tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84304817910446494242024-03-14T00:14:15.681-07:0014 Kids And BlessedHi, I'm Matt Sabo. My wife, Julie, and I have14 kids, three daughters-in-law, and four grandchildren (two more on the way!). I'm living the good life in a large family setting in Virginia. I tell our stories that are funny, uplifting, challenging and everything in between. The struggle is real with lots of kids, but we'd have it no other way.Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.comBlogger148125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-59673044423134433412020-11-19T11:26:00.004-08:002020-11-19T11:26:54.274-08:00The Butternut Squash Soup Recipe You Should Make Now!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi852Kxc3QVGxZBLvbaun-AoDYj3dQpRBnKktuOZ6vKYE2IpEC-qGmBAikea8ac3NCVqwuumWH-Ac_5lBpeKyL3kw_r2T12W_KqFaGxQsdxiF-_b6GzVBPkrbS4ox9oWbnFuCbtiOTQueo/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="2048" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi852Kxc3QVGxZBLvbaun-AoDYj3dQpRBnKktuOZ6vKYE2IpEC-qGmBAikea8ac3NCVqwuumWH-Ac_5lBpeKyL3kw_r2T12W_KqFaGxQsdxiF-_b6GzVBPkrbS4ox9oWbnFuCbtiOTQueo/" width="320" /></a></div><br />Butternut squash is so beautiful. Butternut squash is so tasty. Butternut squash is so versatile. <p></p><p>Roasted. Sautéed. Soups. And in every other way you can imagine. </p><p>I started growing butternut squash in my garden about three or four years ago. Maybe five. Why did I wait so long? What was I thinking?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNSJjunj7h88hhJU6gIZTqa4EpvDl8qLWDjJmUuTHkftLpPrxopzdXCHVhsWROgkseVoK8k4M2Gk0NgKmuQTnotcWA70x-5RhPXRD76GGdGqcly2mOV6gb4SQ-xuyGOBiCbW7ybCyZ1eE/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNSJjunj7h88hhJU6gIZTqa4EpvDl8qLWDjJmUuTHkftLpPrxopzdXCHVhsWROgkseVoK8k4M2Gk0NgKmuQTnotcWA70x-5RhPXRD76GGdGqcly2mOV6gb4SQ-xuyGOBiCbW7ybCyZ1eE/" width="180" /></a></div><br />One of the go-to recipes for my family all winter long is courtesy of the legendary Emeril Lagasse and the Food Network.<p></p><p>It's the Smoked Sausage, Butternut Squash and Wild Rice Soup recipe that's an absolute knockout. It is absolutely amazing when I make it with my butternut squash from my garden. </p><p>The kids love it, too! I mean, how can you go wrong with sausage and wild rice and butternut squash from your garden?</p><p>I live in Virginia. Home of shirt-soaking hot and humid summers. Think sweat and mildew and disease in plants. </p><p>This past summer I tried these amazing seeds from Southern Exposure Seed Exchange. They are South Anna Butternut Squash plants that are Downy Mildew resistant. They did fabulous and were still growing right up to the first hard frost that just happened overnight!</p><p>Find the <a href="https://www.southernexposure.com/products/south-anna-butternut-winter-squash/">seeds here</a>!</p><p>And find the <a href="https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/emeril-lagasse/smoked-sausage-butternut-squash-and-wild-rice-soup-3645132">soup recipe here</a>!</p><p>Finally, enjoy!</p>Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-50345338488950157912020-11-12T18:08:00.004-08:002020-11-12T18:08:49.573-08:00A good pepper makes your mouth water when you think about it<p>Thoughts on some of my summer garden bounty, as fall arrives crisply and the first killing frost looms.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUtnsD8fsCosqfe4xcgP1-dILAV8D_0_9Ouu9o1BDYpUU8iuskFNfcVqtzJ7MQcqOXec_30F3n3lYsIlz9EoLDNT0_3IuvdSbVd-PMvfpXqBOX0Tdt7iql2m3ZgBbrYFX_lpI7ibqUy1I/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1694" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUtnsD8fsCosqfe4xcgP1-dILAV8D_0_9Ouu9o1BDYpUU8iuskFNfcVqtzJ7MQcqOXec_30F3n3lYsIlz9EoLDNT0_3IuvdSbVd-PMvfpXqBOX0Tdt7iql2m3ZgBbrYFX_lpI7ibqUy1I/" width="290" /></a></div><br />Good peppers make your mouth water. If you just think about them.<p></p><p>Good peppers catch your eye. Maybe they even stop you in your tracks.</p><p>You stop and stare and think about the possibilities. You think about whether it's a little spicy.</p><p>Or if it brings a good dose of heat. Will your eyes tear up?</p><p>Will you need to gulp water or will it be just hot enough to make you want more?</p><p>Maybe your pepper is hot enough to set your tongue and whole face on fire. </p><p>Really good peppers, like the ones from my garden up there, do all of those things.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-VyBK_FWnrVOqlNSSc163RpKAjdevBmOwzTHD1OWDkFWm1pseyeqmadhIeq7Ui2oHx2zHJF9o29QyIjrrzT5NOB6tnJUQXmtGNr2PkrXamz5T4lcRAyYyYKBZAH45hlxiyaJUW1ql1pw/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1253" data-original-width="2048" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-VyBK_FWnrVOqlNSSc163RpKAjdevBmOwzTHD1OWDkFWm1pseyeqmadhIeq7Ui2oHx2zHJF9o29QyIjrrzT5NOB6tnJUQXmtGNr2PkrXamz5T4lcRAyYyYKBZAH45hlxiyaJUW1ql1pw/" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Good dry beans make you dream. You dream about their subtleties. Earthy. Meaty. Delicate. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A good bean has a way of absorbing other flavors when you soak it and cook it. It softens up so it practically melts in your mouth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You can cook it with a little garlic. An onion. Or rosemary. Cumin. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then you couple the beans with a lovely partner. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Say, in risotto. Or with pasta.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In soups. As a paste. Sautéed in olive oil on toast.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A personal favorite of mine is a dish I created. I'll tell you about it later. It's amazing!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Really good beans, like the ones from my garden up there, mean you open up your mind and explore the possibilities. </div><p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p></blockquote>Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-19569069512717538362019-10-22T14:40:00.001-07:002019-10-22T14:40:17.220-07:00My first attempt to grow a Jarrahdale pumpkin in my garden is a success!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOy9rbSipQfISRFpJwK7R5BbkzaLVwoRKtbUICd9XUGLDyVVGlHgcEXrQSRR1uAD3G4WFbdZZo4lyTZ6jDykgPBsQeDXNVypogLyLRFwy4qpI2ETMwidaoluMXqCbr2vyrpXoaUoa1x4I/s1600/IMG_4457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1386" data-original-width="1600" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOy9rbSipQfISRFpJwK7R5BbkzaLVwoRKtbUICd9XUGLDyVVGlHgcEXrQSRR1uAD3G4WFbdZZo4lyTZ6jDykgPBsQeDXNVypogLyLRFwy4qpI2ETMwidaoluMXqCbr2vyrpXoaUoa1x4I/s320/IMG_4457.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Behold our 15-lb. Jarrahdale pumpkin!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It's no secret I like to grow things you might not find in any garden,
let alone a typical garden. Purple green beans, Tiger's eye and Sorana
beans for soups, heirloom Oaxacan Green or Hopi Turquoise corn that's
blue or purple or differing shades of green. This summer and fall I
experimented with <b>Jarrahdale pumpkins</b>. They are <b>big and blue</b>
that are orange and tender and orange on the inside--think butternut
squash--and great for baking or in soups. At least that's what I'm told
because we haven't cut into one yet! <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEf1fheBqOYAj-vwNheJWDJZdLHBMSR9r8oIS2mAyJy3o7Nij4vXWzGYaSb_JU6vA_Zo9RPxpcTLB2G03X2Ryr9DYmyfVxY4PgDA2QtOKi66hn-xKAZQ9KaqRLQ0d80K9U8YPQfgdovUE/s1600/IMG_9955.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1169" data-original-width="1600" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEf1fheBqOYAj-vwNheJWDJZdLHBMSR9r8oIS2mAyJy3o7Nij4vXWzGYaSb_JU6vA_Zo9RPxpcTLB2G03X2Ryr9DYmyfVxY4PgDA2QtOKi66hn-xKAZQ9KaqRLQ0d80K9U8YPQfgdovUE/s320/IMG_9955.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seth, Olivia, and Judah model our first Jarrahdale pumpkin!</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
I bought the seeds from Baker Creek Heirloom Seed Co. and planted in
July after harvesting my Oaxacan Green corn. Something to note: The
vines can take over your garden! If you have the space, these Jarrahdale
pumpkins will roam, climb, wander, cling, and spread all over the
place! They are resilient because my other squash really suffered from
disease this year, but not these Jarrahdale pumpkins! It was also a
really dry fall with drought conditions and the Jarrahdale pumpkins made
it just fine. I harvested the first 15-lb. pumpkin today and have
several more in the garden. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDL3aNQUmBnY8sB8C0mMH_oFJT-CYRXE3Th74Tzv90lhh1_O_l5p_ClaYyHbRKh5vFlpnmwKUuU3BQZe4OD4jvSxL1E85T4hwrd1p4GgFg7H4cClMiW5uLqMY844VP1sa5ryWVh5IzgOs/s1600/IMG_7127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1265" data-original-width="1600" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDL3aNQUmBnY8sB8C0mMH_oFJT-CYRXE3Th74Tzv90lhh1_O_l5p_ClaYyHbRKh5vFlpnmwKUuU3BQZe4OD4jvSxL1E85T4hwrd1p4GgFg7H4cClMiW5uLqMY844VP1sa5ryWVh5IzgOs/s320/IMG_7127.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm loving this Jarrahdale pumpkin from my garden!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Don't you think these pumpkins are gorgeous! And a nice touch for fall decorations if you like DIY decorating. Pair them with other colorful pumpkins and you have great taste in decor! Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-36741175076008664302019-09-24T02:08:00.000-07:002019-09-24T05:16:07.326-07:00Can 14 Kids Keep a Secret? The Amazing Christmas Gift that Sent Us to Italy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijv3LparXtMfPc9DogFuo5QlUgbDoKAI3qyXYw27ldeuRIgHgUMsKN5Sj-6xgGsG3YCXr_wXdVuJHcAcph6D3B2CINFaugNeSBMe6jQqxYkBlkFk4GYIu9DcdS7Qn89XqIG_Uc3Lt3Lpk/s1600/IMG_3413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="657" data-original-width="1600" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijv3LparXtMfPc9DogFuo5QlUgbDoKAI3qyXYw27ldeuRIgHgUMsKN5Sj-6xgGsG3YCXr_wXdVuJHcAcph6D3B2CINFaugNeSBMe6jQqxYkBlkFk4GYIu9DcdS7Qn89XqIG_Uc3Lt3Lpk/s320/IMG_3413.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Florence, Italy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Julie and I had dreamed of going to Italy for a very long time. We wanted to go for our 25th wedding anniversary but didn't have the money. It was like that every year.<br />
<br />
Something always came up. Someone needs braces, or unexpected medical costs, or just life in a big family.<br />
<br />
We held onto the dream. Italy enchanted us. The history and places like the Colosseum or the Leaning Tower of Pisa, or the Sistine Chapel. The culture, Tuscany, the art, the architectural wonders like the Duomo in Florence or San Marco Square in Venice. The home of da Vinci and Michelangelo. Those colorful coastal villages clinging to hills. The tasty amazing Mediterranean food. Its connection to Christianity. The place where the Apostle Paul walked and was imprisoned.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfEoRIY1gBH35VUBHnISOp9xoMNGZfqvAdlzDqhIAggthv9lu03tyuK0aogIxQ5vzrz_IhlaojvwN0AKkz9QIfAc3JTpOQMlLwaN7-911-3Oibj9JeqMRhI9Y5BaU4Gmb7XdhYPagPtCE/s1600/3B0AC67F-39E7-4B6A-9284-3F260DBC8609.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="759" data-original-width="1600" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfEoRIY1gBH35VUBHnISOp9xoMNGZfqvAdlzDqhIAggthv9lu03tyuK0aogIxQ5vzrz_IhlaojvwN0AKkz9QIfAc3JTpOQMlLwaN7-911-3Oibj9JeqMRhI9Y5BaU4Gmb7XdhYPagPtCE/s320/3B0AC67F-39E7-4B6A-9284-3F260DBC8609.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Colosseum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The place that always just seemed out of reach.<br />
<br />
Then on Christmas Day, 2018, with all 14 kids and two daughters-in-law and one grandson stuffed into our living room with wads of crumpled Christmas wrapping and toys and clothes and assorted other gifts decorating the floor and every other nook and cranny, Julie and I were handed a paper bag.<br />
<br />
It was one of those little brown bags you pack a lunch in. It was well-worn, like a third- or fourth-hand paper bag. A shabby chic paper bag that was soft and rumpled from being stuffed full of something -- baloney sandwiches maybe? -- repeatedly and saved to be used over and over.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfCTRUbSp1OIzNkQlgVSGeWqJSVXhzA5p7RXmijd6zvKOjPYInftGzst4ukqBRgweVkMp3MfqXBRZa594IRrLEkDkFcC7_TFWzLGiRFN-O2L3Xm7hWgi5LF37rohKsVpspMaPQpYBtYH8/s1600/C51A4071-D85F-423A-895B-EB0941610721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="891" data-original-width="1600" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfCTRUbSp1OIzNkQlgVSGeWqJSVXhzA5p7RXmijd6zvKOjPYInftGzst4ukqBRgweVkMp3MfqXBRZa594IRrLEkDkFcC7_TFWzLGiRFN-O2L3Xm7hWgi5LF37rohKsVpspMaPQpYBtYH8/s320/C51A4071-D85F-423A-895B-EB0941610721.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Venice, Italy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We peeked in the bag. I looked at Julie. Looked at the kids. Then reached inside and pulled out ... a huge wad of cash. I was stunned. The kids were laughing. Giggling. Julie was in shock.<br />
<br />
We counted it out: $1,300. The kids told us we were going to Italy.<br />
<br />
Our oldest eight kids had started a fund and put money into it each month for the whole year. Evie had been the taskmaster, sending out monthly texts and cajoling her brothers and sisters into contributing. There may have been some feigned bitterness about it.<br />
<br />
Here's the crazy part: How did 14 kids, two daughters-in-law, and a 1-year-old grandson* keep that a secret from us? For a whole year!<br />
<br />
It was an amazing, humbling gift. I may have cried.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwNh-GiZQjfvpNDpT2nxhvng_Pc2d7gwoRZ3yq-6A5J_gZFKbwZBqIGHwg-rc9iBdDzo3SVE1hBYAaJoyaJBbOXhGNr8RRY7VTDMyGmmmPqTbqQHJzTG7raxGF4KH3pB6yKX0HK2Ouco/s1600/FD53BC4F-C25D-446F-A1E9-4A4372814B2F.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXwNh-GiZQjfvpNDpT2nxhvng_Pc2d7gwoRZ3yq-6A5J_gZFKbwZBqIGHwg-rc9iBdDzo3SVE1hBYAaJoyaJBbOXhGNr8RRY7VTDMyGmmmPqTbqQHJzTG7raxGF4KH3pB6yKX0HK2Ouco/s320/FD53BC4F-C25D-446F-A1E9-4A4372814B2F.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parmigiano Reggiano cheese from Italy</td></tr>
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A couple of weeks later I started checking airfares. I was expecting tickets for something in the $1,000 range, or $800 maybe if we could score a mega-deal. I started looking at flights from Dulles in Washington D.C. to Rome. The cost of a ticket was about what I was expecting.<br />
<br />
I was searching for after summer in September, thinking the airfares might be cheaper because demand would lessen. Plus the summer heat would be dissipated. And it would be our 29th anniversary on Sept. 1.<br />
<br />
Then I expanded the search to include JFK in New York City. It's not a bad ride up there, only seven hours, and maybe flights would be cheaper.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGHZgyjgNuZveFKsNoUi5xl1TudPOsnqH6tRlchr1K2m3ZZ3MFo3zZAdJgStWBpCCpHEjwZvw6k2MzcByeuN-3kobhbp-tZD4vlXP9qgMFQpvbV6n00bII9oSqKXE_j_b9L0ILL-oZkU/s1600/0456ACEB-552A-4E5E-A12A-9E7E1A1C3A56.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGHZgyjgNuZveFKsNoUi5xl1TudPOsnqH6tRlchr1K2m3ZZ3MFo3zZAdJgStWBpCCpHEjwZvw6k2MzcByeuN-3kobhbp-tZD4vlXP9qgMFQpvbV6n00bII9oSqKXE_j_b9L0ILL-oZkU/s320/0456ACEB-552A-4E5E-A12A-9E7E1A1C3A56.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Riomaggiore, Italy, in Cinque Terre</td></tr>
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A number popped up that seemed really out of whack. I refreshed the screen and tried again. Same unbelievable number.<br />
<br />
Four hundred dollars. That's $400, roundtrip from JFK to Rome in mid-September.<br />
<br />
