tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80238882011874408302024-03-13T19:38:40.345-07:00Flying into the LightDespite being deathly afraid of heights, I'm constantly seeking higher ground. Doesn't make much sense, but that's just the way it is. Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.comBlogger132125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-37150509633806568632017-01-08T09:09:00.002-08:002017-01-08T09:09:45.914-08:00Willie<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_4lcSB_ElQY/WHHNhSdx9WI/AAAAAAAALUE/Z13ZdAwLNJ4I_faB10-r1pDTOKPfNtPyACLcB/s1600/Grandpa%2BMeserve%2B%2526%2BPepper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_4lcSB_ElQY/WHHNhSdx9WI/AAAAAAAALUE/Z13ZdAwLNJ4I_faB10-r1pDTOKPfNtPyACLcB/s400/Grandpa%2BMeserve%2B%2526%2BPepper.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Granpaw Willie and Pepper</td></tr>
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"There, there little Pepper. You're just too little to go up to the barn with Granpaw. One of these days, now, you'll see. You'll be all big and strong, and those big ole' cows won't walk all over you, one of these days now, ya hear." </div>
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Pepper continued to sob, big crocodile tears coursing down his cheeks, inconsolable. In his short life, he was already aware that his favorite person to be with was this gentle man who gave him time and attention. </div>
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Granpaw wrapped his arms around his little buddy, a little boy who surprised him with how much love he drew from his ole' heart. Barely two, Pepper wanted to go everywhere his Granpaw went, following him like a little puppy dog, he did. Darn near stepped on the little guy hard the other day. Turned around at the store and there he was, right smack behind him. Didn't know the little guy had managed to sneak away from his mama. With them living in one of the apartments at the store, it wasn't too difficult for Pepper to watch for an opening to escape. He was a quick one. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QhHRmYCaHAk/WHJu27XmcaI/AAAAAAAALUs/7_rLumbmD-QJxnTmIHtlRrYNYV_2weMYACLcB/s1600/GR%2BMeserve%2BStore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QhHRmYCaHAk/WHJu27XmcaI/AAAAAAAALUs/7_rLumbmD-QJxnTmIHtlRrYNYV_2weMYACLcB/s320/GR%2BMeserve%2BStore.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">W. N. Meserve Store with Meserve home on the left </td></tr>
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Pepper was barely six months old when Imogene and Bob showed up, with nary a note or letter to tell them they was coming. He and Pumble didn't really mind having their eldest daughter, and her husband come to visit. It was plumb good to meet the wee grand kiddies, Sidney just a toddler herself. and this guy, just now wearing his big boy pants, already out of his dresses, but still not trained completely.</div>
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Granpaw wasn't too surprised when Bob decided to take the steamer back down to San Diego. Somehow, him with his Engineering degree, just seemed a bit too citified to stay in their sleepy little river town for long. Now, he'd been gone for a year or better, and Imogene appeared to be settling right back into her childhood community, with two children that need a place to feel at home and a good bit of loving on, it sure seemed. </div>
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"Say there, little Pepper. Isn't that your Granmaw I hear, coming this way. I'm thinking she just might be bringing a big molasses cookie with your name on it." Granpaw attempted to divert Pepper's attention, and extricate himself from two grubby little fists that were hanging onto his pant leg. "See here now, Pumble Dear, don't you have a nice fat cookie for our little man?"</div>
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"Oh Willie, give the boy to me and get on over to the barn! Those cows aren't a going to milk themselves, you know! Land's sake, you spoil this child something awful. He thinks, well, he knows, he can get his way with you with just a trembly lip and those big ol' tears." </div>
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Granmaw, known as Pumble only to her husband, takes Pepper by one hand, passing him a piece of cookie with the other. "There you go, Sweetboy, there's a nummy cookie your ol' granmaw made, just for you, Pepper dear. That's a good boy now, you come on in the house with Granmaw and we'll find us a nice, soft place to sit and have us a bite, whilst supper's a cookin'."</div>
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Willie, at 63 as spry and wiry as he was in his 30's, took his time ambling on up the road to the pasture. Still a good bit of daylight left, though the nip of fall was in the air. Soon enough, it would be dark by dinner, and he'd need a lantern for the quarter mile or so to the barn. He was proud of his modern barn, with electric lights, milking machines and especially grateful for the cement floor and the innovative system he installed for clearing the muck from the cattle stanchions. It was state of the art when he built it, and he was glad he saw ahead. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meserve pasture, barn, and hired man's house</td></tr>
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Whistling a nameless tune, Willie lead the milk cows up into the spacious barn. He called to his hired hand, George, to help him settle the cows in and worked to finish the milking quickly before nightfall. Carrying a pail of still steaming milk, he began the downhill trip to the house, a little quicker now, looking forward to whatever his sweet Pumble would be laying on the table for supper. </div>
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<br />Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-58795665595836943122017-01-02T19:02:00.000-08:002017-01-02T19:02:30.807-08:00Fragile Creatures<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://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dnzgn8untEU/WGm1PrqriiI/AAAAAAAALPc/2o6MmC7W_5Qn41-R_qQO1wi5V7-H3nMvQCLcB/s1600/20161231_074746.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Dnzgn8untEU/WGm1PrqriiI/AAAAAAAALPc/2o6MmC7W_5Qn41-R_qQO1wi5V7-H3nMvQCLcB/s400/20161231_074746.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the cover on the new journal my daughter, Jessica,<br />
painted and gave me for Christmas. </td></tr>
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I've been pondering this quote ever since I read it in "The Book of Joy". Why is it <i>from</i> being fragile that we are able to discover the possibility of true joy? According to the dictionary I used, fragile is defined as "delicate and vulnerable; flimsy or insubstantial; easily destroyed." It's easy to picture an object fitting that description, however, uncomfortable to apply those words to myself.<br />
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My Dad died unexpectedly January 11, 2015. Shortly after, my sister and I packed up all his worldly possessions and moved them to my garage. I had thought I would go through them soon, planning to give any good clothing to a homeless shelter in town. The boxes went from the middle of the garage, to being shelved inconspicuously in an area I couldn't see, but knew they were there. I couldn't make myself open the boxes, despite knowing warm pants, jackets and sweaters would be appreciated by those less fortunate. For nearly two years, "go through Dad's boxes" was on my to-do list. Vulnerable and easily destroyed, I steered clear of jobs that might trigger emotional upheaval.<br />
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Yesterday the boxes filled with my Dad's clothing and personal belongings called to me. I had lots of other tasks I would rather work on, but the call was persistent. I hauled them down from the shelves, sorted and laundered all articles of clothing, lovingly folded and packed them back into boxes. Partway through dryer load number two of four, I dumped the clothes basket onto our bed for folding, went to start the next load and returned to discover Pepper, my rescue kitty named for my dad, had nuzzled herself in amongst my dad's clothes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vU-Y48QBkl4/WGpx63z8okI/AAAAAAAALQA/8U9HAZRKX9AZ5rOWlLjbk0CrNgNF--LFQCKgB/s1600/20170101_145616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vU-Y48QBkl4/WGpx63z8okI/AAAAAAAALQA/8U9HAZRKX9AZ5rOWlLjbk0CrNgNF--LFQCKgB/s400/20170101_145616.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That look says, "Let me be!"</td></tr>
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Pepper somehow knew that the man who wore these clothes was a good guy. Even after laundering, my dad's scent was still there; we both knew it. I let her be for a little while.<br />
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Later, my husband and I lugged four huge boxes up the stairs at Share House, passing several individuals smoking and hanging around outside the facility for homeless men. The gentleman inside thanked us for thinking of them, grateful for the donation. As we returned to the car, tears welled up and trickled down my cheeks. I know my Dad would have been happy to share his clothes with these men, and I felt joyful that I followed my heart, and honored my Dad in this way.<br />
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Allowing myself to be fragile isn't one of my strong suits. I don't like being considered weak or delicate. Yet, I'm learning that what I want or think I want isn't necessarily what is best for me or for those I love. Some of the things I cherish the most, are the most fragile. Life is fragile - it can be extinguished with the slightest sigh, the tiniest breath. The most delicate shells I've found on the beach are the most precious to me. My tiny, fragile granddaughter is a priceless treasure.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UI69POrh52g/WGsNq4xEuyI/AAAAAAAALRo/iUeCDZb4jcMkebAuegQSOzSOO2QX4SbYgCKgB/s1600/20161224_125741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UI69POrh52g/WGsNq4xEuyI/AAAAAAAALRo/iUeCDZb4jcMkebAuegQSOzSOO2QX4SbYgCKgB/s400/20161224_125741.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas Eve with baby Scarlett</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YGv1zFfplrs/WGsNq3gIyII/AAAAAAAALRo/i-bgpMhFrJEAXYJoW-E_A9AcaH9kBT1JwCKgB/s1600/20161224_130353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YGv1zFfplrs/WGsNq3gIyII/AAAAAAAALRo/i-bgpMhFrJEAXYJoW-E_A9AcaH9kBT1JwCKgB/s400/20161224_130353.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My grandson Arik, holding great-granddaughter, Jailee</td></tr>
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Not long ago, I cracked my husband's favorite mug. The girls gave it to him on Father's Day, at least 20 years ago.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F91jCdXbDKs/WGsG9FqTEdI/AAAAAAAALRI/aWtJ6jr0uw8Qyo2mRxT_XjzqhUTAmFWUgCKgB/s1600/20170102_173941_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F91jCdXbDKs/WGsG9FqTEdI/AAAAAAAALRI/aWtJ6jr0uw8Qyo2mRxT_XjzqhUTAmFWUgCKgB/s400/20170102_173941_001.jpg" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very faded and hard to see, I know, but trust me on this:<br />
Kailyn is wearing her classic sneer; Jess her "Hmmp" face</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qP_Uxo8QQ9g/WGsG9C9XgDI/AAAAAAAALRI/KQAfsQD8EdEnRKIgzYSVlIKClqNPYPilACKgB/s1600/20170102_173953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qP_Uxo8QQ9g/WGsG9C9XgDI/AAAAAAAALRI/KQAfsQD8EdEnRKIgzYSVlIKClqNPYPilACKgB/s320/20170102_173953.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The back really hasn't faded much!</td></tr>
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It didn't appear to be fragile, and when I accidently knocked it against the edge of the sink, I didn't see any signs of breakage and thought it was fine. The next morning, I filled it with his morning drink of hot water and a teaspoon of honey, and set it next to him on the side table. Within a matter of minutes he realized the honey water had seeped out and was running off the table. We both had to look carefully in order to find the faintest hairline crack. It is possible the reader is wondering, "Ok, what possible joy did you discover with <i>that</i> situation??"<br />
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I was very unhappy with myself, to put it mildly. If my husband would have broken <i>my</i> favorite mug, accidentally or not, I would have found zero joy in the situation. Likely, I would have had a mad on for awhile, until he felt good and guilty.<br />
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The joy I found, despite being one who can have their serenity destroyed in the blink of an eye, was in my husband's response. He didn't rant or rave, call me derogatory names, or berate me in any possible way. He just accepted what happened as the accident that it was. Period. Sad but no accusations. He sympathized with me on the loss of the cup as a vessel to hold his favorite morning beverage. So, no I didn't become giddy with joy. I did feel a deep sense of gratitude for my partner of nearly thirty years.<br />
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Joy - a feeling of great pleasure and happiness - is still new enough to me that I find myself seeking it in the everydayness of my life. In the little things, such as when I only wake up to pee once or twice a night. Or the freshness of the morning air when I take a walk. When I crawl into a warm bed because my husband turned on the electric blanket. Enjoy that first cup of coffee. When Pepper insists on sitting in my lap while I'm trying to type. When family gathering plans are rerouted due to weather from my brother's big house, to my small one and 41 relatives show up. When my daughter-in-law brings me the plaster handprint of my son from Kindergarten. When my daughter Kailyn gives me zig-zag blades for my rotary cutter for my birthday, not knowing I got her the exact same thing for Christmas.<br />
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I went on a "Joy Quest" in December, and found joy more often than not, everywhere I went. I believe it is in the recognition and acceptance that I am a fragile creature that I have discovered the possibility of great joy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jUev6reuc6k/WGsLCCS4CnI/AAAAAAAALRc/Gm8xMxf_aXwTEDB48RA_okh2a7pgbSZLwCLcB/s1600/20161230_133408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="347" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jUev6reuc6k/WGsLCCS4CnI/AAAAAAAALRc/Gm8xMxf_aXwTEDB48RA_okh2a7pgbSZLwCLcB/s640/20161230_133408.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jess, who listens and is so creative, painted this board for my birthday. </td></tr>
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<br />Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-74960355689908463352016-12-15T10:42:00.002-08:002016-12-15T10:42:38.895-08:00Christmas Babies<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">My son, Chris, was probably the best Christmas gift I ever received, as December babies often seem to be.</span><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://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EthY2hGL2JE/WFK4G15i1_I/AAAAAAAAKoI/O141R-euuNkexh20earAQqn4t5bCvan6wCLcB/s1600/Christmas%2B1975.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EthY2hGL2JE/WFK4G15i1_I/AAAAAAAAKoI/O141R-euuNkexh20earAQqn4t5bCvan6wCLcB/s320/Christmas%2B1975.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Christmas 1975</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I stumbled upon this photo today, taken from one of those old albums that often destroyed the photos when you attempted to remove them, as evidenced by the torn sections at the bottom! I must have taken a photo of this photo with my phone at some point, though I don't remember doing so. A flood of happy memories returned. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In December 1975, I was a new mom and step-mom, with three little boys to love and attempt to raise. Fortunately, I'd had plenty of experience having step-moms, so I had a good idea of how to be a good one, and how to not be a good one. I was pretty young myself, just 25, and learning to parent boys who were seven, five, and three weeks old. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">My Dad and step-mom opened their arms and their hearts to these little boys, the first of several step-grandchildren to come, and the boys called them Grandma and Grandpa, spent weekends with them, and knew love from not just my parents, but both sets of my grandparents as well. Time passed, kids grew up, I got divorced, eventually losing contact with my step-sons, who went on to have pretty hard lives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The baby in this photo, also grew up, and sort of followed in his mother's footsteps, falling in love with a woman who was a bit older, with three fatherless children. I've posted that photo before, but I really like it so I'll post it again here.<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://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b9NSAQn7ITI/WFK9nhRTCuI/AAAAAAAAKoY/BL7dhmEAbvg9mXalbYDQTno-_6sJ7FiIQCLcB/s1600/Chris%2Bfamily.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b9NSAQn7ITI/WFK9nhRTCuI/AAAAAAAAKoY/BL7dhmEAbvg9mXalbYDQTno-_6sJ7FiIQCLcB/s1600/Chris%2Bfamily.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris, Shari, Kenny, Emily and Arik - 1996</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Chris became an instant Daddy, to kids that were stairsteps with his little sisters: Kenny was 8, sister Jessica 7, Arik 6, sister Kailyn 5, Emily 4 . . . and we became instant grandparents! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Grandparenting, while we were also parenting the girls, was often a challenge, and I felt bad that I wasn't the grandparent to Kenny, Arik and Emily that my parents were to Chris, his brothers, and his multitude of cousins. However, there was lots of love and laughter when we managed to gather together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">All families experience tragedies, and ours was no exception. Chris left us on December 16, 2005. That anniversary has been difficult for me the past few years, although this year, while I am sad he is no longer with us, I am seeing the many gifts he has given me more clearly. I seem to have overcome the grief I am typically wallowing in this time of year, and instead feel only the blessings. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">What has changed? Certain circumstances, for sure. Both step-sons have contacted me in the past year, and there is a tenuous relationship building with one of them. I'm reading "The Book of Joy" slowly, savoring it, making notations and know I will return to the inspired wisdom being revealed to me, over and over. I've embarked on a program of recovery from a long time battle with compulsive overeating, and seeing real results from this life choice. And of course, time passes - it just has a habit of doing that - life goes on.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OR0exIV4dbs/WFLbHyxodXI/AAAAAAAAKpI/6Bqmnbczf-s2ZOYvAdpTN1Qz-cjStWPFACLcB/s1600/Emily%252C%2BShari%252C%2BJailee%2Band%2BSandi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OR0exIV4dbs/WFLbHyxodXI/AAAAAAAAKpI/6Bqmnbczf-s2ZOYvAdpTN1Qz-cjStWPFACLcB/s320/Emily%252C%2BShari%252C%2BJailee%2Band%2BSandi.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emily, Shari holding birthday girl Jailee, me<br />November 19, 2015</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Above is Emily - all grown up, Shari - my amazing daughter-in-law, holding Jailee, her first granddaughter/</span><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">my first great-granddaughter. Bountiful blessings, all thanks to my son Chris, falling in love with Shari all those years ago.</span><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://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v3iOEtP43cw/WFLcqWbv47I/AAAAAAAAKpQ/bO-wDmebNWQ1qGze0aX8dWRCdaKr-4GewCLcB/s1600/20161214_110945%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v3iOEtP43cw/WFLcqWbv47I/AAAAAAAAKpQ/bO-wDmebNWQ1qGze0aX8dWRCdaKr-4GewCLcB/s320/20161214_110945%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas baby Scarlett with great grandma Sandi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yesterday, I held great-granddaughter number two, my first Christmas baby since 1975. Yes, I shed a few tears, as I am right now, when I saw Emily holding her second daughter. But, they were tears of joy, not sorrow. Chris loved Emily as his own, and would be busting his buttons with pride as a grandpa. Through my tears, I told her and her husband, Jason, what a blessing they were, and it was all because Chris fell in love with her mom, that I was given this abundant gift of grandchildren and great-grandchildren - despite the fact that I'm not nearly old enough to be a great grandma! Jason has a son who is 8, so Emily is a step-mom also. I guess maybe that makes me a step-step-great grandma to Jaydin!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Shari married Tim a few years ago. He's a wonderful guy, who loves his instant family as much as his predecessor did a few years ago. Tim has become a sort of adopted son-in-law, which probably sounds a little strange, but doesn't feel strange at all. As I said before, life goes on.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This Christmas I am feeling so blessed. Christmas babies are living gifts of the very best kind.</span><br />
<br /></div>
Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-87406124688813710112016-12-02T09:31:00.001-08:002016-12-02T09:31:57.573-08:00Joy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6EuXSij5WBg/WEGrz7L8ycI/AAAAAAAAKXE/aIK87zjH8tA_FlaU1-X7xNlwwYCcF58nwCLcB/s1600/20161202_090010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6EuXSij5WBg/WEGrz7L8ycI/AAAAAAAAKXE/aIK87zjH8tA_FlaU1-X7xNlwwYCcF58nwCLcB/s320/20161202_090010.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For the second morning in a row, I've woke up happy to be alive - looking forward to the day ahead. I've been reading "The Book of Joy", a little bit each night before I fall asleep. If you haven't heard of it, the book is co-written by Douglas Abrams, through interviews and hanging out with the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu, during a weeklong birthday celebration/gathering. It isn't religious, but spiritual. The chapters are very short, powerful, and lead me to contemplate what my purpose is here on earth. I've felt a subtle shift in my attitude toward life that is mostly unexplained, unless I give this book some of the credit. I didn't realize I had been looking for joy, until it found me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">December has been my most dreaded month for the past ten years. I've fought depression, relived the saddest year of my life and frankly felt pretty darn sorry for myself. (You can read about some of that year <a href="http://flyingintothelight.blogspot.com/2013/12/those-anniversaries-you-dont-want-to.html" target="_blank">here</a>) Each December brought with it the promise of plenty of sweet treats to feed my weepy spirit and I alternated between compulsively eating sugar laden goodies and hating myself throughout - especially when my current favorite jeans refused to zip, despite laying on my back on the bed, struggling. I bought progressively larger sizes of cheerful holiday tops to hide my sad sugar addiction.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">No more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The joy I feel at the beginning of this December lies partially in a trimmer body, not thin, but 30 pounds lighter than last December. Having to buy new jeans that actually stay up - instead of falling off - makes me joyful in a way that I can see. Being able to bend over, from a standing position, to tie and untie my shoes gives me pleasure. Purging my closet and dresser of dozens of items too large, and donating to a homeless shelter, increased my joy. At the bank I was waited on by a former student who exclaimed as she literally ran around the counter to give me a hug, "Mrs. Babbitt! I didn't recognize you! You look ten years younger than you did when I was in your class!" I'm not lying - Maddie gave this old gal some real joy!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am also taking steps toward giving up a life long dream of buying and selling antiques and treasures, after finding out that the workload exceeds the benefits! I wrote briefly about the beginnings of that adventure <a href="http://flyingintothelight.blogspot.com/2016/04/hello.html" target="_blank">here</a>. I'm now working to move as much from my garage to my space downtown as possible, with hopes of great sales. I will move what is left back to my garage on December 31. I'll either sell or donate whatever I decide not to keep. Just knowing I have an end date makes me happy. It was fun, at times, but not quite enough fun, or profit, to want to continue.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yet the greatest joy lies inside me this morning - writing and awaiting my daily 7 AM brisk walk with my neighbor and her dog, looking forward to the fresh air, the mostly sleepy and sullen middle schoolers we pass each morning, waiting for their bus. There's a smile on my face, leftover from the couple hours I spent yesterday with several retired teachers at the nearby IHOP, as we joyously ate from the senior menu, laughingly shared our adventures during the previous month, and attempted to fix the current political chaos. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In all areas of my life - spiritually, physically, emotionally - I am grateful that joy has found me.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Retirement is the best, and due to strategic financial planning, we are comfortably living much the same as we did while working. In the past year we have crossed eleven National Parks off our bucket list, with spring plans to visit a few more. Both daughters are doing well, enjoying their teaching assignments, and their significant others, and their cats. Chris' family continues to grow, and there will be another great-granddaughter around December 13th. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I set a goal in October to return to blogging and post at least once per month. These posts will mostly be picture prompts from my childhood, and fictionalized responses - with what truth I can remember woven in. Here is <a href="http://flyingintothelight.blogspot.com/2016/10/grandpa.html" target="_blank">October</a>, and <a href="http://flyingintothelight.blogspot.com/2016/11/summer-1960.html" target="_blank">November</a> posts. It is my hope that I will move toward publishing some of the writing I do each morning in my journal, which is where today's post came from. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I have been found by joy, and life is good.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-58112582594899998832016-11-29T14:41:00.000-08:002016-11-29T14:41:43.213-08:00Summer 1960<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://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xLlIfYaWl3E/WD2LKbpSDbI/AAAAAAAAKR8/B7VMU31aRg01nIiOfDeopf4YlzLAEu9WACLcB/s1600/20161129_052124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="367" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xLlIfYaWl3E/WD2LKbpSDbI/AAAAAAAAKR8/B7VMU31aRg01nIiOfDeopf4YlzLAEu9WACLcB/s400/20161129_052124.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carmelita in her backyard - June 1960</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Carmelita, or Carmel to family and friends, had been hurriedly
pulling the last of the laundry off the clothesline and on her way into the
house to start dinner when she noticed a spent bloom that needed plucking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She was a mostly contented woman,
married nearly eleven years to a man who could still make her smile, and was
affectionately called, “Momma” by two daughters and a son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They owned their own home, and, since she had
recently, finally, earned a driver’s license for the first time, had just
purchased a second car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was slowly
getting over her nervousness to drive, and had been proud to drive all three of
her kids to the brand new outdoor pool for swimming lessons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only unnerving part was Davy’s constant
screams of terror this first week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
girls, Sandy and Pamy, who had no fear of the water, were thrilled with the
daily lessons, and already clamoring to go the river to swim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pepper
would be all for it; he had grown up swimming in Grays River from early
childhood. She hoped Davy would settle in eventually, but, as she herself was
deathly afraid of the water, perhaps he sensed that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She hoped not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Something had pushed her to finally
let Pepper teach her to drive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it
was the difficulty of getting all three kids ready and onto the lumbering old
city bus, not to mention the long ride, that had finally made her realize a
driver’s license would be a nice thing to have. She had to admit, being able to
just get in the car and drive had opened up a world of possibilities, one of
them being swimming lessons. Besides, she would be 30 years old in August – it was
time to put some of those childhood fears behind her.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mCRw9kCtaCo/WD2MIZ_RWuI/AAAAAAAAKSE/PpWszucJfswfBq7bgXXH9vsJzsBzgpZLACLcB/s1600/20161129_044703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="391" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mCRw9kCtaCo/WD2MIZ_RWuI/AAAAAAAAKSE/PpWszucJfswfBq7bgXXH9vsJzsBzgpZLACLcB/s400/20161129_044703.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandy holding a black cat; neighbor Lisa watching<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sandy loves cats! She wants to keep this one, as her other cat, Muffy, was recently run over in front of the house. Momma and Daddy said "No. No more cats for right now." Her friend, Carol, has just received her very own camera, and has been taking pictures all over the neighborhood. She took the above picture of Sandy's momma, and her momma didn't even know she was taking the picture! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Summertime on Lorry Avenue - playing cops and robbers with the neighbor kids, Lisa's older sister, Nyla, and her brother, Ike. Building a makeshift jail on the far side of their house, of folding chairs and stolen bedsheets. Their parents both worked, so it was a good place to play.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">At the end of Lorry, just before it curved around and became Sherley Avenue, was what seemed to Sandy a huge vacant lot, affectionately dubbed "Up, Down and Around," which described to a T what all the neighborhood kids did there on their bikes. Swarms of kids would be tearing down the street on two wheels if they were old enough, or with the creaky sound of training wheels if they weren't quite so steady yet. Up they'd go, climbing a short hill onto the well worn bike path, scrambling around the lot, the slight thrill of the bumpy downgrade, back onto the street and around the corner, only to repeat the route over and over until a chain fell off, or someone's mom called them home for meals.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Lemonade stands dotted the street, vying for customers, when the days got hot and sultry. The neighbor kids would get together at the house where the road curved and put on plays and performances, charging a nickel if they could get it. The spectators were mostly stay at home moms, with toddlers and babies on hips. </span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">This was the summer that
Sandy quit smiling, not because of her<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://flyingintothelight.blogspot.com/2016/10/grandpa.html" target="_blank">grandpa</a><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>dying,
although that may have been part of it, but due to a broken front tooth. At
nine Sandy loved tetherball, the ring bars at school, riding her bike, playing
marbles and Girl Scouts. While<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>crossing
on the rings one afternoon, one swung back to smack her in the mouth. The
school must have called home, because her mom met Sandy at the front door that
day, with tears and a look of distress when she saw the broken tooth. Her
Momma cried, "Oh honey! Your beautiful tooth!" From that day on Sandy, intentionally or not, doesn't smile with her teeth showing. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C7Gvx7lwwQk/WD2MJ1zcfeI/AAAAAAAAKSM/B6wn_OnzmsASUlk_WUSChHvWZoT6CpBJgCEw/s1600/20161129_044723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C7Gvx7lwwQk/WD2MJ1zcfeI/AAAAAAAAKSM/B6wn_OnzmsASUlk_WUSChHvWZoT6CpBJgCEw/s400/20161129_044723.jpg" width="377" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Neighbor Lisa, Sandy still holding that black cat, Davy and Pamy - July 1960</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sandy hates her new "pixie" haircut! Her momma decided, probably due to those two weeks of swimming lessons in June, that Sandy's long hair was a pain to deal with, so her hair is chopped off. No one looks too happy in this picture, taken by neighbor Carol, who is still having fun with her very own camera. Sandy wishes Daddy and Momma would relent regarding the cat, but it's not going to happen. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In August, Carmel will celebrate her 30th birthday. She'll receive a cute card from her neighbors, with an "Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini" that will make her blush. Pepper will tease her about it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The whole family will go to the local drive in movie to watch "The Shaggy Dog". Sandy and Pamy will go camping with their babysitter, Kay, and Kay's parents to Mt. Rainier National Park. School will start in September, and all will seem normal. Then, on September 15, 1960, Sandy will go kiss her momma good-bye before she leaves for school. Her momma is still in bed, because she has a bad headache. She's wearing her turquoise chiffon nightgown, Sandy's favorite.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When Sandy returns home that afternoon, the house will be silent. She'll walk through, calling for her momma and she'll get a funny feeling. She will remember later that it felt like her momma's presence was absent. A few minutes later, Mrs. Moss, the neighbor across the street, will walk in the front door and tell Sandy that she needs to go to her house, that Pamy and Davy are already there. Mrs. Moss will tell her that her momma and daddy are at the hospital.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Life changes in the blink of an eye.</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-53077505215971165992016-10-26T14:37:00.000-07:002016-10-26T14:38:35.121-07:00Grandpa<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://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eCDqbxuevCo/WBEPqnHeWjI/AAAAAAAAJ6A/wpxmzu6vxFwcvbOsdgtlEqddkVpa82f4QCLcB/s1600/G%2B%2526%2BG%2BBonge%252C%2BMomma%2B%2526%2BMe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="387" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eCDqbxuevCo/WBEPqnHeWjI/AAAAAAAAJ6A/wpxmzu6vxFwcvbOsdgtlEqddkVpa82f4QCLcB/s400/G%2B%2526%2BG%2BBonge%252C%2BMomma%2B%2526%2BMe.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">June 19, 1952</td></tr>
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<br />
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Flanked by three generations, Grandpa sits in his large,
heavy chair. Its wide, flat, feathery blue patterned arms support his wife,
oldest daughter, and first grandchild. With the barest intent of a smile, he
gazes at the photographer, who has easily drawn laughter from the two women. At
this point in time, Grandpa is an enigma to the little girl. His voice is gruff
and his breath smells of unfiltered Lucky Strikes, and often, Olympia beer. The
pungent aroma of worn shoe leather and polish, from hours of shaping and sewing
leather into new soles, or repairing a customer’s beloved well-worn work boots,
permeates his rough and calloused hands.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As the little girl grows up, she learns to like the smell of
her Grandpa’s shoe repair, which occupies the middle of three small shops on the
ground floor of the building her grandparents live in. On her frequent visits, Grandpa allows her to
sit on an old wooden stool, next to him, as he runs the machine with his foot
that sews the heavy soles onto the shoes he repairs. The shop is dusty and dirty, with a girlie calendar on the wall, out of sight of the customers
and grandma. She remembers the candy
machines in the front of the shop, burnt peanuts in one; M & M’s in the
other, and on every visit, Grandpa open the cash box and gives her a penny. The choice is hard, as she likes both
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Charlie’s Barber Shop is next door, literally, as his
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connecting door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charlie is a large man, wears a
white shirt, and a bow tie, and his white hair is slicked back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Smoke curls around his face as he expertly shaves
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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A door off the barber shop side of the building, leads
to a narrow flight of stairs and her grandparent’s apartment, which she
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<br />
One wall of the living room houses an old upright piano.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> In a few years, </span>Grandma will teach her little girl how to play “Chopsticks”
and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” on the piano. Grandma also plays hymns and sings in a sweet warbly voice. Close to Grandpa’s chair is a large brass stand with a big, round ashtray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Grandma and Grandpa have a fat tortoiseshell cat named Susie, who prefers </span>either Grandpa’s lap
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Every Sunday morning, the little girl’s parents pick up Grandma, and take her to church with them. Grandpa prefers to stay home with
Susie, and smoke wreaths surround his head when the family returns for the big
Sunday dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The little girl amuses
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After Sunday dinner, the little girl’s parents go home without
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Pontiac.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She loves these long Sunday
drives out in the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They drive
and drive, with the little girl bouncing about on the wide back seat, holding
onto the velvety smooth rope-like band that spans the back of the front
seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day, they come upon a raging
forest fire on their drive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fire trucks
and firemen are busy working, so Grandpa doesn’t go too close, but they sit and
watch for awhile from a distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
drive home that day is sober.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There isn’t a TV at the little girl’s house, so, sometimes
her daddy watches the Friday night fights with Grandpa, who gets very animated
and yells at the TV. Momma and Grandma would prefer that the little girl stay
with them in the kitchen, but she is drawn to the living room, and sits holding
Susie next to her daddy on the couch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Daddy gets excited sometimes too, but not as much as grandpa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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On January 8, 1960, not long after the little girl’s 9<sup>th</sup>
birthday, Grandpa got really excited while watching the Friday night fights. His
stomach was upset, so he took some Alka Seltzer, as he often did for stomach
problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, the remedy didn’t
work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The little girl misses her
grandpa.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footer"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of figures"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope return"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="line number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="page number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of authorities"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="macro"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="toa heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="List Number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Closing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
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Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-20867628064253372232016-04-30T11:57:00.000-07:002016-04-30T11:57:19.384-07:00Homecoming<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nll9JQRNdtU/VyTgPFJ1IfI/AAAAAAAABUM/c663wbnM7rYnD5eN4gu5wH6Q1rQ9gsBUgCLcB/s1600/20160430_070241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="368" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Nll9JQRNdtU/VyTgPFJ1IfI/AAAAAAAABUM/c663wbnM7rYnD5eN4gu5wH6Q1rQ9gsBUgCLcB/s640/20160430_070241.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Unexpected Homecoming</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Surprise! All the kids were back on home turf this weekend, unexpectedly for the parental units (as Jess refers to us). This was my view from across the street when I went out for my morning walk. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We knew that Kailyn and Nick would be in town, but they had planned to stay at Nick's folks, as there was a birthday celebration planned for one of Nick's friends this weekend. Thursday evening, while talking with Jess on the phone, she said she wanted to come home to see her sister and brother-in-law. We said, "Sure!"</div>
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<br /></div>
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Jess arrived yesterday about 4:45 from Longview. We chatted a bit, went to dinner and chatted some more. Brandon, her boyfriend, showed up at 7:00, traveling from a work site in Prineville, OR. Kailyn and Nick were enroute from Ellensburg, estimated arrival time about 9:00. They were just going to stop for a brief visit, then go to Nick's folks to sleep in a real bed, as we now have a shortage of guest rooms.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
As 9 pm came and went, David decided to head for bed, and I eventually followed. By that time, Jess had received a text from Kailyn that they wouldn't be stopping, and they'd see us later.</div>
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<br /></div>
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At some point, after I'd fallen asleep, Jess came into our room to tell me that Kailyn's Prius warning lights, three of them, had come on. They were waiting for a tow truck near Troutdale. I attempted to go back to sleep.</div>
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<br /></div>
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When I groggily got up this morning to go meet my neighbor for our daily walk, I noticed the blow up queen size mattress was taking up most of the living room floor space. In the early morning light, I could barely make out the shape of two bodies sprawled across it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I headed for my neighbor's house. Looking back, I noticed the profusion of vehicles in front of our house, and snapped the photo above.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And now, the Toyota dealership has been called. We're waiting for AAA to show up and tow Kailyn's Prius out for repairs. I've offered my Prius for them to use this weekend and drive back to Ellensburg. We still have two other vehicles, so it isn't a big deal.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Eventually, the kids (young adults) were all up, and I made dairy free waffles for the crew. As I sit here, listening (and sometimes contributing) to the playful banter between our daughters and their men, I smile. Despite the rearranging of my schedule for the weekend, my mamma heart is happy. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I have come to cherish these "homecoming" events, that seem to grow further between as the years go by. David and I are quite content in our empty nest, most of the time. We putter inside and out, sometimes together, sometimes on our own. We go to bed, leaving the bedroom door open, so Pepper (my rescue cat) has room to roam. When the girls are home, Pepper is either shut inside, or outside our bedroom. Either way, a closed door somehow irritates her, and she meows and/or scratches to be on the other side - not conducive to a restful night.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Too soon, we are back to just the two of us. Kailyn and Nick have loaded their stuff into my car to follow the tow truck and get a work order started. They will stop back tomorrow, on their way out of town. Jess and Brandon have left in her car to wander around, perhaps hit a few garage sales, and over to REI to spend Brandon's Christmas gift card from us. :) I'm fairly sure they will be back, as they left Brandon's work vehicle parked out front. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Parenting grown children is bittersweet. I love the grown up companionship and conversations about real issues affecting their lives, that in adulthood they willingly share. We have become the nicest of friends with not just the girls, but their men as well. We are grateful and blessed beyond measure. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Yet, sometimes I miss the old days, even the discontented days, when parenting was our full time profession. I walk by pictures on my walls and shelves and remember those honey sweet days of sticky hands and faces, pulling at my clothes and covering me with kisses. Rocking a nursing baby to sleep. The precious gifts of flowers with no stems, "pretty" rocks, and indiscernible drawings. The profusion of a toddler's "I love you, Mommy" repeated a hundred times a day. </div>
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Jessica's sweaty arms clutching me for comfort when cursed with night terrors, night after night. Or standing in a steaming bathroom with a croupy baby. Kailyn's stubborn refusal to stay in bed, and me sitting in the hallway outside her bedroom growling, "Get back in bed!" for what seemed like hours, night after night. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Well, some things I don't miss so much!</div>
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<div>
