tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46082903792254122142024-02-07T16:32:21.839-06:00a little white noiseAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.comBlogger185125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-68822642559267521442016-03-15T00:01:00.003-05:002016-03-15T00:01:34.121-05:00Dear Dad - Spring Awakening<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Dad,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The interludes between my letters continue to grow. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's always around this time I think we all start to remember the March when you got sick. Ironically, I was having a great year that year. I had just met April & Ashley (the "Tarts") and I was working on a photoshoot with them in New Braunfels. I stayed with you and mom overnight so I didn't have to drive back to Austin, and so I was there right before you finally went to the doctor. I must have texted with Susanna about how bad off you seemed, because she remembers having a feeling of dread when told about your jaundiced appearance. This was just days before we'd get the news... </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I remember you were still trying to go to work, but the image I have of you is in your red polar bear pj pants and grey henley. You had your water bottle and were drinking tons of water, because you were hoping to flush what you thought were gallstones out of your system. If only! You were fascinated - and a little creeped out - by the symptoms you were experiencing. Mom had been telling me for several weeks that you were not feeling well and this or that. I had sort of dismissed it until I saw it in person myself and realized it might be something serious. Still - the idea of cancer NEVER entered my mind. My whole world was SO untouched by it then that it didn't even seem fathomable, much less likely.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Cancer. It's become such a part of who we are these days... we can't seem to escape it. Friends' parents are falling right and left. I hurt for them. I know there are long days ahead: for some they will be full of doctor visits and treatments and the agony of never being sure how much longer is left, and for others, now, there is a new and untraversed future - without. When you died I didn't know many other people my age who had lost a parent. Now I feel like I have this unlucky circle of friends, all connected for the same terrible reason. In some ways it's comforting, to know we are not alone in our loss and can now help others through theirs. In other ways it's terrifying: so many of us shouldn't be burying our parents so young.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've had similar conversations with each of these daughters... that they feel a bond with me because of what we've been through with our parents. I think your story, our story, maybe touched the edges of a lot of people's lives. Maybe we were more vocal than other people, and less private about the whole cancer journey. I'm not sure the reason, but it keeps coming up, and people use us as a reference. I get asked questions. Sometimes I just volunteer information or advice. At least I can DO something with what we learned from this... that feels nice in some ways. I just wish it didn't mean someone else was in a similarly awful circumstance.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Yesterday, a photo of Cole and Alanna's wedding popped up on my Facebook feed. They looked so happy together. It was such a random thing and my first thought was that you'd want to know because you were always so fond of Cole. I almost reached for my phone to text you. It was fleeting, because of course I realized that was impossible. It's been a long time since that happened. I wonder if it ever stops. </div>
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<br /></div>
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We spent all day yesterday out in the yard. I weeded the garden beds. There's nothing like my hands in dirt to feel like you're right there beside me. It is such GOOD dirt this year, too. It's got composted soil with peat moss and sand, and, after sitting for a long winter, a layer of dead leaves that I crunched up and mixed in, and lots of earthworms. The little insects all went running for cover as I turned up the soil, but now it's ready for Spring planting. The bees have been attending to our citrus trees, and the olive and fig trees both have new growth. It's so nice to see bees around town! I imagined our conversation about the bee genocide, and basically all of the awful ways we continue to ruin our planet. I would probably ask questions you might not know the exact answer to, and I could just hear the sigh... "I don't know, Laurel...." Like loving-irritation. Is that a thing? I think it's a thing.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Sometimes I have to go out into the natural world and touch things that are alive and buzzing with life to remember: we are here. I don't have to understand WHY, I just have to be here. It helps me to feel grounded. Ironic how pulling up unwanted weeds can make me feel more rooted to the earth. Winter is dead! It's time to breathe in sunshine and pollen and lie in the grass and watch the ant highway on the water hose. There's a reason God gave us Spring.... it's a reminder that life comes back around and taps you on the shoulder, even when you've forgotten it was there. People get sick and die, old and young. People grow up, find love, and get married. We have dogs and babies and family dinners. Go outside. Remember. Wake up.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I know now why you spent so much time in the garden.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Love you always and forever,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lolo</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-63016895692702167392016-03-07T13:43:00.000-06:002016-03-07T13:43:47.230-06:00The Comma Queen<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Laurel
White<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mrs.
Swift<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Life
Lessons<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">March
5, 2016<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
Comma Queen<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Before my first high school English class
with Mrs. Swift, I never knew that commas could be quite so terrifying. I never
knew how intimidating red ink could seem scratched across a white piece of
paper. I never knew how that blood red “circle and swoosh!” would come to haunt
me, indicating yet another unnecessary punctuative “pause.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Oh, Commas... I never knew I would have
such a love-hate relationship with you! On the one hand, commas allowed me to
connect thoughts and ramble on and on (which is imperative for a young and very
wordy writer), while still literally pausing to catch my breath. On the other
hand, I could never remember the rules exactly so I just developed my own: use
them as frequently as possible! In retrospect, I am positive this provided
hours of grading entertainment for Mrs. Swift.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am aware this does not necessarily
reflect well on Mrs. Swift’s teaching abilities, but I would have to insist
that it had nothing to do with lack of effort on her part. There were plenty of
“circle and swoosh” marks on my papers, but over the years I think I finally
got the hang of it… mostly. Slowly there were fewer and fewer red ink marks,
and more and more frequently there were encouraging notes like “Interesting
conclusion” or “I’d like you to develop this thought more” or even simply “Great”
(exclamation point). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">As an over-achiever, I lived for those
notes and that feedback from my self-appointed mentor. It was like honey to a
hungry bear. I had always loved to read, but now, in Mrs. Swift’s class, I
discovered that having a kindred spirit with whom to DISCUSS books was almost better
than reading itself. I could not wait to get my papers and essays back: first
to see my grade, but then to gobble up what she thought about my work. Good or
bad, praise or critique, it was always insightful, even-handed, and motivating:
either to do better or to keep doing well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Ultimately, I developed into a fairly
capable writer, thanks to Mrs. Swift dedicatedly red-lining my papers,
thoughtful discussion in class, a broad reading list, and memorizing so many
hundreds of vocabulary words that my head spun. If nothing else, writing is a
valuable skill that helped me graduate from college, land jobs, and, at times,
simply eased my mind. But commas… well, they still haunt me just a little.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I believe – nay, I hope - most people
have at least one special teacher from their youth who cared enough to
recognize ability or potential, point it out, and push its limits. These are
the instructors who thrust you beyond what you think you are capable of, to
create something from a place deep inside you – a place you did not know even
existed in your own heart and mind. These are the trusted advisors who believe
in you in such a way that you are convinced you believe in yourself. These are
the mentors that leave an imprint, a mark, or, in this case a (,) on your very
being.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mrs. Swift was all that and more for me.
Beyond brilliant tutelage, for me there was a literary comradery that developed
past an average student-teacher relationship. We seemed to enjoy the same lengthy
Dicken descriptions and clever Austen banter. We laughed at the same timeless
Shakespearean irony. There was a simple, mutual appreciation for that
simultaneous utterly satisfied, yet horribly empty feeling one experiences when
closing the cover on a wonderful book. It was a special bond that only a fellow
lover of words, writing, and the English language could ever understand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mrs. Swift… Vanita… I know you are going
to hear this, or read this yourself, so allow me to apologize for the
following: I wrote this essay in first person. I know, I’m sorry, I am a little
lazy these days. I also used contractions, changed tenses and audience address
multiple times, and had to google synonyms (who owns a thesaurus anymore?) to
avoid repeating descriptive words. And guess what? NO ONE DOUBLE SPACES AFTER
PERIODS ANYMORE. Shame!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">You once wrote me the following email
after a class one day:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Laurel,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">One thing occurred to me later after class today. Surely you
don’t think the only reason you made a higher grade than other students is that
you use proper documentation! You should understand that your writing is
generally of a very high caliber. Outstanding, I believe, is the designation I
have given to A papers. I’m trying to say that it STANDS OUT </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">[your caps]<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> from all the rest. It has but little to do with minor grammatical
points.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sometimes I read one of your papers, and I feel as though it
was written without your heart being in it. I can’t say for sure whether it was
or not, but it seems that way.... But you have a talent and an ability that
makes all your papers very good. –mrs. s<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">First – I printed that email out and kept
it. Fifteen years and counting. Only recently did I find it again, but I’ve
carried that message with me as I faced “all-nighters” in college, difficult
work emails, and, most recently, the writing of my own father’s obituary. Thank
you for whatever inspired you to put that into writing. It has meant so much to
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Second – in regards to your comment “It
has but little to do with minor grammatical points…” Do you mean minor
grammatical points like commas? Mrs. Swift, I beg to differ! Understanding the
basics or foundation of something is also what makes one good at something.
Your comma-torture taught me more than proper placement and punctuation. It
taught me the smallest details affect the bigger picture. It taught me that the
finer points are often the building blocks to excellence. It taught me to be
patient with the process. It taught me not to settle for a first draft, ever.
It taught me to not to shy away from God-given abilities, but to exercise them,
better them, and use them for good. And I can assure you, my heart is in this
last paper. This one is all for you, not a grade, and it is <u>all</u> heart.
Please ignore any grammatical mistakes, and - Dear God - I hope you no longer
have that red ink pen! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">In fact, now it is my turn: to grade the
teacher. To tell you that you STOOD OUT [my caps] from all the rest. I saw it
in the mischievous twinkle in your eye when you announced vocabulary quizzes. I
witnessed it in the way you regally reigned over class discussion,
acknowledging personal opinions and correcting misperceptions. I felt it in the
way you clearly loved opening literary doors for anyone on your class roster.
What might have started and will forever be imprinted as a lesson in proper
comma usage, will live on in my memory with a designation of A+, for all-around
Outstanding. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">We cannot be certain of too many things
in this life, but I can be certain of the influence you had on mine. It is
important to me that you truly know and take that to heart. If being a teacher
was as important as I think it was to you, you must know that your work and
effort meant something to me. It meant a great many things to me, and I believe
that it shaped my life and my thoughts and affected my outlook. I would not be
the same if it were not for your wisdom and handiwork. You wrote a part of my
story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Now, you might be about to close the
cover on a wonderful book. It is a classic story in so many ways, but certainly
unique to you. It has phenomenal characters (including a model protagonist…
that’s you!), adventure, hardship, bravery, legacy, and love. So much love.
Love between you and Coach, love planted in your children and grown in your
grandchildren, and love from all the young lives that you molded years ago as a
teacher. I know I said wonderful books leave us simultaneously utterly
satisfied, yet horribly empty feeling. We will certainly feel rather empty when
this one is done, but I suggest we end this one with a Comma. It seems appropriate.
After all, Commas customarily indicate a brief pause; they are not as final as
Periods.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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Name="List Bullet 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Closing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Salutation"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-19224649237319032232015-12-10T17:41:00.002-06:002015-12-10T23:48:14.030-06:00The Daily's v.3 - Happy Holidays!<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's been a long time since I just wrote a "this is what we've been up to" post.</div>
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Right now I've got coffee drip-brewing and the front door open. I'm working on a grocery list, and planning to knock out some errands as soon as I've had my caffeine. Oh, and yes - it's official - I'm truly a coffee addict. I've started getting those caffeine headaches on days when I don't have even a little. Blah.</div>
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At the end of the summer, I officially ended my stint as a full-time event planner for WHITT. Two years ago I thought that was my dream job, so it was not entirely easy to walk away from and I had many doubts over the decision. I learned so much and met so many people around Austin, but it was not a good fit for me and that became really evident as my physical and mental health declined. However, it positioned me to be in the right place and time for what I'm doing now - which I love! - so I think it was all meant to be. I'm now helping to manage Fair Market, an awesome events venue in East Austin, and working with a stellar team. They immediately made me feel welcome, and since (for now) I'm a contractor I have almost total control over what my life and schedule - and therefore, my sanity - looks like these days. I feel really lucky, and it's made it very easy to celebrate gratitude this holiday season.</div>
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Tim and I took our second annual trip to NYC at the beginning of November to see some FALL FOLIAGE! We walked till our wee feets wanted to <i><b>fall</b></i> off (get it?), bickered just a bit, and overall had a grand time. It's always a shock to the system - being back in a big city. I know Austin is growing exponentially, but it still doesn't come close to the hugeness of a place like NYC. I guess few places do. We saw three broadway shows: Hamilton(!!!), The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, and King Charles III (a modern day history play written in iambic pentameter). All three were really, really good. Hamilton was breathtaking and really deserves it's own post entirely... hopefully I get to that soon. We also saw Spectre and The Martian in the evenings when we just couldn't walk NO MORE. We managed to fit in a couple of strolls through Central Park, scoped out The Guggenheim and The Met, ate Murray's breakfast bagels twice, walked the Brooklyn Bridge, and got totally lost in the Brooklyn subway system. </div>
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We celebrated Thanksgiving at Linda's (my mother-in-law) house in Gonzales. It was some really nice, quality family time. We all collaborated on the cooking and ended up with a ton of food, and it was all delicious. And then we stayed in our pajamas for the next 24 hours to recover. Our oven quit working WHILE my pies were baking. The pilot light kept going out, so I had to sit on the floor in front of the stove and listen to the gas and manually relight it whenever it would go out. So frustrating! On the bright side, we are getting a new oven delivered right before I have to do any more baking for the holidays - waaaahooo! Kelli (Tim's sister) & Alex are finally engaged - so a wedding is in our family future - and we are very happy and excited for them. Being engaged during the holidays is so fun! It felt so good and relaxing to all be together in one place, and, because of their news, especially cheerful this year.</div>
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We've been having <b><i>really</i></b> nice weather, but I wish it was just a <b><i>smidge </i></b>colder. That's partly why I'm so excited for our family christmas trip to Santa Fe this year. We are spending almost a whole week there in a beautiful rental house. Susanna has an amazing trail ride planned for us through her friend - a wrangler - out at Georgia O'Keefe's Ghost Ranch. I can't wait to be back on a horse, and to hopefully see some snow and beautiful mountain views. I can't believe we are finally taking the kind of holiday trip we always wanted to take as a family. Better late than never!</div>
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Because of said trip, we opted as a family to not exchange gifts this season. Tim's family was also on board with this idea this year, so as a result I haven't shopped at all. Except for myself, hah! We've done this before in years past, but it's usually been more about money or stress. This year it just felt so excessive in light of all the awful things happening around the globe. In the spirit of giving we plan to make donations to one or more charities instead, which makes me very happy. Gift giving is definitely one of my "love languages" though, so I feel <b><i>a little </i></b>robbed of opportunities to show my nearest and dearest what they mean to me. I guess this year that can be done with words and hugs instead. </div>
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Many happy happy holiday wishes to all!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-33092486194284946992015-10-09T15:23:00.000-05:002015-10-09T15:23:56.388-05:00Dear Dad - Happy 62nd Birthday<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Dad,</div>