"Babe," I said to Julie. "We're going to Italy."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj10mY8HaHstkRSMAJtE9rEuivly_cFU0GRblTER1hRnH6ZHQKRQtipGFPXdxM8rsIFU0DpeSqC8gabS7Dr7Ipas2aePM4xlx-ciX82BzHirT5oeAYGa0jMeMy6n3ABxu1-6y4Ws2TP4-w/s1600/IMG_0032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1312" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj10mY8HaHstkRSMAJtE9rEuivly_cFU0GRblTER1hRnH6ZHQKRQtipGFPXdxM8rsIFU0DpeSqC8gabS7Dr7Ipas2aePM4xlx-ciX82BzHirT5oeAYGa0jMeMy6n3ABxu1-6y4Ws2TP4-w/s320/IMG_0032.JPG" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Leaning Tower of Pisa</td></tr>
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*Editor's Note: Maybe at 1 years old James wasn't in on the secret. I'm pretty sure if he had known he would've told me. ;-)<br />
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<br />Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-80417227616946008802019-09-02T17:15:00.002-07:002022-01-06T04:48:20.465-08:00My Summer Garden Has Been Bountiful, Delicious, and Amazing!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOmXHkvC98jfCzJ5Ab3Q-STtWgFoAXMuzosXhBDQIksNqRuD5ez2galnUSJdl7l2-ZuIt2b0CAbw1opZaD180l_RNcS4sOjtt0cdCAI8Zjvm1zV2yQucFtZ-Y-cGJZuuUVmHXqJmeJu4/s1600/IMG_2642.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1600" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOmXHkvC98jfCzJ5Ab3Q-STtWgFoAXMuzosXhBDQIksNqRuD5ez2galnUSJdl7l2-ZuIt2b0CAbw1opZaD180l_RNcS4sOjtt0cdCAI8Zjvm1zV2yQucFtZ-Y-cGJZuuUVmHXqJmeJu4/s320/IMG_2642.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heirloom tomatoes from my garden</td></tr>
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My fascination with gardening probably now qualifies as an addiction. Healthy addiction, I would say. I think about it all year round. I have secret stashes of Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds seed catalogs. My Twitter and Instagram feeds are chock full of random photos of heirloom tomatoes, green beans, purple green beans, soup beans, corn, squash, pumpkins, sunflowers, zinnias ... my iPhone screen is a photo of 3 varieties of my heirloom corn. I might have more photos of my garden than my kids on my phone ... uh-oh.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNefrYF3lFit2zj0GXjSEO8LaWyHDLdwMxC2qRVHWAhYcO0f4F0hlfxY058WjkKuNAaI2I4FPi6CBx0tDjt8kVC5KDxYf_DxnaxLP1QQuF7pKuC6VYHdL7ybD0slevvVGMW-8J_jAtDYE/s1600/69CF5016-6CA9-4BAE-B7B0-00694B179B08+2.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1511" data-original-width="1600" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNefrYF3lFit2zj0GXjSEO8LaWyHDLdwMxC2qRVHWAhYcO0f4F0hlfxY058WjkKuNAaI2I4FPi6CBx0tDjt8kVC5KDxYf_DxnaxLP1QQuF7pKuC6VYHdL7ybD0slevvVGMW-8J_jAtDYE/s320/69CF5016-6CA9-4BAE-B7B0-00694B179B08+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heirloom soup beans: Sorana (white), Rosso di Lucca (red) and Tiger's Eye (self-explanatory)</td></tr>
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I like to experiment with new varieties and veggies. For example, this year I took the plunge into soup beans. I decided to grow several different varieties because I love to make soups in the winter and fall. I bought the seeds from Uprising Organic Seeds in Bellingham, Washington, and Southern Exposure Seed Exchange in Mineral, Virginia. Judging from the photo up there ^ it's been quite a successful bean growing adventure, wouldn't you say?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNSyBAbw0vCWmZajBRILDxZ-6O0epm5utP3zGcDjmyaPAX0u1nkZQRjTT1Qvxr9aqYawVNgaxk9eEOlF9UDsacHAS4JM9XeX7OhTgms6c0NQtqN9aZ7fWnWyR1LPQJZmk8Qq7ms6pSSs/s1600/BBB49B73-D28F-4CEE-8FB3-9034361724E3.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1418" data-original-width="1600" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNSyBAbw0vCWmZajBRILDxZ-6O0epm5utP3zGcDjmyaPAX0u1nkZQRjTT1Qvxr9aqYawVNgaxk9eEOlF9UDsacHAS4JM9XeX7OhTgms6c0NQtqN9aZ7fWnWyR1LPQJZmk8Qq7ms6pSSs/s320/BBB49B73-D28F-4CEE-8FB3-9034361724E3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red Sun Sunflowers are gorgeous! Birds love 'em.</td></tr>
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I also dedicated some space for flowers this year. I planted two different varieties of sunflowers (the red sun you see up there ^ are particularly gorgeous, eh?), zinnias, and strawflowers. They have been a striking and eye-pleasing addition to the garden. Plus there's been an added bonus: Butterflies, bees, dragonflies, and birds galore such as yellow finches, cardinals, and even hummingbirds. My Red Sun Sunflowers grew up to 8 or 9 feet high and attracted lots of birds. My neighbor told me that she's lived here 6 years and this is the first time she's seen American Goldfinches around and they practically lived in my sunflowers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisAtFpgaVPyCYsZEpRJpFNwSG4a7Q-QTFjHvjPG_EjfuqiVLB2FoYqYJrHKq2JQqNSmV0wEEo14rG-b6lYWgKisccismeuBDwIrBeeis58HxrUI0HFsp3xA-p8KmDIGs3r4VzwBLRVf1c/s1600/0177481C-B6B3-40F1-AB86-BDEC7B0AE8A3.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisAtFpgaVPyCYsZEpRJpFNwSG4a7Q-QTFjHvjPG_EjfuqiVLB2FoYqYJrHKq2JQqNSmV0wEEo14rG-b6lYWgKisccismeuBDwIrBeeis58HxrUI0HFsp3xA-p8KmDIGs3r4VzwBLRVf1c/s320/0177481C-B6B3-40F1-AB86-BDEC7B0AE8A3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oaxacan Green corn. Tortillas! Cornbread!</td></tr>
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My second year of growing heirloom Oaxacan Green corn was a rousing success. Some of the stalks reached 10 feet and I am flush with corn to grind up for cornbread and to make into delicious tortillas this winter. I think the corn is just gorgeous as well. Looks good, tastes good. An excellent combination.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoCjKVyLrLZAO23dICjjFoBocIHH6j2nJkMjkMnq9eFqdr9m0wjZtg4oUlyXlLrAFRuXvBcWm0HE-B9SKwSacSqOh9xVpB7BuAIgt1DSszIO-tHiVYK9vVNMMT5eLZkKu6Ij7K8slYkis/s1600/IMG_2717.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1518" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoCjKVyLrLZAO23dICjjFoBocIHH6j2nJkMjkMnq9eFqdr9m0wjZtg4oUlyXlLrAFRuXvBcWm0HE-B9SKwSacSqOh9xVpB7BuAIgt1DSszIO-tHiVYK9vVNMMT5eLZkKu6Ij7K8slYkis/s320/IMG_2717.jpg" width="303" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bread 'n Salt tomato baby! That's 20 oz. of goodness!</td></tr>
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June and into mid- to late July were amazing for my tomatoes that I transplanted from seeds I grew under grow lights in my shed. I was harvesting several different varities off of 30+ plants 20 lbs. at a time. Then disease set in. So sad. But that's life in Virginia's humid summers I suppose. Gardening will break your heart sometimes. I am thinking of staggering my planting next year and giving them more space, hoping that will make a difference. Once again we had boatloads of amazing pico de gallo this year and I froze and canned somewhere around 20 lbs. of tomatoes. You know I love to bake and cook and one thing I started doing is making my own spaghetti sauce. It's unbelievable. That's not hyperbole. Ask my family. Just for you, I've included a slightly modified recipe I cribbed from Marcella Hazan (Link to her recipe: <a href="https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/my-mothers-butter-tomato-and-onion-sauce-395730" target="_blank">Marcella Hazan spaghetti sauce</a>) See my modified version below.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSPGFPLqVUYLWa8UXQBDDpxY_sY09tXGl0aGaU_WSkU_JSQrU88L5M206pXmY0yBEwb4IM7F_KKPYGI_lwgY4tHkKHkJMfbv4BOKGFagOWMv0ns_it5wi2Qa24aSh2DQoo_3Zg-9iBLTc/s1600/00C5572B-F073-4A7A-AEFB-25E6955D684F.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1229" data-original-width="1600" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSPGFPLqVUYLWa8UXQBDDpxY_sY09tXGl0aGaU_WSkU_JSQrU88L5M206pXmY0yBEwb4IM7F_KKPYGI_lwgY4tHkKHkJMfbv4BOKGFagOWMv0ns_it5wi2Qa24aSh2DQoo_3Zg-9iBLTc/s320/00C5572B-F073-4A7A-AEFB-25E6955D684F.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Extremely rare Tomato 'n Pepper Starfish I found in my garden!</td></tr>
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My garden is still going. I have more soup beans, green beans, and blue Jarrahdale pumpkins coming along. I'm truly stoked to be making soup out of my beans this winter. I'll keep you posted.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Spaghetti Sauce recipe That Will Change the Way You Think of Spaghetti Sauce</b></div>
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28 oz. of tomatoes chopped up & drained</div>
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1 stick butter</div>
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1-2 t of Diamond Crystal kosher salt</div><div style="text-align: left;">2 green bell peppers seeded and cut in chunks (Love growing Carolina Wonder bell peppers!) <br /></div>
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1 Vidalia or Walla Walla sweet onion cut in half (otherwise a plain ol' yeller onion will have to do)</div>
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At least 10 fresh basil leaves (I grew basil this year)</div><div style="text-align: left;">Fresh oregano (another herb I grow) <br /></div>
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Combine it all and bring to a simmer. Then let simmer uncovered for 45-60 min. to burn off liquid. Blend it all in a blender. Put on spaghetti noodles after tasting. Immediately be wrecked for ever buying spaghetti sauce in a can or jar at the store again.</div>
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Note: This uses no sugar. Next time you check the label on your store-bought spaghetti sauce notice the 2nd ingredient. Sugar. Ew. </div>
Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-42508764370773331942019-02-09T18:23:00.000-08:002019-02-09T18:23:03.248-08:00Dad in the kitchen: Just a man baking bread<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCtYZxALmGvZ_pMitUjN15odk146hMhhtOk3gs15HhpSVkTDzhnty3xjZygc8g6xMqg9YO6dP4BDnX1qM1yb_wqRA6Pk77k8f_XSO2LOMi1o0P2SZdm2cR03DlXc5Uff2ZCGaDzrq2yMU/s1600/JPEG+image-3D7A23EB3DBD-6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1214" data-original-width="1600" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCtYZxALmGvZ_pMitUjN15odk146hMhhtOk3gs15HhpSVkTDzhnty3xjZygc8g6xMqg9YO6dP4BDnX1qM1yb_wqRA6Pk77k8f_XSO2LOMi1o0P2SZdm2cR03DlXc5Uff2ZCGaDzrq2yMU/s320/JPEG+image-3D7A23EB3DBD-6.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The kitchen. The one room where my drive for creativity, making things, tasting things, eating, pleasure, adventure, even peace, join in blissful union.<br />
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I finished my 20-month Master's degree program in Communication through Purdue University in December. Since then I've gone on a "creating and making" bender. Perhaps it's pent up creativity that was suppressed in a 20-month grind of studying. Maybe it's a joyful release of completing something that at one time seemed so unattainable. Could be both. Whatever it is, I'm enjoying this splurge. And so is my family.<br />
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Quite simply, I make things. And bake, cook, and build things.<br />
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Food, soup, photos, cutting boards, an office desk bread ... well, lots of bread. Bread is my new jam. Especially once I discovered <a href="https://www.kingarthurflour.com/" target="_blank">King Arthur Flour</a> and its fantastic website. I might bake six or nine loaves a week. With 10 kids in the house and a two sons and two daughters-in-law and one grandson who drop in frequently, plus two more sons who live nearby, nine loaves of bread a week is nothing around here.<br />
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There's a simplicity to bread. An honesty. A beauty. A pleasure. An ease to it. And everyone loves it.<br />
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The smell that fills the kitched and brings kids in wondering when the bread is going to be done.<br />
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The warmth you only get from baking bread on a frigid winter day.<br />
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The taste of life, because bread is life, right?<br />
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The satisfaction of how bread pleasingly fills the empty spot in my belly.<br />
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Am I going a bit overboard, eh? Nah. Bread is just really good. On so many levels.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48P7eVJY4nGG7_x-jSMYvhm6L5bO3gLoG_fM4RZGZi_SciyrKbG8EduXCR6TinnVI_2msc1FhsDafJdzF2CHRv0fhKBe-_wuyhQBt47ykB1dV6ZfpJKxiNV69uFhJqZHFarp3wEmjJLo/s1600/JPEG+image-3D7A23EB3DBD-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1121" data-original-width="1600" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48P7eVJY4nGG7_x-jSMYvhm6L5bO3gLoG_fM4RZGZi_SciyrKbG8EduXCR6TinnVI_2msc1FhsDafJdzF2CHRv0fhKBe-_wuyhQBt47ykB1dV6ZfpJKxiNV69uFhJqZHFarp3wEmjJLo/s320/JPEG+image-3D7A23EB3DBD-1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Today I decided to add a bit of zest to my standard three loaves of bread. Here's my base recipe I found in <i><b>The New York Times</b></i>: <a href="https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1018203-simple-crusty-bread" target="_blank">Simple Crusty Bread</a>. I always use <b>King Arthur Flour</b> and <b>Diamond</b> Kosher salt, which is something I picked up from <b>Samin Nosrat</b> and <a href="https://www.saltfatacidheat.com/" target="_blank">Salt Fat Acid Heat</a>. My philosophy is if something works, stick with it. I had some lovely, fragrant leftover springs of organic rosemary and thyme in the fridge and chopped them up.<br />
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I added them to my yeast and Diamond kosher salt. Then added lukewarm water. Stirred. Then I added the King Arthur unbleached bread flour. Stirred some more and slightly kneaded to make sure that flour, thyme and rosemary are all snug together.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlcJABCxnpFxNAXeHVYREqx8JQTakQ1So4APULEW90B7XvI6uqNd7GiI0v2KC8mx51gsmwt11hTqWmDZLrrRTrE1USgJRc3tkFlUcsyJBLQvVbhRWs9qzxT8i-TRk6Cm9upaVoe_lJrF0/s1600/IMG_1606.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1375" data-original-width="1600" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlcJABCxnpFxNAXeHVYREqx8JQTakQ1So4APULEW90B7XvI6uqNd7GiI0v2KC8mx51gsmwt11hTqWmDZLrrRTrE1USgJRc3tkFlUcsyJBLQvVbhRWs9qzxT8i-TRk6Cm9upaVoe_lJrF0/s320/IMG_1606.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I covered and let the yeast do its thing for a few hours.<br />
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Then I made three distinct loaves. I added grated Swiss Gruyere cheese to one loaf and added grated Asiago cheese to another. Then sprinkled corn meal on them. Can you guess which one has the Swiss Gruyere and which one has the Asiago?<br />
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Then I baked them on our Pampered Chef baking stone we've had for years. The ol' Pampered Chef baking stone. Trusty, reliable, simple. A wonderful design, so functional and authentic, so steady. Just an absolute rock. It's been so good to us for so long. God bless my baking stone.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuYNEjpc5Wwyx3P4Haenu4qtNiEG8Y23HCMjuuf266VSyyNkh_kFuxth0EPtIPFEENbxgozT2PpS21SP9AmSNQSjVNKVEqJKO-X5eBOWsok3QLav52wr8s7kDh14Tdvrbprl7bx74ezc/s1600/JPEG+image-3D7A23EB3DBD-5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuYNEjpc5Wwyx3P4Haenu4qtNiEG8Y23HCMjuuf266VSyyNkh_kFuxth0EPtIPFEENbxgozT2PpS21SP9AmSNQSjVNKVEqJKO-X5eBOWsok3QLav52wr8s7kDh14Tdvrbprl7bx74ezc/s320/JPEG+image-3D7A23EB3DBD-5.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
And there they are. Or rather, there they were. My experiment was a rousing success.<br />
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It's just hard to go wrong with a good loaf of bread baked from the heart. Especially when there's a dozen or more kids and grandkids around.<br />
