tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64369111697023819832024-03-12T22:32:35.502-07:00My Life As A Grape In A Box Of RocksEver have those days where it feels like the world is pressing in, pushing you down, squeezing in from all sides til you feel like you'll burst like a grape???Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.comBlogger61125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-23798268461373281352018-07-12T22:16:00.001-07:002018-07-12T22:16:23.116-07:00Bandits In A Box<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">*finally publishing a draft from 2012. Apologies for the format...need to adjust settings</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">It's 11:30at night and I'm sound asleep, snoring (and drooling on my pillow, I'm sure) when I hear a light rapping on my bedroom door. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> "Mom.." "Mom.." "Momma" .. "Mommy"... "Ma"... </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">"WHAT" I hiss, trying to keep from waking my husband, Jim. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"There's something stuck in the storage box outside" he whispers...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> (I roll over)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">"Something BIG!" he says (I pull the pillow over my face) </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">"</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Something ALIVE!"</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Reluctantly, I wake up Jim who goes outside with Justin, to investigate. Jim has collected my broom and dustpan from the kitchen, and Justin </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">is armed with a snow shovel (we live in Southern California...at a golf course resort...why we have a snow shovel, I dunno). I watch from the doorway of our 5th wheel.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">By the light of the golf cart headlights, Jim slowly and carefully opens the lid to to the large storage box to find not one, but two raccoons delighting themselves in a brand new bag of dog food! </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Just then, Justin shouts at him to look at the tree, where at least three more sets of eyes are staring at us from the darkness !!! Full-on panic ensues... Jim and I are running all around our little plot of land, in our underwear, trying to look at the raccoons ... getting spooked and running inside, then back out, shoving past each other to retreat once again.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Justin is certain they are going to gnaw our faces off and repeatedly suggests we place a call to security. And then, as if on cue, security drives by and we alert them (arms flailing and muffled screams) that we are under attack...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> The security guard takes the broom from Jim, opens the lid to the box, and shoos the two bandits off like they were little more than harmless kittens, He looks at us like we're a bunch of ninnies and suggests we go back to bed and stop causing such a ruckus. ( us...) !!! </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I hear those raccoons outside as I type this... they are plotting... If you don't hear from me tomorrow, please call animal control to come rescue us.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Full disclosure:will add photo later, once I learn how to navigate this new tablet... these are not the raccoons in our tree... just used a pic I found... but this is exactly what we're dealing with here)... LOL</span>Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-67398285818284411652014-02-25T09:50:00.000-08:002014-02-25T09:59:15.099-08:00Going Green... One Pinterest Obsession After AnotherI am a big fan of Pinterest. I post a million things hoping to get to just a few worthwhile projects before I die.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgag1Biv0VZLYDi7U_vP2a9GvX9l1N3SeWLYwIK82tr9vAAOys61XlKsHOkI2YBiSouurTMzBxYgjpjaY4mqy3v5D1AzJZ4MJgHc5UdFCLv3GppbQAfv7cJz4_fJrmgRZmS1jQohOMKUds/s1600/pin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgag1Biv0VZLYDi7U_vP2a9GvX9l1N3SeWLYwIK82tr9vAAOys61XlKsHOkI2YBiSouurTMzBxYgjpjaY4mqy3v5D1AzJZ4MJgHc5UdFCLv3GppbQAfv7cJz4_fJrmgRZmS1jQohOMKUds/s1600/pin.jpg" /></a></div>
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One of the boards I have created for myself is a DIY board... I'm sure all of my fellow pin-addicts have one of these as well. My board is filled with all kinds of recipes and ideas to save time, money, my sanity, and the environment.<br />
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Although I have taken the time to Pin these ideas, I admit I have only put a few concepts into actual play in my life. I did however, plant some seedlings in my leftover egg shells and am regrowing my green onions from the cuttings, so not all is lost ;)<br />
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Since moving to this farm in January 2014, a farm which has been certified organic for the past several years, it occurs to me, more than ever, that I need to be making some changes in a few items I use on a regular basis; such as laundry detergent.<br />
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So, my interest was piqued when a class at the local community college was brought to my attention. The class was about how to make homemade cosmetics and products. I signed myself up and coerced my sister into going along.<br />
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The two hour class was fun and informative ... we didn't get as much hands-on as this klutz would have cared for, but as there were Pyrex dishes filled with melted wax, etc., it's probably better that I attempt these things in my own kitchen and not in a room full of witnesses.<br />
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Our instructor, Louise, encouraged us all to share the recipes and techniques with family and friends. She also said to experiment a bit to see what combinations of oils and fragrances you like... don't be afraid to venture out of your comfort zone. So, as I know I will misplace my newly-acquired recipes AND I want to do as instructed, I will share what I learned here ... I will add some stock pictures from the web as I don't have any of my own yet. I will also attempt to add some links to aid in purchasing some products, tutorials, and such.<br />
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Homemade Liquid Laundry Detergent</span></u></b></div>
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1/3 bar soap (Ivory is suggested although you can also use Fels-Naptha); grated</div>
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1/2c. Arm & Hammer Washing SODA (not detergent...the boxes look similar, so be mindful)</div>
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1/2c. Borax</div>
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30 drops of Essential Oils of your choice (lavender, or lemongrass ... keep it pleasant and simple) You can purchase oils at most health food stores or <a href="http://www.newdirectionsaromatics.com/" target="_blank">order oils here</a> </div>
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3 1-gallon water jugs</div>
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Bring <u>5 cups</u> of water to a boil. Lower heat and add the grated soap and stir until melted. Add an additional <u>4 cups</u> of water to the mixture; stir. Remove from heat and add the Washing Soda and Borax; mix well. Do not add essential oils until mixture has cooled just a little bit to avoid dissipation. </div>
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Take your 3 1-gallon containers and add <u>7 cups</u> of water to each. Stir mixture, then pour 3 cups of mixture into each of the 1-gallon containers. As the mixture cools, you will want to shake it. You can then transfer mixture to a more manageable storage container, if you like. </div>
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Use 1/3c of your detergent per load ( 1/4 c. if you have a front-load machine) As there are no chemicals to prevent separation of ingredients, it is important that you <u><b>SHAKE WELL BEFORE USE</b></u>. </div>
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All products, except for the essential oils (link provided above), can be purchased at Walmart. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Homemade Powder Laundry Detergent</u></b></span></div>
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2 bars soap ( Ivory, Fels-Naptha, or Dr. Bronner) HINT: Ivory is cheaper and more readily available. </div>
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1 1/2c. Arm & Hammer Washing Soda (again, be sure it's the washing soda and NOT their detergent...big difference) </div>
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1 1/2c. Borax</div>
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Essential Oils ( optional and amount added is at your discretion. Start with a few drops and add more as you go along) </div>
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Finely grate your bars of soap using an old fashioned cheese grater OR you can use a food processor. Just be careful when grating the harder bars of soap if using a processor.... you don't want to damage or ruin an expensive kitchen appliance to save a few dollars. Ivory is soft and should grate nicely.</div>
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If you'd like to mix the ingredients into a finer powder to avoid any soap flakes from streaking your darker clothing, run small batches through a coffee grinder for just a few seconds before storing. </div>
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Use 2T of your detergent per load. If you have a front load washer, you can use 1T per load. </div>
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HINT: Save your plastic 1-gallon coffee containers to store your detergent. I have saved up quite a few and am going to spray them with chalkboard paint and write what's inside and how much to use (Thank you Pinterest for the idea!!!) LOL</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Homemade Lotion</u></b></span></div>
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1 3/4c. hot water (specific instruction below regarding temp) </div>
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1/4c. emulsifying wax <a href="http://www.newdirectionsaromatics.com/emulsifying-wax-o-sls-free-p-1491.html" target="_blank">available here</a></div>
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1/4c. oil of choice (avocado, olive, coconut) HINT: Always get cold pressed extra virgin oils</div>
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7 drops of essential oils of your choice</div>
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(2 candy thermometers are handy and should be used for this recipe) </div>
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In a Pyrex measuring glass, combine the oil and emulsifying wax. Microwave 1 minute until melted. Optimal temperature is 155*F (-/+ 5*)</div>
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Microwave 1 3/4c water for 1 minute. Optimal temperature is 120*F (-/+ 5*)</div>
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Add the essential oils to the wax/oil mixture at optimal temperature. Stir. </div>
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Once you determine that your temperature is optimal for both the wax/oil mixture and water, pour the hot water into the wax/oil mixture and watch it turn milky ( color will depend on the oil you use. Avocado and olive oil mixtures may turn a lovely yellow while coconut will be white). Occasionally stir the temperature of your lotion mixture until it cools to approximately 125*F. </div>
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Pour the lotion mixture into wide mouth pint-size jars. Mildly shake the jars until the mixture cools. You can transfer into a plastic bottle with dispenser if you like, just be sure bottle is free of BPA so it doesn't leech into your organic lotion. You can recycle an old lotion bottle OR <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=lotion+bottles" target="_blank">Amazon</a> has quite a few selections ( I did not check to see BPA content in any of these bottles) </div>
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This lotion is smooth and luxurious... good for hands, face, body. Use sparingly as a little goes a long way. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Homemade Deodorant</u></b></span></div>
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3T. Shea Butter (refined) can be found at most health food stores or <a href="http://www.newdirectionsaromatics.com/shea-butter-refined-ghana-p-554.html" target="_blank">available here</a></div>
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3T Arm & Hammer Baking Soda IMPORTANT: Arm & Hammer is the only baking soda that does NOT have traces of aluminum. Only use Arm & Hammer</div>
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2T Corn Starch</div>
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2T Cocoa Butter - can be found at health food stores or <a href="http://www.newdirectionsaromatics.com/organic-cocoa-butter-p-2022.html" target="_blank">available here</a></div>
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2 Vitamin E oil gel capsules (puncture and squeezed into recipe as instructed) </div>
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4 drops Essential Oils (Tea Tree Oil, Orange Oil suggested. Lavender highly recommended as it has natural qualities to kill bacteria, viruses, fungi) </div>
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Melt all ingredients (except Vitamin E and Essential Oils) in microwave safe dish for approximately 30 seconds Stir well. </div>
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Add Vitamin E from capsules and Essential Oils. Mix well and pour into small containers. You can even use your empty deodorant tubes, if you like. </div>
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You should have enough for two containers. Keep one to use and keep the other in the refrigerator. </div>
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TO USE: Scrape a little deodorant out of the jar with the back of your fingernail; a small, pea-sized amount will do. Hold under your arm for 5 seconds or until it is warm enough to spread under your arm. It make take a few days use to notice if this product is working for you. Remember, this is a deodorant, NOT an antiperspirant. Although the mixture will have some antiperspirant properties, you may still sweat a bit. </div>
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IMPORTANT NOTE: Some individuals may have a sensitivity to baking soda. If you notice a reaction, you may want to cut back on the baking soda for your next batch. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><u>Homemade Lip Balm</u></b></span></div>
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1 1/2 tsp. <a href="http://www.newdirectionsaromatics.com/beeswax-beads-white-cosmetic-grade-refined-p-1434.html" target="_blank">Beeswax</a></div>
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1 7/8 tsp. Coconut Oil </div>
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1 1/8 tsp Cocoa Butter (link for purchase above) </div>
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3 tsp. Olive Oil</div>
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3 Vitamin E Capsules</div>
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4 Drops of Essential Oils ( Peppermint is recommended, but experiment with oils of your liking) </div>
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6 <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=chapstick+tubes&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Achapstick+tubes" target="_blank">Empty Lip Balm Tubes</a> </div>
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Place all ingredients ( EXCEPT FOR THE VITAMIN E CAPSULES - HEATING THE VITAMIN E WHILE MELTING THE OTHER INGREDIENTS WILL CAUSE IT TO LOSE IT'S HELPFUL, HEALING PROPERTIES) into a Pyrex measuring cup. Melt ingredients in double boiler OR microwave. Melt, stirring often until all ingredients are liquid and mixed well. </div>
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Remove from heat and add the content of the Vitamin E capsules ( pierce capsule and squeeze oil into mixture; discard capsule) and the Essential Oils</div>
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You will notice that there is not much product once melted. That's Okay! You will have enough to fill 6 empty lip balm tubes. Carefully pour the mixture into a 1c. measuring cup to ease with pouring. Fill tubes and allow them to cool and harden. </div>
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Another great resource for products to assist you in these DIY projects is <a href="https://www.mountainroseherbs.com/" target="_blank">Mountain Rose Herbs</a></div>
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I hope you are able to make a few items for yourself. They were much easier than I had originally thought, and after attending last night's class, I am more motivated than ever to place a DIY Day on the calendar and stock up! </div>
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It is important to remember that the cosmetic items DO NOT have any preservatives, so they will "spoil" with time. Best rule of thumb is to use them up within a 6 month time frame. SO, if you're making big batches, be sure to share with family and friends. </div>
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Feel free to share this blog post and I'd love to hear back from you regarding your success with these DIY recipes. </div>
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*DISCLAIMER> > > Again, I used stock photos from a google search. I do not own these pictures and did not obtain permission to use them. </div>
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Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-36325506842055727462013-11-22T08:54:00.000-08:002013-11-22T08:55:19.971-08:00Diner Definers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><br style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" />Shortly after our arrival to our son's home in Iowa. my sister and her husband arrived to welcome us and suggest we go to the local (and only) cafe for dinner. <br style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4aHet7x1YWpfFz4Uy-DivjxKE_xQoJQ9epREggybpIxAvDQR1n6Fwr4LYBb9r5ir4muGCR_g4qzZVdD3tm29BbVOWD7YVcTVY1pgtv8o99zIm06O75jXwkt-M_GdBSppVVgdOuXfDIko/s1600/penguins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4aHet7x1YWpfFz4Uy-DivjxKE_xQoJQ9epREggybpIxAvDQR1n6Fwr4LYBb9r5ir4muGCR_g4qzZVdD3tm29BbVOWD7YVcTVY1pgtv8o99zIm06O75jXwkt-M_GdBSppVVgdOuXfDIko/s1600/penguins.jpg" /></span></b></a></div>
<b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><span style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Assured that I would be able to get something "meat-free", I agree that dinner sounds like a great plan and wonder how all of us will fit into my sister's car. </span></span></b><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="color: white; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b style="background-color: #990000;"><br /></b></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="color: white; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b style="background-color: #990000;">Much to my surprise, as I stand, freezing and shivering, next to my sister's car, everyone starts walking the three blocks in the 30* weather, avoiding the ice patches on the streets and sidewalks as they go. I dutifully fall into the ranks. </b></span><br />
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<b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><br /><br />Once seated at "Mother's Steakhouse" I begin the defrosting process and peruse the menu. I decide on a dinner salad and baked potato with all the "fixins". </span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcLxdyk_U2bjNJ5tEsdrjuBt_ivt0VdgNR9V2DSfrzmMdn4PLE7N_KESol7mqwm5SDNYAN_jJ45-w2nvXHVxsU-_qzFfVzNHJgMlSiOUJbgjBeWKeelHlx7Y8WBHwKil4MCGAATczMf0/s1600/potato.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcLxdyk_U2bjNJ5tEsdrjuBt_ivt0VdgNR9V2DSfrzmMdn4PLE7N_KESol7mqwm5SDNYAN_jJ45-w2nvXHVxsU-_qzFfVzNHJgMlSiOUJbgjBeWKeelHlx7Y8WBHwKil4MCGAATczMf0/s1600/potato.jpg" /></span></b></a></div>
<b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><br />However, much to my dismay, in this little community in Iowa, baked potatoes don't have fixins! I think we truly stumped the young waitress when asking if they had chives. (No, they don't... She thinks...I still don't think she knows what chives are) ...</span></b><br />
<b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><br />So, I have to rethink my dining options as a dry potato doesn't appeal to me.... How about the potato skins ... I can do those!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I inquire about the potato skins... "Do they have bacon on them?" I ask.</span></span></b><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b style="background-color: #990000;"> I am rewarded with a blank stare followed with a confused, yet resounding "no" ... </b></span><br />
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<b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> Ok, Ok!!! I get it, there's no bacon. Good !!</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><span style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">"Do you want the personal size?" she asks. "No," I reply, "lets do the full order because you know everyone's gonna reach over and take them off of my plate." And I swear, this was her response. </span></span></b><br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></b><br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="color: white; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b style="background-color: #990000;">...... you'd think I had just arrived here from Mars. (Mars ... California.... makes no difference when you're new to a small community)</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;">And now I know why she had such an expression ...<br /><br />In California, potato skins are basically a baked potato with the innards scooped out. Add cheese, bacon, and chives... Pop em into the oven for a few and serve up w ranch dressing or sour cream. </span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwiJP6EDbNorKRLmudoi9pbt6dRQH4kUyCO781NRE3H8esCa6wJgYKh2uUWRg-HimMtfbvK1b76G7YtUnk_SVDPOt7W3K8S6edISz806ZnYYLX8wJkJKPnmDi0dgEwVPlv0UVL1YzUELA/s1600/halves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwiJP6EDbNorKRLmudoi9pbt6dRQH4kUyCO781NRE3H8esCa6wJgYKh2uUWRg-HimMtfbvK1b76G7YtUnk_SVDPOt7W3K8S6edISz806ZnYYLX8wJkJKPnmDi0dgEwVPlv0UVL1YzUELA/s320/halves.jpg" width="320" /></span></b></a></div>
<b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><br /><br />In Iowa, potato skins are peeled, and generally discarded skins of the potatoes and then deep fried !!!! I was the recipient of a whole, huge steaming basket of potato peelings, NOT the 4 to 6 little wedges I was envisioning. </span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOgc3dARtTSjuB_WpDSlf1DA7pw3rrqS-rYBpH1i00v544kzZIupRXDYSEGhG3Pj3Cow02KpxMNOoHTQ82Y_10VY67f3pPShFO_W7OZKq_ispXjn4HOPwMxGDonEf1W8tDlGYsyXRKdWk/s1600/potato+skins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOgc3dARtTSjuB_WpDSlf1DA7pw3rrqS-rYBpH1i00v544kzZIupRXDYSEGhG3Pj3Cow02KpxMNOoHTQ82Y_10VY67f3pPShFO_W7OZKq_ispXjn4HOPwMxGDonEf1W8tDlGYsyXRKdWk/s320/potato+skins.jpg" width="213" /></span></b></a></div>
<b><span style="background-color: #990000; color: white;"><br /><br />Needless to say, I received NO assistance eating them. I even brought a box home for breakfast.<br /><br />Remind me to ask specific questions next time I go out as I'm pretty sure "sweetbreads"<br />will not be a "cinnamon crumble bagel" from Paneras. LMAO</span></b>Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-49928651381091202752013-11-22T08:39:00.000-08:002013-11-22T08:39:33.016-08:00Dairy of a Snow ShovelerIt snowed last night.<br />
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I got up three times in the middle of the night to check to see how much had fallen...<br />
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I got up this morning, grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat in my living room enjoying how the sun reflected off of the snow.<br />
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I remembered a funny story my husband had shared a few years ago. Not only did he share it with me, but he photo copied it and passed it around to everyone at work proclaiming that the elements of the story were the very reason he would never move back to Iowa.<br />
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And yet, here we are...in Iowa...preparing for our first FULL Winter. When we arrived in March, we brought a blizzard with us. It literally rode in on our coat tails (I know the neighbors are still blaming us). And then, we experienced a freak blizzard in May... MAY !!! Who gets snow storms in MAY?? Well, we did. ( I know the neighbors are blaming us for this one, too) <br />
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Let's just go for the trifecta and take credit for the flooding that happened here in June while we're at it. This resulted in the entire moldification of our son's basement living area. he now sleeps in my craft room.<br />
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At the moment, we still have our sanity and are smiling. But, much as the individual in the story I am about to share, I anticipate an entire "melt down" as the season progresses. We are told to expect a rough Winter.... I'm sure we will get blamed for that one, as well.<br />
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Enjoy (at my expense ....)<br />
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<b>Diary of a Snow Shoveler~~</b><br />
