tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79040529379129995072024-03-18T23:12:08.780-04:00It's Beautiful Here. Life in the eye of a hurricane.Recognizing and acknowledging beauty, every day. An especially important exercise under any circumstance.Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-25328903294966394962018-12-07T13:11:00.000-05:002018-12-07T13:17:02.588-05:00Vicissitudes and Hardihood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtgWfFXfEasCCzc6p96E1XEsU_TQG8fycBQBRC5FxcW3RUP95oz9SH3nEZBNeNxNhHLBLwHE-KL1CYELW7DCpClrlqMc4pUUayDTud_7XVpD-ibOtxgwdYqlc5tXRF4duZZR3YwWEyOUs/s1600/84796647-2306-496F-A6D8-CADCFF8DBD05.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtgWfFXfEasCCzc6p96E1XEsU_TQG8fycBQBRC5FxcW3RUP95oz9SH3nEZBNeNxNhHLBLwHE-KL1CYELW7DCpClrlqMc4pUUayDTud_7XVpD-ibOtxgwdYqlc5tXRF4duZZR3YwWEyOUs/s320/84796647-2306-496F-A6D8-CADCFF8DBD05.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 19pt;">Age softens man...in many ways. I find no good reason to accept, participate, or aid in that process of degradation. I ride on. </span></div>
Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-75814129030573498472018-10-26T14:06:00.000-04:002018-10-26T14:06:39.704-04:00...and he found himself alone on a gravel road. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Open your arms to the pain and suffering of life, it will illuminate the beauty of being human.Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-40726979048810382462017-09-28T12:23:00.002-04:002017-10-04T14:33:11.140-04:00Rapprochement: The Reestablishment of Harmony.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; line-height: 107%;">Inherent in Man is a desire to test boundaries, accumulate achievement, and manifest significance in the world. These exercises, when done equitably, reframe perspective…and Man rejoices in the adjustment.</span></div>
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Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-32174695818895209532017-07-30T17:18:00.000-04:002017-07-30T17:45:04.465-04:00A Love Note. From God.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9RT9qC2LmCpQx4AYPh6zXUHiczVw_5MLc2BpEWy14Zb5VgWnQcZVZ_rkDGDgGyfusTB548csnaV6p1MJeXTwySuW4tkD2EDVfAvrSlSey09OTZrQ-HOiqfggZlsitgsaf_Nth7WN4SsU/s1600/GBP+Crash+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1143" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9RT9qC2LmCpQx4AYPh6zXUHiczVw_5MLc2BpEWy14Zb5VgWnQcZVZ_rkDGDgGyfusTB548csnaV6p1MJeXTwySuW4tkD2EDVfAvrSlSey09OTZrQ-HOiqfggZlsitgsaf_Nth7WN4SsU/s320/GBP+Crash+1.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
On particularly rough days, when doubt is easily harbored and I'm certain I can't possibly go on, I like to remind myself that my record for getting through bad days so far is 100%...and that's pretty good.<br />
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I took a rough little tumble...then I got up! I remain undefeated!<br />
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Challenges must be viewed as opportunities, portals for thoughtful reflection and personal growth. This gift came with a love note: "Joel, slow down. You're welcome, God." Such humor and irony!<br />
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<br />Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-81293165532545773432017-01-11T18:18:00.001-05:002017-01-16T13:46:05.747-05:00The Gravel Road<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQL7VUTICRXw2fA1_MkNYvFxMl0UIAk6hRRuEgYDlB2sEThfrqHx8z3pDHUOSgGke2oH235kbMDFjtLmxGlROtJynBhSTMSEq4c8kTNR-Zzf38pEnJWw94zR-RgEamMJyOHZPTZhy6ec/s1600/gravel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQL7VUTICRXw2fA1_MkNYvFxMl0UIAk6hRRuEgYDlB2sEThfrqHx8z3pDHUOSgGke2oH235kbMDFjtLmxGlROtJynBhSTMSEq4c8kTNR-Zzf38pEnJWw94zR-RgEamMJyOHZPTZhy6ec/s400/gravel.jpg" width="398" /></a></div>
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One stone about</div>
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With a beautiful view</div>
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Just a rock in the road</div>
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At piece with you.</div>
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We accumulate </div>
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Disseminate<br />
And annotate</div>
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In aggregate.</div>
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We touch, we talk</div>
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Leave a place to walk</div>
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For tomorrow's traveler</div>
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We turn to chalk. </div>
Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-21563079448844666172016-12-22T15:30:00.000-05:002016-12-22T15:30:30.468-05:00I came upon a Gate.<div>
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Riding through life one day…I came upon a gate. Fashioned from scrap metal and finished in Mother Nature's signature patina of rust, it was a long forgotten discouragement, left behind after the coal was gone.</div>