I have been fortunate in this life to be given more than one chance to raise a family. The first one didn't work out so well. There were a lot of reasons why, probably the biggest being a lack of maturity. In that family, I was the only female, and was mother to my son Chris, and two step-sons. I hear from my step-sons once in awhile, and I'm close to Chris' family, but Chris died a little over ten years ago. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I met David, he hadn't been married before, and had no children. No one was more surprised than I was when I managed to become the mother of two daughters within a couple years after our marriage. I have been determined to be the best mom I can be, if only to make up for not doing a better job in my first family.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I hadn't considered it before now, but perhaps this is another example of grace, written about here <a href="http://flyingintothelight.blogspot.com/2016/04/grace.html" target="_blank">Grace</a>. I have always referred to David as my "knight in shining armor" (or levi's which would be more accurate), as it was with his stalwart support that I put aside the drinking and eventually the smoking that had taken over my life previously. I now think that it was undeserved grace that has given me the life I have today. And I'm utterly grateful for that. While I may not be the weight I wish, (a constant lament it seems!) most of the rest of my world is pretty darn good. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jjVgiTCQuPo/VyT8r5fa1zI/AAAAAAAABUg/eVIhop12AG4nyT-BE88OI4V8eLkJu_41gCLcB/s1600/20160403_102326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jjVgiTCQuPo/VyT8r5fa1zI/AAAAAAAABUg/eVIhop12AG4nyT-BE88OI4V8eLkJu_41gCLcB/s640/20160403_102326.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Indulging me with smiles while out to breakfast a few weeks ago with our "kids". </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-49153311833642900032016-04-29T09:25:00.001-07:002016-04-29T09:25:31.790-07:00Grace<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://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KL0-MzWFTL8/VyN3hReHylI/AAAAAAAABT4/1AcdVJjbJKwpfo9B6uMig1LlHW_-kyiOwCLcB/s1600/Version%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KL0-MzWFTL8/VyN3hReHylI/AAAAAAAABT4/1AcdVJjbJKwpfo9B6uMig1LlHW_-kyiOwCLcB/s400/Version%2B2.jpg" width="341" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daughter Jess made this for Mother's Day 2009.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Merriam-Webster definition of grace:</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">a: unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">b: a virtue coming from God </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">c: a state of sanctification enjoyed through divine grace</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I'm with Anne Lamott - I do not understand the mystery of grace, but I do recognize the change it made in my life.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I don't do a lot of God posts. I truly believe <i>to each his own</i> when it comes to belief systems, and faith, and pretty much most things. I try really hard not to sit in judgment regarding the life choices that other folks make for themselves. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But, I am pretty amazed by this whole concept of grace - and what is implied in the context. I think of the fluid grace of a dancer, or a gifted ice skater. Grace was the rule before meals in childhood, a hurried through rote prayer that meant little to me, just something we did before picking up a fork. </span>Once upon a time I even had a student named Grace.</div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Recently, in the course of a series of events I've experienced, I've been drawn back to reading a portion of the Bible each morning; meditatively reflecting on what I get out of it, and where I am in the space of my world that day. Grace came up a couple days ago. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">There are times, even at the ripe ol age of 65, when I feel like I still haven't "grown up". I have all these feelings of being "less than" or "insufficient", or "incomplete" when I think about what I haven't done with my life yet, or what I should be doing with my life now. (Often these can be as mundane as "Sheesh, don't you think it's about time to mop the kitchen floor?" or "You're retired! Get out there and volunteer!") The meditation I read discussed the idea of recognizing incompleteness as a kind of open space - allowing grace to flow in. I hadn't ever thought of it in quite that way before.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
One of the hard things I've been dealing with has been food, as in, eating too much of it. I haven't always been overweight - I was a skinny kid and young adult. I drank more than my fair share when I discovered alcohol, and smoked more than my fair share when I discovered cigarettes, but I stopped both of those bad habits 29 years ago. Yep, that's when the weight began to creep up. And, somewhere along the way, food became my reason for living - quite literally - as I was either cooking, eating or dieting. Many of the early years after smoking cessation I was chasing toddlers, which kept my weight mostly manageable, but the girls didn't stay little long enough, I guess.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
March 15, 1996 - on the 9th anniversary of my last glass of wine, my step-mom of 35 years, died of complications of Alzheimer's. I didn't know it then, but I was plunged into what would become a many years long depression, that was managed with food. I gained 80 pounds in less than a year. I didn't know I was depressed, I didn't recognize that my step-mom's death triggered emotions related to my own mom's death when I was nine. I just ate. I was a miserable lost soul.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Twenty years later - my life still revolves around food - big surprise! I've been on nearly every diet known to man, lost and gained back small mountains of weight, and I'm still obese. I've attempted exercise while dieting, and sometimes while not dieting, with little success. I walk every morning with a neighbor, and take longer walks with retired colleagues, and stay the same, or gain and lose the same 10 pounds. In my heart of hearts I know, with a sinking, sick feeling in my gut, that I have a problem that can't be fixed without intervention. My theory - and I'm sticking to it, despite not wanting to - is that I have a sugar addiction that was fed by alcohol while I drank, and is impossible to quench sober. I crack the window, admitting weakness and Grace gallops in to the rescue.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
"I do not at all understand the mystery of grace - only that it meets us where we are, and does not leave us where it found us." Anne Lamott</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I've been on this path before, striking sugar from my world and pretty much hating every minute of it. Because . . . I love sugar!</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Something is different this time. I wonder if it could be this mysterious thing called "Grace"?</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-27709388377141361412016-04-18T16:20:00.004-07:002016-04-18T16:20:50.584-07:00Hello!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PKgGsRJowM8/VxVOVKLtwNI/AAAAAAAABSE/lvetX2LuteEhRq5hkJts1603ECA-Xw54ACLcB/s1600/20160418_134035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PKgGsRJowM8/VxVOVKLtwNI/AAAAAAAABSE/lvetX2LuteEhRq5hkJts1603ECA-Xw54ACLcB/s400/20160418_134035.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
This morning I woke with a burning desire to write - don't ask where <i>that </i>idea came from! I've been writing, pretty much daily, for quite some time, but not blogging. I guess I needed a break from being "out there" - that has been going on for ages it seems.<br />
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The things I've been journaling about aren't exactly things I want to put out for public consumption, so I really had to think about just what I was being propelled to write about. So, this blog may meander a bit . . . fair warning!<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">New Adventures in Retirement</span><br />
<br />
Retirement is the cat's pajamas - the best. There are still never enough hours in a day, I am still not reading as much as I wanted, and the house is still just as jumbled and chaotic as always. This doesn't seem to matter one bit to me. My retirement motto is a simple one:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LkJM-1lVlM4/VxVQaaK6ZsI/AAAAAAAABSU/J-KXgxkyJyM8DgRmcjWlTbOhY8r07TVzgCLcB/s1600/20160418_134212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LkJM-1lVlM4/VxVQaaK6ZsI/AAAAAAAABSU/J-KXgxkyJyM8DgRmcjWlTbOhY8r07TVzgCLcB/s320/20160418_134212.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm taking it to heart. At least one thing . . . every day. Sometimes more; sometimes a lot more!<br />
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Since retirement, I have found myself becoming a bonafide wheeler dealer in antiques, vintage, shabby chic, and anything else I find that I think someone else might like. I started with a small "window" shelf unit in a nearby antique shop, added a small space at another antique shop, then moved up to a larger space and dropped the "window" as I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off.<br />
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As I have been a collector forever, having the possible good fortune (or not) of being born into a family of savers, packrats and collectors of just about anything that might be interesting, this whole endeavor is extremely satisfying. It's like being given a green light to hit every estate, garage and moving sale with a vengeance - I am continually on the lookout for "good stuff". <br />
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I've found quite a lot. The garage is full. And, sometimes I find stuff I don't really want to sell - big surprise.<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://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k31BP-0gtNo/VxVQKGj_7HI/AAAAAAAABSY/u_I0IpeGlJEOdDN14JPIE-5jBqr_lEcfACKgB/s1600/20160418_134023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k31BP-0gtNo/VxVQKGj_7HI/AAAAAAAABSY/u_I0IpeGlJEOdDN14JPIE-5jBqr_lEcfACKgB/s320/20160418_134023.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A mixture of "finders keepers" and items already owned.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's been keeping me busy, although I have arrived at a place where I don't scan Craig's list every day, nor do I go to sales every weekend. There's only so much room in the garage!<div>
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<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Travels</span></div>
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Recently my husband and I took a mini trip up to Victoria, BC via the Clipper from Seattle. We went with my aunt and uncle (who are close to my age) and had a fabulous time being tourists. We started with a fun bus ride out to the Butchart Gardens, where the blooms were spring spectacular, and I bought way too many flower seeds. (However, they are all planted with hopes for a smidgen of lucky blooms in the not too distant future.) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My aunt and I talked our husbands into tea at the Empress Hotel, which was the first time for all of us, and truly a delightful treat! David was such a good sport, and posed while drinking his cup of tea! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One daughter tells me this is her new favorite photo of her dad. :)<br />I think it's the raised pinky!</td></tr>
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We spent one morning exploring the superb BC Museum of History! We all could have spent many more hours, as it was huge and Smithsonian-like, and absolutely one of the best I've ever visited. Each display was amazingly life-like and very detailed. Very impressed!<div>
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One of the last things we did was to watch a movie about our wonderful National Parks in 3-D at the IMAX theater. As we are in the midst of planning our first major road trip in retirement to Utah, this was a good way to generate even more enthusiasm - and I was already pretty darn enthusiastic about this trip! We'll be visiting seven of our National Parks, and I am giddy with excitement to hit the road.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pepper</span></div>
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So much of life is making me happy these days - opportunities to travel, seeking vintage and antique stuff, spending time with family, and my sweet rescue kitty, Pepper.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's a bit disgruntled as I woke her from a nap to take a picture!</td></tr>
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Pepper is my grief slayer - A couple months after my Dad died, in January 2015, I came home from work and told my husband, "I need a cat!" My husband doesn't like cats, so he wasn't too thrilled with my demand. Fortunately, our daughter was home and she agreed with me, so he grudgingly gave in. Jess and I began to search in earnest, but there were a few criteria that needed to be met. First, this cat would have to be grey, or black and white, as it's name was going to be "Pepper", my dad's nickname. Second, it would have to be sociable, get along with other cats (for when our youngest daughter and her cat Cleo were visiting) be holdable and of course, purr. <div>
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One day I was reading the "available cats" section in the paper and there she was! I fell in love with the photo and called to make an appointment to meet her. Somehow our wires got crossed, and when we went to the shelter where this cat was being kept, she wasn't there. The worker attempted to interest us in some other cats in residence, and actually tried to discourage us by saying "my" cat wasn't very sociable and didn't like other cats. I was undeterred, and discovered that she was "off site" but would be part of an adoption fair at Petco later in the afternoon. We waited, then drove over to meet her.</div>
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She came right over to us; she let us hold her; she purred - she was perfect! We learned that she had been found abandoned, locked in a shed a few days before Christmas, 2014. It was then March - it had taken several weeks to nurse her back to health. There was no doubt in my mind that this was my Pepper.</div>
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After spending a good amount of money on a carrying case, food, toys, litter, scratching post, and collar, we drove home. She explored all the highest places first.<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;">I don't know how she does it - she doesn't use the counter to get up on the fridge!</td></tr>
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She is a short, furry labrador! Pepper greets <i>everyone</i> who comes to the house, with her tail wagging. (He tail wags constantly!) She "talks" to us, and always "talks back" with some sort of kitty retort when told to get off the table, or the counter. She wakes me with a soft paw caressing my cheek if I sleep later than she thinks I should - about 5:15 am! She loves to cuddle on me while I'm reading in bed (this can be kind of a nuisance!) or will come "tell" me it's time to go to bed if she is ready and I'm not! </div>
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Pepper has saved me, given me a reason to smile, made me laugh daily and filled my world with a kind of love I haven't known since I was a little girl. (Way different than people love - I'm loved by a few of those critters, too!)</div>
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So, I'm happy today. Happy to be alive, to be retired, to have written a blog post. This morning I put up and cleaned off my clothesline, so I'm ready to hang clothes outside tomorrow. And now, I'm going to get back to sewing on a log cabin quilt I'm making for my daughter and her husband for their first anniversary in July. </div>
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It's good to be happy!</div>
Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-32833934774346653692015-10-31T13:05:00.002-07:002015-10-31T13:05:40.883-07:00Wonder<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u__EMR8GHtE/VjUWkah7YvI/AAAAAAAABPw/Jm-2omqhEfA/s1600/20151021_062928_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u__EMR8GHtE/VjUWkah7YvI/AAAAAAAABPw/Jm-2omqhEfA/s320/20151021_062928_resized.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This web caught my eye while out walking one morning this week. Didn't notice it the day before. <br />I wonder, did the spider weave this entire web overnight??</td></tr>
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I just gotta say this, "<i>If I'd known how much I'd love being retired - before I retired - I would have done this years ago!</i>" Wow, it's truly the best thing since, maybe childhood. Well, I did like having my own kids around and they have been a lot of fun and blessed my socks off, but honestly, this retirement is the best place to be, ever! All this time on my hands, and I get to do practically whatever I want, whenever I want, within legal and moral limits, I suppose.<br />
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My most recent post was a response to the question posed by Mary Oliver in her poem, <i>The Summer Day </i>- "<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: center;">What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" Just for fun, I went back to read what I'd written a few weeks ago. Surprise, surprise! I'm doing much of what I wrote on a daily basis, and loving nearly every minute. Two people commented on a particular statement - </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: center;">"</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><i>I plan to live each day with a sense of humor, and a sense of wonder, and a sense of joy" - </i>which seems like an appropriate focus for today's post.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><b>Humor</b> - oh, sometimes it's so darn hard to find the humor in the mundane. Yesterday, husband and I decided to purchase an electric fireplace for the family room. This has been a discussion for weeks, as we head into fall. The family room is in a sort of alcove, and mostly unheated, as the wall heater is truly butt-ugly, so we hide it behind shelves and stuff. While there is a pellet stove in the living room, the heat it so efficiently provides has to turn basically two 90 degree corners, which seriously impairs it's ability to send much heat toward the family room. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">We bought the fireplace, discovered the box was about three inches too wide to fit into the Subaru, so left it at Lowe's, drove home to get the pickup and returned to retrieve the fireplace. Got it home, unloaded it and built up the stamina it would take to put the darn thing together . . . as the wall-to-wall three piece shelf unit we had built and installed many years ago would need to be removed first. Not to mention - emptied! We pulled the TV out, and both shuddered at all the wires leading to and from the TV, cable box, VCR/DVD player, took a deep breath; then began.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px;">Two hours later, boxes of books, movies, games ("<i>Why do we have three different boxes of </i></span><span style="font-size: 15px;"><i>Blockus, three Mastermind, two Quelf, and dozens of others on these shelves??"</i> we ask ourselves.) and framed family pictures are gone, and the shelving has been removed to the garage, not without a bit of mumbled complaining. Also the discovery that my detail orientated husband had screwed in some of the shelves for stability, which explained why they weren't coming out with "gentle" taps with the rubber headed mallet. We didn't recall that part of the construction phase fifteen+ years ago.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">The fun begins! We got the directions out and read them, then tried to decipher the arrows and upside down (seemed to us) drawings in each step of the process. Husband was the put-it-together person; I was the finder of correct screws, tools and general hander of needed things, and occasional holder of pieces in place. We're intrepid, if nothing else, and we mustered on, with just a couple, thankfully fixable, glitches. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">It works. The remote works. It doesn't put out a super amount of heat, but the ambiance is nice and there are no ashes to deal with or wood to gather. Twenty years ago, we wouldn't have considered a "fake" fireplace, but hey, we're retired now! We watched the news and Jeopardy in comfort and congratulated ourselves on a job well done - although there wasn't so much as a snort of laughter during the process!</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;"><b>Wonder</b> - well, that's easy, as I wonder where my keys are, what I did with that library book, what happened to my phone, and just generally what the heck I am doing, most of the time! Oh, wait! Wrong kind of wonder . . . sort of. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">Having a sense of wonder plays out in my view of the world around me these days. Having that lovely and delighful sense of unhurriedness as I go about my business, noticing the wind playing with leaves left on the trees outside my window. Entertained by the birds and squirrels who love this tree. Watching Pepper, my cat, as she watches the creatures outside, laughing when she leaps from her kitty perch onto the windowsill (and falls off, because it's pretty narrow!) when they get a little too close.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">Almost on a daily basis, I will pass through a room, notice the time (as I don't pay a lot of attention to it anymore!) and marvel, "</span><i style="font-size: 15px;">There is nothing absolutely pressing that I must do today!" </i><span style="font-size: 15px;"> So, I will pick up a book, putter in my sewing room/office (a whole blog, in and of itself!), or rearrange a shelf or cupboard - for no other reason than just because I want to. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Jessica and I saw this fellow recently on our walk around Lake Sacajawea in Longview. <br />We both laughed, remembering when her sister dressed as a Great Blue Heron for a report in Fifth grade.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">Probably the biggest sense of wonder I have been experiencing is the complete acceptance of where I am in my life today. Being retired <b>with</b> my husband is better than I expected. Jessica and Kailyn are gainfully employed, enjoying positive relationships, living on their own, responsible for themselves. My son's stepdaughter, Emily, brought </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">my sweet great-grandbaby Jailee, to visit recently, and my heart overflows with wonder, in how this world spins, and swirls love all around me. I think of my losses - my son Chris, my dad, two moms, several good friends - sudden, unexpected, unwanted deaths - and wonder at the surprises and blessings that are woven into those losses. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet baby Jailee - wonder and joy!<br /><div style="text-align: left;">