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It's now October. Your birthday was in September. If that's not belated, I'm not sure what is, but in all fairness I started writing this letter before your birthday. I'm pretty sure time is of no matter to you anymore, and all of these things I want to say are better said late than never.<br />
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Another year, another birthday, come and gone. We all "celebrated" the best way we knew how, trying to feel happiness on a day where mostly what we feel is your absence. I had my little cry in the bathtub the morning of September 22nd, while shaving my legs. Not so much for my present, as for our past: what we were doing two years ago on this day - saying our earthly good-byes.<br />
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For your birthday, Margaret, Mom and I all went to get pedicures at <span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.theretreatdayspa.com/" target="_blank"><b>The Retreat</b></a>.</span> They still take lovely care of us all there, thanks to your many years of keeping their pedispas in working order, and almost every time one of the girls or the owners mentions you. It wasn't important that our feet look beautiful on your birthday, just that we just do something together. Margaret brought lemon cupcakes. Afterward, Mom and I got coffee from <a href="http://www.2tarts.com/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: black;">2Tarts Bakery</span></b></a>, and then visited the dog park to see your bench. Of course, someone was enjoying it and we didn't want to disturb them, so we moved on. It's still the very best bench, under a beautiful oak tree.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtZ-OhoMY1QdjOJpmfMvLRPoJGIk41a9Jfv2n575yd_a74QqQ2iIQtJZtka_5xqCfkQMQsaiVBVq7Akj9JAGlMQG2ytp9Wdu7Ys0vujUkLYmxxBmsQi-o-fL94mAxkrb3aVvMQOOKh0n2l/s1600/bench.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtZ-OhoMY1QdjOJpmfMvLRPoJGIk41a9Jfv2n575yd_a74QqQ2iIQtJZtka_5xqCfkQMQsaiVBVq7Akj9JAGlMQG2ytp9Wdu7Ys0vujUkLYmxxBmsQi-o-fL94mAxkrb3aVvMQOOKh0n2l/s640/bench.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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A day later we left for our trip to Port Aransas for the weekend. We rented a nice house, just steps away from the beach, on a very colorful street and with an eagle's nest deck up top. It was a lovely weekend with nearly perfect weather. We had fun family times horsing around in the pool, playing in the sand and waves on the beach, and roasting wieners and s'mores over a bonfire on the beach the last night with Debra. We minimally got on each other's nerves. Side note: maaaaan, I remember the ferry at Aransas Pass being SO MUCH FARTHER across. We'd barely gotten out of our cars before we'd reached the other side.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXU2RjZzK8sAvfVRmXF7ATaB8oyFAAA7MrJrRE-h_CfPT9Mn0R2OD1BPogfs1ayv-jf4xUWdVPi5ix5e62lCOuVsAtkmfLt0k8-YMTy9gdUaE_PCLhFD2-duqzRv0fMT_fqAWaOcLuq4-g/s1600/IMG_2053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXU2RjZzK8sAvfVRmXF7ATaB8oyFAAA7MrJrRE-h_CfPT9Mn0R2OD1BPogfs1ayv-jf4xUWdVPi5ix5e62lCOuVsAtkmfLt0k8-YMTy9gdUaE_PCLhFD2-duqzRv0fMT_fqAWaOcLuq4-g/s640/IMG_2053.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmNaVStKUOXFYp31TgyVo4sm0rcT0c4mp-vVZFfdCD8qpJdqYoiMs-kDbiZPnScJYGbGldEifKhh9liZnnOuqjJOsnHeemuFQbdVo_6IrufYQQrda55ZsRh6mW41q00DVLHEwsMy8Zg771/s1600/IMG_2048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmNaVStKUOXFYp31TgyVo4sm0rcT0c4mp-vVZFfdCD8qpJdqYoiMs-kDbiZPnScJYGbGldEifKhh9liZnnOuqjJOsnHeemuFQbdVo_6IrufYQQrda55ZsRh6mW41q00DVLHEwsMy8Zg771/s640/IMG_2048.jpg" width="640" /></a>It was a really <b><i>good</i></b> weekend. It just felt wonderful to have no plans, take naps, read, and hug on my favorite littles - furry and human. Last year this anniversary was so awkward. It felt unorganized in the worst way. Almost disrespectful. No one knew what to do or say, so we did nothing and said nothing, and then we all felt badly about it. I mean in one week we're tossed between celebrating your birthday and three days later marking the anniversary of your death. It's just hard to know what to feel.<br />
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But this year, this weekend was so <b><i>good</i></b>. We've all learned to let each other grieve and remember and honor you in our own ways. I write you letters and make your pancake recipe and bake birthday desserts and get everyone organized enough to end up in one place. Others of us go for early morning walks on beaches or long hikes to commune with nature. We group text anecdotes and memories and old pictures and new pictures. It all serves the same purpose, we just have different ways of accomplishing what we need to say or do to feel like we've recognized both your impact on our lives and your absence from them.<br />
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But this weekend, I started to feel your presence in ways more than your absence.<br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;">You know how people always say "it feels like forever ago, but also it feels just like yesterday"? It doesn't very often feel like yesterday anymore. It just feels like forever. I think I have lived more, changed more, learned more in the past two years than any other two years of my life.</span></div>
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In some ways things have gotten easier day-to-day, but in many ways - new ways - I'm realizing it will always be hard. I try not to think of all the things in my future that you won't physically be there for - those are the hardest. I cry every time I think about any children I might have, and that - no matter how perfect my descriptions are of you, or how many home videos I play for them of you - they will never know you. Nothing will ever be able to fully replace getting to see you as a grandfather to my kids. You were always there to witness everything I ever created or performed in, but now this - the ultimate creation - I would never be able to place in your arms and see your look of love and deepest approval. That is the greatest wound. If I ever have children, this will be so hard.</div>
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But we are finally finding a new groove. I think you'd be proud of all of us for how far we've come, and the new dynamic the family has established. We aren't perfect, and we don't get along perfectly, but we never were and never did before either. In some ways we are still tiptoeing around keeping the peace, deferring to Mom always, but <b><i>especially</i></b> when *your children* can't seem to agree. And Mom makes decisions! You know I don't mean that condescendingly. She was always capable, but now she makes up her mind without being backed into a corner or bullied into it. And she's running your company and keeping it successful! Lots of (!!!). I know she misses you desperately, but like us all she's finding that there are ways in which you will never fully leave her and wisdom you left behind that will go on giving. I always knew her to be strong, but now I know it for different reasons... and it's glorious.<br />
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The evening we got back from Port A, a Super Blood Moon Lunar Eclipse happened. Yeah - it's a mouthful. It was a supermoon, very close to the earth, but also a total eclipse which turned the moon red. We didn't see a lot of the color like some other parts of the country did, but the supermoon was so fantastic it didn't matter. Mom let us bring your old telescope home and after a bit of fumbling we figured out how to make it work, and I figured out how to take iphone pictures through the lense. It was a once in 30 year experience, and I will not forget it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDd-3mGn4Lj2G3b5oYAaubHREpv6L1jcoIcQ0R6_sPWYZd-f03HW1LnW7EeLDGZVnpmDMkijOJwBb2isXwQyjwp3oeQTtQtaHRJcKu_8CHGlfjyvz-agF5h1r7vjTBHwUBf-D0Z0sqX6b7/s1600/IMG_2159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDd-3mGn4Lj2G3b5oYAaubHREpv6L1jcoIcQ0R6_sPWYZd-f03HW1LnW7EeLDGZVnpmDMkijOJwBb2isXwQyjwp3oeQTtQtaHRJcKu_8CHGlfjyvz-agF5h1r7vjTBHwUBf-D0Z0sqX6b7/s640/IMG_2159.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
I kept staring up at that moon, so bright, so close, and feeling like you were just there. It was not describable with words. A shared moment. It was the most comforted I have felt since you left this earth two years ago. I whispered "Hi, Dad." Did you hear me?</div>
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I can and do frequently imagine you in another place. It takes different forms in my imagination, but usually it's a garden. Far be it from me to define it or even title it, but I believe it's there and you are preparing a place for the rest of us. This brings me peace, and that peace is often embodied in gifts from the natural world. The birds on my bird feeder, the super moon, a lighting storm on the beach... when I catch glimpses and reminders of all the ways you're still showing up to share moments with us.</div>
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Thank you for the moments. I need them desperately.</div>
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Happy Autumnal Equinox. Happy Fall. Happy Super Moon! Happy, happy, happy 62nd birthday, Daddy.</div>
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I love you, always and forever.<br />
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Lolo</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-77955203571807983792015-09-17T18:40:00.000-05:002015-09-17T18:40:24.815-05:00Egg Sandwich Perfection<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQRVJmL9RB33lt1uDXuO4V4ZpS2P9RgVKq2NpTefbWMl3EhMMsbFNOXJKRXpK90TivAtnkYyFIPSZzcezRY5RkToALQ6rEWZ9QtCCvwSUaWRsaweNg7PF8jXMj_SwvfMhEk_R8dHerULu/s1600/IMG_1980-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQRVJmL9RB33lt1uDXuO4V4ZpS2P9RgVKq2NpTefbWMl3EhMMsbFNOXJKRXpK90TivAtnkYyFIPSZzcezRY5RkToALQ6rEWZ9QtCCvwSUaWRsaweNg7PF8jXMj_SwvfMhEk_R8dHerULu/s640/IMG_1980-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Two years ago this week and next were the two worst weeks of my life. Two years later I'm focusing on honoring my dad's memory in the best ways I know how, and trying to do things, make things, or participate in things that make me happy instead of sad. Making egg sandwiches seems to be working, a little.</div>
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Don't worry, this isn't about to become a food blog (flog? foodlog?), but I have achieved Egg Sandwich Perfection, and I'm here to tell you about it. It all started when I made this <a href="http://cookieandkate.com/2015/herbed-red-potato-salad-recipe/" target="_blank">herbed red potato salad recipe</a> from my new fave source for healthy recipes: <a href="http://cookieandkate.com/" target="_blank">Cookie and Kate</a>. This isn't a new blog and it's popular, so you might have already heard of it - but remember, I am just entering this world of people who "like to cook" and so websites like these are little golden nuggets right now.</div>
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The herbed red potato salad was Okay with a capital O. It's probably not a recipe I'll repeat, BUT I think the key to my Egg Sandwich Perfection was the leftover herbed olive oil dressing! When I dressed the potatoes, I felt like the dressing was too runny, so I poured some of it off. I was going to toss it but figured I could throw it in something else later on (isn't that what all talented, spontaneous cooks do?). The dressing is very repeatable and easily could be used for lots of things sans potatoes.</div>
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<li class="instruction" itemprop="recipeInstructions" style="background: 0px 0px; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: inherit; list-style: decimal outside; margin: 0px 0px 8px 20px; padding: 0px; text-align: justify;">In a small food processor or blender, combine the olive oil, ⅓ cup parsley, ⅓ cup green onions, lemon juice, Dijon mustard, garlic and freshly ground black pepper. Process until the herbs and garlic have been chopped into little pieces, then drizzle in the reserved cooking water and blend until emulsified. (If you don't have a food processor or blender, just finely chop the parsley and onions and whisk the dressing together until emulsified.) [Cookieandkate.com]</li>
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<b><u>Egg Sandwich Perfection</u></b></div>
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1. fry two strips of bacon to crispy, cut in half (I prefer Pederson's uncured)</div>
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2. chop up some cherry tomatoes, green onions, parsley, garlic, jalapenos, mushrooms (whatever you like with your eggs, insert here - I don't like rules)</div>
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3. toast some good bread to well done (Gluten Free bread if necessary)</div>
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4. when the bacon is done, remove and throw in all the chopped veggies to saute for a short bit before adding the egg</div>
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5. sprinkle in some goat feta cheese, or any cheese, if desired</div>
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6. salt and pepper egg scramble to taste</div>
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7. butter the toast, then spread with HERBED OLIVE OIL DRESSING on top (or skip the butter if you don't live on the wild side)</div>
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8. add egg scramble to bread, top with bacon and 1/2 sliced avocado, cut in half and serve with coffee, of course.</div>
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Guys, there is nothing "pretty" or gourmet about this sandwich. The juices run out the sides, tomatoes and bits of egg will fall off, you'll need a bib, but don't worry because you will want.to.lick.your.plate! It's like holiness in your mouth.</div>
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Amazing for breakfast, lunch, OR dinner - I've had it for all three several times this week already... and it's now husband approved!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-75619012343592395502015-09-16T13:13:00.000-05:002015-09-16T13:13:14.131-05:00Rainstorms and Root Beer Floats<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's always bizarre the way random, but super specific things will stick in your memory. I cannot remember valuable information when I need it, or often the end of my sentence, but I can describe the pattern of the paper liner in my childhood dresser drawers. Because, you know, that helps me on a daily basis.</div>
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There's something about a rain storm that always stirs up memories of root beer floats. The heavy, fresh scent of soil come alive with moisture, the thick breezes full of humidity, and the loud splats of rain on pavement calls to mind Blue Bell "Homemade Vanilla" swirled in IBC Root Beer. Slushy in a pre-chilled mug. Savored, first with a straw and then with a long iced tea spoon. We'd sit on the front veranda in our folding butterfly chairs, wrapped in blankets and breathing in the wet air, and for that half hour or so the storm would feel like something extra special. Front row seats to a private performance from the Rain Gods. A traveling Magic Show just passing through. Celebrated with sugar, toasted with "beer." </div>
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I don't remember why this stands out to me, and when I've asked my mother she doesn't either. She doesn't recall doing it, either as a comfort or reward or even as a distraction. I know that game. I was a nanny - I <b><i>know</i> </b>the lengths you will go to in order to keep children occupied when they must be kept indoors. Maybe it was one of those days where, with three little girls and two under the age of six, that was the last card up her sleeve. I wouldn't doubt it, knowing our shenanigans.</div>
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I have a feeling this probably only actually happened once or twice, but my little sugar-addicted mind has forever connected the two things together, like you do at that age. <i style="font-weight: bold;">It's raining thereFORE I should be having a root beer float. </i></div>
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Sadly, I no longer drink root beer floats when it rains. Now I curl up with coffee and a new catalog for inspiration or a good book for company. But I can still taste that hint of sassafras and vanilla in those rainy drops.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-25784318732819758942015-09-12T09:30:00.000-05:002015-10-22T18:14:20.380-05:00The Signature of All Things<div style="text-align: justify;">
Last summer I read this book called <a href="http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/books/the-signature-of-all-things/" target="_blank"><b>The Signature of All Things</b>,</a> by Elizabeth Gilbert. I took a picture of it and posted it on my Instagram, 'cause that's how I do. Then I started loaning it out to anyone I could convince to read it. But I couldn't stop thinking about it and internalizing it. This is the kind of book I would love to write. This is the type of world and characters I would love to create and share.</div>
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<u>The Signature of All Things</u> is the grandest, most unique and imaginative story I've read in a very long time. Maybe ever. I'm not going to try and really summarize or review the book. It would be hard to without giving anything away that I feel you should just encounter through reading the book. Pick it up and be surprised. Or, Google that shit if you really care. But basically:</div>
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Alma Whittaker is born at the beginning of the year 1800, to a self-made, botanical/pharmaceutical entrepreneur father who sailed with the explorer Captain Cook, and a strong, brilliantly educated Dutch mother. Alma dedicates herself to studying the much-neglected mosses of the world, and this survey leads her deep into the mysteries of evolution. (Remember this is pre-Darwin, so there is no established Theory of Evolution.) But it's also about unrequited love, sexual exploration, and angel messengers. The book spans eight decades and takes place in Amsterdam, London, Philadelphia and Tahiti. </div>
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I know, I know. A summary cannot do this book justice. If you love science, specifically botany, and beautiful storytelling, this book is for you. If you love stories with tremendous scope and quirky, yet charming characters, this book is for you. If you love explorations of purity and pleasure, and encounters with divine beings, this book is for you. I'd like to think it is a book for everyone, but it is not. </div>
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This book was akin to a little spiritual encounter for me. There was so much of my own father in this novel, it seemed providence I read it when trying to process his absence. The wonder at the ways of the world, and the logical deduction and creative reasoning that often cannot explain its mysteries was something that kept him quite fascinated, and frequently troubled, his whole life long. Nature is the battlefield where most often spiritualism and science collide in overt, examinable ways. My dad often stood there, not always sure on which side he fought, or why one had to necessarily separate from or against the other. </div>
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Alma, a <b><i>fictional</i></b> character, and her deep admiration for natural sciences was so contagious, I found myself examining the world around me with new and enlivened senses. It brought me deeper understanding of how I think my dad might have experienced the world around him. For Alma, there is no need for something more than her here and now, her present existence. She relishes in fact and actuality. There's no need for anything greater or beyond, because the natural world is so glorious it is completely fulfilling and totally satisfying. But she just can't fully understand it. Some things - some people - cannot be explained by scientific fact or any amount of evidence and study, and that's her missing piece: the hole in her evolutionary argument.</div>
