tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24636334281739672342024-03-17T22:04:26.119-05:00 Midlife Roadtripper Musings from a 60-something midlife road tripper. Join the ride.Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.comBlogger247125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-8328430886006227832024-03-06T14:58:00.003-06:002024-03-06T15:43:35.365-06:00Gender Rules<ol class="comp mntl-sc-block beauty-sc-block-html mntl-sc-block-html" id="mntl-sc-block_1-0-20" style="background-position: 0px 0px; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; color: #222222; counter-reset: section 0; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; list-style: none; margin: 0px 0px 1.75rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><li style="background-position: 0px 0px; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; counter-increment: counter 1; font-size: 1.125rem; line-height: 1.7; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 2rem; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>"Look, in my opinion, the best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you. The right person is still going to think the sun shines out of your ass." —Mac MacGuff in <span style="background-position: 0px 0px; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Juno</span></b></i></li><li style="background-position: 0px 0px; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; counter-increment: counter 1; font-size: 1.125rem; line-height: 1.7; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 2rem; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></li><li style="background-position: 0px 0px; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; counter-increment: counter 1; font-size: 1.125rem; line-height: 1.7; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 2rem; vertical-align: baseline;">Tongue in cheek post. Tongue in cheek. </li></ol><p>My husband and I both just returned from vacations. Separate ones. He attended a stag party, as they used to call them. Eighty men gathering for a week of golf in the desert of Nevada and Arizona. Me? A Hen Party, as some people (not me) say. Twenty-five women on a humanitarian trip to Cuba. </p><p>We both came home different than we left. Me, touched by the resiliant Cuban people in a way I'm still trying to understand and a need for my introverted self to recover from the women chatter. Him -- trophy in hand and testosterone exuding like microwaves from his week of manly talk and camaraderie in a male world. Men. </p><p>I certainly do appreciate that we have these opportunities, but I'm always amazed as I watch my husband. And wonder who the hell this person is when he returns from one of these junkets. It doesn't take long to get him back in shape. I usually listen and rather than going on the attack about male chauvinism and other BS, wait for him to meld back into reality, before joking about the stag mentality that accompanies his return. </p><p>A few months ago, I had a long discussion with a friend of mine, who is gay, about gender roles. We had just been with several other women friends and one was speaking of how now that her son is marrying, she's had to give up the key to his house, upon request. I'd then talked about the differences of being a boy mom as opposed to a girl mom when our children marry. You might know the