tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90345240726778226392024-03-18T23:00:22.627-05:00To Be Perfectly FrankI've always said that when I write my first book it was going to be called A Cat Named Frank - and have nothing to do with cats or even anyone named Frank.AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-65400006520138219832017-01-29T15:28:00.000-06:002017-01-29T15:28:02.244-06:00Words, Words, Words<div style="text-align: center;">
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Words fill my days. I read. Much of my job requires writing. I listen to books while driving, walking the dog, knitting, and performing chores around the house. This phrase from Elena Ferrante's <i> The Days of Abandonment</i> describes the compulsion I feel to consume text, <br />
"As if it were prehensile, my eye grasped the letters of a plaque on the building opposite."</div>
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In truth, I am incapable of not reading the words before me. The maximum capacity of an elevator, the graffiti of a park bench, the small print warnings on the edge of a computer screen. This is even true when I go to a venue meant to be primarily visual, for example, an art museum. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUz6wfj-XkVWylfFNChlcmrpv1XpY35ZfWmvJp3_b33lUopIE39gfGwMqLotS66r5tuda0SZUUce_oSZH6Pr0MA3s0zU3lXAoichybiRRkvFFI8aACWUiAfKjiqmxFGkpPbfg5aNtDz8/s1600/jademtn.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUz6wfj-XkVWylfFNChlcmrpv1XpY35ZfWmvJp3_b33lUopIE39gfGwMqLotS66r5tuda0SZUUce_oSZH6Pr0MA3s0zU3lXAoichybiRRkvFFI8aACWUiAfKjiqmxFGkpPbfg5aNtDz8/s320/jademtn.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What I see when I go to <a href="https://new.artsmia.org/teaching-the-arts/a-sense-of-place/jade-mountain/">Art Museums</a></td></tr>
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My experience can be like this image, all words with the barest memory of the piece of art. "Did you see that amazing jade sculpture?" someone might ask. And I will need to dig through my memory, trying to find text that might fit that description.</div>
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This brings me to what I really need to write about. About how painful it has been for me to read the news of late. About how my prehensile eyes are forced to read about each new executive action and proposed legislation.</div>
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About how <a href="https://www.congress.gov/bill/115th-congress/house-bill/586">H.R.586 </a>Sanctity of Human Life Act if passed, could mean greatly limiting women's access to safe, effective, and medically recommended forms of birth control. It could also mean criminalizing a woman who takes parts in activities known to have an adverse effect on fetuses (you know, like drinking, eating raw fish, drinking too many caffeinated beverages), EVEN if that woman doesn't know she's pregnant.</div>
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About how as of this writing President Trump has issued three executive orders to further encourage and promote white Christians as somehow the only true Americans.</div>
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About how the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the direction of national intelligence have been sidelined at the National Security Council, but Bannon with his seven years of naval experience and zero years of intelligence experience will have a "regular seat on the principals committee — the meetings of the most senior national security officials, including the secretaries of defense and state." <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/trump-holds-calls-with-putin-leaders-from-europe-and-asia/2017/01/28/42728948-e574-11e6-a547-5fb9411d332c_story.html?hpid=hp_no-name_no-name%3Apage%2Fbreaking-news-bar&tid=a_breakingnews&utm_term=.69524b9650dd">Washington Post</a>.</div>
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And I'm not the only one who thinks words are important. It's obvious the president does as well. Why else would he have issued gag orders on the EPA and USDA? </div>
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All this to say that we have to keep the words coming and we have to keep caring. We have to keep fighting for the true United States of America - the one that revels in freedom of expression, press, religion, words. Be a patriot, not a sycophant.</div>
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AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-16601136547616750812014-03-16T20:07:00.000-05:002014-03-16T20:07:30.227-05:00<div>
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I planted seeds today. </div>
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"Great, Amy," you say. "That's wonderful, Ames," you say. But really, you're likely wondering why this is important enough news that I'm breaking my months long blog silence.</div>
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Well, I'll tell you. I'm sure you'd love to know.</div>
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Most years, when spring, or even the hint of spring comes around, I want nothing more than to get my fingers in the dirt. I want to be outside and enjoy the unique combination of wet earth, melting ice, and budding trees carried on the sun-warmed, yet snow-cooled breeze that is the smell of Spring. The scent that, to me, is green. peace. hope.</div>
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Last year that didn't happen. My husband took the dog to the dog park. I stayed home and read. My husband bought seed potatoes and planted them. I stayed in the house, in the dark basement, binge-watching one television series or another. The husband turned up the earth and planted seeds for cucumbers, sweet corn, and zucchini. I took a nap. A three-hour nap.</div>
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The world around me was greening, growing. I was not. I was wallowing. I went to the doctor. He increased the dosage of my antidepressant*.</div>
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Summer went on. My husband did things outdoors. I could not motivate myself to plant anything. I didn't get any seeds or flowers. I didn't fill up any planters. I took more naps. More long naps.</div>
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In the fall, I started seeing a therapist. I also started being "sick". I'd been lacking vigor for quite some time. My husband and I went to Seattle for a wedding anniversary vacation. In making arrangements for a seaplane tour, I had to tell my husband how much I weighed. He, good husband that he is, didn't say anything until we returned. He expressed his concerns. I acknowledged them. We made a plan. I felt horrible about myself.</div>
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It got darker. I got darker. What had been a half day or so of being "sick" - headache, body ache, nausea - turned into days. I left work early and came home and slept. I didn't go to work at all, waking only enough to notify my boss that I wasn't coming in. I made worse and worse choices about the foods that went into my mouth. I became a shining example of Newton's first law: an object at rest tends to stay at rest. I got bigger, weaker, more easily exhausted.</div>
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Rationally, I was aware that I was depressed and getting more depressed. Rather than celebrating any successes I might have had, I spent more time thinking about how they could have been better, how I was such a failure. I thought about oblivion - about not having to think or feel anything. </div>
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I went back to the doctor. He added another medication to the regimen. He made a referral to a psychiatrist. I made an appointment.</div>
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In February, I first met with the psychiatrist. He reduced the dosage of the current antidepressant and added another. He advised me to keep up with the therapist and to get some exercise.</div>
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At the follow-up visit I surprised myself with the positive score on the standard depression evaluation tool. Life started to get a little easier. I started taking the stairs more often than the elevator. I started taking walks now and again. It got a little easier to say no to poor food choices. </div>
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This weekend I made plans to get things done and I got them done. The husband I bought seeds. We took the dog to the dog park twice. I shampooed and brushed the dog. I'm feeling better. I'm making better choices. I planted the seeds. of hope. Of peace. </div>
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* Here's where I tell you that I've been taking various antidepressants since around 2002. Here's where I'll also tell you that while I have my issues, in general I have had a normal, stable existence. Except. . . Except for what, at times, can be incapacitating depression.</div>
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AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-11471948086231728422013-05-11T20:37:00.001-05:002013-05-11T20:37:49.700-05:00What's the Connection?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>WARNING:</b><br />
The following blog post discusses menstruation and the associated supplies. Male readers may want stop reading this particular post right now. Female readers who may be uncomfortable with this conversation may to stop reading here as well.<br />
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Up until the last year or so I hadn't had to buy tampons, pads, or liners for close to five years. When I was diagnosed with endometriosis, I went on a continuous dose birth control pill to help prevent any recurrences and minimize any menses related pain. One day out of every three months, I would wear a liner. That was it. One day, barely any flow to speak of. At that rate, the box of 60 liners lasts a very, very long time.<br />
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In the last year I have changed my regimen and my menstrual cycle has returned to its pre-pill levels. Eventually, I was forced to head off to Target to buy the necessary supplies. For the last four or five years I haven't:<br />
