin. We shopped for RVs but didn’t find one we could live in for any length of time. We discussed in great detail EVERY single option of selling our home and finally beginning our bucket list plan to build a small home. And I mean EVERY detail.

After returning home, we made an appointment with our realtor to ask questions and prepare to sell. That was Thursday.

The following Monday we met again and listed the house. The signs went up and photos were taken.

Tuesday was the realtor walk through day, so I loaded up the cats and headed to the other Quantrell’s for most of the day. Not only did several realtors visit our home, we had a showing with a different realtor. Just as I was putting quiche in the oven, we received a text for another showing. We quickly ate, grabbed the cats, and vacated the premises.

On Wednesday, I headed to visit college friends, leaving Kevin in charge of the home selling adventure. Kevin was texted for yet another showing. This one lasted almost 2 hours.

On Thursday morning, we received an offer! After another already scheduled showing later that day, paperwork was completed, and we accepted the offer for our home.

Guess where I was? Not at home. I was with friends on the other side of the mountains. Texts flew back and forth.

“We got an offer.”

“We are meeting to discuss the deal.”

“You need to sign these papers.”

I really need to not leave my husband at home alone! There’s no telling what he is planning on selling next . . .

Providing all goes well with the various sale-of-home proceedings, we will soon be living the RV life.

I guess that means we really are old Nana and Papa grandparents. (And we love it!)


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What’s Your Fragrance?

Lavender, my signature flower

By Angie Quantrell @AngieQuantrell

A few days ago, I was reading in 2 Corinthians, chapter 2. Immersed in the words, it took me a moment to realize that I was reading with a scent in my nose.

Tantalizing wafts of fragrance swirled through my thoughts.

“But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing,” (2 Corinthians 2:14-15, ESV).

As the words I read floated through my mind, they were accompanied by the memories and aroma of lavender.

Lavender.

In my heart, Christ (and therefore God) has the refreshing, calming, soothing, and beautiful fragrance of lavender. He smells like lavender! The Peace that fills my soul and permeates my life is that of lavender.

Quiet. Peace. Reverence.

Is it no wonder that lavender is one of my favorite blooming herbs? I am drawn to lavender as the bees, seeking scent and beauty. I gently brush my fingertips along the flowers and attempt to capture the faint scent. Or I crush and bruise petals and stem between these wretched fingers, forcing the flowers to release their fragrance. For my benefit.

Isn’t that what happened so long ago? He was crushed and bruised, all to release the gift of His life, the fragrance of salvation. But that was not just for me. Rather, it was for all of us.

The fragrance of lavender.

Do you read with your nose? What fragrance is God to you?

Oh, to smell like lavender to those around us.