Day 1<br />6:00 PM. It started to snow. The first snow of the season and the wife and I took our cocktails and sat for hours by the window watching the huge soft flakes drift down from heaven. It looked like a Grandma Moses print. So romantic we felt like newlyweds again. I love snow!<br /><br />Day 2<br />We woke to a beautiful blanket of crystal white snow covering every inch of the landscape. What a fantastic sight! Can there be a more lovely place in the Whole World? Moving here was the best idea I've ever had. Shoveled for the first time in years and felt like a boy again. I did both our driveway and the sidewalks. This afternoon the snowplow came along and covered up the sidewalks and closed in the driveway, so I got to shovel again. What a perfect life.<br /><br />Day 3<br />The sun has melted all our lovely snow. Such a disappointment. My neighbor tells me not to worry, we'll definitely have a white Valentine's day. No snow in February would be awful! Bob says we'll have so much snow by the end of winter, that I'll never want to see snow again. I don't think that's possible. Bob is such a nice man, I'm glad he's our neighbor.<br /><br />Day 4<br />Snow, lovely snow! 8" last night. The temperature dropped to the teens. The cold makes everything sparkle so. The wind took my breath away, but I warmed up by shoveling the driveway and sidewalks. This is the life! The snowplow came back this afternoon and buried everything again. I didn't realize I would have to do quite this much shoveling, but I'll certainly get back in shape this way.<br /><br />Day 5<br />20 forecast. Sold my van and bought a 4x4 Blazer. Bought snow tires for the wife's car and 2 extra shovels. Stocked the freezer. The wife wants a wood stove in case the electricity goes out. I think that's silly. We aren't in Alaska, after all.<br /><br />Day 6<br />Ice storm this morning. Fell on my butt on the ice in the driveway putting down salt. Hurt like heck. The wife laughed for on hour, which I think was very cruel.<br /><br />Day 7<br />Temperature is way below freezing. Roads too icy to go anywhere. Electricity was off for 5 hours. I had to pile the blankets on to stay warm. Nothing to do but stare at the wife and try not to irritate her. Guess I should've bought a wood stove, but won't admit it to her. God I hate it when she's right. I can't believe I'm freezing to death in my own living room.<br /><br />Day 8<br />Electricity's back on, but another 14" of the damn stuff last night. More shoveling. Took all day. Darn snowplow came back twice. Tried to find a neighbor kid to shovel, but they said they're too busy playing hockey. I think they're lying. Called the only hardware store around to see about buying a snow blower and they're out. Might have another shipment in March. I think they're lying. Bob says I have to shovel or the city will have it done and bill me. I think he's lying.<br /><br />Day 9<br />Bob was right about winter's here because 13 more inched of the white crap fell today, and it's so cold it probably won't melt till August. Took me 45 minutes to get all dressed up to go out to shovel and then I had to poop. By the time I got undressed, pooped, and dressed again, I was too tired to shovel. Tried to hire Bob who has a plow on his truck for the rest of the winter, but he says he's too busy. I think the jerk is lying.<br /><br />Day 10<br />Only 2" of snow today. And it warmed up to 15. The wife wanted me to clean the porch furniture this morning. What, is she nuts! Why didn't she tell me to clean them months ago and cover them? She says she did but I think she's lying.<br /><br />Day 11<br />6" snow packed so hard by the snowplow, I broke the shovel. Thought I was having a heart attack. If I ever catch the man who drives that snowplow I'll drag him through the snow by his nose and beat him to death with my broken shovel. I know he hides around the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling and then he comes down the street at 100 miles an hour and throws snow all over where I've just been! Tonight the wife wanted me to watch a romantic movie with her, but I was too busy watching for the snowplow.<br /><br />Day 12<br />Happy Valentine's Day! 20 more inches of the slop tonight. Snowed in. The idea of shoveling makes my blood boil. I hate snow! Then the snowplow driver came by asking for a donation and I hit him over the head with my shovel. The wife says I have a bad attitude. I think she's a fricking idiot. If I have to watch "Sleepless In Seattle" one more time, I'm going to stuff her into the microwave.<br /><br />Day 13<br />Still snowed in. Why the heck did I ever move here? It was all HER idea. She's really getting on my nerves.<br /><br />Day 14<br />Temperature dropped to record low and the pipes froze. Plumber came after 14 hours of waiting for him. He only charged me $1400 to replace all my pipes.<br /><br />Day 15<br />Warmed up to above 18! Still snowed in. THE WITCH is driving me crazy!!!<br /><br />Day 16<br />Still more snow. Bob says I have to shovel the roof or it could cave in. That's the silliest thing I ever heard. How dumb does he think I am?<br /><br />Day 17<br />Roof caved in. I beat up the snow plow driver. He's now suing me for a million dollars not only for the beating I gave him but also for trying to shove the broken snow shovel up where the sun don't shine. The wife went home to her mother. More snow predicted.<br /><br />Day 18<br />I set fire to what's left of the house. No more shoveling.<br /><br />Day 19<br />Feel so good. I just love those little white pills they keep giving me. Why am I tied to the bed?<br />
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<br />Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-90026736331835945262013-05-04T07:16:00.000-07:002013-07-06T19:56:11.254-07:00My Mayberry...This past winter, my husband and I packed up our few possessions and left our lives in sunny Southern California for the frozen plains of Franklin County, Iowa.<br />
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And, right now, many of you are going to suggest that I make myself an appointment for a CT scan, STAT! Because who, in their right mind, does that !!!<br />
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Well, to me, Iowa is home.<br />
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I had spent many summers at my Grandpa's home in Sioux City, Iowa and I have fond memories of carefree summers of running free, catching fire flies at dusk, learning to play cribbage at the kitchen table while listening to the ball game on his radio. Back yards went on forever, because neighbors don't believe in fences.<br />
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Every day my Grandpa and I would walk to Peter's Park where we'd stop in to say hello to Ed, the barber. Sometimes, Grandpa would get a trim. We'd go to the Ben Franklin Store to pick up a treat or two to keep me occupied and then head to the Masonic Lodge, where Grandpa would tidy things up before the Mason's next meeting.<br />
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Those summers were magical to me.<br />
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In later years, I'd visit family in Franklin County during the summer months. We would have fresh corn on the cob feasts while playing board games til two in the morning. My boys would would run and play with their cousins, catch frogs at the pond and go fishing. They'd catch fire flies, just as I had done as a child.We'd spend all day at the county fair and Wednesday evenings at the Farmer's Market, watch fireworks at Beed's Lake on the 4th of July.<br />
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The mood in the small Iowa towns was always relaxed, an overall atmosphere of calm. No one ever seemed to be in a hurry, neighbors took the time to engage in friendly conversation and genuinely cared for each other. Farmers met for coffee at the local diner every morning People smiled and greeted you when you'd walk down the street or enter a store.<br />
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To me, Iowa was my Mayberry.<br />
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We had lived in Iowa before, during the winter of '85, and had survived what locals called a "Centennial Storm". A winter so brutal it only comes along every hundred years or so. It snowed for weeks and we would experience long cold snaps, often with temperatures well below zero. Many times I recall the Wind Chill Factor being at -80 degrees. My husband vowed that as soon as he could free our truck from the massive snow bank in the alley, he was going to pack up his little family and head for warmer weather, never to return. And he did.<br />
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Twenty-eight years. I had tried for nearly twenty-eight years to convince my husband that Iowa was where we needed to be; where we needed to be raising our sons. But he wouldn't relent. I begged, pleaded, and schemed. I presented him with insane real estate deals, but he'd stand firm that we were staying in California. Iowa was not for him. <br />
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Then, in early January of 2013, I had it in my mind to try again. I decided to start saving some money towards a down payment for a house in Iowa. I thought I'd tempt him yet again with the bait of an inexpensive country home; a simpler life. A last ditch effort. I didn't say a word, but had nearly met my savings goal when, one month later, after a stressful day at work, my husband sat down at my feet and asked me if I'd consider moving to Iowa. He was done with California.<br />
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Once I determined that he wasn't joking or baiting me, I showed him my stash of $20 bills and it was a mad dash from that point forward. Within six weeks we quit our high stress jobs, packed the truck, kissed the children and grandbabies goodbye and hit the highway towards a better life.<br />
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This is OUR Mayberry now. We've rented a little house in a community with approximately 260 residents. John Deere tractors seem to outnumber the cars. My husband is more tolerant of the winter temperatures and conditions (as I write this, it is the first week of May and we have been hit, once again, with a record-breaking winter and there is a foot of snow on the ground). Many things are as I remembered; relaxed, carefree, genuine.<br />
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I've been a city mouse for far too many years. There's going to be plenty of stories to share as I become a country girl in my Mayberry. So sit back, grab a Mason jar of sweet tea, and listen to a yarn or two. <3<br />
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<br />Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-22015744961587426802012-11-17T12:31:00.002-08:002012-11-17T12:31:48.052-08:00Shake That Ass... Step It UpLately, many of those whom I hold dear have been going though some pretty significant changes in their lives. Changes in their employment, their relationships, their residential location, etc.<br />
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For all of us, with change there are moments of fear, uncertainty. The second guessing if the choices we have made are going to pan out the way we had anticipated; had hoped for.<br />
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My son, James, has recently taken the leap to make some bold moves to secure a better life for his family. They saved every penny they could, sold off nearly every possession they had, gave notice at work, packed up the cars, strapped in the babies and headed off to the expansive plains of Iowa.<br />
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There were some hiccups along the way; there always are when you travel with little ones. One always seems to come across the less-than-perfect motel along the way, the ever-present stop and interrogation by the bored highway patrol who's noticed the loaded down out-of-state vehicle caravan driving along an abandoned stretch of highway in the middle of the night. And the never-ending pangs of being homesick. Those of us who have made such journeys understand this all too well.<br />
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If it's not one thing knocking you down, it's another, it seems. I've been there myself. I know how discouraging it can be. I know how hard it is to try to see the positive in your present circumstances.<br />
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But, much like I have been trying to lovingly relay to my son and his wife, if you just shove the negatives aside and try to see the positives in your situation, there is a glimmer of hope to be found.<br />
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Just as I was remembering my own trials survived during cross-country treks in my earlier years, and trying to find the sentiments of support for my kids, I came across this story and wanted to share it.<br />
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It's all in how you view things...<br />
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One day, a farmer's donkey fell down into a well.The animal cried piteously for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do. Finally, the farmer decided the animal was old, and the well needed to be covered up anyway; it just wasn't worth it to retrieve the donkey.<br />
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The farmer invited all of his neighbors to come over to help him fill in the well. One by one, they grabbed a shovel and began to shovel dirt into the well. At first, the donkey realized what was happening and cried out horribly in protest. Then, to everyone's amazement, the donkey settled down and quieted.<br />
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After a few more shovels -full of dirt were thrown into the well, the farmer looked down and was amazed at what he saw. With each shovel of dirt that his the donkey's back, the donkey would shake off the dirt and take a step up onto the growing mound of dirt beneath him.<br />
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As the neighbors continued to shovel, the donkey continued to shake it off and step up. Pretty soon, everyone was amazed as the donkey stepped up over the edge of the well and happily trotted off to the fields.<br />
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The moral of the story is this: Life is going to shovel dirt on you, all kinds of dirt. The trick to getting out of the lifes' wells is to shake it off and take a step up. Each of our troubles are a stepping stone. We can get out of the deepest well just by not stopping, never giving up.... Shake it off and take a step up.<br />
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Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-32944237576472515852012-10-30T18:14:00.002-07:002012-10-30T18:14:37.600-07:00Get In The Boat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: #990000;"><span style="display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> Sometimes, when someone repeatedly asks for God to help show them the direction their life should take, maybe they should consider that he IS answering their prayers in the form of just listening to someone who can offer advice or encouragement. Sometimes the advice or encouragement isn't what you want to hear, but maybe, just maybe, your prayers are being answered and you aren't listening... </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;"><span style="display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">I was reminded of a story I had heard some time ago, and I wanted to share it with you today.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp-TqpdW_SET3lw8Go6eDS3mqYGUMytdOfsuEW7MEvw0J7QGzfnZOR5-h_XGYUEr3YiQAQE_LFPLsYsmn1a8FXih-Pbl6WYF69WLShXgkvS8UDS2kXlOIQQKAXjKYOiABPwqcRji9ZkvI/s1600/Drowning-Man-753934.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp-TqpdW_SET3lw8Go6eDS3mqYGUMytdOfsuEW7MEvw0J7QGzfnZOR5-h_XGYUEr3YiQAQE_LFPLsYsmn1a8FXih-Pbl6WYF69WLShXgkvS8UDS2kXlOIQQKAXjKYOiABPwqcRji9ZkvI/s1600/Drowning-Man-753934.gif" /></a></span></div>
<span style="background-color: #990000;"><span style="display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> There was a man drowning in the ocean. He prayed to God to save him.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">A few minutes later a boat came and offered to pick him up and take him to shore. The drowning man refused and the boat left.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Another boat came along and offered to save the man and he said, "No, God is going to save me." So, the boat left.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Finally a third boat came and a man said, "I can help you." Once again the drowning man said no.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br style="font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">When the man finally drowned, he stood before God and said, " I trusted you. I prayed to you! Why didn't you save me??"</span><br style="font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br style="font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">God said, "I heard your prayers, I answered your prayers... I sent you three boats. You chose not to get in."</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;"><span style="display: inline ! important; float: none; font-family: 'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Are you listening? Do you see the boats in your life, but you're waiting for a miracle? Do yourself a favor.... get in the boat.</span></span><br />
Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-6205898128415547182012-09-22T23:17:00.000-07:002012-09-23T01:20:24.730-07:00The Big Fish: The One We Wished Had Gotten AwayToday I was to have lunch with all of my coworkers from the Special Education Dept for the school I work for. We had been assigned an entire half of the dining area of an all-you-can-eat buffet at a local luxurious Indian casino.<br />
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As we all gathered at the buffet, two coworkers and I were separated while checking in and were seated on the opposite side of the dining room. </div>
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While perusing the salad bar (ok, I'll confess, the dessert bar) I had been approached by our director and it had been suggested that we join the rest of the group. Once I had my salad (brownies) appropriately plated, I made my way to the group but was stopped dead in my tracks as a coworker walked right in front of me with a platter draped and dripping with overwhelmingly stinky King Crab legs......YUCK!!!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the blonde is heartless....right???</td></tr>
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<span id="goog_294017777"></span><span id="goog_294017778"></span>I promptly made an about face and distanced myself from the smelly, stinky, exceptionally grossness that was before me. I quite literally let out an involuntarily retching sound as I nearly puked. <br />
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As I hastily fled in the opposite direction , I offered an apology from over my shoulder murmuring something about how I can't, I just simply cannot, stand the smell of anything seafood.<br />
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The guttural reaction I displayed that day goes back much further than the last few months of my self-imposed vegetarian state of mind. No, this is directly connected to a childhood memory that even the best of psychotherapists will not be able to erase from my mind.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mitten Mountain in Dolan Springs</td></tr>
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When I was 6 or 7 years of age, my family lived in Dolan Springs, Arizona. This open-range cattle-country desert community is located about 72 miles beyond BFE in the middle of nowhere. Chances are, you've never even heard of the place.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMc5_ejxgDJeL2dGQyvTLKWaVKn4q9jLfTcNeHnuKMW0iW3LNeb0wWR6QyN0xrs_9DQ4U5VFdGnRrf1jXuVLHCncpMiYx-1IOqmaDT-XFihj2qGU9UoS6_1Kq6zsWMt3p_FsTuvt7ucHg/s1600/trailer.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/AVvXsEgMc5_ejxgDJeL2dGQyvTLKWaVKn4q9jLfTcNeHnuKMW0iW3LNeb0wWR6QyN0xrs_9DQ4U5VFdGnRrf1jXuVLHCncpMiYx-1IOqmaDT-XFihj2qGU9UoS6_1Kq6zsWMt3p_FsTuvt7ucHg/s320/trailer.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A set up similar to what we lived in</td></tr>
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My family lived right off the main highway in a single wide trailer void of any modern convenience we take for granted now. We didn't have a city sewer system (we had a septic tank), no running water (we had a water tank that had to be trucked out to be filled every so often... shhhhh, don't tell anyone, but my brother and I swam in that tank all the time not thinking it was our drinking water...ewwww...*giggle), and our electricity was wired in from a line off the telephone pole at the street. I'm not even sure we had a phone. Yeah, we were roughing it!<br />
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I can only imagine how depressing it must have been for my mother to live there with her four children. My dad, on the other hand, was able to escape during the week as he worked across the state line at Kaiser Steel in California and would be gone Mon-Fri, returning home on the weekends.<br />
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One year, my dad proposed a deep sea fishing trip with the promise to my mother that he would take the rest of the family on a nice, well-deserved vacation far away from the desert's oppressive heat and wind storms when he returned. My mom agreed to the deal and off he went for an adventure on the high seas.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With my dad ~ Summer '73 or '74</td></tr>
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He returned a few days later with a grin from ear to ear. I remember how proud my dad was when he returned from that trip with the prize catch of the day. Not only had he snagged the biggest catch of the trip, but he had also won the money pot for doing so! I don't recall how much money he pocketed, but it was nothing compared to how proud he was of the Yellow fin tuna he carted 200+ miles back home<br />
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At some point shortly after this picture of my dad and I was taken, he skillfully cut, sliced, diced, and chopped that poor fish into Tuna Steaks which my mother promptly wrapped in saran wrap and foil and placed into the freezer with the promise of stews, casseroles, salads, and whatever else one does with tuna.<br />
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So, with the man trip a distant memory, my parents loaded up the family truck and we headed off for a family get-away. I don't recall where we went, and I'm certain it wasn't all that great; certainly not Hawaii or anything grand. Most likely, it was a trip to Vegas to visit extended family, which for my mother, probably wasn't much a better Hell than the solitude of the desert. But, the thought of civilization, running water, air conditioning, and adult conversation would be enough to make a week or more with one's mother-in-law a paradise in and of itself.<br />
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If memory serves, we were gone about two weeks that summer. Not that it's important, really, other than to note that we were gone from the trailer for an extended amount of time. We're not sure when it happened, but at some point while we were away, a summer storm blew through the region and lightning knocked out all the power to our home.<br />
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I will pause here for a moment to let you complete the perhaps not-so-obvious equation in your head:<br />
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60 ft long tin can (aka trailer)<br />
- electricity<br />
+ summer temperatures over 100 degrees<br />
+ 50 pounds of tuna in the now defrosting freezer<br />
+ extended fermentation time<br />
__________________________<br />
= a nose-hair curling stench that permeates the senses and stays with you for the rest of your life !!!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy9humyYIzmdv78KzY1jWDeYdvK1fKmSAczCLLGO-7tuJH-7S9OQcX3OfTBWcKqtsf7h53l0G3xr_xskw9qF8DsgLnB0d4doi8sObMcd5QF5B2CVeh7q4ChyphenhyphenKETfgMb-EmXJBBXl-scQw/s1600/smelly.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy9humyYIzmdv78KzY1jWDeYdvK1fKmSAczCLLGO-7tuJH-7S9OQcX3OfTBWcKqtsf7h53l0G3xr_xskw9qF8DsgLnB0d4doi8sObMcd5QF5B2CVeh7q4ChyphenhyphenKETfgMb-EmXJBBXl-scQw/s320/smelly.png" width="307" /></a></div>
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I have the vision clearly ingrained in my mind of my parents opening that trailer door !!!<br />
The stench was unbearable, the reality unimaginable, and I"m sure you can only imagine the reaction !!!<br />
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<a href="http://i874.photobucket.com/albums/ab301/LoweRider89/GIFs/puke.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="279" src="http://i874.photobucket.com/albums/ab301/LoweRider89/GIFs/puke.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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All that tuna had defrosted in the freezer and all those fish juices ran out the drain in the back and all down the coils on the rear side of the fridge.... onto the floor .... through the cracks in the linoleum ..... and into the subfloor... and baked in the hot summer sun the entire time we were away.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0f7smrRqqJnuZxwm7VM0z4o7hdaN5vItSQJBTpzmyZCC_M2yPyF_YUy7gvMOznbE4ZENQK1NuYXcQgRaJwLyT0sE6Gz-Mi-pEqb4GXbnAekY2XfaRsYO8DP7OAro0UZ-gVJH0IezwqYg/s1600/rotten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0f7smrRqqJnuZxwm7VM0z4o7hdaN5vItSQJBTpzmyZCC_M2yPyF_YUy7gvMOznbE4ZENQK1NuYXcQgRaJwLyT0sE6Gz-Mi-pEqb4GXbnAekY2XfaRsYO8DP7OAro0UZ-gVJH0IezwqYg/s320/rotten.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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We kids had it easy, but my poor parents had to clean that mess up. I don't recall, but certainly, there had to be maggots involved, which would only be a secondary inconvenience to the stench.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmAIESWfuqgm1ZkVcFmRsbpOvYZBxWyp0fZ-d-FMOs4yzpwpzL082nrOB157jrbhEaUJOaWIvv6bU3y1CVBi4TDOYQhDZzUtKh25o3FezdTmLel2AqYCggwoblegvUr0xHpZYgxy3GcI/s1600/Specialist-with-Fridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmAIESWfuqgm1ZkVcFmRsbpOvYZBxWyp0fZ-d-FMOs4yzpwpzL082nrOB157jrbhEaUJOaWIvv6bU3y1CVBi4TDOYQhDZzUtKh25o3FezdTmLel2AqYCggwoblegvUr0xHpZYgxy3GcI/s200/Specialist-with-Fridge.jpg" width="157" /></a></div>
We were too poor to simply toss the old fridge and buy another. No, it had to be salvaged and cleaned and every effort was made to rid the fridge and the trailer of the smell. My mother even resorted to burning coffee on a hot plate placed inside the fridge.<br />
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I honestly don't know how she survived ... my mother truly is a saint!<br />
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So, those of you who know me, and even for those of you who don't ... I hope this provides you with a better understanding of why I won't be joining you at Red Lobster, or a clam bake, or the fish market at the pier.... don't try to convince me that I will like fish if I try it prepared this way or that. I simply don't want it! It's one of those childhood memories that stay with you forever.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1r8MXWyHM3PxJjxwzcRjT7HE6fP3puKyINKw3ObLDGRrbnuGDzMRnvzlHqRzhVD5JFW4-zdhgYtF_QVZzz4V2-4aA7lFI0XJJlV_rkjcGiJ8Ktvz681UCsyNACcbPiXGOwcL5uBfZAT4/s1600/liar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1r8MXWyHM3PxJjxwzcRjT7HE6fP3puKyINKw3ObLDGRrbnuGDzMRnvzlHqRzhVD5JFW4-zdhgYtF_QVZzz4V2-4aA7lFI0XJJlV_rkjcGiJ8Ktvz681UCsyNACcbPiXGOwcL5uBfZAT4/s200/liar.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
I simply cannot stomach it.... and that is no fish story !!! </div>
Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-63537855458193615792012-09-17T21:45:00.001-07:002012-09-17T22:16:00.549-07:00The Guidance of One's Path<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilylzZQ0C6bjV8mGF0H7XCLIUBE6TogRmrb5ANDXiaNAzuDztux_wtspept0RO3n-HOvQSEwvVBkP-VwWfMJByu-Lp2kZF5A9tqePPFGraP1T-x8kmDY_S6byrfzpdb2mnnfwgSyW-Mh0/s1600/ANGEL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilylzZQ0C6bjV8mGF0H7XCLIUBE6TogRmrb5ANDXiaNAzuDztux_wtspept0RO3n-HOvQSEwvVBkP-VwWfMJByu-Lp2kZF5A9tqePPFGraP1T-x8kmDY_S6byrfzpdb2mnnfwgSyW-Mh0/s320/ANGEL.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">I have had several moments in my life where I have felt a presence, a guidance of sorts, even warnings, perhaps. </span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">Some may refer to these instances as Divine Intervention, Women's Intuition, or Deja Vu. Some may even refer to them as something along the lines of the paranormal, or unexplainable, the Heavenly. </span></span></span></h6>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">This
past April, I had one such moment in my life; one of many. It was my birthday, and the family and I were going to drive from Southern California to Las Vegas, Nevada, to visit my
father, whose birthday is the day following mine. </span></span></span></h6>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9qSJeYSW79Mer3hkmByJ16veeWrXo2_67SIJStcryEpBveBMcZRpgM-6UNETNUlG-q4VuE_ctXjtBAW4BfGm78ivW3B7shVEyEBvD27YqbWRkkqQ4hp_dXPZ9luY6Rizr7cGve1AYSM/s1600/freeway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9qSJeYSW79Mer3hkmByJ16veeWrXo2_67SIJStcryEpBveBMcZRpgM-6UNETNUlG-q4VuE_ctXjtBAW4BfGm78ivW3B7shVEyEBvD27YqbWRkkqQ4hp_dXPZ9luY6Rizr7cGve1AYSM/s320/freeway.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">Those of you who have driven the 15 Freeway to Vegas can attest that,
although busy, the road is a desolate one. </span></span></span></h6>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgINsC8iCWwNd9wn6ExsrdHiHqxgWcwHYRNmi95xiy8gb5rLkmlvlFHGWQt-9TNBFsrIBEDvg9P2MrrbbD2BhP0IbcYGgSII9CrnW3ugVX87k2QMHxQSb5YODdFNYr7epcT04nXQz0iVjo/s1600/thermometer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgINsC8iCWwNd9wn6ExsrdHiHqxgWcwHYRNmi95xiy8gb5rLkmlvlFHGWQt-9TNBFsrIBEDvg9P2MrrbbD2BhP0IbcYGgSII9CrnW3ugVX87k2QMHxQSb5YODdFNYr7epcT04nXQz0iVjo/s200/thermometer.jpg" width="105" /></a></div>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent">You can go for miles and
miles in the desert without seeing anything or anyone except fellow