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Helplessly named Private Property, a custodian assigned to limit and control access to something…or somewhere; all while freely sharing through a holey, windowed construct, the remote beauty and intrigue within.</div>
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There, through her cold countenance, in a shroud of snowfall, a pearly path of ascension rolled and ranged ever up and out of view. Riding through life one day…I came upon a gate.<br />
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Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-8015252649638680002016-11-16T12:02:00.000-05:002016-11-18T19:41:03.830-05:00South State Street, Lewis, IN<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRXywFtd9a7NZsmCQgDdmriusKQ5f6HEYZ0emi1xzRB_2L0kPH-NjigoGz4dXxJ748o81iAOUr4AwFiQXz9vTnYQmUrxAUJmuqLIB-uZTg8Mk05gJCS8jXkhWNGm4SyKPAVyrM3tJdeM/s1600/IMG_0106.2015-06-24_212040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRXywFtd9a7NZsmCQgDdmriusKQ5f6HEYZ0emi1xzRB_2L0kPH-NjigoGz4dXxJ748o81iAOUr4AwFiQXz9vTnYQmUrxAUJmuqLIB-uZTg8Mk05gJCS8jXkhWNGm4SyKPAVyrM3tJdeM/s400/IMG_0106.2015-06-24_212040.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I don’t know why I was so unsettled; the end
was inevitable. But still, there is something deep within us always surprised by change.
Here today, gone tomorrow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Coasting down the slight grade on South State
Street one September afternoon in 2015, I was moved to stop and take a picture. The bricks and
mortar constituting the structure have stood for more or less 100 years. Thanks
to a long-since changed demographic and the vicissitudes of time, the building was condemnable, making a last stand in what was once Lewis, Indiana’s business
district. With roof missing, walls shifted and cracked, windows shuttered by
plywood long turned grey, she spoke softly with the sadness of an unvisited
grandmother. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Earlier this fall while on my way home from
somewhere I took a detour through the increasingly unfamiliar streets of Lewis.
My grandparents, Helen and Titus, lived on the corner of E. Green Drive and S. State
Street. During childhood, my summer job was to patrol these streets on a bike.
Hundreds of hours…hundreds of miles. The regular patrols have ceased, time has not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Countless times I had
ridden by this building, rarely ever giving her a moment of consideration. On this beautiful 2016 fall afternoon, she's gone. I reflect upon my childhood joy and peace. In this moment I pause...I listen and take a simple picture. </span><br />
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<br />Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-38633503829588468422015-12-28T21:24:00.001-05:002015-12-28T21:49:55.884-05:00Fifteen more Miles.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7SZ1aAHHZ8IK1jpWTcQni-A38pjnmoHk8UnWZ2vWoQFnF-7rI2pwVlIY-X8SE6kA3MG5ivkE3S0kmqh0PqgNsobHxxycHBkqR-yMb9ypNYRhAbUyLdrgjiz3DRfa4wAP93QGIPaxzbYs/s640/blogger-image--1970197850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7SZ1aAHHZ8IK1jpWTcQni-A38pjnmoHk8UnWZ2vWoQFnF-7rI2pwVlIY-X8SE6kA3MG5ivkE3S0kmqh0PqgNsobHxxycHBkqR-yMb9ypNYRhAbUyLdrgjiz3DRfa4wAP93QGIPaxzbYs/s640/blogger-image--1970197850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWIai_I5srYcodJC3QUQ2jsjIYUHSW7BP0MSu0_ibezucJ2bRDP90Go-KHXiA57vEx23auHn-vZlJmUkcOThDVC1gcUvL9mj_GeEZjgoSj9G9bWCwjazW1wdNQniAywYGuCR52Wz1dQs/s640/blogger-image--348530250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWIai_I5srYcodJC3QUQ2jsjIYUHSW7BP0MSu0_ibezucJ2bRDP90Go-KHXiA57vEx23auHn-vZlJmUkcOThDVC1gcUvL9mj_GeEZjgoSj9G9bWCwjazW1wdNQniAywYGuCR52Wz1dQs/s640/blogger-image--348530250.jpg"></a></div><b>"Difficulties increase the nearer we approach the goal." </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b>-Johann Von Goethe</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Goals should be set high, pushing us to achieve what we thought was impossible. I am close. </div>Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-53431133043823762402015-12-11T20:50:00.001-05:002017-01-11T23:38:54.868-05:00there was Smoke. then Something Changed.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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He wanted to quit. The pain was great and the effort had nearly reduced him to tears. But something was changing. </div>
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A compelling tone of encouragement reverberated from somewhere inside. Still, he wanted to quit, but couldn't...or wouldn't. Either way, can't or won't, something was changing and it was good. </div>
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Buried deep within the recesses of the soul, darkness and light dance together. In this place we find our limits are made of smoke. Here we find fire...and something is changed.</div>
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Find your fire. </div>
Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-40194299980579841442015-11-16T20:15:00.001-05:002015-11-16T21:55:58.201-05:00Railroads and Road Blocks<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-QZT44GzgpRxqzHsX_tAm6CGfoz8x0LO_rSHlaC3-D2qKiEawcMcz1Hk3zQexaJ0VCzjJ8QbZc_RZ60mEYYHypMDBxjizmzgiQMQNqv8YGCRhUV0tqbWnCZI8GUEihq95V6iuL2bJec/s640/blogger-image-1046658174.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-QZT44GzgpRxqzHsX_tAm6CGfoz8x0LO_rSHlaC3-D2qKiEawcMcz1Hk3zQexaJ0VCzjJ8QbZc_RZ60mEYYHypMDBxjizmzgiQMQNqv8YGCRhUV0tqbWnCZI8GUEihq95V6iuL2bJec/s640/blogger-image-1046658174.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Winding away from me, down the tracks in either direction, no end in sight, are hoppers filled with anthracite. The sounds about me, wind whistling in my ears and gravel popping under my tires, dims and disappears as I approach and stop at the railroad crossing. Nature’s beautiful silence fills the void...birds singing both near and far. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It’s November and my coordinates are roughly 39.30*N and 87.23*W, the days grow short and the shadows long as the South Pole tilts toward the sun. A coal hopper casts a shadow of doubt over what is an otherwise glorious day. Roadblocks tend to do that. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Lucky for me I have a bike with attitude, it will go just about anywhere. And so we do. After a quick survey of the situation and a smile for myself, obstacle turns to opportunity. No, I didn’t hobo the train...it wasn’t going anywhere. Along the rail-bed I head East and eventually South. About a quarter mile down the line I find one end of the train. There was no locomotive attached to the last hopper, only what must have been the “End of Train” device, a technological replacement for the caboose. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As I cross the tracks behind the final car I’m bathed by the November sun, discover an access road to deliver me somewhere new, all while I enjoy the expansive view of rolling Indiana farm ground. And that my friends is what happens when you follow your heart and chase the light! </div><div><br></div></div>Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-27755342161633586312015-08-18T22:15:00.001-04:002015-08-18T22:21:31.858-04:00Courage and Grace: Put Your Boat in the Water.<div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkEY4Lg3nB-dCtoM7Gqt3I60HX3fVWEbdezhpVWnj2vkfgTk1STyAYJ3Auo1Vad6kSQmlHlUzhZcA1ZV4bQRGsTRy4-gAXjpYFd5zQpSvALEQIDv5o5IKEiAM-t-lxa2GFlOYwJfiJUNg/s640/blogger-image-611483811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkEY4Lg3nB-dCtoM7Gqt3I60HX3fVWEbdezhpVWnj2vkfgTk1STyAYJ3Auo1Vad6kSQmlHlUzhZcA1ZV4bQRGsTRy4-gAXjpYFd5zQpSvALEQIDv5o5IKEiAM-t-lxa2GFlOYwJfiJUNg/s640/blogger-image-611483811.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Life, like a river, does not sit on the bank and watch itself flow by. Moving...always toward destiny under different circumstances, in a state of peacefulness, rage, flood or recession...always moving. Regardless of the conditions, we need only courage and grace: the courage to put our boat in the water and the grace to delight in the journey. We will get there...eventually. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">*Photo by Jim Cota, Wabash River</div>Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-34855488153753583732015-06-30T10:45:00.001-04:002015-06-30T20:16:40.925-04:00A Breach for Acquittal and Conspiracy<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKjSDccl-XCKbygIKM2xUQDlHYeOeqR-V0WLJUjRCUJZm1bWls6W0Tcm5xUXqLDWSxpU-4WIMDrAGa6bSC8NnVeAUeBeFUQKB-bbgCiHLSwbiJ5cJSMI8SEoQJkdRsY-e50Yoq8ykodTA/s640/blogger-image--165246511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKjSDccl-XCKbygIKM2xUQDlHYeOeqR-V0WLJUjRCUJZm1bWls6W0Tcm5xUXqLDWSxpU-4WIMDrAGa6bSC8NnVeAUeBeFUQKB-bbgCiHLSwbiJ5cJSMI8SEoQJkdRsY-e50Yoq8ykodTA/s640/blogger-image--165246511.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Up here, 34,000 feet above everything, hurdling through the atmosphere at 540 mph - I quietly contemplate. This space is somewhere between Heaven and Earth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Up here, the narrowly focused view constitutes considerable perspective - I am. And, in this moment, up here, all at once time stands still, retreats, and then gently disappears.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Up here, in the space between, is a breach for acquittal and release. Up here, in the space between, resides faith to conspire and court what will be. It's beautiful up here. </div>Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-81903540318312513582015-06-23T11:27:00.000-04:002015-06-23T11:30:29.161-04:00Here I sit, at a bridge. Contemplating.<div>
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<b style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known."</b></div>
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<b style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">-Winnie the Pooh</b></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Situated on a country road in the shallow valley of a forest near
my childhood home there sits a moss-covered concrete bridge. The canopy above
opens and closes at the wind's command, letting golden sunlight dance on the