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<li>had a period of any note</li>
<li>watched broadcast or cable television with any regularity</li>
<li>read any print magazines</li>
<li>surfed the web without using an ad blocker</li>
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In other words, I have been completely oblivious to 99.99% of commercials related to feminine hygiene products.<br />
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"What's the big deal?" you might ask. Fair enough. But things change over the years. Advertising helps make people aware of the changes. Me, I was unaware of the change.<br />
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I was able to find the tampons I like without any issue. Conveniently, there were liners right next to them. But I could not find the pads. Where were they? There I am, in the tampon aisle at Target, starting to mutter audibly, wondering "Have pads left the market? Is everything super thin now? Okay, well, then, I want long ones. With wings? No wings? Really, what's the benefit of wings? I think I used to like wings, but why? Ok, I want unscented ones. Why in the world must it be so difficult to find unscented products? And really, nothing on these packages is giving me any confidence that they have any absorbing power whatsoever. WHERE.ARE.THE.PILLOW.PADS!!" Sorry folks, I am the crazy lady who talks herself through at least a quarter of all buying decisions.<br />
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In a fit of frustration and embarrassment at having to spend way too much time in the feminine care aisle I decided I would just give up and stop someplace else. I turned around, face-to-face with the adult undergarments. Located conveniently next to the pads for which I had been looking.<br />
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Success!!<br />
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Except not.<br />
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For most women, I would think that buying their monthly supplies is no different than buying milk or shampoo or dishwasher detergent. Go to the designated aisle, look for the familiar packaging, grab, and go. It's one of those completely automatic purchases. In general one does not comparison shop for these items. She has bought the same thing every month for years on end. There are, I suppose, changes in packaging, changes in style, but the changes are subtle enough (usually) that they don't even register. But when one hasn't had to buy pads for years, the cumulative effect of those changes is devastating.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMj5Ws_Kqp-f-KTNSSOEACTczvPK2F7b57E7qhTT5YeI3bIX9mdTqL7YrlYM_iPorPOJOqKzzk5VlGp94Q4wUYyS4Q1Dai5d9vQ4BuZuVYviK9W7hhhnGFPaesJCkdl3fQK2PhUXEMwUs/s1600/droplets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMj5Ws_Kqp-f-KTNSSOEACTczvPK2F7b57E7qhTT5YeI3bIX9mdTqL7YrlYM_iPorPOJOqKzzk5VlGp94Q4wUYyS4Q1Dai5d9vQ4BuZuVYviK9W7hhhnGFPaesJCkdl3fQK2PhUXEMwUs/s1600/droplets.jpg" /></a>It used to be that one would buy her pad based on the intended use - light, regular, heavy, overnight. Easy, yeah? Through in some wings, some lengths, maybe some fragrance and that was it. And there were convenient little droplet icons so you knew the absorbency at a glance.<br />
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Apparently, now one buys her pads based on the type of BRA she intends to wear with it.<br />
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Wait. What did I miss, was there a major ad campaign telling the frilly bra-ed ladies incredible the thinness is and telling the plain ol' broads how much extra protection they can have? How does my bra, you know, that undergarment that helps protect the boobies, have anything to do with the fluid exiting my body from between my legs? Admittedly, my breasts get a bit tender around that time of the month, but that doesn't really affect my below the waist choices. And really, the option on the far right? So, droopy boobs, even in a sports bra, need special odor protection. WHAT THE HECK?<br />
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Regardless, I was find something to fulfill my needs, but really, where are the droplets and the special blue water?<br />
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AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-70510569870170396902013-04-30T18:55:00.000-05:002013-04-30T18:55:04.808-05:00Dog Days of Summer<br />
I'm going through blog post drafts and came across this unfinished bit. The date stamp shows late August of last year. I have no idea where I was headed with it, but I like it.<br />
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I was writing about late summer and fall, the lead in to end of days. Know my sense of humor, I think I was going to write the entire post about NOT our then brand new puppy. Perhaps I was going to lead in to my personal struggles with the shortening days and loss of sunlight.<br />
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Spring makes me feel alive, but those last days of summer and fall, they remind me why I should be alive, even as I dread the inevitable falling darkness and now. I'm going to hold on to these words below.<br />
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It's becoming apparent, on a minute by minute basis, that summer is waning. The wind has started to shift, and with it the first drying breezes of fall. Bright orange flickers in the eye's corner and a second glance reveals a maple starting to dress for the autumn festival. The air is different, summer's oppressive humidity is replaced with hot, but dryer air. An evening walk must be scheduled a little bit earlier. Staying out past sunset leaves one with a welcome chill. Extra blankets are queued up at the end of the bed in anticipation of chilly overnight temperatures. Unlike the month past when the overnights were to be dreaded as slightly less hot, but more humid sleep preventatives, the changing weather tempts the tired to deep sleep trundled into blankets, burrito like, with only finger- and nose-tips exposed to the cool, dry air.<br />
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The air feels like the cicadas' drone. Spring is full of the frogs - wet sounds full of potential. Summer is full of the buzz of insects - the slap at mosquitoes, the creak of crickets, the flashes of lightening bugs. These August days are filled with the cicada - a dry rustling sound that is both warning of the pending frost and reminiscent of crunching leaves.<br />
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<br />AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-44647578784037355442013-04-28T14:02:00.000-05:002013-04-28T14:02:00.104-05:00My apologies . . .<div style="text-align: center;">
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Once upon a job a long time ago I had a coworker who scheduled her whole week around episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. While episodes could always be taped, my coworker wasn't guaranteed to be successful. Then when the show switched networks, it became even more difficult for my coworker to watch the show. In the absence of cable, her TV couldn't be reliably expected to get a good signal without much finagling of bunny ear antennas and aluminum foil.</div>
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And I found all this amusing. While I was still a regular watcher of primetime television, I didn't live or die by the broadcast schedule. I certainly didn't understand how a twenty-something scientist could be obsessed with some hokey show about teenagers and vampires. Really, I mean, really? So, I tended to tease her about it. Not maliciously, but certainly with a note of incredulity. Clearly, her need to watch such a show represented some sort of mild, but comical weakness.</div>
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Then, several years ago I was introduced to Firefly and to Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog and all that was wise and wonderful about Joss Whedon. Shows were funny, clever, and there were no simpering lady characters. By this time I had also watched every single episode of The Gilmore Girls and Veronica Mars and could see the appeal of watching shows with teenaged leads who were smart and funny. However, I still was leery of Buffy. I was still mocking those who spoke fondly of Buffy. One day I had posted about Nathan Fillion dressing as Malcolm Reynolds in Castle. Something that tickled the very core of my funny bone. A Facebook friend mentioned I should also be looking for Buffy references in Castle. "Meh" was my thoughtful and unwritten response.</div>
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So, after rewatching all the recent episodes of Doctor Who (Doctors 9, 10, and 11), for the umpteenth time, my husband and I started to watch Buffy. After all, it was from Joss Whedon. There were likely things that would explode satisfying Jon's primary criteria for show-choosing. One episode. We wouldn't like it and it wouldn't be a big issue. </div>
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That, of course, was 130 episodes ago. I'm completely hooked. I absolutely understand why my coworker of all those years aga HAD to watch every week. Why she was heartbroken at the end of season five. Why women and men all over are so fond of the show. It's filled with smart, strong, funny characters - just the sort of people I would want in my world.</div>
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So, I just want to say: N, I'm sorry. I had no idea what I was missing. I sorry I forfeited a the potential for bonding and friendship. My bad,</div>
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AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-83077027409233791772012-12-06T19:45:00.003-06:002012-12-06T19:50:38.260-06:00Wish You Didn't Have to Go<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>December 2012 Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Prompt 2 - What is your strongest memory tied to music? </b></span><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://shrub775.blogspot.com/">Sarah</a></span></b></span><br />