travelers. It is literally in the middle of nowhere, especially once you
get past Baker, where the world's largest thermometer is. </span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"> </span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"> </span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"> </span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"> </span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0].[0]">We
were several miles east of Baker, heading up a steep grade, when the
dog started getting antsy and let us know she needed a pit stop. My son,
Justin, was driving and he was look</span></span><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[0]">ing
for a place to pull over. But when he would start to slow down, I
kept saying," no, this doesn't feel right. Keep driving."</span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[0]"> </span><br id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[1]" /><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]">Finally, I felt the timing was right to pull over and he did so when I told him to.</span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
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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/AVvXsEgiebey78rUEXKlZGGrTgzzS6rsyhkS3r04QaXg8AlmWwqWspo6EQfWA7XYqpulJ2DdkeFecamecD_yoV4-z-XiX-2FjgSlera_pAiyWdcApsmKlSFXO7X_wgjjFMZbzayAy2_7ySvr6jI/s1600/tamarisk+on+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" 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/AVvXsEgiebey78rUEXKlZGGrTgzzS6rsyhkS3r04QaXg8AlmWwqWspo6EQfWA7XYqpulJ2DdkeFecamecD_yoV4-z-XiX-2FjgSlera_pAiyWdcApsmKlSFXO7X_wgjjFMZbzayAy2_7ySvr6jI/s320/tamarisk+on+15.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Tamarisk tree where we stopped.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]">Now, </span></span></span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0].[0]">this stretch of desolate highway is littered with nasty,
scrubby, brushy tree every so often. Ugly trees called Tamarisks that are natural magnets for all kinds of debris blowing along the highway. Many times, you will find shoes lofted into the higher branches.</span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0].[0]"> There is such a Tamarisk</span></span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0].[0]"> where we pulled off on this day.... We have pas</span></span><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[0]">sed at least 50 similar trees the past mile or so, but we have stopped at this one.</span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[0]"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[0]"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[0]"> </span><br id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[1]" /><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]">My
son gets out. My husband gets out with the dog. And my
granddaughter, who is 8 years old, starts to get out. </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]">Usually, this is a normal
thing for her so she can explore for rocks, etc. I normally wouldn't inhibit this natural curiosity she possesses, but this time I snapped at her
as she reached for the door handle and told her to stay in the car. I didn't feel right about her getting
out. She asked why and I told her I just didn't feel safe this time.</span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqZhhazgUPXDvqVwxJIzxoixI0Ysh2_3-lCcrl-vdJmvCg_tYKe1R_FGXMkVsmNKEZemnhiqQf9iqK5ZELaImYy1lQzFNAY1KIAi-YQwrPEK3r4rhOmldqJZ-0V7BUK8Gs5Oy7JMzprg/s1600/Paranoia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqZhhazgUPXDvqVwxJIzxoixI0Ysh2_3-lCcrl-vdJmvCg_tYKe1R_FGXMkVsmNKEZemnhiqQf9iqK5ZELaImYy1lQzFNAY1KIAi-YQwrPEK3r4rhOmldqJZ-0V7BUK8Gs5Oy7JMzprg/s1600/Paranoia.jpg" /></a></div>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[1]"></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0].[0]">I started freaking myself out, becoming increasingly paranoid, telling myself as I looked at the tree in front of me that "wouldn't it be creepy if there was someone under that tree?? " </span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0].[0]"> </span><br id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0].[1]" /><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0].[2]">It was completely illogical as we were in the middle of nowhere</span></span><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[0]">
and it was 100 degrees outside in the desert sun. It just didn't make sense to think that
way. I was being silly. </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[0]">But, the feeling didn't go away. I stared at the tree and didn't
see anything. But was still very uneasy. </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKjMZ9btWdBJDMQd9chuXmHh449QxAm8CzSxracuFjXP1Lf-VMJiWBqfoQIF_Y1OLHueOzi5OBsgdGln8oSPe1EFu-my_X19IxqZ_MRzW6l-vKD7VcqHuwEIAJ-n5vqEJOjsUwyFdXaU/s1600/knife.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKjMZ9btWdBJDMQd9chuXmHh449QxAm8CzSxracuFjXP1Lf-VMJiWBqfoQIF_Y1OLHueOzi5OBsgdGln8oSPe1EFu-my_X19IxqZ_MRzW6l-vKD7VcqHuwEIAJ-n5vqEJOjsUwyFdXaU/s320/knife.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[0]"> </span><br id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[1]" /><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]">As the feeling continued to linger, I
took notice of a large knife my husband had recently purchased. It
was stuffed between the truck's driver seat and the center console. And I
thought that I could easily grab it if I needed it ... But was worried
about how I would get the knife to my son or husband if they needed to
defend themselves should there be someone lurking; watching. </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]"> </span></span></span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[0].[0]">Just
when I had told myself for the third or fourth time that I was freaking
myself put and to knock it off, my son ran up to my door and opened it
yelling at me that he needed my </span></span><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[0]">bottle of water because there was a dehydrated, delusional man underneath the tree!!!</span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[0]"> </span><br id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[1]" /><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]">Sure enough, somebody HAD been under that tree and I had felt their presence. </span><br id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[3]" /><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[4]">So
my son took him the water, unarmed, while I gained better access to that knife, just in case. </span></span></span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[4]"> My son came
back a few moments later, as my husband and I wearily and guardedly watched; on alert...my hand on my phone to call 911 should I need to. He returned to me and asked if we had any food for the man. I gave my son some left
over donuts we had picked up earlier. (Hmmm...I'm sensing a theme in some of my stories <a href="http://mylifeasagrape.blogspot.com/2010/12/god-donuts.html" target="_blank">God & Donuts.. click here</a></span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[4]"> </span><br id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[5]" /><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[6]">The
man had asked Justin to not call the police. He was homeless and was
always run out of the places where he sought refuge. Today, he had taken refuge under that tree and thought he'd perhaps die there. I repeatedly asked my son
if I needed to call an ambulance, my hand still perched on my phone's keypad. But, my son said the man was starting to
make more sense as he drank the water. </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[6]"> </span><br id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[7]" /><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[8]">Obviously,
we couldn't offer him a ride with a small child with us. Even had she not been with us, I've seen too many scary movies to take any chances. However, we gave him
what we could and assured him we wouldn't call the authorities. I thought
long and hard about calling an ambulance, but I didn't sense an urgency to call, so I didn't. We left him there and pulled back onto the freeway with a sense of WOW, what just happened!!??</span><br id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[9]" /><br id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[10]" /><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[11]">Now, as we drove along, I started to take inventory of what had just happened, as well as the moments leading to that decision to pull off the road at that exact location, at that exact time. I realized two extreme factors leading to that moment. </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[11]"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZdlgfNhKDO1wjUnFa909K2d7seDSMrQsR02HGUEqKZfGxh71HWcn7gezLbfIgl4LkigynbAjI4AjLRG8uBL7W6GWkJdA6i5nleoLfMrwBcQC35ajjPBsKW5Wb70A8WS-WsAggkQGybY/s1600/ihop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZdlgfNhKDO1wjUnFa909K2d7seDSMrQsR02HGUEqKZfGxh71HWcn7gezLbfIgl4LkigynbAjI4AjLRG8uBL7W6GWkJdA6i5nleoLfMrwBcQC35ajjPBsKW5Wb70A8WS-WsAggkQGybY/s200/ihop.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[11]">That morning, on the way out of
town, my husband offered to take us to IHOP for my birthday breakfast. I declined, saying that I was
craving donuts. I have not purchased a box of donuts in years! </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[11]"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[11]"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[11]">Also,
we had stopped in Barstow at the McDonalds train tourist trap. My parents had
always stopped there when I was a kid, so I wanted to take my
granddaughter there. You know, kinda make it a family tradition. We all looked around and got
something to drink before heading back to the truck.</span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[11]"> When I travel, I ALWAYS drink Diet Coke. I always
have an extra large fountain drink of diet coke in the cup holder. But this one time, I told my husband
that I just really felt like having water. </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLnqrZUeuUHsUmrmO7pfdo4IvXoSL-Ros_LuDiNHhLS0Wa3j7V5CerRd6VbcS4-NvBmjih-JkjWzB0uw-biLk2LRkIWxTi50EHHrx-uiUhyphenhyphencfQ6zCeWw5TMpPrHiE8dQgX0acajyXaPs8/s1600/aquafina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLnqrZUeuUHsUmrmO7pfdo4IvXoSL-Ros_LuDiNHhLS0Wa3j7V5CerRd6VbcS4-NvBmjih-JkjWzB0uw-biLk2LRkIWxTi50EHHrx-uiUhyphenhyphencfQ6zCeWw5TMpPrHiE8dQgX0acajyXaPs8/s200/aquafina.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[11]">I NEVER buy bottled water
while traveling. But this day I bought two large bottles of Aquafina. </span><br id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[12]" /><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[13]"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[13]"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[13]"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[13]"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[13]"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[13]">When
we found that man, I had water to offer him (had I purchased a Diet Coke, the sodium would have made him all the more thirsty)</span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[13]">When we found that man, I had food to offer him
(had we eaten at IHOP, we wouldn't have taken any leftovers with us). </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[13]"> </span><br id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[14]" /><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[15]">I was led to that tree and had what that man needed !!!! </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[15]"></span><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[17]"></span><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[19]">The
realization about the food and water wasn't apparent to me right away.
But as we drove along the freeway, the more I thought about things, and the more things fell into place.
This is like a weird, paranormal thing I get from time to time. </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[19]">I don't
always know how to explain such things... God, the Universe, coincidence? </span></span></span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[19]">I
know how I was raised to believe, but much of what I sense sometimes defies the teachings. I just don't know. What I do know is this was one of the strongest instances I have
yet to have experienced. </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[19]">I updated facebook as we drove along, relaying the craziness of all that had just unfolded to my fb friends. One by one, they shared their awe. One friend shared a most precious observation: How wonderful a gift it was for my birthday to witness the selflessness of my child as he cared for that man, putting his own safety aside to help one he knew was in need. It was a proud moment, for sure. </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405134126207114}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[21]">My kids, husband, and friends listen to me now when I say I don't feel right about something or if I have a dream.</span></span></span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405127649541095}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]"> </span></span></span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405125999541260}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]"> </span></span></span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]">Much of the time, it is nothing more than a feeling. But there are more than just a few instances that make me realize I'd better heed to this guidance. </span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]">Listen to your feelings, friends, the guidance of your path may be from a power unseen, but certainly not unfelt.We just need to learn to recognize when the guidance is there.</span></span></span></span></span></span></h6>
<h6 class="uiStreamMessage userContentWrapper" data-ft="{"type":1,"tn":"K"}">
<span style="font-family: georgia, bookman old style, palatino linotype, book antiqua, palatino, trebuchet ms, helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, avante garde, century gothic, comic sans ms, times, times new roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]"> </span></span></span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]">"</span></span></span></span></span>And
this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books
in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything."
~William Shakespeare</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]"><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]."><span id=".reactRoot[151].[1][2][1]{comment405123799541480_405124699541390}..[1]..[1]..[0].[2]..[3]..[2]"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="userContent"> </span></span></span></h6>
Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-71034197417173488922012-09-03T09:26:00.000-07:002012-09-03T09:35:26.193-07:00To Gif or Not to Gif <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Recently, I have seen, and become entranced, by the use of gifs in other blog postings, particularly a fantabulous posting of a book review for 50 Shades of Grey <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/340987215" target="_blank">click here</a>. The gifs, along with the writers snappy sense of humor, are truly what made this book report as awesome as it is!<br />
<br />
What is a gif, you may ask? A gif is a graphics interchange format. what does that mean, exactly? I don't know...lol<br />
<br />
I attempted to use Wikipedia to define, but as 99% of the definition is in computerese, I have no clue how these things truly work, I'm just hoping to use them. So, I am thinking about adding a gif or two to my blog postings as I re-edit and define my styling a little more here and there.<br />
<br />
I have already discovered creating my own memes:<br />
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I find the ability to create these memes to actually be very therapeutic and I love how I am able to laugh at the WTH moments in my life.<br />
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Now, I am hoping to be able to take the time, research a little, and add some gifs to my stories in an effort to add some more CPM (chuckles per minute) to my postings.<br />
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If you're unfamiliar with a gif , as I was just a few short weeks ago, here is a sampling:<br />
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I have founds a few gif sites and am looking for more. So, what are your thoughts? To gif or not to gif, that is the question..<br />
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<br />Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-58522113292125564882012-07-22T17:50:00.001-07:002012-08-26T13:00:38.528-07:00The Heel<span style="background-color: #990000;">Yesterday, I attended a co-ed Wedding Shower for my son and my soon-to-be daughter. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5pFRYU99KSxEXFO6pQp8sRzNacpmPuUCLBMiD34r35SNlSeQ6IXi8fLZToGwmIQiuo7jglfrbkoEUek_F0fmX4FUgQfxb3ZRvFNhq2lHRGk198t-UW15Ru_7BmbplUlUdX3IXbOwzlaU/s1600/jake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #990000; color: black;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5pFRYU99KSxEXFO6pQp8sRzNacpmPuUCLBMiD34r35SNlSeQ6IXi8fLZToGwmIQiuo7jglfrbkoEUek_F0fmX4FUgQfxb3ZRvFNhq2lHRGk198t-UW15Ru_7BmbplUlUdX3IXbOwzlaU/s320/jake.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">Together, they are learning the trials and tribulations of life. They've already learned some valuable lessons and will, no doubt, continue to learn more as the days and years go by. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">As tradition will have it, many times family or friends will share with newly married couples the secret to a successful relationship. I always quip, when asked, that only one spouse is allowed to be crazy at a time. Generally, throughout my 29 year marriage, that statement applied to me. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAosK89b6jnR7h-XlJnU9xa-Cx_bz2MlZgadqfPLQyPjphXQiKwDAbrvLhtmcTIKP48XQvPR2k2Br9koyze5KN7p8x5XfD7bFg9u4UHMZ3b45zKhMqkTyUdk2fcD_xnF6CGDQN2Z4VeGg/s1600/kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #990000; color: black;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAosK89b6jnR7h-XlJnU9xa-Cx_bz2MlZgadqfPLQyPjphXQiKwDAbrvLhtmcTIKP48XQvPR2k2Br9koyze5KN7p8x5XfD7bFg9u4UHMZ3b45zKhMqkTyUdk2fcD_xnF6CGDQN2Z4VeGg/s320/kiss.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">Oldies but goodies are the ones we've always heard before about never going to bed angry, always kiss each other goodnight, pray together. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">But during the gathering yesterday, a story was shared that I had never heard before. It was a touching story and the depth of the message caught many of us off guard. There was nary a dry eye in the house as the last word was uttered..</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">I researched the web a bit to see if I could find the story so as not to recreate it from memory and perhaps forget an important detail or two. I found several references, but they all paled in comparison to the story that was relayed to us as we sat in the living room of the bride's family. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">So with apologies for any oversights or omissions (thank goodness for the ability to edit should the need arise) and thanks to the lovely woman who shared this rare and priceless gem. It will change the way I look at my own marriage, for certain. I hope it speaks to all who read it here.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">The Heel </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJX7uDWfc1pd-qMa5JK6aMB1sc8vMsHC-sWqXlEZ-CjodPputQWwUfhPwIO6lxArZDhLIwhfyuahLTqQr_WDmz0OUH2HFt3GtD_zHSJdFAsL5nGxCjF3EkzefeNUf8MSsx_NrmNv610gg/s1600/heelofbread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #990000; color: black;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJX7uDWfc1pd-qMa5JK6aMB1sc8vMsHC-sWqXlEZ-CjodPputQWwUfhPwIO6lxArZDhLIwhfyuahLTqQr_WDmz0OUH2HFt3GtD_zHSJdFAsL5nGxCjF3EkzefeNUf8MSsx_NrmNv610gg/s320/heelofbread.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #990000; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">A man and woman had been married for more than 60 years; quite an accomplishment in and of itself. Certainly, they had learned and implemented every tool needed to have a loving, successful marriage.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">At the end of every day, while the wife prepared their tea, the husband would lovingly toast and butter a piece of bread for each of them so they would have something in their stomachs before retiring for the evening.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">For years, as he would reach into the bread loaf he would occasionally be presented with a regular slice of bread and the heel to toast, butter, and serve with jam. The husband would automatically, and without fail, always place the toasted heel in front of his wife. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">For 60 years, the wife had held her tongue with regards to the fact that she found this to be selfish act which bothered her greatly. She hated the heel !!! But on this day, as she stared at the heel of bread in front of her, she could hold her silence no longer. Maybe it was the stress of the day
that gotten to her, maybe she was simply tired, but his giving her the heel of
the loaf of bread again had gotten to her, and she was going to let
him have a piece of her mind!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> <i> “Why do you always give me
the heel when you keep the normal piece of the bread for yourself ? You have done this our entire marriage, and I can't take it anymore! How self-centered and selfish of you! I hate the heel!” </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #990000; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The husband sat across from his wife, listening, with his head hung low, while she demeaned him
for his lack of consideration that had spanned six decades. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">And when she had finished making her point, with tears in his eyes, he lifted his head and he spoke. </span><br />
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<i style="background-color: #990000;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“The heel has always been my favorite piece of bread. I have given you the heel of the loaf all these years because I love you. I thought you liked it. I thought you knew it was my way of showing you how much I loved you.”</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></i><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">The moral of the story here, dear friends, is just how important the art of communication is... in any relationship. Communicate to each other. Just because something makes perfect sense to you doesn't mean that your friend, family, coworker, or loved one fully understands your intentions.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">I'm so thankful that this story was shared with my son and his bride. It is an important lesson and invaluable in the early stages of marriage. I love you Jacob & Amanda. You're going to be just fine and just remember to leave all the craziness to this mamma <3</span><br />
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<i style="background-color: #990000;">Reader: Please feel free to pass this along to those you love....</i><br />
<br />Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-72530081240545337712012-06-29T08:54:00.002-07:002012-06-29T09:16:01.388-07:00Do You Forget Who You're Talking To???<span style="background-color: #990000;">Recently, I had a dear friend write me a private message relaying to me her frustration with a day that had just gone wrong.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">Her message started with, " So ... do you ever have one of those days where you just feel like you fail at life?! Ugh ... today was THAT day."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">She relayed to me the events of her day that, one by one, just fell apart.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">When I replied to her, I said, " LOL... Do you forget who you're talking to??? I mean, really!!! My children have glued their siblings to the
carpet...we've camped on tarantula mating grounds ... I belong to the
"Brotherhood Of The Squirrels" for cripes sake !!!"</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">I reminded her that I have SO MANY days like the one she described, that it was what inspired me to start this very blog. Even the leader caption for my blog refers to my constant status of days that just go wrong: </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #990000;">"Ever have those days where it feels like the world is pressing in,
pushing you down, squeezing in from all sides til you feel like you'll