old sayings about the mother of the groom. </p><p><i>Wear beige and keep your mouth shut unless to say, "Oh my, what a lovely idea." </i></p><p>How hard it is as the girl mom can call whenever and often and has more of an easy in. The boy mom must tread lightly on the couple's life. That where having sons is such an incredible joy, it is heartbreak when we must let them go as they approach adulthood. They love us, but if we don't let them go, they will not be able to have a successful relationship with their chosen love. </p><p>My gay friend took issue with this asking if it has to be that way or if in today's world, we can change those gender roles. </p><p>Hmmm. </p><p>My women's group that I traveled to Cuba with was an eclectic mix of women. Some were moms, some not. Some married. Some never. Some not. Some had stay-at-home mom stints. Some long-term caregivers. Successful careers. </p><p>We were journalists, lawyers, physicians, nurses, teachers, engineers, editors, writers, real estate brokers, social workers, film makers and I don't know all as I never was never able to sit next to all 25 of them at lunch or dinner and hear their stories. </p><p>We were all curious women on an humanitarian adventure to a forbidden land. Which meant the conversations were rich. Discussions of current events, politics, socialism, literacy, poverty, music, dancing, books, children, The future. We learned massive amounts of history, rode in old cars, learned how to salsa dance and make a really good mojito.The essentials while we shared the gifts we brought for the needy people of Cuba. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLEqYJplAzN-70z9_IniLaT0UYmChZzW1Lw5QbZibszQVp-GXAMOovyVoH7YgXdEUEher-NzCeUduWpfJqKfahR9LoDwFyP4G179l9ecJSbKQEqPyeiLLm1c8aC8YAZlrtxZQdtCiCD7oymirf8iOCUkbKyEro6CIyZDfZ_-flYK2xzj7uaz20Ilp4oLND/s4032/IMG_1041.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLEqYJplAzN-70z9_IniLaT0UYmChZzW1Lw5QbZibszQVp-GXAMOovyVoH7YgXdEUEher-NzCeUduWpfJqKfahR9LoDwFyP4G179l9ecJSbKQEqPyeiLLm1c8aC8YAZlrtxZQdtCiCD7oymirf8iOCUkbKyEro6CIyZDfZ_-flYK2xzj7uaz20Ilp4oLND/w400-h300/IMG_1041.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Conversation flowed. Never ebbing. Never ending to a point where toward the end, I needed to retreat, as did a couple others of my tribe. Overwhelmed by the depth. Needing time to absorb all that was presented. The chatter eventually too much for this introverted/extrovert. Quiet and contemplation required before diving in again.</p><p>Now, I was not privvy to the conversations that went on at my husband's venue. However, having had three brothers and no sisters, three sons and no daughters, I have a pretty good idea as to the depth. My husband said the weather was perfect. He took 2nd place in the Old Geezer flight. My oldest son took first in his. They ate poorly, all the stuff they weren't supposed to eat. Took naps. Some gambled a little. Some a lot. Some not at all. I received thorough descriptions of the golf courses played. The best holes and the worst. You know, all the important stuff. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Tt-Gt2cBSXzoTt6f_0R1ugBQhIF1rlVi-EbW6iyVg8Bo7vRleG8qd1yD6ZQgbRWXseB4SceXeS9hhR5SZVWDAtgjSUF3Yl9v5bkh1InsWaleiFgjimFkD3vB5x4EzHKN11Eig-e7koFEA-vHOb7vUiM5m2caQ4zyWKdryZ5gM5H_xetV4OhQw2wBcMNl/s3024/IMG_0554.