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<b style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Joy</b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"> - pleasure and happiness - yup, easy peasy. I sometimes catch sight of myself in the mirror, and I think, "</span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Who <b>is</b> that smiling woman there?</i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"> </span><i style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">She looks <b>so</b> happy!</i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">" </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">Honestly, it's been years since I've considered myself to be a joyful, happy person. I think I used to be, but it's so hard to remember. I'd have moments of "happy" and certainly, moments of "joy", but it wasn't who I was. Life was just too hard, for too long. I've been depressed for years, and often on medication to help cope. Lots of pain, suffering, death, disease, stress, and anger. More of a "Why me?" or "Poor me" attitude than much "Yippee!"</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">Did retirement heal me? Sort of . . . it has allowed me to relax and de-stress, which is huge. But, I've also made a couple other changes, neither related to retirement, but definitely related to mental and physical healthiness. Change is good, and if you're not bored to death yet, read on!</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">First of all, being sleep deprived isn't good for the soul. I've used a Cpap for years to help with mild sleep apnea and severe snoring issues. But, I pretty much hated being tethered to a machine for sleep, and wasn't real consistent about it. This summer I made an appointment with a dentist who provides appliances for treating sleep apnea. (Second appointment - I also did so last summer, then dropped the ball.) Perhaps I was at the right time in my life to be more receptive, but . . . Wow! While I feel like I have a mouthful of plastic (because I do!) it is infinitely better than wearing an uncomfortable mask and being plugged into a machine. I'm getting used to it, and sleeping better than I have for years and years, and big surprise, I don't feel depressed anymore! Yippee!</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">Surprisingly, (or not) not feeling depressed gives a person much more energy and motivation. Yep, real motivation to do things, like, think about being healthier and other good-for-you stuff. While on Vashon (such good things happen on Vashon!) I picked up a set of books titled, <u>The Abascal Way To Quiet Inflammation,</u> by Kathy Abascal, a thorough book of information regarding what causes inflammation, and a neat little recipe book included. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">Well, I <i>thought</i> I knew all about inflammation, since I live with it on a continual basis with my miserable, arthritic knees. However, I quickly learned I didn't know half of what I needed to know, and frankly, I'm more than a little impressed. I am <i>savoring</i> this book, reading as much as I can at a time, thinking about it, and following this incredibly simple plan of eating to get my health back. I think it's the first nutrition related book I've ever read that completely makes sense to me. Yep, I'm a believer.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">So, it is with pure JOY that I have been following the recommendations, finding myself in the kitchen cheerfully whipping together recipes such as, "Curried Chickpeas, Cauliflower, and Collards (Fabulous - so glad husband refused to try it; I got four excellent meals out of it!), Green Kale with Tahini Dressing (Yum - and the dressing is good with everything!), Joanne's Breakfast Muffins (these have become a staple in my house), along with various roasted veggies, cooked quinoa and lentils. Who knew I'd even <i><b>want</b></i> to eat healthy? </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are seriously stubborn pumpkins! I could NOT get a knife in them to cut in half, <br />so they are going to their pumpkin death whole. Fresh pumpkin muffins soon!</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">I love having a plan - to live this one wild life with a sense of humor, a sense of wonder, and a sense of joy. Seriously, what could be better?</span></span><br />
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Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-15072330812571138872015-10-09T12:19:00.000-07:002015-10-09T13:35:20.373-07:00Vashonista Celebration<div style="text-align: center;">
Our fabulous writing retreat on Vashon ended too soon. On our last night, Deb gave us the following question as a five minute writing prompt. We all agreed to share our writing, and link each others posts. Please be sure to read <a href="http://catbirdscout.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Deb</a>, <a href="http://djanstewart.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">DJan</a>, <a href="http://bagladyinwaiting.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Linda</a>, <a href="http://benchmark60.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Jann</a>, and <a href="http://sallysbloggingspot.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Sally</a>.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-skg6SX5BU1M/Vhgk-uYWEyI/AAAAAAAABPc/0x3xD0yqCxw/s1600/20151003_074554_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-skg6SX5BU1M/Vhgk-uYWEyI/AAAAAAAABPc/0x3xD0yqCxw/s320/20151003_074554_resized.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" </div>
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By Mary Oliver, from The Summer Day</div>
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This question seems, at least on the surface, to be too big to answer in ten minutes or less. Yet, I know I plan to live my life to the fullest, seeking answers to hard questions. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I plan to explore, love, and spend lots of time with my husband and daughters - as well as their husbands/partners, children - whoever enters our family circle.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I plan to give back in some way, thought I don't know yet what that will look like.</div>
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I plan to write - for myself - and maybe someday for others to enjoy</div>
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<br /></div>
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I plan to cross the ocean, at least one more time, but hopefully many more.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I plan to make my house happy, and in doing so, make myself happy - and to sew a quilt or two.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I plan to hold and love grandchildren and nurture them - to experience their world with them, to share what I know, what I can do, what I am good at - with them.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I plan to read every day - to become healthily alive</div>
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<br /></div>
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I plan to share my experience with my daughters</div>
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<br /></div>
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I plan to live each day with a sense of humor, and a sense of wonder, and a sense of joy</div>
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I plan to be open to change, and love, and happiness</div>
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I plan to return to Vashon with the Vashonistas, and write my heart and soul out- </div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
I hope my plans pan out, but if not, I hope I accept whatever happens<br />
<br /></div>
Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-47057484319817230652015-10-07T19:54:00.000-07:002015-10-07T19:54:36.584-07:00Perfect Timing<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
It is the last morning walk of our five-day (first ever!) Blogging Vashonista Writing Retreat. While this is our fourth year to meet together at Lavender Hill Farm, it's the first time we're "getting serious about writing!" Over the years, we've enjoyed many Vashon adventures, a lot of laughter, and not a few tears. This year has been especially memorable and it's easy to feel nostalgic this morning. The air is crisp and the view is soft, at 6:45 am, as the sky begins to lighten. I will miss the sunrises, and the sunsets, and everything in-between.</div>
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We head out for the Burton loop, what has become a daily delight. I'm with my typically faster moving friends, Deb and DJan. Today, I am the pacesetter. I know there are hills coming that will literally take my breath away, and set my heart pounding uncomfortably fast, yet I eagerly set off with my comrades.</div>
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<table 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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DVPLIWQpmzE/VhW-6JCd2oI/AAAAAAAABNs/Tw9c4KeCg94/s1600/20151006_064618_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DVPLIWQpmzE/VhW-6JCd2oI/AAAAAAAABNs/Tw9c4KeCg94/s400/20151006_064618_resized.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise as we begin our walk . . .</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">We slow down almost immediately for the vivid tapestry before us, snapping pictures that dim in comparison to the being there. </span></div>
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It is downhill for a few blocks, before the first uphill that seems to be double the distance, and I am reminded as always of the multiple extra pounds I'm carrying along with me. But I refuse to waste time chastising myself and listen instead to the cheerful voices of the birds and my friends.</div>
<table 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;"><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_ZhnOpgEqtM/VhW_Ayxi8_I/AAAAAAAABN8/AgzbT6xfrgY/s1600/20151004_090617_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_ZhnOpgEqtM/VhW_Ayxi8_I/AAAAAAAABN8/AgzbT6xfrgY/s400/20151004_090617_resized.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is our down hill beginning . . . and in the distance, the first of the uphills. </td></tr>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Azu-T5YiKkg/VhXFmcr10_I/AAAAAAAABOQ/bEcSSBfF4jE/s1600/20151007_074427_92730970589248.mp4" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>
About ten feet from the top of the first hill I stop, check my pulse (117 this morning; it was 130 the first time I walked with Linda) and I catch my breath. Onward we go.<br />
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A little more than half way around the loop, we arrive at the Vashon Island Rowing Club. There are already several boats silhouetted against the rising sun, and to watch the graceful ballet of experienced rowers is delightful.<br />
<br />
We are greeted by a lovable labradoodle, and stop for a chat with his owner and a sweet two-year-old. Walking onto the rock strewn beach, my eyes searching for some of the greenish colored rocks that Jann and Sally found the day before in this spot. Suddenly, someone calls, "Look!"<br />
<br />
We gaze toward the water, amazed to see what looks like a sort of oceanic sprinkler system created by dozens of clams (or some other creature), spouting (or squirting) streams of water from beneath the rocky ground. It is magical! (I took a cool video, but unfortunately I took it sideways, and couldn't figure out how to post it. You'll just have to believe me!)<br />
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It dosen't take too long to find and collect a number of green rocks (which we believe are algae tinted) and others that I am hopeful will polish up in my rock tumbler at home. (The rocks below weighed 1.87 pounds before I deposited them into the tumbler for the first polishing this morning.)<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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fK3HUY3naYM/VhXRnLg0X2I/AAAAAAAABO0/wcg_GVtFeG8/s1600/20151007_152703_resized%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fK3HUY3naYM/VhXRnLg0X2I/AAAAAAAABO0/wcg_GVtFeG8/s320/20151007_152703_resized%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know they really don't look very good, but stay tuned - they will be amazing--I hope! The barnacles will be gone.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sadly, it is nearing time to return to our lovely island retreat. There are breakfasts to eat, showers to take, packing to finish. <br />
<br />
Trudging up the hill one last time, we are greeted by this guy, who watches from one of the neighboring decks.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-alw72iR4q7A/VhXUs6i9nsI/AAAAAAAABPE/kVGwQa_xiY0/s1600/20151003_074554_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-alw72iR4q7A/VhXUs6i9nsI/AAAAAAAABPE/kVGwQa_xiY0/s320/20151003_074554_resized.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>
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Oh Vashon, how I hate to say "Good-bye!"<br />
<br />
With sad hearts and after exchanging warm hugs, the six Blogging Vashonists drive away from Lavender Hill Farm ~ October 2015. Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-8473426219317460052014-04-06T08:43:00.000-07:002014-04-06T08:43:46.550-07:00Spring Break . . . Seven-Day Forecast<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Stretching ahead of me <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Seven days<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">168 hours <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">10,080 minutes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Moments that serpentine the clock with<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Intermittent puttering, wrapped in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Sorting<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Organizing<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Clearing out<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Creating space in the heart of clutter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">For new treasures to call home<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Purging what no longer fits<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The room . . . a cupboard . . . my body<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Yesterday I vacationed with my sister<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Visiting antique stores <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Letting go of the To-Do List at home<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Savoring time without an agenda<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Chatting and acquiring<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A few more irresistible items<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Today is my “free” day<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I’ll make my list<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Complete and cross off an item or two<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">(But only at my leisure – it’s ok to be
interrupted!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Tomorrow morning I will<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Rev my motor<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Pump some iron<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Charge into the chaos<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">And reclaim my house<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Apple Chancery"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Maybe . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-59871500786095346992013-12-16T08:02:00.001-08:002013-12-16T08:19:21.503-08:00Those Anniversaries You Don't Want to Celebrate<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eOZ6vhLJPpc/Uq8meoDBnbI/AAAAAAAABA0/Vdeea56SetA/s1600/me+Chris+camping.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eOZ6vhLJPpc/Uq8meoDBnbI/AAAAAAAABA0/Vdeea56SetA/s320/me+Chris+camping.jpg" width="303" /></a></div>
<br />
If I had known </div>
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<br /></div>
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If I had known, </div>
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that this day would be the last -</div>
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I would have held him a little longer</div>
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I would have caressed his stubbly cheek</div>
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Stroked his smooth-as-a-baby's-bottom</div>
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shaved head</div>
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And kissed his dear, sweet face, </div>
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one more time.</div>
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<br /></div>
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If I had known, </div>
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that this day would be the last -</div>
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I would have given him </div>
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all those letters and poems </div>
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I wrote over the years,</div>
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the journal I kept of his life,</div>
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As I had planned to do that day, </div>
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but forgot,</div>
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And told him again,</div>
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I love you, </div>
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one more time.</div>
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<br /></div>
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If I had known, </div>
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that this day would be the last -</div>
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I would have encouraged him more,</div>
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Nagged him less, </div>
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prayed harder, </div>
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Spent more time with him</div>
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Celebrated his accomplishments,</div>
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Even if they were tattoos </div>
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I didn’t quite understand -</div>
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I would have hugged him a little harder</div>
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And a little longer</div>
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When we said goodbye</div>
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<br /></div>
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If I had known, </div>
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that this day would be the last -</div>
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I would have invited more of his friends </div>
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To his surprise 30<sup>th</sup> birthday party</div>
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Spent less time in the kitchen</div>
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More time listening</div>
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Less time talking</div>
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More time with him, </div>
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Made sure that he knew </div>
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Without a doubt</div>
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That his momma loved him</div>
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If I had only known<br />
<br />
written December 4, 2013<br />
<br />
It's rough, what I wrote above on what would have been Chris' 38th birthday. I'm not even going to try to revise and edit, as I can barely see at the moment. I meant to post that day, but was unable to do so, for a number of reasons.<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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qew6NHKwsS0/Uq8l1qZ396I/AAAAAAAABAs/VojcNlPhzoE/s1600/Chris+bd+quilt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qew6NHKwsS0/Uq8l1qZ396I/AAAAAAAABAs/VojcNlPhzoE/s320/Chris+bd+quilt.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris' 30th birthday quilt -12/04/2005. He loved it. When he died<br />his step-daughter, Emily, claimed it. I was ok with that. :)</td></tr>
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Eight years ago today, in the early hours of December 16, I received the phone call from my daughter in law, that my son had shot himself. My husband and I rushed to Emanuel ICU. I know I screamed, stomped my feet, sobbed hysterically. I asked to see the wound. It was incredibly tiny, and I didn't understand how he could possibly have managed to do so much damage with such a tiny hole. We were told that there was no brain activity at all. He was a donor; on life support until his organs could be harvested. No one else was there, and after an hour or so (I don't remember the time, just that it crawled by incredibly slowly - in my memory, it was dark for weeks) Shari and the kids arrived. Later, we drove home in shock, and crazily, we both got ready to go to work. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jessica and Kailyn were awake, getting ready for school. I think that's when I called my dad and my sister, but time is all mixed up. I don't know what I was thinking . . . except that I wasn't thinking. David left, I probably drove the girls to school, and I drove myself to work. The first person I saw at work was my friend Deb, who held me as I cried. Moments later, our principal came in, and insisted that I needed to leave. "Go to your son!" she told me, practically pushing me out the door. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I drove home (fortunately just a mile) and called my sister again, who came to pick me up and drove me back to the hospital. I think we picked up Kelli, my niece, on the way. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Round two of the longest, most tortuous day I've ever known, as I watched the people who loved my son come to tell him goodbye. He was kept alive all that day in order to bring the gift of hope to many others, through his beautiful blue eyes, his warm and generous heart, his fully functioning kidneys, and numerous other parts and pieces of him. I'm proud of him, for being a donor, even while I'm still an emotional mess from him choosing to leave this world as he did.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suicide - the emotional roller coaster it sends you on is truly inconceivable. And, it's the worst of the worst of those "clubs you never want to join" to be tangled up with. Only those who have lost someone they love through suicide can fathom what it does to your insides. When it's your child, the guilt overwhelms you, despite everyone's insistence that it isn't/wasn't your fault.<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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nMG58Rb-gH4/Uq8mxFgBy6I/AAAAAAAABA8/DqlmQP6zW_s/s1600/Chris+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nMG58Rb-gH4/Uq8mxFgBy6I/AAAAAAAABA8/DqlmQP6zW_s/s320/Chris+family.jpg" width="299" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris - proudly with his new instant family -<br /> Shari, Kenny, Emily and Arik<br />Christmas 1996 </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a love-hate relationship with December, that's probably never going to completely leave me. But, today, after I post this incredibly selfish blog, I'm planning to spend time with my son, wallowing in my grief. I'll dig through the boxes of photos, cards, letters, poems, report cards, and get out his baby book. I'll sob, and probably pray, and I know I'll laugh too, because he was a very funny guy. My goal, as always, is an attempt to "get it out of my system" so I can celebrate the season with my family. Because I have a fabulous husband, two precious and loving daughters, wonderful family and friends, who care deeply about me. That knowledge is what keeps me putting one foot in front of the other, trudging through December, year after year. </div>
Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-763662145541068312013-11-28T11:10:00.002-08:002013-11-28T14:19:41.385-08:00Thanks, for the Memories<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The fondest, and earliest Thanksgiving memories I have are
of chaos! What seems like dozens
of cousins, three mostly complete sets of great aunts and uncles, my dad’s
sister and her husband, my dad and the three of us kids, all crammed into my grandparent’s
tiny house on Maple Street in Vancouver.