burst like a grape???"</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">I encouraged my friend to sit back, take a deep breathe, let it all go and she'd be OK. I also promised her that I would share with her one of my days that stick out in my mind the most... just like it was yesterday.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">So, Candy, this post is dedicated to you....</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">In 1988, I was 21 years old and the young mother of 3 boys, ages 5, 3, and newborn. Our growing family lived in a little triplex in Southern California and I was afforded the luxury of being a stay-at-home mom. Although I would strive to become the little Suzy Homemaker that I felt my family deserved, I generally fell short... far short!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAB5SDOYWeG9aD-nZ8_IKiIW28j8bXqx9fG3tDeEzQe7wxkAxoi0X7vAVwHuOJkYxyuYGVKLI_5H0n6YCzH-ynatI7xYtqGUPjNjcCWilId1qsFYbzRgw3CC35eSut61ei7RsN7huNgg8/s1600/chaos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #990000; clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAB5SDOYWeG9aD-nZ8_IKiIW28j8bXqx9fG3tDeEzQe7wxkAxoi0X7vAVwHuOJkYxyuYGVKLI_5H0n6YCzH-ynatI7xYtqGUPjNjcCWilId1qsFYbzRgw3CC35eSut61ei7RsN7huNgg8/s320/chaos.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;">These are not MY little angels, but you get the idea...</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">The Thomson family mornings would usually start with a frenetic melee of diapers, pajamas, breast feeding, burping, breakfast, school clothes, cartoons, pacifiers, burp rags, more diaper changes, backpacks, tying shoes, locating missing homework assignments, more breast feeding, chasing 5 year old who has removed his shoes and socks, removing pacifier from 3 year old and returning it to 1 month old, retying shoes,opening front door to leave only to realize 3 year old is naked, shutting door, dressing child, open door, go to car, go back to house to retrieve baby you set on the couch to tie shoes, strap baby and 3 year old into car seat, get behind the wheel........ have a 15 to 30 second internal melt-down-brain-fart while staring off into space... get out of car to go back for car keys, etc.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;"> This particular fall morning was dreary and foggy, with a heavy mist hanging in the air. By the time I actually made it to the point where I got the car started, turned on the headlights and backed out of the driveway, I could already tell this was going to be a challenging day.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">I deposited James of at his school and bee-lined it back to the apartment in hopes of getting something, anything, accomplished before I had to complete a half-melee marathon in 3 hours in order to go pick him up. In hindsight, Kindergarten is the most trying time in a young mother's life. There's just something about those half-day schedules that just make it nearly impossible to get anything done !!!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">I rushed back home and popped in a VHS of the vintage cartoons; Felix The Cat, Popeye, etc. Nursed the baby, changed the baby and just when everything was quiet and calm for 3 minutes, I managed a quick shower.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">Lather, rinse, no time for repeat ... jump out, dress and get started on some chores.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">I had planed a beautiful chuck roast and vegetables for dinner that evening. So while the baby slept and Joshua mimicked Popeye, I lovingly prepared all the ingredients and placed them in a roasting bag, tied it up and popped it into the oven for a low-n-slow cooking method that was sure to make my house smell like Betty Crocker herself had stopped by and invaded my kitchen! </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVu77Gw25bIqlm1k7zLbpgrq72Z_j0Sn2wO_T6Z1v7S_VqKu4oOgPGdhwDtyK6ZJc04gCX7jL7wm88qHuwBclTF73aIcqUg_UaQz3Az3Msf0Jau3gufrMMKziOu-AfP1gXrHpZYbAFAa8/s1600/roasting+bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #990000; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVu77Gw25bIqlm1k7zLbpgrq72Z_j0Sn2wO_T6Z1v7S_VqKu4oOgPGdhwDtyK6ZJc04gCX7jL7wm88qHuwBclTF73aIcqUg_UaQz3Az3Msf0Jau3gufrMMKziOu-AfP1gXrHpZYbAFAa8/s1600/roasting+bag.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;">You remember those roasting bags right? They were such a time saver and made clean up a breeze!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">I nursed the baby, changed the baby, did a load of laundry, rewound the video for replay number two or three for the morning and ran back to the bathroom to blow dry and curl my hair before picking up James.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">As I start to blow dry my hair, my appliance starts making all these funny noises and the air flow is sporadic. I continue of course, rationalizing that I'm probably going to need to get a new blow dryer next pay day. But, that poor thing had given up the ghost. Before I could even get my hair mildly dry, sparks began shooting out the back and front of the hair dryer causing me to drop the dryer into the bathroom rug. It took me a few seconds to react and unplug the electrical cord from the wall.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">Update shopping list... blow dryer AND bathroom rug to be replaced on pay day.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">With droopy, mangy, damp hair, I repeat steps 1 thru 42 of my morning's routine, get out to the car to go pick up James from school. I put the key into the ignition, turn the key ......... nothing. Turn off the key, adjust my rear view mirror, check my seat belt, determine just where 10 and 2 were on my steering wheel (I had only been driving legally for 2 months or so... and this was a new-to-me car, so I figured I must be doing something wrong ) ...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">All adjusted, I turn the key ... nothing. The car is stone cold dead and I have a 5 year old ADHD child 2.7 miles away from me waiting to be picked up. Even more important was the fact that I had a teacher of a 5 year old ADHD child waiting for me to come pick him up !!!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">I call my husband to come rescue me and see why this dumb, unreliable car is dead.... again!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">Jim leaves work and stops by the house to give the car a look over. He has me come outside to see what's wrong. He guides me to the driver's side door...(I comply)... he asks me to get in... (I comply) ... he asks me to turn off the f*&%$#@ headlight switch ... (I comply and slink out of the car without making eye contact and head back into the house as I realize I forgot to turn off the headlights... again!)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">I don't recall how I retrieved my little one from school that day (certainly, Jim must have jump-started the car)but I'm certain it involved some finger wagging from an exasperated teacher who was in need of a drink by the time I got there.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">Home again, I am welcomed by the smell of the finely seasoned roast. Felix is once again up to no good and probably inspiring my children to attempt a household coup as they munch on an afternoon snack. I nurse the baby...again, and change a diaper...again, and head off to the kitchen to compile a tasty dessert to go with dinner.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">Now, I had made this dessert before and the entire family loved it. They loved it SO MUCH that it only made sense to me to double up, or even triple up the recipe. Because I love my family THAT MUCH!!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">This was a dessert made with layers of graham crackers, vanilla pudding, and chocolate ready-made frosting. Simple enough, a dessert resembling a boston cream pie, of sorts...any fool can make it (long pause....)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">I lovingly laid out the graham crackers in the bottom of the 9x13 glass baking dish, alternating with layers of chocolate frosting and vanilla pudding. I then slathered two whole tubs of chocolate frosting for the top layer, I slightly melted the frosting in the mic and slathered that frosting on thick! Into the fridge it goes until dinner time.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">With my hair in a scrunchy and no time for make up application, I anticipate the arrival of my husband, so I can amaze him with my sumptuous feast.I look out the kitchen window as he pulls into the driveway and approaches my car. He shakes his head and reaches in to turn off the lights ( dammit, again??) ... he wanders over to the trash can to throw away the newspapers left in the drive for the past week and notices the charred remains of the blow dryer. I think I catch him contemplating just getting back on his motorcycle and riding off into the sunset; alone.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">But, he doesn't. Poor soul walks into the house greeted by two little faces with peanut butter smeared all the way from the corners of their mouths to their hair and ears, Popeye is chortling in the background, and a hungry, crying, pooping infant. Brave man that he is, he presses forward to his Stepford-wanna-be-wife minus perfect hair and make up and gives me a kiss and a squeeze before realizing that the baby is attempting to suckle him through his shirt and then being karate punched in the wedding tackle by two overly zealous 3-ft ninjas.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #990000;">LET'S EAT</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #990000;">I encourage Jim and the boys to go wash up because Mama has made a feast for their enjoyment. The moment arrives. One that is worthy of a Norman Rockwell painting as I reach into the oven.The family gathers round the table as I pull the roast from the oven....and it's not until I set the roasting pan on the counter that I realize that something is wrong... something is very, very wrong.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">The roasting bag that was to maintain an optimal roasting environment had split down the middle and was peeled back on both sides. The roast was horribly burnt and the vegetables had been rendered to something just this side of charcoal briquettes. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Thank God my in-laws were nowhere around to witness this. This was a burnt offering of Biblical proportion.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">Jim says nothing (smart man), I am standing there crying and the boys are cheering because they figure we're going to McDonalds ... again! But, Jim gives me the baby and he skillfully locates and carves enough roast and veggies to afford each of us something in our tummies until tomorrow without a visit to Ronald's.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">The evening is somewhat saved and I am smiling again when I bring out desert. It looked beautiful! and nothing can make a somewhat defeated woman feel better than a good old dose of chocolate anything. I set four dessert bowls and my masterpiece on the table. I grabbed my serving spoon and dug in...or attempted to dig in, because my spoon was met with such resistance I nearly bent it in half. Another try at a slightly different angle...nothing. I get a butter knife and find the top frosting layer is impenetrable !!! The act of melting the frosting and adding refrigeration converted my yummy, chocolaty, frosting into a solid mass of polyethylene-like crust!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #990000;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #990000;">With butcher knife in hand, I use all my might to break a chunk of dessert free for each of us. It should still taste good. But,the best we could do was suckle on a chocolaty corner and randomly dip that corner in the pudding for added flavor. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">Dinner was ruined. Dessert was ruined. I suck back the tears and decide to bathe the children and put them to bed; no easy feat. I manage to give them a good rinse and get them into their jammies and get them into bed. I nurse and change the baby, again, and head of for a nice warm shower.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">I step under the shower head to wash off the days' disappointment; nothing luxurious since I know I won't have much hot water left after bathing the boys. Stepping out of the shower, I dry off and get into my own jammies. I look at my reflection, standing there dripping wet in my WalMart flannel jamjams. Yeah, I'm feeling sexy. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #990000;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #990000;">I brush out my hair and reach into the familiar vanity drawer for the blow dryer. Empty. Defeated, I go to bed with a wet, towel-dried head. I fight back the tears, kiss my already sleeping husband goodnight and close my eyes. Goodnight moon, goodnight family.... </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #990000;">and the baby wakes for another feeding.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #990000;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #990000;">Surely, tomorrow will be a better day. </span>Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-38721487540188230312012-05-31T16:55:00.000-07:002012-05-31T16:55:52.990-07:00The Hamilton Walk Of ShameWe all have those moments....<br />
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Those adolescent moments where we are mortified beyond belief... where we wish we could just crawl under a rock... where we just wanna die from embarrassment. <br />
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It will not come as a surprise to you that I have had several such moments. I have shared a few of them with you on this blog... <a href="http://mylifeasagrape.blogspot.com/2011/03/legend-of-moonshine.html" target="_blank">The Legend Of Moonshine</a><br />
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And, just for the sake of embarrassing myself further, I will share yet another one... (remind me to share with you how I got the nickname Hot Lips Leopard Pants in the 7th grade...that's a story for another day...)<br />
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I attended a small K-7 elementary school in the mountain community of Anza, California. I believe my elementary years were spent with no more than a hundred other mountain kids, at most. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was the original school site in 1956, When I attended, an office was added to the right as well as a few modular classrooms. That field behind this building was our playground.</td></tr>
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My former classmates may be upset with me... but here we are! All 36 representatives of the 5th, 6th, & 7th grades in 1979/1980! <br />
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I'm still in touch with a few of these lifelong friends... and many of them can attest to the following tale... they can validate what I say as being the gospel truth. <br /><br />
Take a good, long look at our teacher in the glasses... the scandalous, yet loveable, Carl Cripe. Many of us were subjected to his unorthodox teaching styles and bizarre classroom management.... and we loved him for it! He is one of a kind! So much so that each and every one of us who had him as a teacher has a story to tell that begins with, "remember that time, when Mr. Cripe..."<br />
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He was such a character; a beloved character in my childhood. One I looked up to as a father figure. We revered his gruff and gravely voice. The way he'd stare you down over those glasses when you were misbehaving (I never misbehaved... I just wanna make that clear... lol).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes... his coffee cup was THAT disgusting!!!</td></tr>
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The smell of pipe tobacco will ALWAYS make me think of him... he often lit that pipe in class and would puff on it in between math equations, his teeth clenching the pipe while he spoke out of the side of his mouth like Popeye!<br />
I think of him EVERY time I wash a coffee cup, as that was forbidden in his world! His coffee cup was blackened with months and months of black coffee consumption without even so much as an occasional rinse, let alone a full washing.... Oh, how I remember the wrath that befell us all when someone inadvertently washed that cup !!! <br />
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In addition to all of these endearing qualities that would make most parents run for the hills (wait a minute... we WERE in the hills!!!), Carl Cripe had a tradition carried out year after year at 7th grade graduation. And heaven help anyone that fell prey to his tradition. This is where my story really begins....<br />
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It was 1979, the beginning of 7th grade for me at Hamilton Elementary. My last year attending this little school before joining the older kids on their 2 hour bus ride down the hill to civilization at the larger city schools. <br />
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I had been invited over to a weekend slumber party at my friend Samantha's house. Being that I lived a good 15 miles away from Sam, I packed my brown paper grocery bag with my supplies for the weekend (toothbrush, curling iron, change of clothing, PJ's) and took it with me to school on Friday, planing to ride the bus home with Sam at the end of the day.<br />
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All went well as planned, and I'm sad to say that I don't really remember much about that slumber party. I'm sure we all had fun swimming, dancing, having pillow fights, talking about the boys we had crushes on.... I don't remember the details, but I know I had fun.<br />
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I remember how thrilled I was that I had a pair of "new-to-me" PJ's to take to the slumber party. I didn't have much growing up, but my parents provided me with what they could. My mother had recently been thrift store shopping and had picked something special for me to wear to the sleep over... something that was way too old for my 13 years, I realize now, but I felt so grown up in my very own, bright red baby doll nightie!!! It was sheer with ruffles, and matching panties... WHAT WAS MY MOTHER THINKING !!!???<br />
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While the other girls were sporting flannel PJ's, I was dressed like, well.... like the town harlot. No harm, no foul... the other girls didn't seem to have any negative feedback on my PJ selection and I managed to steer clear of Sam's little brother, so my virtue and all-but-invisible reputation was safe.<br />
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Monday morning came, and we all clamored back on to the school bus and off to school we went. The bus would generally arrive early enough in the morning to afford us the opportunity to play on the playground; something that I still enjoyed even at 13. We'd spin on the bars until our palms were blistered, play freeze tag on the big, metal jungle gym, or we'd simply sit on top of the lunch tables and gossip.<br />
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I don't remember what activity I participated in that chilly Monday morning, but I must have been thoroughly engrossed, because when the bell rang for line-up, I completely forgot about my paper bag of slumber supplies.<br />
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I obediently lined up with my peers, recited the Pledge of Allegiance, and ran off to first period. About ten minutes into class, I realized that I had forgotten my paper bag on the lunch table. A sense of fear and dread raced through my veins as I pleaded with my teacher to let me go outside to retrieve it. I ran outside and to my dismay, the bag was nowhere in sight. I ran to the office to ask Ms. Russo if my belongings had been turned in, to which she replied, "No."<br />
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Feeling sick to my stomach, I returned to class and not one second after my butt had settled into my desk chair, did Mr. Cripe hold my bag of "goodies" up in front of the class for all to see!!! Now then, if I had been smart, I wouldn't have reacted... after all, there was nothing inside that bag that implicated who the owner was. However, I was NOT that smart and quickly bolted from my seat in a futile attempt to grab my bag from his grip.<br />
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A futile effort, indeed, as I was a mere 5 ft tall and was clearly out of my mind if I thought I could get anywhere near that bag. I jumped, I reached, I pleaded, I dropped to my knees and begged while my classmates laughed behind me. But I was kept at an arm's length as Mr. Cripe swayed the bag back and forth and wondered, out loud, just what was in that bag that had me so frantic!!??!!<br />
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HE wouldn't ...<br />
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HE couldn't ....<br />
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HE DID !!!<br />
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In front of the entire 7th grade class, Mr. Cripe pulled out that bright red baby doll nightie and held it up in front of him and pranced around the classroom with his pipe hanging out of his mouth ... laughing and singing while I pooled into a puddle of pure mortification.<br />
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Now, if this weren't bad enough, I was then enlightened as to the fate of my bright red baby doll nightie...<br />
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It would not be returned to me on that day with my toothpaste and other remnants remaining in the bag...<br />
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It would not be returned to me at the end of the week, or even after serving any form of after school detention...<br />
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No, the scarlet nightie of shame would be returned to me at the end of the school year at the 7th Grade Graduation Ceremony! I would have to relive the shame not only in front of my classmates again, but in front of all of their parents and siblings, as well as the school staff in it's entirety !!!<br />
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OH MY GOD !!!!<br />
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Well, at least I got that out of the way early in the year, right? There certainly wasn't anything I could do to trump that Ace, so I spent the rest of my school days on my studies while my fellow classmates each fell prey to some kind of embarrassment to be revealed on graduation night.<br />
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One by one, stories of teenage angst and immaturity were revealed to an awe-struck crowd. When my turn came, and Mr. Cripe reveled in the story of the little girl with the red nightie, I steeled the courage to walk up there in front of all of my peers, with a bright and wide smile on my face, to claim my rightful property and take a bow!!! It was a moment of personal growth for me. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am, receiving my 7th grade Graduation "Diploma" from our Principal Mr. Leigh. Look at that impressive Class of '80 .... all 15 of us!! This shot was taken while we all possessed some shred of dignity as the "Cripe Awards" had not yet taken place.</td></tr>
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You know... this picture would have been so much more appropriate had Mr. Leigh been just a little more to my left ... then there would be no need for a caption... the picture would speak for me and simply say "ASS of '80" <br />
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I learned an important lesson from this experience; one I didn't realize at the time, but one that serves me well to this day. Stuff happens... and if it's gonna happen, it will generally happen to me... SO, I might as well look at the humor in all things and learn to laugh at myself.<br />
I'm glad I see things this way now, because life is just too short to take everything so seriously.... Thank you, Mr. Cripe.<br />
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Live...<br />
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Love...<br />
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and most of all, LAUGH<br />
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<br />Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-15032775726266573182012-05-30T17:33:00.001-07:002012-05-30T17:33:09.015-07:00Lucy In An ElevatorToday Imma lookin' Lucy.<br />
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I have come to work dressed in my navy blue dress with white polka dots. I have my hair all piled on the top of my head... pearl earrings and red lipstick and the attitude to match.<br />
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I have always possessed a "mild" fascination with Lucy... nothing too over the top, which I'm sure is hard for those of you who know me to believe, because I generally do everything to the hilt!<br />
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I enjoy watching her shows. I can't help but stop while channel surfing to watch an episode I've seen a billion times. Her picture stomping grapes has been prominently displayed at the top of my blog since the blog's inception. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8RMyvF48GTg">watch clip here</a><br />
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I've had several self-proclaimed "Lucy" moments in my life, and refer to them often! Like the time my friend and I decided to add bleach highlights to our hair. She ended up with thick stripes and I had a bleached checkerboard on my head! Or, just last week while curling my eyelashes, I cut half of them off with the crimper! Even one of my coworkers shared with me the other day that she thinks of Lucy every time she sees me! What a great compliment!!!<br />
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But, goofy Lucy mishaps aside, not I have set a new personal achievement goal of memorizing and reciting the Vita Meata Vegamin routine. ... <a href="http://fan.tcm.com/_Vitameatavegamin/VIDEO/813173/66470.html">watch clip here</a> I have practiced day and night and night and day, learning to pronounce every nuance of the routine. My plan is to surprise a dear friend with this routine at her birthday party....UPDATE: read about how I crashed and burned <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6436911169702381983#editor/target=post;postID=4420898254957096151" target="_blank">here</a><br />
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I have to think that Lucy would be flattered that I want to learn one of her most revered routines.... after all, she knew me!<br />
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OK, OK, she didn't really KNOW me, but she spoke to me.... one of my most memorable childhood moments, next to having Red Skelton fix my bike at a hometown parade.<br />
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It was 1975 and I was just as impulsive then as I am now. I had suffered a nasty fall that had resulted in breaking both bones in my right wrist. Now the break was traumatic enough, but I had just celebrated my 8th birthday in which I had received my very own personalized bowling ball AND I had been practicing for weeks to be in my first parade as a baton twirler ... both activities were promptly placed on hold now that I was in a full arm cast and looking at the possibility of surgery.<br />
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After the initial visit to the ER, the setting and casting ordeals, my mother and I were on a follow up trip to the nearest hospital, a mere 80 miles one-way, for some follow up x-rays to determine if I would be in need of surgery. My mother located a parking spot at Eisenhower Medical Center in Palm Springs and we went inside.<br />
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Once in the lobby we were directed to the elevator and informed which floor to report to. As we waited at the elevator door, a woman joined us. I recall that she had on a light, cream colored suit, a sheer scarf around her head, and sunglasses. Her arm was in a sling.<br />
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As the elevator door opened, we all three went inside. My mother is a social creature, much like myself, so it didn't surprise me when she began chatting with the woman in the elevator. I looked up at both women as they spoke and laughed and nodded heads as things were said.<br />
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The conversation couldn't have lasted long, as most rides in an elevator don't tend to last more than mere seconds. But they seemed to be talking like they were lifelong friends catching up on the latest news. What I recall from that conversation was the woman relaying to my mother that she had fallen off of a ladder. She said this as she lowered her sunglasses with her free arm and exposed her badly blackened eye. The fall was obviously the reason for her injured arm as well; something I could relate to as I showed her my cast. She patted my cast and smiled warmly at me as I lifted it up to her. "Oh dear", she said to me. "You'll be OK. Look! I hurt my arm, too." ... She was so kind.<br />
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The elevator door opened, farewells were exchanged and the lady stepped off. The doors closed and I looked up at mom mother and asked her who that lady was. "Why, honey, THAT was Lucy!"<br />
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With the scarf, glasses and obviously looking much older than I envisioned her (as I had only seen her in her syndicated re-runs), I hadn't even realized I had been in the presence of comedic greatness.<br />
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I chastise myself now, realizing what a missed opportunity it was. But, I also realize just how gracious my mother was! She didn't become star-struck and get all goofy being in the elevator with a Hollywood legend; she spoke with and treated Lucy with the same regard as anyone else riding an elevator that day. I'm sure Lucy was grateful for that. I, on the other hand, had I known, would have thrown my arms around her and inform her of just how much I loved watching her shows and just how much she made me laugh. Oh, how I wish I would have been able to tell her that. <br />
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After that day, I watched episodes with much more reverence and joy, just knowing that I had shared a moment with her. Not many kids can say that... I'm glad I can.<br />
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I Love You, Lucy.... thank you for making my childhood bright and full of laughter! <br />
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</div>Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-44208982549570961512012-05-26T22:50:00.000-07:002012-05-26T22:50:43.339-07:00Vitameatawhat?As I have mentioned on a few occasions, I have a mild infatuation with Miss Lucille Ball. I enjoy her her television shows, tend to dress a bit "Lucy-ish" at least once a week at work (my supervisor has even named the copier machine Ethel, as we are constant partners in crime), and now I have taken it upon myself to attempt one of Lucy's harder routines.<br />