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The first time I realized that music could speak lyrics was while learning "Octopus's Garden" in elementary school. Standing in the music room, staring into the back of the upright piano, I heard the words coming forth from chords Mrs. S. was playing. I was relieved, I had forgotten some of the lyrics, but the piano knew what they were and was able to tell me.<br />
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Do you remember the first time you realized you were (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) attracted to someone? When you realized what thinking someone was "hot" really meant? For me, I can't tell you what he looked like, but I can tell you that I still get a little warm under the collar every time I hear the Red Hot Chili Peppers "Under the Bridge" because that was the song that was playing when I was hit with that realization.<br />
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But the strongest memories I have of music involve my dad. Growing up I spent a lot of time with him in the barn and he shared with me some of his favorite songs. To this day, I can't hear a Roy Orbison song without hearing his shout of, "It's Roy." I'm not sure why that was one of his quirks, but it was. This past summer, to help him recuperate from his open-heart surgery, I put together a play list of some of his favorites and a couple of mine. The lead off song was "A Summer Song" by Chad and Jeremy.<br />
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<left>Perhaps it wasn't every time the song came on the radio, but certainly when it was the least bit convenient, the barn radio would be turned up so we could listen to the sentimental song. When I hear the song now my nose fills with the smell of whitewash, dried hay, and a barn floor freshly spread with lime. And my heart hears my dad telling me to listen.</left></div>
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AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-52537659105415192672012-12-05T20:56:00.000-06:002012-12-05T20:56:16.121-06:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>December 2012 Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Prompt 1 - What is your favorite place in the world? What makes it so special? </b></span><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://katekinsella.wordpress.com/">Kate</a></span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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Right now, my favorite place in the world is the second-hand futon we bought from a <a href="http://twistedloopyarnshop.com/">yarn store</a> classmate over the summer. It's a great place to sit, read, drink coffee, knit, and hang out with the dog.<br />
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I'm a homebody. I love the fact that the futon is in our living room, a room with two walls of two-story windows. It's sunny, bright, and with the right turn of the head looks out over a house-less wetland surrounded by trees. It's simple and comfortable. It's one of those places that makes my body relax as soon as I get a chance to enjoy it.</div>
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AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-59171338467754858412012-12-03T19:26:00.000-06:002012-12-03T19:26:32.029-06:00Let's not let fiction become reality<br />
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>December 2012 Reverb Broads</b></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Prompt 5</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>What is your all-time favorite work of art/film/musician/book and why?</b></span><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://simply-walking.com/">Dana</a></span></b></span></div>
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For me, without a doubt, it is Margaret Atwood's <i>The Handmaid's Tale</i><br />
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It is beautifully written and frightens me in so many ways. There are certain books I read and read and then read again because they evoke specific emotional responses and this is one of them. I read it when I want to be frightened and when I need to remind myself what a tenuous hold we have, not only on women's rights, but on human rights as a whole.<br /><br />The book was originally published in 1985, before the daily use of debit cards to buy everyday items, few jobs included hours spent in front of computers, and where the idea that CFCs could destroy the atmosphere seemed just as unlikely as the society Atwood describes in her book. Twenty-seven years later, when I find myself destitute when I don't have my credit card, and find it hard to function (shop, get directions, find any sort of information) without some sort of computing device readily available, and weather extremes caused by global warming are becoming common place, it seems that Atwood's Gilead, a world where a damaged environment and religious zeal in combination with a declining birth rate to legitimizes a totalitarian society.<br /><br />We Americans are taught to fear Sharia law, but Atwood's Biblically-derived dystopia is more frightening to me. Using the Genesis example of Jacob and Rachel using the slave Bilhah as a carrier of their child, the government of Gilead has created a gender- and social-stratified society where "immoral," but fertile women are trained (brainwashed, drugged, and/or threatened?) and then dispensed to powerful men for the purpose of gestating and delivering their offspring. The government took from these women their bodies, their bodies that they thought of as ". . . as an instrument, of pleasure, or of a means of transportation, or an implement for the accomplishment of my (their) will." It is not only the immoral women who have been forced into a limited role, but also the wives of powerful men, "orphaned" offspring, and members of the working poor.<br /><br />The truly frightening thing is how complicit I fear I would be in the development of Gilead. "We lived, as usual, by ignoring. Ignoring isn't the same as ignorance, you have to work at it." If, like the book's narrator, I was fired from my job and prevented from using my own money, would I chose to ignore what was happening around me? Maybe willing to jump on someone else's wagon, but not brave enough to hitch up the horses and take the reins myself? Would I allow my husband, my father, or my brother to now be my guardian, my patron, my only connection to society? Would I be strong enough to fight against this? Would the men in my life? Or would they sit back, perhaps even slightly delighted that once again, they get to be the ones who make the choices, fulfill the decisions? Would I give my consent to the activities around me? Would "I've leaned forward to touch the rope in front of me, in time with the others, both hands on it, the rope hairy, sticky with tar in the hot sun, then placed my hand on my heart to show my unity with the Salvagers and my consent, and my complicity in the death of this woman." Would I yield to the new world order?<br /><br />The fact is, I'm usual. I ignore. Oh, I'm outraged at being called a slut because I feel my health insurance should cover the costs of my reproductive stability. Or that I should have to prove I need birth control pills, not to prevent pregnancy, but to prevent the chronic pain that comes with my endometriosis*. Rape is rape, it is not legitimate, or forcible, and no benevolent god would wish it on any person. Yet, there are men and women in our current world who believe that a woman's place is in the home, barefoot and pregnant as many times as possible. It makes me scream to hear the beliefs spouted by so-called moral zealots.<br /><br />But what do I do about it? Write some words for my handful of readers to ponder? I may be protesting, but my audience is small. "Dear You, I'll say. Just you, without a name. Attaching a name attaches you to the world of fact, which is riskier, more hazardous: who knows what the chances are out there, of survival, yours? I will say you, you, like an old love song. You can mean more than one." And in writing my words I'll allow you to remain anonymous. Other than the tick mark on my blog counter, I'll never know you were here. Will these words, these questions be enough to disturb the forces around me? "There is something powerful in the whispering of obscenities, about those in power. There's something delightful about it, something naughty, secretive, forbidden, thrilling. It's like a spell, of sorts. It deflates them, reduces them to the common denominator where they can be dealt with."<br /><br />I'm scared that I wouldn't be able to do anything. I'm scared the words I write here will disappear. I fear that religious bigots, those who feel they are in the right, will take the rights and freedoms of some, and continue to take and take until Gilead is a reality.<div>
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So, <i>The Handmaid's Tale</i> is my favorite book because it forces me to evaluate my own role in society.<br /><br /><br /><br />-----------<br />All text in quotes is from the book.<div>
<br /> *Or even, now that I've checked the spelling of "endometriosis" that Google's dictionary doesn't recognize it as a word.</div>
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AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-40037594901469756102012-10-22T19:20:00.000-05:002012-10-22T19:20:09.799-05:00Yes, I know, I lead a rough life<div style="text-align: center;">
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Here's the thing. I hate doing laundry. And let me tell you, it's not like I have it rough. We don't have kids dirtying outfit after outfit or declaring a piece of clothing dirty because it hit the ground. My husband does his own laundry. We live in a house with a washer and dryer on the main floor. It's a nice set and even includes a second rinse cycle for those things that just require that sort of TLC. But I hate it. I love having a closet full of clean and color-sorted clothing. I even sort of like laundry. But the act of sorting, switching, folding, hanging, and tromping up and down the stairs. I just really despise it. I just thought you should know.</div>