water gently flowing out from under the bridge, toward tomorrow. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have crossed this bridge too many times to count. An
interestingly uninteresting structure, this bridge is, for a couple reasons. It literally delivered
me from childhood to points near and far about the globe. But more importantly…because there were other roads from my house to the world…this bridge served as a portal
for the imagination, dreams, and adventure of a boy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But we forget. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We allow the act of crossing a bridge to become so
common place that we fail to recognize or acknowledge the important span
between the supports. I passionately work on perspective and its role in my life, yet I still catch my
thoughts far beyond and long away; especially when the destination is
predetermined and the journey but a means to that end. I suspect most adults are
exceptional at crossing bridges in this manner. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We adults also contend with the bridges built in the mind, bridges that
cause grown men to yield. They give us pause because we know not where they
lead. What happens? The unfortunate manifestation of fear circumvolving change
and uncertainty serves adults in a terribly limiting nature.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Always crossed on the way from one place to another, bridges provide
important and necessary structure in the world. A bridge will deliver us to the
other side of something otherwise difficult to pass, or by not crossing will deviate the path
meant for us to take. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri Light","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Here I sit, on a bridge, contemplating the gentle flow of water
toward tomorrow. Here I sit, at a bridge. Contemplating. </span></div>
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Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-71881890310224923612015-04-13T08:24:00.000-04:002015-04-13T08:24:28.178-04:00An act of Piracy<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">"Perhaps on the rare occasion pursuing the right course demands an act of piracy, piracy itself can be </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">the right course?" </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">-Weatherby Swann</span></b></div>
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There is something seductive about the sea that beckons man to her shores. She dances, whispers, calms, and quenches the soul. She comes and goes by the pull of the Moon and kisses the beach endlessly with the mysterious intonation of a siren.</div>
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Here I sit half in and half out of the water, touched by time long passed as it marches up the beach, wave after wave, moment after moment. This water, witness to the legend of the world - having rained down on a garden named Eden, made holy by Honorius II, and fallen salty from the cheek of a crying child - now bastes my legs.</div>
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My mind is quiet, all is quiet. I am present, but not here. Completely connected and totally disengaged. In the distance a two-masted schooner, a pirate's preferred vessel, sails on the dark blue edge silently becoming one with the horizon. </div>
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As diamonds dance on the hope and faith of sapphire blue, turquoise leads us toward truth, before finally turning to champagne in celebration of the moment. Swelling and crashing, she runs, rises, and falls with Time. </div>
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I am taken by an act of piracy. </div>
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Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-36398206756787359492015-02-26T11:53:00.001-05:002015-03-02T17:15:43.762-05:00I've seen that smile before.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLS_BXsxm3Ub323OD7968wwPiMCR8WPgA6wQIYLBbgUZ7gEeYU0GsjWPHU71Z-NqpUiDrc5S3WW18IOON3abJ2T3sUmKNrheOYRlcCE-Wa4FSKE9HJ6KBMj9g4yncHt_N6oV0sse2raeI/s640/blogger-image--495846603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLS_BXsxm3Ub323OD7968wwPiMCR8WPgA6wQIYLBbgUZ7gEeYU0GsjWPHU71Z-NqpUiDrc5S3WW18IOON3abJ2T3sUmKNrheOYRlcCE-Wa4FSKE9HJ6KBMj9g4yncHt_N6oV0sse2raeI/s640/blogger-image--495846603.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Lucille Rees: Always more smile than frown, more friend than foe, and more sweet than sour. Every day she demonstrates how to be more full than empty, more strong than weak, and how to give more than take. Lucy is all these things because she's more interior than exterior, more pond than pool, and more Mom than Dad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Terre Haute South Winter Homecoming Coronation, January 2015</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">-Photography by Caleb Pettit </span></div>
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Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-7726660147531713372015-02-07T17:17:00.000-05:002015-06-23T11:19:42.814-04:00"Always answer on the first knock. Always."<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">"Beer and wings, Wednesday at