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The classic Vitameatavegamin shtick where Lucy auditions for a live television commercial in which she must repeat take after take after take while consuming a tonic that, unbeknownst to Lucy, contains 23% alcohol <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m-wErh2qp2o" style="text-align: center;">click here to watch </a><br />
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The thought to learn and perform the routine had come out easy enough, rather innocently, actually.<br />
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A friend of mine, Cai, had contacted me with an invite for a surprise party for his wife, Renee. I had replied that I would love to go, but would more than likely, show up dressed in my 1950's retro attire....perhaps even dressed like Lucy!<br />
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My friend, Cai, replied that he'd love to have me show up dressed as Lucy! And right there, I had the genius idea to perform as Lucy at this surprise party!! I didn't really have the resources to provide her with a gift at this party, but I could perform a skit for her as a gift! A gift that certainly wouldn't be duplicated, right??!!?? I suggested the idea to Cai and he heartily agreed that his wife would love it.<br />
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WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING !!??<br />
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I had never even attempted to memorize any part of this routine, and it is complex to say the least! I had less than a week to prepare and it would be a crazy thing to attempt (but we all know I"m crazy)<br />
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I pulled up a video of the Vitameatavegamin episode on my iPhone and watched it at every opportunity; on the way to work, on the way home from work, as I lay in bed every night until I'd fall asleep.... Over and over and over again until I felt I had perfected every word, every comedic pause, every facial expression, every nuance that IS Lucy! I even located and printed the script so I could nail down every syllable as she began mispronouncing words as she becomes drunk.<br />
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I performed for some co-workers the day before the surprise party and had done pretty well, I thought, minus any props. They had laughed at appropriate times and to my credit, didn't require any explanation as to what was going on throughout the skit. On more than one occasion, I had even reduced them to tears as I became more "inebriated".<br />
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I was confident that I was ready for my Lucy debut. I printed off a Vitameatavegamin label and affixed it to a prescription bottle, thinking that it looked pretty authentic, and filled it with Mango Nectar. I created advertisement billboards much like the ones in the episode, and off I went to the party~<br />
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I was nervous as we drove to the party. I had put a lot into this and I had hoped Renee would like the end result. I watched my video and practiced one more time and jumped out of the truck, grabbed my props and walked into the restaurant....and I didn't see ANY familiar faces. I checked each and every table; all eyes on me as dining patrons wonder who I am and what in the hell I am up to.<br />
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My husband and I are then directed to the party... in the bar !!! The KARAOKE BAR !!! Oh great! I am NOT feeling as confident as I had been just moments before. I am greeted warmly, with lots of smiles and laughter and hugs. For the most part, the guests were my coworkers, so they were mostly aware of my vintage style. But I was quite the source of bar banter for those who didn't know me.<br />
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We all eat and visit for a while. One by one, my friends sing karaoke and are getting drunker by the minute as they celebrate. My confidence is wavering a little, and I even voice my concern that this may not be the right time or place ... but I am assured that everything will be fine.<br />
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I try to figure out how I am going to present my skit to my friend in a bar full of strangers. The layout of the bar did not lend itself to a skit, and now Cai had insisted that I perform it for everyone using the karaoke microphone! I pee my pinafore a little at this point.<br />
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As I steeled myself for my performance, I asked the bartender to add a little something to my prop bottle so I wouldn't have to fake the grimacing faces that Lucy makes as she takes the first few spoonfuls of tonic. The bartender obliged and added a shot of bitters. I glanced at the label as she poured, and, not to out-do Lucy, but this particular brand of Bitters had 47% alcohol !!! Going down in flames in five...four...three...two....and one!<br />
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I set up my props, got everyone's attention, Cai's holding the mic for me, took a deep breath and started my routine. The first spoonful of bitters knocked me silly upside my head and I barely got the spoonful down. Yup, I didn't have to fake the faces now!<br />
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I barely regain composure, take the second spoonful of bitters and seriously almost lost my dinner. I double over, retching, my eyes are watering, ears are ringing, throat is burning, knees are knocking, I should NOT have added to my prop... I should have stayed with what I knew!!!<br />
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I stand up, wipe the tears from my eyes, focus on my friends who are still cheering me on while trying to block out the jeers from the strangers sitting at the bar. I have shaken up the bottle in an attempt to mix up the mango juice with the bitters so I can continue on and like a Gong Show reject, I am shut down by a friend and coworker, who doubles as security at the bar. He has secured another mic and is begging for someone, anyone, to come sing a song. Despite some reassurance from my friends to carry on, I relent. I was shut down just at the point where things were going to get funny.<br />
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Wounded, I plastered a smile on my face (yes, a fake one) said my good-nights and relayed excuses about it being late and having to get home and go to bed... "Gotta get to work early in the morning, you know" ?<br />
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I learned some important lessons that night.<br />
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<ul>
<li>Not everyone was fortunate enough to have been exposed to I Love Lucy growing up. They don't know classic comedy when they see it. What a shame. </li>
<li>Always listen to your gut ... I knew I shouldn't have attempted that routine in a bar!</li>
<li>Never, ever, ever attempt to perform a skit where someone unintentionally gets slowly inebriated in a roomful of people who are intentionally doing everything in their power to become rapidly inebriated... </li>
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What can I say? I popped out at a party and am, now, unpoopular !!! and there just isn't enough Vitameatavegamin to fix this one.<br />
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<br />Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-64796625462504838942012-05-09T20:19:00.000-07:002012-05-09T21:22:41.622-07:00A Mother's Gift....It's amazing how social media allows us into the hearts of our friends and family. Sometimes, the posts are happy, sometimes, they allow us to share in heartache and offer bits of love and support.<br />
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In the past few weeks, I have been saddened to read posts on facebook from dear friends who have lost or misplaced items of great importance to them; items that hold a significance in their lives as a memory of a loved one that has passed on.<br />
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One friend, LisaMarie, had discovered that her pink ribbon breast cancer awareness ring was missing from her finger. She had worn that ring every day in memory of her mother who had fought her own battle with breast cancer, but was taken far too young. LisaMarie's friends all rallied around her to comfort her with (((hugs))) .... OK, that was my post, which was not nearly as clever as those who had suggested that the lost ring was a sign that she should get a pink ribbon tattoo, or the friend who wisely suggested that losing the ring merely signified that LisaMarie wears her mother in her heart and not on her finger.<br />
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I am happy to report that LisaMarie's son found the ring in his baseball bag and called her, offering to wear it for her until he could return it to her later in the day. I know she was simply overcome with relief and gratitude and her heart was somewhat at peace again. I still hope she gets the tattoo, tho.<br />
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Today, my friend Samantha, a friend I haven't seen in 30 years, posted that she had lost her necklace at a day spa. Her mother, who had passed away in 2010, had given her that necklace and now it was gone. She has expressed her heartache, and once again, friends from every extension of her life have reached out to console her, offer her a new way of looking at the loss. One of her friends, Craig, suggested, and I quote. "that she accept that there is a reason for the necklace being gone; perhaps an unsuspecting stranger will find it just when they need it and her mother's gift will touch that person. A touch so great and one that a total stranger needs".<br />
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Wow.... couldn't we all use friends like this in our lives.<br />
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I have been wanting to write about one of my life experiences for a while now, but the timing didn't seem right. My friend's stories and the wisdom of their friends have provided me the inspiration to write today, and to them I send my thanks and blessings.<br />
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Several years ago, I had gone back east to visit my mother in Iowa. It was a yearly pilgrimage that I would take with any number of the boys. Sometimes by plane, sometimes by car, and God help me, sometimes by Greyhound bus (I'll never do that again) ...<br />
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My mother usually has the knack of picking up something or another to bestow upon me; something she thinks I will enjoy or find some use for.<br />
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She knew I enjoyed collecting coffee mugs, so she sent me boxes of random coffee mugs. She had missed the small detail that I enjoyed collecting coffee mugs from locations I had visited ... as a souvenir !!!<br />
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I didn't particularly have an interest in a coffee mug from the local hardware store. Or a mug with a pig snout on it... or the local radio station's call letters ...<br />
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But, up in the cabinet those coffee mugs went. And they were used. And the randomness of each mug made me think of her.<br />
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On this summer trip, I had noticed a brand new comforter, still in the plastic, zippered bag from the store. She had purchased the comforter on sale at JCPenneys some months earlier and it was just sitting there on a shelf, unopened and unused and apparently forgotten.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_BPPINT7kpKtHmal6t7wcI_zHkhaRHdj7ateTyCSQ6RwWwsRpt47w494iZfldOW7J2rMBqxBaqbk3t2NZkQa7_hKr8Hk8MoWy_jF6WU4GNddk_JrKnuyIulbDDxkaVjCyzfbKOjPOV8/s1600/comforter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_BPPINT7kpKtHmal6t7wcI_zHkhaRHdj7ateTyCSQ6RwWwsRpt47w494iZfldOW7J2rMBqxBaqbk3t2NZkQa7_hKr8Hk8MoWy_jF6WU4GNddk_JrKnuyIulbDDxkaVjCyzfbKOjPOV8/s1600/comforter.jpg" /></a></div>
I had mentioned the comforter to my mother, letting her know how much I had admired the pattern; that the color scheme would be perfect for my current decor. "That's nice, sweetie, but I don't want to get rid of that yet."<br />
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"But it's just sitting there," I reasoned.<br />
"I know," she said, "But I bought that for myself and someday I'll use it."<br />
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I had tried every angle I knew to work her for that comforter, but she wasn't budging. So, I let her win that battle and moved on....<br />
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I flew home a few weeks later, with one child in tow and leaving another behind to spend the rest of the summer with his grandma and grandpa.<br />
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Summers in Iowa can be magical for a child; golden, fresh corn-on-the-cob cookouts, catching fireflies, evening thunderstorms. I was happy that my son, Joshua, would get to have all of those experiences while receiving the undivided attention from his grandparents. (Yes, Joshua, I know... Grandpa always wanted you to take out the trash and you hated that)<br />
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Sadly, his visit was cut short when my Uncle Henry suddenly took ill and passed away. My parents packed up their mini-van and drove the 1700 miles to the West coast to gather with the grieving family.<br />
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Now, when I say they packed that mini-van,, I mean they PACKED that mini-van! They had every square inch of that vehicle burgeoning with suitcases, maps, games, wipes, ....<br />
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...and a comforter.<br />
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My mother, bless her heart, had brought me the comforter she knew I had wanted so badly. For 1700 miles, she rode with that comforter squished up against her; the plastic bag sticking to her skin and causing her to sweat. That, I realized, was true unselfishness... the lengths she went through to bring me that comforter.<br />
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I was so pleased that she had done that for me. Upon returning home, I made that comforter my top priority! I was going to promptly place that beautiful gift on my bed! Smiling, I opened the bag, unfurled and fluffed the contents out across the span of my queen sized bed....<br />
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and came up short. No matter which way I turned the comforter, it didn't look right. Despite admiring the pattern a gazillion times, I had failed to notice the size clearly stamped on the side of the bag: FULL<br />
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Defeated, I folded up the comforter and shoved it back in the bag. How could I be so stupid as to not notice the size of the damned thing!!?? I shoved the bag up into the highest shelf of my closet, reasoning that, maybe someday, I would use it on a guest bed. I never told my mother that it didn't fit.<br />
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Several months later, I was getting the urge to purge. My closets and cupboards were overflowing and it was time for a yard sale. I went through every cabinet, every closet to find items to tag and sell. I threw some coffee mugs in a box, I had too many and had to make some space.<br />
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I stared at the comforter, still perched on the shelf where I had placed long ago. It really wasn't serving a purpose. I wasn't going to use it... I needed to let it go. Out it went into the yard sale with the low, low bargain price of $25.00<br />
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Throughout the day, people would rifle through my items, some had memories attached to them, some didn't. I felt a tinge of guilt every time someone bought a coffee mug. I don't know why, but I just felt wrong about letting them go. I would rationalize with myself that I just had too many coffee cups.<br />
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On more than one occasion, someone would show an interest in the comforter. Every single time, they would attempt to weasel me down on the price... would I take $15.... would I take $10. Each time I would refuse the lower offer regaling the story of how my mother had brought the blanket 1700 miles... in the heat... and how she'd sweat.... they'd grow weary of my story and put it back on the ground and move on to the next thing they wanted to consider buying.<br />
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The more I told the story, the more I realized I probably shouldn't sell the comforter. I was just getting ready to close shop for the day when I had one last car pull up to the curb. A well dressed woman got out and went straight for the comforter. Without even haggling the price, she placed the bag under her arm and extended her hand with the money in it. As I took that money from her hand, I started to tell her about how my mother had given me that comforter, but I choked. I almost didn't take her money because I was frozen with guilt and remorse.<br />
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But my fingers held on to the money and I watched her get in her car and drive away.<br />
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After I cleaned up the driveway and had put away everything that didn't sell, I counted the till for the day. I had done pretty good. Not great, but $43 was pretty good. Selling the comforter had actually made sitting in the driveway all day worthwhile.<br />
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Now then, how was I going to treat myself with my hard earned cash? The answer was pretty obvious to me as I looked down at my torn jeans. I had ripped out the thigh of my pants earlier in the day and was in need of a new pair. They were actually the only pair of jeans I had left, so off to the store I went to but me some clothes.<br />
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I bought the jeans, a couple of shirts, new underwear, and a pack of socks. That pretty much wiped out my little stash of cash. When I got home, I dropped the bags on the couch and started preparing dinner. I figured I would put the clothes away later.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbG4tL9Mh_DMWwjTKTBk5S1ioe88tr9DVrRPxbiQKtLmo1pQ_LvsP9x52rmJQyKjl131omuvpOqxzwgHDgJvsgVXaJKsIdWLw7BTVVaPjwnxo0R2VpYs2UqmEVKgv1US3EhEEoMY5gc8/s1600/bad+news+call.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIbG4tL9Mh_DMWwjTKTBk5S1ioe88tr9DVrRPxbiQKtLmo1pQ_LvsP9x52rmJQyKjl131omuvpOqxzwgHDgJvsgVXaJKsIdWLw7BTVVaPjwnxo0R2VpYs2UqmEVKgv1US3EhEEoMY5gc8/s320/bad+news+call.jpg" width="309" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, this is not Jim....</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That night, after I had fallen asleep, the phone rang. Late night phone calls always fill me with panic because late night phone calls always bring bad news. Jim had answered the phone and I listened intently to every "uh-huh" and "yes, I understand" ... and then, to my heart's dismay, he handed me the phone and said it was my brother. I knew my greatest fear was becoming a reality; the dreaded phone call one gets about an ailing parent.<br />
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My mother had suffered a massive aneurysm rupture in her brain. The ambulance had already transported her to two hospitals and she was now at her 3rd, at St. Joseph's Medical Center, the Mayo Clinic teaching hospital in Minnesota. She wasn't expected to live through the night and I needed to come right away.<br />
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The next hours were a blur of tears, phone calls, airline flight arrangements, panic,disbelief, confusion, and utter guilt and sorrow for selling that comforter. I kept telling myself that there was a reason why I felt so strongly about keeping that silly thing, and now I knew why. It was like the heavens knew that I was going to need that blanket, they tried to intervene to make me keep it, but I sold it anyways for the power of the almighty dollar! This was what I kept telling myself, beating myself up for being a selfish, careless daughter who sells her mother's gifts to strangers at a yard sale! Shame on me!<br />
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My son, Joshua, had heard my crying and woke up and came to me to comfort me. He offered to help gather items to place in my suitcase. "What can I pack for you, Mom?"<br />
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I was overcome with an understanding so real, so viable I can still feel it today. I had NO pants earlier that day. And, I had wasted the day tending to the yard sale and hadn't washed any clothes. I used the money from the sale of that comforter to buy clothes! Had I not done so, I wouldn't have had ANYTHING to wear on the flight back to say good-bye to my mother! My flight was scheduled for 6am, long before any stores would have been open. I would have literally been scrambling for something to wear. An added stress that I certainly did not need.<br />
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I hugged him and pointed to the shopping bags, they were on the on the couch, unpacked and ready for my trip. Pants, shirts, underwear, socks... all Joshua had to do was throw the bags in a suitcase, grab a few toiletry items and we were off in the night to the airport to catch my early morning flight.<br />
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Those clothes served me well for the next seven weeks as I refused to leave my mother's side. I literally slept, ate, and lived in the neurological wing of St. Josephs Medical Center for 49 days as my mother fought for her life. When life or death decisions were to be made, it was me the doctors came to. I never want to experience that again. It is pure hell.<br />
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Three times the doctors told me she wouldn't live through the night. Three times I said goodbye only to have her fight her way back. She has endured countless brain surgeries, months of rehabilitation, has lost her vision and her short term memory, but she pulled through something most would not. She won this battle, but she will not win the war. I choked back the tears when I had to tell my dad that CT scans revealed that she has another large aneurysm in the center of her brain. It is inoperable. Someday, it too will rupture and there will be nothing that can be done.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother today. She will never know what a gift that comforter truly was.<br />
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</tbody></table>
When I returned home from Minnesota, I wanted so desperately to get my mother's comforter back. I wanted to lay with it, to hold it, to have it with me so I could think of her, keep her close. I went so far as to have a local newspaper reporter pen a story about how I had sold it and so desperately wanted it back. But there were no responses from faithful readers. I had to accept the fact that I would never see that comforter again.<br />
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Up until this very day, I had been stewing over the loss of that comforter. But once I had read Craig's comment to Samantha, I realized that my mother's gift had not only provided me with the clothing I needed to be with her, but certainly it had brought comfort to a stranger. Maybe joy for a young woman who had never had anything beautiful before, or comfort for a tired, new mother. Perhaps respite to someone suffering from a terminal illness, or, later in it's life, warmth to a homeless man or a rescued animal.<br />
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I can now see that a mother's gift goes on to bless others, much like how I hope Samantha's necklace will.<br />
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I hope Samantha sees the wisdom in her friend's words. I know I did, and I thank him for the gift he gave to me.... a gift that, I hope, will touch the life of another stranger... and another...and another.<br />
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<br />Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-26143973903209633272012-05-02T14:33:00.001-07:002012-05-02T14:33:07.303-07:00A letter to a mother .....<br />
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Today, I saw a post which included a letter from a mother to her daughter. I see a lot of myself in that letter, both as a daughter and as a mother. Although, I must admit, the daughter part of me is a far better example of what one should be than the mother side of me. But, all I can say is I did my best raising my four boys and I hope they know that they are my heart.<br />
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I am blessed. I can honestly say that my mother has all of the redeeming qualities listed below; patience, love, understanding, wisdom.<br />
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I remember laying with her in bed while she read me stories. We would wriggle our toes under the blankets so the cat would "attack" our feet.<br />
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She would go to great lengths to get me whatever I needed. Like the time I had ripped my pants and needed her to bring a replacement pair to school ... over 50 miles away.<br />
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She would patiently sit through my frustrated temper tantrums while trying to explain to me the simple aspects of algebra, as I was making it more difficult than it needed to be.<br />
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Having raised my four boys, I know there are many moments I didn't display all the right attributes or temperaments, but I see them as parents themselves now, and I know I did some things right.<br />
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Unfortunately, I also see a lot of the harsh truths in this letter from a mother.<br />
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My mother calls and repeats the same stories she had relayed last time we spoke. Sometimes she repeats the story during the same phone call. I let her tell her story and acknowledge her when appropriate. I do not chastise her and only assist or correct her when she lets me know she'd appreciate the help.<br />
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We have had our go-rounds with regards to getting her hair done and getting a manicure. I could never talk her into a pedicure. ANd the fear of falling in the shower or tub pretty much ensured she wasn't going to bathe as requested ( or required ) ... but I can't say I blame her as I fear falling, even at my age!!!<br />
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Over the years she certainly has slowed as she is aging. What tasks she used to do with ease, became more of a chore for her. Her walking developed into a slow-speed shuffle. Getting in and out of her chair was accompanied by moans and groans.... Now she is in a wheel chair and cannot even do the simplest of things without assistance.<br />
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Her cell phone, audio recorder from the Department of the Blind, and hearing aides are just as much a mystery to me as they are to her.<br />
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I do my best to live by the advice in this letter as I know she would do the same for me.<br />
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From a mother to a daughter, but it applies to sons and fathers, as well.<br />
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<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><i> "My dear daughter, the day you see I’m getting </i><span class="text_exposed_show"><i>old,
I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what
I’m going through.</i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i> If when we talk, I repeat the same thing a thousand
times, don’t interrupt to say: “You said the same thing a minute ago”...