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="2842" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Tt-Gt2cBSXzoTt6f_0R1ugBQhIF1rlVi-EbW6iyVg8Bo7vRleG8qd1yD6ZQgbRWXseB4SceXeS9hhR5SZVWDAtgjSUF3Yl9v5bkh1InsWaleiFgjimFkD3vB5x4EzHKN11Eig-e7koFEA-vHOb7vUiM5m2caQ4zyWKdryZ5gM5H_xetV4OhQw2wBcMNl/w376-h400/IMG_0554.jpeg" width="376" /></a></div><p>I asked what they talked about at dinner or whenever? A puzzled look returned. </p><p>"The usual stuff. You know." </p><p>Yeah. I know. </p><p>I do wish my gay friend, who challenged the gender norms in our discussion, could have been there when this husband of mine, whom she has met several times and likes, came through the door, exhuberant in the waves of testosterone emanating from him. Tell me how you change that! </p><p>In the end, he had his fun. I had my fun. </p><p>We are home. He fixed the garbage disposal. I made dinner. All is well. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-3090633371870060902022-08-08T12:37:00.004-05:002022-08-08T14:25:35.584-05:00Rest<p><i><b>And then they went home.</b></i></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b>Julie Sucha Anderson</b></i></span></p><p>A few weeks ago, we had an invasion of family. Four of our five adult kids and all four grandchildren. A week of constant activity. </p><p>When they all drove away on Sunday, I poured a drink. It was 10:45 in the morning. With my husband sequestered downstairs taking a golf nap in front of the TV, I sat in my blue chair and listened to my library book while playing some stupid puzzle game on my phone. </p><p>A few hours after that, my husband and I met on the dock. Exhausted. Where I long ago handled three children with organized deft, every day, all day long, it's now much harder at almost 66 to muster the same vigor and strength. </p><p>Even though I love, love, love having my grandchildren and children around, it wears my old ass out. </p><p>I should learn from my neighbors, who have 10 grandchildren and accompanying parents. They only invite them all out for one day--and then they go home. Let it be said that all of theirs live within an hour and a half. A day trip is much more possible. </p><p>They also have a rule where only two grandchildren (all well out of diapers) can come and stay for an extended period of time -- like twenty-four hours. </p><p>Me? Probably wouldn't work. I'm a glutton for gathering. For seeing all of mine sitting at my table. A crazy chase of children, toys strewn about the room, art supplies on the table, water and milk and juice cups misplaced in a colorful array about the cabin. For all of us crammed into the boat for a ride that puts several of them to sleep. </p><p>Like I said. A glutton.</p><p>It is quiet here now. After that Sunday, where I cracked that Ranch Water at 10:45 in the morning, Monday brought a small burst of energy. Our upstairs is a big room encompassing the living room, kitchen, dance floor, and dining room. For months I've needed to wash the laminate floor with something more than an occasional swipe. Travel, sleeping here, sleeping there, and more travel have not left an open window for such work. Besides, I've never enjoyed cleaning.