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<br />Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-78999742857880523372018-04-09T22:19:00.000-07:002018-04-09T22:19:23.210-07:00Seed to table. Dirt to mouth. The fabulous Authentic Corn Tortilla Project.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimSvjuyBhhrNmRet64CTnpbqbIpWXuYMTW6ZseAtNXJWTUeig9NirwxgyYHuXfkAdBegDHn1i2SFEeItLblXDhs3NgEEsqv2Is1WyAqC5nIuP1HW1di6E_G8Wj8hS-Vd1grPrhepjouk0/s1600/IMG_0373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimSvjuyBhhrNmRet64CTnpbqbIpWXuYMTW6ZseAtNXJWTUeig9NirwxgyYHuXfkAdBegDHn1i2SFEeItLblXDhs3NgEEsqv2Is1WyAqC5nIuP1HW1di6E_G8Wj8hS-Vd1grPrhepjouk0/s320/IMG_0373.JPG" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My babies. What stories we'll tell together.</td></tr>
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<br />
I'm calling my farmtastical journey this summer the "Authentic Corn Tortilla Project." I bet you've heard nothing quite like it. There's a reason for that.<br />
<br />
I have this crazy idea -- a notion, a fever, or maybe it's just a plain ol' halluciation -- that I can make something different, something good, something unique that starts in the dirt out by my shed just the other side of my drain field. Well, plenty the other side of my drain field.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure if it's brilliant, or foolish. The line separating the two seems pretty darn thin.<br />
<br />
My idea to make real corn tortillas from really old school corn with genes that go back hundreds, if not thousands, of years was birthed out of my own observations. It started with the corn I let dry on the stalk last summer and thinking, "What the heck? Couldn't I make corn flour out of this stuff?"<br />
<br />
You know, for like cornbread? And, well, grits?<br />
<br />
The answer proved to be yes. Or near as I could tell it was yes. Thanks to some fortuitous discoveries on the world wide web of the history of corn and masa -- the kinda gooey, corn flour-based substance from which legit tortillas are made -- some video of some hardcore food truck guys in LA who are really, really passionate about their tortillas, and assorted other articles and videos about ancient Mexican corn strains, I thought, "Why not?"<br />
<br />
Why not try it here in my back yard? Why can't I go all foodie-grow-your-own with a big splash of experimentation that could, it really could, end up being amazing?<br />
<br />
So here I am. On a chilly spring night listening to raindrops clattering against my office window, a day after I planted those first 50 seeds of Hopi Purple Corn. I'm plotting to plant a couple more squares of corn and wondering how -- if? -- it will all play out.<br />
<br />
I scored my corn seeds from a catalog that was produced in podunk Missouri. For reals. Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds. You can find them at www.rareseeds.com. They produce this gloriously extravagant 146-page catalog and sell more than 1,800 varieties of seeds from more than 100 countries.<br />
<br />
Seriously. These guys don't play when it comes to seeds.<br />
<br />
Tomatoes from Iraq? Done. Cassabanana melons from Guatemala? Just a click away. And don't forget your wild apple seeds from Tajikstan. I don't kid! This stuff will literally blow your mind!<br />
<br />
I mean, dude, it's a gardening nerd's paradise. I know because I'm one of those gardening nerds.<br />
<br />
So yes, I really did just drop some purple corn seeds into a plot of dirt that I carved out of my back yard and fertilized with a pickup load of bona fide horse poop I got for free from a horse farm off Hickory Fork Road.<br />
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I'll water those seeds, let the rain fall on my corn, take photos and videos of it all. I'm not embarrassed to say I'll be out there speaking kind words to those babies of mine. I believe in positive reinforcement after all.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBADSGdi5Oj8Z0WOVLpPaCMszAdv1HO82xSPtvRSyAwPtDXg5v65T0wtS8HjTaggzwkWGOGb7r9h8O3Hqx6LwLzfIQhTpYtKTEw5YGaBA3kOI6gDVUNwSFz8U0-OrSwL_2LyjxflOLv6w/s1600/IMG_9515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1353" data-original-width="1600" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBADSGdi5Oj8Z0WOVLpPaCMszAdv1HO82xSPtvRSyAwPtDXg5v65T0wtS8HjTaggzwkWGOGb7r9h8O3Hqx6LwLzfIQhTpYtKTEw5YGaBA3kOI6gDVUNwSFz8U0-OrSwL_2LyjxflOLv6w/s320/IMG_9515.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My lovelies. My early inspiration from last summer. </td></tr>
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<br />
I'll watch my corn grow in the oppressive, sultry Virginia heat. Then I'll watch my corn dry in the oppressive, sultry Virginia heat. Then I'll harvest my corn in the oppressive, sultry Virginia heat.<br />
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I'm worried about the bugs. So nasty, those bugs. The weeds are going to be a straight nuisance. I foresee lots of sweaty labor in my near future.<br />
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It'll all be worth it. Right?<br />
<br />
Of course, because sometime late this summer, in the oppressive, sultry Virginia heat, after the stalks have shriveled and crunch like potato chips and the ears of corn have dried to like they're little tiny rocks, it'll be time.<br />
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Come to purple tortilla time.<br />
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I'll grind up the corn, tap my buddy Frank Villa's family masa-manufacturing expertise, and make those blessed purple tortillas. We'll have purple tortilla chips and dip them in salsa I make with onions, tomatoes and poblano peppers that I harvest right out of my garden, just a row or two from my corn. They'll all be best buds this summer.<br />
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Seed to table.<br />
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Dirt to mouth.<br />
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That's the plan.<br />
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I mean, that's my dream.<br />
<br />
You start something and you never quite know how it will all turn out.<br />
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That's what's so great about it, though. It's what's so great about dreams. The finding out. The chasing. The determination to see things through. The seeing if you have it. That grit. That passion and drive.<br />
<br />
The worst thing you can ever do is not try.<br />
<br />
So here goes. Come along for the ride.<br />
<br />
The great, the fabulous, the crazy Authentic Corn Tortilla Project.<br />
<br />
For the YouTube version of all this tomfoolery, go here: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IN21TXxtrco" target="_blank">Getting corny</a><br />
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<br />Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-79348517644316533752017-12-24T21:38:00.001-08:002018-08-12T11:27:34.953-07:00A Sabo family Christmas story: Time stands still<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4jEHYrDm8NByEmK4M1mfiHp6RJtEU8E7qMEW4xuqes9S8IKggEETuJFgh_RNXHmkUxd9YZxZXo0nh1aGw_MAjcDO9ttPPxgagkZEExW9258Ym9602rZxXwgcePWPZK8oKN8i8NtMkBE/s1600/IMG_2400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1070" data-original-width="1152" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw4jEHYrDm8NByEmK4M1mfiHp6RJtEU8E7qMEW4xuqes9S8IKggEETuJFgh_RNXHmkUxd9YZxZXo0nh1aGw_MAjcDO9ttPPxgagkZEExW9258Ym9602rZxXwgcePWPZK8oKN8i8NtMkBE/s320/IMG_2400.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's so many of us now it's hard to get everyone in the photo...</td></tr>
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Maybe it's true what they say about time.<br />
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That it goes faster the older you get. That one day, like today on Christmas Eve 2017, you wonder how you got here so fast.<br />
<br />
A hundred yesterdays, a thousand actually, have passed.<br />
<br />
What happened to summer? Let alone fall.<br />
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In a few days, the calendar turns again. And in a year from now, I imagine that once again I'll wonder what happened to the time.<br />
<br />
I imagine I'll ask Julie where the days went and how the kids got so big and wasn't it just yesterday we wondered what it would be like to have kids who are in college and married.<br />
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And wasn't it just yesterday we'd wonder how crazy it must be to think about holding a sweet little grandchild.<br />
<br />
Those yesterdays are here. What seemed to be so distant, so crazy to think about, wasn't so crazy after all.<br />
<br />
Those little kids are in college and married and working and buying houses and having babies and doing all those things that I think makes time speed up.<br />
<br />
When the older ones come home and all 14 kids are here together with two daughters-in-law and one grandson and we're trying to fit around the dinner table it's big kid, little kid, grown kid, little kid, big kid, grown kid and so on to try and fit everyone in.<br />
<br />
It's kind of impossible.<br />
<br />
But as we're all laughing to the point of tears and passing food the wrong way and spilling seafood chowder, we laugh some more at what the little kids have been saying lately and laugh about the legendary stories about the crazy things the older kids used to do ... and then we laugh some more ...<br />
<br />
It's these moments right here that for a brief moment time stops.<br />
<br />
And I think to myself that these are the best days of my life. Not yesterday or maybe tomorrow, but right here.<br />
<br />
I look around and all our kids are together again.<br />
<br />
No one's off at work or away at college or living somewhere so far away.<br />
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They're all right here, sitting with us at the dinner table.<br />
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Love is the sound of raucous laughter.<br />
<br />
Love is the amazing family stories that everyone's heard but still make us all howl.<br />
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Love is baby James' big, toothless grins that make everyone coo.<br />
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It's selflessness and caring and compassion and forgiveness and easy apologies, the things that make a big family work and that are all the things that can be so rare in this world.<br />
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It's joy and laughter-induced hiccups and big hellos and goodbye hugs.<br />
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It's a collective faith in Christ and knowing that hard days and good days may be His equal portions, but His love for us transcends the darkest nights.<br />
<br />
I think to myself how amazingly blessed I am. God pours out His grace and mercy and love on me in abundance.<br />
<br />
A man for whom, however briefly, time does stop.<br />
<br />
And I make this memory: We're crammed around the dinner table, all my kids, my beautiful wife next to me, and we're all roaring, some of us wiping our eyes we're laughing so hard.<br />
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It's a moment I'll carry in my memory forever. That picture is ingrained in my mind, never to fade.<br />
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So yes, actually, time does stand still.<br />
<br />
Every once in a while it stands still for me.<br />
<br />
I'm thankful.<br />
<br />
Merry Christmas. God bless you all.<br />
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<br />Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-36449292336248887012017-11-07T17:14:00.001-08:002017-11-07T17:14:59.086-08:00Ezra, the gentleman soccer star<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMIY6jFzlG8UIY3NriHKtLJ-KQWMSYV4gZozlM2bG0SF2UKEyLlSW5R_H9oL5Psk0lI4Qk8oJo-hfLcLk9bFSfBOH_8Bu23pZc8-1wOxuKWQSetzF_lAFPBxg4mN4xfHbQjXfcOMEZUek/s1600/IMG_4006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1529" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMIY6jFzlG8UIY3NriHKtLJ-KQWMSYV4gZozlM2bG0SF2UKEyLlSW5R_H9oL5Psk0lI4Qk8oJo-hfLcLk9bFSfBOH_8Bu23pZc8-1wOxuKWQSetzF_lAFPBxg4mN4xfHbQjXfcOMEZUek/s320/IMG_4006.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ezra, looking to pass.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-sAU_TQxIGDKr89IjShnpcp-h4tvTBJtox33Fnfzjd7aXueVGa2V_ykz2wKwAaJ8bZ2WynOCqGzXfi9t5G9BrkYTAjt6SUf3ALixrN-5t2PsDHc_246nSkW2WlAHA4mRw8s34uRwRCs/s1600/IMG_4062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1552" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-sAU_TQxIGDKr89IjShnpcp-h4tvTBJtox33Fnfzjd7aXueVGa2V_ykz2wKwAaJ8bZ2WynOCqGzXfi9t5G9BrkYTAjt6SUf3ALixrN-5t2PsDHc_246nSkW2WlAHA4mRw8s34uRwRCs/s320/IMG_4062.jpg" width="310" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olivia, hoping for a goal.</td></tr>
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Over the past two seasons of Gloucester Parks & Recreation soccer, Ezra has had an extraordinary run. His teams went undefeated, 19-0, and won two straight championships in the 9-11 age group. It's all the more remarkable considering that from the spring season to the recently concluded fall season, the coaches changed and most of the players changed, with the only thing unchanged being the results.</div>
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Last Saturday, the Green Lightning, expertly coached by my good friend Omar Torres and his excellent assistant coach Brian Hudgins, won a grueling tournament in heart attack fashion -- the opposing side hit the crossbar or post of the Green Lightning three times in the match -- beating the vaunted Orange Crush 2-1. It was the third 48-minute match within the span of about 5 hours for the Green Lightning, of which Ezra, now 11 years old, was co-captain.</div>
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Ezra played his heart out. There are several things about Ezra I truly admire about his play on the soccer pitch. His heart, so big. His effort, unparalleled. His speed, among the tops in the league. His skill, again among the tops in the league. He plays hard but cleanly, doesn't talk trash to opponents, but lets his game do his talking.</div>
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He scored around six goals or so this season, half of them with his left foot even though he's naturally stronger with his right foot. Yet his play on the defensive end of the field is perhaps the strongest part of his game. He's relentless and time and again he ran down offensive players and stopped attacks seeming headed for sure goals; during the first game of the tournament following one furious sequence near halftime that left him hobbled, Ezra had to be carried off the field by a coach after taking a cleat to his achilles tendon. He returned to action after halftime.</div>
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While championships are a thrill -- in the spring season I coached Ezra's team the Gray Wolves that won the championship in sudden death penalty kicks over Coach Omar's side -- my enduring memory of this season had nothing to do with trophies, or goals, or hustling plays.</div>
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It has to do with Ezra's little sister, Olivia, and what it would have meant to him for her to score a goal. Ezra and Olivia have a special bond. It's always been so sweet to see how close they are and how much they enjoy being together. When I talked to my kids this summer to see who wanted to play soccer this fall, Olivia said she wanted to play so she could be on Ezra's team. She's taken to ballet, but even though she's only played one season of soccer, she wanted to spend her late summer and fall with her brother.</div>
