tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64102738985876446492024-03-12T21:36:36.794-04:00Whosyergurl [Hoosier girl] - Mutterings from a midwest gal.Whosyergurl [Hoosier girl] - Mutterings from a midwest gal. I live in the heartland, the land of limestone, "somewhere in the middle." These are my thoughts, opinions, my life.
It is called Hoosier Hospitality.Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.comBlogger550125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-71925478681688371832016-09-06T18:21:00.000-04:002016-09-06T18:21:20.579-04:00Homemaking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This past weekend was nice. Who doesn't like a three day weekend? On Saturday, we went to Bloomington's <a href="http://www.4thstreet.org/">Fourth Street Festival</a> and then to the <a href="http://www.bloomingtongarlicfestival.org/">Garlic Fest</a>. Doug's oldest son and wife and their two year old, Lilly, met us there. Lilly is so cute, she calls Doug "baaapa." Anytime he steps away, she is searching for him "where baaapa go?" So cute. We were also joined by my friend Karen who is doing Sober September with me. Guess what? We had a lot of fun being sober! This pic of me was in the paper on Sunday following our attendance on Saturday. I joked that they "got my best side." </div>
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Sunday, Doug returned to work and I did what I love to do - putzing and piddling around the house. I started the day with tea from my new mug I purchased at the festival. Isn't it cool without a handle and just an indentation for the thumb? It will be a nice hand-warmer as the temps come down this fall and winter. </div>
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Although general cleaning is kind of boring, it seems even though there are only two of us, it is often a necessary evil. With a Corgi, I mean EVIL. Corgis are shed machines. Corgi owners joke there are two seasons for shedding - January to June and July to December. With my resident Taurus, this shine won't last long. </div>
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During the summer, I take most all of my houseplants outdoors. We live in the country, so by the end of summer, they are full of dead leaves and spider webs. When it gets close to time for frost, I want to be ready. A gal I work with gave me a ton of hens and chicks, so I planted some of those. I re-potted a small cactus, I'm curious to see if it will get taller and or wider in the new pot. </div>
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I <strike>stole</strike>, I mean helped myself to a start from a plant in my building's lobby - the one with the red stem. I do not know what it is, but I like it. (Can anyone tell me what it is?) When I broke the piece off, it was very sticky and oozing. It took forever to root. So I potted it and put some chicks around the edge of the pot. We'll see how it does. I re-potted the Christmas cactus my sister gave to me last year. We keep our house so cool in winter (the better to huddle by the fireplace, my dear), and I may need to take it to work to get it to bloom. I have a lovely big window near my desk. Last year the cactus had small pink buds all over it, but it never bloomed and then the buds fell off. I will have to take the tropical fern back to work as our house is anything but tropical! <br />
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What is your favorite season? Mine is FALL! I have the fever so bad! I got out my fall table runner and napkins and put a fall towel on the stove. I go crazy sticking pumpkins and gourds all over. For now this is it. Oh, and a few fall candles. The little one is pumpkin chai. So yummy.<br />
This was my adventure in homemaking. I love to make a house a home. I don't get to do so as much as I would like as I work full time. Work is such a bother, getting in the way of what I really want to do! On Sunday I sewed. Christmas will be here before we know it and I have lots of handmade items on my list. How was your weekend? <br />
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Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-57971945882757790482016-09-02T18:32:00.001-04:002016-09-02T18:33:21.216-04:00Sober September<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><b>Last night of this for a bit.</b></i></td></tr>
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It was casually mentioned to me recently. My gal friend and I had met for dinner before heading to a movie. She said "I'm thinking of giving up drinking for a month." I said "Ugh, I don't know that I want to." She replied "I know." And, that was that.<br />
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Then I started thinking. I have bounced the same four pounds back and forth all summer long, never getting below a certain set point. Often times I was guilty of drinking too much. My people have always had an affinity for the drink. My sister doesn't drink and interestingly enough, my mother, who may have consumed 4-5 drinks in her life, died of <a href="http://www.webmd.com/digestive-disorders/tc/nonalcoholic-steatohepatitis-nash-overview">NASH</a>. I'm often tired and suffer from brain fog. I wonder about the relationship between those factors and alcohol? Suffering since age ten from migraines, having even one drink will often lead to a horrible headache. Even if I only have one drink, I don't sleep as well as I do when I don't consume alcohol. Reading what I've written, I know there are those who would think <i>well, why would you drink at all? </i>Because it has always been so fun, you know? <br />
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When my daughter was young, we had a practice of "doing the day." This meant we would drive to Indianapolis for a day of shopping and lunch or dinner. My daughter must have been twelve or fourteen years old when she said to me "you know what I hate? That moment when you order a second drink." I didn't ask her why she hated it, but now I wonder if she just didn't want to sit there with her mom when she drank or if she didn't like how I acted after that second drink. (Or, both?) At any rate, not good. Not a good mom move. I made my children uncomfortable at times because of my drinking. Come to think of it, I'm certain I have made others uncomfortable because of my drinking.<br />
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I think it must go back to the practice of popping a champagne cork - of the celebratory act of drinking. It is so fun. And if it is *SO* fun, let's just have more fun. Ugh.<br />
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I am an all-out all or nothing gal. For me, for now, it is nothing. Good riddance.<br />
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I write for my own purpose, but I also write to help others. If you believe you may be like me, and drinking just a bit too much, perhaps you should consider taking a break. I've enlisted two friends to teetotal with me. A journey is always easier with friends along for the ride.<br />
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Thank you to those of you who have continued to write to me despite the fact that I haven't posted since January. Lots of love to you!Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-43750176505112674882016-01-07T18:38:00.002-05:002016-01-08T09:14:28.791-05:00The Goldfinch <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I started <strike>reading</strike> listening to <u>The Goldfinch</u> today. There will be very few spoilers, if any, because I just started <strike>reading</strike> listening to it today.<br />
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In the beginning, Theo tells of how his life is marked by his mother's death - life before she died, and life after she died. I think for anyone who has lost someone they love, someone who has always been a part of your life, an important part of your life, feels this way. He says that no one ever made him feel loved like his mother did. How she made the normal seem special. He states that she uses a Mary Poppins voice. He states that she was beautiful too. When he remembers her, he remembers what she had on that day and that is how he always pictures her, in those clothes.<br />
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In March, it will be two years since my mother died. The first three months following her death, I sobbed. I sobbed as I gardened. Doug would walk up to me with his arms outstretched saying "Oh, honey." I would wave him away. I needed to sob. I would sob at work - sitting before my two monitors, sniffing and staring straight ahead, blowing my nose. At the end of the day I would thank my colleagues for not making a fuss, not noticing that I sobbed all day. I couldn't really stop. Then her birthday rolled around and I hiked for her at a local state park. This is what I am going to do in her memory on her birthday as long as I am physically able. I went to my daughter's house for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. I needed to be with her and her family and to be with people who love me. When someone I normally communicate with said I didn't get in touch that first year, I was shocked. I suppose it was true. The first year I muddled through. This second year has been easier.<br />
I still miss her terribly, I think about her often, she is with me all the time. I see her in my face when I look into the mirror. I look just like her and when people tell me so, it is such a compliment. Like Theo, I always thought my mother was beautiful.<br />
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My mother was, for most of her life, very heavy. This led to a lot of the end of life problems she experienced - heart damage, joint issues, knee replacements. In the end, she walked with a walker with a swagger, moving side to side. Despite my mother's weight, I always thought she was beautiful. Oh, I hated it when she frosted her hair when that was popular and when she let the girls at the beauty school work on her, but to me, she was beautiful.<br />
Like Theo, no one ever loved me as much as my mother. She was always there to listen to me. She would pet me over the phone when I would call her to complain of being ill. When I shut my finger in the trunk, I ran to her house so she could take care of it for me.<br />
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For most of my growing-up years, my family was very poor. My mother was a cafeteria worker in our school so that she could be off with us when we had school breaks. My dad was an insurance man for whom success came late in his career, coinciding with when all three of us left the house. Like Theo's mother, my mother made the ordinary feel oh so special. When I was very young, my dad worked in a factory. He must have worked the afternoon shift, because in the evenings, it was just mother and us kids. Mother would poor a little Dixie cup of pop or kool-aid for us and serve popcorn in Melmac bowls. She would play albums of classical music on the record player for us - Swan Lake, The Nutcracker, Porgy and Bess. I loved those nights and from those nights with the record player began my love of music.<br />
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Mother wasn't a great cook, but on our birthdays, we could choose what we wanted to eat. There was one thing she made well and that is what I always requested - spaghetti. Her sauce would simmer on the stove all day long. Often when we went camping as a family, she would cook the sauce over the campfire and everyone camping around us would all talk about how delicious it smelled. She would make a home baked cake and while she cleaned up the kitchen, my dad would put the three of us in the car and we would drive to a drugstore called Hooks, (which is CVS these days,) and he would allow us to pick the ice-cream we wanted to eat.<br />
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Just as Theo states his mother used a Mary Poppins voice, I always called my mother Pollyanna. She was usually positive, no matter what - a trait she learned from her Grandma. Often I thought she was naive or unrealistic. At Christmas, no matter what was going on in our lives, it was supposed to be wonderful. I am mostly positive and get this from my mother's example.<br />
Now when I think of her, I think of talks we had or how many times we told each other we loved each other - especially in the end, in the hospital. It was all we needed to say. Now, I mull over conversations, savoring every word. I recall disagreements we had and now that I don't have her any longer, I regret some of my negative behavior and bad attitude and smart mouth retorts, but this was in the years I was a teenager. I know now she was just trying to raise me up the best she could.<br />
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I'm fortunate that while doing my job I can listen to podcasts or books. I have a degree in English and used to be quite the snob about how the actual reading of a book was superior to listening to a book. I'm glad I got over this.<br />