</p><p>With the floor task complete, I blew the dust from the book shelves and end tables, replacing the numerous knickknacks to their rightful places after sending them to higher heights in escape from curious little hands. </p><p>A return to normal. One where I sit. Although I miss the little bodies squeezed in beside me while reading a book (or playing PBSKids online when a restful repose is necessary) I'm enjoying the quiet. The organized chaos as opposed to the boisterous, liveliness of a houseful of active children. </p><p>When I raised my kids, I gave it my all. They sucked out every brain cell I had. Could be why I'm a more relaxed grandma. Why I can handle the mayhem while it's raging. Also why I'm grateful when it's over, while I yearn for their return.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKreJPs2MqjUI01z3rOfBUv-nfGd9y4NIQbaXizVjH1H086a6RKc8nfhQwWDy8y--znFgJ4x0t98YZwrxYFn5U1-5E2vyyj1JLzhY6ldiJyTsmNsmvlZm259JKngN1USdpYja_U0fQrIJJwkHHakqwUGsYHYdbgjYYTJlrtBfeibJ6feso9v0suHUUuw/s4032/IMG_2941.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKreJPs2MqjUI01z3rOfBUv-nfGd9y4NIQbaXizVjH1H086a6RKc8nfhQwWDy8y--znFgJ4x0t98YZwrxYFn5U1-5E2vyyj1JLzhY6ldiJyTsmNsmvlZm259JKngN1USdpYja_U0fQrIJJwkHHakqwUGsYHYdbgjYYTJlrtBfeibJ6feso9v0suHUUuw/w400-h300/IMG_2941.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Respective flags.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2uKXIAVbY7z4cy1YIlCam9Kp0LzqgGXdiBXKlQjvkq-0Rfg069Si5aCndZQTsc0Yd5DMlxy-dED4xO0qD88kJZ1LOXJLImbZjKYuWF5W2iK4b3s67e-BifHxQKpChxsbNTGJ88m8kb68zqSHm9vLfx1B3qLnmVwG4CFTyrS-ki7-Sz3CbBTnsP9fZw/s4032/IMG_1057.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2uKXIAVbY7z4cy1YIlCam9Kp0LzqgGXdiBXKlQjvkq-0Rfg069Si5aCndZQTsc0Yd5DMlxy-dED4xO0qD88kJZ1LOXJLImbZjKYuWF5W2iK4b3s67e-BifHxQKpChxsbNTGJ88m8kb68zqSHm9vLfx1B3qLnmVwG4CFTyrS-ki7-Sz3CbBTnsP9fZw/w400-h300/IMG_1057.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manicures by Bob</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBV4e5lhOx8UUB9OL0aBOSLPIC035nmkxvVuS_VqPdOfKTVjY8C2uV7a7JjvOEV0RPjNFP6ojPr_HRzZX-ex9YYTDLN1b5sUVtgqBayvgfUehj1M3VNsoixwBYRA7Ka3E3rvVUPiN6Gptz5pN_vQaIhf2_APNDfYcDA76XW-t5V1AEWD4Bn-Ixd0-j6w/s4032/IMG_2848.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBV4e5lhOx8UUB9OL0aBOSLPIC035nmkxvVuS_VqPdOfKTVjY8C2uV7a7JjvOEV0RPjNFP6ojPr_HRzZX-ex9YYTDLN1b5sUVtgqBayvgfUehj1M3VNsoixwBYRA7Ka3E3rvVUPiN6Gptz5pN_vQaIhf2_APNDfYcDA76XW-t5V1AEWD4Bn-Ixd0-j6w/w400-h300/IMG_2848.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Restful Repose</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_gGP7rOCW1oSQZu8GR8HQrRtK0AQZJfXAthQZ_JwBknC1lgH0tra7_Noqpj7h8Qb_Y6UryWeiaSCRRoibuplZflUeTFOM2o-x2yhcQuUoDgVUH2Bt7-QExkGqmp3GpV3Hd4ae32OSqwQ5M2vN3JAeho6qx9sub5nh-RSuXrvCgZCysIj3kYj7YbkCA/s4032/IMG_2862.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_gGP7rOCW1oSQZu8GR8HQrRtK0AQZJfXAthQZ_JwBknC1lgH0tra7_Noqpj7h8Qb_Y6UryWeiaSCRRoibuplZflUeTFOM2o-x2yhcQuUoDgVUH2Bt7-QExkGqmp3GpV3Hd4ae32OSqwQ5M2vN3JAeho6qx9sub5nh-RSuXrvCgZCysIj3kYj7YbkCA/w300-h400/IMG_2862.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2FecjVDpOkCy2IMqkPmHqTwpfixLpaPj8Eu-vocDKuNq6AH8C_wXKWHEzH5h3uC6yiengeMcn4UJ71VcheNRA6Z9aX7kywtnPYLbdk4UjAWQfYVG6AeeXHJh18meEkCkn_dPEQ2dIfy_Nl9rFa9Cl7uxjZlzK9RyFpUZeRBNMvawZzIvPIj2c64PFQ/s4032/IMG_2865.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2FecjVDpOkCy2IMqkPmHqTwpfixLpaPj8Eu-vocDKuNq6AH8C_wXKWHEzH5h3uC6yiengeMcn4UJ71VcheNRA6Z9aX7kywtnPYLbdk4UjAWQfYVG6AeeXHJh18meEkCkn_dPEQ2dIfy_Nl9rFa9Cl7uxjZlzK9RyFpUZeRBNMvawZzIvPIj2c64PFQ/w300-h400/IMG_2865.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My turn!