Just listen, please. Try to remember the times when you were little and
I would read the same story night after night until you would fall
asleep. </i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i>When I don’t want to take a bath, don’t be mad and don’t
embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and
trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl? </i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i>When you
see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time
to learn and don’t look at me that way... remember, honey, I patiently
taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting
dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life’s issues every day...
the day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but
most of all, try to understand what I’m going through. </i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i>If I occasionaly
lose track of what we’re talking about, give me the time to remember,
and if I can’t, don’t be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in
your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you.</i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i> And
when my old, tired legs don’t let me move as quickly as before, give me
your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked. </i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i> When those days come, don’t feel sad... just be with me, and understand
me while I get to the end of my life with love. I’ll cherish and thank
you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the
huge love I’ve always had for you, I just want to say, I love you... my
darling daughter. "</i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><i><br /></i></span></span><br />
<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">If you've read this all the way through, call your mother and tell her you love her. </span></span><br />
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<span class="caption" data-ft="{"tn":"L"}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><3 <3 <3</span></span>Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-18227896920084532742012-03-20T12:18:00.001-07:002012-03-20T12:22:55.494-07:00Glam GirlThe other day, while at work, I had a dear friend say to me, "You know, whenever I see you I think of Lucy... that episode where she's working in the candy factory... and she's shoving the chocolates in her mouth, and down her shirt, and in her hat!" <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HnbNcQlzV-4">watch clip here</a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyhe2g4rdixVbkRJ-q5EhM2C6OhFjgeCqoUB9bxlvrHeQNgc91j7Yg8liRUtjVsYo-fZAKSt5lE9z4AY-B5RWeg8aVgXp-YpYYFkOjg8tNcf6F0fEgg7dpBBUhY16xXf2gj9RBKu8Fqk/s1600/I-Love-Lucy-Chocolates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNyhe2g4rdixVbkRJ-q5EhM2C6OhFjgeCqoUB9bxlvrHeQNgc91j7Yg8liRUtjVsYo-fZAKSt5lE9z4AY-B5RWeg8aVgXp-YpYYFkOjg8tNcf6F0fEgg7dpBBUhY16xXf2gj9RBKu8Fqk/s1600/I-Love-Lucy-Chocolates.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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I think that was just about the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me. I truly appreciated it, as I love to leave that funny, goofy "feel-good" impression on people.<br />
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But, Lucy was more than just the comedienne of her time. She was beautiful, and glamorous.... a "Glam Girl"<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/AVvXsEhVCqhGGX0J1BrfEgfS2ImYXInMsiPMeQi3wDJ7GddrE1EkzNUxYpl0UX2i6ml3G8ETrRL1WMLlw2ZTIazLkWoodmu5D2tXvFBDAj6A_TOMtcRKOCKYt4J53wNHp5-ZbOLY4dkMeXWrAw4/s1600/Lucille-Ball-i-love-lucy-5286635-594-467.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCqhGGX0J1BrfEgfS2ImYXInMsiPMeQi3wDJ7GddrE1EkzNUxYpl0UX2i6ml3G8ETrRL1WMLlw2ZTIazLkWoodmu5D2tXvFBDAj6A_TOMtcRKOCKYt4J53wNHp5-ZbOLY4dkMeXWrAw4/s320/Lucille-Ball-i-love-lucy-5286635-594-467.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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She had it all... beauty, brains, and a funny bone!<br />
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I have always had an inner struggle with finding my identity. Who am I, really? I am short, have always struggled with my weight, no physical attributes to really write home about. I'm goofy, outgoing, and always a tad bit over the top with my dramatic comedic flare, but what about me relays who I am to the world's eyes?<br />
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Earlier this month,I watched an episode of The Voice where a curvy young lady was dressed in the cutest 40's fashion and had the hair and make up to match. I was focused on her style more than I was her stature or her voice! And that is when I was hit with an epiphany of colossal proportion !<br />
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I am a modern day gal with a "Glam Girl" stuck inside just screaming to be set free!<br />
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Quicker than you could say Vita Meata Vegamin, I started taking inventory of all things retro I had collected over the years; a beautiful pair of brown two-tone wing tip pumps, black patent leather pumps with bow , sweaters with pearl buttons, scarves, jewelry ... on and on the list goes and I realized that I have been a closet retro junky all this time! I just never put it all together to create MY style !!!<br />
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Several hours of youtube tutorials and I am well on my way to perfecting my Glam Girl, Plus-Sized Pin-Up, Rockabilly look!!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLtPcq4n458tH5qtyOF2ERs2s0ZmQQjNVJ3ED1wosTE7G7IC7h8gOeUFFWu4Huud3wp3PBal-C0nbwIMn7lNpTgVwO6tQfbGPucUfcsWan_sXYu6nRUCbT8hdu3J4aIdCd8_rRGj_XjX8/s1600/bw+glam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLtPcq4n458tH5qtyOF2ERs2s0ZmQQjNVJ3ED1wosTE7G7IC7h8gOeUFFWu4Huud3wp3PBal-C0nbwIMn7lNpTgVwO6tQfbGPucUfcsWan_sXYu6nRUCbT8hdu3J4aIdCd8_rRGj_XjX8/s320/bw+glam.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this picture. It's soft and dramatic tone. I actually feel beautiful and classy. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nQaC5hAuuUhRAaCFsN7t7RfjsKzDnDDcPN5W3jbqOcQaH4qriIjOuWP-Rhr0xsUaRy4jrIo0unEPPNYn-f_F_mKYvn04Mc2W2tF3ZHlW_3LX-VuQpaF_RqMXTrTqEZtHnSY3n9mnHMQ/s1600/bleach+glam.jpg" imageanchor="1" 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/AVvXsEg8nQaC5hAuuUhRAaCFsN7t7RfjsKzDnDDcPN5W3jbqOcQaH4qriIjOuWP-Rhr0xsUaRy4jrIo0unEPPNYn-f_F_mKYvn04Mc2W2tF3ZHlW_3LX-VuQpaF_RqMXTrTqEZtHnSY3n9mnHMQ/s320/bleach+glam.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling coy and noting that all glam girls of the day seemed to be looking at the ceiling, probably thinking about the cob webs that need dusting.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCHSqSeFIbo3dv7xyqdmiEwZbFtzzmqLNTBeuQzwOUzcsSnmfQ8YYe-o9o-6xlDNxSGEihSVKWEJJFanMthIYwoSNpJnJXdB7IEKM50DALhs4eM4nY_fXqcd4piszNk03jfVnq5vsBDvI/s1600/betty+glam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCHSqSeFIbo3dv7xyqdmiEwZbFtzzmqLNTBeuQzwOUzcsSnmfQ8YYe-o9o-6xlDNxSGEihSVKWEJJFanMthIYwoSNpJnJXdB7IEKM50DALhs4eM4nY_fXqcd4piszNk03jfVnq5vsBDvI/s320/betty+glam.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It will take some time to get the "Betty Bangs" and "Victory Rolls" to become as second nature to me as breathing . </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9-aaegeztF9J_lG0B54EH8CBOAF91GdK12w3cSIEgl4lm7RRy-WBN1mi4JVhUtc0MxnOG6iQpGVnsnwo3NoPIP6zw6xBNAVUXc8xgZ7C7MDC3s62UkLdjuE6yOnay6odolqgYgOYmres/s1600/rockabilly+glam.jpg" imageanchor="1" 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/AVvXsEj9-aaegeztF9J_lG0B54EH8CBOAF91GdK12w3cSIEgl4lm7RRy-WBN1mi4JVhUtc0MxnOG6iQpGVnsnwo3NoPIP6zw6xBNAVUXc8xgZ7C7MDC3s62UkLdjuE6yOnay6odolqgYgOYmres/s320/rockabilly+glam.jpg" width="197" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling sassy and flirty in a Rockabilly kinda way. Going to work on my "Rosie Riveter " look next ....</td></tr>
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I am only one week into my new me, but I am already feeling more confident. There is a spring in my step... a sense of "sassiness" that only comes from confidence in being who you are. Everywhere I go I notice people look and smile...some looks of appreciation for my individuality, some looks of concern as though I've escaped from a mental ward, while I suspect others are trying to figure out they can sneak a camera phone opportunity to submit me to peopleofwalmart.com<br />
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But, this is who I am... comfortable in my own skin (and my black and white polka dot dress) for the first time in eons.<br />
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Yes, I'm a little unconventional in this yuppie town I live in, but appreciate me for who I am or keep walking, Bub!Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-73545338476615305992012-03-08T18:16:00.000-08:002012-10-07T17:40:07.359-07:00Red Light, Green Light<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWLqmAis3G6wl2HCX67PNvNlrXXpLAyy7QnYeQJOpaBU7hIDwd1bo4K-NM_bZkmWd0q4C0QE2ML_b4olY3DnNEnoj2b4Xdy8wMGbGAyqGLY6H__6NokNKbgtE-voDMTi4k1gxjPo5TRio/s1600/stop+light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWLqmAis3G6wl2HCX67PNvNlrXXpLAyy7QnYeQJOpaBU7hIDwd1bo4K-NM_bZkmWd0q4C0QE2ML_b4olY3DnNEnoj2b4Xdy8wMGbGAyqGLY6H__6NokNKbgtE-voDMTi4k1gxjPo5TRio/s320/stop+light.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is why I am always 30 minutes late everywhere I go... I hit all the red lights!!!</td></tr>
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As I get older, I don't mind hitting the red lights so much.<br />
Gives me the chance to people watch as drivers pass in front of me; especially if they are making a left turn.<br />
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Some people are rockin' out to their favorite tunes . This makes me smile and want to sing along...since I don't know what song they are listening to I just sing "watermelon watermelon" over and over and act like I am listening to the sa<span class="text_exposed_show">me song. The other day, the car next to me had the volume way up past obnoxious . but I didn't care. At least I could decipher what song was playing.. And I joined in with my own, "Gotta get dat boom, boom, boom"</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcb1AKzf0wkozlrz_7y2bFZK0iLlXeb9v2oVFWRqg-meUHT8-f5vMp8BhZpbNHk_DnygFTfKoVVaBUPvYT5k1AAcehfknpbQGDFNfL2Hy3G2V95R7nmjCFdZNfKj1vceo9SWmhwrx79CQ/s1600/singing-in-car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcb1AKzf0wkozlrz_7y2bFZK0iLlXeb9v2oVFWRqg-meUHT8-f5vMp8BhZpbNHk_DnygFTfKoVVaBUPvYT5k1AAcehfknpbQGDFNfL2Hy3G2V95R7nmjCFdZNfKj1vceo9SWmhwrx79CQ/s1600/singing-in-car.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Watermelon, oh watermelon, yeah, watermelon"<br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show">Some people are Mr. Grumpy Gills and it makes me wonder why they're so mad.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLMzxr1iRM1s_um3eyOujBm63j-2et5oZm_tOuLD2iU-cig9HB3Q4KQkFx5ZpKaK162pRmQD3O_qjYmme58KFF7FgL9Hn7sbqlhFY8Oq5RO-ef6B8wzkPDL0vXn-_wJje1QHzq4gOmFso/s1600/grumpy+gills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLMzxr1iRM1s_um3eyOujBm63j-2et5oZm_tOuLD2iU-cig9HB3Q4KQkFx5ZpKaK162pRmQD3O_qjYmme58KFF7FgL9Hn7sbqlhFY8Oq5RO-ef6B8wzkPDL0vXn-_wJje1QHzq4gOmFso/s320/grumpy+gills.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Maybe I should just bcome a Chargers fan"</td></tr>
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<span class="text_exposed_show"> Some people are knuckle deep in their left nostril and it makes me cringe with disgust and then wonder if I have a cub in the cave... so I go in half-knuckle, just to make sure I'm all good. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExLNqab4-wl0dWEmhGPaSxGSobu2cgEfIAIGtqtfqJRy2BtyanMVb04pYCsDJV2hnGHf3KxdhcC1nCkwy1AqSJGPhLzkttgwazqz9OhJC4wuRyXir62wjEnRda6YCpSDEnybyq3WSZks/s1600/nose+picker.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExLNqab4-wl0dWEmhGPaSxGSobu2cgEfIAIGtqtfqJRy2BtyanMVb04pYCsDJV2hnGHf3KxdhcC1nCkwy1AqSJGPhLzkttgwazqz9OhJC4wuRyXir62wjEnRda6YCpSDEnybyq3WSZks/s320/nose+picker.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WARNING: Objects in mirror are grosser than they appear</td></tr>
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<span class="text_exposed_show">Sometimes parents are happily chatting with their children (makes me smile) </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialiuJT_cI8XZzCthiBfQ2iZQu6Am4SJbCuleNOCs7GSmRSwLWpgLNlLsXEKJFLLw5jkBYuFY9nPwwnZHwt_OcCX3CrUAinJ-NnNzdrt7sYe0Y6dsJ0_1Sf2aC9p9lF_uvWkIfe4pKXuk/s1600/simpsons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialiuJT_cI8XZzCthiBfQ2iZQu6Am4SJbCuleNOCs7GSmRSwLWpgLNlLsXEKJFLLw5jkBYuFY9nPwwnZHwt_OcCX3CrUAinJ-NnNzdrt7sYe0Y6dsJ0_1Sf2aC9p9lF_uvWkIfe4pKXuk/s320/simpsons.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Doh"</td></tr>
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<span class="text_exposed_show">Some parents are yelling. I'll admit it, I've had my yelling moments. Like when you drive your kids all the way to school only to discover that one of them didn't put on their shoes.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZo_wiDdbb_rO_7TJgDHCW4zXkRMNxYUCHNB047RXnKRd388_RN_3Bh3bYDuP20e_E1gv2agcSFk7vHqj9g4zTBtPDYJeUC1aove-ivusszjHDMcvE6jxDqb4PQcIXojRc6aG3ljrZSk8/s1600/yelling_and_screaming_at_the_kids_image_title_mziqb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZo_wiDdbb_rO_7TJgDHCW4zXkRMNxYUCHNB047RXnKRd388_RN_3Bh3bYDuP20e_E1gv2agcSFk7vHqj9g4zTBtPDYJeUC1aove-ivusszjHDMcvE6jxDqb4PQcIXojRc6aG3ljrZSk8/s320/yelling_and_screaming_at_the_kids_image_title_mziqb.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"What do you mean you didn't put any shoes on??"</td></tr>
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<span class="text_exposed_show">This makes me sad, so I make goofy faces at the kid as they drive by, in an attempt to make them smile. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivaVrvkxdaoRUAc1Mz4sr-QHd-fhxsEw5r7kVVFXm5Kq_xcy-wpMtUkws-6pTOuUPPDxkKhe4CVBCZPYMJIp9xe9fqEhcAoEOcLaAWmN5TaLNkT-TcLNKNTtZ3pKZJFXIDjOHlRByfuIU/s1600/goofy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivaVrvkxdaoRUAc1Mz4sr-QHd-fhxsEw5r7kVVFXm5Kq_xcy-wpMtUkws-6pTOuUPPDxkKhe4CVBCZPYMJIp9xe9fqEhcAoEOcLaAWmN5TaLNkT-TcLNKNTtZ3pKZJFXIDjOHlRByfuIU/s320/goofy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Grandma was right! My face DID freeze like this!!"</td></tr>
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<span class="text_exposed_show">Today I realized what I must look like to the person in the car on either side of me. As I sing my Top 40 Watermelon Watermelon songs, with my finger up my nose, while making silly faces at passing motorists.</span><br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show"> Yeah, I get some stares, some laughs, some evil eyes during the 30 to 45 seconds I"m at that light. But who cares what they think, right??? </span><br />
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You have a choice. You can sit at that red light, staring at it, waiting for it to turn green. Or, you can watch the world around you and be a part of it. I choose to be a part of my world.<br />
<br />Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-66645439115414308782012-01-09T11:54:00.000-08:002012-05-09T22:24:15.560-07:00Bitterness vs. Empathy ... Empathy Wins Every Time2011 was another trying year in our family... lots of changes; some good, some bad. We welcomed new lives into our family, and sadly we had to say goodbye to some as well.<br />
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In September, my husband, youngest son, and I drove non-stop for 21 hours to visit my father-in-law who was in end-stage renal failure.<br />
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For those of you who have known me for a while, I have had a somewhat turbulent relationship with my father-in-law. It wasn't for lack of trying ... I did everything in my power to get him to accept me, while he did everything in his power to break up my marriage. In the end, I don't know which one of us was more successful in our attempts: he never really accepted me and I never left the family, so I guess we'll call it a draw !!!<br />
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Seeing Jack in his Hospice-provided hospital bed in his living room seemed to soften some of the bitterness I had harbored at all the jabs he had taken at me, my children, and my marriage; but I still knew to keep my distance, and out of respect, hold my tongue at what would have been an opportunity for me to have an upper hand, for once. An upper hand that would have been an empty victory, leaving me feeling hollow, I'm sure. Empathy and kindness will always win over my bitterness, my desires to get even, I'm afraid. <br />
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Even in his weakened state, there were times when he would say something totally uncalled for, like telling the Hospice worker that his son married "the wrong one" while pointing a shaky finger in my direction, and I was tempted, as I sat in his wheelchair, to roll over his oxygen line and just smile at him through clenched teeth, knowing I held all the power. Empathy won that battle. <br />
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My sister-in-law, Debbie, caught me contemplating this one time (I thought about it several times, often becoming fixated at the oxygen tubing snaking across the floor in front of me)... she didn't say a word, but smiled at me as if to say, "Oh, Sis....you know you can't do that." .... but, give him a few more opportunities to say something he shouldn't have and Debbie would literally push me up to that oxygen line threatening to cut him off... those were the times I had to shoot her the look and keep a firm grip on the wheels... ( OK, sometimes my grip wasn't as strong as it could have been and I would let her get right up to that tubing and stop her... we did get some good giggles out of the act though). Empathy won that battle.<br />
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Laughter can be healing, despite the past. My thirty years with this family has been filled with family gatherings where all would share stories about one injustice or another at the hands of their father, a bully whom all the neighborhood kids referred to as Bruno. When Bruno came home, his truck exhaust rumbling blocks away before he'd round the corner to home, all the neighborhood kids, including his own would scatter like roaches. Some times the stories would invoke laughter as the siblings would view things from the eyes of an adult, now. Sometimes, the stories would expose a raw nerve resulting in tears and pain. Stories of poorly thought out fantasies of patricide involving, axes, rat poison in the Parmesan for his spaghetti, etc...Lizzy Borden had nothing on these kids! Common sense won those battles...<br />
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My, how in-laws act like outlaws sometimes...<br />
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One day during this final trip to see Jack, I found myself all alone at my brother-in-laws with nothing to really do to contribute to the family's needs while staying there. I had helped with the vacuuming, dishes, laundry, etc, but ran out of things to keep myself occupied. So, I located a pen, a legal pad and set out on a journey of healing; not only for myself but for my siblings-in-law whom I love dearly ...who, in addition to my husband, have made sticking around in this family well worthwhile.<br />
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I walked the two blocks to my father-in-law's home. He was all alone, his caregiver was not to arrive for a few hours yet. I tended to his basic needs; getting him a drink of water, assisting with his toileting, washing his face... ALL things that I swore I would NEVER do based on how he had treated me for these past 30 years. Empathy won that battle. <br />
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I settled into his wheelchair again and told him that I wanted to help him give his children a final gift before he left this Earth. I wanted his permission to interview him; I wanted him to share with me his favorite, fondest memories of each of his children; all who had their own burdens and memories of their past with a father who was, for lack of better words, abusive. Many years of wrong-doing, pain, fear and tears had been experienced by his children, they each had their own crosses to bear. It wasn't often that my father-in-law had shown a soft side. I wanted him to give that to his children; he owed them that!<br />
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He was reluctant at first, but eventually he conceded and began sharing stories of each of his children. Tender memories, loving memories, funny memories that flooded in and out of his mind as he, himself, would come and go with moments of consciousness.<br />
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Sometimes he would open his eyes and laugh, while other times he would remain still with his eyes closed, his breathing labored, saying how he was just too tired to go on.<br />
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But, go on he did, until we had compiled stories for each of his six children. I even managed to pen his memories about the day he married their mother(s) .. he had been married twice. All the stories were written exactly as he spoke them; from his lips to my pen. I didn't even change up his messages to my husband about how he didn't want us to marry. It wasn't my place to change his thoughts. Empathy won that battle. <br />
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But, as he would talk, and I would write, I was given insight into the way HE viewed things! How he saw things may not have been right, they may not have been wrong, but they were how HE viewed things. How he had embraced misconceptions and falsities as truth, how he had twisted truth into an alternate reality that HE could live with. How his own abusive childhood destines him to become the father he was; he didn't know any better. I had the opportunity to right some wrongs, gain some clarity, offer some forgiveness and ask for some in return. And I realized that I had viewed some things inaccurately, as well.What!!?? I'm not perfect??!!! Sometimes, that's a hard pill to swallow. <br />
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I interviewed him until I could get nothing more from him. I assured him that each story would be delivered to each individual child following his death with a message about how much he truly loved them; an emotion that did find it's way into his words as he spoke. Something, that unfortunately doesn't always come across in written form as you lose the tone in translation. Each story would be personal, private. It would be up to each one if they wanted to share with their siblings what their father had to say to them as he lay in his death bed. He seemed to have a peace wash over him throughout the whole process and I finally felt that, in some small way, he had accepted me; maybe not as a daughter, but as a person, and I'm not going to fight that battle....because empathy will win over bitterness every time. <br />