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On the field at the start of the season Olivia was quite timid. Imagine a ballerina flitting down a soccer field and you've seen Olivia play soccer. But over the course of the season, she became emboldened. She started going after the ball, backed down <i>less</i> from the action on the field and started kicking it more during the games. By the end of the season, she really wanted to score a goal. It seemed an improbable thought ... but not to Ezra.</div>
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Coach Omar wanted her to score a goal as well. He would put her and Ezra together on the front line and tell her to just go get in the box in front of the goal. Ezra will find her. Many times Ezra passed up chances to work the ball in for his own shot at a goal to try to get a pass in to Olivia so she could score. He would run down the flank with the ball, his head up, looking for his little sister in her pink soccer shorts. He would dodge defenders, circle back, probe the defense, holding onto the ball waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect pass, always hoping it would happen.</div>
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It never did happen. Olivia had a shot or two, but it never quite panned out. Yet Ezra never stopped trying. And Olivia was so excited and tickled her older brother was trying so hard to help her score a goal.</div>
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I can't recall if it was Coach Omar or another parent who saw what Ezra was trying to do and described Ezra as a "gentleman." I like that. Ezra, the gentleman soccer star.</div>
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And that's how I see him.</div>
Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-4627608597621444092017-02-18T04:55:00.000-08:002017-02-22T04:46:35.814-08:00As Parents, Let's Choose the Things that Matter for Our Kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9pZX7XQ6ZUxCQWNXEKv1bi9D_QQwZf4eteE_3d479_4xQOw3LQbLI_nm0MyurcNu4l2WucbmWN6AxVsbVmmS4i9NbDlwX341vEoDzzFQ-dASfgYfuLSGqdD423zXt8B0FB_UdQ7lTz1E/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9pZX7XQ6ZUxCQWNXEKv1bi9D_QQwZf4eteE_3d479_4xQOw3LQbLI_nm0MyurcNu4l2WucbmWN6AxVsbVmmS4i9NbDlwX341vEoDzzFQ-dASfgYfuLSGqdD423zXt8B0FB_UdQ7lTz1E/s320/unnamed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
We can get caught up in "doing" a lot of things for our kids. In our culture we're all about "things."<br />
<br />
More things.<br />
<br />
Better things.<br />
<br />
Lots of things.<br />
<br />
We're consumers and takers. We want status and prestige and the best things. We have resulting high expectations for achievement.<br />
<br />
We want getting ahead. Pushing. Demanding. Meeting the world's standards.<br />
<br />
Let's breathe as parents. I'm reminded as I find myself in that place again. Comparing. Compromising. And I ask myself, `What matters for my kids?'<br />
<br />
Love.<br />
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Faithfulness.<br />
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Commitment.<br />
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Compassion.<br />
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Selflessness.<br />
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Hope.<br />
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Perseverance.<br />
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To serve and not be served.<br />
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To go and make disciples.<br />
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To love the Lord with all their heart, soul, strength and mind.<br />
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What matters are the things that last.<br />
<br />
The things that build family.<br />
<br />
The things that transcend culture.<br />
<br />
What matters is the love and faith and hope and trust and joy and peace that keep us together when the world around us crumbles.<br />
<br />
You don't find it's what the world offers.<br />
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You find it reflecting and radiating from the Son sent to live and die and live again for each one of us. All of us.Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-52477203838012955302017-01-29T21:35:00.000-08:002017-01-29T21:35:06.139-08:00Waking up on my 48th birthday and realizing one big thing<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik3YG23RTtGTeNKz4h-XtIIavmbHbP4QuU17oepwESFjBOqy9T_xQkJFs6Nc_E4Ygr55aM-AkfC4FWZdwEZ1NwqqwhcqfvN3YGHZ4_YjgBMQ_FKGKEGyI1EI1-3ezfJTtF-s5FbI_7XlA/s1600/vsco-photo-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik3YG23RTtGTeNKz4h-XtIIavmbHbP4QuU17oepwESFjBOqy9T_xQkJFs6Nc_E4Ygr55aM-AkfC4FWZdwEZ1NwqqwhcqfvN3YGHZ4_YjgBMQ_FKGKEGyI1EI1-3ezfJTtF-s5FbI_7XlA/s320/vsco-photo-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I spent part of my birthday teaching this crew how to skip rocks.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica;">I was scrolling back through my memories of birthdays past, thinking about some of the particular January 29ths that really stand out. I thought I’d share some. </span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><b>1976</b> — On my 7th birthday in the wintry cold of Bend, Oregon, I broke the two middle fingers on my right hand shortly before my friends arrived for my birthday party. I snapped the tips of those fingers in an unfortunate incident involving a wheelbarrow full of firewood, a rickety ramp consisting of a single flimsy board and a big drop down some steps on our back patio. Oh, and my older brother was in the mix. I soon adapted by learning to write left-handed. So I guess you could say that on my 7th birthday I learned about overcoming adversity. And not to use your writing hand to try and hold up a ramp beneath the weight of a wheelbarrow full of firewood being driven by your brother, even when he tells you to hold the ramp up with your hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><b>1985</b> — I would turn 16 this year and mark it later that summer by competing on an “All-Star” track and field team from Oregon and Washington that traveled to Hong Kong, South Korea and China. I discovered firsthand the meaning of “abject poverty” on our train ride through the rice paddies and villages of rural China and recall how hordes of Chinese people would crowd around in awe and touch the hair of a girl on our team who had blond hair that was nearly white. I competed in a 5,000-meter race in a rustic, dirt-track stadium in Guangzhou, China, finishing third in sweltering heat. I remember distinctly three things about that race: 1) I was sure I was going to either burn up or melt to death, perhaps both; 2) You couldn’t drink the water in China so after the race I “quenched” my agonizing thirst with the only liquid available, a warm, fizzy orange soda pop; 3) I was overjoyed that our second meet got canceled because I was sure I wouldn’t survive another race. After the race we traded trinkets and jerseys with our fellow Chinese competitors and I remember one tiny, rail thin guy wanted my beloved Nike Spiridon racing shoes. I turned him down. To this day I think about that poor kid who had literally nothing and rue my selfishness: Why didn’t I just give him the shoes?</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><b>1993</b> — I turned 24 in the frozen tundra of Ontario, Oregon, which at the time was gripped in a brutally long, cold, snowy winter. I was married to Julie and we had two boys with a third on the way — Imagine that! Julie was pregnant! — and I was working for $1,200 a month as a sportswriter at the daily <i>Argus Observer </i>covering high school sports. Often I would leave my 1986 diesel Volkswagen Jetta with Julie and run the mile or so to work through the campus of Treasure Valley Community College. I remember distinctly on one frigid night running home for dinner through the crusty snow and underestimating how bitterly cold it was, thinking someone might come across me frozen solid in mid-stride sometime the next day. It took me a month to thaw out from that jaunt and to this day I hate to be cold, perhaps partly because of that moment of idiocy. But I get the warm fuzzies thinking about Ontario as well. The farming outpost on the Snake River next to Idaho is where we discovered the Calvary Chapel movement at a church on the outskirts of town and where we learned about expository Bible teaching. It changed our church lives forever. We also made lifelong friends who taught us so much about raising children, homeschooling and a family where Jesus Christ is at the center. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><b>2001</b> — I turned 32 in a couple of finished rooms of an old dairy barn on a 3-acre patch of land at the edge of Corvallis, Oregon, where we were holed up while we built a big dream house. We had seven kids, an eighth on the way — yes, Julie was pregnant! — and it was a hard time. Very hard time. All I can say is that God carried us through it. I learned plenty in that season of life, like DIY and how to use power tools such as a compound mitre saw, how to kill skunks nesting under your barn (it’s ugly and smelly and I don’t wish it on anyone) and what true friends look like (thank you Jim Bass and many others). I remember the strength of Julie in those hard times. A gritty perseverance and a deep, abiding faith and belief that God in His power will get us through anything. I’ve never met another woman like her. Don’t think I ever will. I’m so thankful for her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><b>2009</b> — After living in Virginia for four years, we returned to Corvallis in fall of 2008 so I could attend Cornerstone School of Ministry. On my 40th birthday at school I remember how one of my classmates ornately and rather gaudily decorated my car in embarrassing fashion, writing passages drawn from Song of Solomon referencing my “abs of carved ivory” on it … except it wasn’t my car. It was someone else’s. Now THAT was funny and made for a memorable birthday. But from 2009 I learned many things, above all that God is in control. And that He is a very good and loving God.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><b>2017</b> — I awoke on my 48th birthday next to my wife of 26 years, who’s not pregnant I might add, in a little house a few blocks from the York River where around Christmas time all 14 kids were home. It’s 15 kids when you add in Taylor’s wife, Bethany, then 16 kids when you count the wee little lad she’s carrying in her womb. (We’re so stoked to be grandparents this year!) Then you add another to make it 17 for when Ethan’s fiancee Mandi, was here, plus throw in another “kid” to make it 18 when Brenton’s — and ours too! — good friend from Oregon, Parker Smith, stopped in for several days to visit. Julie glowed because all her babies were home and the house was just so full of life. And a ton of food. Literally a ton of food. I remember thinking that, yes our house is small and there’s kids everywhere, but there’s so much laughing and joy and love and I’m so thankful for all the Lord has done in our lives. And then a few days ago I got this text from Evie, who’s out in Oregon studying at Cornerstone School of Ministry for the year: “Okay. We were in prayer yesterday and I remembered in It’s a Wonderful Life at the end when Harry toasts George and says, `To George Bailey, the richest man in town.’ I know this is really mushy but I always thought of you when we watched that movie.” So yes, Evie is right. On my 48th birthday I woke up as the richest man in town.</span></div>
Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-82608371978709660102017-01-13T20:59:00.001-08:002017-01-13T20:59:33.236-08:00I called in the `Redneck Cavalry' to negotiate the `Prius graveyard' and rescue my daughter<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKjJa-me_aQHWb48u37PVCL3yijVB50O8gxgW2qiIbJmF7xigD4EjkI6Z6IaizraM7rncZ_VHM2Scogx6yPOHwvTQBN5uxv3F7L8S1_UzsvnL7TyFH4hMnvmpNaBUvSQb5wFitrq1_c4/s1600/oregon-snowstorm-ap515196645297.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKjJa-me_aQHWb48u37PVCL3yijVB50O8gxgW2qiIbJmF7xigD4EjkI6Z6IaizraM7rncZ_VHM2Scogx6yPOHwvTQBN5uxv3F7L8S1_UzsvnL7TyFH4hMnvmpNaBUvSQb5wFitrq1_c4/s320/oregon-snowstorm-ap515196645297.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Portland in a snowstorm. Not pretty.</td></tr>
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This was an eventful week in the Sabo house. A lot happened, including Gabe suffering a spiral fracture of his left leg when he tried snowboarding down a snow ramp off our back deck following the dumping of a foot of snow here in Gloucester.<br />
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Evie had an exhausting trip out to Oregon by air that began at 10:30 a.m. on Tuesday when she left for Richmond. She flew out of Richmond, made it to Newark, N.J., had a brutally long layover and then departed for Portland. Only to have her flight rerouted to Seattle due to heavy snow that socked in PDX. She eventually made it to Portland in the middle of the night but was stranded at the airport.<br />
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It's a helpless feeling knowing my daughter is stranded 3,000 miles away after a long night. The roads were nasty, we checked the MAX light rail and it looked like it was running to Clackamas Town Center and we were hoping maybe she could catch a bus to Canby, where Julie's folks live. But the buses weren't running -- everything in Portland was basically shut down amid a snowstorm dropping a foot of white stuff -- and the Tri-Met webpage recommended that after Evie got to Clackamas Town Center she walk the 7.8 remaining miles to Canby. In a blizzard. With her luggage.<br />
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Um, no.<br />
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I was desperate. I called my good friend in Corvallis, Matt Fields. Back in 2008, in similar conditions in December, Matt had taken me from Corvallis to the airport in Portland with no problem so I could fly back to Gloucester. I wanted to get the lowdown from Matt on how bad it really was in Oregon for this go around. It wasn't good.<br />
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Matt described Interstate 5 around Portland quite ominously as a "Prius graveyard." Gulp.<br />
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Then he offered to go fetch Evie.<br />
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"I've got the Excursion, it's got studs on the tires, I'll throw some chains in the back and head up there," he said. Like it's that easy. Well, it was. For him. Truth be told, it was time to send in the `Redneck Cavalry.'<br />
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That would be Matt. He's an Oregonian through and through. Hickory shirts, chainsaws, operates heavy equipment, woodsman, marksman (just ask the deer in western Oregon), farmer, mechanic, you name it. He put the rugged in rugged individual.<br />
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He's a solid Christian brother, as solid as they come, a family man and a follower of Christ. He's willing to help out a friend in need and go rescue his daughter in an Oregon blizzard that shut down 2/3 of the state.<br />
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Within hours I had a text from Evie saying she was passing through Woodburn on her way to Corvallis. They were southbound on I-5, well clear of the Prius graveyard by then.<br />