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZY9JdpnfGp_dCIO4YT0prtMbOnP1mSg5YWW5QTbj29UMtqSnq2U00pRLtMTySEI3IJEi2HGGoGIyCkxJrAxpb2qOnNc4Q0f_Uj7KLowpdGtF6EGIUgSkyM3a_TnqKgBCzSeEDaYvapMUbgt7QqaRG_QVjJxrIzD0BiqQQbivBvPynebD8Pmrn-eiEDA/s4032/IMG_2887.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZY9JdpnfGp_dCIO4YT0prtMbOnP1mSg5YWW5QTbj29UMtqSnq2U00pRLtMTySEI3IJEi2HGGoGIyCkxJrAxpb2qOnNc4Q0f_Uj7KLowpdGtF6EGIUgSkyM3a_TnqKgBCzSeEDaYvapMUbgt7QqaRG_QVjJxrIzD0BiqQQbivBvPynebD8Pmrn-eiEDA/w400-h300/IMG_2887.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXo3h2wM05CAYn3rlGAPZtcsCMg0rVy63Gh1ZcGIWpWUr3EYCpdGi3vQdHlSLTJjQI65LkWiDWlhQXIWKrtWxCIwDXWoqHUYwb7j0nOd7gmBhXZ4bsoWJwljRBWgC6vB5ASPi1RsJxgSI943aBGgLNxQxLiDcM4PpyE6cB3cfWAFhm9MtFDniXiTeDlQ/s4032/IMG_2890.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXo3h2wM05CAYn3rlGAPZtcsCMg0rVy63Gh1ZcGIWpWUr3EYCpdGi3vQdHlSLTJjQI65LkWiDWlhQXIWKrtWxCIwDXWoqHUYwb7j0nOd7gmBhXZ4bsoWJwljRBWgC6vB5ASPi1RsJxgSI943aBGgLNxQxLiDcM4PpyE6cB3cfWAFhm9MtFDniXiTeDlQ/w251-h320/IMG_2890.jpeg" width="251" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2L_jHWWFPryCC1XEJy0UFtaQfVTIeqEBaZU4iteo-vifuPfuYg78IE_PyPne8fyNeenk7KUfuXepPf_9G83x2WXELiWpzIiUT_WCAsMn6JYNxIee5OkrOvuouH7DLXQQTSgeSfaTeMrb_m3-gD0KlnU1tNWyPWNr8uOxDBu7va62sLzCocwcyPKHaQ/s4032/IMG_2907.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2L_jHWWFPryCC1XEJy0UFtaQfVTIeqEBaZU4iteo-vifuPfuYg78IE_PyPne8fyNeenk7KUfuXepPf_9G83x2WXELiWpzIiUT_WCAsMn6JYNxIee5OkrOvuouH7DLXQQTSgeSfaTeMrb_m3-gD0KlnU1tNWyPWNr8uOxDBu7va62sLzCocwcyPKHaQ/w300-h400/IMG_2907.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZCTzJgSKnymXvXUE8k3-2ExF-GEdQ9SbqpIdymNCycWPiEhb71OEBrY4-7Ss1mcqnqd-sAc9ekUV_CbUgEA-uo1EZZna1I24EStxV0jtBMYsPtmC9TgKvGnNP8D045HFb4Dd6DNMYQEbDFssPUtKXWcEIAhj7P-SoW3q14vkIwtA5ebgcWGZRznmhQ/s4032/IMG_2923.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZCTzJgSKnymXvXUE8k3-2ExF-GEdQ9SbqpIdymNCycWPiEhb71OEBrY4-7Ss1mcqnqd-sAc9ekUV_CbUgEA-uo1EZZna1I24EStxV0jtBMYsPtmC9TgKvGnNP8D045HFb4Dd6DNMYQEbDFssPUtKXWcEIAhj7P-SoW3q14vkIwtA5ebgcWGZRznmhQ/w400-h300/IMG_2923.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLWI9v8fDs-oMuz5caKATmfiWtbYhapAynbYuGGKJnbNyRWwYgNdF1sdNfGk_ZDHBLWopNU1kBSLnINaLUwOTON9eEGzmIEFOOi292emldG9q4K_7SPiG6yDVtb0xrEVhoYIooAmISQEL3ZZYAfXPxRZURy2acj9bwMGKew_rPckpnVmAewXkAxua3eg/s4032/IMG_2936.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLWI9v8fDs-oMuz5caKATmfiWtbYhapAynbYuGGKJnbNyRWwYgNdF1sdNfGk_ZDHBLWopNU1kBSLnINaLUwOTON9eEGzmIEFOOi292emldG9q4K_7SPiG6yDVtb0xrEVhoYIooAmISQEL3ZZYAfXPxRZURy2acj9bwMGKew_rPckpnVmAewXkAxua3eg/w382-h287/IMG_2936.jpeg" width="382" /></a></div><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL51-KKkpPjSanxhc8zOFJ1mGekuCE8JLdm4onm-Fl5O1CMv9zwRw_jakfKD5t8jDOWnEkoKclFIy8p3TOMsfhfSEyoFkkunSmwVxnSxqfSAmAP5ryDIAhXMOXjGcaixEt0t6cbcOzvEbdi0r2OGnHdWiGMmwo_Y-Qm-ubnymkLrd9FB2-QlyFh-waeQ/s4032/IMG_2946.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL51-KKkpPjSanxhc8zOFJ1mGekuCE8JLdm4onm-Fl5O1CMv9zwRw_jakfKD5t8jDOWnEkoKclFIy8p3TOMsfhfSEyoFkkunSmwVxnSxqfSAmAP5ryDIAhXMOXjGcaixEt0t6cbcOzvEbdi0r2OGnHdWiGMmwo_Y-Qm-ubnymkLrd9FB2-QlyFh-waeQ/w400-h300/IMG_2946.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what you get, BamaChef, for not being here. We missed you. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcLsJg1CjdgWr0NrJYAFCDAVRAgKeu_weDzEF-HohUJ-JHfzGbPbZB95iQFbysMhtpJ_xAmFbObLUX1_HG7_rP7kd1sk4ggLu9mg3BNLFiu4K7scltqwF4d3EWHZUZXUluZCbX4cR1zf8htu06KFZQgdC7r5lCu_LIq2vD0zPkdOuOvjKE2xq81ZvuPA/s4032/IMG_2951.