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AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-78496963384873174992012-06-23T19:26:00.001-05:002012-06-23T19:26:35.500-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 21 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>List 5 reasons you shouldn't bathe for a week.</b></span></span><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://katrinatripled.blogspot.com/">Katrina</a><span id="goog_726940651"></span><span id="goog_726940652"></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a></span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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<li><span style="background-color: white;">Taking showers, instead (assuming this means in a tub)</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">Guaranteed some sort of prize commensurate with feeling grimy for the week</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">Camping and swimming daily</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">Ill or incapacitated some way so as to make bathing impossible</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;">Traveling in space</span></li>
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</div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-46780184598838566112012-06-19T08:52:00.000-05:002012-06-19T08:52:31.179-05:00Nothing?<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 16 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">List all the idiotic things you have done for love.</span> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">From the book <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0013L8ALQ/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=kristendom0f-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B0013L8ALQ">List Yourself</a></i></span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
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I suppose this is said with great hubris, but this is as close to idiotic for love as I've gotten. </div>
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<li>Spent most of college pining for someone who wasn't interested.</li>
<li>I was dating a guy. We exchanged Christmas presents. His parents gave me some gorgeous crystal candle holders from their recent trip to Europe. We broke up between Christmas and New Years (major WTF there, but anyway). I returned all the gifts to him, despite the fact that he did not return any of gifts I gave me. Damn, I really wish I still had those candle holders.</li>
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AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-15580343591760376962012-06-18T21:08:00.003-05:002012-06-18T21:08:59.934-05:00What's in Your Garden<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 18 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by Me</span></b></span><br />
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As when I suggested this prompt and every time I see it, in my head I hear a barbarian asking "What's in your garden?!" a la Capital One credit cards. To me it is quite amusing. I have to admit it, I'm a little sad that our lovely moderators didn't hype that aspect of it. Oh well, such is life.</div>
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Although we have a large lot, most of it is "wild" and marshy. Our decision to put in the library and office this year meant that we had to put off any exterior remodeling. As a result, our garden is mostly in containers arranged to get the most sun while killing the least amount of grass.</div>
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So, my garden...</div>
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There's a frog
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Some cilantro gone to seed and that's fine since I'm out of coriander</div>
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Some peas in pods<br />
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A couple of blueberries </div>
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Basil, Thyme, Rosemary, and Sage</div>
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And the potential for peppers (four varieties), tomatoes (four varieties), eggplant (at least two varieties), tomatillos, kale, peppermint, catnip, parsley, and broccoli.<div style="text-align: center;">
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</div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-63484784165269818362012-06-17T21:21:00.002-05:002012-06-17T21:21:53.210-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 17- Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>What three things do you want more of in your life? What three things do you want less of?</b></span><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://vivalakp.wordpress.com/">Krissy</a></span></b></span><br />
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More:<br />
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Time to read, write, and pursue other hobbies.<br />
Determination when it comes to certain lifestyle changes I'm trying to make.<br />
Hours of sunlight in the winter.<br />
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Less:<br />
Of me. On the scale.<br />
Time at work<br />
(Fewer) Chores - laundry, dusting, bill-shredding</div>
</div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-56992471641087757212012-06-17T21:10:00.000-05:002012-06-17T21:10:24.449-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 15 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Who was your first best friend?</span> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://kristendomblogs.com/">Kristen</a></span></b></span><br />
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I had my first best friend in Kindergarten. I think we rode the same bus. We were in Dave's class. Then, one day she wasn't there. Dave took me aside and told me she went to another school. I cried. <br />
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It was pretty intense and of course I don't remember her name or anything about her. Just the sense of loss. Amazing what we learn as five-year-olds.</div>
</div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-12816633851792974662012-06-14T20:36:00.001-05:002012-06-16T19:59:20.430-05:00With This Ring. . .<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 10 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">What was your hardest parenting or partner moment?</span> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://simply-walking.com/">Dana</a></span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For better or worse, Jon and I have had fairly smooth sailing. We have our communication issues and we're really horrible about giving each other directions. If you want to ensure we're both cranky, just put us in a car together and send us to someplace we've never been before. At the very least we recognize this, but I'm not sure we're getting any better at it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Still, the worst moment had to have been shortly after we were engaged and just as we were starting to look for rings. It was a Saturday morning, each of us curled up in our couch corners discussing ring options. Jon says, "Oh, I already know what kind of ring I want."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was so touched. He'd been thinking about it. He had images of what our life would be like together. We could bond over this moment of shared sentimentality. Yes, our engagement arose from a road trip talk, but this, this was romance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I don't want one."</span><br />
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In that moment, I went from the height of heights to the depth of depths. I felt kicked in the gut and so hurt that even now I can't find the words to express myself. I just stared at him, not able to speak. That big run up to romance up there? Shattered. It was nil, nothing, dirt.<br />
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Fortunately Jon was able to read the hurt on my face. Fortunately I was able to talk about it.<br />
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Since then I have learned that I need to tell Jon my expectations, up front. If I'm hurt that he doesn't fulfill my expectations, it ought to be only if he knew what they were to begin with. The great thing, usually once I make my needs known, he does his very best to make it right. Good Husband.<br />
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</div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-19499153563585003072012-06-14T20:10:00.000-05:002012-06-16T19:59:20.431-05:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 14 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">In a world filled with more technological distractions than ever before, social networks, smart phones, etc, what strategies do you enforce in your life in order to stay focused on your goals and living life in real-time to the fullest?</span> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://whereyouarehere.blogspot.com/">Neha</a> </span></b></span><br />
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I really hope I'm not the only one to answer this way. I'm hoping you all are better at experiencing life real time than I am.</div>
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I tend to spend too much time in front of screens. And then, even that time is not well spent. I smash pigs, match gems, and blast balls with abandon. I should be writing for this blog or working on my novel or researching stuff or reading an actual book or crocheting or knitting or gardening or biking or something, but instead I'm sitting there trying to find the golden egg.</div>
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I find the following Heinlein quote applies to me - enslaved by the trivial.</div>
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<span style="color: blue;">“In the absence of clearly-defined goals, we become strangely loyal to performing daily trivia until ultimately we become enslaved by it.” </span></div>
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How do you free yourself?</div>