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I've just started <strike>reading</strike> listening to this book and thus far, I like it. Today, it made me think of and remember my mother which is always good. Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-79952175346760233552015-07-29T18:35:00.002-04:002015-07-29T18:37:00.200-04:00Not this time.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As a girl, growing up in the 60's and 70's, I read this every day - sometimes several times a day. My dad taped this reminder on the bathroom cabinet. I hated reading it, but I always did. And, it stuck with me. I've already had skin cancer, myself. I had the Mohs procedure, and they got it, but it wasn't pleasant at all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We were goofing off in the kitchen when I saw it. I'm certain it was because I said something derogatory like "you dumb ass." He hung his head - you know, chin to chest and I saw it. Across the room, it was very visible. I freaked and gasped saying "you have GOT to go to the doctor tomorrow." The spot was black. A small mole and two nickel sized circles with irregular edges. He is 6'1". I am 5'2". It isn't often that I see the top of his head. And who sees the top of their own head? What we couldn't figure out was that in the past few months, two different people cut his hair - his regular guy and a woman he had never seen. Neither had noticed or if they did, they didn't comment. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He got in to a doctor in two days time. The doctor referred him to a surgeon. Because he doesn't always get the facts straight and has always had memory issues, I went along. Plus, it is always good to have someone with you at such a scary time. We were called back and the surgeon told us he was going to remove it all and have it biopsied. In a short time, the black was gone, replaced by a nasty looking divot criss-crossed with a number of stitches. I commented "you have a divot in your head." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I also documented the situation, taking photos with my iPhone. I took photos before the surgery, the day of the surgery and following the surgery. "Why are we doing this?" he questioned. "Documentation." I answered. "Before, during and after." "Just don't put them on facebook" was his retort.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We waited for eight days. It was horrible. My mother has now been gone for sixteen months and all of those feelings returned. In my family, I have always been the strong one. That was/is my role. During my mother's illness and subsequent death, I had to be strong for her. I had to be there for my dad and be strong for him. As he grew more and more exhausted, I took as much responsibility as I could off of him. In the end, I was the contact person with the hospital and the one who received The Call. Sixteen months later, I like to think I'm in a better place but it all came rushing back to me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I had to be the strong one for Doug. I worried and fussed and babied. My mind went to the darkest places - imagining inoperable tumors, illness, weight loss, even death. How would I deal with it all if that was to be? How would I have the strength? He walked through my skin cancer and surgery with me and I would do the same with him. I told him no matter what, we would deal with it. We would do what we had to do. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">They told us the biopsy results would be back 8-10 days. We went to have the stitches removed at eight days. We had no idea if they had the results or not. As the surgeon snipped stitches and pulled them out, carrying each one to the trash can before dropping it, he casually commented as if someone talking about the weather, "well, the biopsy came back completely benign." I felt my chest crumple. I leaned forward and felt it all go out of me in a rush. I almost cried. I definitely teared up. It was over. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Doug asked the surgeon if we had been too cautious. The surgeon smiled and said "well, at least you don't have to think or worry about it." I told Doug afterward that if he gets another black spot, I'll march his butt back over there and we will have it cut out, too. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We are as opposite as can be. But, somehow, it works. I'm one of those difficult women and he takes me in stride. Not too much ruffles this man. There are times he makes me insane and I get so mad I want to strangle him. But, I told him, "when faced with the thought of losing you, I decided I like having you around." We celebrated ten years this year and God willing, it looks like we'll have a few more. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Don't ignore the warning signs.</span> Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-49140891018738117662015-07-09T18:15:00.000-04:002015-07-09T18:15:50.535-04:00Another reason to love Kelley Rae Roberts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Do you love Kelley Rae Roberts? Oh, my goodness. I do. She is such an inspirational person. <br />
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I just listened to the first two podcasts in this series. I encourage you to find her website and tune in. <br />
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I so relate to so many things that are discussed in these two podcasts. The first podcast, Kelley Rae talks about her journey to art. And, it caused me to think about my own journey into art. <br />
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Around eight years ago, about the time I moved to Bloomington, a friend of mine started to encourage me to create. Little did I know, I was already a collage artist - I just didn't realize it. My friend, Carol Trimmer, from Muncie, IN, makes beautiful cards. Ever little bit, she would give me a card and I would exclaim every time "oh, I wish I could make cards like this!" And every time, Carol would say the same response, which was "you can." So, little by little, I started to buy paper. And look at art and books about art and creativity. Kelley Rae's <a href="http://www.kellyraeroberts.com/book">book</a>, <u>Taking Flight</u>, was one of the first books that inspired me. She listed what you need to create and I ran out and bought it all. This led me to a shop in Nashville, IN, <a href="http://papertrix.com/">Papertrix</a>. This led to my love and use of wooden stamps. I had no knowledge of how to stamp and the owner's husband, Wayne, sat down with me and taught me how to stamp and use some special inks and pens. In time, I would work at Papertrix and demo and teach others how to use stamps and inks and pens and all sorts of products. Oh, the encouragement the owner, Cindy, gave to me and everyone who entered her shop. <br />
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My first experience with collage was in high school. My mother allowed me to cover one wall with cork and it was an ever changing collage of photos, pictures and quotes clipped from magazines and news items. After my divorce, the inside door of my closet was my world, man-bashing cartoons, anything that made me smile during a tough time in my life. I also covered the entire side of our refrigerator with expressions de moi. I remember explaining to my son how anyone could look at the side of the refrigerator and learn a lot about who I was. <br />
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Once I started making cards, and canvas pieces, I was off and running. The dining room is the one room we have not tackled since I've moved in. We have not done one thing to it and it is in dire need of help. But it has become my art room. The table is my table. There is a bench behind the table with a lot of art materials, other carts and drawers hold additional materials. Now, I have taken up sewing - so my sewing table is there. Someone recently visited my home and asked her daughter, "is Cheryl an artist? What is all of that stuff." Her daughter's reply was "I thinks she makes cards." <br />
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I remember my son commenting "do you have to put your mark on everything? I was making cards and tags and I went to a party and the hostess had decorated her wine glasses with different color beads - I raced home and did the same. As a matter of fact, I do need to put my mark on everything. <br />
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Part of my artful journey has been others giving me permission to be more artful and me giving myself permission to be more artful. Learning from the example of others such as Kelley Rae Roberts. As Kelley Rae has grown as an artist, she has encouraged others to grow as well. <br />
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I now pen a column in a magazine out of my home town. The name of my column is "Her Artful Heart." I have learned to see art all around me and the possibility of art. Today as I listened to Kelley Rae speak of possibiltarians, I realized, I have become one myself. <br />
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Here is a <a href="http://www.kellyraeroberts.com/possibilitarian-podcast">link</a> to her podcasts. Tune in and tell me what you think. I want to listen all over again! Thank you, Kelley Rae! <br />
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<br />Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-21558673753608648892015-03-01T23:12:00.000-05:002015-03-01T23:12:52.254-05:00Like a LION<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/-8lFxH77ZDyk/VPPf1Wmx0EI/AAAAAAAAL9U/K6mB7iEppYQ/s1600/snow%2Bfront.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8lFxH77ZDyk/VPPf1Wmx0EI/AAAAAAAAL9U/K6mB7iEppYQ/s1600/snow%2Bfront.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Front yard in <strike>snow</strike> more snow</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sol2PdV25Rk/VPPf7bWCBOI/AAAAAAAAL9c/nANTrrZalVo/s1600/snowback.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sol2PdV25Rk/VPPf7bWCBOI/AAAAAAAAL9c/nANTrrZalVo/s1600/snowback.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>This is why we decided not to keep chickens this winter</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lXQzMHIUN8M/VPPgFGtAT9I/AAAAAAAAL9k/GBRQ5rNUmKU/s1600/vole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lXQzMHIUN8M/VPPgFGtAT9I/AAAAAAAAL9k/GBRQ5rNUmKU/s1600/vole.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Vole or mole slipping out from beneath the snow to steal seed</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">March roared into southern Indiana this morning dumping an additional five to six inches of snow upon us. Snow on snow on snow. It is pretty, but it makes getting about tough. The roads are nasty, footing is unsteady. I've slipped or something and injured my foot or ankle - some tendon or muscle or bone. Some swelling and pain. I limp about and hobble and try not to slip and fall, again. My foot was injured when I fell last Thursday morning heading in to my office. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There is barely a place for Miss Chelsea Kabob to relieve herself. She hops into the snow, sinks, hops out and we trudge on. We wipe her feet and belly when we enter the house. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We've gone through so much wood Doug says he will have to chip the next batch out of the snow. And the wood in the mud room was stacked to the ceiling. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Like weary soldiers we carry on. </span>Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-88227213337366865762015-01-12T20:59:00.004-05:002015-01-12T20:59:47.532-05:00No endorsements, I just know what I like! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A recent conversation at work went like this: "what kind of toilet paper do you use?" Most were saying they were not picky - whatever was on sale - they were even asking the one guy in our office who is very green if he used Seventh Generation. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I sat there for a bit and then finally chimed in - I am very picky and it has to be Charmin for my tushie - blame it on Mr. Whipple, if you so desire.</span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yl58T2notno/VLR5OXbjD_I/AAAAAAAALcU/UaTi2A7Ssdc/s1600/mr.%2Bwhipple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yl58T2notno/VLR5OXbjD_I/AAAAAAAALcU/UaTi2A7Ssdc/s1600/mr.%2Bwhipple.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I don't often eat hot dogs - but I love them at a ball game - or cooked over a fire. Tonight I had one of my favorite meals, ever - Echrich hot dogs, (o.k., store brand generic white bread buns),</span> <br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J5Rnphk__8k/VLR5SfHyYII/AAAAAAAALcc/BrfMbSLHbkE/s1600/echrich.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J5Rnphk__8k/VLR5SfHyYII/AAAAAAAALcc/BrfMbSLHbkE/s1600/echrich.png" height="240" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Lay's Barbecue Potato Chips,</span> <br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NExGk736cMQ/VLR5Vp51sAI/AAAAAAAALck/g2erbqwOER4/s1600/lay's%2Bbarbeque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NExGk736cMQ/VLR5Vp51sAI/AAAAAAAALck/g2erbqwOER4/s1600/lay's%2Bbarbeque.jpg" height="400" width="286" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> and Killian's beer.</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I love red and dark beers. Killian's is my favorite red beer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Delicious. I mean, a delicious (unhealthy) meal. Recently, we had a get-together at our house and Doug bought these awful, crunchy, hard store brand barbecue potato chips. It hurt my mouth to eat them! Ever since, I've been jonsing for some Lay's Barbecue chips.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Nothing like a yummy meal that reminds me of camping in summer - on a cold winter's evening. </span>Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-8074952941750319862015-01-09T14:08:00.000-05:002015-01-09T14:08:29.410-05:00The Fault In Our Stars<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bNuW6xF36fI/VLAUjncp_5I/AAAAAAAALbA/r3QwchU3uck/s1600/fault%2Bin%2Bour%2Bstars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bNuW6xF36fI/VLAUjncp_5I/AAAAAAAALbA/r3QwchU3uck/s1600/fault%2Bin%2Bour%2Bstars.jpg" height="400" width="272" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I always like a book with a female protagonist and this book is no exception. Hazel Grace Lancaster is a 16 year old cancer patient. Hazel's parents make her attend a support group for teens with cancer where she meets 17 year old Augustus Waters. Hazel and Augustus share mutual admiration for one another's wit and intelligence.</span> </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tfRrcbAZm9M/VLAUmReW3bI/AAAAAAAALbI/c7BHieEyam4/s1600/john%2Bgreen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tfRrcbAZm9M/VLAUmReW3bI/AAAAAAAALbI/c7BHieEyam4/s1600/john%2Bgreen.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The young adult novel is set in Indianapolis, where the author, John Green lives. This is of enjoyable to me as I grew up an hour from Indianapolis and am familiar with the locations Green cites. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Some say this is Green's best work. This is the only book I've read by Green, so I can't speak. Critics said that this book was inappropriate subject matter for teens - illness, depression and sexuality - to which Green responded by saying it is condescending to young adults to say they are not capable of handling such issues. In my opinion, I would side with Green - this is real stuff - unfortunately, young adults get cancer and die - young adults battle depression and young adults are sexually active. Part of the reason I write openly about what happens in my own life is with the hope that I might help someone to realize they aren't alone and that someone else has struggles as well. This is what Green has done with this book. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I haven't yet seen the movie. We all know that the book is almost always better than the movie. I've heard people say they wouldn't want to see this movie because it might be too depressing. I want to see the movie. I will have to see the movie and get back to you on that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As for the book, yes - read it. If you have a teen, read it with them and discuss it. Green is an award winning writer - so it isn't subjective as to if he is a good writer or not - he is.</span> <br />