7:30. Attendance is mandatory, unless you can't make it." I expect
to receive this cryptic message, or a derivation thereof, at some point in time
every Tuesday. Twenty other guys receive the same knock at their door, and on any
given Wednesday, 10-12 answer by showing up at the appointed place and time. We
will squeeze around 3-4 tables to share food, stories, laughter and a couple
hours of time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Time has no agenda, emotion, feelings
or concerns, yet it's always here. Here, not there. Time waits on no one. Time
doesn't care if you dance; it just sets the beat and keeps itself. I try to
surround myself with people who recognize this simple, yet difficult to grasp
concept. The implacable drum beat of death plays for us all, whether we realize
or accept that is an entirely different matter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It was August 2014, and my son,
Jack would be leaving soon for his first year at DePauw University. I asked him
to join me for a Wednesday night outing, I wanted to spend time with him and thought
it could be a good experience...think about the scene from Gran Torino where
Clint Eastwood takes the kid to the barbershop to learn how guys talk to each
other! Per usual, the cadence of endless conversation and story telling created
enough laugher to bring grown men to tears. Jack participated fully,
occasionally at my expense. It was a wonderful evening. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">That night, Jack got to spend time
with Coach Smith, a legend in many circles; the boy took notes on Chad's
lessons about life. Chad Smith is a teacher, some of his lessons are
literal and many are best taken figuratively. Spending time with him is
irreplaceable; spending time with anyone is irreplaceable. Lessons for all to
more seriously consider. Those couple hours were time well spent and won't fade from memory any time
soon. Chad has ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis or Lou Gehrig's disease.
The disease is real, relentless, and unforgiving. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In December, over his holiday break,
Jack accompanied me to a New Year's Eve party at Chad's home. Both, Jack and
Chad, own infectious smiles that light a room. I may or may not be unique in
noticing such things, but the room lit up as they greeted each
other. Chad asked Jack if he'd learned anything during his visit to our
Wednesday meeting earlier in the year. Without hesitation, Jack answered: "Always answer on
the first knock. Always." Chad smiled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The context of the story is
irrelevant; the application of the quote and its lesson are not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In late January, I met Jack and his
buddy Emily at J's Bikes to pick up some helmets. He was planning a mutiny on
my Trek Madone. I've always made my kids wear bicycle helmets; never in his 19
years had he been so excited about a helmet! He also needed shoes and cleats
compatible with the Look pedals on the Madone. The shop didn't have a pair of
shoes that both fit and appealed to his sense of style. Jerry had mentioned he
had a pair of used shoes in the back that might work. He liked them at first
sight; white, flashy, expensive looking, super light, and they fit. We had a
match.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The guys in the shop, all Wednesday
Night Door Men, explained with a sense of reverence that these were Chad's
shoes. Todd and Joe offered Jack an easy out, or opportunity to decline:
"Chad's feet stink, really stink. The shoes likely have an odor to them that
will never come out." Unfazed, Jack said it was all good. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 17px;">Later, he would say, "Dad, these are Chad's shoes. "</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It was as if
those stinky old shoes had super powers, he knew it and wasn't letting go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I am a better man because I know
Chad Smith. I suspect that anybody who spends time with Chad is a better person
for it. It is easy to wish our paths had crossed earlier, but I believe things
happen when and how they're supposed to happen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 17px;">Thanks Coach. Attendance</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> is mandatory and always answer on the first
knock. Always. </span></div>