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For those of you snooty readers (like me!) who are raising an eyebrow at the author - Elizabeth Gilbert of <u>Eat, Pray, Love</u> fame - let me just say: this book is <i style="font-weight: bold;">nothing</i> like <u>Eat, Pray, Love</u>. Now, I read EPL and I enjoyed it for what it was - a glorified self-help adventure. It was a light, frivolous read for the most part, that verged on self-indulgent. There are common themes that carry through all of her work, but EPL is not even in the same weight class as this masterpiece she's given us now. Every time I look at this cover I kinda want to grab a sharpie and mark out the line that says "<i>author of Eat, Pray, Love" </i>because these two books couldn't be more different. I love Liz, I love her podcast <b><a href="http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/magic-lessons/" target="_blank">"Magic Lessons,"</a> </b>and I'll read her future work (<u><a href="http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/" target="_blank"><b>Big Magic</b></a></u> on shelves 9/22), but her artistry here is ingenious. So don't let that association frighten you away, and conversely, don't open this book thinking it will be another rompy memoir. You'll be missing out either way.</div>
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Finally, read it before <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/programs/features/news/masterpiece-options-signature-all-things/" target="_blank"><b>Masterpiece Theatre takes Alma's story to the screen</b></a>! I'm delighted PBS optioned the book, and that Liz handed over this intricate and astonishing story to the team at Masterpiece, who I feel will treat it more delicately than anyone else could. I cannot wait to experience it all over again through film.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-47409177891043319422015-09-11T16:30:00.000-05:002015-09-11T16:30:01.298-05:00Trees, Chickens, Coffee, please.<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yesterday morning the "tree guys" came to take down trees along our fence line that were hanging over our power lines in the back yard. Of course they came early early and of course our bedroom faces the backyard, because it was my lucky chainsaw-filled day. Instead of getting up and being productive I stayed in bed and watched them work like any normal person would do, and within 15 minutes I was rewarded with a thundering boom as all our power lines came down with one of the branches. Awesome. I was soooo irritated at their incompetence, and it was far too early for me to be civil, so I rolled over, covered my head with a pillow and let Tim deal with it.</div>
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I must have dozed off because a few minutes later I realized the dimwits were <b><i>chopping down our pecan tree</i></b>, which was definitely NOT on the docket for the day's work. Within seconds I was scrambling out of bed and running outside in my underwear and wailing at them to stop, stop, STOOOOOP. Everyone just looked at me like I was a banshee, and I have no doubt I fit the description. A banshee in an old T-shirt and H&M men's boxer briefs, no less. Having imparted my message and stopped the crisis I went back to bed for a bit.</div>
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Then I'm reawakened by squawking chickens outside. Can that be right?? The chainsaw noise has stopped and Head Tree Guy's little minions are hunting stray chickens in my backyard. I'm already too late for one poor hen who lies pathetically limp on the grass. Too bad I didn't put clothes on last time I was up, because out I go again in my underpants, taking the steps two at a time, screaming my head off. "Have you no soul? These belong to SOMEONE. Leave them alone!"</div>
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Wouldn't it be awesome if all of that had actually happened? I tell ya, morning dreams are <b><i>the best. </i></b>This gives new meaning to getting up on the wrong side of the bed. In my dream, I guess I did that twice.</div>
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Anyway, with the morning off to such a good start, I thought it was a good time to break in my new little enamel cups from Target. These are really cheap crap, I'm sure, but they are the perfect size for the amount of coffee I drink in the morning (I hate using big cups with hardly anything in them), and, well, the message is TRUTH.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0VAvrhVGLmt3auJfvt2WS0yD8kztSJhHFYw9P9Sjfv-HGVevwRF14mCIULoWai6-lR1fkP7FiYadQrM52USfYkMCKJ6rNzThs6S7tTv97jCI4CVEjuEa8JtN-RwT6d7VKl4S86JvyOqU/s1600/IMG_1935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-18837064185565630402015-09-09T00:10:00.000-05:002015-09-10T15:49:31.173-05:00Sincere Condolences<div class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
As I near the second anniversary of my dad's death from pancreatic cancer, I've begun to relive the events of two years ago all over again. There are so many awful things that my family associates with that time and those events, but when I think of the good things we'll hold on to, the many lovely condolence cards we received will be one of precious few.</div>
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<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://cupofjo.com/" target="_blank"><b>A Cup of Jo</b></a> </span>wrote a wonderful post in August about <b><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://cupofjo.com/2015/08/sympathy-card-how-to-write/#more-56238" target="_blank">how to write a condolence note</a></span></b>, and unlike what you might find in Martha Stewart or a generic advice column, it had really useful, specific, and thoughtful tips from someone who actually had experienced loss. Everyone's different, of course, but pretty much everything she shared I found to be true in my own experience. I'm sharing the major points here, and adding my thoughts for those who experience that terrible "stuck" feeling when trying to put deeply felt sympathies into meaningful words or action, but please go check out the <a href="http://cupofjo.com/2015/08/sympathy-card-how-to-write/#more-56238" style="font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">original post</a><b style="text-decoration: underline;">,</b> as well.</div>
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We received so many cards, emails, phone calls, meals, and offers of help, from the time my dad was diagnosed with cancer till after he died. Every single one of them held us up on a life raft of encouragement and love. Nothing said here is in criticism of anything anyone did for us, as I have only gratitude for the hundreds who stepped up in our support or in his memory. No gesture was too small, no meal unappreciated, no card went unread. But, as someone who has personally experienced the desire to do something for grieving friends or overwhelmed care-takers and their patients, and been hampered by not knowing exactly what or how, hopefully some of what I've learned will be helpful.</div>
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Families coping with cancer and other terminal illnesses experience death over a period of time. That time could be days, months, or years, but the sick and their families need constant encouragement. In this respect, I've treated condolences as not only what you might send after someone dies, but what you might do while they are still alive.</div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Snail mail a card.</span> Every email, phone call, everything was wonderful; I was astounded by how kind people were. Physical cards were especially nice to hold onto. I didn’t care at all what the card looked like. I have them in a basket in our living room and see them every day.<span style="background-color: transparent;"> <i>[A Cup of Jo]</i></span></blockquote>
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Greeting cards get a bad rap these days. It's easy to drop $6-$7 on a card, which feels kind of ridiculous, even when someone is dying - sorry, but true. The card itself doesn't matter, it could be stationery or a post-it note, but getting something in the mail is still something everyone looks forward to (right?). Oh, and if you know the family well enough, funny cards are always better than any card that actually mentions death, loss, grief, or sympathy or any other depressing cliche. Like the author, my mom also kept a basket of these on the kitchen counter and I remember reading through all of them multiple times.</div>
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When someone is sick with something like cancer, you might spend hours a day on the phone and computer. Insurance calls, doctor calls, appointment confirmations, reviewing medical records and transcripts, researching new cures, educating yourself about the disease, the list goes on and on. You might spend hours a day just on hold getting nowhere. I know for several of us during that time, keeping up with phone calls felt a little like work. Even if the caller doesn't ask for a return call - and p.s. you probably never should - phone calls are something to be checked and listened to, and then what do you do about them - delete them? That feels harsh. It's nice to hear people's voices, but they are harder to save and listen to later. </div>
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As we all know, emails don't generally feel as personal as getting a piece of mail. Also, emails are likely to get lost or deleted, and sometimes hard to relocate later. On the other hand, my dad loved email and he spent time every day that he was sick reading and responding to emails from people who were wishing him well. I also started an email "newsletter" updating everyone about his care and progression several times a month, and sometimes several times a week. It was just the most convenient way to communicate, and when you've got a lot on your plate convenience trumps sentimentality. Lots of people responded to <b><i>every email I sent </i></b>with thoughtful words and reminders to stay hopeful. Many emailed my dad and mom directly on a regular basis. Those were <b><i>always</i></b> welcome and <b style="font-style: italic;">so so so appreciated,</b> especially on the hardest days. They were almost daily reminders that people were out there, following along and making that journey with us. Those meant so much to my dad and he had some really important, albeit brief, correspondence via email in those last few months. In this way I think email is a valuable tool to provide quick and consistent encouragement to those who need it.</div>
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Regardless, I think cards win every round. :)</div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: -0.159999996423721px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Describe how you can help.</span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.159999996423721px;"> I was so grateful when people said, “Let us know if there’s anything we can do.” But when people offered specifics, it felt even easier for me to take them up on their offers. One friend wrote, “If you ever want to come over, we can grill and make grapefruit mojitos; we’d love to see you and there’s nothing we wouldn’t do for you.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; letter-spacing: -0.159999996423721px;"> </span><i style="letter-spacing: -0.159999996423721px;">[A Cup of Jo]</i></blockquote>
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I love that she mentions this, and it is so true. The people who made specific gestures of help were most often people who had experienced what we were going through themselves. It does make it easy for someone to say yes, or accept, or even ask you to do something else completely, when you make a <b><i>specific</i></b> offer. I think it makes the gesture feel less "empty" and very personal. Some people made offers of help in areas we really didn't need any, but their willingness to do something, desire to help, and ability to be so specific about it empowered me to ask for their assistance in other ways.</div>
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Let me also mention the brain power most family members have left over for making decisions when caring for a terminally ill family member. <i><b>There is none.</b></i> There is nothing to spare after translating the doctors' information (or the lack of it), administering medicines, making a game plan for health care, the physical requirements of caring for a sick person, and at the same time trying to emotionally process what the F is happening. The result is that the countless offers you receive sometimes actually feel like more work than help, because they require yet another decision and often delegation. So, <i style="font-weight: bold;">within reason</i>, if you feel called or inspired to help in a way that <i style="font-weight: bold;">does not intrude on privacy or cause additional stress</i> for the family - just do it. Buy them that book on Amazon and ship it to their house, drop off that dinner with a bottle of wine, mow the lawn on the weekends and come by to walk the dog - and skip the offer. They'll be doubly thankful they didn't have to ask and didn't have to decide.</div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Tell stories.</span> I <em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">loved</em> when people wrote specific stories about Paul that I’d never heard, and told me how he had impacted them, what they loved about him, positive things they observed about our relationship. I personally think, the more detail, the better. The grieving person is thinking about the person 100% of the time; nothing you say is going to make her sadder; instead, the stories you tell are going to make her feel connected.<span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span><i style="letter-spacing: -0.159999996423721px;">[A Cup of Jo]</i></blockquote>
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Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. YES. I LOVE hearing about my dad. I love it when people say nice things about him, remember his quirks, remind me what a great service he provided to his hometown, describe his talents, and especially when they tell me things I didn't know before! I cherish those memories like nothing else, and I'm always thankful for people who want to talk about him. (I'm especially thankful for people who talk about him without me having to bring him up.)</div>
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One of his cousins wrote me:</div>
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<i><b>"I remember when the river flooded and we heard he had hitchhiked back from college to help, I Immediately felt he would make everything ok. What a pillar of strength, character, ingenuity and dignity! Knowing him has made me strive to be a better person. The legacy he will leave with the world -- no man could want more."</b></i></blockquote>
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I never knew he hitchhiked home to help with the river clean up! That's crazy. An acquaintance from my high school days emailed me about one of his basketball games where my dad approached him afterward:</div>
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<i><b>"I have never spent much time getting to know your pop, but I have always respected him. After every guys game, he would come up to me and shake my hand and tell me how great we did. I can remember one game in particular, we were playing against a school in Austin. We trailed by 21 points going into the 4th and rallied from behind to win the game. Your dad was ecstatic and came over to tell us it was "one of the most amazing things" he had ever witnessed. Your pop has a way of making people feel good."</b></i></blockquote>
<span style="text-align: justify;">I love how specific this story is, and through all the detail you can plainly see how clear a memory it is for the writer - possibly one he'll never forget. My dad did that. My dad made that memory for him something he'll never forget. I needed to know that, as his daughter.</span> Thank you for sharing it.<br />
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Literally nothing is too cheesy to write.</span> Whatever emotion you’re feeling, it’s probably helpful to say. My friend Kimmy, who lives in Sweden, wrote, “I’m sending you love from across the ocean, as you swim through yours.” Another friend wrote: “When your grief feels dark and bottomless, know that we are here to reflect Paul’s light and love back to you, whether it’s next month, next year or in ten years.” If there is something that you think sounds pretty, go for it. They aren’t analyzing what you say — they just feel so raw.<br />
And there is nothing too great you can say about the person. One friend wrote, “I last saw you both at a friend’s wedding; you were gorgeous, and Paul was strong, confident and deeply happy. The awe I felt for him, you, both of you was astounding, and it has only ever grown.” I was blown away. You’re so starved for remembering and thinking you’ve lost something so great, when you hear something positive, it’s affirming and validating. You realize that people get what he meant to you. They understand, they think it’s important too. Your love is not lost in the world.<br />
Of course, you don’t have to be sentimental. One friend wrote, “THIS SUCKS,” and that felt great, too.<span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span><i style="letter-spacing: -0.159999996423721px;">[A Cup of Jo]</i></blockquote>
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We received some really beautiful letters from people. Not everyone is great with words, but that doesn't matter as long as it's well-meant and honest. All notes were meaningful whether they were straight to the point or read like poetry. I still cry every time I read what many of my cousins wrote about my dad. It just brings him to life on the page:</div>
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<i><b>"Thank you for what has to be the best margaritas and breakfast migas. Speaking of which, thank you to the entire family for making it so new year celebrations anywhere else seem horribly boring. Thank you for teaching me how to shoot, and how to appreciate the worth of a good pair of snake boots. Thank you for being there, and for sometimes being a much needed breath of perspective. Thank you for being an inspiration. I am so proud to be part of this family."</b></i></blockquote>
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It's so nice to know exactly what they remember him for, and to think that every time they have a homemade margarita or celebrate new years, they'll be thinking of him, too. One of dad's high school friends wrote me, and this funny little anecdote will always make me laugh:</div>
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<i><b>"Even though we didn't stay in close touch over the years, every time we saw each other it was like we'd never left off. I know this is silly, but every time I look at a sponge, I think of him because he showed me how to microwave them in water when they are getting stinky. There are so many good memories I can't list them all, but they are all on my mind now."</b></i></blockquote>
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I even received this note from the musicians that played at my dad's memorial service!</div>
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<i><b>"We all agreed that we've never played a gig quite like this one, but we were all grateful for being a part of it--the support of your friends and family for your father and for each other was incredible. All the shared stories, and Maggie's wonderful singing, was an outpouring like nothing I've ever seen. On a break, [we] agreed that although we didn't know Chris, we both wish we had. He must have been an amazing person, and we are proud to have helped you honor his memory."</b></i></blockquote>
<span style="text-align: justify;">In some ways this last one was weirdly more meaningful than many others from people I knew. These guys showed up and played at my dad's memorial. None of them knew any of us or knew my father. But they left feeling impacted by his life, and one of them was thoughtful enough to share it with me. I appreciated that so much. </span><br />
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700; letter-spacing: -0.159999996423721px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><b>Consider involving kids.</b></span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.159999996423721px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.159999996423721px;">I liked when kids drew a picture of Paul and me. Sometimes they drew a random picture and that was sweet, too. One note said, “Dear Lucy, You’re sad. Happy St. Patrick’s Day. I said a prayer for you last night. I’m Molly’s son. Love, Finn.” And then he drew a four-leaf clover. One girl wrote “Sick, Happy, Dr. Paul” and then crossed out the word sick. That was before he died. Her mom was like, I guess she decided she didn’t want him to be sick! It felt so poignant.</span></span><span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span><i style="letter-spacing: -0.159999996423721px;">[A Cup of Jo]</i></blockquote>