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I am so thankful for friends like Matt Fields. A true redneck brother. They don't make them any better.Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-71755358196064817822017-01-02T13:27:00.000-08:002017-01-02T13:27:01.873-08:00We're Planning for a 2017 Wedding in the Sabo House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09sq4-gmGRrWGg_eFg0KZoRBKCicSsEmIbWvma1x1FoA8OlRgYYwr-ujSbfrSosCBH18MIjRX3Yh5QfXpcjKzTDKhO9wadAIzQV1AChtE4nb8pXpU-PX8Er9bWVB5-qI0mYcDMWzlHms/s1600/IMG_3641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09sq4-gmGRrWGg_eFg0KZoRBKCicSsEmIbWvma1x1FoA8OlRgYYwr-ujSbfrSosCBH18MIjRX3Yh5QfXpcjKzTDKhO9wadAIzQV1AChtE4nb8pXpU-PX8Er9bWVB5-qI0mYcDMWzlHms/s320/IMG_3641.jpg" width="182" /></a></div>
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New Year's Eve was especially spectacular in the Sabo house this year thanks to a major family event/announcement: Ethan is getting married to the lovely Mandi Smith! Yes, she said yes! We were able to document not only the actual event, but some of the work that went into the "surprise" for Mandi. Ethan popped the question on a York River dock of a nearby residence after securing permission from the generous Sal Leone of Sal's Sicilian Pizza & Restaurant fame. Thank you Leone family!<br />
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Ethan lined a section of the dock with Christmas lights and he and Taylor built an "arch" fashioned out of a repurposed door frame fished out of the recesses of the Sabo garage ... an old closet door jamb has never looked so good and never been so useful! Ethan had a ton of help from siblings and yours truly on pulling off his big event. Taylor, especially, was helpful in creating the magical arch and Evie documented it all on camera. Without further ado, here's the pictorial!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKrRzXkVnfAC-XtXHGB_OpjYEAIs5ruxPXn8pTmQq22a3HPJXALCqNisd-kmf8Y_u9gQ9ByX0moQB6wUjok3nyKvEpjydtaJGb5bDz7YUIYJzNB7ZxKKR2X0G7r6ihIwh4r_LfPefVbE/s1600/IMG_3532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKrRzXkVnfAC-XtXHGB_OpjYEAIs5ruxPXn8pTmQq22a3HPJXALCqNisd-kmf8Y_u9gQ9ByX0moQB6wUjok3nyKvEpjydtaJGb5bDz7YUIYJzNB7ZxKKR2X0G7r6ihIwh4r_LfPefVbE/s320/IMG_3532.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Um, at least Ethan and Taylor had plenty of room in the garage to work!<br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_FUf2xPqtAjeo5qTcK54QCoH8z_JLiRPG33_f8Ax7LAvZdzXPOsmn65QCZA20iT1pG9yyjywLVgQJkZQAWMiBh-8H7nTUk9MLC8euA581KHKMvZcrgrREWivXiltsbOWZIP8VAXc1yU/s1600/IMG_3550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_FUf2xPqtAjeo5qTcK54QCoH8z_JLiRPG33_f8Ax7LAvZdzXPOsmn65QCZA20iT1pG9yyjywLVgQJkZQAWMiBh-8H7nTUk9MLC8euA581KHKMvZcrgrREWivXiltsbOWZIP8VAXc1yU/s320/IMG_3550.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ethan and Taylor have always been real close brothers. Even when it comes to operating the compound mitre saw.<br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZOUE_dT6ZT46t__igbiGBEGX5uXguzXP3WEdZTTIQMrCuPcNYd9FyRYotd88OB9kppMax2qC13wjVvmSnJflb-sTGI5eRypKINpVw-QraH0Mrjwnkrb5EsHr6pgQucIMsLlXHzxDYI7U/s1600/IMG_3549.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZOUE_dT6ZT46t__igbiGBEGX5uXguzXP3WEdZTTIQMrCuPcNYd9FyRYotd88OB9kppMax2qC13wjVvmSnJflb-sTGI5eRypKINpVw-QraH0Mrjwnkrb5EsHr6pgQucIMsLlXHzxDYI7U/s320/IMG_3549.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Professional craftsmen at work!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUgJ15ZFgdhUMJvoFSTvo1A194adctp5OOhKqQOusZuDqoi1v0Y76s0fkmWVEz66YM3mOwBinD5aVa3CMbrp9iWrYNtpWStkmTIRSQwd6mbeFPj97RWg18LnQWnF6M-4KMArLus85Iz80/s1600/IMG_3556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUgJ15ZFgdhUMJvoFSTvo1A194adctp5OOhKqQOusZuDqoi1v0Y76s0fkmWVEz66YM3mOwBinD5aVa3CMbrp9iWrYNtpWStkmTIRSQwd6mbeFPj97RWg18LnQWnF6M-4KMArLus85Iz80/s320/IMG_3556.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We know exactly what we're doing! Look at that cut!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijIdiVmjX78UMyaIsZdfclD8sSOeVHe5ql-59pqtj6yWWftplcc1jWllhFfkqW3abiK2m6hf02yw51TcX_YleJJyJSewf2LnKMDwyA22aXpjFl-fKvHJhJOm7SexXYEN1Jyz-4yRsDNqw/s1600/IMG_3571.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijIdiVmjX78UMyaIsZdfclD8sSOeVHe5ql-59pqtj6yWWftplcc1jWllhFfkqW3abiK2m6hf02yw51TcX_YleJJyJSewf2LnKMDwyA22aXpjFl-fKvHJhJOm7SexXYEN1Jyz-4yRsDNqw/s320/IMG_3571.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ethan with his wood building game face.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwN7BQpva7IDbkBsR61TGP9i9RNVGeOACjIy0L04ulN_waS215eXT_G44p16RwfNY8WXpMJtGdnZL0Exnq73FwabKHRgMfUHI8_SDzcGJSc5dqvdeX2HAEnEHRONxo1DbCp96FBs5DNeQ/s1600/IMG_3573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwN7BQpva7IDbkBsR61TGP9i9RNVGeOACjIy0L04ulN_waS215eXT_G44p16RwfNY8WXpMJtGdnZL0Exnq73FwabKHRgMfUHI8_SDzcGJSc5dqvdeX2HAEnEHRONxo1DbCp96FBs5DNeQ/s320/IMG_3573.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey Taylor, it looks like you've got things under control there so I'm just going to check the score of the Alabama-UDub game. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQroXlx7kRhj0jI44bFHTCkuvrqHBaagyQk7N1pawxU5u4h5iGjw1an7Rg3fmUwGxRjS4JNteySDZqaP2ES-O5Jg5ZrpKPNIWezp7uV5yksw0E6jX-TQD8dKMF_GChHBFQ6eaX85f1-4/s1600/IMG_3581.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQroXlx7kRhj0jI44bFHTCkuvrqHBaagyQk7N1pawxU5u4h5iGjw1an7Rg3fmUwGxRjS4JNteySDZqaP2ES-O5Jg5ZrpKPNIWezp7uV5yksw0E6jX-TQD8dKMF_GChHBFQ6eaX85f1-4/s320/IMG_3581.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, go ahead and nail it right there bro. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8z71FUwNXtdlucD8JDCNzvgpCTDlNhjl371icSRDmW2L9sB2Eaa1gFPErTUkcpv2hLr1ehi1aBtsLuRu4TKypxbysLJninp2VMlLvLSzqAQBxeAkaVndk50rjOdUmYhVf24rqwgQjtWs/s1600/IMG_3588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8z71FUwNXtdlucD8JDCNzvgpCTDlNhjl371icSRDmW2L9sB2Eaa1gFPErTUkcpv2hLr1ehi1aBtsLuRu4TKypxbysLJninp2VMlLvLSzqAQBxeAkaVndk50rjOdUmYhVf24rqwgQjtWs/s320/IMG_3588.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carrying it across the threshold ... just about ready for painting! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEics52NFNMWYWsmcoDvWhwzxoNe-SHucjPlzcsFlkkkfH4LhlNxENZ94GfDRw_pZ6efsPk2Cj3kGDINHXfYEqKUkxlc95g3CjBpXA3zs-qEPChYNoPJxL4cfax75Oz0QC8v6Z8lcDqOOEw/s1600/IMG_3591.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEics52NFNMWYWsmcoDvWhwzxoNe-SHucjPlzcsFlkkkfH4LhlNxENZ94GfDRw_pZ6efsPk2Cj3kGDINHXfYEqKUkxlc95g3CjBpXA3zs-qEPChYNoPJxL4cfax75Oz0QC8v6Z8lcDqOOEw/s320/IMG_3591.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll let go and then you let go and we'll see if it stays up!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBaui8h3x2meZn3TxpQ_HTO95XLOo2ySUWXdDs_dCWivHAaWz06nx0ePDCOpzRz-amynM-2FXhH6n7FAyXCJNSZpYE-chvOCW6-aOq1n2L0rCHuLYG3SZUp5IS3EWIai73jIQM9msaBSE/s1600/IMG_3592.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBaui8h3x2meZn3TxpQ_HTO95XLOo2ySUWXdDs_dCWivHAaWz06nx0ePDCOpzRz-amynM-2FXhH6n7FAyXCJNSZpYE-chvOCW6-aOq1n2L0rCHuLYG3SZUp5IS3EWIai73jIQM9msaBSE/s320/IMG_3592.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whoa Nelli! She's staying upright!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ethan: "Hey Taylor, you missed a spot."<br />Taylor: "Bro, the sun is in my eyes!"</td></tr>
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The lads got the arch perfected and then Taylor and our friend who's visiting from Oregon, Parker Smith, helped him set it up on the Leone dock and get the lights strung up. MerriGrace got some music playing on the dock, where it was a wee bit breezy and chilly ... but things soon warmed up with the arrival of Ethan and Mandi.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now that is some happy going on !</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The young couple is something to behold but it's hard to take my eyes off that expertly crafted arch!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awwwww. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWPDzGfnpo4qbcXN2BxhvRnPHuTDCoj3Qpzi7M6FYStQciq2pk-jlahZkB5UFZUaM03AvrWD0imxC1K_sZFiC1-t_2ohco0kgQujBuF4zitGSBkJgVlpraC-Q5e_gp7jxfE4Evn3udYxE/s1600/IMG_3633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWPDzGfnpo4qbcXN2BxhvRnPHuTDCoj3Qpzi7M6FYStQciq2pk-jlahZkB5UFZUaM03AvrWD0imxC1K_sZFiC1-t_2ohco0kgQujBuF4zitGSBkJgVlpraC-Q5e_gp7jxfE4Evn3udYxE/s320/IMG_3633.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well done son!</td></tr>
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We're all so excited to welcome Mandi into our family sometime in 2017. She's a beautiful young woman inside and out who loves the Lord with all her heart and we're so thrilled for Ethan. The Lord is going to do great things through Ethan and Mandi! We love you!Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-25067003155331264582016-12-24T15:37:00.002-08:002016-12-24T15:38:37.549-08:00Witnesses to a Christmas miracle: The Shepherds<i>This post originally appeared in my 12 Kids and Counting Blog on Dec. 22, 2009</i><br />
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I've been thinking about shepherds lately. We're having a Christmas Eve service -- 5 o'clock Thursday, you're all invited -- to sing some hymns and carols, read out of Luke 2 and I'll share a short message. As I read Luke's account of the birth of Christ, I can't help but wonder about the shepherds who saw the angel of the Lord. I've read accounts that 2,000 years ago shepherds were the pickpockets and thieves of the day. The sorry, no-account drifters who were troublemakers and virtually indentured servants. Things haven't changed much, perhaps. I've enclosed a link at the bottom of this post to help you see where I'm going with this thing.<br />
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But let me describe the life of a modern-day sheepherder in the barren Wyoming outback, where you might be in charge of a flock of 1,500 or 2,000 sheep: On call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Your home is a 5 x 10 "campito" without running water. Have to go to the bathroom? Here's a shovel. You have no electricity. The searing summer days can hit 100 degrees. On Christmas Day at a sheep camp near Encampment, Wyo., look for a high of 14 degrees, with a low of zero. And snow. Your heat source is a wood stove. It might even work, particularly if you have wood. In addition to no days off, a sheepherder must be able to ride a horse and repair fences. Not to mention guard the flock against predators and poisonous weeds. Not only that, a decent worker should be able to assist in lambing, docking, castrating (Rocky Mountain oysters baby!), dehorning, shearing, vaccinating, drenching and medicating the sheep. Sometimes the work gets a little hairy -- or worse. Wolves are a constant problem in parts of Wyoming. Other places have bigger problems. On Sept. 14 in Sublette County, a sheepherder was attacked by a grizzly bear. Miraculously he lived. The bear left a 7-inch gash in the man's head, two punctures on the left side of his chest, three claw wounds on his gut and a punctured wrist. Oh, here's the kicker. The pay is $650 a month. And all the sagebrush you can see.<br />
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Yet these are the guys the angel of the Lord came to tell about the birth of the Messiah, our Savior. Why? Why not the Bethlehem Town Council? Or the Bethlehem Chamber of Commerce, or Rotary Club? Surely a group of men existed in metropolitan Bethlehem that were far more qualified to have an audience with an angel of the Lord than a bunch of sketchy shepherds. This is what I love about God. He takes the sorriest, no accountenest knuckleheads and uses them for His glory. Read about their response to the news of the birth of Christ. I'd say they were transformed. Any thoughts on what kind of weight it carried when these guys started spreading the word about what they had heard and seen? No wonder Luke describes it thusly in 2:18: "And all those who heard it marveled at those things which were told them by the shepherds." (NKJV)<br />
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There's a part of me that would like to taste the life of a Wyoming sheepherder. What's it really like out there? How bad is it? Could I endure it for more than a few days? I can think of one redeeming aspect of a sheepherder in Wyoming. When night falls in that big sky that stretches from the end of the earth to the end of the earth, unobstructed by trees, or houses, or apartments, or skyscrapers, without artificial light flickering for maybe a hundred miles, you can look up at a billion stars and be amazed by the hand of God. I reckon that's what those shepherds were doing 2,000 years ago, before the angel even appeared. They were looking up.<br />
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Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-49573641089030906652016-10-27T18:55:00.000-07:002016-10-27T18:55:45.395-07:00Settling the debate of who's a `come here' in Tidewater Virginia. (It's not easy ...)<div class="mod-dailypressarticleheader mod-articleheader" id="mod-article-header" style="border: 0px; color: #292727; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 17px; margin: 20px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;">
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When Cultures Combine</h1>
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'Come Heres And From Heres'</h2>
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<span class="pubdate" style="border: 0px; color: #032152; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 17px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">April 19, 2004</span><span class="separator" style="border: 0px; color: #666666; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 17px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px 5px;">|</span><span style="border: 0px; color: #032152; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 17px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">BY MATT SABO msabo@dailypress.com | (804) 642-1748</span></div>
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Natives and newcomers try to decide how long a person has to live here before shedding the 'outsider' label.</div>
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It is a vexing question, its answer fraught with rampant speculation and, of course, influenced by one's genealogical ties to the great commonwealth of Virginia. The state constitution is no help. Local ordinances do not address it. A Google search turned up no definitive answer.</div>
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Judy Schick bravely tries to answer it anyway.</div>
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"Mmmm, I'd say the only way you can be a 'been here' is if you've been born here," she says.</div>
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That's it then. All you "come heres" who are looking to shake loose your outsider status have something to shoot for. Birth a kid wherever it is you've landed, and your progeny won't be a "come here."</div>
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Or maybe not. Schick is waffling after thinking about this problem for a minute.</div>
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"Well," she says, "I don't know that there's an answer."</div>
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Schick was born in New Jersey and arrived in Mathews via Indianapolis after she and her husband took a liking to the Virginia shoreline. She concedes she's 100 percent "come here." She even started the "Newcomers Club" in Mathews, where "come heres" flock like mosquitoes to flesh. The club has 48 members.</div>
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But isn't there a way to change from a "come here" to a "been here?" How long would that take? A decade? Twenty years? Fifty years? Having a momma who's a native?</div>
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"Never," says 56-year-old Tommy Darden, who runs rustic Darden's Country Store in Isle of Wight County. Getting to Darden's would be hard for most "come heres." It involves taking a left, two rights, a left, a right and then another left (or was it a right?) - all while negotiating narrow back roads and dodging locals wandering out to the mailbox across the road.</div>