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Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-79144949729421175262015-01-19T21:46:00.001-05:002015-01-21T23:36:55.752-05:00Falling down. Getting up.<div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YCXeO0gjZCn_SCG0b1Tlk5-DayGuv2f9h3jU3w-hahd9TnDf_gsMcfnO0uhISxKbib0gskQW-n8LSEhgWaAk-cQZ8cYbA6v7rcntsqyMGSHIBFNPVD8SlWb1GtpjfiY_RhNoW0SvkHM/s640/blogger-image-2013521544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YCXeO0gjZCn_SCG0b1Tlk5-DayGuv2f9h3jU3w-hahd9TnDf_gsMcfnO0uhISxKbib0gskQW-n8LSEhgWaAk-cQZ8cYbA6v7rcntsqyMGSHIBFNPVD8SlWb1GtpjfiY_RhNoW0SvkHM/s640/blogger-image-2013521544.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">On a regular basis, I purposefully enter the woods to find myself lost. It's a fact, you have to be lost before you can be found. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; clear: both;">A couple weeks ago, while getting myself lost, I quickly discovered how ill-prepared I was for the intended expedition. The ground was frozen and I had the wrong tires on the bike with entirely too much air. I went down three times. The first two falls were relatively harmless. The third fall harbored a greater level of intensity. It caught my attention. In fact, there was enough intensity involved that I took inventory. </div><div class="separator" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; clear: both;">After testing the larger pieces of my body to determine if I remained intact and was working properly, I laid back down. I was lost. It was beautiful. </div><div class="separator" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; clear: both;">Eventually, I started talking to Me: "What in Hell do you think you're doing...riding a bike in the middle of a 250 acre forest...alone? Seriously, you're closer to 50 than 47!" </div><div class="separator" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; clear: both;">Then, Me says to I: "Relax, I'm out here to fall down. You can't pick yourself up until you've been summarily knocked to the ground." </div><div class="separator" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; clear: both;">End of conversation. Get lost.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-18891901089554321402015-01-10T21:36:00.000-05:002015-01-11T10:53:25.908-05:00Good things come in threes.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCbit-SxtVVERturqdE8Pdf8xMhIsd-kji5N77OZrFu_p08wQ7_Q-mDzWerK2S1Rvw5H5EV2wFKXxF7ZKJzKxb5kd0gFV7wynUr_XF5mqizESjYKZcnqht3-_PwmWitLNqG3pvCl96nZQ/s640/blogger-image--130526557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCbit-SxtVVERturqdE8Pdf8xMhIsd-kji5N77OZrFu_p08wQ7_Q-mDzWerK2S1Rvw5H5EV2wFKXxF7ZKJzKxb5kd0gFV7wynUr_XF5mqizESjYKZcnqht3-_PwmWitLNqG3pvCl96nZQ/s640/blogger-image--130526557.jpg"></a></div>
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AMI, FL, USA - Three girls: Helen, Margaret, Lucy</div>
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Good things come in threes. True. But we also hear that bad things come in threes. Again, true. For future reference please note that bad news is readily available and nearby when a person is looking for and expecting it! </div>
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The same can be said for good news or good fortune. How many times have you heard Hard Luck Charlie exclaim, "Good luck follows (insert a name) around like a lost puppy! He wakes up and Fortune has coffee brewed and waiting on his front porch." </div>
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Good things happen to those who are looking for it. One, two, three. Ready, set, go! </div>
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So what's with the number 3? No idea, all I have is a cool picture of three girls on a beach. </div>
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Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-17732004990795301412015-01-04T21:01:00.004-05:002015-02-08T21:51:48.678-05:00The Speed of Life<h3>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"There is more to life than simply increasing its speed."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-Mahatma Gandhi</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicSYR6cmyvshyphenhyphenAzH7skNDbd_4iI8WjA_4R9A575TtGeakD_FqoFy2s2sjUaoyRnURv2P1JWqRGIW9q-meBa3a5_h9cuqeN83xO4Fg14vNeyshb5VLT7nhR7nMZV91fOteWu0VR13zv1Kc/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicSYR6cmyvshyphenhyphenAzH7skNDbd_4iI8WjA_4R9A575TtGeakD_FqoFy2s2sjUaoyRnURv2P1JWqRGIW9q-meBa3a5_h9cuqeN83xO4Fg14vNeyshb5VLT7nhR7nMZV91fOteWu0VR13zv1Kc/s1600/image.jpeg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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I pedaled by this 'twice-blasted road closed sign' at about 20mph, on Friday, January 2. The day was brisk at 36 degrees Fahrenheit, yet it wasn't cold. Cloudy but not grey. I was making good time on a planned 35 mile shake-down on the Domane, and a shake-down of myself after spending much of December on rollers.<br />
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Most of my surroundings on this Midwestern January day had assumed the color of winter, earthy and largely brown. Throw an orange sign in on that back drop and it tends to jump...if you're paying attention. I was paying attention. But I was making good time! Still the urge to capture an image of what had just caught my eye was strong. I rode on. Making good time.<br />
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At about a half-mile 'post sign' I got on the brakes, stood up and turned around. Why was I so intrigued with a road closed sign where there was no road?! Mounted to a fence post at the gated entrance of a picked corn field was a sign that had in fact been shot twice with something much heavier than a .22.<br />