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Any little distraction is welcome when you are living a 24/7 cancer-hell. Pictures, drawings, funny gifts, goofy youtube videos - they pass the time, and certainly the long quiet days and nights after someone dies. Kids have that way of getting straight to the point and not beating around the bush. It's refreshing and welcome in those tough and often confusing times.</div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Say you’ll never forget him or her.</span> I like hearing that people will miss him. Someone sent me flowers and said, “Thinking of you; we miss Paul dearly,” and that meant a lot. A nurse who worked with him wrote, “We cherish the moments we spent with Paul in the operating room; he will never be forgotten.” Even though she’s a stranger to me, it’s really comforting to know that a nurse out there will never forget him either.<span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span></blockquote>
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This phrase was surprisingly and especially comforting to me. People could tell me they were sorry all they wanted, but to remember something specific about my dad and follow it up by "I'll never forget him" was true balm for my soul. I think it just seems like such an important acknowledgement of someone's impact on your life. We meet thousands of people in our lifetimes, and someone must be unique to be remembered - especially by people who didn't know you intimately or all that well. It also gives you the feeling of solidarity and that you aren't alone in the loss - other people are feeling it, too. Help us to remember, so we do not forget.</div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Write, even if you’re an acquaintance.</span> A couple of people I didn’t know well still wrote to me (old friends of Paul’s, or the artist who illustrated Paul’s <a href="http://cupofjo.com/2014/01/how-long-have-i-got-left/" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #e13d3d; cursor: pointer; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">New York Times essay</a>). It meant so much. You don’t have to be a close friend to write.<span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span></blockquote>
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Some of the most memorable and moving notes we received were from old friends of my father, or customers he worked for - we didn't know them, but they heard the news through the proverbial grapevine. These were fascinating for all of us, because it was a peek into little bits of his earlier life which we were not a part of or couldn't remember. Additionally, write to old friends you hear are sick, even if you haven't stayed in touch. I think it was very affirming and encouraging for my dad to receive notes from people in his past. Don't let distance, fear, or insecurity allow you to pass up an opportunity to say something you want or need to say.</div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Reach out anytime.</span> A few friends texted or sent flowers on the one-month anniversary of his death. Others sent a note a couple months later. They said, “We’re thinking of you,” and that was nice. You are not better two months later. I can imagine it would feel good to receive flowers six months later, a year later.</blockquote>
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It's yet another thing to add to your calendar, but especially if you are a close friend - do this. Program it into your phone or write them in the months to come on your planner. It's SO meaningful. Send a card or even just a text. Reach out in some way on important dates like birthdays, death-days, anniversaries, and any other day you think might be challenging for that person. But, don't hesitate to do something on random, insignificant dates as well. I had a hard time on my 30th birthday, ushering in a milestone without him just felt so wrong. The greatest comfort is not feeling alone, and the gaps between one anniversary and the next are often just as hard as those more significant days. </div>
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A dear family friend took grapes my dad had cultivated and made "Saint Christopher's Grape Jelly" for us - such a special, thoughtful gift that allowed us to enjoy something he'd worked on, even many months after he was gone. We still have a jar!</div>
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In writing this post, I went through old emails and notes and read the words people wrote to me during that time. The grief is still there, of course, but I can smile at the stories and memories friends and family shared and know my dad is not forgotten. Those are the condolences that keep on giving!</div>
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And if you made it all the way to the end, <b><i>my</i></b> sincere condolences for the length of this post!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-37857898882471127012015-09-04T22:21:00.002-05:002015-09-04T22:23:52.446-05:00100 Years Ago<div style="text-align: justify;">
One hundred years ago, people didn't care how many twitter followers they had. They cared about whether or not their crops would survive the season until harvests. They cared that their livestock would bear offspring and see the other side of winter. They cared about surviving childbirth and keeping all their teeth.</div>
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One hundred years ago, children weren't raised as the center of the universe. They were birthed out of necessity, and often out of love. More children meant more sons to work the fields, more daughters to keep the house. Children grew up and followed the footsteps of their fathers and mothers. They weren't lost in a sea of choices and opportunity, but were anchored by hard work and simple goals.</div>
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One hundred years ago, women could not vote, homosexuality was still a crime, and the Civil Rights Act did not exist. Some things haven't changed. Others have taken on a new shape or face. We've seen progress, but we have the same problems. Women are still not equal, homosexuals are still persecuted, racism still very much exists. We're still at war, but with different countries, with different peoples, and with different social issues. People will always pick sides. We will always have opinions. We will always disagree. With transition, there will always be new problems. Every change starts a ripple of disorder, which in turn creates fresh waves of controversy. We have to amend laws and design a new order. </div>
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One hundred years ago, living was just what happened between life and death. It was growing, eating, sleeping, working, marrying, birthing, care-taking, dying. The expectations weren't high. Life didn't owe us success, wealth, or fame. People got by on the least possible instead of in luxury. The stakes were survival. We were lucky, not entitled, to be alive.<br />
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We've come so far, we've learned so much. Breakthroughs in science, medicine, technology, commerce, connectivity. And now a generation is starting to move backward. Turn around and look to our grandparents and great grandparents. Look to history, handmade and homegrown. Question the wise and learn from the old ways. We're building a new dream on old ideals.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="337" mozallowfullscreen="" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/137898698" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="600"></iframe> </div>
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<a href="https://vimeo.com/137898698">Why We Must Find Beautify In The World : Richard Rodgers -</a> from <a href="https://vimeo.com/filmsforaction">Films For Action</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-45844604886652628052015-08-28T21:54:00.000-05:002015-08-28T21:58:10.835-05:00Paralyzed by Inspiration<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPXGM7dlAi7rV_mQbmZjaP_RkNb_2rQFZ9HE4X8D6nmXEDWy5o7D7qzAooMgW7irAjaZ8BGxD0UQdFqzGTJt10B1SENJliQ0MsPsb68_zHzybuKZ2h4XOe3-yp6rA6a04hURxfh6l59dB/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPXGM7dlAi7rV_mQbmZjaP_RkNb_2rQFZ9HE4X8D6nmXEDWy5o7D7qzAooMgW7irAjaZ8BGxD0UQdFqzGTJt10B1SENJliQ0MsPsb68_zHzybuKZ2h4XOe3-yp6rA6a04hURxfh6l59dB/s640/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="627" /></a></div>
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Is it possible to be paralyzed by inspiration? </div>
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It's a concept that I've been sitting on for weeks now, maybe even longer. Maybe my whole adult life. I recently completed a long, arduous bedroom re-painting project, and in those focused hours spent in my head while bent on repair and precision and concentrated effort, I waited for the answer to hatch. </div>
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I listened. I "leaned in." I realized I've been listening and leaning in for a long time. I'm starting to feel a cramp. </div>
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I've always thought of inspiration as the light bulb moment that propels action. As that missing part of the equation that suddenly works the whole thing out and answers the question. The first stroke of a paintbrush that will define the rest of the work. The thought or feeling or sensation that causes motion. <b><i>I always thought it included clarity and understanding.</i></b></div>
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But what if there's too much of it at one time? Is that even possible? Can you measure an intangible thing like inspiration? Does it sound <b><i>ridiculous</i></b> to say you feel "overly inspired?" Would that cause your work or project to become derailed and the vision muddy? Or is it then not even inspiration anymore, but some other sensation? </div>
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But clearly, paralyzed is the very description of what is happening to me right now. I'm overwhelmed by emotions I am processing, by truths that are being spoken by others, by the curiosity I have about the world and the people in it, and most of all... by what I have to do with all of it. </div>
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<b><i>So</i></b><i style="font-weight: bold;">mething</i> must be done, and action must be taken. Otherwise those bits and pieces of enlightenment are lost and forgotten, or, worse, they get stuck inside you and things turn dark and broody. Even now, as I'm trying to finally get something about this, no matter how shaky or fuzzy, out into words, I'm deleting and backspacing, editing and rewriting. I just can't fully define what it is - Artistic frustration? Procrastination? Fear? </div>
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<b>"If I keep my ideas in, they will eat me alive."<br />- Rayya Elias</b></blockquote>
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Don't get me wrong. I'm not certain this being "overly inspired" is entirely a bad thing. I'm pretty sure it's much more desirable than the alternative. It's both exhilarating and frustrating. I'm simultaneously thrilled and excited by each day, and let down by what I don't accomplish because I can't establish a direction. I'm full of ideas and prospects and brimming with potential. I'm filling my ears and head and heart and soul with encouragement and teaching from people who have had the ability to sink their teeth into these dilemmas, filter out the nuggets of truth, spit and shine and write them down to help unburden others. Thank God for them.</div>
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I feel like the message is always the same: if you just get started, the answers will come. </div>
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<b>"Inspiration doesn't owe you anything. Once you've found a balance between fear and creativity you still have to do the work." <br />-Elizabeth Gilbert</b></blockquote>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-87175862044537436062015-07-29T11:30:00.000-05:002015-07-29T11:30:01.423-05:00What 30 feels like so far.<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAL8UAqp1O60Y8dnRxEUibPhq1GMe19Vl0Eo6hgYUUzwAzSH7aljC_1k6V0zXrWGiP68P7jgRIoKNV7zo_hCa47fC65Gv7RGip_NVeWAHo7O2BfcW5szBvE8xYtXX1Z1Tirt3d6Bf7kOHv/s1600/IMG_0716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAL8UAqp1O60Y8dnRxEUibPhq1GMe19Vl0Eo6hgYUUzwAzSH7aljC_1k6V0zXrWGiP68P7jgRIoKNV7zo_hCa47fC65Gv7RGip_NVeWAHo7O2BfcW5szBvE8xYtXX1Z1Tirt3d6Bf7kOHv/s640/IMG_0716.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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When on the cusp of turning thirty I'd imagine many people feel like when the day arrives, the sky is going to crack open and the earth will shudder, and life as they knew it will be over. There was no earth shuddering, life changing bit for me, but the sky did crack open and send down quite a shower. People were<b> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DmoS2Lab8Q" target="_blank">kayaking the streets of Austin</a></b> on my birthday.<br />
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I was tucked away in a lovely rented ranch house at <a href="http://www.sagehill.com/" target="_blank"><b>Sage Hill Inn</b></a> in the hill country with Tim, and one of my best friends and her husband. We sat on the back deck and watched the rain pound down, laughed, ate queso and chips, and then watched the sun set with the most incredible misty-cloudy backdrop. Fortunately, the most of my personal worries that day was that I wouldn't get to go swimming. (I didn't, but the sun sure came out the next day!) It was a nice couple of days with zero pressure, a really bad sunburn, and Tim getting drunk and poking a rattle snake.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1PNtJpCOhVIFcRFr7UcpgrFnEtw9M2pgYYUVte75LjnBlfeaKbBqY05Wy-u5FMEYf9pGYJGIYnC6UhBnxN6pwNZZ1UXiz4igmgVtzrIWxxFol-WhHiF1Ix967QSu5Is5BBJMLnYRxSYaf/s1600/IMG_0732.JPG.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1PNtJpCOhVIFcRFr7UcpgrFnEtw9M2pgYYUVte75LjnBlfeaKbBqY05Wy-u5FMEYf9pGYJGIYnC6UhBnxN6pwNZZ1UXiz4igmgVtzrIWxxFol-WhHiF1Ix967QSu5Is5BBJMLnYRxSYaf/s640/IMG_0732.JPG.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
In all seriousness, though - I really thought I would have experienced MUCH more anxiety about this birthday. I desperately hate getting older (is there anyone who loves it?). I don't know anyone else who cried on their 21st birthday and refused to celebrate with large amounts of alcohol. It's not just the fine lines and gray hairs and all the physical changes of age, it's that everything feels harder, reality is more oppressive, and with every passing year I see aging embodied in incredible waste....of time, creativity, potential. You start to see that fear that you might wake up at the end of your life and feel as though you accomplished nothing that you set out to do might actually be realized.</div>
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Strangely, though, after two months of introspection, 30 feels more and more like a golden opportunity to go forth and live a life of intention, balance, and contentment. It's been motivation to open my heart to possibility and just trust that my purpose will find me. Those are the lines, I just have to figure out what shade to color them.</div>
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Over the past five years I started feeling increasingly imbalanced and out of place. Fuzzy instead of sharp, defeated instead charged. I struggled to perform well in my work or feel satisfaction in achievement. I lacked the confidence to follow my gut. I often couldn't even <i>hear</i> my instinct over the roar of insecurity, and spent a lot of time feeling anxious that I looked stupid. I was constantly paranoid of flunking life. It was sort of like I lost my inner-compass, if that makes sense.<br />
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All those cliches started to apply to me: I had no sense of self, I didn't know who I was, I needed to find myself. None of that had <i>ever</i> been a problem for me. If anything, I was always told I was <i>too</i> confident, opinionated, stubborn, and independent. I had consciously spent years post-college attempting to water those traits down in order to be hirable, manageable, and moldable in a traditional work setting, all the while not realizing that that was my <i>core</i>. Those weren't bad things, they were just what made me a little different from everyone else. Could I afford to be a little more patient and compassionate - YES. But I also didn't need to be so afraid of being wrong or messing up or people not liking me, that I hyper-analyzed every human encounter.</div>
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Quitting my acting *career* in 2010 made sense at the time, but looking back it was also me closing the door on my willingness to be really vulnerable - either on stage or in *real* life. What was once exciting and intriguing, was more and more just scary and painful. I dreaded my studio classes, I hated improv and auditioning, it was all so much work to keep pushing, exploring, and making new discoveries. Even so, it wasn't easy to quit. Theatre had been my identity for <i>so long</i>. It had been there before high school and then college, before Tim, before Oscar... it was very very deeply rooted. And it was <i>always</i> what I thought I wanted to do.<br />
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I think I stumbled around a lot after that. Without one clear directive, I wasn't sure where who I was meant to be or to what I should dedicate my existence. I still haven't really figured that part out, so let's just gloss over that for now. BUT. I'm starting to feel OK with the not knowing, and I think that's usually when the magic happens.<br />
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Oh. Also, in honor of 30 I finally changed my hair color. After 11 years.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4orjItxSjbG_Rb3ZMcVED0nQrR0IPVymWQuWqLNv0JUrC3a9uJBmuBPqEZKmoH9QzblVSlTjH3etmPSngRNrtsdQtwCH7qhbmvQJFRnnZeJmu2muoRILSSpXXAjIZzjhZ2Fs2ygoKQvUh/s1600/Image-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4orjItxSjbG_Rb3ZMcVED0nQrR0IPVymWQuWqLNv0JUrC3a9uJBmuBPqEZKmoH9QzblVSlTjH3etmPSngRNrtsdQtwCH7qhbmvQJFRnnZeJmu2muoRILSSpXXAjIZzjhZ2Fs2ygoKQvUh/s640/Image-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Inspiration photos I took to the salon with me.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvze3SQM3QohTxtMpTg-3h4w41FtvqHBX7PY1pkYtPCuwI8TtnMmZEw_x0O9XcuIeMGmwEp9SY8hNjnvV7DTJgyCv_WiZu8InuVpF0oV3g7SXoMURlQd14hnSsnPuq8UGri3iJwwsfpq2/s1600/IMG_1576.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvze3SQM3QohTxtMpTg-3h4w41FtvqHBX7PY1pkYtPCuwI8TtnMmZEw_x0O9XcuIeMGmwEp9SY8hNjnvV7DTJgyCv_WiZu8InuVpF0oV3g7SXoMURlQd14hnSsnPuq8UGri3iJwwsfpq2/s640/IMG_1576.PNG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Before and After. <br />(Don't judge my shades... also from 2004. I lost my regulars.)</i></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-91446872767666273692015-07-28T16:03:00.000-05:002015-07-29T00:24:50.562-05:00These days.So after my birthday in May, a couple of things happened.<br />
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My friend and personal trainer of years past, Diana Haggerty, invited me to take part in the beta testing of a new program she's developing for her business <a href="http://www.femmepowerfitness.com/" target="_blank"><b>Femme Power Fitness</b></a>. For me, this meant I could afford to jump back into training session twice a week. For Diana, this meant she got fresh flabby meat to test her programming on, and my *valuable* feedback. One round of testing turned into two, and we're still going strong. This was exactly what I needed, starting exactly when it did. I talked about <a href="http://alittlewhitenoise.blogspot.com/2015/07/intention_10.html" target="_blank"><b>being really busy</b></a> most of last year, and one of the things that definitely got sidelined was activity and exercise of any kind. Working with a personal trainer is good for me because I <i>have</i> to be held accountable, or working out generally doesn't happen. So while Diana doesn't technically have me do anything I couldn't do at home, and I definitely want to work up to a point where I don't need a very well trained, paid workout buddy to get 'er done, this is right for me, right now. Also, Diana is just awesome, so I don't mind buying her friendship twice a week.</div>
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The second thing to happen, that went hand in hand with the training, was a nutritional adjustment. The first few weeks of the beta testing the hubs and I also used Diana's meal prep services. So we had prepared meals to pull from the freezer 4 nights a week. If I'm being truthful, Tim ate more of the meals than I did. I didn't really start taking nutrition seriously for about another month - but I'll get to that in a minute. </div>