The adults crowded around the antique dining table, under the crystal
chandelier that was rescued from the home of great grandparents I never
knew. This dining room was
minuscule, about 10’ x 10’ with the kitchen so close, it was an easy reach to
the counters and stove top loaded with myriad traditional dishes, lovingly
prepared by the aunts. Candles were glowing and liquor was flowing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All of the cousins, complete with olives on our fingers, were squished on the couch, or perched on
creaky leather seated folding chairs (one of which I still proudly own!) with
two-three uneven card tables, covered with damask tablecloths, befitting the
holiday gathering.</div>
<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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dT6Y3EL5jHU/Upd_XcupFyI/AAAAAAAAA_g/vu0IsGD3Kcg/s1600/Uncle+Dick+being+silly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="201" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dT6Y3EL5jHU/Upd_XcupFyI/AAAAAAAAA_g/vu0IsGD3Kcg/s320/Uncle+Dick+being+silly.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Uncle Dick, being silly outside his garage in the 1950's.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dinner was rowdy and rambunctious, loud and oftentimes
obnoxious, as dear great Uncle Dick was unruly in the best of circumstances,
and more so with ample doses of brandy. The male oldsters argued about anything
and everything, while the women attempted to keep the peace. I adored all of my
aunts and uncles, and, as drunkenness was just part of the deal, I never knew
any better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The holidays were
never boring with this crew.</div>
<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bh8tbgverec/Upd_vKcwpEI/AAAAAAAAA_o/kfuG1cTxywc/s1600/28-+Meserve+Thanksgiving+1984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bh8tbgverec/Upd_vKcwpEI/AAAAAAAAA_o/kfuG1cTxywc/s320/28-+Meserve+Thanksgiving+1984.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1984 - Much of my Dad's extended family<br />
our last Thanksgiving together<br />
at Fruit Valley Community Center. <br />
No one had a big enough house anymore! <br />
We're missing lots of folks from this one. <br />
And, many of those babies have their own babies now!<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I don’t recall Thanksgiving with my mom’s family, though it certainly could have happened prior to her death when I was nine. If it had been with her family, it would have been considerably more sedate, and therefore, less memorable. Christmas day and Easter were my mom’s family domain, and it seems like every Sunday after church, dinner was in the apartment my mom’s folks lived in above the shoe repair shop my grandpa owned downstairs.<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k-UcT_3wGC4/UpeA6PFinsI/AAAAAAAAA_0/3pyLE_2LNh0/s1600/Pep+&+June's+wedding+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k-UcT_3wGC4/UpeA6PFinsI/AAAAAAAAA_0/3pyLE_2LNh0/s320/Pep+&+June's+wedding+day.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1965 - Dad and Mom's Wedding - <br />
the girls are stair stepped in order of age,<br />
I'm at the top (14), Kathy next (13), Suzan (11), Pam (11). <br />
My brothers on the right are both 9.<br />
My cousins, Joe and Jeff, are not in order of age, for some reason! <br />
Standing in for my Dad is my Uncle Julay <br />
(who just turned 90 and we attended a fabulous party for him last weekend!) <br />
and for Mom, my Dad's sister, Syd)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Later, much later, after my dad remarried for the third
time, and added a few more siblings to the nest, our Thanksgiving meals were
most often held in our sprawling six-bedroom ranch style home, with a full
basement for the growing family to spread out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can remember at least one Thanksgiving with all my dad’s
relatives in that basement, utilizing the pool table and numerous folding
tables to accommodate the huge crowd for the meal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By then there were many more cousins. It wasn’t long before
those gathering were including a few grandkids that the oldest of my siblings or
I had produced, a revolving door of spouses, and they were boozy and chaotic,
as was expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> <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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qDrPNbgvjuo/UpeEvQMXp_I/AAAAAAAABAc/e4_1vyHEShs/s1600/siblings+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qDrPNbgvjuo/UpeEvQMXp_I/AAAAAAAABAc/e4_1vyHEShs/s320/siblings+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Six of Us - December 2011<br />
David, Kathy, me, Pam, Brad, Suzan<br />
and most of our offspring below -</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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gT9XZkQYUkY/UpeETRVVB-I/AAAAAAAABAQ/SIy2RH9W-Ls/s1600/most+of+the+grandkids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gT9XZkQYUkY/UpeETRVVB-I/AAAAAAAABAQ/SIy2RH9W-Ls/s320/most+of+the+grandkids.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> December 2011</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we get together and laugh over the family pictures, these
days, we figure out the year based on which spouses were in the photos, as it
seems that almost every holiday gathering, through the 70’s and 80’s, at least one
of the six of us was with a different spouse/partner. Most of my siblings have
now celebrated 20-25 years of marriage, (with the same partner!) and now we use
our children or grandkid’s ages to determine when photos were taken.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We no longer have Thanksgiving en masse, partially because
the super glue that held our family together for over 30 years, our mom (my
third, my step-siblings first) has been gone since 1996. Dad is in Arizona
during the winter, although he tells us that he is selling and will be coming
home to stay in late spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, we
do have three non-negotiable days each year (Father’s Day, August Fish Feed,
and the Saturday before Christmas) when all six of us, with our spouses and
whatever kids and grandkids are available, reconnect with shared stories, lots of laughter and sometimes, a few tears. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i2s5tFQBSrU/UpeCbhrxLSI/AAAAAAAABAA/KS0eZspn6-Q/s1600/gma+&+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i2s5tFQBSrU/UpeCbhrxLSI/AAAAAAAABAA/KS0eZspn6-Q/s320/gma+&+kids.jpg" width="253" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma with my son, Chris, and cousins, Evan and Kelli</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year, my sibs and I are all either in or nearing our
60’s, and most of us toast our blessings with sparkling cider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sister, Pam, and her husband, Terry; my niece, Kelli, and
her boyfriend, Garrett; Kailyn and Nick (her boyfriend) will be our only guests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll easily fit around our dining room
table. For the first time, Jessica is spending Thanksgiving with Brandon’s
grandparents up north.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Big
sigh!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pulling on my big girl
pants and not going to whine overmuch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As Jess told me, “Mom, you’re gonna have to learn to share!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, I know. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Time to get that turkey ready for the oven!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Here's to Happy Thanksgiving Memories and special blessings</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
for the memories we'll all be making today.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And, this year, I'll be lighting a special candle in thankfulness for the memories of those loved ones we are missing, who are no longer sharing our earthly space this year. </div>
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Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-42371472209831718582013-11-06T10:02:00.001-08:002013-11-06T10:02:17.019-08:00Fabulous Fall<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Hm9e5hEHPoE/Unpgnm56CtI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/SvcHJq1Fczs/s1600/fall+maple+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Hm9e5hEHPoE/Unpgnm56CtI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/SvcHJq1Fczs/s1600/fall+maple+tree.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
One of the two maples next to our driveway.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Finally, the maple trees in front of the house have turned red. Several years ago, probably ten or more, we had new neighbors move in next door. The first thing they did was chop down an old maple tree that was smack dab between our two driveways. I came home from work to a very empty space, and a proud neighbor who shouted over to me, "Looks great, doesn't it?" I wanted to cry, and I think I did. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The next weekend I went out to a nursery and bought two spindly maple trees and had my husband plant them on either side of our driveway, fully within our own property lines. Surprisingly, we still have a fairly good relationship with those neighbors . . . who have proceeded to chop down every tree on their property!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I bought the trees, I asked specifically for trees that would turn color early in the fall. Someone lead me astray and I got a little cranky that first year as I waited, and waited, and waited some more for the gorgeous red that comes so painstakingly slow to those trees. But, oh boy, when it finally arrived, it was worth the wait. I love the brilliant red, and have resigned myself to boasting that I have the last trees to turn in our section of town. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This fall has been nothing short of fabulous. Two weekends ago, I was fortunate to reunite with the infamous blogging Vashonistas, who all brought cameras and posted amazing photos on their blogs ~ <a href="http://catbirdscout.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Deb</a>, <a href="http://djanstewart.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">DJan</a>, <a href="http://sallysbloggingspot.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Sally</a>, <a href="http://benchmark60.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Jann</a>, and our organizer, <a href="http://bagladyinwaiting.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Linda</a>. I think I'm the last one to blog about the reunion! I wrote about it last year <a href="http://flyingintothelight.blogspot.com/2012/10/treasure-island.html" target="_blank">here</a>. My camera took lousy photos, for some reason, so I am especially enjoying the ones my fellow bloggers posted!<br />
<br />
Taking off for Vashon this year, Deb and I wondered if it could possibly surpass our inaugural meeting in 2012. Spending precious time with Deb, my traveling companion, dear friend and confidant, and co-cook in the kitchen, was an added bonus. We needn't have worried, as every moment that someone was awake was filled with conversation and laughter. We ate well, got more exercise than some of us bargained for, and renewed our friendships. The weather was nearly perfect, and the occasional drizzle didn't slow us down, or dampen our spirits, one bit.<br />
<br />
This morning I am blessed with a bit of extra time, as I have a follow up appointment with the dermatologist in a couple hours for my full body check! Not one I look forward to, as last time I had two biopsies and cancer was discovered on my face. I neglected to post about that somewhat traumatizing experience, but it's over now, and amazingly, the scar is barely noticeable. Those surgeons are pretty good!<br />
<br />
A later start gave me the luxury of an invigorating walk before breakfast, and although it is still foggy, it was pleasant wearing a sweatshirt. It was the first walk I've taken since the Vashon weekend, as I ended up with quite a bit of knee pain for most of the week following our hike. For those who knew me before partial knee replacement in 2011, I'm still fighting discomfort and unable to hike as I could prior to surgery. In fact, I have an appointment with the surgeon later this month to discuss the situation.<br />
<br />
<br />
I love the vibrant colors of fall. I love crunching through crisp golden leaves, big harvest moons, and cold, clear days. Walking into work last Friday, I looked over at my favorite maple tree in front of the school and realized there were just a few straggling leaves left. Just a hint of moisture hovered in the air from my expelled breath and as I burst into the office I exclaimed, "Call me crazy, but I absolutely love fall mornings!" The secretary looked at me as if I was truly insane, and shook her head, laughing. Not everyone is an leaf lover, I guess.<br />
<br />
Autumn is chock full of some of my favorite things ~ crisp apples, orange pumpkins, and anything made from either of those two food items. I look forward to the new school year, fresh faced students, the heady scent of a just opened box of crayola crayons. The days are full of promises, and the nights are beginning to lengthen ~ I anticipate the pleasure of curling up with a good book and a cup of tea in front of the stove.<br />
<br />
This year feels like an ending rather than a beginning. As I readied my classroom, met my students and their parents, began the arduous task of learning new requirements, and planning for upcoming curriculum changes, I found myself at a crossroads. It's leaving time. If I stick to my plan, this will be my last "beginning of the year" September. I thought I'd be excited about it. I thought I couldn't wait for this. But now, I don't know what to think.<br />
<br />
I should be rejoicing. I feel like crying. And it's not just because it seems I always have a week's worth of papers to read, mark, and record. Surely I would miss this aspect of teaching, wouldn't I?<br />
<br />
I suppose.<br />
<br />
Just a couple weeks ago we held fall conferences. I diligently went through the grade book, determined averages, recorded missing assignments, and typed up a half-sheet to give to the parents of each of my 27 students regarding each subject. At first, I was just planning to do this for my ELL students, as they will be translated into Spanish. Then, I decided, "What the heck! I'll just do it for everyone." While I've always prepared a hand written sort of progress report for parents at conferences, I hadn't typed them up before. I now think it's a great idea and wish I'd thought of it years ago.<br />
<br />
It doesn't really make much sense, but I'm going to miss fall conferences! Exhausting as they are to prep for, I love the opportunity to get to know the families of my students, and for them to get to know me.<br />
<br />
As I write, I also think about why retirement seemed like such a good idea last spring when David and I talked about it. We had just lost David's closest and longest friend to brain cancer. We were numb with grief and the shock of how quickly life can be extinguished. We looked at each other and both agreed that life was too short; and we wanted to make the most of whatever years (months?? days??) we have left. So, we discussed finances and made some decisions. I was practically giddy with the thought of being "done" with the continual political demands of teaching that have so little to do with teaching.<br />
<br />
Right now, I can honestly say the last thing I want to do is retire. I love my job. I love the kids, and some of my favorite people are my fellow teachers. And, I selfishly think about how much I enjoy a steady paycheck, that allows me to live, if not in luxury, at least in comfort. I'm happy with my life as it is, and while I really do want to retire and travel in the near future, I'm not so sure it needs to be this coming June.<br />
<br />
I'm not making any definite decisions, yet. But I am going to enjoy this fabulous fall with every fiber of my being, knowing well that there are no guarantees in how many my future holds. </div>
Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-66395427266435328902013-09-15T09:13:00.000-07:002013-09-15T09:13:00.500-07:00The ADD Teacher<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s the third day of school and I can’t find my lunch count
paper and money envelope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids
keep coming up and asking me, as several have cash for lunch, and I haven’t a
clue. I can’t remember if I picked it up from my mailbox that morning, or the
afternoon before.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fortunately, I have a one-on-one staff assistant this year
for a student in a wheel chair with muscular dystrophy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ask her to please run to the office
to check my mailbox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She returns
empty handed, telling me she checked the other boxes nearby, the staff table,
and the women’s restroom, all for naught.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I keep a smile on my face, and shuffle through my desk
drawer for an envelope to put the kids money in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I write their name, lunch number and amount of money on
a post it, along with the lunch count and my name and room number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smirk a bit when I notice my coffee
mug;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Keep Calm and Carry On”
emblazoned across the front.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few minutes later, the kitchen lady calls my room and says
she doesn’t know who brought money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It seems the post it fell off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The kids and I recreate the needed information.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once again, we carry on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning, I stop by the kitchen
and humbly ask for a replacement lunch sheet and envelope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had thought perhaps I had picked them
up inadvertently and left them with a stack of correcting at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, several days later I <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">did</b> find the missing materials, under a stack of “Read All About
Me” posters on the counter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I now
have a spare set, which I will surely use.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The morning progresses, with my usual hunt for my favorite
purple dry erase marker, or my cute new owl pointer, and the never-ending
search for the clipboard with my planning notes. It’s a typical day in Room
111.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later, I’ll be frantically tossing papers off my desk,
trying to find the science folio that I was reading while eating my salad at
lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I give up; open the
connecting door between my room and Angie’s, telling her I can’t find it. She
offers hers, which I gratefully grab as I’m opening my door for the kids to
come in. This year we’ve extended the lunch recess, and given up the late
afternoon one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Great idea in
theory, but in reality tough, as there is no break between literacy and
science, so I need to be prepared for both before the kids return from lunch
recess. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shouldn’t really need the teacher notes, as I’ve been
teaching this same exact science unit for a decade!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know it, or should know it, by heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, a funny thing happens on the way
through my lessons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forget
chunks, or fairly important vocabulary words, or leave out part of the
directions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know if it’s
because I’ve taught it so much that I just forget I haven’t already said what I
need to say (this year!), or if it’s the ADD running amok within.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The day before I had merrily taken the kids on a jaunt
around the building, with notebooks and pencils in hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were busily counting our footsteps,
along each wall, and we were going to create a “birds eye view” map of the
building. We’re all having a grand ole time, despite the 95-degree temp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We return to the classroom, and I model
for them how to draw out the building, and never once get back to the averaging
lesson I had planned on, using their group data to determine approximate
distance for each wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also
neglected to discuss and post the new vocabulary: model, grid lines, boundary,
map, and cartographer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s
always tomorrow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly, the patrol kids are getting ready to go, so we
stop for planners, then the kinder helpers get ready to go, and the rest of us
get ready to go and play silent ball. Day over! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nobody tries harder than I do to stay organized. I am the
Queen Bee of organizational tools.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have labeled file drawers, labeled cubbies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I label the supply drawers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have files and file holders and labels up the kazoo . . .