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I took the picture, got back on my bike and continued doing what I was doing. I was happy. Oddly, satisfied. Five minutes of down time didn't cause me to miss my favorite TV show (don't have one), show up late for dinner (I was making dinner), or ruin my ride in any way. It actually added value to my ride. I was happy. <br />
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Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-18790656287886196362014-12-30T23:07:00.000-05:002015-01-10T23:22:47.923-05:00Stepping into the LightHave you ever done a Google search on yourself? I did a couple weeks ago, apparently while experiencing an onset of attention deficit disorder. I often find my mind hundreds of miles from where it's supposed to be. Recently, while doing research on endowment spending policies...exciting stuff to be sure...I found myself reading an article published in the New Yorker titled "Letting Go." ( <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2010/08/02/letting-go-2">http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2010/08/02/letting-go-2</a> ) See! <br />
<br />
<br />
So, back to the point...while digging for dirt on myself, I found my name listed in a blog posting. While not familiar with the blog, MoseMiddleMan, I was certainly intrigued and clicked on the link to learn more. I was blown away! Here is a portion of the post dated July 15, 2014 (used without permission):<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">"Stepping into the Light"</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"This is the beginning of…well whatever this is. I am sure
that I read, or heard somewhere, that every great journey begins with the first
step. I have, and will draw inspiration from what I see, or very likely feel,
on any given day. At this juncture, I have no idea how often I will write, how
long the posts will be, subject matter….frankly it seems just a little bit
scary putting myself out here. But if I understand the obligation of a writer, it
is to do so without any expectation of how it will be viewed by others. I will
try as best I can to write with my own voice with as much candor and
authenticity has my heart and mind will allow. Specifically, I feel some
obligation to mention some people who have touched me in such a way as to allow
me to pursue this.</span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Joel R Harbaugh is …well, he something else. Joel and
Mary Harbaugh have some children the same ages as my wife and I, and we met
some years ago and became friends. Mary was diagnosed with breast cancer and
after a courageous battle, died some four years ago….not sure of that time
frame…I am old and time gets away. Joel’s courage and commitment to his
children and family is also awe inspiring. His positivity defied anything that
I could personally imagine. He simply would not allow this tragic incident to
define him. Joel embarked, very quietly I might add, on an exercise that became
a book…. “It’s Beautiful Here. A Year in the Eye of a Hurricane.” Joel had
begun immediately after Mary’s death, a commitment to not only find and see the
beauty that surrounds all of us each day, but to document that beauty with
photographs and captions and then share them through social media (Instagram
and Facebook primarily) Pretty heady stuff for a man who had seen and lived
some pretty ugly stuff…few things uglier than cancer in my estimation. One
evening, I made a pass through my news feed and saw one of his posts, not sure
I could tell you which one specifically, but it struck me. I had seen others,
but it moved me. I suppose what it really did was make me ask myself a
question. How could a man, who had endured so, so much see all this beauty that
was seemingly getting by the rest of us?…maybe I shouldn’t speak for everyone…but
it sure as hell was getting by me. In many ways it mystified me. So….I posted
these words….” I look forward to your pictures each day. Your gift to see the
simple beauty around us all, and recognize it, is inspirational to me. I hope
those who view your pictures, read and savor the descriptions…they are
emotional and supernatural. I admire the way you go about your business, your
family and career, all with such grace.”</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
</span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /><span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">
Joel had “It’s Beautiful Here” was published in 2013 and present me a copy when
he visited for the annual Whitlock Christmas open house. It had been a few
years since he had come by…understandably so. When he arrived he quietly handed
me a copy...shhhhhushing me in fact…which he had signed. I excused myself to
give it a look…away from our guest so as to not draw attention to the book, as
Joel had seemed to request. I recognized after a moment that is was a book of
his images…a photo journal if you will of his captured daily beauty. I took a
look at the back, where you might find reviews of perhaps more widely published
books…and it smacked me squarely in the face. Joel had included my Facebook