<em><strong>Book 1, 2015</strong></em>Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-64275663383255218162015-01-07T12:58:00.000-05:002015-01-07T12:58:11.813-05:00All things MAGNOLIA<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">First, I just want to say that whenever I hear or say the word Magnolia - I feel it should be followed by the word "darlin." It is just one of those things that is meant to be. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In this case, however, the word Magnolia is followed by the word FARMS. As in Chip and Joanna Gaines of the HGTV show </span><a href="http://www.hgtv.com/shows/fixer-upper/fixer-upper--a-craftsman-remodel-for-coffeehouse-owners-pictures?adbid=10152802527074213&adbpl=fb&adbpr=16801589212&soc=hgtvcom38374937"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Fixer Upper</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. Are you just in love with them? I am! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I am a baby fan - as in, I <u>just</u> discovered them when I lay on my <strike>deathbed</strike>, I mean the sofa, vegging on HGTV, last week. I was sick, sick, sick and my favorite thing in the world - sick or otherwise, is to watch HGTV. Doug would ever so often come into the living room and perch on the sofa and say "aren't you sick of this?" Me: "nope. go away. I'm in heaven." (Except for the being sick part.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Anytime I find something new that I'm crazy for, I do as much research as I can about the subject. I hopped online and read all about </span><a href="http://www.hgtv.com/shows/fixer-upper/get-to-know-fixer-upper-hosts-chip-and-joanna-gaines-pictures?adbid=10152801988874213&adbpl=fb&adbpr=16801589212&soc=hgtvcom38344147"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Chip and Joanna</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I mean, are they about the cutest couple ever? She is the brains and he is the brawn...</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WbpcK-UboD8/VK1sdODQ0lI/AAAAAAAALXQ/3p6zgpZQ_74/s1600/muscles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WbpcK-UboD8/VK1sdODQ0lI/AAAAAAAALXQ/3p6zgpZQ_74/s1600/muscles.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">even though I have to admit he has a lot of brains, too. I see that man tear into stuff and tackle things and I think "wait, how did he know that?" I learn a lot just watching the show. I love how he unabashedly adores her and calls her Jo-Jo. That is how the man really displays his intelligence - he is always cooing about how pretty she is and how wonderful she smells. Did you see the season premiere last night? I loved it (well, I hated it actually) when Chip ate the cockroach and Joanna was all like "I'm not kissing you for a long time because it is going to take that roach about four weeks to be digested and all the way out of your body." I love how Chip isn't perfectly buff (sorry, you aren't) but how he pulls his shirt up to flaunt his stomach and act stupid. Did you see the show where he took off his clothes in the antique store and had on the old tool belt and wooden shoes? I was sick as a dog with a cough like a bark and I was about to fall off of the sofa in laughter. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I love their farm - I love how the door are usually thrown open and the cats are wandering in and out. I love how when Chip took the kids to the pound he came home with two kittens and got a dog and Jo-Jo threw a fit about it. This stuff really happens in real life and I'm sorry, but it is hilarious. Especially when it is someone else's hubs bringing home two kittens and a dog. </span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BOBcmkGZZNY/VK1u6E2eksI/AAAAAAAALXc/4kHOBPK3Fs4/s1600/farm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BOBcmkGZZNY/VK1u6E2eksI/AAAAAAAALXc/4kHOBPK3Fs4/s1600/farm.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I love how their kids are on the show and how comfortable the kids are with the goats and chickens. You know we are chicken people ourselves and I refer to our little piece of land as a farm or the "farmette." My daughter says it isn't really a farm until we get goats. She said it wasn't a really a farm until we had "farm animals." So, I got chickens and then it was determined that we need goats. I guess one of these days I'll have to get a couple of goats. Mostly, I think about how much our grandchildren will love seeing chickens and goats. Heck, everyone enjoys chickens and marvels at how soft they are and wants to hold them. Last night on the show Chip had a fireworks display for his children and talked about making memories for his kids. That is really what it is all about. It would be so cool to hear my granddaughters talking when they are grown and say "yeah, my grandma had chickens..." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I love, love, love this show, but mostly, I love Joanna.</span> <br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IGB8PALjJMk/VK1wF2lQJzI/AAAAAAAALXo/Q5Vo8DyvaG4/s1600/jo%2Bjo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IGB8PALjJMk/VK1wF2lQJzI/AAAAAAAALXo/Q5Vo8DyvaG4/s1600/jo%2Bjo.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This woman exudes confidence. I love her decorating style. I want to rip all of that brown Home Interior junk off of my walls and paint it with white paint and make it all chipped and rubbed and worn. I've always loved the rustic style Joanna uses and now, because of her, I love it all the more. I sit there watching HGTV and eye my walls and think about what I can do. (This is why Doug hates it when I watch HGTV.) I'm ready to tear out walls. I at least want my front of my house to look like the one from last night's show:</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Don't you just adore those industrial lights? I do! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">O.k., hop on over and read </span><a href="http://magnoliahomes.net/blog/"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Joanna's blog</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> now and tune in and watch them - I promise, you will fall in love, too!</span> </div>
Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-15125866017875698832015-01-03T23:53:00.000-05:002015-01-04T00:22:34.285-05:00Me & Cheryl Strayed<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/-erN19xxjgZU/VKi0OmTAmDI/AAAAAAAALVM/FT4YHNCDJZw/s1600/hiker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-erN19xxjgZU/VKi0OmTAmDI/AAAAAAAALVM/FT4YHNCDJZw/s1600/hiker.jpg" height="291" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mammoth Cave National Park, 2011</span></strong></em></td></tr>
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I hike. I'm a hiker. I have gone through a lot of pairs of hiking shoes and boots. And, socks. I once became friends with someone on the trail when she gave me her dry (dirty) socks to put on my feet because my socks were soaking wet.<br />
My love of hiking was instilled in me by my mother. Our family vacations were spent tent camping. Mother would take off and the three of us kids were left to scramble and keep up with her. We followed like ducks in a row.<br />
She was my Girl Scout leader. People thought because I had so many badges that she was easy on me but in truth, she was harder on me than any of the other girls. I really had to prove myself. The sleeping bag I remember from my Girl Scout days was brown and had mallard ducks printed on the flannel lining. These were the kind of bags you would put in the washing machine. Mother would hang them out on the line to dry and I remember how the bag felt and smelled - the flannel kind of rough - not soft like it is, now. When we tent camped, everything smelled delicious of sunshine and grass and dirt and <em>Off!</em> bug spray.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vt5Zm4twZu4/VKi0VgQHr3I/AAAAAAAALVU/mABngC5ODPI/s1600/socks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vt5Zm4twZu4/VKi0VgQHr3I/AAAAAAAALVU/mABngC5ODPI/s1600/socks.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Pink Dust in the Grand Canyon, 2008</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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I haven't hiked the Pacific Coast Trail, but I've hiked a lot of other places.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PB665hMcQu0/VKi0YWbqdMI/AAAAAAAALVc/ee4MXCAEFlM/s1600/canyon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PB665hMcQu0/VKi0YWbqdMI/AAAAAAAALVc/ee4MXCAEFlM/s1600/canyon.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">Grand Canyon, 2008</span></strong></em></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pix15aZGsy0/VKi0duyx1xI/AAAAAAAALVk/g4OVHV_RmbU/s1600/pack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pix15aZGsy0/VKi0duyx1xI/AAAAAAAALVk/g4OVHV_RmbU/s1600/pack.jpg" height="400" width="261" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Rocky Mountain National Park, 2005</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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The scene where Witherspoon is climbing the huge rocks and working to get her pack through, I leaned to Doug and said "that looks like the boulder field." The boulder field is on Long's Peak - a huge expanse of boulders that you have to maneuver your way over, around and through.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZsdqTrm0v1k/VKi0jFVGsfI/AAAAAAAALVs/kbVk6fY0sug/s1600/Long's%2BPeak%2BBoulder%2Bfield.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZsdqTrm0v1k/VKi0jFVGsfI/AAAAAAAALVs/kbVk6fY0sug/s1600/Long's%2BPeak%2BBoulder%2Bfield.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">Random Internet pic of the keyhole/bounder field on Long's Peak</span></strong></em> </td></tr>
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Long's Peak is a fourteener - but I called it quits in the keyhole. The keyhole is at 13,000 feet, which was quite an accomplishment for me. You can see just past us in the photo, how it looks as if you are entering Mordor.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-e11NOxoHfR4/VKi0oXQql-I/AAAAAAAALV0/39ohvk1VoJM/s1600/Keyhole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-e11NOxoHfR4/VKi0oXQql-I/AAAAAAAALV0/39ohvk1VoJM/s1600/Keyhole.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Me and Doug sitting in the keyhole on Long's Peak, 2005</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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You find out a lot about yourself when you push yourself to the limit. I've always been at my happiest times when I'm out there in nature, dirty, grimy, struggling to climb a mountain or to paddle a canoe into the wind or to slither through a hole in a cave. It is during those times that I've been more than me - that I am me, but that small self who is just a tiny element out there in nature. I've been happiest when the rain is falling on top of the tent or the waves are lapping at the shoreline and it is pitch black dark and all you can see are a million stars. <br />
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I read Cheryl Strayed's book when it came out in 2012. I knew I had some things in common with her as I read it. Other parts, not so much. I didn't know when I read it that I would lose my own mother two years later.<br />
I gave her book to someone I thought was my friend at the time. I would later learn that person was never my friend when she abandoned me when I lost my mother. She accused me of being self-centered. I agreed that I was and told her that if she could experience a loss such as mine and not be self-centered, then she was a better woman than I. <br />
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I cried when I saw the previews for the movie, and knew it would be difficult to watch. One person who wanted to go with me to the movie was my friend, Julie. You know how when one person goes out of your life, another enters? When the person who was never my friend left my life, Julie walked in. She wanted to go see the movie with me and I would have clung to her and cried. My daughter knew I wanted to see it and we talked about going together. In the end, it was good that we didn't. I probably would have alarmed her with how much I cried and for how long. In the end, it was Doug who sat beside me. Doug being his rock self. He had seen it all before. He was here for the day in day out crying of the first three months following her death.<br />
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In the book and the movie,it is implied that Cheryl Strayed's mother came to her as a fox. <br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4rkgTvoIpaM/VKi0s-nM8cI/AAAAAAAALV8/7UXovQ0n3fI/s1600/fox%2Bin%2Bwild.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4rkgTvoIpaM/VKi0s-nM8cI/AAAAAAAALV8/7UXovQ0n3fI/s1600/fox%2Bin%2Bwild.jpg" height="217" width="320" /></a></div>
My mother has come to me as a great blue heron. It sounds crazy, but there have been so many times in these past nine months since her death that a blue heron has appeared. My mother's dying wish was to live to see my daughter's child born. Mother died on March 5, 2014 and my second granddaughter was born on June 8, 2014. Almost two hours exactly after the baby was born, a great blue heron circled overhead. After three months, I had started to realize the appearance of the great blue herons. I looked up into the sky and said out loud <em>I know you know, mother - I know you know Aly is here.</em><br />