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"To me, personally, when you're a 'from here' is when you know the back roads from here to there," says Mark Rowe as he cradles a midday beer at Harpoon Larry's off Mercury Boulevard in Hampton.</div>
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Rowe is a 38-year-old Floridian just two months into his Peninsula residency. He says people shouldn't fret about the labels because it all depends on the individual. Rowe claims to know the back roads -- at least to Harpoon Larry's -- and considers himself a "from here."</div>
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Darden actually agrees after he warms to the subject. "It's really hard to say. Some people seem to fit in and some people don't fit in," he says.</div>
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Some "come heres" move to the Virginia countryside and want streetlights, garbage pickup and curbs. They're "come heres" through and through, Darden says. Others fit right in. They stop by the store to chat and haul their garbage to the dump in the back of a pickup, or SUV probably. They're OK.</div>
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About this time Dean Stallings joins the fray. The 46-year-old, sixth-generation Isle of Wight farmer stopped by Darden's for a ham sandwich, iced tea and pack of Marlboro Lights.</div>
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"Come heres" drive ATVs through his cotton and corn fields and think it's their back yard, he says. They're not OK. A "come here" will "be on that list forever," Stallings says.</div>
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Of course, there are exceptions. Bonnie Lewis is checking out art in Mo Stuff in Bena, in the heart of Gloucester's Guinea. She was born in Wicomico in Gloucester County, moved away for 30 years, then came back. Doesn't that make her a "come here" with an asterisk? Or is it a "from here" with an asterisk?</div>
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Neither, she says. "I'm grandfathered."</div>
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Perhaps there's some scholarly research that can lay to rest this issue. Wouldn't you know it, the University of Virginia has a "come heres" specialist.</div>
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Daphne Spain, chair of the Department of Urban and Environmental Planning at the university's School of Architecture, wrote "Been-heres Versus Come-heres: Negotiating Conflicting Community Identities" in 1993. It's a study comparing Kilmarnock in Lancaster County to Philadelphia's Queen Village. In sum, rich folks moved into both places and changed the communities. They probably demanded garbage pickup.</div>
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Spain could see a change in status, though. Folks who arrived after Kilmarnock was "discovered" were "come heres." Those who had arrived before weren't. Others in the small, historically tightknit communities who had lived there for generations traced "come heres" back to two generations.</div>
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"No matter how long the family stayed," Spain says, "if their family wasn't from there it wouldn't matter."</div>
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The last word is left to Urbanna, on the watery fringes of Middlesex County. At Catman Cats, a boatbuilding outfit down on the water, Felix Herrin claims a person can be moved off the "come heres" list into "been heres" status by the authority of an authentic "from here."</div>
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He said this happened to him when his friend Larry Burch told Herrin he's not a "come here" anymore because Herrin has been in Virginia since 1977.</div>
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"It has to be bestowed by a `from here,'" Herrin says.</div>
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His wife, Tricia Herrin, is standing nearby. She is a real-life "born here" and is caught off guard.</div>
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"So he took you from a 'come here' to a 'been here?'" she asks incredulously.</div>
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"Yeah."</div>
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"I have never heard of that," Tricia Herrin says.</div>
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Felix Herrin shrugs.</div>
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"I'm still a 'come here' to my wife."</div>
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Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-65755156068392326372016-10-25T21:14:00.000-07:002016-10-25T21:22:38.486-07:00A true story of rogue Chesapeake Bay oysters the size of dinner plates<div class="mod-dailypressarticleheader mod-articleheader" id="mod-article-header" style="border: 0px; color: #292727; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 17px; margin: 20px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;">
This is one of my favorite stories from my time at the <i>Daily Press</i> about some rogue oysters who somehow escaped from a Chesapeake Bay marine experiment and lived to tell about it. For a while at least. I hope you enjoy it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjtlOHdflSbeJSk9EbJogUqc8YVxlRZ3rOGxSEqcY_Rdny1gFKPgQ-tf6_pUqdeNkzFSZrd6dJjpCHsTH_tS0LNH__Tj4malKa1-iBYcSN77vdghP32w_cNUaNf6HMhxVOlzNqSUL_Oq4/s1600/544493_241367829317737_393517485_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjtlOHdflSbeJSk9EbJogUqc8YVxlRZ3rOGxSEqcY_Rdny1gFKPgQ-tf6_pUqdeNkzFSZrd6dJjpCHsTH_tS0LNH__Tj4malKa1-iBYcSN77vdghP32w_cNUaNf6HMhxVOlzNqSUL_Oq4/s320/544493_241367829317737_393517485_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On assignment in 2012 with an oyster. But not one of THE oysters.</td></tr>
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Oyster Survival Story Raises Questions</h1>
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<span class="pubdate" style="border: 0px; color: #032152; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 17px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">May 21, 2004</span><span class="separator" style="border: 0px; color: #666666; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 17px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; padding: 0px 5px;">|</span><span style="border: 0px; color: #032152; font-family: inherit; font-size: 11px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 17px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">By MATT SABO Daily Press</span></div>
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A startling find of mammoth experimental bivalves left for dead yields a surprising conclusion: They're still alive, and they taste pretty good.</div>
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They were beasts of their species, orphans from a marine experiment gone awry that were lurking in the mucky bottom of a Rappahannock River tributary in Lancaster County.</div>
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Two girls out kayaking stumbled upon them last month. The girls lived to tell about it.</div>
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The behemoths did not.</div>
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They were two non-native oysters the size of dinner plates. A true full-meal deal.</div>
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Long since forgotten, the oysters weren't supposed to be there. They were among several hundred young bivalves put in the shallow tidal pond as part of a much larger 2001 experiment involving 60,000 oysters scattered around the Chesapeake Bay, said Jim Wesson of the Virginia Marine Resources Commission.</div>
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Vigorous, hardy and disease-resistant -- and perhaps somewhat quick and elusive -- the c. ariakensis bivalves are known as Suminoe, or "Asian," oysters. The two oysters, along with at least three others found later, managed to elude recapture when the experiment ended in 2003, even though Wesson said they all were enclosed in a mesh cage.</div>
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Wesson believes the oysters got stepped on and shoved down in the muck. Because one of the components of the experiment was gauging mortality, it was assumed the oysters suffered an untimely demise.</div>
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Wrong.</div>
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"As far as we knew they were gone," Wesson said. "If they disappeared, you would assume a crab or something would eat them."</div>
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Now Wesson knows otherwise.</div>
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"They live very well," he said. "Even the ones we got up were doing very well. We were testing how they would hold themselves up in the mud. If they can't compete with the sediment around them, they wouldn't live very well in the bay."</div>
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The oysters were taken to Stan Allen, director of the Virginia Institute of Marine Science. There they met their death and were found to be sterile, just as they were when the experiment began.</div>
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Allen found them intriguing, but he doesn't advocate orphaning experimental oysters.</div>
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"It's not a good idea to keep them out there without some custodial care," he said.</div>
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The find has raised eyebrows -- and questions -- particularly now that the Chesapeake Bay is hosting experimental trials involving about 800,000 Asian oysters. The trials are sponsored by the Virginia Seafood Council.</div>
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"We're pretty concerned about it," said Mike Fritz, living resources coordinator for the Environmental Protection Agency's Chesapeake Bay Program office.</div>
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The Asian oysters in the current trials are penned in secure bags, racks and floats -- not put out loose on the bottom, he said.</div>
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"We're doing everything we can to keep them under control, to effectively keep the genie in the bottle and not let these oysters get established as a population in the bay," Fritz said.</div>
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What sets the Asian oysters apart from native bivalves is that they seem to flourish in the same waters that, after a century of overharvesting and diseases, have been so deadly to native oysters.</div>
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It's unusual for native oysters to live through three summer seasons, Allen said.</div>
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Not so for the Asian oysters, obviously. Despite concerns that the Asian oysters could reverse their sterility, the Rappahannock group proved unfruitful.</div>
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"It's very helpful to know that the sterility holds and to know that they grow very well in the environment we have," Wesson said.</div>
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The EPA's Fritz said the Asian oysters in the current trial are being studied to see if they are susceptible to diseases, if they may be hosts to diseases or parasites that could afflict native shellfish and if they are suitable to live alongside other species living on the bottom of the bay.</div>
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While questions abound regarding the Asian oysters, one big question has been cleared up.</div>
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They taste good.</div>
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"They're not bad," Allen said. "I mean, not raw. Cooked, they're quite good."</div>
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Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-26145113154796832272016-09-28T21:51:00.000-07:002016-09-29T19:49:36.724-07:00It's time for a reset of the measure of success for families in America<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7r7KaHJDzmYEI27rbxGWVVgp8AKlYa1lh3qmzA9p2GjiLpbgVeD_e_WwdXgbDu_zywyjeBFSnp0PcSKLwAiTRMPfk5Q3qHOhj3eDdo-ReJJueUnIglVXOrwaVBef94-FhWLX_WCMoFA/s1600/IMG_2878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7r7KaHJDzmYEI27rbxGWVVgp8AKlYa1lh3qmzA9p2GjiLpbgVeD_e_WwdXgbDu_zywyjeBFSnp0PcSKLwAiTRMPfk5Q3qHOhj3eDdo-ReJJueUnIglVXOrwaVBef94-FhWLX_WCMoFA/s320/IMG_2878.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What success looks like in the Sabo family.</td></tr>
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We have a way of measuring success in America that centers around a consumer economy. It's the insatiable appetite for materialism and the accumulation of things. Tragically, it spills over into the church and our kids with devastating consequences.<br />
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Our uniquely American economy of success is measured by things we don't need but buy anyway. We drive big new SUVs so that we have ample room to haul all the stuff we bought at Costco back to our McMansions that have huge garages to store all of our <strike>junk</strike> accumulated non-essential items. We wouldn't be caught dead with flip phones so we're armed with the latest technology everything -- much of which we have to ask our teenage kids how to operate -- and our walk-in closets are bigger than the bedrooms we grew up in and have enough clothes and shoes contained within to outfit an island nation.<br />
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Our secular practices have carried over to the religious. Our churches are virtual rock concert halls, becoming glorified entertainment venues with bright lights, big screens and all the essential high-tech bells and whistles. It's merely churchtainment, an emotion-driven vehicle that's a shallow push for "relevancy" in a culture that's increasingly ambivalent to Christianity. As a result, on any Sunday in any city in America it's possible to go church clubbing in our churchwear without ever hearing the power of the Word.<br />
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We are what we worship, essentially.<br />
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So where does that leave our kids?<br />
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We measure success in our kids by their accomplishments that we can post ad nauseum on social media. And we're motivated by our dreams of their success -- that we also can post on social media. The measuring stick is their future earnings and we're driven to ensure they're the top-performing kids inside and outside of our social circles.<br />
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We're consumed by the youth sports culture and no cost is too steep -- The best equipment! The top sports camps! The number 1 travel teams! -- to make certain our kids are the best at the one sport <strike>we select for them</strike> they pick. We're driven to get them into Ivy League schools so we make sure they do all their homework every night -- beginning in pre-school -- and harass any teacher who dares to give them less than an `A.' We also make sure our kids are deprived of nothing -- whether it's processed food that's actually making them sick, high-tech gadgetry, prescription drugs to get them to "concentrate" and "focus," or colleges that will leave them indebted in perpetuity.<br />
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Meanwhile, they are spiritually impoverished.<br />