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Tim being on board with a nutrition fix was a game-changer. It's not that he was ever anti-eating well, we just both supported each other's bad choices. Once he was on the wagon with me, it felt like a team effort and we were making the hard (but right) choices together. His vice is beer and overeating, and mine is fried food and sweets... and pretty much everything else bad for you. The prepared meals really helped him with portion control (Diana assigned us each a certain amount per meal) and kept us eating at home, instead of ordering out so much. A couple of other things clicked at about the same time that really helped motivate us both - namely I had a lot more time to focus on this issue and get my stress levels back to semi-normal, I turned 30, and we both hit our max weight EVER. I realized that for the last 3 or so years, I'd been looking toward year 30 as this goal - where I would be in the best shape of my life. Then the old birthday rolls around and I'm actually in the <i>worst shape</i> of my life. Time for a change.</div>
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I think a lot of women my age can identify, but at this point I'm not really concerned with being a skinny-mini as much as I am with feeling strong and healthy. Even if I weighed my goal weight, that isn't going to look on me what it would on someone a foot taller with genetically gifted long and lean limbs. I don't have that build. That sounds obvious, but it's taken me a long time to realize that being fit for me isn't going to be poster-worthy, and it isn't all about pounds and ounces. My new goals were (yes) to lose some weight, but also to build muscle and have more energy. </div>
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And then came the real "experiment." We decided to cut out gluten and wheat-based products from our diet. I did this <a href="http://alittlewhitenoise.blogspot.com/2013/02/dreaming-of-wheat.html" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">once before</a> and didn't feel like it made a huge difference for me, so after a month I gave it up. Bread has always been my first love, so giving that up is always a challenge. This time it was like magical things were happening for our intestines. After a mere two weeks we had a cheat day and both felt like warmed up dog shit, so the proof was in the pudding, so to speak. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih1ckXllCHN8l4WidAk7FCZDe7cVPOkWBy-Meqd_eXTCIFZoxNU9CneCf4Vxh0k6wgxR4OopL-m1QXUfw9a4FXvD0V8UaU0VYGkp2Ve8zuqaldsjLVaHNGFsWxKbcbMHnBXKabNBLwGm6E/s1600/IMG_0772.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih1ckXllCHN8l4WidAk7FCZDe7cVPOkWBy-Meqd_eXTCIFZoxNU9CneCf4Vxh0k6wgxR4OopL-m1QXUfw9a4FXvD0V8UaU0VYGkp2Ve8zuqaldsjLVaHNGFsWxKbcbMHnBXKabNBLwGm6E/s640/IMG_0772.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oscar judging us on a cheat day at The Launderette.</i></td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Gluten-free has become a cliche these days, and specifically in Austin it feels uber trendy to be gluten-intolerant. I roll my eyes when I hear people request it at restaurants because half the time I don't think they really know what it means, but I can't anymore - because I'm doing it, too. In our favor, this does makes it really easy to go out to eat around town while still maintaining our dietary restrictions. Most places here have a number of GF options, or are very accommodating if asked. All I can say is, I feel bad when I eat it, and I feel better when I don't. I'm not going to get more scientific than that, because I really don't care. The next step will be to eliminate all processed foods. But for now I still need my GMO-free, GF, organic blue corn chips and salsa to get through the day.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicyCNYtzabiO26ac60T49Wl9Y21iPGfXhLa9vhUtTXPhlyGquJvC_KjRRmZXdieFOdKmPDBvCLNolfsVN8WxHoKFdL9XNM_wPw_GxHlP_tjcs3hHwEI1Cg7ZjU2b9UN2p1ah6YvwojLfZg/s1600/IMG_1503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicyCNYtzabiO26ac60T49Wl9Y21iPGfXhLa9vhUtTXPhlyGquJvC_KjRRmZXdieFOdKmPDBvCLNolfsVN8WxHoKFdL9XNM_wPw_GxHlP_tjcs3hHwEI1Cg7ZjU2b9UN2p1ah6YvwojLfZg/s640/IMG_1503.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ignore the bread. It came with the meal and wasn't eaten, by us anyway.</i></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-47004402299074022732015-07-22T22:36:00.000-05:002015-07-22T22:36:35.796-05:00Where I can breathe.<div style="text-align: justify;">
Is it just me, or people my age, or are we - as a nation - trending toward the rural life again? So many folk I know now have dreams of unplugging and making their urban exodus, quitting their jobs and traveling like nomads, setting up farms and ranches or living in tiny houses on big spreads of land. Some days it sounds truly glorious. Then I think about milking a cow at 5:00am every day and I waver.</div>
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Even though I grew up in the country and played in the dirt (literally... I LOVED making mud pies, mud soup, mud muffins, etc, like nothing else), once I got into theatre, I <i>always</i> thought I'd be a city gal. No aspiring actor's dream is complete without a penniless move to NYC, right? I never made it, clearly, and on my first trip to NYC I was mesmerized / revolted / in disbelief at the piles of trash and stench of pollution everywhere. I felt suffocated and depressed. I couldn't fathom how someone could live there, much less happily. Yes, I saw the character, I felt the pulse of opportunity, I soaked up the history and admired the architecture. But I also felt like the city just looked tired, patched together, with millions of tiny human ants milling about. By comparison, D.C. (our home at the time) felt like a pristine National Park. </div>
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I love cities. But living in any big city is HARD. Everything takes more effort. Everyone's exhausted from just doing <i>life</i> everyday. I love to visit and do <i>city stuff</i>, but I have no more desire to live there. I'd much rather sip coffee on the front porch of a cabin in the mountains, or look out my window and only see fields and cows. It's in those places I feel like I can breathe. </div>
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It's like we've come full circle, to another generation running like wild from a concrete paradise. A generation who is invested in the quality and source of what we put in our bodies and interested in where our food is grown and raised, and sees value in owning and cultivating land. That simpler life where the goals are sustenance and survival. You work hard, but you work to feed yourself and your family, and nothing more. It seems like a small and a manageable life. The work is hard, but meaningful and rewarding. We don't need so many things to make us happy. Just meals, shelter, and sunset embraces after a day of toiling in the earth, and rising just to rinse and repeat again tomorrow.</div>
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<i>“The care of the Earth is our most ancient and most worthy, and after all our most pleasing responsibility. To cherish what remains of it and to foster its renewal is our only hope.” </i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-30352472884184655152015-07-20T16:58:00.003-05:002015-07-20T22:45:42.604-05:00This blog and me.<div style="text-align: justify;">
This note is a page-holder for things to come. Get ready, it's long and rambly.</div>
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If it isn't obvious from previously posted content, I have a difficult time posting anything less than 591,847,236 words long. Case in point here with this one. Usually when I sit to write, it's because one of two catalysts occur: </div>
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1. I've been mulling something over for a very long time and finally feel ready to put it down.</div>
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2. I'm struck by or experience something that inspires "a light bulb moment" and feel the need to write about it right away.</div>
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Point being, I'm long-winded and I'm not very good at making anything a habit, unless we're talking about caffeine and chocolate and binge watching Netflix. So regular posting has never been easy for me because it takes time and apparently (over) thinking, and then I just talk myself out of it in the end. Like I do exercise. Also, even though it might not be obvious, I tend to spend a good deal of time on what I write. <strike>Rarely</strike> Never do I sit and write and then click publish without a good proof read or several revisions. Sorry, that's just the English major in me. And THEN once it's all up there I immediately start to doubt it: the tone, the style, the content. I'm a judger - it's what I do - and don't think that I'm exempt from my own criticism. (I once tore diary entries out, because I later thought they were "stupid.") I worry that it's too contrived, too indulgent, too narcissistic, too anything. The list is long. Everything about putting what are essentially personal journal entries out for public consumption leaves me wracked with about a bazillion feelings. </div>
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And let's for a brief moment (because I know this is a very over-worked subject) talk about the fact that I'm a little torn about having any social internet presence at all. There is a VERY big part of my soul that would love to snub social media as a whole forever. I miss my flip phone where I could only receive text messages and make phone calls and occasionally get really, really grainy photos, so so so bad! I find myself falling into the black hole of click-me! headlines and endless youtube videos, and then feeling so disgusted at the total time I just wasted. I would love to be uber hip and go completely off-grid. </div>
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BUT. I'm also fascinated with the way technology connects total strangers. Most of my generation doesn't even have a clue what the world was like before chat rooms, forums, and online dating services. I still remember the excitement of hearing "Welcome" and "You've Got Mail" and the little door opening and closing as your BUDDIES signed on and off of AOL. A whole new world, that's what that was. So while I hate all the stereotypes - the snarky comment threads, the oversharing, the people who use Twitter and Facebook for their own political agendas, you know the kind - I sort of love the weird, modern beauty of how the interwebs link perfect strangers together. It's why I recently turned off the private settings on my Instagram and started using hashtags. I've found and followed so many other ridiculously interesting people with amazing life perspectives on Instagram. It's cheesy, but I've been inspired by them. Those people thought they had something worth saying and were brave enough to share a bit of their life with the world, and the fact that it was accompanied by a photo didn't hurt either. It's brave - EVERY time you share something - whether it's on the internet or face-to-face. Don't disillusion yourself that because you put something on the internet you can't hurt or be hurt because it all happens through a screen.</div>
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I often think about what tangible, recorded history I'll leave behind. Not that I think my life is or is going to become quite astonishing, but I know how much I've treasured old letters my parents wrote each other, cards I received from my mom, or even how much I enjoy rereading hand-written trip entries from just a few years ago (I always take a real journal with me on trips). Emails get deleted, computers break, files mysteriously vanish. I can't tell you how sad I am that I don't have some of the email correspondence between me and my dad from when I was in college. Heartbreaking. Before the internet, history was often recorded through letters. What do we have now for future generations? Blogs?</div>
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There's the pressure (is it all in my mind?) to have a categorized blog, or have a purpose. Gone are the days of livejournaling all your deepest emo thoughts, and knowing everyone was gonna be channeling the emo right along with ya. Now there are a million fashion bloggers, or fashion-travel bloggers, or fashion-travel-photographer-home-renovator bloggers who make shit and sell it on etsy. Few just write about their lives anymore. Maybe because everybody's trying to make money. Most people's lives aren't interesting enough to make them money, and we, as consumers, aren't interested in regular life anymore. Our culture prefers the sham that is a curated internet lifestyle. Our own personal museum pieces. I'm guilty of it too. I want my life to look and sound interesting. WHY ELSE WOULD I SHARE IT WITH THE WORLD?</div>
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Suffice to say, I have major mixed feelings over this blog and blogging in general. I feel supremely foolish telling people I have a blog - it sounds SO cliche - so I never promote it. I never really considered trying to make money off of what I write, either. When people who do read it comment on something I've written I usually feel embarrassed. Exposed. I think I need to get over it all. Blogging is here to stay. I like it. I enjoy doing it. But I have always struggled with the purpose. I mentioned living life with <a href="http://alittlewhitenoise.blogspot.com/2015/07/intention_10.html" style="font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">intention</a> this year. I'm trying to decide what that means for this blog. Am I writing for ME, or am I writing for some (mostly) unidentified audience? Is it for therapy, pleasure, or the need for attention? What's my motivation and do I have an agenda? I'm not entirely sure. I think it's a combination of things, but I keep coming back. To write. I just like to write. Can I leave it at that?</div>
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Since the end of May, when I turned 30 and found myself with an excess of "free time" on my hands, I've been having a lot of deep thoughts and BIG feelings. All of the feelings. About everything. About BIG stuff. It's not world-changing, but it's world-view-changing... for me. I feel like during the transition from 29 to 30 I lived a whole mini-lifetime. I need to - really need to - write it down. Not for the internet, or my 3 readers, but for me. I want to remember it, it's my history.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-81974141359633767782015-07-10T22:02:00.000-05:002015-07-28T01:23:46.108-05:00Intention<div style="text-align: justify;">
Typically in January I set some intentions for the year. Even if I don't share them here, in the last few years I've truly been thoughtful about who I want to be during and after the forthcoming 365 days. When January rolled around I just wasn't ready. I couldn't make myself stop working long enough to decide what my intentions were for 2015. Sure, I did my yearly <a href="http://alittlewhitenoise.blogspot.com/2015/01/its-new-year-2015.html" style="font-weight: bold;">survey</a>, but that was it. I thought for sure I'd have something down on virtual paper by my 30th birthday. But I wasn't ready. I was too busy.</div>
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For a long time - the past 2 years - being too busy was the best thing for me. It really helped me transition quickly from a place of deep grieving much more quickly than if I'd had a lot of time to sit and dwell. It covered up a lot of things I just didn't want to feel, embody, or understand. So I glorified how busy I was. I was <i>that</i> person who had to stop conversations to check my email and whose phone interrupted dinner, and I'm sure I acted very self-important about it, too. Anyway, busy got busier, and then sort of insane, and then it didn't feel like a good, healthy, normal, distracting busy anymore. It was a "I'm on the verge of a meltdown" busy, and on top of the <i>life</i>-<i>busy,</i> my heart and mind and soul were pretty damn <i>busy</i> trying to deal with all that grief that had been swept under the rug. I was struggling with everything - career, relationships, financial status, materialism, wellness, marriage, life. Just "doing life" was tiresome, each and every day. I couldn't enjoy anything. Except crap food. </div>
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It's not an unfamiliar story. I was sad, super stressed, unhealthy, and now sort of overly <i>plump</i> in a way I had never been before. And for someone who always dealt with immense stress and crises extremely well, it was clear I needed a small team from FEMA to take control.</div>
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Establishing an intention for this year seemed so big and monumental...and just one more thing to set off an anxiety attack. Asking anything that deep of myself was far too stressful for January. And also for February, March, April, and May. And apparently June as well, come to think of it. Maybe I thought it had to be more significant than other recent years, because this was a BIG year - the year of thirty. Maybe I was just being lazy. Maybe the overachiever in me wanted to have ALL of the intentions because I was experiencing ALL of the emotions in a VERY big way. Seriously. But maybe, it's also just taken me this long to realize that this year isn't going to have a key word or phrase or special goal. This year is going to be all about <u>living with intention</u> for me. That's it. In everything I do.</div>
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Do you know what's really fantastic? The medical definition of the word <i>intention</i> is: <i>"the healing process of a wound."</i></div>
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THE HEALING PROCESS OF A WOUND.</div>
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You guuuuys. Such a happy coincidence. I promise I didn't plan it, it wasn't my intention. </div>
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Well... now it is.</div>
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<i>below: the face of 30. and Oscar.</i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-66795766362091576032015-03-30T12:00:00.002-05:002015-03-30T12:57:14.573-05:00Home Improvement<div style="text-align: justify;">
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There are a lot of shitty things about being an adult, and if us married folk are being completed honest, sometimes one of them is the strain of marriage. <i>(I guess, depending on your childhood, there might be a lot of shitty things about being a kid. I didn't have that experience.)</i> But I will say that one of the glorious things about being an adult is deciding at 2:20am that you need a peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwich, and then proceeding to have one right then and there.</div>
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In January we moved everything out of our once a guest room / meant to be an office / recently a dump-it-all room, to begin a makeover. It was intended to be a one-day turnaround with a quick paint job. We still aren't done. Along the way we've trashed a couch and tossed it to the curb, probably inhaled a lot of asbestos, basically had one disaster after another, and definitely gotten on each other's last nerve.</div>
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The first was a full day of sanding texture off the walls, followed by a Sunday morning marriage crises when Tim didn't cover the floors and tracked oil-based primer all over the hardwoods. I'm mostly joking when I say the day almost ended in divorce. Mostly. I did cry about it. Me striving for perfection and Tim's preference for shortcuts do not a merry couple make.<br />
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The second weekend followed with my new terror of asbestos in the ceiling tile, certainty that I will die of lung cancer in 30 years, and in search of the perfect shade of white paint. Ironically I was helped at Home Depot while hunting an asbestos test kit by a kindly older gentleman whose cousin died from mesothelioma. Awesome. Red Flags everywhere. It was almost like a slapstick routine. If only it were funny. </div>
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We had multiple meltdowns. "Should we just move???" was pondered out loud more than once. Oh, old home joys. <i>(And we don't even own it...)</i> BUT. Along the way - as with most projects that require hard work, physical labor, and allow plenty of time for deep thoughtful soul-searching - I arrived at some interesting revelations.</div>