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</div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-13342082572801002072012-06-13T19:47:00.002-05:002012-06-16T19:59:20.431-05:00I Don't. It's My Own Fault<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 13 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">What was your favorite childhood stuffed animal or toy? Do you still have it? Okay, admit it, do you still sleep with it sometimes?</span> </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://bravelyobey.blogspot.com/">Kassie</a></span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtXefQYf3Fb0WJ2EhW3B9epxykd7MrZ1mztBHWvF9o7o_hhSxnE7xjS9rpooo98Q2FhkRtyc3MLQjFojpOuW5aAuxkXl46JW3i80FBawERU7lWgpBVYlObXMlrK4QjlPDOcb8G9yKTuM/s1600/cat2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" pca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWtXefQYf3Fb0WJ2EhW3B9epxykd7MrZ1mztBHWvF9o7o_hhSxnE7xjS9rpooo98Q2FhkRtyc3MLQjFojpOuW5aAuxkXl46JW3i80FBawERU7lWgpBVYlObXMlrK4QjlPDOcb8G9yKTuM/s200/cat2.jpg" width="175" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is not a pony.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I had to go to the parental sources on this one. I don't remember any favorite toys. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">My dad said "Didn't you get a large pony from the grocery store in town? Cried because you didn't win the contest, so [Mr. C] got another stuffed pony and gave it to you."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Um, well, The Dad was partly right. According to The Mommy Person, "The cat was a promotional prize at the grocery store by some distributor. Slips of paper were put in a box and a winner was drawn. I explained to you that we would put your name in but many people were putting in their names. One day we went to the store and the cat was gone. I explained that someone else had won the cat. You were indeed very distraught. [Mr. C] contacted the distributor and got another cat, which he brought out to the house."</div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">I remember the cat. It was kind of irritating because it wouldn't stand up right, but it was big enough to curl up against it's belly as a neck and shoulder pillow. I do remember that.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSY3eEESsipC6Fy_x4X17epYUE28LKIUKjEVlzLSMuDkEE8ucTt91oDrTQDxlOdoXUn0dn_VFZYN_8e5NfQ2VKe5u99hlvq_AQWMW7phEVk4W1hbz7e5-lWJO-GCR8BSXQUq5mAmtEAy8/s1600/Oscar.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin:10px;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSY3eEESsipC6Fy_x4X17epYUE28LKIUKjEVlzLSMuDkEE8ucTt91oDrTQDxlOdoXUn0dn_VFZYN_8e5NfQ2VKe5u99hlvq_AQWMW7phEVk4W1hbz7e5-lWJO-GCR8BSXQUq5mAmtEAy8/s200/Oscar.png" width="190" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of these is a cookie monster.<br />
It's not the fuzzy green one.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">So, I asked my mom if she remembered any favorite toys and she said, "The Cookie Monster stuffed toy. I think I have a picture." Turns out she meant this picture.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Big Giant Sigh. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I don't remember Oscar.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I really don't remember many of my childhood toys. I remember getting a Lite-Brite. I remember playing with Play-Doh. I remember my dad putting up a tire swing for me. I had a swing set and a sand box.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I can't go back and look through those long forgotten toys to see what I'm missing. When I was a high school freshman (freshwoman?), I developed a fascination with candles and melted wax. In an attempt to get a bunch of melted wax I left a large pillar candle burning. In my closet. When I wasn't there. And subsequently set my parents' house on fire.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Fortunately no one was hurt. My room was completely destroyed and there was plenty of smoke and water damage throughout the rest of the house. My kid stuff gone in an instant. It provided a clean break between child and teen. I remember very little of my room "before" and I don't play with candles.</div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #1f497d; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"></span><br />
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</div></div></div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-21918151630150985792012-06-13T10:24:00.001-05:002012-06-16T19:59:20.432-05:00My Left Turn<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 12 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">What was the best decision you ever made?</span> </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://nikirudolph.com/">Niki</a></span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://doctorwhoreviews.com/wp-content/blogs.dir/1/files/donna-noble/donna-noble-catherine-tate-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin:10px;"><img border="0" height="150" pca="true" src="http://doctorwhoreviews.com/wp-content/blogs.dir/1/files/donna-noble/donna-noble-catherine-tate-7.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turn_Left_(Doctor_Who)">Turn Left</a>*</td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I don't spend a lot of time muddling over my decisions once I make them. Anyone in my family (and especially my brother) is likely to tell you, I tend to think too much before making a decision. More than once I have been afflicted with analysis paralysis. <br />
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But once the decision is made, I don't spend too much time evaluated the decision. What’s done is done. But there is one decision that has directly led to where I am today; one that represents two paths that would have led to very different outcomes. I’m not going to say it’s a “Donna Noble, Turn Left” sort of decision, but for me, it was world changing and I ended up temping more than once as a result. Since I'm content with the current state of my life, I'm content with that decision. Admittedly, though, there have been times I wondered if I should have chosen the other path.</div><div> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Once upon a long time ago I worked for a college bookstore chain. I started working for the bookstore part-time when I was an under-grad. Following graduation I found myself working there full-time and rapidly became the textbook manager. I was able to spend time in the back room solving problems regarding getting books on the shelf. I like to think I was pretty good at it, too. Along the way I settled into a nice, if small Chicago life. I had friends, I had favorite restaurants, I was settled.<br />
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In 1999, with two years of department management experience, I was given the opportunity to move to Minnesota to manage a college bookstore of my own. I took that opportunity, excited for the possibility of a new place to make my own way. Feeling successful from my department experience, I felt assured of success in my new venture.</div><div> </div><div>I was a spectacular failure. </div><ul><li>Among other things, I am not a people person. I am an introvert who gets satisfaction and energy from solving problems with words and spreadsheets. I don’t like being disturbed; I don’t want to meet tons of new people every day. A textbook manager can have that sort of existence. A store manager cannot. A store manager must be able to solve people-problems, not thing-problems. </li>
<li>Furthermore, I had plenty of experience with textbooks, but really had no idea how to manage the rest of the store. I could manage books, but not staff, customers, or non-book merchandise. </li>
<li>Not to mention that I had no awareness or acceptance of how different the two stores were. I foolishly believed that the way things worked in one store would work in another. </li>
<li>I was 24. Too close in age to the part-time college student employees and so didn’t know how to earn their respect and too far in age from my peers at the college to feel comfortable with them. </li>
<li>I had no idea how to ask for help or how to accept what help came my way. . I felt like I was on a little island of solid ground and all around me was darkness. I told my manager that I knew there are things that I’m supposed to be doing, these things in the darkness that needed light, but I didn’t know what they are. The tasks, duties, and responsibilities that were self-evident to him were beyond me. Because I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing, I didn’t even know what I was doing wrong. </li>
</ul><div>In my paltry defense, the company I worked for was not all that good at supporting their new managers. They seemed to let us sink or swim. They made the mistake (and not just with me) that a department manager would make a good store manager. I suspect that the assistant manager at that store, upset that she wasn’t promoted, may have (with or without intent) made things more difficult for me.</div><div>Approximately six months after my arrival, my manager gave me a choice: Move back to Chicago and run the textbook department at a different store or leave the company.<br />
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It was a hard decision. I missed Chicago. I missed the friends and the world I had there. But I was already aware that retail was a poisonous environment for me. I chose to leave the company and that meant staying in Minnesota. <br />
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Thirteen years later, I’m still here. Since that time I’ve had supportive managers and some great jobs. I’ve learned how to ask questions and evaluate my environment. I still have the tendency to assume that what worked before with work again, but know I know I need to allow for tweaks and variations. I’ve learned to ask for help before I get so lost that I can’t be found. I earned a Master’s degree. I’ve learned to make choices that support me and my mental health. I met and married my husband and we’re building a home together. Now I get to buy books and don't have to worry about selling them.<br />
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Seems like it was a pretty good decision to me.<br />