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We value all the wrong things and the consequences are tragic. We're lying to our kids by our actions, treating the world and the things of this life as the singular objective for them. It's the gospel of me. Sadly, it's a sentence of a life of emptiness. We're creating a generation with an insatiable drive to find fulfillment in things that will never satisfy.<br />
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These things I've mentioned, the houses, vehicles, sports, school, gadgets and other things, in and of themselves aren't bad. It's the place they have in our lives though that's the problem. It's their hold on us. They consume us. And it's reflected in how we value them and the resulting messages we send to our kids.<br />
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Take a step back. What's your measurement of success in your kids?<br />
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I've had to do my own reckoning in this. I've had to ask myself and pray through if what I'm valuing is what God values. Is what I'm seeking for my kids reflected in the life and teachings of Jesus?<br />
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They're hard questions. Especially in the culture we live in. Yet they are good questions. After all, what's more important? This temporary life and its earthly rewards? Or eternal rewards and a life together as a family with Jesus.<br />
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Jesus said that His kingdom is not of this world. So why are we so intent on creating a world for our kids that's the opposite of what He taught?<br />
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I can tell you this also. There's no greater joy I have in my kids, particularly my older kids who are making their own lives, than to see them following Jesus passionately. To know that for them, Jesus is both their savior and their Lord.<br />
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That's the true measure of success.<br />
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<br />Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-31188307792545583212016-09-25T21:13:00.000-07:002016-09-25T21:13:48.130-07:00Parents, our kids and being faithful in an unreliable world<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We are studying through 1 Corinthians on Sundays at Calvary Chapel Gloucester and we were working through chapter when verse 2 really spoke to me. "Moreover it is required in stewards that one be found faithful." It's a simple concept and Jesus tackled it in the parable of the minas in Luke 19.<br />
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In this story Jesus told, essentially a rich ruler left of of his servants with some money and ordered them to engage in business until he returned. Some invested and traded and proved to be good stewards and were rewarded accordingly. One servant, however, put his mina in a handkerchief and did nothing, earning the ruler's contempt.<br />
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In the big picture, we can apply this parable told by Jesus to each of our lives. We're given a certain amount of time, resources and talents in this world. God expects us to be investing in the Kingdom and spreading the gospel as we await the return of Jesus. We're here to glorify God and carry out His work, quite simply. We're not asked to be brilliant, nor successful, nor dynamic, nor supermen or superwomen.<br />
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Just faithful.<br />
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If someone asked you to describe yourself, would "faithful" be a word that comes to your mind?<br />
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Would your kids use "faithful" to describe you? What words do you think your kids would use to describe you if faithful isn't one of them?<br />
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Our kids need to see us being faithful. Faithful to our spouses, to love them and speak kindly to them and to honor and cherish them. When things get hard -- and things get really hard in marriage -- they need to see us be faithful in working things out and forgiving.<br />
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Our kids need to see us being faithful in the practice of our faith. Faithful to read God's word, to pray, to be in church, to serve in church and to be faithful in our giving.<br />
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If our kids don't learn about being faithful from us, then who will they learn it from? Will they even learn about faithfulness?<br />
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Ask yourself this: What am I faithful to do? Is it work? Watch TV? Be on social media? Get your kids to every single sports practice and game? What we're faithful in reflects what's important to us. And our kids pick up on this.<br />
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In another parable, the one of the talents in Matthew 25, Jesus strikes a similar theme to the parable of the minas. Jesus lets us know we're to stay busy while He is gone, being productive and faithful with the gospel that's been entrusted to us.<br />
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The message is to use our time, money and talent for His glory to bear fruit for the kingdom. The application comes back to what each of us is going with what God has given to us.<br />
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Be faithful.<br />
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The world needs it. Our families need it. Our kids need it.<br />
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<br />Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-19069351118630995752016-05-30T06:48:00.000-07:002016-05-30T06:48:57.120-07:00Cats that commit crimes in International Falls, Minn., and other tales of BalderdashBeing a member of a big, big, big family has benefits too numerous to count. There's always someone to talk to, there's always someone to play with, there's always someone to brush your teeth with and there's a really good chance there's someone whose clothes you can "borrow" in a pinch.<br />
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There's also someone or someones around for game night to share in the revelry of lively fun. Game nights occur frequently in the Sabo house. Take last night, for example. After a short but rather vigorous debate, we decided to play a rousing game of Balderdash, a family favorite.<br />
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Balderdash was created by a Canadian couple in 1984 and is one of Canada's greatest exports, right up there with ice hockey, Canadian bacon and<strike> Justin Bieber</strike> Ryan Gosling. It's a board game of bluffing and trivial knowledge, rewarding creativity and absurdity, which happen to be Sabo specialties.<br />
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Joined by our weekend guest, Mandi, a bunch of Sabos to include yours truly, Julie, Brenton, Ethan, Claire, Evie, MerriGrace, Gabe and Eli took on Balderdash. Based on the amount and volume of laughter -- you could measure it in the tonnage last night -- it was a rousing success.<br />
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To give you a sense of Sabo style Balderdash, here's one of the questions:<br />
"In International Falls, Minn., it is a crime for a cat to ..."<br />
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And here are the answers created by the Sabo & Mandi Balderdashers, including the correct one supplied by Balderdash, Inc. So which one do you choose?<br />
1) Leave the mice it has caught in front of a hotel;<br />
2) Chase a dog up a telephone pole;<br />
3) Clean itself in public;<br />
4) Come into a public building;<br />
5) Be used as live bait in coyote traps;<br />
6) Steal from the meat shop;<br />
7) Roam without a name tag;<br />
8) Throw its feces;<br />
9) Waddle like a goose.<br />
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<br />Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-90270408177544091102016-05-24T16:25:00.003-07:002016-05-24T16:26:51.590-07:00Three things I teach kids who I coach in soccer<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking to pass. This makes me happy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.8); font-family: , "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.003em;">Perhaps blind optimism meets sheer lunacy somewhere in the few strides it takes me to hop out of my 15-passenger van onto the shabby fields around the rural Tidewater Virginia county where I “coach” kids in youth soccer.</span><br />
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="b2ab" name="b2ab" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 1.58; margin-top: 29px;">
I have this notion, you can’t really call it confidence because I lack any sort of statistical data to back it up, that I can teach 12 kids every spring and fall life lessons through a game with a round ball played by billions of people around the globe.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="c4eb" name="c4eb" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 1.58; margin-top: 29px;">
The boys and girls I get vary every year. That is, except for my own kids who are ages 9 to 11 — I always coach them; they have no choice. (Cue the smiling emoji.) What doesn’t vary are three of my goals for these kids.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="1151" name="1151" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 1.58; margin-top: 29px;">
I’m not trying to mold the future Lionel Messi, or coach up the next Alex Morgan. I realize my limitations, not to mention the limitations of many of the kids on my team. Some of my kids appear to have allergies to soccer balls. Others tell me they’d rather be eating dinner. Rarely do I get all 12 kids at a practice and this spring I have yet to have all 12 kids on my team show up for a game.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="c6ca" name="c6ca" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 1.58; margin-top: 29px;">
It’s all good. For about 10 weeks each spring and fall I have them for an hour a day, two days a week and for a game on Saturdays. I have three things I want to instill in these kids. They are very simple and by the end of the season I simply hope that someday down the road they might remember at least one thing — Can I dream and hope for maybe two things? — Coach Matt taught them.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="62bb" name="62bb" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 1.58; margin-top: 29px;">
Here they are. Three things. It’s not exactly Coach John Wooden’s Pyramid of Success, but it’s the best I’ve got.</div>
<ol class="postList" style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); counter-reset: post 0; font-family: -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, 'Segoe UI', Roboto, Oxygen, Ubuntu, Cantarell, 'Open Sans', 'Helvetica Neue', sans-serif; list-style: none none; margin: 29px 0px 0px; padding: 0px;">
<li class="graf--li graf-after--p" id="641c" name="641c" style="font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 1.58; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 30px;"><span class="markup--strong markup--li-strong" style="font-weight: 700;">Teamwork.</span> The very first thing we do in our very first practice is gather in a circle and every player learns everyone’s name. We also get little details like ages, grades and where they go to school. It’s a little thing that I hope builds a bond, builds a team. The other thing we do is work on passing. I am all about passing and talk throughout the season about being unselfish. When one of my players scores a goal, I cheer loudest for the one who passed the ball. Even when the passes are unsuccessful, I let the kids know that’s exactly what I want them to do and to keep doing it. The idea is to form the idea in their head that it’s better to serve than be served. That being part of a team is more about what you can give than what you can take. I can always hope these lessons will carry over into the rest of their life, eh?</li>
<li class="graf--li graf-after--li" id="f9de" name="f9de" style="font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 1.58; margin-bottom: 14px; margin-left: 30px;"><span class="markup--strong markup--li-strong" style="font-weight: 700;">Make a weakness a strength.</span> We practice over and over using the weaker foot. We do drills continually where I force them to use their weaker foot. I routinely tell my players that I don’t care if they miss, but when they have the opportunity I want them to take a shot with their weaker foot. Since most of my kids predominantly use their right foot, it’s left-footed shots. I want them to learn that through practice and effort and diligence, what was once a weakness can become a strength. I’ve seen over the course of the season some kids make amazing strides in this area. And my hope is that they will carry this concept with them to school, or to their future jobs, or elsewhere: That perceived limitations can be overcome.</li>
<li class="graf--li graf-after--li graf--last" id="513c" name="513c" style="font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; letter-spacing: -0.003em; line-height: 1.58; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 30px;"><span class="markup--strong markup--li-strong" style="font-weight: 700;">Have fun.</span> Maybe I’m oversimplifying things here with this goal, but these kids can lead complicated lives. I want their time when I am coaching at the soccer field to be the best hour of their day. We laugh, we treat other kindly, we pass to each other, we have fun. We’re going to work hard and they acquire skills, but I hope that at the end of the season they have 11 new friends and great memories. We’ve moved as a society to treating youth sports as an industry, as a means to an end of a scholarship or some other parental “goal.” Parents can be flat out lunatics about youth sports. Not on my watch. It’s a few days before the last Saturday of our season and I couldn’t tell you our team’s record right now. But when I think of my kids I think about smiling faces. That’s all that matters and I hope that’s what they think also.</li>
</ol>
Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-59253823090089418502016-04-29T04:50:00.002-07:002016-04-29T04:50:10.764-07:00The little boy, now young man, who almost didn't make it past being a toddler<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Qvny-Ob-5cdZ1bJVJXu74T0CjLxZwSbSWuCgiO27HuIHHho5oROv0URkjzDXczjk_vbF_4IzhFDb30hw3aWLiuJrCk0mpBSe_VlqNYQXFDt_LMFV6d7Fa4iFdk53_TbKmZrBoZ7Fhfw/s1600/1526621_778432802277901_7608261200413003846_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Qvny-Ob-5cdZ1bJVJXu74T0CjLxZwSbSWuCgiO27HuIHHho5oROv0URkjzDXczjk_vbF_4IzhFDb30hw3aWLiuJrCk0mpBSe_VlqNYQXFDt_LMFV6d7Fa4iFdk53_TbKmZrBoZ7Fhfw/s320/1526621_778432802277901_7608261200413003846_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A kid in Air Jordan shorts can't be anything but confident.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Today we celebrate the 24th birthday of Taylor. It's a remarkable feat because he has come so far. Those who know Taylor might be surprised to learn that at the age of 2, as Sabo kids go he ranked right up there with the most difficult. There were days we weren't sure any of us would survive the Taylor toddler years. Yes, it's true. Just ask him. He will tell you.<br />
<br />