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The Year Four of marriage mark has been passed. We can now look at each other and say "We've been hitched for 1,461 days and counting. You're welcome, and thanks for putting up with me!" <i>(No, my math isn't incorrect. Two thousand twelve was a leap year, biatch. Plus, I did that shit with a calculator.) </i>Thanks to those 1,461 days under our belt, I sometimes start to feel like we're old hat at this marriage thing. I mean we're almost to Five - and there's something about Five that just implies you've passed a big hurdle, amiright? FIVE - I mean that's like longer than I spent in college. So with Four I feel like we're graduating and heading out into the big wide world of "in it for life." And then if you add in all the years we spent cohabitating prior to exchanging rings, why, we're practically Marriage Experts.</div>
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And yet, we don't really know what the F we are doing. We still end up on the floor of an empty, freshly painted room, arguing about how we communicate... or fail to communicate. We still set expectations for the other to be somehow magically different than they really are, and then act royally irritated when the other disappoints. We say thank you too rarely, and complain too often. We each take advantage of the other's presence, contributions, and are often too selfish to speak the other's love language. Sometimes we're just not good spouses. It's true.</div>
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One of my revelations over the last couple of months was that my expectations of Tim have changed since a year and a half ago. I'm a critical person and I have really high standards - that's no secret. I should just come with a disclaimer: "Not for the faint-hearted! Don't ask this one what she really thinks, or you'll find out!" But when the man who had previously had the most influence in my life suddenly took a bow and made his exit, so did my measuring stick.<br />
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I think I had always sort of measured Tim up to my dad, but not in a creepy way and not even in a critical way. I didn't want to marry "my dad" or someone who even remotely reminded me of him. I was extremely critical of him and we more often than not did NOT get along. But I think it's natural to make comparisons, and notice differences and similarities. But suddenly, with his absence - someone has to fill that big gap. I've been punishing him for all the ways he isn't or can't possibly. <i>(Like not knowing why the F our freshly polyurethaned hardwoods are drying crunchy underfoot.)</i> It's taken me a while to be able to identify this pattern of behavior, and be able to apologize for it.<br />
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When we planned our wedding the whole concept <i>(because I like concepts, not themes)</i> was that of Home & Community. We kept it small, married in my parent's back yard, and only had 50 close friends and family there. At the time that Edward Sharpe song was our little mantra - "home is wherever I'm with you." Tim, you're my home. If there's struggle, if we don't know what we are doing, if we make major boo boos and have to redo stuff, maybe it means we're growing and learning and getting stronger and better, and I hope... slowly improving this home of ours.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-57290845001728585762015-01-20T03:01:00.002-06:002015-01-20T03:02:17.027-06:00the peace which passeth <div style="text-align: justify;">
I've been rolling "the peace which passeth all understanding" around in my mind now for the last week. I think this phrase sort of stops me like a roadblock, because I find peace IN understanding things. I don't like things I can't wrap my head around, or explain in a logical way.</div>
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(Guess whose gene that is...?)</div>
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Very early Sunday morning, an old family friend passed away of cancer. He was in his own home, his wife by his side, and so much of this story that I've been following through Facebook posts and caringbridge journal entries just make my heart ache, like a fist to the chest. It's a mirror to a still too fresh face of grief.</div>
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I'm trying to understand. How does this peace work? </div>
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Are there steps you take to get there? </div>
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Does it come in moments or waves, or does it enter and stay?</div>
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Will I always feel sick when I look back on that time?</div>
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Will I eventually just not be saddened by this fate?</div>
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The knot in my chest... does that loosen and fade away?</div>
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Does a darkness lift?</div>
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Is a tangible weight relieved?</div>
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I don't get it. What exactly does this peace, that we just can't understand, feel like?</div>
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Amazingly, most of the time I don't sit around and wonder "why me?" or "why us?" or even "what if?" If I'm giving myself credit, I'd saying I'm just smarter than that. If I'm being realistic, it's because none of those questions - or the answer which is also un-knowable - make me feel better. In fact, thinking about those events at ALL doesn't make me feel any better. So I just don't. But the entries on this blog could definitely lead a reader to think that I struggle with this daily, and I dwell on it, and I can't move past it. Over the last year I had 6 entries and every single one of them was about grief, cancer, and Dad. But I'm not struggling with it daily. I just feel... emptier. Bland. Not in turmoil, but - certainly - not at peace.</div>
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It passeth, alright. It passes me right on by... and keeps going.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-50677233716288367472015-01-01T00:26:00.000-06:002015-01-19T00:46:27.777-06:00It's a New Year 2015<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's no secret that I love the holiday season. I used to be a real grinch about it, until 5 or 6 years ago when I stopped hating gifts and blaming commercialism, and started enjoying the idea of celebrating others. Celebrating also changed with simple maturity... leaving childish, self-centered perspectives on the holiday behind, and realizing that it was far more meaningful to show appreciation, than to receive gifts. And this extended to that pivotal turning point in life when you really realize just how important your family and close friends are, despite flaws, dysfunctions, and disagreements. It's better to be together, than to be alone. Conversation with good friends, cherished moments with family members, and joining loved ones around a table filled with hearty food and drink to relish fond memories...priorities, people.</div>
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But the New Year is my favorite of all the days we celebrate. It is a bookend, but also a beginning. I love fresh starts. I have several times referenced the Anne Shirley quote - “Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?” - and that is often exactly how I feel when I am going to bed at night. For 24 hours people stop what they are doing and consider the magnitude of another year in time rolling over to give way to a fresh, new one... with no mistakes in it yet.</div>
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Spending too much time looking backward has proved to be an unhealthy habit for me. I find that my nature, which is prone to intense criticism, gets stuck on all the things that didn't quite live up to my expectations, instead of sifting through to find the moments that left me awestruck. I have tried more and more over the years to shift my focus forward and strive harder, instead of dwell about what was not to be or could have been better. Life hangs in too delicate a balance to dig up the failures of the year past, and really: how does revisiting them actually encourage goals that leave us hopeful for the future? </div>
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If there's anything I've learned in the last couple of years, it's that survival depends on and even finds it's anchor in Hope. We would be nothing without it, adrift and waterlogged. Hope is what sails us forward, onward... toward a fresh start with no mistakes.</div>
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Yet, it's still healthy to glance over the metaphorical shoulder now and then, and this is why I am still doing the questionnaire below, after four years. I'm a little late in posting, but it was important to me to keep the tradition going forward....</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; text-align: justify;">As always --- If you feel so inclined - leave me a yearbook message in the comments section below with YOUR answer to the final question. I enjoy reading them. :-)</span><br />
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<i>I began answering this "A Year in Review" questionnaire three years ago. This is my fourth year, and I always enjoy looking back on my answers from the previous year and comparing life as I know it now to what my expectations were at the start of the year. </i></div>
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<b>1. What did you do in 2014 that you'd never done before?</b><br />
Visited Mexico! And Portland! Celebrated 3 years of marriage, turned 29, and made it a whole year without the physical (earthly) presence of my dad.<br />
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<b>2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?</b><br />
My only and all encompassing goal for 2014 was: BE WELL. </div>
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It took me about 1/2 the year to get there, but I did recover from the problems I was dealing with. And then new ones popped up - so I would say Health is an ongoing project, as it is for everyone.<br />
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<b>3. Did anyone close to you give birth?</b></div>
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Yes, and it was magical watching a dear friend's heart fill to the brim with a new kind of love.</div>
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<b>4. Did anyone close to you die?</b></div>
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No.</div>
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<b>5. What countries did you visit?</b></div>
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Mexico.</div>
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<b>6. What would you like to have in 2015 that you lacked in 2014?</b></div>
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Balance.</div>
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<b>7. What date from 2014 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?</b></div>
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February 28 - Nora was born!</div>
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<b><br />8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?</b><br />
Making great strides in my new career. Becoming more relaxed about things that don't really matter, learning to let go.<br />
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<b>9. What was your biggest failure?</b><br />
Letting stress and worry get the best of me. Unnecessary arguing with the Husband.</div>
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<b>10. Did you suffer illness or injury?</b><br />
Yes, but not in a way that remotely compared to the year before!</div>
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<b>11. What was the best thing you bought?</b><br />
Unlimited carwash membership! :)<br />
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<b>12. Whose behavior merited celebration?</b><br />
My mom. Watching her pick up the pieces of her life and plough forward with a thousand new responsibilities has made me simultaneously proud and filled with admiration and respect.<br />
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<b>13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?</b><br />
I'm afraid this is a far too public forum for these types of questions.<br />
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<b>14. Where did most of your money go?</b><br />
FOOD. Must stop eating out!!!<br />
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<b>15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?</b><br />
Our Pacific Coastal road trip from San Francisco to Portland! Would totally move there - it is delightful. And it was one of the best trips I've ever taken.<br />
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<b>16. What song will always remind you of 2014?</b></div>
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"All About that Bass" - Meghan Trainor<br />
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<b>17. Compared to this time last year, are you:</b><br />
<b>I. happier or sadder?</b><br />
Happier.<br />
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<b>II. thinner or fatter?</b><br />
Ugh.<br />
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<b>III. richer or poorer?</b><br />
Richer.<br />
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<b>18. What do you wish you'd done more of?</b><br />
Exercised, meditated, read books, loved on the Hubs.<br />
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<b>19. What do you wish you'd done less of?</b><br />
Been angry and bitter and stressed out. Watched TV, screen time in general.<br />
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<b>20. How did you spend Christmas?</b><br />
At the Green house with family and in Gonzales.</div>
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<b>21. Who had the biggest influence on your life in 2014?</b><br />
Gina, the Experience Expert.<br />
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<b>22. Did you fall in love in 2014?</b><br />
I think fell into a love-hate relationship with work. :) And also with Moscow Mules.<br />
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<b>23. How many one-night stands?</b><br />
None.<br />
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<b>24. What was your favorite TV program?</b><br />
Parenthood :)<br />
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<b>25. Do you dislike anyone now that you didn't dislike this time last year?</b><br />
None who comes to mind.<br />
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<b>26. What was the best book you read?</b><br />
<u>The Signature of All Things,</u> by Elizabeth Gilbert. </div>
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This is the best book I have read in many years and after many, many months, I still can't stop thinking about it.<br />
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<b>27. What was your greatest musical discovery?</b><br />
Let's go instead with PODCAST - loved Serial!<br />
<b><br />28. What did you want and get?</b><br />
More financial freedom, more work, more experience in my industry.<br />
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<b>29. What did you want and not get?</b><br />
More travel time! A new house and a new car.<br />
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<b>30. Best movies this year? (And I'm adding Netflix Series, too!)</b><br />
The 100 Foot Journey, The Honorable Woman, Peaky Blinders, The Killing, House of Cards<br />
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<b>31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?</b><br />
I worked! Amazing wedding at the Long Center, Gina baked me a funfetti cake, all the vendors sang, and then I hung around to listen to the band with a view of our great city!<br />
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<b>32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?</b><br />
Less time in front of my computer.<br />
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<b>33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2013?</b><br />
Comfortable and classic. The year of button downs, denim, and gold accessories.<br />
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<b>34. What kept you sane?</b><br />
My Google Calendar, venting sessions, and apparently a lot of chocolate.<br />
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<b>35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?</b><br />
Meh. Can't say I paid attention.<br />
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<b>36. What political issue stirred you the most?</b><br />
The Paris terrorist attacks.<br />
<b><br />37. Who did you miss?</b><br />
My old FRIENDS. Why do none of them live in Austin???<br />
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<b>38. Who was the best new person you met?</b><br />
That would have to be a lot of the wonderful event professionals we work with regularly, with a special nod to Trace. ;)<br />
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<b>39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2014:</b></div>
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It's a fine line between practicing tolerance / forgiveness and being walked all over. Don't mistake one for the other, and don't forget you have a backbone.<br />
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<b>40. One word or sentence to describe how you feel about 2014:</b></div>
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"Can't" is a dirty four letter word, so stop saying it.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-49758301831435278012014-10-14T16:14:00.001-05:002014-10-14T16:17:37.105-05:00365 Days + Eternity<div style="text-align: justify;">
To mark the One Year, we rented a house in Port Aransas. The house full of people, the visits with friends, having us all in one spot was all great - but it didn't feel like therapy. I thought I would feel something on that day, that one year anniversary. I thought I would feel different or tragic or weird. I think I was just too busy driving, working, and visiting, and quite honestly I didn't want to stop and breathe, and think about what it being ONE YEAR really meant.<br />
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While there I had a conversation with a family friend about "outlets." It's not new news that everyone grieves and processes grief individually. I think I took a lot of time during my dad's decline, and while he was still alive, to prepare and grieve in my own way. But I also know now that I truly fulfilled my type-A, controlling personality stereotype and I threw myself into work and moving forward, without really looking the beast in the eye. So it's hit me in little waves, and affected me in more subtle, slow-growing ways. I keep coming back here to write about it, because that is truly the outlet that works for me. For now. I can talk about it, without having to talk about it. I can unload and then hide away for a month or two. I can write to an invisible audience, but not have to listen to anyone's opinions or advice. I think some grief counseling might be in my future - not really because of losing my dad, but because of the WAY we lost him, and what I witnessed in that death, and how it changed me as a person, and all the questions about life that now seem uncapturable and, certainly, unanswerable.<br />
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It's been a weird month. Like so much of the last year and a half, I'm not really sure what to think, but I do know I'm having a lot of thoughts. Like ALL OF THE THOUGHTS. I feel as though at least one of them must be profound, worth remembering, or at the very least therapeutic to write down, so I am. This is rambly and winding, but I need them to get out of my head and out into oblivion.... so I can let some of them go.</div>
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Most of the time now I'm just tired. TIRED. I don't have a baby or even a true 40 hour work week to blame so I'm going to point the finger at the blanket of sadness we all got wrapped up in last year. If I can name one way grief has affected me, it would be that it has exhausted me in a very deep, penetrating way. I have what I call "foggy brain" most days - unless I'm doped up on coffee. I was never good at small-talk, but now I'm reeeeally awful and completely lose my way in conversation - stopping mid-sentence searching for a common word or to even remember what I was saying seconds ago. I have no attention span or short-term memory, and mostly - I want to sleep. No amount of sleep makes me feel really rested, just craving more, and yes, I'm well-aware that these are all pretty key signs of depression. It comes and goes. Being busy helps.</div>