and I can’t find a darn thing. I paid my daughter to come in last spring and
completely reorganize my four-drawer file cabinet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did a beautiful job, and all files are in alphabetical
order: algebra, area, decimals, division and so on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She consolidated all multiple folders into one, (I think she
found four or five labeled algebra) and I love it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The problems arise when I remove a file, or a few papers
from a file. They get lost, buried beneath the scads of papers that pass
through my fingertips each day. I have a file box labeled with the days of the
week, presumably so that I can file the papers I will need for any given
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This would be fabulous if,
one, I actually put the papers in the correct file, or two, if I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">remember</i> that I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> put the papers in the correct file folder! Many days I’m
looking for a set of papers, that I had seen moments earlier, but forget that I
put them in the file (and never once look there until I am filing the next
week’s papers!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When my dear friend Deb was my teaching pal, she always kept
the important papers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She kept an
accurate calendar, knew when to order what, and the 5<sup>th</sup> grade team
was a smooth running machine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
she moved to another school, she passed all her files on to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yep, it was scary.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a couple years, I was the only consistent member of the
team, as my teammates kept changing grade level positions. I was in charge.
Yikes! <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
I managed to hold it together, and
get things ordered in a timely manner, for the most part. I was good about
passing materials on to my teammates, but it was a running joke whether I could
keep track of my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was often
borrowing back one copy so I could go run a copy for myself until I ran across
the curiously hidden copies of my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just so you know, I nearly always find my papers eventually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I draw the line at wasting paper on
making new ones (unless they’re <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">really
important.)<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
You’d think that, as a teacher, I
would recognize ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) in myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lord knows I’ve had plenty of students
who are “attention challenged”. Yet, it wasn’t until one of my daughters was
diagnosed while in high school that I realized I was, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After going over the checklist of
behaviors for her, it was sobering to discover there were very few <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I didn’t</b> exhibit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just always thought I was
scatterbrained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Which I am, but,
there’s a diagnosis for that now!) Whew!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
Several years ago, while chatting
with my then principal, I mentioned it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She looked at me and said, “It must be very hard for you!” It is, no
question about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard
keeping track, and it’s even harder to stay on track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I’m a good teacher, and maybe, the ADD kind of works in
my favor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I totally “get” the kids
who share my challenges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can
laugh with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hopefully help
them with organization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My kids
grow and improve and test scores demonstrate success. My students love me as
much as I love them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They continue
to come back to visit, volunteer in my classroom when in high school, and
invite me to their graduation parties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
The current kids help me, too.
They become pros at keeping track of my teaching stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s way better losing my clipboard at
school, as one of the kids can spot it in a matter of seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At home, it’s a totally different
story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can lose stuff for
years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Well, I can do that at
school too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still can’t find my favorite
red timer that I lost last April!) It’s a mystery.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
This may, or may not, be my last
year teaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would imagine
that any job is hard if you’re ADD, but I find it incredibly frustrating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I waste a lot of time, searching,
shuffling through stacks of papers, and sadly, re-creating. It is a daunting
task to attempt to keep up, and I fail miserably on a daily basis. Across the
room as I write, there is a rolling cart stuffed with papers that I brought
home on Friday to sort through and organize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m exhausted just thinking about that task. Yet, it true
and typical ADD fashion, I’ve completely gotten sidetracked and written this
blog post instead of doing my homework!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
This weekend I have to prepare
files for three students who will be leaving my class on Wednesday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emotionally, that’s hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve known since the first day of
school (nearly two weeks ago) that we were overloaded, but the shift wasn’t decided on until
Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting in the conference
room with the principal and the other 4<sup>th</sup> and 5<sup>th</sup> grade
teachers, trying to determine who would be a good “fit” for the newly created
4/5 split, was hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
The general public often doesn’t
understand the teacher heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
miraculously love those kids the moment we meet them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They may try our patience, exasperate us, and confound us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But nothing stops us from that
unconditional love that seeps into our heart once a child is placed in our
classroom. When they leave, either willingly or unwillingly, a piece of our
heart goes with them. This may be truer for elementary teachers than middle or
high school, but I think all teachers feel the tug.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
That’s another post . . .</div>
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<br /></div>
Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-46709177948762339302013-07-21T08:51:00.000-07:002013-07-21T08:51:45.775-07:00On the Road Again . . .<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p>Not sure how the title will fit this blog, but let’s get
started! Background first, since I
haven’t blogged in a bazillion days . . .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the past couple months I’ve been on yet another “road
to health” that has left me with mixed emotions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, I’m losing weight, and I’m more active, and I’ve given
away every piece of clothing that is too big. This meant two trips of boxes and
bags to our local family homeless shelter, as I found several bins of “just
because” clothing on shelves in the garage while doing my summer cleaning! But
. . . I’m fighting a very real feeling that this isn’t the health program for
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t like the road I’m on
for a number of reasons.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I won’t go into the details, or badmouth the program, as
many love it and are true blue fans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s ok for them, but it isn’t feeling right for me, and quite
honestly, I had to talk myself into it in the first place. I haven’t been 100%
committed, although I have followed it faithfully, hoping that I would find
myself in that state of near Nirvana others spoke of while taking this
particular road to good health. (It didn’t happen; more energy and euphoria
continues to elude me!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I thought about what does feel right ~ frequent small
meals that are high in protein and low in carbohydrates, exercise daily, stay
clear of sugary treats and junk food ~ and decided that I will wean myself off
of the program and instead trust myself to make healthy choices on my own.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Novel idea, I agree!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I know my strengths, and weaknesses, quite well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that in the past twenty-five
years I have been unable to maintain any kind of weight loss program on my own.
I’ve needed incentive to stick to it ~ other people to commiserate with, and
usually paying big $$ for food and/or supplements. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(Little FYI ~ I never had a weight problem until I quit
smoking 26 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I have a
compulsive personality?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, I
think so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I draw the line
at picking up the smoking habit as a mode to weight loss!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some roads I simply will not take
again!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, alas, this past was before I changed to my new primary
care doctor, who has left no stone unturned in making sure I get healthy, come
hell or high water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our first
conversation was 75 minutes long last January.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in tears: I pretty much hated her and never wanted to
see her again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She told me I was
depressed, and I didn’t believe her until I started a medication for
depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was right, I got
really depressed when I gained 10 more pounds in a month! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the meantime, she had ordered blood work that came back
leading her to believe I was on the road to self-destruction. (I guess my
“road” title is working out) She said, “Get some weight off, NOW!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cried some more and blamed the
medication . . . so, she changed it and told me I had three months to bring
down my cholesterol and blood sugar numbers before I’d be put on more
medication.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, the new depression medication was amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know I was supposed to be
happy, and was surprised to discover that I liked being in happy mode. Hmmm . .
.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were a few other medical alerts during the spring:
suspicious moles (I had a chunk of my cheek removed due to skin cancer, which
was sewn up beautifully!) and problems suspected in my bladder and kidneys (had
a couple unpleasant procedures, and then had a kidney stone blasted to
smithereens, as it was too big to pass without surgery).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I lost a few pounds on my own, but heard about a “miracle
program”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I know, where was my
brain you wonder??) and I was enticed with the magic of dropping more weight
quicker and being in a state of “Optimal Health” so I signed up and got started
in May.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Within a week, since I had a re-check appointment with Dr.
Kill Joy (not her real name), I was half hoping she would tell me I couldn’t do
the program.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She snickered when I
told her what it was (first time she has cracked a smile) asking how I liked
the food (I personally think it’s pretty awful!) and agreed I could stay on it,
as I was already losing weight and she was happy to see that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, she ordered further blood work
to be sure my numbers were where they were supposed to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My blood pressure had been high the last three times,
however in all fairness, two of them were prior to medical procedures and I
wasn’t too alarmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dr. KJ was,
naturally, and told me to stick to a low sodium diet, buy a blood pressure cuff
and record readings at least twice a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Luckily, this food program made it easy to track the sodium, but it was
still a challenge to stay below 1500 mg per day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, my blood pressure continued to be in the “you’re not
dead yet, but you’re in danger” zone, so the doctor required me to start blood
pressure medication.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first one
made me dizzy, despite the fact I was on ½ of the dose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the current one is working
well, with no dizziness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve learned a few things on this road trip to health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First, although I should have been prepared for this, I am
more fully aware of my limitations as I flounder in the 60’s. Nothing comes
easy, everything takes twice as long as it used to, and half of what I used to
know I’ve forgotten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Second, I’ve found myself scared into submission.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The focus has shifted from “I wish I
could lose weight” to “I have to lose weight” if I want to enjoy a certain
quality of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lately, I like
the fact that I can easily bend over to pick beans in the garden, or paint my
own toes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Simple pleasures, but
I’ll take them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Third, I have two daughters planning weddings in the not so
distant future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really want to
look good in those family photos that will hang for posterity on the family
room wall.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh yeah, and if I eat right, exercise and take care of
myself, maybe I can keep a few of those prescriptions out of my life a while
longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There has never been a better time for me to reward myself
with good health, so I’m on the road again . . .</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-77648465239976588692012-12-27T10:41:00.000-08:002012-12-27T10:41:41.056-08:00Dreaming of a . . .Nope, I'm not dreaming of a white Christmas! I'm dreaming of a "pain free" Christmas, just like the ones I used to know. Before I got old and unbalanced, and tripped over my own feet. (Or over a bin of boxes <i>I put in the kitchen</i>!) <br />
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December 20 ~ I'm on vacation! Both daughters are home! We have four days to get last minute presents made, and wrapped and be ready for Christmas festivities! Jess and I have been sitting in the family room, chatting and entertained by watching Kailyn's kitten. Kailyn's out on a date; David has been in bed asleep for hours. I pick up one of the beautiful poinsettia plants in the family room and carry it to the kitchen for a dose of water.<br />
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Suddenly, I am falling, the plant goes flying and SPLAT goes my body, onto the kitchen floor. At first, I just laid there, cursing, while Jess picked up the plant, scooping the dirt back into the pot. The obviously indestructible Fiesta ware saucer doesn't have a crack in it, although I'm fairly sure my ribs do. <br />
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I am so mad at myself. I'm the one who put a plastic bin of boxes in that spot a few hours previously, ready to be used for gift wrapping. How on earth did I trip over what I knew was there? It wasn't even in the doorway; I almost had to go out of my way to find it with my left foot!<br />
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After I managed to get upright, I hobbled to the couch in the family room and Nurse Jess brought me ice packs for my chest and knees. (At that point I didn't know what hurt worse, so we covered all areas of impact) Fortunately I had leftover pain pills from an earlier shoulder injury (which I'm still doing physical therapy for) and I got to bed around midnight. Not a happy place to be I discovered. There was no comfortable position.<br />
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The next morning I called the doctor and made an appointment to come in for x-rays I found it was easier to sit upright, or stand, than to lay down, so I puttered in my sewing room for much of the day while I awaited my appointment time, guiding Jess as she made her first pair of pajama pants. (She did an excellent job!)<br />
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Just as I was getting ready to leave, I received a phone call telling me my doctor was delivering a baby and I'd need to reschedule for the next morning! I was told I could go to urgent care to get x-rays if I wished, but since I didn't really want to get in the car anyway, I decided it wouldn't make much difference either way. I found that the pain pills weren't doing a lot for the pain, but helped my disposition, so I took another one!<br />
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It was hard to believe, but the second night was even worse for sleeping, so I was grateful for the morning appointment. My husband drove me to the doctor, and after x-rays showed I had no broken ribs, I was given a different prescription pain reliever and told I would likely feel worse the next day, but that I would see improvement (<i>SLOWLY</i>) over the next several weeks. The doctor said that treatment is basically the same, with or without broken ribs, and that it's the bruised muscles that are causing the pain. I was told to be sure and take deep breaths at least once an hour, as pneumonia was a concern with this type of injury. Merry Christmas to me!<br />
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We headed over to my Dad's to pick him up for the l-o-n-g drive to my brother's house for the family Christmas party, which was scheduled for noon that day. Arriving at my Dad's, he told us he preferred taking his van, and driving, as it was most comfortable for him (he is healing from a broken hip!) and I figured it wasn't going to matter much for me, so we let him drive. My brother lives in a gorgeous home, on top of a mountain, outside of Woodland, Washington, complete with hairpin curves the seven miles up from the main road. Despite a pain pill and later two extra strength Tylenol, I was in misery, and not a little cranky. Once at my brother's, I stood and tried to be sociable, (no easy task!) until it was mercifully time to go home. Everyone was solicitous and no one hugged me hard, so I wasn't any worse off when we left.<br />
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Christmas Eve we drove to my husband's sister's house for another family gathering. By that morning, I was feeling like there was a light at the end of the tunnel (hmm, sounds like my last post . . .) and I was even able to sit awhile in almost comfort while we were there. When it was time to go, we all went around for our good bye hugs, and my brother-in-law, whom I love, gave me a bear hug that literally brought tears to me eyes. (In his defense, he knew nothing of my recent fall, as we hadn't told anyone there.)<br />
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When we got to the car I told my family about the hug, and we all kind of laughed about it, as that's just Uncle Guy, known for his bear hugs, and I didn't think much more about it.<br />
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Yesterday I went back to PT (for my shoulder) and told my therapist about my fall. She was very cautious with me as we went through my routine, and I felt like I was doing alright until she asked me to lay on the bench. As soon as my back hit the bench, I was in immediate pain. She saw my eyes fill with tears and quickly helped me stand up. I asked why my back hurt so bad, when I landed on my front, and she explained the ways the muscles surround the body, and that back pain showed how deep my bruising was.<br />
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Last night I was carrying some recycling stuff to the garage and dropped it. David heard me cussing and came to help me pick it up, saying, "I'll get it." <br />
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I told him, "I'm not mad about dropping it so much as I'm mad that it <b><i>hurts so much</i></b> to bend over and pick anything up. I'm so tired of being in pain!"<br />