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcLsJg1CjdgWr0NrJYAFCDAVRAgKeu_weDzEF-HohUJ-JHfzGbPbZB95iQFbysMhtpJ_xAmFbObLUX1_HG7_rP7kd1sk4ggLu9mg3BNLFiu4K7scltqwF4d3EWHZUZXUluZCbX4cR1zf8htu06KFZQgdC7r5lCu_LIq2vD0zPkdOuOvjKE2xq81ZvuPA/w300-h400/IMG_2951.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost one. Little Parks.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYyaigb8-yAm-ErSI109H3xMwhvlAwlXJKpseG8RTLP7JVY_IatFuEdMTZzT_14lppI6ez1z0aCO8tm1BlPXploUmbwQLiuA5EScXg9cj6IpOTVUET_a5yYqDO534Z1c3GTOUSiGwdLKT4rUaPbZ1qjj25vUvUmOllFsDEmJDGt6v0GocVuQi0xUiSA/s4032/IMG_2998.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYyaigb8-yAm-ErSI109H3xMwhvlAwlXJKpseG8RTLP7JVY_IatFuEdMTZzT_14lppI6ez1z0aCO8tm1BlPXploUmbwQLiuA5EScXg9cj6IpOTVUET_a5yYqDO534Z1c3GTOUSiGwdLKT4rUaPbZ1qjj25vUvUmOllFsDEmJDGt6v0GocVuQi0xUiSA/w400-h300/IMG_2998.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes you just need to sit with Grandpa and observe.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-R2hu1GVGh0RiuzF63mg6KvBmk1UWtr768ICSPXWIEuwPrq1-AvRTAB7ZVyl5GdIV31-vATXfoF40Ohc4KVESQ6WurQZFdIO2NGF_eNxNPBQVpi0R4-nBjkmqhZ8yzDr_4LB1PQ7e_cms_4Lpc4K6VPrP04n_SOPv974wRMnk9SPjTKxAwMWIH-ktWg/s4032/IMG_6717.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-R2hu1GVGh0RiuzF63mg6KvBmk1UWtr768ICSPXWIEuwPrq1-AvRTAB7ZVyl5GdIV31-vATXfoF40Ohc4KVESQ6WurQZFdIO2NGF_eNxNPBQVpi0R4-nBjkmqhZ8yzDr_4LB1PQ7e_cms_4Lpc4K6VPrP04n_SOPv974wRMnk9SPjTKxAwMWIH-ktWg/w400-h300/IMG_6717.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't empty the whole bucket at once.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRUuE5jp6epUWwWI_iMpAxDMhNQMScuXz8I8EhQoIjDtjX2ZKK2IfhAzmA_xG23OzXn2TVtqbjOjw17zW4fycdMJRKAJFE2UeLwMkUoObPJHDtt6bJVsAxTIs2pFAUHu1iXWj09LYoDy2Z5G6PvUO7Be2ujNrKIebsbYcuYbqN8SGfROOubz_sBmvDpA/s4032/IMG_2959.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRUuE5jp6epUWwWI_iMpAxDMhNQMScuXz8I8EhQoIjDtjX2ZKK2IfhAzmA_xG23OzXn2TVtqbjOjw17zW4fycdMJRKAJFE2UeLwMkUoObPJHDtt6bJVsAxTIs2pFAUHu1iXWj09LYoDy2Z5G6PvUO7Be2ujNrKIebsbYcuYbqN8SGfROOubz_sBmvDpA/w400-h300/IMG_2959.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Full boat.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw9BwaVQ4saMfmIBLMd2rU7vJWdFoAGzf08fdwREy_3yvN3hHX_N0oihevdo6qp5-KURBHgchLolmoJ1sKrGcbug8VPMQG2Nn-yvKZDfwD0179-5Qj0QSF0zNI2UVg6otNgs1nlIEyzF6bS3VkwmcgpcToJWTmvCTqYxakR8u9ZrbMLFXCud5ApiaKgg/s4032/IMG_2913.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw9BwaVQ4saMfmIBLMd2rU7vJWdFoAGzf08fdwREy_3yvN3hHX_N0oihevdo6qp5-KURBHgchLolmoJ1sKrGcbug8VPMQG2Nn-yvKZDfwD0179-5Qj0QSF0zNI2UVg6otNgs1nlIEyzF6bS3VkwmcgpcToJWTmvCTqYxakR8u9ZrbMLFXCud5ApiaKgg/w400-h300/IMG_2913.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahh...<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p>Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-86231266484142256182022-07-05T14:22:00.005-05:002022-07-06T01:33:59.354-05:00Change in the Time of Covid - Year One<p><i>I decided today I'd publish a new blog post. Made a pact with myself. Other than writing my three morning pages, my writing life has taken a back seat. I'm currently hooked on a woodpuzzle app. Obsessed with it. I know when I do that, it means I'm on the cusp of something creative.