Someone who loves me very much was recently asking me questions about the grief I've experienced since mother's passing. I don't know that I have many answers. One thing I've experienced is the feeling of being untethered. In the womb, you are tethered to your mother by the umbilical cord. And despite the fact that the cord is severed phycially at birth, I don't feel that cord is truly ever cut. Now that my mother is physically gone from this earth, I have been questioning my identity - who am I now that my mother is no longer physically present in my life? My dad asked me if I was making too much of it. I said <em>what if I am if it is a comfort to me?</em> I was discussing the appearance of the herons with my massage therapist and she asked me if I had looked up the meaning of the heron and I told her I had not. She answered "well, everything has meaning," and she loaned me a book on spirit animal meanings. It said that the heron was showing me how to look deeper into aspects of my life that will bring out innate wisdom and to teach me how to become more self-reliant - how to ground myself in the earth and my spiritual beliefs and how to become comfortable in uncertain situations and to be watchful. I found all of this to be incredibly interesting. <br />
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In my struggle, I've also done some stupid stuff. I didn't do heroin or have multiple partners stuff, but I've treated myself in a distructive manner at times. I've made some bad decisions and acted upon them. I've lost my self-control. I try to rise above at this point in my life - to take the high road and most certainly have <u>not</u> in a few situations since my mother's death. I have cried and wailed and have become angry and I've said things I shouldn't to people I shouldn't have. And throughout, my mantra has been forgiveness and peace. Forgiving myself first. Forgiving others and striving for peace. That is all I can do.<br />
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So much of the movie is so raw and real as to death and the way you miss someone. So many things ripped the band aid off for me again. You see things and they remind you. It comes slamming back. And you can hear the hospital sounds and smell the awful antiseptic, sickening smell of illness and death. The little green mouthwash sponge thing on the stick. Toward the end of my mother's life, I was the one she would allow to swab her mouth for her. <br />
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In the movie, when Witherspoon falls to her knees in anguish in the middle of the trail - that was me this past summer, gardening with all I had in me - sobbing, tears falling, clawing at the earth, ripping weeds, one moment angry and strong and the next leaning forward on my hands and knees, falling forward, watering the earth with my tears. Doug saw all of that. It would break his heart and I would wave him away. <br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MqW23xONCzs/VKi0wE1onBI/AAAAAAAALWE/cleyM-XD5iY/s1600/healing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MqW23xONCzs/VKi0wE1onBI/AAAAAAAALWE/cleyM-XD5iY/s1600/healing.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
My healing from the loss of my mother isn't yet complete. Some people tell me it will never be. Some tell me the second year is even more difficult than the first. I do know that the most growth comes from the most difficult times. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Wk1kr-kuPyg/VKi01T6fw7I/AAAAAAAALWM/FeSv69m2HAk/s1600/me%2Band%2Bmother.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Wk1kr-kuPyg/VKi01T6fw7I/AAAAAAAALWM/FeSv69m2HAk/s1600/me%2Band%2Bmother.jpg" height="400" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Last photo of mother and me</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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I hiked this past summer on mother's birthday, July 12. It was a beautiful day and I hiked at one of her favorite spots at one of her favorite parks. I felt her presence with me. <br />
I'm thankful for the raw story of Cheryl Strayed's <u>Wild</u> and the movie. Now I want to go back and read the book again. I know there are those who think I'm too open at times. This is the life of a writer. Tonight, we got into the car and Doug spoke. I said <em>I don't want to talk.</em> <br />
All I wanted to do was run home to the keyboard and write. <br />
<em><strong>Cheryl K. Bennett</strong></em>Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-8849465727381636242015-01-01T21:20:00.000-05:002015-01-01T21:37:34.805-05:00Good riddance 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If you are a regular reader of my blog, you know that this time last year my mother was ill.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> My granddaughter, Little Bee, was here in Indiana for a visit from <strong>February</strong> 25 to 28. Then on the 28th, she and I flew back east and we celebrated her birthday a week early. Interestingly enough, if we had celebrated Little Bee's birthday on her actual birthday, I probably wouldn't have been here when my mother passed away. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I returned home on <strong>March</strong> 2nd and Mother died on March<strong> </strong>the 5th. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After she passed, 2014 began for me. I hadn't even bought a 2014 calendar until after I lost mother. About ten days after mother passed, I started working out again. When a loved on is ill and you sit around in the hospital, you eat. Or, at least I did. I wanted to look nice at my son's wedding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">At the end of <strong>March</strong> I started my part-time job at the nursery. I also volunteered at one of our Lotus events, </span><a href="http://lotusfest.org/lotus-blossoms-main"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Lotus Blossoms</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. And, I went to see the </span><a href="http://www.punchbrothers.com/"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Punch Brothers</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> in concert - for the third time! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The first weekend in <strong>April</strong>, my friend Stefanie invited herself to visit. She asked me "do you like how I invite myself?" As a matter of fact, I did. She was finishing her studies to be a mortician. When she arrived she said "not everyone wants to talk about death - but talk to me." I talked and talked. It was much needed. I worked three weekends in April at the nursery and we started to have committee member meetings with my volunteer organization, </span><a href="http://lotusfest.org/"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Lotus</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In <strong>May</strong> I flew out to </span><a href="http://durhamnc.gov/Pages/Home.aspx"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Durham, NC</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> from the 15th to 18th for my future daughter-in-law's bridal shower. During that trip we went to look at wedding dresses and I was fortunate enough to be along when she found The Dress. Following my return to IN, the next weekend, we visited Doug's family in </span><a href="http://www.goshenindiana.org/"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Goshen</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> from the 24th to 26th. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>June</strong> brought the birth of my second granddaughter, Alexandria Joy, on June 8. This little gal lives up to her name as she rarely cries, always has a smile on her face and is very easy going. We were able to see one of my favorite groups in downtown Indianapolis, </span><a href="http://www.theavettbrothers.com/"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Avett Brothers</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In <strong>July</strong>, we all returned to Durham, NC from the 2nd to the 6th for my son's wedding on July the 5th. The wedding was held in my daughter-in-law's home </span><a href="http://icdurham.org/index.php/en/"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">church</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, with the reception at </span><a href="http://lifeandscience.org/"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Museum of Life and Science,</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> which was a lot of fun for everyone. On July 22nd, I celebrated my first anniversary with the Travel Department at the University. I'm thankful to have finally found a job at IU which is a great fit for me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">From <strong>August </strong>14 to 17, I flew out to MD to see my girls. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">On <strong>September </strong>15, Doug welcomed his first grand child, a girl. A dear friend of mine from my Ball State days, Cathy, visited, as well as our friend Amy, from Hilo, HI. Several months of work for our world music festival culminated on the third weekend of September. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In <strong>October</strong> my <a href="http://cms.bsu.edu/">BSU</a> friend, Cathy, returned for a weekend and then in the end of the month I headed to White Bluff, TN to visit my life long friend, Bec.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The second weekend in <strong>November</strong>, Doug's son and wife brought Doug's new granddaughter to visit. The third weekend in November, another dear BSU friend, Liz, came for a visit and she went with me to get my second tattoo on the 15th. From November 24 to December 1, I headed to MD to visit my daughter and her wife and my two granddaughters.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">From <strong>December</strong> 5-8, we returned to Goshen to visit Doug's family and celebrate his mother's birthday. All of his five siblings gathered from IN, IL and Idaho. From December 23-28, I returned to MD to celebrate Christmas with my girls. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I say Good Riddance because 2014 was a tough year. This year I had to try to learn to live without my mother. Every holiday, birthday, birth, wedding, celebration, my thoughts turned to her. I have been blessed by my many loving friends and family members who have helped me to be positive. The advice I received was to rest. I rested. There were times I floated through. Gardening is always therapeutic and it was especially so this year. I often gardened with tears running down my face. With loss comes new beginnings. I'm closer to my dad than I've ever been before. I have a new granddaughter and a new daughter in law. There was a lot of good - but there were a lot of tough times, too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I am looking forward to see what 2015 has to offer. I look forward to a better year.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FW6oo6bwSyo/VKXbfMvHK9I/AAAAAAAALU4/tsZGcTUH3Qk/s1600/DSCN0341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FW6oo6bwSyo/VKXbfMvHK9I/AAAAAAAALU4/tsZGcTUH3Qk/s1600/DSCN0341.JPG" height="400" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">I live for these two.</span></strong></em></td></tr>
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<br />Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-20365714133446234792014-12-30T19:33:00.001-05:002014-12-30T19:33:59.315-05:00Red coats<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><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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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For me, when I try something on, it is all about how it feels. Or, how it makes me feel. If it is tight or uncomfortable, no way. I am often guilty of wearing my clothes too large. When people ask me what I was thinking when I bought something that is too big for me, my response is</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <em>I was thinking I would wear this to the movies when it was raining on a Sunday morning.</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">You know, how you want to just be comfy and settle in and chill?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Basically, I dress for comfort. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And, I dress for how I think I look in my clothes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How it looks in my head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How I feel. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How I think it makes me look. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love red coats. Throughout my life I have had several red coats. Red is captivating. I glow in red. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Recently, I saw a picture of Princess Kate in a red coat and realized she captures that feeling - that image of me in my head.</span> </div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-30xrrxTVRpM/VKM-2PRiHzI/AAAAAAAALUM/Dw9kwFfYpEE/s1600/red%2Bcoat%2Bkate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-30xrrxTVRpM/VKM-2PRiHzI/AAAAAAAALUM/Dw9kwFfYpEE/s1600/red%2Bcoat%2Bkate.jpg" height="400" width="117" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em><strong>What I feel like it looks like</strong></em></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then, I saw a photo of what I really look like in my red coat. It was a rainy, chilly day in South Bend, IN. We were on the campus of Notre Dame, being shown around by a couple of grad students who are our friends and family. It was cold and a steady mist was falling. I was wearing my new cream, soft infinity scarf which I pulled up to the back of my cap. I was freezing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am guilty of stuffing stuff in my pockets. I know on this day I had an extra pair of gloves and a head band/ear warmer thingy. Then when we took the picture, I put my arms around Mary and Q - which pulled my coat even more. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0csjjCJ_lNk/VKM-7s6qmUI/AAAAAAAALUU/4WmjydpwPOs/s1600/red%2Bcoat%2Breal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0csjjCJ_lNk/VKM-7s6qmUI/AAAAAAAALUU/4WmjydpwPOs/s1600/red%2Bcoat%2Breal.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>What it really looks like</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Even though I look like fifty cents in my red coat, I <em>feel</em> like a million bucks.</span> Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-27247559484544263872014-12-19T16:31:00.001-05:002014-12-19T16:31:36.512-05:00Serial (contains spoilers)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Did you get hooked? I did. But like a lot of things, I was late to the game. Someone told me about it in the beginning and I kept thinking about tuning in and catching up. In the end, I didn't get around to it until it was nearly over. So, just like what we sometimes do with TV seasons when we watch an entire season at in a weekend, for about three days, I" binge listened" to Serial. I alternated between listening on my ipad and my phone. I took notes. I can't help it. I am a note taker. It helps me both remember and process what I'm hearing. And still, I want to go back and listen to the entire series again. Don't you?