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And I left it at that. I collected my belongings, thanked him, hugged him goodbye, and left things on that good note. Although we were in Texas for two more days, I wanted my final memories of him to be ones of forgiveness, understanding, and acceptance... I wanted his final memory of me to be of those things, too. I had an opportune time to really lay all that bitterness on him, treat him as horribly as he had treated me, treated his own children, for all those years. Make him suffer and hurt and FEEL !!! Instead, I laid it all at his feet in a pile of empathy and forgiveness and walked out the door. <br />
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My father-in-law passed away on November 4, 2011, shortly after I drove under a beautiful rainbow and acknowledged God's promise of His love for us, somehow knowing that the day was going to be Jack's last on this Earth.<br />
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That evening, I typed up every message for my sisters and brothers, placing a side note letter of love to each of them explaining to them about my day with their father and how thankful I was to have been able to provide them with this final gift from him. The entire process was, I believe, incredibly healing for each and every one of us.<br />
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I'm so glad I didn't pass up the opportunity to heal my own wounds and bring peace and healing to so many others that I love in the process. Bitterness would have eaten at me for years to come. But empathy and forgiveness cleanses the soul. <br />
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I learned a lot that day, and I hope reading this will prepare you for a time in which you may be able to do the same for someone else; a family member or a friend. I wish I had a final message from my father...It is a powerful, beautiful thing to do for someone.<br />
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Another life lesson learned....never, my friends, pass up an opportunity to learn.When in a battle between bitterness and empathy, empathy will win every time.<br />
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And this time, empathy not only won the battles, it won the war. <br />
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RIP Jack ... 1935-2011Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-61639704824278228232011-12-19T12:45:00.000-08:002011-12-19T12:45:41.447-08:00A Few Of My Favorite ThingsAs it's the Holiday Season, I am seeing posts everywhere for friend's all-time favorite tried and true recipes.<br />
I have yet to see one of my favorites making the rounds, so I thought I'd post this one and see if anyone would like to add to the recipe files.<br />
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Baked Creamed Potatoes with Herb Infused Heavy Cream.<br />
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This is an elegant dish yet is simple to make. Infusing the cream with fresh herbs allows the flavors to evenly release into the cream and then be absorbed by the potatoes. Highly indulgent and not at all low in calories or fat, but a guaranteed traditional favorite in which all of your friends will be begging for the recipe. You can vary the quantities of potatoes and cream, just make sure the potatoes are just barely covered in herb-infused cream before baking.<br />
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Ingredients:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32EUPc-lbE9-FnnCCHWd55aPlQtVos8Ew9-TCR5QJgHT957CaaWKHO-aC52-sY7_GTfw-9DM6invV9EuToIlh1RfCQQD39Hg7jZm622KgJtFJYd9OK6OeEVUOrGiBI8bN0mlkFofN4Zs/s1600/color-potatoes.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi32EUPc-lbE9-FnnCCHWd55aPlQtVos8Ew9-TCR5QJgHT957CaaWKHO-aC52-sY7_GTfw-9DM6invV9EuToIlh1RfCQQD39Hg7jZm622KgJtFJYd9OK6OeEVUOrGiBI8bN0mlkFofN4Zs/s200/color-potatoes.png" width="170" /></a></div><br />
4 cups -Small assorted potatoes. I prefer to use Baby Reds, small Yukon Golds, Purple Peruvian, and some Fingerlings (the assortment of colors lends a beauty to the completed dish. You may need to shop at your local farmer's market or organic whole foods store to find a wide variety. You really can't go wrong in your choices, so don't fret if you can't find a variety)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>2 cups - Heavy Cream<br />
2 Cloves of Garlic<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Fresh sprigs of Rosemary, Thyme, Sage, Marjoram (Sage can overpower easily, so just use a few leaves)<br />
2 fresh Bay Leaves<br />
Dash of Nutmeg<br />
1/2 tsp. Salt/Pepper to taste<br />
1/2 cup REAL butter, cut into pats<br />
1/2 cup grated Parmesan Cheese (you can use real or the powdered stuff...both are yummy, but I prefer the powdered as is seems to form a crust over the top of the dish...you can use more that 1/2 cup if you like)<br />
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Directions:<br />
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Wash and quarter potatoes; place in greased 9"x13" glass baking dish<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Peel garlic cloves and crack with the flat edge of your knife.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Rinse any evident debris from fresh herbs; place in heat-resistant mesh strainer. You do NOT need to cut the herbs or remove from stems; leave whole. Add garlic and nutmeg.<br />
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Place heavy cream in saucepan. Heat over very low heat, watching constantly to avoid scorching.<br />
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Place the herb-filled strainer in the cream, ensuring that the herbs are submersed . As the cream heats, it will be infused with the fresh herbs, filling your kitchen with heavenly aromas.<br />
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Once the cream heats, allow the infusion to continue for 5 to 10 minutes.<br />
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Life the strainer out of the saucepan. Allow all cream to drain back into the saucepan. What's nice about this method, as well, is you and your guests won't be picking herbs out of your teeth after dinner. All the flavor is there, but not the herbs, themselves. Add salt and pepper;stir.<br />
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Pour infused cream over potatoes. The potatoes will not be entirely covered, but you do want the level to be at half to three-quarters covering the potatoes.<br />
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Dot the top of the potatoes with butter pats and sprinkle with the Parmesan Cheese.<br />
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Place the baking dish in a preheated 350 degree oven for 45 minutes. You may need a little longer depending upon the thickness of your potatoes... sample tasting is allowed :o)<br />
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Remove from oven and allow the dish to sit for 15 minutes to allow the cream to complete thickening.<br />
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Serve with your favorite holiday meal... or for any occasion at all. It is truly delicious :o) xoxoAli T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-52079786535384774432011-12-18T18:45:00.000-08:002011-12-18T19:58:20.106-08:00The Countdown...What I've LearnedThis evening, I was looking over my drafts, trying to decide what topic I wanted to write about next. None of them appealed to me and I felt as though my heart wasn't really into writing today. I'm just having an "off" day, and despite being bored and moody, I just can't bring myself to get excited about posting another story. <br />
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So, instead of forcing myself through my writer's block, I decided to go peruse my MySpace account, which has been thoroughly ignored for almost a full year.<br />
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The MySpace profile format has changed and I found myself unfamiliar with where things were located. I saw the tab titled "blog" and thought it was funny that I never took the time to post some of my thoughts on there, yet I have over 50 posts on here...but, I clicked on the tab, and to my surprise, there was an entry I had written 3 years ago about a milestone that has a very real significance tonight; the very last night that I will be the mother of a teenager; Justin will be 20 tomorrow.<br />
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The post is outdated, but every word to my children came from my heart and rings true to this day.<br />
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December 7, 2008<br />
<br />
Many of you have known me for any length of time know that Jim and I have been blessed with four boys that have made our lives full and eventful, to say the least. <br />
For many years, we have had the ongoing "family joke" that each boy was on a monthly countdown until they were "of age" when, as parents, we no longer needed to worry about the repercussions of their lapses in judgement and enjoy some of the freedoms we were not able to experience as we had become parents at an exceptionally young age.<br />
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After 25+ years of having parental responsibilities, we are now at the final 12 month countdown, which causes me to reflect....<br />
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Each son has had to endure the dreadful countdown...occasional references to the countdown would sometimes be met with sighs of longing (from parents and son alike), while other times the reference would be met with frustration, mostly from the son - somewhat hurt at the anticipation of the pending cutting of the apron strings.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcvXoe7jb0-vnr2_8aXPlENnKJ5nwCGHG_Aq1NJ4yYjdwaxlKuWl5su3yxSl0pKNCWyyY6FXsqmDevK4wLU92sIMZMpubzRLDbjJcf867KN1BXQZit2CCfC_bueSWUuDiGs0JYZVprRpQ/s1600/Countdown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcvXoe7jb0-vnr2_8aXPlENnKJ5nwCGHG_Aq1NJ4yYjdwaxlKuWl5su3yxSl0pKNCWyyY6FXsqmDevK4wLU92sIMZMpubzRLDbjJcf867KN1BXQZit2CCfC_bueSWUuDiGs0JYZVprRpQ/s320/Countdown.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
James had his countdown first...he was the reason for starting the countdown! His was an expensive and a rather long countdown, lasting many, many, many months as he was our most challenging son. It's a miracle he even made it to his 18th birthday!...He has certainly gone through his struggles in his teens and early adult years, many of which I wasn't sure he would live through. Yet, he has managed to turn those personal struggles into triumphs and has become the man I knew him capable to be. He is becoming a strong and caring father and it gives me joy to see him experience his children's growth and milestones. James, know that you are loved.<br />
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Joshua had his countdown, too. When his countdown started, it had become more of a joke, a right of passage, but one that he didn't find amusing. The frequency of the references were fewer and further in between as Joshua was an easy child; quiet, caring, compassionate. But rather than waiting for that countdown to run it's course, he decided to strike out into the world early, experiencing bumps and bruises along the way. Though the memories of those life lessons are painful to him to this day, I know he's a stronger, better man for having survived them and learning how to stand tall and strong. He has made me proud - as a soldier, father, and husband. As he faces the challenges of parenthood, I hope he realizes that sometimes parents have to allow for those lessons to allow for growth, parents learn from them too,and the love a parent feels for their child never lessens....Joshua, know that you are loved.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUrkiK55-vVCQ0pturm3JTq65uaSf3oUk4aMOUN_CckWwCaahysP3qFsd8f7lQm1XnlzDaBcrXWP6S7ObxwY1J0P1cj8SvevOJMl0wYCslwbdvyagNICLljiqsfMN_UytcvXoR6ob0wFU/s1600/17137_1211453560638_1057732656_30513308_6824335_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUrkiK55-vVCQ0pturm3JTq65uaSf3oUk4aMOUN_CckWwCaahysP3qFsd8f7lQm1XnlzDaBcrXWP6S7ObxwY1J0P1cj8SvevOJMl0wYCslwbdvyagNICLljiqsfMN_UytcvXoR6ob0wFU/s320/17137_1211453560638_1057732656_30513308_6824335_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Jacob successfully reached his countdown without experiencing some of the pitfalls his brothers subjected themselves to. Running the course of his teen years, he occupied himself with school and extra-curricular activities which often did not lend themselves to my schedules or bank account...track meets scheduled during the workday, livestock competitions out of town...events I wished I could have been witness to, but hope you know that I was there with you in my heart. Your countdown kinda snuck up on me... you never really gave me too many reasons to look forward to your countdown...but you made it, and in true Jacob form, managed to get yourself into trouble 3 days after your 18th birthday....my, how you perplexed me! You are still discovering who you are and where you are destined to fit in this world. Yet, I know you to be wise beyond your years, philosophical beyond my understanding, and fully capable in discovering your way. I am proud of you. Jacob, know that you are loved.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAIISGEPrmQ2pB6A_U4fwEXhMyM23oqmvlBLHTb-6jz9tAHw4j8RrRGLwXJH_az4nqwWtCoJghH9a5egikuGGluSBdo3G76imz_DNi1aljO-65oeycWwfVaZH7JEvaIMwD6MNQbga0zg/s1600/17137_1232563008361_1057732656_30560962_6254805_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAIISGEPrmQ2pB6A_U4fwEXhMyM23oqmvlBLHTb-6jz9tAHw4j8RrRGLwXJH_az4nqwWtCoJghH9a5egikuGGluSBdo3G76imz_DNi1aljO-65oeycWwfVaZH7JEvaIMwD6MNQbga0zg/s320/17137_1232563008361_1057732656_30560962_6254805_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And then there's Justin. My last countdown victim! In two short weeks, Justin will reach the ever-treasured 12 month countdown. As your brothers before you, you are struggling in your own right for your freedom and independence, battling with the need to make your own decisions while still needing and wanting the security of those apron strings from time to time. This seems to be the point where I have had the most difficulty with all of your brothers, and you as well. Despite the fact that we clash and have our battles of will, please know that I value you and am proud of the strengths you possess; you compassion and willingness to help others, your tenacity, and ability to make me laugh. My tendency to be harder on you at this time in your life truly stems from my love and concern for you based on the knowledge that you are allowing yourself to fall into some of the same paths of self-destruction traveled by your brothers. You are capable of great things...if you would only believe in yourself as your father and I do. My hope is that you'll learn from the struggles your brothers endured and survived, choose the right path. Justin, know that you are loved.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsFg-uPy_-LAzAevwoeAhWGaM__N97eYY4hv9MKZSQGEi_gL2GukelvhYarA5VUHBqvx288EFD7M1_v5xkHkIbOa0Vd95Y8QU7WkL2z-KW-efAAHst_3wFO5h0YRyJnsZU5qLNL2VipO4/s1600/262301_243216059041045_100000579580805_940254_4925852_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsFg-uPy_-LAzAevwoeAhWGaM__N97eYY4hv9MKZSQGEi_gL2GukelvhYarA5VUHBqvx288EFD7M1_v5xkHkIbOa0Vd95Y8QU7WkL2z-KW-efAAHst_3wFO5h0YRyJnsZU5qLNL2VipO4/s320/262301_243216059041045_100000579580805_940254_4925852_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
My purpose for posting this blog is this: For many years I have longed for my own freedom, and now that it is upon me, I realize how truly lonely that freedom can be. This holiday season is the first in over 25 years where Jim and I have not had to focus on family and traditions, regardless of how untraditional they may have been - Thanksgiving dinner (steak and spaghetti) in the desert with our motorcycles, Christmas in the middle of nowhere in a motor home with a little wooden tree, personalized pumpkin pies, gift cards instead of presents for after Christmas shopping sales, jammies every year for Christmas Eve, Rocky Horror Picture Show on New Year's Eve with sparkling cider, special birthday dinners like mac-n-cheese and lasagna, driving cross country to visit family during the summer months collecting memories and bunnies along the way....<br />
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The prospect of not having the opportunity to make and preserve those memories hit me full force this year as I experienced my first Thanksgiving void of any of my children...free of any schedules or expectations only left me feeling empty and sad... and even though I had your father beside me, as I have for 27 years now, I truly felt alone and desired to be surrounded by those who truly are the foundation in my life - my boys.<br />
So, to my friends who have taken the time to read this, treasure the times you have with your children, take the time to make the memories and cherish them; love your children. Time is a thief, creeping up behind you and before you know it, your children move on, are having children of their own and you're left wondering where the time has gone and why you felt the need to count down the days until you had a little time for yourself.<br />
To my boys....there will be days when I truly want and will relish those quiet moments to myself. But know this! Those quiet times are often spent thinking of you and of how much I love you all and am truly blessed to have been your mother. I'll never be too busy for a hug or a kiss, or an "I love you". My destiny in life was to be your mother and you are all gifts from heaven. I had my shortcomings, as all parents do, but when I leave this world, I hope you know that you were loved.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZFmN7oF6QH0SkkZVrwGD8f0CGimhpNZci9yOEzDnpQdACMF6lZa09tnNYuAnVR9pXPjRv70QyrVn44I_PLvlp-BEp8WbcB6ssfs59QpYbRIqPwyPOfnKnUZKHmDZBlhS5VgC-IU0EGyY/s1600/15931_1167985913974_1057732656_30417095_59693_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZFmN7oF6QH0SkkZVrwGD8f0CGimhpNZci9yOEzDnpQdACMF6lZa09tnNYuAnVR9pXPjRv70QyrVn44I_PLvlp-BEp8WbcB6ssfs59QpYbRIqPwyPOfnKnUZKHmDZBlhS5VgC-IU0EGyY/s320/15931_1167985913974_1057732656_30417095_59693_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Always be confident in the fact that I love you all...always have, always will!<br />
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I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always<br />
As long as I'm living, My babies you'll be.<br />
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<3 MomAli T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-83658153377224071892011-12-17T01:25:00.000-08:002011-12-17T01:49:54.506-08:00Do Not Pass GO ....As we become more technologically advanced, we become more reliant on our smart devices to proof and auto-correct our typing / texting errors.<br />
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We've all seen the funny posts on social networks where supposed auto-correct changes a generally mundane conversation into R-rated or embarrassing moment.<br />
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<br />
I have always questioned the validity of these autocorrect slip-ups....until I experienced one first-hand, at the expense of a dear friend.<br />
<br />
She was to meet up with several friends whom she hadn't seen since her high school days. My friend had updated her facebook status to reflect just how nervous she was.<br />
<br />
Several of her friends, myself included, posted comments to her status assuring her that everything would be ok.<br />
<br />
"I know, I know" she said.<br />
"I'll feel better after a take a couple shits"<br />
<br />
"SHOTS SHOTS OMG I MEANT TO SAY SHOTS!!! STUPID PHONE!!!"<br />
<br />
So funny. We had quite a few laughs over that one.<br />
<br />
<br />
There have been times when I have benefited from an autocorrect or spellcheck assist. I've been spared some embarrassment.<br />
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But just when I needed it most, the function didn't apply.<br />
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I consider myself to be pretty crafty. I've been known to reclaim items...curb pick....<br />
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dumpster dive for items that someone no longer finds value in, re-purpose it, and give that item new life.<br />
<br />
One time in particular was when I was working for a large school district here in Southern California. The budget crunch was already hitting the school (not my current employer) and the need to become frugal and crafty was becoming more evident.<br />
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I would get my hands on anything ai could utilize; an ugly old metal cabinet would given new life with a coat of chalkboard paint...add a bucket of sidewalk chalk and we had a new bulletin board. It was great !!!<br />
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One day, the teacher in the next classroom was throwing away a pretty sad looking 3 ft square corkboard.<br />
I snatched the corkboard up and drug it into my classroom, much to the teacher's dismay ( btw... I was a Classroom Aide in a Special Eucation Classroom)<br />
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I assured the teacher that I would make something wonderful from this otherwise piece of trash.<br />
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My creative juices started flowing...<br />
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I paper mache'd the entire surface with red tissue paper....much like this, but minus the watermelon<br />
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I then affixed the game board from a long-ignored Monopoly Game...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEierP72zmTx0nh1GG7urfGaLLBsa-_bIl08-0VXerifRpBUDTf1Y8nhISjcCukJZsIqgGC2f_mw5UQemR3J21DwbLkm0v0j_RZBYXCbOGdrWEZwbSpRsL_t8tmM9bIifbT-TGyMJjNgMp0/s1600/board300x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEierP72zmTx0nh1GG7urfGaLLBsa-_bIl08-0VXerifRpBUDTf1Y8nhISjcCukJZsIqgGC2f_mw5UQemR3J21DwbLkm0v0j_RZBYXCbOGdrWEZwbSpRsL_t8tmM9bIifbT-TGyMJjNgMp0/s1600/board300x300.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I then glued all the property cards around the outside perimeter of the corkboard. I glued the little houses and hotels on the little squares...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZ3bFygoSnhu9TTop2i56UdysOJ4fpHRnwnq3MqedKmJt6Vqtb7ynhDEB-mA6VG-AkfKXX5081Lby-GWHKb_hFDNU8totqRyhQzHh4aSxFJSKnYuVRnyEzy8yrYJKgs6lL26RCPGb3kk/s1600/CON1333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZ3bFygoSnhu9TTop2i56UdysOJ4fpHRnwnq3MqedKmJt6Vqtb7ynhDEB-mA6VG-AkfKXX5081Lby-GWHKb_hFDNU8totqRyhQzHh4aSxFJSKnYuVRnyEzy8yrYJKgs6lL26RCPGb3kk/s320/CON1333.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I even came up with some fancy-schmancy checks with a made-up monetary values of the properties on the game board. I glued two "sample" checks to the board; one made out to Jane Doe, the other to John Q. Public.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpNKl-iHgp48qKq0PVPkl2CcB7IO6CEGpI5huVJt3Fh0LOQpOqJRkahogi8VLKfxIf7Kp_b-OSQ3AqPTJ-C90DW7SI_baPIBIdKxqxLiCCoi7CUlaorTtK6QykwqAIb3tFm5K0xEzuFKo/s1600/PP+Preprinted+Checks+Fan.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpNKl-iHgp48qKq0PVPkl2CcB7IO6CEGpI5huVJt3Fh0LOQpOqJRkahogi8VLKfxIf7Kp_b-OSQ3AqPTJ-C90DW7SI_baPIBIdKxqxLiCCoi7CUlaorTtK6QykwqAIb3tFm5K0xEzuFKo/s320/PP+Preprinted+Checks+Fan.gif" width="243" /></a></div><br />