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*Also, my mother is way more supportive than Donna's.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-3161076992927625152012-06-10T21:05:00.000-05:002012-06-16T19:59:20.433-05:00Yarn Arts FTW!<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 9 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">What skill have you learned in the past year that you are proud of?</span> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://bethanyactually.com/">Bethany</a></span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I've learned to knit! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I've known how to crochet since high school, but until just recently had never put the effort into truly learning to knit. And for the record, I had a pretty awesome teacher, Jenni from<a href="http://twistedloopyarnshop.com/"> The Twisted Loop Yarn Shop</a>, the yarn shop at our local public library. Yep, that's right, there's a yarn store at the library. So, come visit. I'll take you to the yarn store to meet Jenni.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Project 1 - The hat from the noobie knitting class</span><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/AVvXsEjudzcoZOnZBA0lJmIvxn31yP73g_lt3O42XDF1noo9lprj_HGVtv69q48R7W2qd0N1ZgSO2Qpwi-gOcNP5yj8kg023rUM2-L7DD4d3VCYJDi1NdMI4GM0XUb_qY3o8NSkJPFS4KOaew8w/s1600/in+progress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjudzcoZOnZBA0lJmIvxn31yP73g_lt3O42XDF1noo9lprj_HGVtv69q48R7W2qd0N1ZgSO2Qpwi-gOcNP5yj8kg023rUM2-L7DD4d3VCYJDi1NdMI4GM0XUb_qY3o8NSkJPFS4KOaew8w/s320/in+progress.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In progress</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxT3bbM8DLsg2Vx0b5gQuJZuRDnq1jRbYruwcQgBcBOfkyDflccKB7QMVyrma4LmOXO2aDbyYcT-vTxd3MMqsu2d0Jl4dOzN0uZADbyKBKXWBWuAFokqNk2sJ_F6A2qtXG6GprIM9vjEc/s1600/finished.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxT3bbM8DLsg2Vx0b5gQuJZuRDnq1jRbYruwcQgBcBOfkyDflccKB7QMVyrma4LmOXO2aDbyYcT-vTxd3MMqsu2d0Jl4dOzN0uZADbyKBKXWBWuAFokqNk2sJ_F6A2qtXG6GprIM9vjEc/s320/finished.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finished</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Project 2 - The hat from the Faire Isle Class</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBIOWH9cL0kA9bo9LqkopGb8LpxnRx0qmvrw2lf53ifZ0iLiXg0C6D95Dzg-qKmVciEmXxmmxyRn-LCb6CGBB9Wq-ltGjjRJRbTHP-2ZMhXsol3HXvWI1p87aafBvlLYtHtM40MyMygxg/s1600/fI+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBIOWH9cL0kA9bo9LqkopGb8LpxnRx0qmvrw2lf53ifZ0iLiXg0C6D95Dzg-qKmVciEmXxmmxyRn-LCb6CGBB9Wq-ltGjjRJRbTHP-2ZMhXsol3HXvWI1p87aafBvlLYtHtM40MyMygxg/s320/fI+hat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
So now I have another fun and engaging hobby. And another way to make homemade gifts for people. And a new friend woo hoo</div>
</div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-63815751404856912012-06-08T18:09:00.001-05:002012-06-16T19:59:20.434-05:00Lookouts and Libraries<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 8- Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">What are your favorite decorative items/pieces of furniture/household features?</span> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://kristendomblogs.com/">Kristen</a></span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">370 days ago we met with our mortgage banker to get pre-approved for mortgage. We had started looking for a new house and thus far had been quite disappointed with our findings. We had an idea of what we wanted, but nothing was clicking. 369 days ago we went to an open house and fell in love with </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGu3pRJtZCFFxRMk2ycBnh_mK-iBivrYxZk_DDOmOm634FicUkiOJPu6v364VpcZEtiOvs84AT0njNwdh-lXWo-3AU2e6c9Q-5GWmyjAeiWqpw-AziJRuvftGRncJmJOp4wX951wNIy8/s1600/windows2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGu3pRJtZCFFxRMk2ycBnh_mK-iBivrYxZk_DDOmOm634FicUkiOJPu6v364VpcZEtiOvs84AT0njNwdh-lXWo-3AU2e6c9Q-5GWmyjAeiWqpw-AziJRuvftGRncJmJOp4wX951wNIy8/s320/windows2.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is not our stuff. This is what we saw at the open house.</td></tr>
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Absolutely the best feature of our new home is the two story living room with the west-northwest facing floor-to-ceiling picture windows. The place is open and airy. The previous owners had chosen great paint colors as well. And we love it.<br />
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But still, sometimes changes are necessary to really make it your own.<br />
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We converted the dining room. . .<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6SfxjgZ56CgP3XgvURIM3pajbw9_iTD6Aexpq2V7VXo7lqH4s6EMDMeV9ELW-oFIBtAfxMb-cAMLx04kqFWigIWElesO-yqtutXCQW4jhp5O875mlZgE39UFiLc4RhP_SP5zORK_ScDM/s1600/office+before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6SfxjgZ56CgP3XgvURIM3pajbw9_iTD6Aexpq2V7VXo7lqH4s6EMDMeV9ELW-oFIBtAfxMb-cAMLx04kqFWigIWElesO-yqtutXCQW4jhp5O875mlZgE39UFiLc4RhP_SP5zORK_ScDM/s320/office+before.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woo Hoo? Builder beige carpeting, but we love the red.</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
. . . into an office.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBt-zjuzfgBuaL8PgrNJS4otazxB4LcHexHOpenVYBveQvNBGIlcdaG4HCpz3CWTtYU_HvJGDO7OjqEiSo0ky3bdMTfuwuNxCnjmscSiObwiG7fTaQ1b-X7efFZRsDAhv4d7LD1SqXj8/s1600/office+complete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBt-zjuzfgBuaL8PgrNJS4otazxB4LcHexHOpenVYBveQvNBGIlcdaG4HCpz3CWTtYU_HvJGDO7OjqEiSo0ky3bdMTfuwuNxCnjmscSiObwiG7fTaQ1b-X7efFZRsDAhv4d7LD1SqXj8/s320/office+complete.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maple flooring, cherry desktop and file drawers</td></tr>
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And what was used as an office, but technically a first floor bedroom . . .<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn4XIwahCZ6y9b-c1M2mOic2OzsaiD29MLiX9BOt-YYF8TRxMta0zHqYw0onZXZy-YwB4bUDO_cBp1HQlrjTkbq0jhWcfDjlHiScmz2vuXWNYCTcKxzP9-yN3IE-BElH3RJZ-AqiWHzuo/s1600/library+before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn4XIwahCZ6y9b-c1M2mOic2OzsaiD29MLiX9BOt-YYF8TRxMta0zHqYw0onZXZy-YwB4bUDO_cBp1HQlrjTkbq0jhWcfDjlHiScmz2vuXWNYCTcKxzP9-yN3IE-BElH3RJZ-AqiWHzuo/s320/library+before.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great blue. Nasty, nasty, nasty gray Berber carpeting</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
. . .Into a library (with books grouped by subject and then in alpha-by-author-editor order)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-awfqvIFrkEYvX_SnCKG731EATzX3vXrFlmatj5Pvx_tETi2MYE3iIDgqGy_VtoMs6xupnIcc_bBMRn7i0Qf-xswAeQchLl02rEnGdVpmrbC98bipEA9PRAiTqL-Al5BtbQCK9Dgg5E/s1600/library+complete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb-awfqvIFrkEYvX_SnCKG731EATzX3vXrFlmatj5Pvx_tETi2MYE3iIDgqGy_VtoMs6xupnIcc_bBMRn7i0Qf-xswAeQchLl02rEnGdVpmrbC98bipEA9PRAiTqL-Al5BtbQCK9Dgg5E/s320/library+complete.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maple flooring, cherry woodwork, and a storage window seat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The dream house is more of a reality every day. And that's my favorite part.<br />
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</div>
</div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-16765236273428922022012-06-07T21:02:00.001-05:002012-06-16T19:59:20.434-05:00I Prefer My Pants Not Burn<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 7 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">List 8 reasons it's okay to lie.</span> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://katrinatripled.blogspot.com/">Katrina</a></span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span> <br />
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When I first saw this prompt it scared me. It still scares me. Eight reasons to lie? Really? There are that many reasons? I'm not a Kantian, per se, but I do believe in performing universalizable actions, so in general, one should not ever lie because what if everyone lied. After reading some of the other Reverb Broads' responses, I feel a little better about my own and other's lies, but...<br />
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As a child I lied. To my recollection it was usually about illicit cookie consumption and was quite an issue in our home. Eventually, and I don't know why it was successful, but it was, my mother said it was important to be honest and for people to trust me and if I ever had to be in court and people couldn't trust then that would be bad. Yes, that memory is a horrible run-on sentence. Likely it was not, in actuality, said as such.<br />
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Since then, I've tried not to lie. Skirt the truth, yes, but out and out lie, not so much. Then I read some of the other Reverb Broads posts. Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy - yes, keep that story going as long as possible. Rain on someone else's parade when I could just let it pass me by - well, you've got a point there. Having something else to do when so-and-so calls, yes. Well bleepity, bleep. I'm lying all the time.<br />
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After further thought, it seems there are two conditions when lying is permissible. And right now, I'm changing my mind.* So, it's possible there are two conditions when lying is permissible.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.haase.it/accessori/wd40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="174" src="http://www.haase.it/accessori/wd40.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, some days do require 5 liters</td></tr>
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The first, and without a doubt are the social niceties. I will let you like your amazing accessory, fantastic footwear, and colorful coat. If they make you happy and feel good about yourself, then good, I'm glad you like them (just as long as you don't feel compelled to get one for me, in which case, it looks great on you, but it just doesn't seem like the thing for me). There are few things more powerful than wearing clothes that make you feel good about yourself. Along that line there are the standard sorts of lies that work as social WD-40 that help get us out of those daily sticky situations. So, in all fairness, this is the number one and likely mostly indisputable reason to lie.<br />