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To be honest, some of the best and the absolutely worst moments of my life happened last summer, so there's really no surprise I haven't left it behind just yet. <b><a href="http://alittlewhitenoise.blogspot.com/2013/06/not-writing-about-gratitude.html">I've talked about that before</a>:</b> how you have cherishable moments brought on by horrific circumstances, that make you feel all at once so thankful and so guilty for that same gratitude. But the absolute worst of last year's events <i><b>ended</b></i> on September 25th.</div>
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That the day my dad died was not the worst day of my life, in and of itself feels awful. That was the day my dad slipped away at 4:05am, with my mom's head on his shoulder and her hand in his, and we gently bathed him, sang him songs, and helped carry his body down the stairs, watching as the hearse carried him off and forever away. But as awful as that day was, it wasn't the worst.</div>
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The worst was the week before. The worst was the last doctor's appointment we had, the last time my dad left the house, the last day we brought him home with news that felt like boulders in the bottoms of our stomachs. Yes, that was a terrible day. That was the day that finally a doctor looked us in the eyes and told us with a sense of finality and no false hope that my dad's liver was one big lumpy tumor mass. That we needed to call Hospice. Not tomorrow or next week, but today. That day... That day was the day my dad hobbled out of the hospital leaning on me, his once strong grip weak and submissive, his arm around me and mine around him, holding him up. I took deep breaths to hold in the wave of nausea and fear and panic that was rising like a tsunami inside of me. My sister and I helped him into the car, and I remember so so so clearly: concentrating so hard - on waiting until I was sure my parent's car was out of sight so they wouldn't see, before letting that wave crash over me, finding a bench to sit down, and admitting to myself we were not going to be the lucky ones. And the second wave hit sitting in my sister's car - trying to dictate what needed to happen next. Trying to think clearly enough to delegate. Trying to be "okay" enough to drive myself home, having been told my Dad had just days to live. That day was it for me. All of my fears crushed me. That day was awful.</div>
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There was more awfulness in the week that followed, the worst got worse. I quite honestly can't even recount it, because my heart starts palpitating and my stomach starts churning. But September 25th wasn't the worst day. It was a day of true sadness, with a depth and a meaning unlike anything I had ever known, but not despair. No, I felt relieved. What we had witnessed in that last week made death seem so innocent by comparison.</div>
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So, my disclaimer should have been, no one can hate me for saying that - you can't know or understand unless you really have cared for a hospice patient. Unless you have watched someone die in pain, rather than in peace. If you have administered liquid morphine, and suctioned out saliva, and rubbed vaseline on peeling lips, and changed bed sheets, and watched your family member shrivel and become hollow and waxen, unable to form words or to grasp your hand or even open their eyes - sure, go ahead and pass judgement on my feeling that the day my dad died was not the worst day I've endured.</div>
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There are certainly terrible things that come afterward, which is why there are thousands of people who've built careers around helping the grieving and thousands of books to guide you toward rebuilding. When people say it's a nightmare, there's a reason. That's exactly what it feels like. Over a year later, and I'm still not sure how we just wake up and do normal things each day. It feels as though the world should have stopped, or everything should have been somehow distinctly different from that moment onward. And weirdly, it's not so different, even though so many things have changed. And that in itself is the most frightening aspect of death and loss to me so far. Time doesn't stop. We don't wake up, because we're already awake. We start to forget. Life grows around that little blip, that little timestamp in history, and continues forward like it has for hundreds of thousands of years. </div>
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Some days I think, "did it really even happen?" Some days I can't be sure.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-35016684519657110592014-09-23T02:01:00.000-05:002015-07-20T17:15:15.453-05:00Dear Dad - Happy 61st Birthday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dear Dad,</div>
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Today was the weirdest birthday celebration I've ever been apart of, because the birthday boy wasn't at the party. </div>
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Those of us who could manage it logistically (me, Margaret, Milo, Samson, Mom, and all the pups) gathered under the roof of the house you built for us to gather in. (In true Tim form, he was absent so he could brew beer... gotta love the priorities, but I'm sure you would have more than approved.) There weren't balloons, or presents, or even cake. (Ironically, there were often no balloons, presents, or even cake on your birthday when you were here to "celebrate" anyway, but that's beside the point.) </div>
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I visited your bench at the new dog park with Oscar. It's in the best location - by far - under a big shade tree. I can see it being the bench that people head for as soon as they enter the gate. It will attract a lot of butts (and mutts)! The park has a long way to go toward being completed, but it's fun to think of you on that bench overseeing all the development - and probably telling them how it should be done faster, stronger, better.</div>
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We took the dogs to the river and let them swim and romp and get some rowdies out. The river was a little high and really muddy from all the recent rain. Mom brought the walking sticks and walked the dogs up the river a little, but not too far because there were other families out. They had so much fun, and they all got baths when we got back.</div>
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Samson asks for GiGi, constantly, and cries when she can't hold his hand or play with him, or do anything less than devote 120% of her attention to him. She's earned his love, but I can't help but think how attached he'd be to you as well, if he'd had the opportunity. Oh, the trouble you two would have rustled up - and probably a couple of trips to the ER! You would love him at this age. He's learning so much so quickly, has such a vocabulary, and is starting to understand jokes... I predict he'll be a prankster. I'm pretty sure he would have adored your goofy sense of humor.</div>
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To finish out the day we celebrated with dinner at your favorite restaurant - The Huisache, of course. Sweet Potato Fries, Chicken Fried Steak, a glass of good wine. All a tribute, in simple recognition of this day on which you were born, 61 years ago.</div>
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I think you would have appreciated the gestures, without all the fuss.<br />
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I've always felt it was so appropriate that your birth date falls within days of the annual autumnal solstice. It's even more appropriate that this year the season change actually fell <u><b>on</b></u> your birthday. Symbolically, we are all entering a new season together: a whole year since you departed this world and headed onward to new adventures. Last year feels simultaneously a million light years ago, and as if it were yesterday.<br />
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There's something about this one year mark that makes things feel different and official. We survived. A whole year. In some ways this makes me feel relieved and proud, like I wasn't sure we could do it... or that life would<b> </b>actually GO ON. We did, it does. In other ways, the sadness develops a new facet, and deepens. As if, there really is no doubt anymore that you aren't coming back. You're not just on extended vacation, or downstairs puttering around, or hiking on the back of the property. This is it: our new reality. We don't get to wake up from a bad dream, and get soothed with a hug and celebrate with a family reunion dinner.<br />
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I thought today would be much, much harder, but I feel your presence so strongly in our lives and hearts each day that it's not quite as lonely as I expected. Maybe I'm just trying to make myself feel better. Or maybe the true challenges will come later, as it gets harder and harder to remember details, and deny the truth. I hope not. I hope it doesn't get more challenging than this!</div>
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What can I say? On a less melancholy note, I'm really happy you were born. I'm so glad my family tree turned out the way it did! It definitely has its less than perfect elements - notably, the Green nose and aptitude for harsh criticism - but all-in-all I cannot for the life of me imagine my world with a different father. I'll take the good, the bad, and the ugly, over whoever else might have been in the running! I'm so glad I got you for my DNA. </div>
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I'm so incredibly happy that you were born to be my dad. Even if 60 years was all we got - I'll celebrate each one... and I'll continue celebrating each year I get to look back on the memories, too.</div>
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Happy 61st Birthday!</div>
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I love you, always and forever.</div>
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Lolo</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-41036811288211836092014-06-17T01:01:00.001-05:002014-06-17T16:19:38.355-05:00Dear Dad - Happy Father's Day<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Dear Dad,</div>
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A year ago for Father's Day we gathered - knowing, but not accepting, it might be our last - and we made you a dinner that was organic, alkaline, GMO-free, and nutritionist approved. By the time the meal was ready, mom had to coax you from the basement where you were puttering around, because you didn't have an appetite and felt bad about not wanting to eat all the food we'd prepared in your honor. That made me want to cry more than anything. That you didn't want to let us down, after all the effort. If you only knew...</div>
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This year our world is so different. Worse in so many ways, better in some. I did nothing to celebrate except spare a few spiders' lives. You never really liked us to make a big deal out of commercial holidays anyway. I thought about you. I thought about what the day was meant to be. I wondered if maybe I should be more contemplative, or perhaps watch some home videos or get out pictures. The ugly truth is... I don't really want to remember right now. Sometimes I feel like if I let the full magnitude of this whole life and death thing really wash over me, it will completely swallow me and I will drown in uncertainty. I'm trying to find the balance between carrying you with me always, and letting go of all the parts that hurt. Right now it all hurts. Not everyday or every minute, but it somehow seems easier to just keep on pretending everything's okay, than to face the weight of reality.</div>
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I still wrestle with the fact that you're not here. Given the nature of our relationship, it's fairly easy to go a few days or weeks now feeling pretty "normal," caught up in daily drama and stress, before something acts as a jarring reminder. I try to tell myself this is a good thing. We are moving forward and keeping on keeping on, just like you would do if the shoe was on the other foot. But a part of me just has this deep well of guilt for doing all those same things. Guilt for not wanting to shed any more tears, guilt for getting caught up in shallowness and superficial "life" stuff, guilt for not honoring your memory more often and in more meaningful ways.</div>
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I think missing you isn't as easy as JUST missing you. For me it's also a whole lot of questions and uncertainties that I don't have answers or assurances for right now. It's simpler to just shelf the whole thing, and try to live life. But....</div>
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That seems so unfair. </div>
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Unfair to all of the memories, and the love, and the years you spent dedicated to providing for me, guiding me, growing me. I haven't forgotten. Oh Lord, keep me from ever forgetting the good parts. That is so terrifying. I really don't know what else to do but just keep living, and hope the answers will come or peace will take their place. If you were here, I'd ask you - but if you were here, I don't believe I'd need to ask. </div>
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So, Dad, I rescued a few spiders for you! Pretty sure you would have valued that more highly than most other things. I don't need a special day to be reminded I had a wonderfully complex character for my dad. One who valued even the tiniest spider's life. That fact is with me everyday, carved into my heart.</div>
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I love you, always and forever.</div>
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Lolo</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-35830389116161519622014-05-16T13:26:00.001-05:002014-05-16T13:26:48.627-05:00LOST (the TV show) as a little metaphor for life<div style="text-align: justify;">
How do you decide when it's "the end?"</div>
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All my life I've had a really good knack for hanging on too long.<br />
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I'm THAT person that just can't just let a good thing die. I have a lot trouble with finishing chapters of my life and starting new beginnings in a fresh, focused way, without constantly looking in the rearview. So it's no surprise that I have trouble with goodbyes, trouble with endings.</div>
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Remember that TV show LOST? It took me and all my friends by storm in college. We would get together and watch each episode as a group. Even after we graduated, we all kept up with it separately and discussed on Facebook. I remember listening to an interview with the creators after the much anticipated finale of the final season had aired. They talked about how when they created the show they knew how it would begin, and they know how it would end, but everything in the middle was made up as they went along. I couldn't, and still can't, wrap my brain around that concept. How could you know a beginning, but make up such a complex middle "as you go along," in such a way as to end up where you planned from the start?</div>
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I assure you that if I were writing for that show, the show would probably have morphed 4,815,162,342 times, we'd have changed the show's title at least once every season, the "right" people would have ended up together making sweet island love, and there would have been showers and a change of clothes for everyone - in every episode. There is no way I could have plotted out the ending before the pilot even aired and kept heading in that direction, through thick and thin. No. Way.</div>
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But, in the muchmuchmuch bigger picture... how are our own lives really any different from the way the LOST writers created the show? We know our beginnings as early as we can really "know" anything. We come to understand birth and life at the very first with precious, naive minds, and in the simplest of terms we accept it. We celebrate our beginnings annually on our birthdate, and acknowledge the journey through another year: from Point A, to B, to C.... But then there's Z.</div>
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Unlike those clever TV show writers, we don't get to know our ending. We just know we have one. Whether we like it or not, every day is a little step in that direction, and no matter how jumbled or confusing, long or short the storyline becomes along the way, we all end up roughly at the same spot... faced with Point Z.</div>
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Last night was the end for Portia, our family rottweiler mix of 14+ years. She was facing Point Z, her finale had arrived, and we allowed her to take it -- with a little less pain than she might have experienced otherwise. I hope. I mean, one always hopes that when you have the power and the ability to make that choice, that you make the right choice. </div>
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I personally didn't have to make the choice last night. I'm thankful for having people in my life who are brave enough to say when it's time, or have the knowledge and experience of having observed this hundreds of times to feel <i>confident</i> saying it's time. It takes megaballs to snipe the threads of fate, and not doubt yourself. And I'm thankful that, in the scheme of things, this was a good end: the kind of end you might write for yourself, if you could do that sort of thing... you know, plot out your ending ahead of time like the writer of a TV show. You might ask that you just go peacefully to sleep, with your family sitting around you, hearing loving words, in the home that you adopted for yourself when you showed up at our door over 14 years ago, and then refused to leave.</div>
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Saying goodbye is hard. Duh. Old news. I've gotten a really good, solid lesson on that this last year. I'm clear on how hard goodbyes are... thank you! No more lessons needed. But sometimes what's even harder are the questions those goodbyes raise. Was it the right time? Did we make the right decision? What could have been different? What if....? The lollygagger in me is always going to keep one eye looking back, over my shoulder, down the road I just came. Like I said, it's my nature. I am a retrospective person. Sometimes this is awful. OhMGee. I can work myself into having nervous breakdown second-guessing, analyzing, AGONIZING, imagining different scenarios.</div>
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Portia was a piece of my childhood. She is a stamp in my memory passport. She wasn't our favorite dog, by any means, and to be quite frank she was really even a big pain in the ass sometimes. But her end - like anyone else's - is to be acknowledged and respected. It reminds me of all the endings yet to be written out there, for me and everyone else. We can't forget that endings happen, every day, every minute. Not even just by way of physical death, but every day we say goodbye to opportunities and choices and friendships and experiences, that we'll never be able to recreate or rebuild. </div>
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Sometimes, looking back is not a bad thing. Sometimes we need to look back, and remember where we came from and those people, furry friends, encounters, and memories, who moved in our lives and that shook us to our core. They are all apart of our ending, even if we don't know what it is just yet.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJEynr6M-lehVtJnJn8JfFpounVTUPnqMh7MUWT52h0xm1W5WdVKb-VDeV9DUhG40-4Q-pLAVYyvtA0jeYgWpOjcWCwWVTn11vp2BU8lW32Xes_mGfvcLhRIsRSklTAAfjtdgM8PobcFM/s1600/10302509_702111686189_8868349769069498760_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJEynr6M-lehVtJnJn8JfFpounVTUPnqMh7MUWT52h0xm1W5WdVKb-VDeV9DUhG40-4Q-pLAVYyvtA0jeYgWpOjcWCwWVTn11vp2BU8lW32Xes_mGfvcLhRIsRSklTAAfjtdgM8PobcFM/s1600/10302509_702111686189_8868349769069498760_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portia "Carlos" at the Guadalupe River.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-30113787556060536652014-03-27T22:55:00.000-05:002014-03-27T22:55:03.995-05:00The Grief Cliches - a brief commentary<div style="text-align: justify;">