comment on the back. </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Even as I sit here and share this, it moves me to tears. No on had ever thought enough of anything I had ever said, so as to even repeat it, as far as I knew, let alone put it on the back of a book. It made me cry...still does when I look at it. Folks...that is a Christmas gift, and it provides inspiration in this endeavor. I love the Harbaugh family. Thank you is clearly not enough. Maybe something more will come of this...something beautiful...we will see."</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
Needless to say, I figured out who MoseMiddleMan was pretty quickly! His words caught me off guard, and brought me to tears. This is an example of a simple act of gratitude going boomerang! Thanks for the kind words Bucky...take care of one another.<br />
( <a href="http://mosemiddleman.wordpress.com/">http://mosemiddleman.wordpress.com/</a> )<br />
<br />
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<br />Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-25923096220339097652014-12-29T13:10:00.000-05:002015-02-08T21:42:48.242-05:00The Book<div data-bindattr-153="153" style="text-align: left; width: 450px;">
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<br />
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<a data-bindattr-159="159" href="http://blur.by/1rVLBk2" style="margin: 12px 3px;" target="_blank"><script id="metamorph-738-start" type="text/x-placeholder"></script>It's Beautiful Here. A year in the eye of a hurricane.<script id="metamorph-738-end" type="text/x-placeholder"></script> by <script id="metamorph-739-start" type="text/x-placeholder"></script>Joel R Harbaugh<script id="metamorph-739-end" type="text/x-placeholder"></script></a>
|
<a data-bindattr-160="160" href="http://www.blurb.com/landing_pages/bookshow" style="margin: 12px 3px;" target="_blank"><script id="metamorph-740-start" type="text/x-placeholder"></script>Make Your Own Book<script id="metamorph-740-end" type="text/x-placeholder"></script></a>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Producing and selling this book was never on my radar. Collecting my thoughts and sharing them with my children, family and friends was my only goal. But people talk...and I am asked frequently about how to get one of my 'books.' <br />
<br />
<br />
So, this is how. They are a little pricey, but that's how it goes with small-run self-publishing.<br />
<br />
Clink the title link directly below the book cover picture.</div>
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Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-20578139875050306142014-12-10T14:10:00.001-05:002014-12-10T14:10:10.799-05:00Butterfly KissesLucille has always given the best butterfly kisses. Here she is swimming the 100 Butterfly for the first time. She is awesome! <br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8URLvbHtxFKsE8szARVesYRv_ogioOAGrmzkZ_lZlOYon6aMKkWIWGC2GyhxUNRkT3dZmFfa65SMtc58q50Ft95TyvuOhslO0cT4OF2bSdlCLemB72hsD1XdCPedEvEAPlO_d9l9S83U/s640/blogger-image--1006500988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8URLvbHtxFKsE8szARVesYRv_ogioOAGrmzkZ_lZlOYon6aMKkWIWGC2GyhxUNRkT3dZmFfa65SMtc58q50Ft95TyvuOhslO0cT4OF2bSdlCLemB72hsD1XdCPedEvEAPlO_d9l9S83U/s640/blogger-image--1006500988.jpg"></a></div>Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-85204224496908729702014-12-03T18:44:00.001-05:002014-12-05T11:39:03.441-05:00FourBoth of my boys are out of the house. Jack likes to say, "I'm in college." That they continue to bloom is a reality I find exciting and unsettling at the same time. So, having all my children in one place at the same time is a moment I truly enjoy. I swim in their laughter and playful sibling ribbing, and sometimes I get a picture.<br />
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Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-3609047638044718892013-12-29T22:00:00.001-05:002013-12-30T08:32:32.477-05:00Beautiful NoiseThe evening grows long and my home is full. Noise echoes off every wall, the sounds of teenage girls being teenage girls. I don't attempt to calm them even though I must wake early tomorrow for work. The laughter and giggles they make are sounds of joy, they can't be squelched, can't be bottled, and can't be denied. This noise, this disruption, this laughter must be breathed in, deeply. Embraced for what it is...this moment. Right now they are life!<br />
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Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7904052937912999507.post-15152161611802021702013-12-20T09:26:00.001-05:002015-01-05T20:54:56.384-05:00Snow in a Flash<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The exhilaration of deeply breathing crisp, clean, cold air on a winter evening is only made better by catching snow flakes in the camera flash. I use simple adventure and discovery as a mechanism to change my attitude and outlook...on the spot. We are snowflakes.<br />
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Photo: January 2, 2012. Included in <em>It's Beautiful Here. A year in the eye of hurricane.</em> </div>
Joel Harbaughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16814245634322077919noreply@blogger.com0