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As I started that paragraph up there, I was going to say that it's acceptable to lie to children to help them maintain the magic and innocence of their young lives. I was amused by a fellow Broad's story of the <a href="http://juliaduhan.com/2012/06/07/8-rules-for-lying/">neighborhood "Music" truck</a>. But then I remembered. I remembered the complete and utter devastation I felt when told that Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy might not be quite as real as the chair I'm sitting on. I believe children are capable of handling far more than adults are willing to tell them. Children, who may not be able to grasp the enormity of certain concepts can certainly grasp how it affects their daily life. Please, do not tell your child that grandpa has just gone to sleep. Explain death and the funeral. Help them learn to grieve.<br />
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Learning the truth can be so very painful for children. The absolute trust they had placed in the authority figure is destroyed. I think my distress at learning that the invisible gift-givers of my youth were not real was the loss of faith in what was told to me. If Santa isn't real, what else isn't real? Did anyone else read Cronin's The Passage?** In the new society, children are raised in a protected environment and the truth of their society kept from them until they reach a specific age. Say 10 or 12. I don't remember and I'm not finding the answer after 30 seconds of an internet search. The kids are devastated. D.E.V.A.S.TA.T.E.D. Most of them will never again talk to the person who told them the truth. Now, granted, that was an author's exaggeration, but the point is when the child learns the truth, they also learn a little bit more about distrust and pain.<br />
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By all means, inspire mystery in the kids. But tell them the basics. Tell them more than you think they're able to handle, they'll surprise you. And tell them about Santa, but maybe in a way (and I get to say this because I have no kids and so get to write all this in ignorant bliss) that tells more about the spirit than about a person.<br />
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Six more reasons to lie? I can't find them, but I'm sure that if I'm caught with my pants on fire, I'll find a way to explain it away.<br />
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___________<br />
*Just prior to writing that sentence, I had image after image of my life scrolling through my head. The flip-flopping going on in my head was remarkable. Honestly, I'm amazed I don't have a headache for all the thoughts rattling around within my skull.<br />
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**Please don't. There are what could be a couple of good short stories in there, but pretty much it's a whole lotta nothing. I really wish I could see what the 5-star reviewers saw in it. </div>
</div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-32238061668112318622012-06-06T20:14:00.001-05:002012-06-16T19:59:20.435-05:00Hot Days, Cold Salad<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>**Recipe updated...see blue in text below**</b></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 6 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Share a recipe or meal that is a summertime favorite. (Bonus: Pick someone else's recipe or meal and make it, then blog about your results later on this month).</span> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by Me</span></b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span> <br />
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Summertime. Early hazy mornings and long dusky evenings. Even in MN and WI those days can be so hot and so humid that a person can't even muster the energy to contemplate cooking much less actually making a meal. Especially one like me who thrives on those eyelash-frosting, booger-freezing -40 days of a deep winter high pressure system.<br />
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On those hot humid days it's best just to eat cold things. For me, that's tuna salad and watermelon. Not tuna salad like on a sandwich, but a macaroni and tuna salad.<br />
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Tuna (Macaroni) Salad - serves 4ish as an entree<br />
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1 C. elbow macaroni <br />
4 eggs <span style="color: blue;">(hardboiled...there is one set of instructions in the text below, but you're welcome to hard-boil them any way you like)</span><br />
1 onion, finely diced <span style="color: blue;">(in thinking about it, that seems like a lot of onion, depending on the size of onion..you should have (in my opinion, because I like onion) about as much onion as the drained tuna)</span><br />
2 or 3 ribs celery, finely sliced <br />
1 5 oz can tuna fish (and, to make it taste just right Starkist Chunk Light in water - but go with what you like. <span style="color: blue;">Also, you can use more if you like</span>) <br />
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And approximately: <br />
1/3 C. Miracle Whip (again, for a taste just right experience), <br />
2 Tbl milk <br />
1 tsp sugar <br />
3 Tbl white vinegar <br />
Salt and pepper to taste <br />
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Cook macaroni per package directions. Drain and rinse with cold water. Place in a large bowl.</div>
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Place eggs in a medium-sized sauce pan and cover with cold water. Cook, uncovered to a rolling boil. Turn off the heat, remove pan from burner, cover, and let sit for 15 minutes. Rinse eggs with cold/ice water. Peel and and slice. Add to macaroni<br />
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Add onion, celery, and tuna to the macaroni bowl.<br />
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Stir to mix.<br />
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Now, here comes the tricky part, mix the remaining ingredients together to make the dressing. It should be smooth and runny enough to coat everything. It's okay if it's a little too runny, the macaroni will soak up some of the moisture, but it it's too runny it will pool at the bottom of the bowl and drag all the flavor down with it. It should be more tangy (from the vinegar) than sweet (from the sugar) and you'll have to play around until it's right. Sadly, I've ended up with way more dressing than I need, attempting to get it just right.<br />
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Pour the dressing over the macaroni mixture. Stir to coat. Cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours to allow the flavors to meld. <br />
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The wonderful thing with this is that it can be made first thing in the morning before things get hot and then is ready to serve for lunch or supper (or both).<br />
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Serve with potato chips (Lay's, again if you're going for that just right flavor) and icy cold watermelon.</div>
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AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-29509748263246196722012-06-05T14:11:00.002-05:002012-06-16T19:59:20.436-05:00We the People, not We the Dollars<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 5 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Come up with a new Constitutional Amendment.</b></span><span style="color: purple; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">From the book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0740704826/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=kristendom0f-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0740704826">Art and Soul</a></span></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_Fjd8QIM39sGGu_-Nqexiw6xB6ZK9UL2NBjt7hHdDWHMVyJCX2X3-Q3m0ulYC8fhlpFiqCry2BwsJSWSD2sI7lvWfqxypJPdqg-TKnXBWgr8eoRixOXA_LO0wZNT8S5s3jHNcXOjaBQ/s1600/Constitution-300x200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" fba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_Fjd8QIM39sGGu_-Nqexiw6xB6ZK9UL2NBjt7hHdDWHMVyJCX2X3-Q3m0ulYC8fhlpFiqCry2BwsJSWSD2sI7lvWfqxypJPdqg-TKnXBWgr8eoRixOXA_LO0wZNT8S5s3jHNcXOjaBQ/s1600/Constitution-300x200.jpg" /></a></div>
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We The People - all the people - not just the men, not just those with pale skin, not just those of a particular religion, or particular socio-economic position - ALL THE PEOPLE.</div>
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The United States of America is a remarkable place. Over two hundred years ago a group of men were able to sit down and create the framework for governing that is still followed today. In the subsequent years, the document has been amended to clarify and further the rights of the citizens. In general, the amendments do not restrict the rights of persons. Instead amendments to the Constitution of the United States provide more emphasis to those rights that should be innate, but that power and societal norms had previously suppressed.<br />
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With this in mind it seems that amendments, like that on Minnesota's November ballot* should be defeated. Amendments that limit the rights and responsibilities of people should not be. Period. Amendments should exist to further protect ALL people.<br />
It seems that both the federal and state governments have moved away from one that is "of the people, by the people, and for the people." It seems that it has become one that is "of the money, by the money, for the money." Money is the power and influence in politics. Political decisions are made not in the best interests of the constituents, but in the best interests of those who have the the most money.<br />
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Perhaps the remedy is somewhere in campaign and political finance reform. <br />
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For example:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Blackadder ITC"; font-size: 18pt;">A candidate running for office may only solicit and accept funds from those citizens who are eligible to vote for the candidate.</span></div>
Any person eligible to vote for the president of the United States may contribute to any presidential candidates's campaign fund. Any state registered voter may contribute to that state's senate or gubernatorial candidates. Any city resident and registered may contribute to that city's mayoral candidates. However, a citizen in California may not contribute to a gubernatorial candidate in Virginia.<br />