Everything was a battle with Taylor when he was but a wee lad. He was just so particular. About everything. Rarely did he like the way his clothes fit and he would get this sour look on his face and grab at his pants, or stomp his feet, or whine and fuss. He was particular about what he would eat and prone to little fits about things in general. When his brothers would aggravate him, and boy would his brothers aggravate him, he would get so mad! He would grit his teeth and wrinkle up his nose and you could see the steam coming off his head -- which, by the way, it took him a while to grow a full head of hair -- and he would do this funny little thing.<br />
<br />
When he got really mad and he needed to really lash out he would grit his teeth and kind of ball up his fists ... then if it was Ethan -- or whoever he was mad at but Ethan seemed for some reason to be a frequent target -- he would reach out and with his thumb and forefinger rub Ethan's ears rather gently. That showed him! And Ethan would look at him like, "What on earth are you doing with my ears Taylor?"<br />
<br />
I don't think he still does that anymore. I'll have to ask his lovely wife Bethany.<br />
<br />
Along the way, Taylor became an amazing young man. Let's say that God moved mightily in his life. He's an extraordinary son and brother and friend and husband. He is kind and loving and generous, a hard worker, genuinely caring, a young man of great faith and a talented musician and singer who uses his gifts for the glory of the Lord.<br />
<br />
It's always so much fun when Taylor comes home with Bethany. There's soccer games and laughs and crazy bedtime stories that Taylor tells his little brother and sisters -- so hilarious that they actually look forward to going to bed. That's all kind of amazing! He likes to help out around the house and when the two of them are here that means two more people singing beautifully and playing instruments in the house. A house full of musicians is a happy place I tell you.<br />
<br />
So happy birthday Taylor! We love you! Taylor and Bethany graduate from Berea College in a little more than a week and we can't wait for them to come visit us! One last thing, Taylor: We knew you would make it to 24 ... really we did!Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-69233432867606860442016-04-13T08:08:00.000-07:002016-04-14T04:40:43.931-07:00What a heart breaks for. What's our answer as Christians?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsZW4UMdvAvxol5hPckIG2M8oaoL2ReLUHovNG1On3dyZD_a5XUfYkkFDRD2JQgQ7FQtmGzANNHWPgBVQQ1uh5AyFQ5VcTHxJyU330j9VlJi97AOfQgu2zBfWgD2yNwR0m5qD7vVCDIb8/s1600/vsco-photo-1-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsZW4UMdvAvxol5hPckIG2M8oaoL2ReLUHovNG1On3dyZD_a5XUfYkkFDRD2JQgQ7FQtmGzANNHWPgBVQQ1uh5AyFQ5VcTHxJyU330j9VlJi97AOfQgu2zBfWgD2yNwR0m5qD7vVCDIb8/s320/vsco-photo-1-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What lies ahead?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I came across a quote this morning by a great, but flawed man: "Let my heart be broken with the things that break the heart of God."<br />
<br />
Bob Pierce uttered those words many years ago. The founder of World Vision International, a Christian evangelical nonprofit humanitarian aid organization, Pierce was a visionary man with a heart for the hurting. He was also, like many of us, a flawed man and one whose life assumed tragic overtones in its latter years.<br />
<br />
We are all imperfect, the unfinished works of a merciful God awaiting perfection in Jesus Christ. I hope as followers of Jesus that we can reckon that truth in all humility. I recognize that as much as anyone as I survey the years behind me, the decisions I've made, the zigs and zags.<br />
<br />
It's worth contemplating though as I look ahead and chart a future. What's my heart broken for?<br />
<br />
What's yours broken for?<br />
<br />
What are the things that break the heart of God and what's our response?<br />
<br />Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-56076045858436322202016-03-19T16:37:00.000-07:002016-03-19T18:50:25.170-07:00My son gave a cop the wrong name. Here's what happened next.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOMxEZ4TmltTGUTxWENZ9OvZQM4xiuTBhCYa10U37I_ItIOtLnHy_eH-YOx028gEI8lMkC3WT7wq2mH7DYimKbKuv6AsgPtHVqTEPCmO9UMZjFWHFwnYg4fmr1WK5tnEvDoHY13fwciBo/s1600/IMG_2659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOMxEZ4TmltTGUTxWENZ9OvZQM4xiuTBhCYa10U37I_ItIOtLnHy_eH-YOx028gEI8lMkC3WT7wq2mH7DYimKbKuv6AsgPtHVqTEPCmO9UMZjFWHFwnYg4fmr1WK5tnEvDoHY13fwciBo/s320/IMG_2659.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Call me "Seffers"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The other night we pulled into the driveway from soccer practice and Sabos started spilling out. I got out of our sporty 15-passenger van and spotted a Gloucester County Sheriff's Office car driving slowly down the road toward us. Olivia, Ezra and Eli bolted into the house while Abram and I helped Seth and Judah out of the van. The sheriff's deputy car was almost to our house so I walked out to the road to chat and see what's up.<br />
<br />
I introduced myself to Dep. Tim Knight, who recalled me as the former <i>Daily Press</i> reporter. We had a nice chat and as he watched Abram take Flopsy out of her rabbit tractor I told him how she is the neighborhood mascot. I told him how she tries to make her escape occasionally but our neighbors bring her back. He was intrigued by the rabbit tractor and I told him we just move it around all day and she eats the grass and leaves behind some organic fertilizer. It's a win-win.<br />
<br />
Seth and Judah were in the driveway watching with curiosity. Dep. Knight opened his door and called them over. As Judah ambled over Dep. Knight reached up into the visor and grabbed what looked like business cards or something. As Judah reached his door, Dep. Knight asked him his name and Judah told him. It's not a common name so I repeated it and then Dep. Knight handed Judah a card for a free Chick-fil-A kids meal. That was pretty sweet. Judah was stoked.<br />
<br />
Then he called Seth up to his car. The conversation went like this:<br />
<br />
Dep. Knight: "What's your name?"<br />
Seth: "Seffers."<br />
<br />
Hmmm. My kid just gave a wrong name to a cop ... but it's all good! He's 3!<br />
<br />
I laughed and told the deputy that his real name is Seth, but that his brothers and sisters call him Seffers. So I guess it's Seffers. Seth got a Chick-fil-A card also and Dep. Knight had one card left in his hand. He recalled that he had seen another of my kids out with the rabbit. Actually, I said, I have 14 kids. Then I smiled.<br />
<br />
He shook his head, looked at the card in his hand and then looked up in the visor real quickly. I laughed and told him not to worry about it. He handed over the third Chick-fil-A card and we chatted for a while longer then he was on his way. Kudos to Dep. Knight and the Gloucester County Sheriff's Office -- and Chick-fil-A -- for great community policing.<br />
<br />
But about that 3-year-old of mine and Seffers ... I checked around in the house to get to the bottom of why he calls himself `Seffers.' The story goes something like this: When he was young Seth was, let's say `solid.' And not much has changed. He's always been the wee Sabo with the most chunk. His brothers and sisters picked up on that and started calling him "Chunko" or other names associated with being chunky. Julie didn't want him to grow up as "Chunko" or "Chunkin" or some such and started calling him "Sethers." Which morphed into "Seffers" and he gets called that all day long. Remember, there's a fair number of people in this house so he hears a lot of "Seffers" throughout the day.<br />
<br />
We don't know how long `Seffers' will stick. But we have a pretty good story now that goes along with it.<br />
<br />
<br />Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-59221773996488668262016-03-16T05:29:00.000-07:002016-03-17T20:02:46.139-07:00Copycat kids and what that says about us as parents<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZaClOWoJQGnKs910qhGJWI9duWlpexw9RtQW_V606qVUMmBA3Tr38IUQp63u-eYlfIaGigrRzx5oZswwqUpj8G5eADIGA6SDXB1ia9VlokXu7F3FacGF0irdoQRpHm7Vz7ctdyA8Lz4/s1600/vsco-photo-1-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZaClOWoJQGnKs910qhGJWI9duWlpexw9RtQW_V606qVUMmBA3Tr38IUQp63u-eYlfIaGigrRzx5oZswwqUpj8G5eADIGA6SDXB1ia9VlokXu7F3FacGF0irdoQRpHm7Vz7ctdyA8Lz4/s320/vsco-photo-1-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">`Follow Me...' -- Jesus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm not sure how it started, or why, but Judah, our resident 4-year-old, started this practice of whispering when he wants to tell one of us something really, really important. He will get up close to you and put his hand between your ear and his mouth and whisper so no one else can hear. Usually it's something like, "Can I have chocolate milk?" Or, "Can I play a video game?"<br />
<br />
I'm guessing he's hoping that whoever he whispers that to will assent to his request, but if he said it loudly someone within earshot might remember that he just had chocolate milk or that it's not video game day -- for him those fall on Wednesdays and Saturdays -- and pull the plug on his request.<br />
<br />
What's interesting is that Seth has noticed this whispering trend and so he is starting to whisper. Except at 3 years old he doesn't quite understand the mechanics or gist of it. So it's pretty much whatever is on his mind he'll whisper. Whether it's watching Sprout, or if he can have a sandwich, or watch a show on "Neckfliz" -- technically it's Netflix but we like the kiddieized version of Neckfliz better and that's pretty much how it's known in the Sabo house -- or whatever else is on his mind.<br />
<br />
It's an interesting study in copying. The younger sees the older do something and follows suit. We see it all the time in this house and I'm sure you do as well.<br />
<br />
But here's the thing. The whispering is just a small, innocent thing. Harmless and entertaining and actually kind of fun. I smile when I see one of the little boys whispering a request to someone else.<br />
<br />
What are the big things kids are copying?<br />
<br />
I was thinking about this just this morning when I was reading in the book of Matthew. It's in Matthew 8:18-22 where Jesus is talking about the cost of discipleship. To one person he said how He was essentially homeless, living a life of faith. Another wanted to go spend time with his father and care for him to his death -- in other words he didn't want to follow Jesus quite yet -- and Jesus responded that the time to follow Him is now.<br />
<br />
Our kids are watching us all the time. They are watching what's important to us and copying that.<br />
<br />
What are we as parents putting ahead of following Jesus? How are we hindering developing faith in our children and showing them that the most important thing we can do is make Jesus Christ not only our Savior, but our Lord?Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430481791044649424.post-61638027923273789022016-03-14T05:29:00.001-07:002016-03-14T05:29:59.979-07:00Of kids, parents and life lessons about peace<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVyf0OfZq0Chmp-gEsKRxa1PZDBllfDBuuCvQXixUlri417pPYtZXAhgaKFPxx7KfPT3UKLYr55zxd2Zv3XK5jlk8nE1STC5iK6hU7TGm5wquJdgrnsg8wdE5dGVMDZfHPj8RvSxrdMTw/s1600/bwc2H1A8511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVyf0OfZq0Chmp-gEsKRxa1PZDBllfDBuuCvQXixUlri417pPYtZXAhgaKFPxx7KfPT3UKLYr55zxd2Zv3XK5jlk8nE1STC5iK6hU7TGm5wquJdgrnsg8wdE5dGVMDZfHPj8RvSxrdMTw/s320/bwc2H1A8511.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lads.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYTkfYMaW54mZ5veXP3b8p6aYXr4ubLa1vB480oUzfxIi7G4Db2RlGQdk0C-gn-0la_a2k4D1iUn2cxbFAYetbJ4SrlXLAb-0oQudCSSQRs8MhUnuYiXQcZ0Kq0bfhHRWkp92D_75zhI/s1600/c2H1A8493.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYTkfYMaW54mZ5veXP3b8p6aYXr4ubLa1vB480oUzfxIi7G4Db2RlGQdk0C-gn-0la_a2k4D1iUn2cxbFAYetbJ4SrlXLAb-0oQudCSSQRs8MhUnuYiXQcZ0Kq0bfhHRWkp92D_75zhI/s320/c2H1A8493.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lasses.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We are less than two months away from having Taylor and Ethan graduate from college on the same day and they are in full-blown job-hunting mode. I fully admit it's a bittersweet time for me. I'm excited for them to start this new journey in life but wondering what it holds. They are literally looking across the country for jobs, having interviews and praying about the Lord's direction.<br />
<br />
We've been through this once already with Brenton. He spent two years going to Calvary Chapel Bible College in Southern California and then three years after that as a youth pastor at Calvary Chapel Corvallis in Oregon. It was hard on all of us to have him so far away and we're so thankful to have him back here in Gloucester. He's doing most of the teaching at Calvary Chapel Gloucester (To hear the messages go here: <a href="http://www.ccgloucester.com/messages/recent-teachings/" target="_blank">CCGloucester messages</a>), leads our prayer meetings and the Lord is doing great things through him in our church. He is also an assistant manager at a nearby Starbucks so we're thankful he's able to work and live here.<br />
<br />
We obviously hope that Taylor and Ethan will find jobs nearby and want to have them close to the family. But we trust completely that they will be led by the Lord in whatever they do. And it's just beginning for us ... Evie will be a sophomore next year at Virginia Commonwealth University and just signed a lease on an apartment up there that she is getting with a few friends. Claire expects to head off to a four-year college next year and MerriGrace expects to start classes in the fall at a local community college. Abram is now 16 and just got a job at McDonald's ... there's a lot going on around here on a daily basis, you know?<br />
<br />
We were able to Skype with Taylor and Bethany on Friday night and it's exciting to hear about how they are nearing graduation and all the things in play for their next step. They're such a sweet young couple and are people who brighten whatever room they are in.<br />
<br />
Ethan was home for a few days over spring break and had spent the first part of the vacation up in Detroit with some friends as part of a ministry team serving people in need in the Motor City. We were exchanging texts throughout his time up there and he texted me something I found quite interesting. He was talking about young adults having a relationship with the Lord and how that looks and how parents can cultivate that in their kids.<br />
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He said something I find quite interesting and it's a tribute to Julie. Ethan was one of those teens who was definitely a work in progress. There were many battles, a few scars, but we fought hard for him. I remember particularly Julie and Ethan having long "discussions" late at night about various issues. What I always appreciate and love about Julie is that she doesn't give in and always comes at life's situations from a Godly, Biblical perspective. She's also very intent on ensuring that our children own their faith so that when they leave this house and go out into the world they are prepared to deal with whatever comes their way from a position of strength as a follower of Jesus.<br />
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Ethan was reminiscing about growing up in his texts and wrote: "I remember growing up Mom used to make me make things right with the Lord before I came and apologized to her." You can't have peace with the world -- or parents, for that matter -- unless you have peace with God. Peace with God means peace with the world. Jesus said in John 14:27 (one of my favorite verses), "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."<br />
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Peace is a treasure and it's a gift from God, especially in this season of change in the Sabo house.<br />
<br />Matt Sabohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09857704258952884002noreply@blogger.com1