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Game rules were established based on a student's attendance, completion of assignments, etc.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5VxBvbr62xa9bdi0Qs2gsgSJwP7LF6tVs1hR9e__z3lSHm1PtFKDjpn_l5yc32T1MUpBHIcgJVxvpxIBWnFEabyVCc5SrN20px9UBlU_uBIwPugQTJEDL8LJmfacaGJhxw8SzpnDL9Q/s1600/human-directionals-attendance_star.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5VxBvbr62xa9bdi0Qs2gsgSJwP7LF6tVs1hR9e__z3lSHm1PtFKDjpn_l5yc32T1MUpBHIcgJVxvpxIBWnFEabyVCc5SrN20px9UBlU_uBIwPugQTJEDL8LJmfacaGJhxw8SzpnDL9Q/s1600/human-directionals-attendance_star.jpg" /></a></div><br />
At the end of each week, the student could earn "rolls of the dice" and receive a check for the amount of the property where they landed. Community Chest earned the student an ice cream from the student store, while landing on Chance garnished a "Homework Pass", which was everyone's favorite.<br />
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The student's were excited about the game; everyone was eager to do their best to earn their chance to play.<br />
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As word got out about my game, teachers and administrators stopped by to get a run-down of how the game worked and measure it's success in motivating the students. Special Education teachers, General Educations teachers, Counselors, and even the Principal came by to learn about the game. All were equally impressed.<br />
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Then, one day, the district Senior Psychologist stopped by for a visit. I proudly showed him the game and explained the rules.<br />
<br />
He studied the board thoughtfully, then turned to me and said, "You know you forgot the "L" in PUBLIC<br />
<br />
He chuckled and simply walked away saying something about a Freudian slip...<br />
<br />
I was mortified to think that every educator in the school had read that and not said a word....even worse they hadn't noticed the typo. Sadder still was the fact that all of my student's had read the checks...repeatedly.<br />
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However.....<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm glad to see I'm not the only one making that mistake...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEK844Fmv-Cd7QAlkLF3ACxWK4NmryxO0XnV11VPxu9WD59BtxxAeXTg6WeQ2RuqmJ7MfsyC4xoqfOIZdb0bps9KeXfqXp_jaWobxvUK29jdXi86QgwJ-_LNqK-EHBIBM-8y1nTABqzLo/s1600/tumblr_l92ex3dbEn1qc8d8mo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEK844Fmv-Cd7QAlkLF3ACxWK4NmryxO0XnV11VPxu9WD59BtxxAeXTg6WeQ2RuqmJ7MfsyC4xoqfOIZdb0bps9KeXfqXp_jaWobxvUK29jdXi86QgwJ-_LNqK-EHBIBM-8y1nTABqzLo/s320/tumblr_l92ex3dbEn1qc8d8mo1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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What can I say, but, OH, SHOT!!!!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLnO-9O8o33oQBgttMw2APrMLcMNLfJNuOwxAxsehJvDPOMN4q_8gC_O86HQ7BqfWsrsix63mOUDCmWr6Neejeu_KIGdcIN6IZ24kEE4mmz_ehbtinroyRhE2aGV0gp3v3gYWIGIrtH6E/s1600/monopoly-guy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLnO-9O8o33oQBgttMw2APrMLcMNLfJNuOwxAxsehJvDPOMN4q_8gC_O86HQ7BqfWsrsix63mOUDCmWr6Neejeu_KIGdcIN6IZ24kEE4mmz_ehbtinroyRhE2aGV0gp3v3gYWIGIrtH6E/s320/monopoly-guy.gif" width="297" /></a></div>Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-71987802382278478412011-12-16T22:28:00.000-08:002011-12-17T13:19:00.207-08:00the woes of skinny dippingA few years ago, my husband and I went on a 2nd honeymoon to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary.<br />
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We considered several different destinations, Alaska, Fiji, Hawaii. But we finally decided on Jamaica.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxk3nUV4fSSxnWRqCD_6PtIkund_ROjUF7nfgRaq0VcAernHyaRLvwuPE4me4jENFrtjY9QlzKOWoe6Dgy6vJeqTEeYnCCwK4aF4MFdvVdY44_19WG-1T1AyczWcUkA3lLZ6h5HVitYmU/s1600/jamaica.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxk3nUV4fSSxnWRqCD_6PtIkund_ROjUF7nfgRaq0VcAernHyaRLvwuPE4me4jENFrtjY9QlzKOWoe6Dgy6vJeqTEeYnCCwK4aF4MFdvVdY44_19WG-1T1AyczWcUkA3lLZ6h5HVitYmU/s1600/jamaica.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Several friends and co-workers had recently been to Jamaica and had nothing but raving reviews about the beautiful Caribbean waters, the soft white sands of Negril, the welcoming Jamaican culture, the exotic food, the intoxicating rum...<br />
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and the skinny dipping...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzU50grZoaPDLHXddf2BGqY3-oG3Rwp91FDLla2tho6qBORrxnllu5Gv6eNslXA1JhLgX0QTTCrFCvBTEnrBt1O35_LDRswma1hexFKJFEEfN2EZ-_BqrXT2dvv8eKF2wujHLMb-8jHyA/s1600/jna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzU50grZoaPDLHXddf2BGqY3-oG3Rwp91FDLla2tho6qBORrxnllu5Gv6eNslXA1JhLgX0QTTCrFCvBTEnrBt1O35_LDRswma1hexFKJFEEfN2EZ-_BqrXT2dvv8eKF2wujHLMb-8jHyA/s320/jna.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jim & I skinny dipping in the warm Caribbean waters of Jamaica</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
When the thought of embarking on our first "grown up" trip without our children, we flirted with the idea of living a little outside our comfort zone... do something we normally wouldnt do....like skinny dipping.<br />
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Our rationale was that you only live once, and if we did happen to encounter anyone while going for a dip, it's not like we'd ever see them again, so who cares what they would think, right?<br />
<br />
Right.<br />
<br />
Maybe...(special shout out to all my Canadian and East Coast friends I met on that trip)<br />
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My husband and I perused the internet travel sites to review the various resorts along the 7 mile beach of Negril to check price and availability. Once we found the all-inclusive package that had all we were looking for, we clicked the reservation button and we were on Marley countdown.<br />
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We had been warned that the sun in Jamaica is a different kind of sun than we're used to here in Southern California. Jamaica is 18 degrees above the equator and fair-skinned visitors tend to burn easily. In preparation, we purchased an all-you-can-handle tanning package at the local spa.<br />
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Every day, we would go there after work, don funny little goggles and tanning lotion that was so expensive, we were sure the sparkles were made of real gold. We burned, we baked, on a daily basis so we would be able to face the Jamaican sun.<br />
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We arrived in Jamaica full of excitement for the new adventures that lie ahead. The heat and humidity were oppressive, and the only relief from the scorching sun was during the daily 15 minute monsoonal rainstorm every afternoon and at night..<br />
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After settling into our room on the first day, we changed into our suits, grabbed our towels and headed towards the beach... the nearly empty, completely secluded private beach. And despite being artificially bronzed, we grabbed our SPF 90, as well. <br />
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Our first day out in the warm, torquoise waters was something I will never forget. Not because of the clear, beautiful water, not because of the beautiful sea life I viewed while snorkeling. Not because it was the first time I stupidly braved a skinny dipping jaunt, but because I received the worst sunburn of my life!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvShlEfcehli-LnAWa1Od4HdvBXD4WRDuCve4yb4foHPrMwbg7jBYvvQNYMIfYpKCSHLzz9TCcu5q6oN-8ngK1hXfdX8YdbJIIAD83R9sF5v0ND3RSWL5ZTQh_YKt2Djwgj1QHOxES99U/s1600/red_butt_t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvShlEfcehli-LnAWa1Od4HdvBXD4WRDuCve4yb4foHPrMwbg7jBYvvQNYMIfYpKCSHLzz9TCcu5q6oN-8ngK1hXfdX8YdbJIIAD83R9sF5v0ND3RSWL5ZTQh_YKt2Djwgj1QHOxES99U/s200/red_butt_t.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Disclaimer ~ This is my butt.... no, really, it is. Yes I'm serious! This is my butt!! OK, OK ... so it's not my butt, but this is MY story, so if I want to say this is my butt, I will !!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> I had thoroughly burned my butt !!! When snorkling and skinny dipping are combined, one's ass WILL soak up the majority of those intense rays !!! It hurt to sit. It hurt to lie down. It hurt to .... well.... I just hurt. <br />
<br />
It especially hurt to wear panties !!! So, needless to say, the majority of my time was spent in a sundress, sans panties... I mean, who was gonna know, right?<br />
<br />
Right???<br />
<br />
In between more skinny dipping/sunburn excursions, rum punch libations, and jerk chicken feed-fests, Jim and I took part in the lunchtime organized group activities. On our 2nd or 3rd day there, I was fully engrossed in the lunchtime game which was a full contact game of Trivial Pursuit Jamaica. <br />
<br />
The object of this game was to answer simple trivia questions about Jamaica. The catch was that, if you thought you had the correct answer, you had to run through the dining room, down a set of steps onto the sunken dance floor, run across the dance floor, and be the first one into a chair where the Emcee, a cross dressing Jamaican by the name of Winston/Winstina, was waiting with a microphone and an always flamboyant,appropro comment . <br />
<br />
Correct answers were rewarded with a silver coin which could later be redeemed for a bottle of rum. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYZnExy4tcX47iTBBGaeIGAg4CJs5H7jLtzH5ybWPFXes-1rFRDLhJ5xX2aDJVHCglSfET0IVZyF5MGX8tMF1YDcyPdgTSCQPTN3NqMoV8Aw31Ao57gKMYUAE_-PpTP5KT00DzzonIbDU/s1600/rum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYZnExy4tcX47iTBBGaeIGAg4CJs5H7jLtzH5ybWPFXes-1rFRDLhJ5xX2aDJVHCglSfET0IVZyF5MGX8tMF1YDcyPdgTSCQPTN3NqMoV8Aw31Ao57gKMYUAE_-PpTP5KT00DzzonIbDU/s320/rum.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I was in a full-on battle between a girl from New York for those silver coins. We would both leap onto the dance floor, full sprint, and make a mad dash for that chair. <br />
<br />
Sometimes she would win the coin, sometimes I would. No matter who won the coin, Winston/Winstina has something to say. <br />
<br />
The last question was posed. I ran towards the chair. New York girl ran for the chair. I got there first! But, as I neared the chair, I lost my footing and fell... <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7pm0YhWWOEszB7XE2Oket8-MzQRa8wk34bQdL_R-6fVQi7tBblFV7r5gMn0mRZpyehZrg4fdDDClcD_gRIZkykjMLZky0xZDxkTF9_vQ8aPd_nrlRZq3uSTbd89HcvJ2HbDn5ldoMZxI/s1600/girl_falling_down_0515-1103-0322-3140_SMU.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7pm0YhWWOEszB7XE2Oket8-MzQRa8wk34bQdL_R-6fVQi7tBblFV7r5gMn0mRZpyehZrg4fdDDClcD_gRIZkykjMLZky0xZDxkTF9_vQ8aPd_nrlRZq3uSTbd89HcvJ2HbDn5ldoMZxI/s1600/girl_falling_down_0515-1103-0322-3140_SMU.jpg" /></a></div>... and I fell hard landing on my hands and knees!!!<br />
<br />
And when I landed on my hands and knees, my sundress flew up over my head exposing my bright, red, sunburned ass to everyone eating their lunch !!!!<br />
<br />
That would be embarrassing enough, right???<br />
<br />
But, let's remember who we're talking about... ME... so you know there's more to the story, right?<br />
<br />
Right.<br />
<br />
As soon as I landed (with a thud), I rolled over onto my sunburned ass to regain my composure and ascertain the level of my shame. Hmmmm...yes, everyone is laughing... Jim is mortified...and Winston is coming to my aide... <br />
<br />
or so I thought.<br />
<br />
As Winston stood next to me in his high heel stilettos, his eyes would divert to me sitting on the floor and something that had caught his attention to my right. I watched him look back and forth from me to the floor several times before I looked to my right.<br />
<br />
I looked.... and to my horror, I saw it...<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheciMj0zXMaCdiqFhFFCdt_1txk6KKHvg-I3q4vPOnMZa9MZy94dqRFslCXR62S23XnaqXGT20hhme9uFxt7hYmU27o-ftpB18sm00nwCCQiTB1uW-2qu2C1QCEQdatncqpy3L0bWdh5o/s1600/ugodog_pee_on_floor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheciMj0zXMaCdiqFhFFCdt_1txk6KKHvg-I3q4vPOnMZa9MZy94dqRFslCXR62S23XnaqXGT20hhme9uFxt7hYmU27o-ftpB18sm00nwCCQiTB1uW-2qu2C1QCEQdatncqpy3L0bWdh5o/s320/ugodog_pee_on_floor.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
There was a puddle of "something" on the floor where I had just landed!<br />
<br />
I quickly looked up at Winston, who now had his hand on his hip and was just shaking his head...<br />
<br />
"I didn't do that", I said<br />
<br />
"You sure?" Winston asked (into the microphone)<br />
<br />
"I didn't do that" I said again. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeAy4KPbSBmyE37w8ktGjUgZlRsobhagBNmlcQoBR2X0kFhyiKTc6h1SDdAbUjfhfvFr1vyHnXAynFttj2u1bGsYSQViD64Ik4OfnukOxxTtynNH6UOMY26pWBS8aTgaWAia2rGWJkuoQ/s1600/cartoon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeAy4KPbSBmyE37w8ktGjUgZlRsobhagBNmlcQoBR2X0kFhyiKTc6h1SDdAbUjfhfvFr1vyHnXAynFttj2u1bGsYSQViD64Ik4OfnukOxxTtynNH6UOMY26pWBS8aTgaWAia2rGWJkuoQ/s1600/cartoon.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Winston took the tip of his high heel shoe and distributed the little puddle to investigate.<br />
<br />
"Oh, no, Honey, that IS you! You pee-pee'd on my floor, Honey" (again, with the aide of his microphone)<br />
<br />
***Crickets***...followed by an even more uproarious laugh-fest<br />
<br />
Yes, I had fallen so hard that I literally sprayed pee out backwards between my thighs and onto the dance floor !!!!<br />
<br />
Having no easy escape, I do what I always do, and play it up to the hilt. <br />
<br />
I get to my feet... raise my arms in victory as I accept responsibility for the fact that that I had, indeed, pee'd on Winston's dance floor. Because, let's face it, I couldn't do that again if I tried! So I put it out there as being a pretty amazing feat of accomplishment!<br />
<br />
I waved to the crowd, answered the trivia question, claimed my silver coin, grabbed the microphone from Winston and loudly requested a clean-up for a wet spill on aisle 5.<br />
<br />
LMAO<br />
<br />
As I later tempered the sting of sunburn and embarrassment with a double rum punch, I contemplated whether I would ever skinny dip and risk sunburned buns again .....<br />
<br />
Hmmmmm..... depends<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHNmRLfP_WzaoBZmLV5pQlpUiVZboFW9e0BmOgkvrw2ZmcSTXOsfLKCFv_mUmOYlxoopwDkVoTGgs1nvRbE3G0tmngeh17mot7jmlfJ-tUg_1HctH8m3Z2ogtMWbdUiZB53qsz5lHp6k/s1600/depends-underwear-for-women-product-number-19758-kimberly-clark__70499_zoom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHNmRLfP_WzaoBZmLV5pQlpUiVZboFW9e0BmOgkvrw2ZmcSTXOsfLKCFv_mUmOYlxoopwDkVoTGgs1nvRbE3G0tmngeh17mot7jmlfJ-tUg_1HctH8m3Z2ogtMWbdUiZB53qsz5lHp6k/s320/depends-underwear-for-women-product-number-19758-kimberly-clark__70499_zoom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Until next time we meet, Winston...<br />
<br />
One LoveAli T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6436911169702381983.post-52667495237570573842011-12-16T20:30:00.000-08:002011-12-16T20:44:11.692-08:00Ho Ho Hose....Merry ChristmasAs we near the Christmas Season, I reflect back over some of my more memorable experiences celebrating the holidays. My own children are grown now, and are starting to contemplate the holiday traditions that they will begin to establish for their families. <br />
<br />
I have recounted my parenting holiday fails; including the time I boycotted Christmas only to wake up Christmas morning so riddled with guilt I arose before the boys to run out in search of gifts. Unfortunately, the only place open was the liquor store down the street.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAUrSVF5DueiqRVgM_MO-RwXbXOTdzzWMH5s7axr4hW7qdTwON9Y86ltv9Z_OuVDPNa0NITYxCudURHL7P_yo95wO7wyQZ_jDhAdyrWodv7txkRnqDVjFnjxq-2CqwGnmJ5MAhf2Hac8U/s1600/9501_nasty-liquor-store.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAUrSVF5DueiqRVgM_MO-RwXbXOTdzzWMH5s7axr4hW7qdTwON9Y86ltv9Z_OuVDPNa0NITYxCudURHL7P_yo95wO7wyQZ_jDhAdyrWodv7txkRnqDVjFnjxq-2CqwGnmJ5MAhf2Hac8U/s320/9501_nasty-liquor-store.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> My children got gum and candy bars and lotto tickets for Christmas that year. Of course, we braved the after Christmas sales the next day, but the damage had already been done. <br />
<br />
Another Christmas was spent out of town with family. The attempt to have a wholesome Christmas was lost when the Bart Simpson Automatic Toothbrush with Built-In Timer came to life in it's wrapping under the tree. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGr_4PTUR5ObtWLi5UcUC0oM2CD4cFMPqXuRVahHxaxJlB4MmzJCnpB18tq6zjvLMyNS1M8WS3NvwbkzWUZNaMDFQ2lcQHgihJPIRY5kpMqt6thdiQPUVI0Kz5gRknXMoiIiUCSxxG0s/s1600/bart.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGr_4PTUR5ObtWLi5UcUC0oM2CD4cFMPqXuRVahHxaxJlB4MmzJCnpB18tq6zjvLMyNS1M8WS3NvwbkzWUZNaMDFQ2lcQHgihJPIRY5kpMqt6thdiQPUVI0Kz5gRknXMoiIiUCSxxG0s/s320/bart.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>As I struggled to get the lively present out of it's box for my anxious chilren, my father-in-law popped off with the obvious question: "What is that? Did you get a vibrator for Christmas?"<br />
<br />
Seriously??? Surrounded by your grandchildren, THAT is the memory you create???<br />
<br />
But, one of the most memorable holiday snaffus was the Company Christmas Party of 1989. <br />
I was a mere 22 years of age, married, with three babies at home. An opportunity to socialize with ANYONE whose main focus of life was something other than Sesame Street or Barney was highly desired. <br />
<br />
I remember being a bit apprehensive about going to the party as I didn't have anything appropriate to wear. As any good husband would do, Jim was sensitive to my feelings and took me out to buy something festive. I had two retail options: KMart or Miller's Outpost. Despite being painfully broke, off to Miller's we went. <br />
<br />
I selected a pair of soft pink corduroy pants and a pink holiday sweater. I looked......."festive"<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2yAzNxeaT0Jrm3IM2Rpy_79lZ8JezEzDAOUgYThqA8gAB28631S5-rg7DaY5gEXanFgCjrPm1V9Egv0vUlDzYF3rMAT1NMIzYENZZxHgxN9tTGDKOW_T3-OeDaHZE27P-rHUYIxOvzrU/s1600/gal_ralph_bunny_suit2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2yAzNxeaT0Jrm3IM2Rpy_79lZ8JezEzDAOUgYThqA8gAB28631S5-rg7DaY5gEXanFgCjrPm1V9Egv0vUlDzYF3rMAT1NMIzYENZZxHgxN9tTGDKOW_T3-OeDaHZE27P-rHUYIxOvzrU/s320/gal_ralph_bunny_suit2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
After our purchase, we returned home where I wanted to model my outfit for Jim. I wriggled into a pair of control top panty hose so as to tuck in my mommy tummy, eliminate panty lines, and affort comfort in my high heels. Next came the pants and my sweater, and my stilettos . I modeled my attire for my husband, so thankful that I was going to be presentable to his coworkers. <br />
<br />
I slipped out of my clothes and carefully hung everything up in the closet in preparation for the party the following night. <br />
<br />
The next evening, as the time for the party neared and the babysitter had the kids all settled in front of the TV, I began to get ready. <br />
<br />
Hair ....check<br />
Make-Up .... check<br />
Fresh pair of panty hose.... check<br />
Corduroys and sweater...check<br />
Sexy pumps ... check<br />
<br />
And away we go.... over the river and through the woods to the company party we go!!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGLw3GM5GRR9r0VteAUsMM_rcxgt0q6Ym5T2iQA2UEG6ajrXNG18jeXt6HHaHdRGazms9qt5bihNft10R1qSnJuvsw7xlx2n8IDokS_1DkcmuCNoJA-qfJ97xhXpdguOGmZf4I25oEss/s1600/party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGLw3GM5GRR9r0VteAUsMM_rcxgt0q6Ym5T2iQA2UEG6ajrXNG18jeXt6HHaHdRGazms9qt5bihNft10R1qSnJuvsw7xlx2n8IDokS_1DkcmuCNoJA-qfJ97xhXpdguOGmZf4I25oEss/s320/party.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We greet my husband's co-workers, some who are old friends, some who are new and begin to have a great evening out. The drinks are flowing and the music is playing and it doesn't take long before I can't resist the urge to shake my booty on the dance floor!!!<br />
<br />
Now, Jim's not one for dancing, so chances of dragging him out there with me are slim to none. But, I soon find a willing victim by the name of Mike and we trip the lights fantastic!!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOQuezS5cM8dy-oQ1wG31PulgqDWqhYdJMw7SMfBgKXfGBHCCL5QlBzuZRA6nOQ87I_dNvrBJpswtyUgfjIzHCHkt916JiU0XQhEG1WoeMTUNr1qPbZCnCilbe7UqavbzXylMQ0QiPYa4/s1600/john-travolta-saturday-night-fever%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOQuezS5cM8dy-oQ1wG31PulgqDWqhYdJMw7SMfBgKXfGBHCCL5QlBzuZRA6nOQ87I_dNvrBJpswtyUgfjIzHCHkt916JiU0XQhEG1WoeMTUNr1qPbZCnCilbe7UqavbzXylMQ0QiPYa4/s1600/john-travolta-saturday-night-fever%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div>Somewhere between my rendition of Funky Town and Soul Train, Mike looks down at the dance floor, points and says," What in the hell is that coming out of your pants leg???"<br />
<br />
I slowly stop mid-hustle, look down .... and see....<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDDLfekhd_ypEdAvYM9WmDysjPF64y0fn0C-JlPNzLWnhYVsu2moAvXv16jfFMrSIHuN4hhCy7JOMT9LIFUM5N0rx8a2JiR1lNnTIHyPrb2UyywhJkVD5dnfJDATneB6UB-3lmd-dbU-I/s320/stockings1.jpg" width="310" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">ACKKKKK !!!!!!! THE PANTYHOSE I HAD TRIED ON THE NIGHT BEFORE PLAYING</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> PEEK-A-BOO OUT OF MY PANTS LEG !!!!</div><br />
Like a B-Movie flashback, I recalled slipping out of the cords and pantyhose simutaneously the night before...and I didn't remove the nylons ...when I couldnt find them, I opened up a new pair. I was smuggling an extra pair of nylons in my pants!!!<br />
<br />
The prior pantyhose were slowly shimmying out of my pants leg as I danced and were now 6 inches exposed on the floor. <br />
<br />
Now, I had two options: <br />
<br />
1. Skamper off the dance floor, mortified, making a bee-line for the ladies room to cry,<br />
<br />
OR<br />
<br />
2. Hike my leg up on Mike's thigh, and shake my groove thing while Mike pulls and tugs on those pantyhose until they are finally set free, at which point he swings them over his head whoopin' and a hollerin' like a Cherokee with a fresh scalp !!! <br />
<br />
I'll let you determine which option I went with.....LMPO (Laughing my pantyhose off)<br />
<br />
Happy Holidays, My Dearies....<br />
<br />
and remember ...<br />
<br />
"The person who knows how to laugh at himself will never cease to be amused."<br />
~Shirley MacLane<br />
<br />
(somehow, I feel that Shirley must know me... maybe from another life...)Ali T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08434564496662189963noreply@blogger.com2