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And only human citizens. Not corporate ones. In the spirit of secret balloting and to limit the power of influence, contributions MUST be anonymous.<br />
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Further to this: <br />
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<span style="font-family: "Blackadder ITC"; font-size: 18pt;">Any entity (person, religious group, corporation, non-profit, small-business, etc.) may make contributions towards educating the populous regarding an issue before the government.</span></div>
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Any person or thing can fund the issues, however it must be in the form of educational advertisement and subject to a bare minimum of journalistic integrity. No contributor may be anonymous. With regard to the issues, one must be able to put their "face" with their money. <br />
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Are these likely to be successful? No. One could quite easily make the argument that this limits freedom of speech. <br />
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If successful, would they make a difference? Who knows. Still the idea of returning money to commerce and away from political influence seems like a good idea.<br />
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Another possibility is declaring that corporations do not have the same rights to as individuals. Ideally politics should be separate from the influence of money. I know that's a pipe dream. In a world where buying some pizzas for the manufacturing staff also buys "loyalty" to a freight company, it is foolish to think that money can only be commercial and power only be political. But it is wonderful to dream that we and our politicians would make decisions based on the best interests of all and only those involved.<br />
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*The question on the ballot is "Shall the Minnesota Constitution be amended to provide that only a union of one man and one woman shall be valid or recognized as a marriage in Minnesota?" <br />
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For the record, this amendment must be defeated. Regardless of one's opinion of gay marriage, this is an amendment that interferes with the daily lives of good, hard-working, society-benefitting citizens of the state of Minnesota and the United States of America. This is an amendment that restricts the rights of all people. If you are a Minnesota voter - <a href="http://mnunited.org/">Pledge to Vote "No"!</a></div>
</div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-8450868278794361202012-06-03T17:32:00.002-05:002012-06-16T19:59:20.437-05:00Admirable Attributes<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 3 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Who are your role models?</b></span><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://simply-walking.com/">Dana</a></span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here's the thing. I don't really have any role models. There aren't any people out there whose personality and achievements scream out to me "I am your ideal, Amy." When talking with my mom this morning, she agreed. She doesn't have any role models either.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, that is really just another tally mark in the "Amy is her mother's daughter" box. What we didn't talk about is that there are certain characteristics that people have that are admirable. But as a whole, I think any one person is far to flawed for me to want to follow in their footsteps.</span><br />
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Both of my parents are certainly role models. I have the painful blend of my dad's get-it-done and my mom's-get-it-done-right mentalities. But on the whole I think I am far more willing to give up than they are.<br />
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My cousin, Gretchen, has an unabashed enthusiasm for life that if combined with that of Ms. <a href="http://warmedtheworld.blogspot.com/2010/05/lighting-candles-celebrating.html">Ronning</a> would likely power the world for eons. There are times when I could use a little more self-motivation<br />
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My little brother is quick-witted, loyal, and helpful. Not that I'm not, but he is well-entrenched in his community; I am not.<br />
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Mrs. J and Mrs. K were two of the best math teachers any student could have and the problem-solving skills they embedded in me have served me well through the years. There are few people in the world who are good at explaining things, and explaining things, and then explaining them another way, and yet another way until the student grasps the concept. Me, if I've explained something once, maybe I'll be able to explain it to another person again, but at that point, I just really wish that everyone would know everything. In other words, I aspire to have more patience with the inevitable omniscient-lessness that fills the world.<br />
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My current boss has a great way letting the team solve problems and helping clear roadblocks without forcing any one agenda on us. He believes in the team and believes we will find answers and move forward, even when we do not. His quiet optimism helps lead us through the darkness when the team's congenital cynicism leaves us at a loss.<br />
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There are more characteristics out there I aspire too, but those listed above are those that seem the most universal.</div>
</div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9034524072677822639.post-35540209441570534702012-06-02T10:46:00.001-05:002012-06-16T19:59:20.437-05:00Those Damn Cows<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>June 2 - Reverb Broads</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>What gives you nightmares?</b></span><span style="color: purple; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Suggested by <a href="http://bravelyobey.blogspot.com/">Kassie</a></span></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGk7lqfcnme8DX-BpZhvoiufr3Mwh_LD3mKNk2_VCeFTxrJREvHtu-dsaJTQ-8uaWn38bKbAuEmmauwIV_9P26lcx7XsGNWpiNlzMntPXftntgbdmRjhDwL9IWXroHusdNXkFVHrH2i5w/s1600/farm+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="340" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGk7lqfcnme8DX-BpZhvoiufr3Mwh_LD3mKNk2_VCeFTxrJREvHtu-dsaJTQ-8uaWn38bKbAuEmmauwIV_9P26lcx7XsGNWpiNlzMntPXftntgbdmRjhDwL9IWXroHusdNXkFVHrH2i5w/s640/farm+crop.jpg" width="625" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is where I grew up. This where my dad grew up. This where his dad started working in the 1930s. It's mostly white-trimmed red buildings and a red-trimmed white farm house; it's a dairy farm in southern Wisconsin. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was a farm kid. I fed calves, milked cows, scrubbed the bulk tank, swept the feed alleys, and all sorts of other chores. It was my identity. It was who I was. Who my parents and my brother were. Who my aunt, uncles, and grandparents were. Just so you know, that's not the nightmare part</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It pretty much stayed that way until I was 20 or so. Now, realize, by this point I was a junior in at a college in Chicago. I had no intention of going back to the farm. That was not who I was or wanted to be. But it was part of my identity. A HUGE part of my identity. In fact, really it was the only way I knew how to identify myself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then, one afternoon I got a phone call from my parents. They were going to sell the cows in June and the machinery the following January. They weren't moving, they were just going to stop being dairy farmers. No more cows. No more working the fields themselves; they would rent out the land to other farmers. My mom had already started working off the farm. My dad was going to get a job. I was devastated. My friends still laugh at how I came into their dorm room with tears streaming down my face. They thought someone had died. What I couldn't explain to them is that someone had. Part of me had. This is still not the nightmare part.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's been over 16 years since that fateful day. Since that phone call, I have never been home again when my parents were farming. They've made a wonderful life for themselves. They have become something in addition to what they were. And nope, still not the nightmare part.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the thing dreams are made of.<br />In my case, bad dreams.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have these dreams where I have to go back home. My parents have decided that getting back into the dairy business is a good idea. I have to help. In the dream from just a couple of nights ago my mom and I milking. The cows keep popping their heads out of the stanchions and are attempting to walk out the east doors of the barn into some bright morning sunlight. The cows are between me and the open door. I attempt to sneak ahead of them to close the door, but only succeed in scaring more cows out of their stanchions and chasing them cows out the door. There is yelling and anger. There are cows all over the yard and it is impossible to corral them. There is the part of me that can't understand why in the bleepity bleep bleep BLEEP! we are milking cows again. Even if it's just for a month or two to get some extra cash. And of course, nothing is going right. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That's the nightmare part; something that I thought was gone comes back and haunts me. I have absolutely no control over the situation. The life I have built for myself </span>irrelevant is<span style="font-family: inherit;"> in the face of milking the damn cows again. It is so painful and so stressful. Unlike the dreams where I've skipped class all term and it's time for the final or I show up someplace naked or partially dressed I can't find resolution in the farm dreams. That's the nightmare.</span><br />
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</div>AmyKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15135800194414722976noreply@blogger.com0