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I can see through the window that it isn't raining outside, so I am going to go through the misery of getting dressed and putting on my shoes, so I can enjoy some fresh air and a walk. I'm sick of laying/sitting around, especially since I can't do much of either for longer than about an hour before I'm uncomfortable. <br />
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It just occured to me that dreaming of a pain free existence isn't going to make it happen. Movement will be a start . . . careful, paying close attention to my surroundings, movement . . . it's a start.<br />
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<br />Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-19630129257183287482012-12-19T09:27:00.000-08:002012-12-19T09:27:00.030-08:00Let There Be Light<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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JCEQv8ME9BA/UNHoUlMmpUI/AAAAAAAAA98/aIpEHJH98rY/s1600/cleo+&+Kailyn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JCEQv8ME9BA/UNHoUlMmpUI/AAAAAAAAA98/aIpEHJH98rY/s320/cleo+&+Kailyn.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kailyn and Cleo</td></tr>
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I've been up for hours, read the paper, caught up on a few blogs, and it's still dark as I look out my kitchen window. It is the time of darkness. No wonder the Christian world decided it would be a good time to celebrate Christmas! It makes perfect sense. We need a little light in this world.<br />
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For the past seven years, I've dreaded December doubly, with the darkness of grief commingling with the dreariness of winter. This year was no exception. It started on December first, attending a memorial service for a friend's husband, sobbing in the pew as the painful memories pierced my heart, not only for myself, but so many of my friends who have lost their children too soon and especially those whose anniversaries are also in December.<br />
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It continued, building to a crescendo as the days marched on, dreading the coming of the anniversary of my son's death on December 16. For some reason, this year seemed especially poignant. I cried frequently, with no warnings. I was also battling a raging anger inside that I couldn't name, but was erupting with intensity and frankly, scaring the daylights out of me. My counselor gave me a simple two sentence meditation that I latched onto and was repeating to myself endlessly, "May I be happy again. May this pain pass." <br />
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And then the horror of Sandy Hook Elementary shook our world, rattled our sensibilities, and my own dance with grief was sidelined. My broken heart wept with those newly broken hearted parents. As the news traveled across the school, as I met the red eyes of fellow teachers in the hallways, silently embracing, I was reminded of September 11, 2001. When I could grasp the words from my spinning brain, I'd repeat my mantra from earlier in the week, no longer singular, but plural. We got through the day, sending our unknowing students off for the weekend, perhaps giving more hugs than usual as they left our classrooms. <br />
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Time does not stop. As I've written (and been interrupted by my dog and my husband) the day has lightened and the birds are feasting at the various feeders outside my window. The fire is warming, the still fresh evergreen aroma of the Christmas tree fills my nostrils. I look around at the chaos Christmas, and of both daughters home for the holidays, including my new baby grandkitty, Cleo!<br />
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Yesterday I celebrated 62 years of living. I was literally showered with love. My students gifts, cards and notes reassured me that I am right where I am supposed to be. I was doubly blessed, as my birthday coincided with the last day of school before winter break. (Happy Birthday to me!) From the specially chosen and carefully wrapped green apple, to the hand knit (by one of my spitfire little guys!) purple scarf, to the boxes of candy, ornaments, mugs, nick knacks, stuffed bears and perfume (yes, perfume!) my aching heart healed a little more. <br />
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This day also brought the happy news that my oldest daughter, Jessica, was officially hired as a certificated substitute for the district I work for. (I will have a live-in sub; how cool is that?) My youngest daughter, Kailyn was coming home, with baby Cleo, and my sister was hosting a family dinner in honor of my birthday. The day was long, but filled with laughter. Being encircled by so much love truly lifted my heart and soul. <br />
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Having lived through my own raw Christmas grief, I have firsthand experience with darkness during the season of light. I know that it will come back to haunt me, year after year, because it is right that I miss my son; his presence in my life. But, I also know that though the tunnel of darkness can be long, and seemingly without end, there is light at the end of the tunnel.<br />
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Let there be light for you, and for those you love. <br />
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<br />Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-21143371760247145452012-10-30T20:15:00.001-07:002012-10-31T06:32:46.087-07:00Trick or Treat?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Jx9J4EeyPVQ/UJCVAZOpieI/AAAAAAAAA8Q/XlpWc_LPly4/s1600/cake+pops+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Jx9J4EeyPVQ/UJCVAZOpieI/AAAAAAAAA8Q/XlpWc_LPly4/s320/cake+pops+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Little did I realize a couple weeks ago, when I decided I'd make my class cake pops, what a trick it would be. Or the mess. Or the frustration. Or, the expense. I must have been crazy, truly, to think that making cake pops for 27 would be, well, a piece of cake. Not.<br />
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I made the cake on Sunday ($ 0.99). I crumbled it up and added the frosting ($ 1.29) on Monday, and attempted to form nice little round balls of sticky cake. Messy, very messy. I melted white chocolate ($2.59) and dipped the little white stick in ($1.99), and stuck it in the little round sticky balls of cake. About half of them crumbled on the cookie sheet. I fixed them and put them in the freezer to "set".<br />
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Meanwhile, I melted orange candy melts ($2.99) in the microwave. I waited patiently for my 20 minutes to be up for the cake balls to "set" then dipped the first one in the melted candy. <br />
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It broke apart and I had to fish it's pieces out of the bowl with a spoon.<br />
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I crammed it back together (I think the melted candy kind of helped it hold its shape) and put them all back in the freezer and decided to leave them there until this morning.<br />
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Mostly awake at 5:15 AM, I began melting the candy (again) while I read the paper. Once it was melted, I tried dipping<i> again</i> with greater success. I liberally coated the dipped cake balls with sprinkles ($2.99) <i>these are for fifth graders after all! </i>and poked them into the rather expensive chunks of styrofoam I bought for just this purpose (3 @ $3.99 each) to dry.<br />
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Luckily, I had also bought a bag of yellow candy melts ($2.99) as I soon realized that the bag of orange wasn't enough to cover all of the cake pops. For some strange reason, the yellow candy seemed thicker, and those cake balls are fatter than the orange ones. Oh well.<br />
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I finished clearing the melted candy off the counter, swept up the spilled sprinkles, and put the finished cake pops in the fridge to harden around 7:00 AM. Then it was a frantic rush to get out of the house and get to work.<br />
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Just before I left, I tried to cover the cake pops with the little plastic treat bags I had bought ($1.99) for this purpose. The bags were too small. <br />
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I went to work, left at noon for an ELL training at district office, hurried to my accupuncture session at 4:00, and ran by the craft store to buy bigger treat bags ($4.99 - they only came in a package of 100!)<br />
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Now I sit. I have bagged the cake pops, baked mini pumpkin muffins, had dinner, and I'm ready to call it a night. I've gotten no school work accomplished for two evenings now, and tomorrow night I'll be interrupted every five minutes with trick or treaters.<br />
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I did the math. $34.78 (without the tax) which comes out to about $1.29 per student.<br />
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I think I've been tricked. I could have bought them at Starbucks for about the same price! Although, I have no desire to eat these . . . the ones at Starbucks however would have been much more tempting!<br />
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Happy Halloween!<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fJOFfQQ6QJs/UJCWTGmEHcI/AAAAAAAAA8Y/IxBlF46n4ws/s1600/cake+pops+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fJOFfQQ6QJs/UJCWTGmEHcI/AAAAAAAAA8Y/IxBlF46n4ws/s320/cake+pops+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Update!<br />
Last night I decided to slap a bit of leftover frosting on the mini pumpkin muffins, then add the left over sprinkles, but alas, I ran out of frosting a little over half way through. I went to bed, as it was nearly 10:00.<br />
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This morning I thought I'd whip up more frosting, but it seemed like too much effort for the 1/2 cup I needed. Then I remembered I still had four squares of white chocolate. Viola! I melted those down, dipped the remaining mini muffins in the melted chocolate, then in the last of the orange and black sprinkles!<br />
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Now I have to cart all this stuff to school in an hour! But, it will be fun to see the kids faces! That will be my "treat"!<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lH6RR2hTfpE/UJEnwnvjIVI/AAAAAAAAA9I/pKiV-sRMtic/s1600/cupcakes+too.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lH6RR2hTfpE/UJEnwnvjIVI/AAAAAAAAA9I/pKiV-sRMtic/s320/cupcakes+too.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-17824781924468267412012-10-12T20:50:00.000-07:002012-10-30T20:23:45.950-07:00Treasure IslandI can't say that I've honestly ever fantasized about meeting up with a bunch of strangers to spend a weekend stranded on an island. However, when I received an email asking if I might be interested in doing such a thing, I barely hesitated to respond with an affirmative answer. I was intrigued by the thought of meeting four women I felt that I "knew" through blogging over the past year or so. I had built a relationship with them, reading and responding to their stories, as they reciprocated to mine. I knew quite a lot about them, and wondered if there would be any "surprises" in real life. My old and trustworthy friend, Deb (aka <a href="http://catbirdscout.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Catbird Scout</a>) was part of the package, so I knew I wouldn't be alone in this adventure. <br />
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Linda (aka <a href="http://bagladyinwaiting.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Bag Lady in Waiting</a>) scoured the internet, looking for a list of suitable accommodations, and we all were drawn to idyllic sounding Lavender Hills Farm on Vashon Island. Within a matter of days, the dates were set, the farmhouse was booked, and we'd all sent Linda our share of the rental.<br />
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And then, in the hustle and bustle of September, I sort of put any thoughts about the "blogger weekend" out of my head. <br />
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Suddenly, it was October, and emails were flying, filled with who was bringing what, and who was driving with who, and who was arriving when. Deb and I met up, giddy as school girls on holiday, to make the drive north on what promised to be a glorious fall Friday. <br />
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And glorious it was, despite losing our way enroute to the ferry, and while finally on the ferry, receiving a phone call from our unmet new friends, telling us they also were lost (but finally found!) and discovered Deb & I would arrive at our destination first, instead of last.<br />
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We arrived, and met with the caretaker, who gave us a tour of truly one of the most beautiful old farm houses I've ever had the privilege to visit. Every step, every corner turned, drew oohs and aahs. (alas, I neglected to take many photos, and actually can't find my camera at the moment, so if you want to see photos, hop on over to <a href="http://djanstewart.blogspot.com/2012/10/vashon-island-retreat.html" target="_blank">DJan's blog</a>!)<br />
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Deb and I were just finishing unloading the van when our weekend roommates drove up. We all hugged like long lost friends, and immediately DJan had her camera out. The tone was set and a passerby would have never guessed we'd met only moments before. Our time flew and was truly a fantasy come true.<br />
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Were there "surprises"? Oh yes, but learning more about our cyber friends only made them more endearing. We discovered much more in common than previously known, and tenuous connections via blogger were strengthened and woven tightly together during our time spent sharing, exploring, discovering and eating!<br />
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Rounding out our group of six was <a href="http://sallysbloggingspot.blogspot.com/2012/10/time-with-dear-old-friends-id-never-met.html" target="_blank">Sally</a>, who came all the way from Colorado, and <a href="http://benchmark60.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Jann</a>, both of whom have written their own versions of our fantastic weekend!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LgqnWiyziOk/UHjkUkbmulI/AAAAAAAAA7U/ehFMncmSnWA/s1600/dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LgqnWiyziOk/UHjkUkbmulI/AAAAAAAAA7U/ehFMncmSnWA/s320/dinner.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Linda, Sally, DJan, Deb and Jann </td></tr>
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It wouldn't have occurred to me to instigate a gathering such as this one, but I'm so thrilled I was included. Our time spent getting to know one another was time I will forever treasure.<br />
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<br />Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-41019555917411608872012-09-17T06:36:00.000-07:002012-09-17T06:36:14.680-07:00State of Wonder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These days, I'm in a constant state of wonder. Mostly wondering how on earth I'm managing to get up every morning, then wondering how I will ever get through the day. I'm feeling my age in these old bones. My exhaustion seems to know no limits. I go to bed tired, with a brain that won't shut off, wondering and worrying, with a sea of ten-year-old faces taking the place of imaginary sheep, and wishing for elusive sleep. The first few weeks in the fall are always exhausting, but, like childbirth, somehow I forget that part until I'm immersed in the tsunami like waves of it once again. Right now I'm wondering how many more Septembers I have in me!</div><div><br />
</div><div>I'm sure all occupations are like this, where you feel like you're already behind, almost before you get started. With new Common Core State Standards (which are really not new, but new wording and new ways of organizing) and new students, and new schedules (radically changed from previous years) and new expectations, and new staff members, my poor old brain is spinning. I'm wondering when I am going to remember all these new things.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Fortunately, I have an amazing classroom of 27 fifth graders who, for the most part, are enthusiastic, eager, and willing to remind their wonky teacher that it's time to head out for lunch, or PE, or where ever they are supposed to be going. I am already in love with them, and committed to making this a year of wonder that they will always remember. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I spent my first weekend, after the first week of school, inexplicably weeping. I knew that on some level, it was partially due to knowing one of my students had lost his dad last year, and that reminded me of losing my mom when I was in 4th grade. I also knew I was mourning the upcoming last day of a student I have barely gotten to know, but felt wrenched with her leaving after only four days of school. I've had kids before in these situations, though I'm usually not weepy. I'm still wondering about my sensitivity, although I think I may have traced it to my reaction to a book I read this summer, recommended by my dear friend, Deb (aka Catbird Scout).</div><div><br />
</div><div>Deb told me about a book called <u>Wonder</u>, by P. J. Palacio, the story of a fifth grade boy with multiple facial anomalies, who enters public school for the first time. Auggie is "just an ordinary boy" stuck in an unordinary body, and this poignant story is told mostly in his voice. It's a beautiful book, and I fully intended to read it to my class. Unfortunately, a series of events caused me to think twice about beginning the book on the first day as I had planned. I read a few picture books instead, but I was missing the magic that happens when I read aloud an intentionally chosen chapter book that draws the class in.<br />
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I won't go into the details here, however, after careful consideration, and a conversation with my principal, I began reading the book aloud on the fourth day of school. It was the right decision.<br />
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Auggie's voice is often very funny, and at moments the class erupted in hysterical laughter. (I was finding it difficult to read aloud, as his descriptions are pretty amusing, in a delightfully fifth grade sort of way!) Humor is always a good catch, however the beauty of this story comes alive through the conversations we have had as a class. Deep, and sometimes painful, connections were made, and the empathy was palpable in the classroom. Stories shared brought tears, understanding, hope and invoked a state of wonder. I am humbled by what these young people have dealt with in their young lives, and have a burning desire to brighten their world.<br />
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The first week of school, I suggested an idea to my class for covering our reading response journals with torn paper art, representing a favorite book. I got the idea from my daughter, Kailyn, who had created one for an education class she was in last spring. The kids loved the idea!<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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vwvs64OtYiI/UFMsbWrixEI/AAAAAAAAA5A/9lEZI8A7g_Y/s1600/wonder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vwvs64OtYiI/UFMsbWrixEI/AAAAAAAAA5A/9lEZI8A7g_Y/s320/wonder.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My example, which I found quite difficult to accomplish!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ez_KT5zYyw8/UFMsTNXJRxI/AAAAAAAAA4s/ip98QW8SaPg/s1600/one+fish+two+fish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ez_KT5zYyw8/UFMsTNXJRxI/AAAAAAAAA4s/ip98QW8SaPg/s320/one+fish+two+fish.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One student's choice of their favorite book! There were several Dr. Seuss!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Im4ZaEIqPZA/UFMsPU7O2MI/AAAAAAAAA4k/IuNx4TCEkc8/s1600/babymouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Im4ZaEIqPZA/UFMsPU7O2MI/AAAAAAAAA4k/IuNx4TCEkc8/s320/babymouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course, there was BabyMouse!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ljbCJ7UcP9Y/UFMsYIe1WtI/AAAAAAAAA40/sa6KqA353vM/s1600/wimpy+kid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ljbCJ7UcP9Y/UFMsYIe1WtI/AAAAAAAAA40/sa6KqA353vM/s320/wimpy+kid.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Many, many versions of different "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" books.</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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_z7fgTPQAb0/UFMsKXED0vI/AAAAAAAAA4c/bGHQ7MJb8Pw/s1600/3+cups+of+tea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_z7fgTPQAb0/UFMsKXED0vI/AAAAAAAAA4c/bGHQ7MJb8Pw/s320/3+cups+of+tea.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one surprised me! I'm enjoying getting to know this student.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We will begin week three by celebrating Constitution Day. Lesson plans are ready; Kailyn is visiting today as she doesn't start classes until Wednesday. I am no more rested than when I began this post (about a week ago!) but the clock is ticking and life is moving on. <br />
<br />