When you lose someone you love, you hear a lot of cliches. I've spoken my share of them before, too, without knowing really why, except that there seems to be an understanding - from hearing them over and over - that those are the things you say to people who are grieving. Let's talk about those for a second.</div>
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A few of these cliches are true....</div>
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<b>"I'm so sorry for your loss."</b></div>
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<b>"Your _____ was a good person."</b></div>
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You probably <i>are</i> sorry for their loss. Saying so is perfectly acceptable and nice to hear. Sometimes there is NOTHING else to say to someone except that you are sorry for whatever unfortunate event just took place. So say it. It never hurts.</div>
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If their father, mother, brother, sister, spouse, child, etc, was a good person... tell them. Saying so might make them cry harder, but it's a good cry. It reinforces that they are not alone in their grief, it acknowledges the dead person's presence will be missed - not just by them, but by others. It reminds that a good life was lived, even if it was cut short.</div>
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My dad was a good person. Hearing from all the people whose lives he affected has meant a great deal to me. I take great pride in the number of people who had tremendous things to say about him, or amazing stories to share with us. It has enlightened me to this other side of him we sometimes or never got to see in action: who he was outside of our family. It reminds me that we are not the only people who miss his presence here on earth, or whose lives have been drastically altered by his absence. It feels good to know that we are not alone in our grief, in our missing him.</div>
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Most of these cliches, however well-meaning, are just inappropriate....</div>
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<b>"At least they aren't suffering anymore."</b></div>
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<b>"They are in a better place."</b></div>
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I'll lump these two in together, because of the whole religion issue. If it's appropriate to comfort someone by telling them their loved one is in a better place, OKAY - your call. If their Faith guarantees that they are healed by death, set free from suffering upon passing over, SUPER - maybe this is an okay thing to say. However, I can say from experience that no matter how amazing this "better place" might be, or how strong your Faith, it doesn't really make us not want that person back here... on earth.... with us. </div>
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In the midst of grief there is often a lack of reason. It might be reasonable to think "they are at peace" or "they are no longer suffering" and that is an improvement over what their immediate situation was right before they died, therefore I should be relieved or not as sad now that they are gone. But if you love someone, and they die, you miss them and you want them back. End of story. Being reasonable doesn't matter, <i>knowing</i> they are "better off" doesn't heal that wound much faster.</div>
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Watching my dad die of cancer wasn't pretty. It was an inhumane amount of suffering. But I cherish every second that I experienced with him during that time, because he was alive. Here. On earth. With us. Yes, he was set free from pain upon death, and I do believe that he is in a place that can't be comprehended by our small and unimaginative minds. At the same time, this isn't as comforting as you might think when you are dealing with the reality of being left behind.</div>
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<b>"Time heals all wounds."</b></div>
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Does it? How much time does it take, exactly? I don't think time heals all wounds. In fact, I'm not sure it heals them at all. I think we just grow around them. We change. We look at things differently. We choose to go on living without that person, and that choice changes us. We cope, but the wound doesn't just heal up clean and pretty.</div>
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Honestly, in some ways, wounds get worse as time goes on. As time goes on you realize with more and more certainty: that person is NOT coming back. It stops feeling like a surreal experience, or a nightmarish dream, or like they just took a really long trip away with no cell phone or email. You have to stop pretending it didn't happen as you take their names off bank accounts, give birth to children they will never meet, or have family holidays without them. It's not something that is just going to "go away" eventually. It's here to stay. You adjust, but you don't necessarily heal.</div>
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As more distance accumulates between September 25 and my present day life, <i>my wounds have not healed</i>. Maybe the bandages hold for longer and longer periods of time, but each time something rips them off... the wound is just as deep and raw as it ever was. The shock is even harsher. No. Time has not healed my wounds.</div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>"Everything happens for a reason."</b></div>
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Don't say this. Just resist the urge. </div>
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Perhaps everything does happen for a reason. In fact, I believe that it does. If I didn't - if most of us did not subscribe to this line of thought - we would probably go insane. But, there is nothing reasonable about early or untimely death to a grieving individual, and this offers zero comfort to someone who is feeling that pain.</div>
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No one wants to hear that there is "a reason" for a senseless death. A reason that I should be without my father at the age of 28. A reason that my dad won't be around to see me buy my first house, advise me as I plant my own garden, or hold my babies. A reason that I can never again ask him for advice, or make him proud of me, or give him a hug. </div>
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Even in my sad haze, I can see that beautiful things did come of the whole traumatic experience, that pieces fit together so perfectly only a divine hand could have made them so, that life will go on, and that things happened for a <i>reason</i>. But I don't need to hear you say that. It doesn't make me feel any better.</div>
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A simple: "I'm so sorry. Your dad was a good person." will do.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12051191256923133229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4608290379225412214.post-6187298189163178112014-01-02T23:31:00.001-06:002014-01-02T23:48:57.477-06:00It's a New Year 2014<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1fswIPJ2vtymTfq3IJGJ52OdavTODY7ttTmHgueHLRiKk6_deaVc42iAeN9KKtKWo4HV4LSiyuIQjk3Fl8YICegTBzeCCMSrUdyyOP7Yhj1gcDGiJkZfRsoPVAFe-G5We_kt2BSsMUVC/s1600/2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1fswIPJ2vtymTfq3IJGJ52OdavTODY7ttTmHgueHLRiKk6_deaVc42iAeN9KKtKWo4HV4LSiyuIQjk3Fl8YICegTBzeCCMSrUdyyOP7Yhj1gcDGiJkZfRsoPVAFe-G5We_kt2BSsMUVC/s640/2014.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I had really, really high hopes for 2013.<br />
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My outlook since graduating from college in 2007 has just basically been Rocky with a capital R. Entering adulthood with jobs, responsibilities, committed relationships, etc, just took a lot of adjusting for me - like 5 years worth. Sometimes I still don't feel fully okay with the reality of adulthood. Once married, I entered a whole new era of first world hardships - mostly pertaining to finances and the constant pressure to "get our lives in order." (And for what, exactly? Babies? Retirement? The Rapture? - well that's another post for another day...) The economical crisis, and being unemployed, didn't help that outlook much, but the benefit was that at least I was no longer dealing with it alone. Tim and I were a team.<br />
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I was sure that 2013 was the year that everything was going to fall into place for us. We would pay off our debt, and start saving more. I would lose the 15 lbs that had crept up since graduating, and Tim would work on his sexy bod. I was really motivated to eat right and spend more time in the kitchen. We would live this happy, simple life - eating well, focusing on our health and general happiness, and working towards our goals. The main goal being to just live and enjoy life, whatever it had to offer us.<br />
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Of course, you know, much of that didn't happen. Our world was rocked by the appearance of an unwanted guest: cancer, and then by the loss of my dad, and ultimately by deep and unexpected grief. There are three sections to 2013: Before Cancer, During Cancer, After Death. All three were strangely beautiful phases with terrible realities that I do not want to revisit. There are many things I want to leave behind me as we embark on 2014, but I know better than to think the rolling of the clock and dropping of the ball will somehow magically propel me beyond the After Death phase. No, I will be in After Death from now on and forever. I cannot un-learn, un-see, or un-know the overwhelming realities that come with the death of someone you love, especially by terminal illness. I feel more adult, more "old," more heaviness, more plum worn-out than in any other time of my life. But I also know have a better understanding of gratitude, love, and purpose. Just because I'm excited for this year to be over, doesn't mean I can forget or will leave unchanged by 2013, or that I necessarily want to.<br />
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However, 2014 is still symbolically a restart for me. January 1st is never any different than any other day, except that we all take a moment to simultaneously reflect on the past year and look forward to the future one. We take note of what we've learned, and what we'd like to change. We promise to make better choices, be kinder to ourselves and to others, and live life to the fullest. It's an opportunity. I'll take it. This year I think I have a deeper understanding of and appreciation for the importance of these opportunities. <b>I believe that 2014 is going to be better.</b><br />
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<b>* * *</b></div>
<br />
I began answering this "A Year in Review" questionnaire two years ago. This is my third year, and I always enjoy looking back on my answers from the previous year and comparing life as I know it now to what my expectations were at the start of the year. You can compare my reviews of <a href="http://alittlewhitenoise.blogspot.com/2012/01/its-new-year.html">2011</a> and <a href="http://alittlewhitenoise.blogspot.com/2013/01/its-new-year-2013.html">2012</a>, if you have absolutely nothing better to do. If you feel so inclined - leave me a yearbook message in the comments section below with YOUR answer to the final question. I will enjoy reading them. :-)<br />
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<b>1. What did you do in 2013 that you'd never done before?</b><br />
Celebrated two years of marriage, turned 28, "experienced" cancer, lost a family member, planned a memorial, attended an Indian wedding, met Snoop Dogg-Lion.<br />
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<b>2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?</b><br />
Let's review.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Goals for 2013:<br />1. Buy local, Cook more, Eat better.<br />2. Save money instead of Spending money: pay off debt.<br />3. Study a foreign language.<br />4. Watch less TV, Read more books, and Journal/Blog regularly.<br />5. Maintain active lifestyle and be dedicated about strength training.<br />6. Work hard at building my business, and plan for the future.<br />7. Visit Susanna & Nathan in Scotland (tour the UK).<br />8. Organize my life, my data storage, my business, and get rid of everything we don't need!<br />9. Try new things instead of falling into habits.<br />10. STRESS LESS.</i></blockquote>
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We kept none of these. Big fat ZERO. Except we did pay off a lot of debt and are making good headway on that account - we just haven't saved any.<br />
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My only and all encompassing goal for this year is: <b>BE WELL. </b><br />
Maybe I'll add a few more to that, but right now it's the only goal I care to make.<br />
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<b>3. Did anyone close to you give birth?</b><br />
No, but they are about to!<br />
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<b>4. Did anyone close to you die?</b><br />
Yes, my daddy.<br />
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<b>5. What countries did you visit?</b><br />
None. Scotland sadly did not happen.<br />
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<b>6. What would you like to have in 2014 that you lacked in 2013?</b><br />
Peace of mind.<br />
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<b>7. What date from 2013 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?</b><br />
September 25, 2013 - the day Dad left us for good.<br />
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<b>8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?</b><br />
Spending time with Dad, and planning his life celebration.<br />
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<b>9. What was your biggest failure?</b><br />
Living in denial. Taking care of my health and physical condition.<br />
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<b>10. Did you suffer illness or injury?</b><br />
YES - The new year had better bring good health.<br />
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<b>11. What was the best thing you bought?</b><br />
The iPhone 5.<br />
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<b>12. Whose behavior merited celebration?</b><br />
Some of the Hospice nurses we met were simply amazing.<br />
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<b>13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?</b><br />
Doctors who obviously didn't care, and the healthcare system in general.<br />
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<b>14. Where did most of your money go?</b><br />
Rent, gas, and food. We were so exciting in our spending!<br />
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<b>15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?</b><br />
Any good news we happened to get from doctors, my new job with WHITT.<br />
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<b>16. What song will always remind you of 2013?</b><br />
Stop This Train, by John Mayer and What Sarah Said, by Death Cab. Also - sadly - Blurred Lines, by Robin Thicke.<br />
<b><br />17. Compared to this time last year, are you:</b><br />
<b><i>I. happier or sadder?</i></b><br />
Sadder.<br />
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<b><i>II. thinner or fatter?</i></b><br />
Not much change.<br />
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<b><i>III. richer or poorer?</i></b><br />
Richer.<br />
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<b>18. What do you wish you'd done more of?</b><br />
Spent time with my Dad.<br />
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<b>19. What do you wish you'd done less of?</b><br />
Worried.<br />
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<b>20. How did you spend Christmas?</b><br />
In a rental house in Dallas with the Kingtons, minus Maggie, Milo, and Samson.<br />
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<b>21. Who had the biggest influence on your life in 2013?</b><br />
My dad.<br />
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<b>22. Did you fall in love in 2013?</b><br />
I fell in love with some ideas: strong families and life on a farm. I also fell more in love with Tim's heart. He was and is a true and utterly selfless servant to my family.<br />
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<b>23. How many one-night stands?</b><br />
None.<br />
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<b>24. What was your favorite TV program?</b><br />
Homeland & Downton Abbey.<br />
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<b>25. Do you dislike anyone now that you didn't dislike this time last year?</b><br />
Several doctors.<br />
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<b>26. What was the best book you read?</b><br />
<u>Gone Girl</u>, by Gillian Flynn -- was the most entertaining. The best book was probably <u>The Casual Vacancy</u>, by J.K. Rowling (way underrated by fans).<br />
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<b>27. What was your greatest musical discovery?</b><br />
Macklemore!<br />
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<b>28. What did you want and get?</b><br />
A dream job planning and designing events with Gina at WHITT.<br />
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<b>29. What did you want and not get?</b><br />
Remission. A cure. More time with Dad. Travel.<br />
<b><br /></b><b>30. Best movies this year?</b><br />
The best movie I saw was Silver Linings Playbook, but technically that was released in 2012. But there are many others... and I haven't seen any of them yet! Blue Jasmine, Catching Fire, Secret Life of Walter Mitty, American Hustle, Saving Mr. Banks, Her, August: Osage County, and moooore.<br />
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<b>31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?</b><br />
My birthday was low-key - number 28. I honestly cannot remember what we did, except I know I just spent it with Tim (I needed a break from the cancer stuff) and I shopped for myself. Tim made me a funfetti cake. And iced it.<br />
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<b>32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?</b><br />
Lack of illness on all accounts.<br />
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<b>33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2013?</b><br />
I wore a lot of pajamas, because I was home a lot!<br />
Otherwise, I tried to keep it classic, and wore a lot of grey and black. So: "a lazy New Yorker?"<br />
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<b>34. What kept you sane?</b><br />
The support of friends and family. Treats from <a href="http://www.2tarts.com/">2Tarts</a>! Whatsapp and Group Texts with my mom and sisters. Cuddles with Oscar.<br />
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<b>35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?</b><br />
Jennifer Lawrence - love her! She makes me laugh.<br />
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<b>36. What political issue stirred you the most?</b><br />
None that I can think of - it was like we were living in a bubble.<br />
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<b>37. Who did you miss?</b><br />
Before September, Susanna and Nathan in Scotland. After September... broken record... my Dad.<br />
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<b>38. Who was the best new person you met?</b><br />
<a href="http://www.2tarts.com/">The Tarts</a> - April and Ashley!!!<br />
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<b>39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2013:</b><br />
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Most cliche advice is dead on: don't take anything or anyone for granted, find the good in people, don't give up Hope.</div>
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<b>40. One word or sentence to describe how you feel about 2013:</b><br />
I survived.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfloAhFzDf23igasiSwmcuv5cmonEE682itfibXKhb3i6LaLRobRodXLrEgYYs3Zz0v48DFOmJrkMqI5vSm9oEHKR6dCp0kZ9lr48yWkNCGquUyuREmnfi7OKyoPjDCMvAYu0Lc0rdGvc1/s1600/xmas2013+(1).png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfloAhFzDf23igasiSwmcuv5cmonEE682itfibXKhb3i6LaLRobRodXLrEgYYs3Zz0v48DFOmJrkMqI5vSm9oEHKR6dCp0kZ9lr48yWkNCGquUyuREmnfi7OKyoPjDCMvAYu0Lc0rdGvc1/s640/xmas2013+(1).png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Happy 2014 from My Family to Yours,</i></div>
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Love, Laurel</div>
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