</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> I loved the way Sarah Koenig talked to us. She seemed honest and open. There was talk about how journalists shouldn't have feelings about what they are reporting on and Sarah's response was something like "we'll, we aren't machines." Sarah investigated this murder case, but also allowed us to experience how she felt along the way. And then, if you weren't getting how she felt, she would sum it up in the next sentence for us. We were literally, along for the ride. In episode five when Sarah and Dana start out at the school and drove to the Best Buy - in twenty minutes - we were along. Kind of like "isn't this fun?" And the phone calls to Adnan - I loved those. My favorite part of the intro every episode was "this is a call from Adnan Sayed, an inmate at a Maryland correctional facility." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The other player I really loved was Deidre Enright - I know someone whose voice sounds like Deidre (and, amazingly, she is an attorney, too). I loved how Deidre spoke - I love the last time we heard from her how when Sarah called her Deidre sang out "Sarah!" Isn't it great that her students (the Innocence Project Clinic at the University of Virginia School of Law) are going to get some DNA testing, FINALLY? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I have family in Maryland who live very near to where many places were referenced in the story. I've passed <a href="http://dnr2.maryland.gov/publiclands/Pages/central/patapsco.aspx">Patapsco State Park</a> many times. (Was there <strong>really</strong> a trip to Patapsco/the cliffs?)</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Many act as if this serial storytelling is a new concept. Isn't that what was going on when our parents and grandparents gathered around the radio to listen to stories in the days before t.v.? But even Sarah admitted this idea is not novel and as she said "as old as Dickens." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Listening to a story is comforting when we are children and I don't know that it ever ends. Doesn't everyone love to be read to? I remember when my children were small and I would take them to story hour at the library in their pajamas. I was a stressed out single mama and I would sit with them - my little one on my lap and my older one cuddled next to me and it was such a soothing time for all of us. </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">When I was a child, they would read about Curious George and the Man in the Yellow Hat and film turning the pages of the book and it was restful. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Were you disappointed in the end? I was a bit, but not surprised. I figured we wouldn't get real closure - that we would be left hanging. I mean, this is real life - not a work of fiction. I wouldn't have convicted Sayed, either. There wasn't enough evidence. Was it just me or was there a lot of confusion over who had the car and the cell phone when? This is a reason I need to go back to listen again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In episode twelve: what was with this dude named Josh? Where did he come from? The entire country, millions of people are listening to this podcast and Josh just suddenly learns of it and has all of this information and answers? I thought he sounded like an actor whose responses were rehearsed. It was all a little too perfect for me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The question in my mind which begs to be answered is Where Is Jay? Because IF Sayed is innocent, that means a killer is out there. Jay knew a little bit too much about it. He was terrified. Sayed wasn't terrified because (in my humble opinion) he was innocent. When he was first arrested, he kept wondering when they were going to let him go home. If he was a killer, he would have known the jig was up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Jay never took a polygraph, there was no search of Jay's house and what was with that long pause every time they asked Jay a question? Because he was making up his answer! The man was lying out his patootie! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Everyone is saying this podcast series will change the way of journalism. What do you think? </span><a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/bruno_torturra_got_a_smartphone_start_broadcasting?utm_source=newsletter_daily&utm_campaign=daily&utm_medium=email&utm_content=image__2014-12-18"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Yesterday, there was a Ted talk about reporting via cell phones - </span></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I have to say, I've given thought to verbal blogging. Aren't you dying to hear what my voice sounds like?</span> Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-82797640221362196682014-10-02T19:24:00.000-04:002014-10-02T20:16:16.154-04:00Take a walk with me<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/-XiY60kPsDaI/VC3cVzQOQwI/AAAAAAAAJxo/HcPmF1UJtBk/s1600/DSCN9724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XiY60kPsDaI/VC3cVzQOQwI/AAAAAAAAJxo/HcPmF1UJtBk/s1600/DSCN9724.JPG" height="256" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Last blooms</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Doug built this chair for a Christmas gift to me a couple of years ago.</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>The bird bath I bought in memory of mother.</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Coleus I allowed to run wild</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;">perspective</span></em></strong></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>another view</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>steps fashioned from local limestone</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>everyone calls her the baby</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>the old man</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>the best chicken, ever - Ms Ella Fitzgerald</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Doug built this years ago</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pe8T3k8tLRw/VC3dxL6ZQoI/AAAAAAAAJzQ/_Om66EcF_bk/s1600/DSCN9751.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pe8T3k8tLRw/VC3dxL6ZQoI/AAAAAAAAJzQ/_Om66EcF_bk/s1600/DSCN9751.JPG" height="400" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>heads bowed</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>property across the road</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>property across the road</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R3IKk2-sz4U/VC3eBl31mII/AAAAAAAAJz4/t4kIvzGbbiQ/s1600/DSCN9752.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R3IKk2-sz4U/VC3eBl31mII/AAAAAAAAJz4/t4kIvzGbbiQ/s1600/DSCN9752.JPG" height="257" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>at the end of our drive</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When I walked out to my car, after work tonight, you could feel the winds of change blowing. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I walked about the property this evening, taking these photos, with temperatures of warm 83 degrees. We are expecting thunderstorms tonight which will take the temps down to 66 degrees. They are predicting an overnight low of 37 degrees on Saturday. The temps have been as low as 40 thus far, but we haven't hit the 30s, yet. Soon the fall rains will begin and with them, the leaves will come down. I hope we have some time to enjoy the changing colors before that happens. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In the summer, we are mostly outdoors. When we are in the house, we never go into the family room which we refer to as the fireplace room. We only use the fireplace room during the months we have fires going. I need to get to work cleaning the fireplace room as we may be in there soon. Before I do that, Doug will need to clean the chimney. When I sat down to write this post he walked in and said "time to batten down the hatches, right?" Usually we don't light the first fire until mid to late October. If it is cold enough to turn on the heat, we usually have a fire going. Our fireplace has an insert in it with a blower, but often we sit in the fireplace room with the door open basking in the heat. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Certain things ruin you. I've had a sunroof in my car for years now and can't imagine not having a sunroof. The same with a fireplace. I just can't imagine winter without being able to sit in front of the fire. In winter, evening after evening, Doug and I sit in there, surrounded by our two cats and our Corgi. Doug is usually dozing. I read or get on my laptop. As long as I don't have to be out on icy roads, I don't mind winter. I have a friend who teases me, but I always stock up the larder. She started teasing me about this years ago when I lived across the road from a grocery - telling me if I did run out of something, I could just walk to the grocery to fetch it. She loved to say "this isn't Little House on the Prairie!" Even so, I like the idea of stocking up - of being secure in knowing if I'm snowed in I can bake bread or a pie or cookies or make chili and all of the ingredients are at hand. I need to get to work laying in the food supplies for winter. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We are considering finding new homes for the chickens. We are both tired of caring for them. We've kept chickens for four years now and this past year, we didn't get new chicks in the spring. I made the mistake of naming a few of my first batch - my Barred Rock, Ella Fitzgerald, my speckled Sussex, Marvella and my California white, Jenny-O. These girls probably don't even lay any longer, but it is hard to let them go. But neither of us want to hike out into the snow and break the ice or make certain the water heater is working. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">October is my favorite month of the year and we've only just begun, so we aren't quite ready for snow. I love crisp leaves crunching underfoot, football games droning in the background, sweatshirts, warm cups in cold hands. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I hope you enjoyed walking with me about the property.</span> Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-58669841912838542282014-09-30T19:40:00.000-04:002014-09-30T19:40:34.376-04:00Everything is going to be o.k. (?)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Remember the 1965 version of Cinderella with Lesley Ann Warren and the song "in my own little corner, in my own little chair?" Well, this isn't a corner - it is more of a cubby - an awkward little space between two closets and here I sit. This was my daughter's chair - one of the Ikea </span><a href="http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/categories/series/07472/"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Paong</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> chair. I always loved to sit in the chair at her house and one visit, she sent it home with me. I still love it. So comfy. I sit in it, a place I go to hide, to be alone. A place to sit, watch movies, read or blog. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My poor blog. It has become a dark, sad place to go. People ask me if I am still blogging and I say "some - but you don't want to read it." I know everyone has to deal with their own grief in their own way. A lot of people don't want to hear about it - or think it should be over. The first year is hard - the year of firsts without her. And, it will never be over. When you lose someone you love, you just have to try to learn to live without them. The people who are the most understanding are those who have lost their mother, or had a similar painful loss.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Mother died in March and then my new granddaughter was born in June and then my son married in July and then I went to see my girls in the middle of August and ever since I returned home I just kind of fell off. I haven't been working out which isn't good. I'm not as cheerful and enthusiastic and happy as I normally am. I've made some bad decisions and I'm sure that is part of it all. It is kind of like when you go through a divorce - you feel crazy and you are grasping and trying to find something that will make it o.k. and for a long while, nothing really feels o.k. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ever feel like the whole world is mad at you? I feel like that. And, it isn't the whole world - it is some people who will never understand how I feel about a certain subject. I stood up for myself and now things are a mess. I find myself wondering how or if things will ever get worked out. I have apologized, but was told it was "too late." It is never too late. What if people just didn't apologize? And I do know people like that who think "they will get over it." What do you do when you apologize and it isn't accepted? I was told my words were meaningless. My words are not meaningless. And even if the apology doesn't mean anything to the one who said that to me (who was not the person I apologized to), my apology is still there. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I find myself wishing I was Catholic. I don't even know too much about the Catholic faith, but I want to be absolved. I want to talk to a kindly old Father - someone like Father Tim in Jan Karon's books. (He is actually an Episcopalian.) I want a wrinkled, old, warm, soft hand, the skin on the back of the hand covered in liver spots, to pat mine and tell me everything will be o.k. I want to look into kindly clear blue eyes that are filled with care and love and understanding. I want someone to tell me what to do, how to fix this mess. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">You know that smell in an old church? I love that smell. That Christmas eve, baby dedication, funeral, cold Easter morning smell. The smell of years of furniture polish rubbed into gleaming old wood, of wool coats in winter, of old pages in song books, of candles snuffed out and <em>holiness</em>. That is what holiness smells like to me. I want to slide into a pew and listen to a sermon of compassion and encouragement. I want to sit in the congregation and feel that the minister is looking right at me and he knows what I'm going through. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I sound as if I am a pile of mush on the floor.I'm not. I go to work. I work hard. I am good at my job. I have this house clean, finally - prompted by a guest - I am a neat freak, but had not really cleaned probably since I lost mother. My house is clean. The pumpkins and gourds and mums are in place, the fall scented candles about the house. I keep moving. I keep walking, putting one foot in front of another. And I anticipate the next visit to my son's or daughter's and the happiness I feel in those visits - a little hand in mine, a little girl yelling "grandma!" A baby making eye contact and smiling. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Some how, some way, everything is going to be o.k.</span> <br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Maybe I'm not the only one who needs to hear those words.</span>Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-73636851700194688212014-09-05T21:47:00.000-04:002014-09-05T21:47:02.891-04:00Six months<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I woke at 4:30 a.m. this morning. Today is the six month anniversary of my mother's death. Every month when the anniversary rolls around, I have difficulty sleeping. This morning I thought of mother, of sitting next to her hospital bed, holding her hand to my face, wishing I could just die right along with her. I asked God to just let me go - to let me go with her. Little did I know at the time that a part of me did go with her. I know this is true because of the hole that has been left behind. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This morning I thought of mother and life and death and relationships. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My alarm sounded at 6:15 a.m. and I got up and took my Welsh Pembroke Corgi, Chelsea, out for a walk. The air was dank. Rotting wet leaves cover the ground. The sky was the color of pewter with darker clouds mixed in. A rooster from a nearby farm sounded and our rooster seemingly answered. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've thought of her all day. I sat this evening combing through photographs and although I had her all of these years, I already know there aren't enough photographs. I should have taken more. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I looked at my facebook page and started to write something but when I saw my post from yesterday, Little Bee's first day of Pre-K 3, I decided to leave what was positive and full of life and joyful and not mention the anniversary of mother's death. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've thought of relationships with others. When you lose someone who is so precious, you realize the stupid stuff just doesn't matter. Life is too precious and short. I don't have time for stupidity - for stupid people and their stupid ideas. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was fortunate to realize how precious my mother was while I still had her. Others have started to realize this since she has been gone. That is sad. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I feel sick and sad and tired and used up today.</span> Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-16674045743009746902014-07-28T22:02:00.001-04:002014-07-28T22:02:17.969-04:00Slow Cooker Chicken Breasts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One thing I'm guilty of is tearing/clipping recipes and not making them. Then I go through the stack of recipes and throw out the ones that I read and think <em>what was I thinking?</em> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other option is to start making recipes. That is what I'm doing this week. I went to the grocery and bought ingredients for four recipes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Slow Cooker Chicken Breast appealed to me because of the slow cooker part. A working gal like me can get it going before going to work and then finish it when I get home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The recipe: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">1 25 ounce marinara pasta sauce - I used Newman's - all profits go to charity and it is good stuff. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">5 chicken breasts - I cleaned and cut into small pieces. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">1 pkg (10 ounces) frozen broccoli cuts - the recipe says to put the broccoli in the slow cooker. Wouldn't that turn the broccoli to mush? I used fresh and steamed it just before serving. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">1 pkg (16 ounces) penne rigate</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">1/4 cup ricotta cheese</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Basil to garnish</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Place marinara sauce, chicken and broccoli in a slow cooker. Turn to low heat and cook 6 to 8 hours or until chicken reaches a safe internal temperature of 165 degrees F. Before serving, boil pasta; drain and divide into 4 bowls. Remove chicken from slow cooker; shred with a fork and place over pasta. Top with remaining sauce and broccoli and a spoonful of ricotta cheese. Garnish with torn fresh basil Refrigerate leftovers. Makes 4 servings. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This dish is very filling. My chicken was fall-apart tender. I shredded with 2 forks on a plate - returning it to the crock pot. The chicken soaked up the sauce and I feel it either needs more sauce or, I believe I will add chunky Italian tomatoes to it - and mushrooms, basil and oregano. I always feel I can improve a recipe - but I like to make it first and see what it is like. As it is sometimes, it was difficult for me to make it as it was. Once it was on my plate I stirred it all together. The ricotta was good - even though I bought cheap low fat ricotta. This was an accident - I never eat low fat because your body doesn't process that stuff I had the good stuff - something Italian in my cart and it was almost $6.00 in a small container - the Kroger brand low fat stuff was something like $ 2.99. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Next time it will be better. </span>Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-83662730740950791492014-06-17T16:57:00.000-04:002014-06-17T16:57:35.144-04:00No net<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Today is a day I would call my mother if I could. This is the hardest part - not being able to pick up the phone and hear her voice. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">For a lot of my life, my mother's mother was my safety net. She was the person I would call. I once dated a guy who was annoyed by my calls to my grandma. I knew that relationship wouldn't last long - and it didn't. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I called both my mother and grandma for advice. Sometimes I took it, sometimes I made my own decisions. But they were there for me to talk to. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">After my divorce, I grew very close to my grandma. Grandpa had passed away and grandma said "we'll do this together." If I was lonely or sad or just needed to talk or to know she was there, I would call. I spoke with her several times a week. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">After grandma died in December of 2006, I dreamt she called me - from heaven. (I don't recall if I've written about this before.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Doug and I were at a party. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The butler came to me and said "madam, you have a telephone call." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Doug and I exchanged looks. Who could be calling me - at a location which was unknown to all? Why wouldn't anyone who knew me just call my cell? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The butler asked me to follow. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">He led me to a dimly lit hall. To a table with one slender lamp which was lit. A drink - somewhat martini-ish looking, which had a green glow to it sat on the table. Somehow, I knew the drink was for me. A phone with many buttons sat on the table - one button lit with a green light flashed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">The butler said "push the button and you will be connected." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">When I pushed the button I heard grandma's voice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">"Cheryl Kay?" (Grandma always called everyone she loved by their first and middle name.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I was incredulous. "Grandma???" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">She laughed. "Yes, honey, it is me. I'm callin' you from heaven!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">I was blown away. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">"Heaven? How is it?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">"oh, honey, it is about as wonderful as you can imagine. I don't even have the words to describe how wonderful it is here." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We chatted about this and that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Then she asked "would you like to speak to grandpa?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Grandpa? Would I! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Grandma said "he is right here, I'll put him on." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Then it was as if someone put the phone on a counter and I could hear sounds - something like what you would hear in a hospital or a nursing home. I stood with the phone to my ear and listened carefully. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Grandpa never picked up. I stood and listened for quite some time, reluctant to hang-up the phone and break the connection. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">When I returned to Doug, he found my story hard to believe. I said "who knows I am here?" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">We couldn't think of anyone. I shrugged and gave him a look. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">When I woke from that dream, I felt so happy. I felt happy all day long, walking around with a big smile on my face. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Today, I have felt tired and sad. Today is a day I would call mother just to hear her voice. Just to hear the voice of someone I love and someone who loves me. Just to have that safety net. </span>Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-45246048176677466182014-04-28T21:55:00.000-04:002014-04-28T21:58:02.128-04:00What she wore<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">What she wore or Grandmas can be groovy, too.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It is spring and I survived winter! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I am in the process of dieting, so maybe this can be a before photo. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(More about my diet in a post to follow.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Currently, I am working on re-losing the weight I gained while mother was ill.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I joked while she was in Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis that I had about every flavor of smoothie Au Bon Pain makes, but it was almost the truth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Don't you hate re-losing? I do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I am a few pounds from being classified as overweight rather than obese. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Overweight just sounds better.</span> </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0zJ8SNdUiW8/U17_CGUQbAI/AAAAAAAAHNs/Oi2sGhZPKWI/s1600/DSCN9452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0zJ8SNdUiW8/U17_CGUQbAI/AAAAAAAAHNs/Oi2sGhZPKWI/s1600/DSCN9452.JPG" height="400" width="187" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">White jacket by Dressbarn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Pink top by Coldwater Creek via the best of Goodwill, Vintage Vogue.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">(Have you heard Coldwater Creek is going out of business? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I loved their store, but have to admit, I rarely bought anything from them.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Heart necklace by Brighton.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Pink watch by Avon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Jeans by Cato.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sandals by Dansko.</span> </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BKPTecw3mNQ/U18B18TvGCI/AAAAAAAAHN4/IyHKqi7l10M/s1600/DSCN9455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BKPTecw3mNQ/U18B18TvGCI/AAAAAAAAHN4/IyHKqi7l10M/s1600/DSCN9455.JPG" height="400" width="245" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here is a shot from further back so you can see our big flowering tree.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm not certain - it may be a crab apple? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The blooms really look red but in this shot somehow it looks pinkish-purple.</span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Everything around is in bloom. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Thus the pink top - I wanted to be in bloom, too!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">One of my gal pals refers to strawberry pink as my signature shade.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">What is your signature shade? </span></div>
Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-70491565039281036252014-04-23T23:54:00.000-04:002014-04-23T23:55:28.934-04:00Blue on blue<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ob8iuLluHTg/U1h7hWwhoRI/AAAAAAAAHMU/fPKAjkZIKQQ/s1600/Finger+Paints+Tiffany+Imposter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ob8iuLluHTg/U1h7hWwhoRI/AAAAAAAAHMU/fPKAjkZIKQQ/s1600/Finger+Paints+Tiffany+Imposter.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NF2mwO_1lKM/U1h7dtW-ccI/AAAAAAAAHMM/npaYj6xW8yY/s1600/toes1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NF2mwO_1lKM/U1h7dtW-ccI/AAAAAAAAHMM/npaYj6xW8yY/s1600/toes1.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Spring has sprung so I was off to the salon for my Spring Pedi. The polish I chose was Finger Paints - Tiffany Impostor. In my case it was Toe Paints. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">For most of the day, I had a great day today. I emailed a friend to tell her I felt as if I was coming out of a fog.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then, driving home from my pedi, a melancholy mood settled over me. Once again I felt tearful. Last week was a rough week. I shed a lot of tears last week. Each time I feel I have cried enough, I find myself crying again. There are so many things that prick my heart and the tears well up in my mind. Easter was the first holiday since losing mother. On Easter Sunday I drove the two hours to my hometown. I met my dad at church. He still attends the church I grew up in - where I married my children's father, where my children were dedicated, where I took my children to church. Normally, when I walk into the sanctuary, the multitude of memories cause me to be overcome with emotion. A while back the powers that be decided to remodel the sanctuary. Gone are the cobalt blue stained glass windows (there are <u>no</u> <u>windows</u>), and the pews have been replaced with chairs. The carpet is new, the walls were a putty brown with baby poop brown contrast. It is now more of a multi-purpose room. Therefore, no memories, no emotion. Part of me was relieved. I sat with my dad during the service. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After church, we went out to eat. Then we took my mother's black mustang convertible out for a spin. (A family member will soon inherit mother's car.) The day was beautiful, full of sunshine and warmth, the temperature hovering around 75 degrees. We drove through one of the most beautiful areas in Henry County - Blue River Valley. We drove out in the country and looked at the Big Blue River. After that, we drove east on state road 36 to Summit Lake State Park. State Road 36 took us to the homes of both of my grandparents. We drove out that road for visits with them nearly every Saturday when I was a girl.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.in.gov/dnr/parklake/2967.htm"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Summit Lake State Park</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> is a park where I would go to contemplate life, to camp with my son, a place where I spent a lot of wonderful, special times. Driving around the park made my heart ache.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After mother was unable to hike about, dad used to take mother to the park for rides and to see wildlife. He pointed out to me places where they saw deer and a skunk. When we got out of the car to take a short hike, dad pointed out where he pushed mother in her wheelchair on a trail. For both dad and I, this park was a special place. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When it was time to head back to my house, dad told me my visit meant more to him than I would ever know. He said "we made a memory today - someday we will look back on this and remember when we took mother's car out for a drive." Then he told me that ride may have been the last time he would drive mother's car. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Through losing mother, I have changed. I look at myself in the mirror and the eyes that look back are vacant. I look tired. I am tired. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In these few weeks which have seemed like an eternity to me, I have changed. I am trying to take it slower. I am trying to forgive myself. I am trying to look past ignorance and people who are self-absorbed. In the past, if someone did something bad, I would think <em>jerk!</em> Now, I feel sorry for them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">While trying to navigate life following this profound loss, I have also been struggling with feelings concerning another situation which hurt me greatly. The line between hurt and anger blurred. Where, when and how does that happen? Sometimes I feel that when I am hurt I are being a vulnerable and then when the anger takes over I feel stronger. I used to carry a card in my wallet that read: Refusing to forgive keeps you in the role of the victim. When I don't forgive, I am giving the one who caused the pain power over me. By forgiving them, I am in control of myself and my own happiness. I always try to look at experiences and see what I can learn from it. I try to be the bigger person. I also try to realize where the other person is coming from. I try to think about what is going on in their life and what are they reacting to? I often say "they will get theirs." I have seen this happen over and over. What you give out comes back to you. Holding on to hurt accomplishes nothing. Today, I let it go. In my heart, I forgave, and it felt wonderful. I felt the weight lift from me. I have enough pain to process due to mother's death without allowing other circumstances to cause more pain. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">What are you carrying around inside of you? Who do you need to forgive? </span>Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-61347605888460167762014-04-05T23:29:00.000-04:002014-04-05T23:29:51.626-04:00A day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">One month ago today, March 5th at 9:10 a.m., my life forever changed as a part of me departed this world. It changed me. How could it not? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Despite knowing my mother's health was declining, despite watching her struggle to breathe, despite sitting with her in hospice, clutching her hand in mine, it was a shock. A numbing shock. I still cannot believe she is gone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em>My mother is dead, my mother is dead, my mother is dead.</em> I never verbalized these words, but they rolled around inside my head making a horrible racket like marbles in a bucket, making me want to scream. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I am more contemplative, more serious, more quiet, more tired. Exhausted. Even now, writing these words, a wave of nausea flows through me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">She hadn't yet passed the first time I thought of calling her. We took Little Bee swimming and she swam for two and a half hours. Natalie and I were walking down the hall, hand in hand, when I thought <em>I need to call Mother and tell her about Natalie swimming.</em> Then it occurred to me- <em>I will never call her again.</em> I have thought about calling her to tell her what is going on several times since. We've had torrential rains this past week and flooding. Mother always watched the weather here and would call me to make sure I was o.k. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Last night a friend came from out of town and was my overnight guest. We ate out last night, we came home, changed into comfy clothes, I made a fire and we talked. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">This morning, hair disheveled and eyeliner smudged, we sat, wearing pajamas, drinking coffee and talking. I laughed. I yelled. I carried on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We talked and talked and talked. She listened as I went back to the subject repeatedly - "mother this, mother that, since we've lost mother..."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We ate good food-delicious food and consumed some excellent beers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Today, we drove from Bloomington to Nashville, Indiana and walked a bit. Then we drove the back roads and hills and through mud, with the windows down and sunroof open. We were silent. We breathed in the smells of spring, of earth bursting forth with fronds and green and sprouting and growth. We got a little lost and found our way again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">And I felt more like me than I have in months. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Today was a day. It was a good day.</span></div>
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<br />Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-60012563150854720812014-01-01T22:06:00.002-05:002014-01-01T22:06:46.038-05:00Getting back to normal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Getting back to normal - perhaps I shouldn't use the word "normal." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Perhaps I should say "routine."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I was one of those people who always sent out Christmas cards. Always. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Once again, I did not get many cards sent out.</span> <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/-eENZT4tiN-Q/UsTMH4UvwOI/AAAAAAAAGW0/bzFf7VaAGdw/s1600/DSCN1905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eENZT4tiN-Q/UsTMH4UvwOI/AAAAAAAAGW0/bzFf7VaAGdw/s640/DSCN1905.JPG" width="396" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Little Bee</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On Thursday, December 12th, I flew to the east coast for my Christmas visit with my girls. Little Bee will be three in March. (HOW did that happen?)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Because I want her to grow up believing she is an artist, the two of us have started to "do art" together. She loves it. I have introduced her to wooden stamps. For this visit, I put together card kits and she made Christmas cards for Mama and Mommy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">She loves to dance and sing and tease. She cuddles and runs away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Life is so much better with Little Bee. My visits with my girls always go by too quickly. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On Saturday, the 14th, I went to bed with a sore throat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On Sunday, the 15th, I flew back to Indiana and on my flight my left ear popped. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It comes and goes but there are still times I cannot hear. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">When I woke on Monday the 16th, I was running a fever and knew I couldn't return to work. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On Tuesday the 17th, I called the doctor but they could not get me in to the office and advised me to go to the walk-in clinic.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On Wednesday, I felt determined and rallied and returned to work. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Big Mistake. I returned home that evening feeling terrible. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On Thursday the 19th, I was up early and the first to be seen at the walk-in clinic. I was diagnosed with a severe sinus infection and went home with four meds. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We were supposed to leave for North Carolina for Christmas with my son on Friday the 20th.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Also, my mother was hospitalized. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Because I had been so ill, and had just started my meds, we postponed our departure until Saturday a.m. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Saturday the 21st, we were up early to load the car. I was so worried about my mother and questioning if I should be going on this trip that I was sick. I was crying and nauseous and kept taking packing breaks to lie on the bed until my stomach settled down.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I decided I would have faith that she would be fine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Finally, we hit the road.</span> <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/-SeXECaZNufE/UsTMRTPx7wI/AAAAAAAAGW8/0ntkWHOvhWY/s1600/DSCN1957.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SeXECaZNufE/UsTMRTPx7wI/AAAAAAAAGW8/0ntkWHOvhWY/s640/DSCN1957.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Friends since age 17. </em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Moi, my friend Laura (whom my daughter is named for) </em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>and my Welsh Pembroke Corgi, Chelsea.</em></strong></span> </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Each day I continued to improve. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I was in constant communication with my family regarding my mother's health. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It was her desire was to get to go home from the hospital for Christmas and she was released on the 23rd.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We stayed with my son and his future wife in their new home.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We visited with my friend Laura who also lives in the Triangle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It was a restful, sweet visit. Following a Christmas Eve gathering, we woke early and hit the road to drive back to Indiana on Christmas Day.</span> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wBlNA44WgZw/UsTMU7_YL9I/AAAAAAAAGXE/1WKpSdZZcWk/s1600/DSCN1969.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wBlNA44WgZw/UsTMU7_YL9I/AAAAAAAAGXE/1WKpSdZZcWk/s640/DSCN1969.JPG" width="369" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>My future daughter-in-law, Dino</em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>My son, Bradley</em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>et Moi</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We thought it would be an adventure to drive back home on Christmas day. There were few travelers on the road. And, it was difficult to find anywhere to eat. We saw a Waffle House was open and went in. It was standing room only and we opted to press on. Finally, we found a truck stop plaza sort of place which had a food court. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On the 26th and 27th, I worked. There were stacks of work, but in two days I was caught up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On Saturday, the 28th, the first real opportunity I had to do so, I drove to my hometown to see my mother. She was not well. I spent the day with my parents. Finally by late evening, my dad persuaded my mother to go to our local hospital. The ambulance took her and I met my parents at the emergency room. By one a.m., it was determined my mother would be transferred to Indianapolis. I drove over and met her there and stayed with her until five a.m. I returned home at six a.m. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Sunday, the 29th, I slept for five and a half hours and we went to the movie theatre. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I went to work on Monday the 30th and yesterday, the 31st.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Today, we drove to Indianapolis to see my mother, again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It seems we are getting closer to a solution. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Time marches on. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Although I am not yet ready to summarize 2013, I welcome the New Year and getting back to normal. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">Wonder why I did not get many Christmas cards sent out? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Happy New Year</span></div>
Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-50802915165153800862013-12-06T23:35:00.000-05:002013-12-06T23:35:41.308-05:00Bloomington, IN - 10.5 inches of snow, or more!<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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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">At one point in my life I had a great desire to move to Alaska to teach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Alaska?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Everyone was incredulous at the mention of this desire.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I am able to romanticize about most any situation and my dream to moving to Alaska was no different. I imagined a cabin in the woods with a big four-poster bed, piled high with quilts, candles burning, a pot bubbling on the stove, perhaps an Alaskan man to cuddle with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Today, I got a little taste of what that dream might have been like. Winter storm Cleon hit us hard. Last night we had freezing rain and hail. Then it began to snow. I love storms. I think storms are exciting. They make me feel alive. Last night we built a fire, I lit some candles and we scurried around locating flash lights. Fortunately, we never lost out electricity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">At some point in the night the snow ceased. Today, it started to snow again around 7:30 a.m. I woke to the sound of shoveling. I waited until this morning to make a decision as to whether or not I would go to the office this morning. The university was open, and I understand, because most of the students are on campus. But it was not too convenient for those of us who do not live on campus. The roads were extremely slick. Only one of my colleagues made it to the office. I exchanged a couple of texts with him and he declared the situation a mess.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Around 2:30 this afternoon I bundled up to take Chelsea for a walk. I took my Nikon along. A heavy, wet snow was falling. It was difficult to keep my camera dry and to keep my lens from fogging. And, my trigger finger about froze off of my hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">When we have freezing rain, I worry about the big pine out front falling on the house. The pine towers over the house. I'm certain it has an elaborate root system, but if it was to fall, it would demolish the house - not a very romantic notion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Like a student, I greatly enjoyed this unexpected snow day.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em><strong>The drive looking towards the road</strong></em></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Woodpile & Canoe</span></strong></em></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong><em>Our road - heading towards town</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>The road heading past our house towards Herrodsburg - </em></strong></span><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: x-small;">no one lives on the curve, but if you notice, a car is parked off of the road. </span></em></strong></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>No paper today. I tried to see if there was mail,</em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em> but the mailbox was frozen shut</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bV5zdW_PWlU/UqKXmRmCt5I/AAAAAAAAGTM/t-DdpIPa1rY/s1600/DSCN1867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bV5zdW_PWlU/UqKXmRmCt5I/AAAAAAAAGTM/t-DdpIPa1rY/s400/DSCN1867.JPG" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>The big pine out front - </em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>the one I do not want to fall on the house</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xl4VBkjmagM/UqKXq0mxJXI/AAAAAAAAGTU/kwBZ2bktGDI/s1600/DSCN1870.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xl4VBkjmagM/UqKXq0mxJXI/AAAAAAAAGTU/kwBZ2bktGDI/s400/DSCN1870.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em> Rolled hay made me think of loaves of cinnamon bread with icing</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-461zJcSSKYg/UqKXuUNNRII/AAAAAAAAGTc/tjNaPux-5bs/s1600/DSCN1872.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-461zJcSSKYg/UqKXuUNNRII/AAAAAAAAGTc/tjNaPux-5bs/s400/DSCN1872.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Looking towards our place from the road out behind the property</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DNLaGFhQbJk/UqKX2tnhGrI/AAAAAAAAGTk/xnXtOKzzRf0/s1600/DSCN1874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DNLaGFhQbJk/UqKX2tnhGrI/AAAAAAAAGTk/xnXtOKzzRf0/s400/DSCN1874.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>My Welsh Pembroke Corgi, Chelsea Kabob</em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>She loves the snow - hops like a bunny and snuffles her nose in it</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DVMN4to09D8/UqKX7UiPWwI/AAAAAAAAGTs/rqtVMPrEV4U/s1600/DSCN1876.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DVMN4to09D8/UqKX7UiPWwI/AAAAAAAAGTs/rqtVMPrEV4U/s400/DSCN1876.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Pampas grass & small pine</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hTtzXa7cFDQ/UqKX_3puKiI/AAAAAAAAGT0/TNUA2hu16Gw/s1600/DSCN1879.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hTtzXa7cFDQ/UqKX_3puKiI/AAAAAAAAGT0/TNUA2hu16Gw/s400/DSCN1879.JPG" width="220" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Clothesline & the small chicken barn</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FCPUhLvplbI/UqKYEZKZd1I/AAAAAAAAGT8/9dzRYc_Acj4/s1600/DSCN1880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FCPUhLvplbI/UqKYEZKZd1I/AAAAAAAAGT8/9dzRYc_Acj4/s400/DSCN1880.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Hurray for the snowplow</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XkyAd29Mc-o/UqKYI_xsr-I/AAAAAAAAGUE/5Ikc8mBYV_k/s1600/DSCN1882.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XkyAd29Mc-o/UqKYI_xsr-I/AAAAAAAAGUE/5Ikc8mBYV_k/s400/DSCN1882.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Heavy boughs on the big pine</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RUZFnVXm9aY/UqKYNKwRNAI/AAAAAAAAGUM/jKxjmiZhV6U/s1600/DSCN1884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="171" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RUZFnVXm9aY/UqKYNKwRNAI/AAAAAAAAGUM/jKxjmiZhV6U/s400/DSCN1884.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Drive up to the house - shoveled at 8 a.m.</em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>This photo was taken around 2:30 p.m.</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5iRmTzw1ehs/UqKYRRXpptI/AAAAAAAAGUU/mExyrQ9wXd8/s1600/DSCN1886.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5iRmTzw1ehs/UqKYRRXpptI/AAAAAAAAGUU/mExyrQ9wXd8/s400/DSCN1886.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><strong><em>I love this tree - the big Sycamore on the other side of the drive</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XzCTlZEsMcg/UqKYZKEXVpI/AAAAAAAAGUc/XpdAu10jwQw/s1600/DSCN1888.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XzCTlZEsMcg/UqKYZKEXVpI/AAAAAAAAGUc/XpdAu10jwQw/s400/DSCN1888.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Burning bush</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B7KyVB593xg/UqKYezat3DI/AAAAAAAAGUk/emSbGOm1w5o/s1600/DSCN1889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B7KyVB593xg/UqKYezat3DI/AAAAAAAAGUk/emSbGOm1w5o/s400/DSCN1889.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Sundial in the garden</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PSkBMSUn8XU/UqKYiqEoKdI/AAAAAAAAGUs/zN08U_-4-T0/s1600/DSCN1891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PSkBMSUn8XU/UqKYiqEoKdI/AAAAAAAAGUs/zN08U_-4-T0/s400/DSCN1891.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong><em>Bench with watering can in the garden</em></strong></span></td></tr>
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<br />Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-59474084177551004942013-09-07T00:28:00.000-04:002013-09-07T00:28:22.246-04:00Charmed, I'm sure. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Today I'm wearing a jingling bracelet which brought back precious memories.</span><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-03aXgxvMhRA/UinYnNavE3I/AAAAAAAAGQE/n_Dq5tbmUmU/s1600/vintage-charm-bracelet1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="340" psa="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-03aXgxvMhRA/UinYnNavE3I/AAAAAAAAGQE/n_Dq5tbmUmU/s400/vintage-charm-bracelet1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">When I was a girl, a lot of women wore charm bracelets and collected charms one at a time. The bracelet in the photo above is a photo I took off of the Internet- but it could have been mine. I was in band- played the flute and sang in choir.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My mother had a charm bracelet that was heavy and jingled. She kept it in her jewelry box all year long and the only time she wore it was at Christmas time. My then-husband always said: "that bracelet your mother wears drives me crazy!" This always caused me to giggle on the inside. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In my mind, my mother was always beautiful. She had auburn hair that she wore in a french roll. She was elegant and wore little hats with veils to church. She was my Girl Scout leader for many years and would wear white gloves when we had ceremonies. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">As the years passed, mother became more and more <strike>crazy</strike> eccentric with her dress. She still wears several rings and wears a ring on her thumb. She wore rings on her toes and on a flight to Hawaii one time, one of the rings got stuck when her feet swelled during the flight. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I always joked that mother dresses like a gypsy. In fact, a few years back I went to a Halloween party dressed as a gypsy and wore one of mother's gauzy full skirts and a brilliant shawl with roses on it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Sometimes I think I'm becoming my mother. I've always referred to myself as "Nancy, Jr." because I think I look so much like her. Now, I too, am becoming more confident and happy and expressive in my jewelry and clothing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Mother was greatly influenced by her grandma who was a positive, smiling person. My mother is not in very good health and is crippled to the point of nearly being home-bound. But, if you were to meet her, she would smile and when you said "how do you do?" Her answer would be "fine."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">No complaints. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I now work in a new office where I am very happy. Our dress code is not as strict as it was where I worked before. I can wear my <strike>crazy</strike> artistic, expressive jewelry. Fridays are the most casual and today I wore a jingling necklace with matching bracelet. As I typed and moved and my bracelet jingled, it brought back the memory of mother's charm bracelet. I always loved looking at her charms and she would tell me the story of each one. There was a silhouette of a girl's head with my name and birth date engraved on it. For me it was a sweet time shared with my mother. Sometimes I would just go round and round, spinning it around her wrist as I studied each charm. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The jingling of a bracelet brings memories of a magical time in my life - Christmas, when mother always wore her charm bracelet. It is a happy sound.</span></div>
Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6410273898587644649.post-55177121427209454602013-08-28T20:44:00.001-04:002013-08-28T20:45:23.676-04:00Dress like every day is a photo shoot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A friend of mine owns an advertising business. He contacted me about six weeks ago and told me he had shown one of his clients my photo. I have no idea what photo he showed them. He says they loved me, that I was exactly what they were looking for.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I was like "wait a minute...me?" So he says. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">My friend </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">contacted me this week. Says the client is going to contact me. That we are going to do the shoot sometime this week, maybe Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. I told him I was free on Wednesday or Friday. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">This morning I got up and thought "are they contacting me today?" Would they do that? Just send me and email and say "c'mon over, we're doing the shoot today." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">How would you dress if you thought there might be a photo shoot at the end of the day?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I wore my new Dansko heels, a skirt with matching top and a white jacket. I carried my new satchel purse. I straightened my hair. I did my makeup. I had polish on both toenails and fingernails. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Sometime during the day, the client contacted me and said we needed to post-pone the shoot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">After work a woman turned to me as we got off the elevator and said "your nails match your outfit." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I smiled and said "well, I thought there was going to be a photo shoot today." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">She probably thought I was crazy.</span> Whosyergurlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08796459473501881680noreply@blogger.com6