Despite the weariness in my bones, my heart and soul soars in a continual state of wonder, filled with the anticipation of what awaits in the days to come. </div>Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-80290663726934068722012-08-23T08:01:00.000-07:002012-08-23T08:01:32.845-07:00Slip Sliding AwayMany, many years ago, while living in Flagstaff, Arizona one brief summer, my friends and I rode our motorcycles out to a place where there was a natural water slide. I can't remember how long it was, but I do recall wearing the bottom out of my bathing suit as the force of the water rushed me pell mell down the rock canyon, one of the most fun experiences I still recall in my fuzzy old brain. (The amazing internet allowed me to find what I think was the area, called: <a href="http://azstateparks.com/parks/slro/index.html" target="_blank">Slide Rock</a> When I went to the website, I discovered that it now costs $20 per carload. I was there in 1970, and I don't think we paid anything!)<br />
<br />
Those were carefree days. The only rush in my life was the water, and I had no problem letting go and allowing myself to be swept along with the current, grinning ear to ear as I enjoyed the ride. I was almost 20 years old, traveling from job to job, hanging out with friends, and wasn't concerned about what tomorrow would bring, as I knew whatever happened, I would be fine. <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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5a-UUqUUuH4/UDOOXvgpL9I/AAAAAAAAA18/FmwSHPJxixI/s1600/what-me-worry-715605.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5a-UUqUUuH4/UDOOXvgpL9I/AAAAAAAAA18/FmwSHPJxixI/s320/what-me-worry-715605.jpeg" width="261" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My thoughts exactly in August, 1970<br />
<a href="http://lib1point5.files.wordpress.com/2011/11/what-me-worry-715605.jpg" target="_blank">source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>We also visited the Grand Canyon, three of us hiking to the bottom, taking turns carrying our three backpacks, two with food and sleeping bags, one with my friend's two year old son. (Randy was heavier than the food and sleeping bags, and although he did walk some of the time, it was a super long trek for a two year old!) As the Grand Canyon hike was my "good-bye trip" (I got on a Greyhound bus for the return to Oregon soon after), I've not seen either of these friends since the end of that summer, and often wondered what happened to them. Randy would be 44 years old!<br />
<br />
Where did those lazy, hazy, crazy days go? <br />
<br />
Well, I guess the short answer is that I eventually grew up, settled down, got married (more than once), started a family (also, more than once!), and returned to college repeatedly until I finally graduated at the unbelievable age of 50 (32 years after my feeble attempts at beginning!)<br />
<br />
Looking back, with wise (or at least, wiser) eyes, it is difficult to stop myself from viewing my life as rushing days, followed by too short nights, slip sliding away. I want to grab hold of these last precious days of August, clinging to them for all I'm worth, but day by day, they are slipping through my clenched hands. I want to plant my feet and shout, "No! No! NO!!" to the seductive call of the classroom.<br />
<br />
Oh, I know you're wondering about that "seductive" business, but it's true. Look it up. <br />
Seductive: <i>adjective - tempting and attractive; enticing</i> . . .<br />
<br />
The best part of being a teacher is the beginning of the year: a fresh start, with new students, brand new crayons and colored pencils, unmarked notebooks, a sparkling clean whiteboard, brimming with confidence, excited about trying new ideas. I am weird, but I <i>love</i> arranging the classroom, moving things around, creating a welcoming learning space. Once I'm there, I can't wait for the kids to show up. <br />
<br />
We have a traditional "meet the teacher" evening (next Thursday) a week before school begins. I <i>love</i> meeting the kids and their parents. I have five returning families this year, siblings of earlier years, and I'm excited to see them again. I <i>love</i> the first days of getting to know everyone, creating our classroom family. I <i>love </i>teaching.<br />
<br />
But this year, I'm just not quite ready to give up my time at home, and that somehow seems selfish. (although I don't really care!) I am blessed with a career that I enjoy, and that allows me to have several weeks "off" during the summer. How wonderful! Except this summer wasn't exactly restful, and I think that is why I'm dragging my feet about returning to the classroom. For the first time all summer, I've had a couple of days to myself at home. I forgot what this is like. It's heavenly to putter around as long as I want, fuss with rearranging furniture as I give the floors a thorough vacuuming (which may not happen again until my next "break"). I'm leisurely sorting through odds and ends, cleaning out cupboards and drawers, and enjoying this time with no conversation except "Move, Nikki" as my dog has an uncanny way of lying directly in my path, regardless of what direction I plan to take!<br />
<br />
I went in to my classroom once last week, and this past Monday. Kailyn did my bulletin board, as it is tradition that one of my daughters does this, and it's been Kailyn for the last several years. <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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DOw88O7mFus/UDY7RpCv7SI/AAAAAAAAA2k/DvRW26uq13A/s1600/bulletin+board+2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="253" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DOw88O7mFus/UDY7RpCv7SI/AAAAAAAAA2k/DvRW26uq13A/s400/bulletin+board+2012.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We found the owls cheap, and decided, it's a theme!<br />
Fantastic tree she created, don't you think?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I went in for a while yesterday to help a teacher friend move her classroom, but didn't even turn the lights on in mine! Instead, I went and got a haircut . . .<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-12OfyV-xsAk/UDY9O5mTqoI/AAAAAAAAA2s/cChbW2nvr6o/s1600/hair+cut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-12OfyV-xsAk/UDY9O5mTqoI/AAAAAAAAA2s/cChbW2nvr6o/s320/hair+cut.jpg" width="236" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Last night Kailyn called from Ellensburg to tell me about her volunteer practicum experience. She met the teacher on Tuesday, and will spend the next six weeks with a 4th grade classroom. She was bubbling over with enthusiasm, excited to be involved in the process of beginning the year with a teacher other than her mom. (And I mean that in the nicest way! She always loves helping out and meeting my kids in the fall, but this year, she will be in a completely new situation in Yakima.) I was excited along with her, even though I'll be missing her capable presense in my own classroom this year!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And, last week, Jess left for Australia. There was a whirlwind of activity in the days leading up to her departure, with last minute clothing purchases (her "teacher" wardrobe) and last lunches and last suppers! </div><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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hwoFP5R0yak/UDY9Xn8raoI/AAAAAAAAA28/1UZ92C1lFsA/s1600/menchies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hwoFP5R0yak/UDY9Xn8raoI/AAAAAAAAA28/1UZ92C1lFsA/s400/menchies.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David, Jessica and Kailyn at Menchies for Jessica's<br />
"Farewell, I'm off to Australia" dessert night.</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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--34CuIj1R1g/UDY9cXpUpPI/AAAAAAAAA3M/Vsv99x5kL8s/s1600/weight+close+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="311" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--34CuIj1R1g/UDY9cXpUpPI/AAAAAAAAA3M/Vsv99x5kL8s/s400/weight+close+up.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whew! After packing and weighing and unpacking and<br />
repacking, her suitcase made the 50 pound cutoff, barely!</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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tw77MTTlWZU/UDY9aqsjP8I/AAAAAAAAA3E/RHryUJuMvSk/s1600/mom+goodbye+Jess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tw77MTTlWZU/UDY9aqsjP8I/AAAAAAAAA3E/RHryUJuMvSk/s400/mom+goodbye+Jess.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good bye, just prior to the slightly tearful hug from mom!<br />
This time it's just for 12 weeks. Much easier than an entire year!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CyAoEA_sIY0/UDY9TkCb4wI/AAAAAAAAA20/o9kI4_yq5zY/s1600/jess+in+australia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CyAoEA_sIY0/UDY9TkCb4wI/AAAAAAAAA20/o9kI4_yq5zY/s320/jess+in+australia.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Jess sent me this photo yesterday. I believe it was taken in her room, just before leaving for her first day of student teaching. I think the reality of where she is, and what she is doing, along with Kailyn's pre-teaching experience, really hit me this morning as I was writing this post. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fx5_GroysJ8/UDZCWPE5uNI/AAAAAAAAA30/pQvaLkI8P4s/s1600/dress+up+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fx5_GroysJ8/UDZCWPE5uNI/AAAAAAAAA30/pQvaLkI8P4s/s320/dress+up+girls.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Time is indeed . . . slip sliding away.</div></div>Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8023888201187440830.post-50235818356952068802012-08-11T19:20:00.000-07:002012-08-11T19:20:24.786-07:00The Ants Go Marching . . . and . . . August is Upon Us!I neglected to take photographs of my ant invasion, silly me. They've been invading for years, particularly in August, and this year, despite my home-brewed attacks with vinegar and bleach, and Terro Ant Killer, they kept coming back for more! I gave up and my husband called an exterminator. They were a likeable pair, father and daughter, and after the killing, we visited awhile and David gave them a jar of honey as a thank you gift. We were assured the substance used would not be harmful to us, our dog or the bees. We hope this is true.<br />
<br />
This morning I woke up to <b>no ants</b>; although I searched high and low for strays, I found nary a one! <br />
It appears the ants have gone marching away, and good riddance I say!<br />
<br />
August! The beginning of the end . . . of vacation, of late night reading, of sleeping in past 5 am, of lazy days spent with family and friends. Deb and I left for our rescheduled beach adventure early Monday morning, and enjoyed a full day of sleuthing for the best antique deals. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HDO7Tj9cIdg/UCaKuQiAAyI/AAAAAAAAAy0/YBpe8ewEi78/s1600/mini+treasures.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HDO7Tj9cIdg/UCaKuQiAAyI/AAAAAAAAAy0/YBpe8ewEi78/s320/mini+treasures.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.571428298950195px;">A few of the mini kitchen treasures I found during our antique shopping.<br />
I especially love the little egg beater and bowl. They didn't come together.<br />
I found the beater first, and the bowl, which fit perfectly, at the next shop!<br />
<div><br />
</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>We had dinner at Blackfish Cafe in Lincoln City, and while it was a bit of a wait, was worth every morsel. We wished we'd taken pictures of our food, but didn't think about it until we were partway through. Well sated, we embarked on a search for a motel. The first three were filled, but the Seahorse had a room, with a wonderful ocean view, just steps from the beach. It was perfect! <br />
<br />
We sat that night, reading aloud from the 1968 & 1969 Teen magazines we had bought earlier that day, bringing back fond (and hysterical) high school memories.<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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-51iBs4igCkw/UCb75kQG0XI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/Llzi2ihiJ8U/s1600/teen+mag+1969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-51iBs4igCkw/UCb75kQG0XI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/Llzi2ihiJ8U/s320/teen+mag+1969.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cover of the magazine I bought, March 1969</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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HIojmRLDnyc/UCb7urfQK9I/AAAAAAAAAz4/uE1R6MBTfCc/s1600/bumper+stickers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HIojmRLDnyc/UCb7urfQK9I/AAAAAAAAAz4/uE1R6MBTfCc/s320/bumper+stickers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Literally signs of the times.</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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WSVaimiysbU/UCb71Bc_bsI/AAAAAAAAA0I/M4tTf_Tj6nE/s1600/reading+riting+riots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WSVaimiysbU/UCb71Bc_bsI/AAAAAAAAA0I/M4tTf_Tj6nE/s320/reading+riting+riots.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sounding off on whether riots are ok . . . or not.</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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-exOvrSr2AMc/UCb9fk7WStI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/Q7YgMqdtvTo/s1600/in+love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-exOvrSr2AMc/UCb9fk7WStI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/Q7YgMqdtvTo/s320/in+love.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Activities for the young in love, circa 1969.</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="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P1suimqIIjk/UCb9jvHnyiI/AAAAAAAAA0g/z5bo_osKsfw/s1600/paul+revere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P1suimqIIjk/UCb9jvHnyiI/AAAAAAAAA0g/z5bo_osKsfw/s320/paul+revere.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul Revere and the Raiders! Yea! Portland, Oregon!</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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dbtjBA7J8CQ/UCb9n0M9xLI/AAAAAAAAA0o/HfkDdTNaghw/s1600/wigs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dbtjBA7J8CQ/UCb9n0M9xLI/AAAAAAAAA0o/HfkDdTNaghw/s320/wigs.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teen magazine's attempt to convince girls to wear wigs?? <br />
We don't recall that fad much, at least I never had a wig!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> We ended up laughing hysterically at some of the articles, especially on dating. Somehow, remembering high school was a lot funnier than actually being there! </div><br />
<br />
As usual, we both woke up early the next morning, got dressed and headed for the beach. We thought we were very close, but there were a whole lot of steps to descend!<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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lMK-zo8DRPg/UCcCYnjE6nI/AAAAAAAAA1U/hfRgRPbLTOA/s1600/steps+to+the+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lMK-zo8DRPg/UCcCYnjE6nI/AAAAAAAAA1U/hfRgRPbLTOA/s320/steps+to+the+beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wish I had counted the steps, because there are numerous switchbacks<br />
that are hard to see in this photo. They were also a bit steep, but we were determined!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Once on the beach, our sandals came off and we reveled in the feel of sand on bare toes. The weather was perfect; not sunny, but not windy either! We both collected pockets full of rocks and shells.<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="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kxSAEeNaqlY/UCaKmFSVAeI/AAAAAAAAAyk/7PLUQalmLl4/s1600/Deb+&+I+at+the+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kxSAEeNaqlY/UCaKmFSVAeI/AAAAAAAAAyk/7PLUQalmLl4/s320/Deb+&+I+at+the+beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deb and I during enjoying our morning walk on the beach. <br />
<br />
</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="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JCPntyvaohY/UCaKxkUIttI/AAAAAAAAAy8/yLihRQIgOOI/s1600/teapot+and+table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JCPntyvaohY/UCaKxkUIttI/AAAAAAAAAy8/yLihRQIgOOI/s400/teapot+and+table.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I saw this adorable little table in a shop we almost didn't stop at!<br />
Then, we passed a tea shop and I found this darling 2 cup teapot.<br />
Just right for my morning cuppa tea!<br />
The embroidered and crocheted table topper was made by my grandma.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> We had a lovely two days of shopping and catching up on vacation and school stories. Too soon, it was the end of the second day and time to part. After dropping Deb at her house, I drove home, contented as a well-fed cat, grateful for this friendship which contains enough similarities to be supremely comfortable, and enough differences to make our adventures fun. It also helps that we don't always seek the same type of treasures, and when we do, the unwritten rule is: Whoever sees the treasure, <i>and picks it up first</i>, is allowed to claim ownership! While we don't necessarily look for the same type of antiques, we appreciate each other's desires, and often point out what the other has missed.<br />
<br />
<br />
Deb and I have always given each other little gifts, often for no reason, but just because we see something we know the other will love. <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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6h_Mu3EdDoM/UCaMdjBJzxI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/u7QwoH4Rl9Q/s1600/bird+planter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 12.571428298950195px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6h_Mu3EdDoM/UCaMdjBJzxI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/u7QwoH4Rl9Q/s400/bird+planter.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sweet bird planter I found for Deb at The Farmstead Antique Shop.<br />
I added the hens and chicks from my growing collection.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
She brought me home this beautiful woven piece from Belize. I tried it in several places in my living room, and for now it will be on my great-grandmother's trunk.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jbH-fsHp5hA/UCaKp16cohI/AAAAAAAAAys/orN0yoD8zI8/s1600/cloth+from+Belize.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jbH-fsHp5hA/UCaKp16cohI/AAAAAAAAAys/orN0yoD8zI8/s320/cloth+from+Belize.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><div style="font-size: 12.571428298950195px;">I'm not convinced this is where it will stay, but it's protected under glass for now.</div><div style="font-size: 12.571428298950195px;">The white underneath is for contrast, as the photo didn't show the textile clearly at first.</div><div style="font-size: 12.571428298950195px;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Traveling with Deb is one of my very favorite things to do. We rarely run out of topics to hash over; the occasional silences are comfortable and short-lived. Our shared history is beautifully interwoven much like her gift from Belize ~ colorful, dramatic, surprising and harmonious. And, our previously unknown to each other history is remarkably similar, finding we have covered much of the same territory, often living parallel lives. Ours is an understood history, even though there were distinctly different variations in our paths, we have always believed we ended up in the same space for a reason. </span></div></td></tr>
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We were meant to know each other, and I will always be grateful for the series of events that lead us to connect and the impact that connection has had on my life. I am already looking forward to our next adventure!<br />
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One of the items I was searching for while with Deb was a set of Tinker toys. Last year one of our science guys brought in some Tinker toys for the kids and they did a science investigation using them to design and build a working windmill. It was an excellent lesson and I've been looking for Tinker Toys ever since. I didn't see any on our trip to the beach, but this week Kailyn and I stopped in to our favorite antique shop in Camas and there they were, vintage tin and all. I opened the lid and counted enough pieces that I can make several groups and provide materials, so I was pretty happy. It was missing all but one of the green flaps, but I'll give the kids cards, which will work perfectly well. This set was $15, a real bargain as when I searched online, the cheapest I could find was $25, and those were plastic ones! The wood sets started at $49, for basically the same amount of pieces I got, on up to $225 for the mega set! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IN4VBKJEqyU/UCaK08O3qZI/AAAAAAAAAzE/FadSr6_fgWM/s1600/tinkertoys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IN4VBKJEqyU/UCaK08O3qZI/AAAAAAAAAzE/FadSr6_fgWM/s400/tinkertoys.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a great find!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">August is upon us, and quickly slipping away. In three days my oldest daughter will be off to Australia for a fantastic student teaching experience. In less than three weeks my youngest daughter will be returning to college and the excitement of her first apartment. Next week, I'll be dipping my toes into my classroom, a few hours at a time, preparing for the new school year. Deep sigh . . . </div><br />
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</div>Sandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15923693784234135636noreply@blogger.com16