</i></p><p><i>That creativity is often subjective based on the power behind it. Could translate into something new for dinner. A pattern made in the lake with my float, arms working as oars. Plowing through six unread New Yorker magazines gathering dusk on my ottoman.</i></p><p><i>Often, something more concrete. Like writing a blog post after almost two years. </i></p><p><i>So...</i></p><p><i>Today, when I opened up my blog after many, many months of not doing so, I saw where I'd made several attempts at posts in the past year and a half. I came across this draft, marking a year into the pandemic. I'm not certain how I lost track of it--which distraction, grandchild's birth, event, or travel trailer adventure fancied my attention. </i></p><p><i>Or if I decided it wasn't worthy. Or too long. Rambling. </i><i>Sort of like the long days of Covid for many of us. </i></p><p><i>Yup. That was it.</i></p><p><i>Since I'm piddling with another essay, I've decided to post this one written in March 2021. Satisfies my pledge to post a blog today so I can get back to reading one of those New Yorker magazines and work on my floating. </i></p><p><i>Greetings, and good health to all.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>March 2021</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>The only man who behaved sensibly was my tailer: he took my measure anew everytime he saw me, whilst all the rest went on with their old measurements and expected them to fit me. </b></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bernard Shaw</span></b></i></p><p>One year since Covid became a word. An anniversary--welcome or not. I often reflect on anniversary dates, and this one is no different. My curious nature has me wondering about my measurements. How this year changed me.</p><p>Adaptation: Even though I can talk to a pool table, I'm an introvert. Never am I bored and often must force myself out of Hermitville. Other than disappointment for the cancellation of several large trips on the calendar, I had little trouble adjusting to the world's shutdown. I didn't have outside work. Cancelled social engagements? Love Zoom. </p><p>My days have a pattern. I awake in a coma, not ready to rock'n'roll. While the first cup of coffee revives my brain, I read a short meditation in a yearly book of wisdom. This year: Celtic wisdom. Last year: Buddist. Year before: Tao. Year before that - my favorite: Mark Nepo and the <i>Book of Awakening</i>. </p><p>On each daily page, I record:</p><p>1. Where I am in the world. </p><p>2. If I meditated or not (added that this year, and very challenging as it takes about three seconds before my mind wanders.)</p><p>3. Exercise achieved</p><p>4. Alcohol consumed</p><p>5. Calories ingested</p><p>6. Hours of sleep -- I'm not very good at that. Something about Night Hawk and Early Rising Husband Who Makes Lots of Noise.</p><p><i>Sidenote: In those days of Covid, #'s 3 and 4 dominated. #3, if sauntering up and down the street 10 times a day counted as exercise. I lifted a few weights and practiced yoga. Gentle yoga. Lie on the ground yoga. Until that got boring and I purchased harder DVD's. </i><i>#4 required a necessary recording, as it creeped in on becoming one of those daily activities.</i></p><p>Back to morning rituals. After recording my previous day's activites, I read three new poems, write a don't-pick-up-your-pen stream-of-consciousness-really-shitty poem, followed by three pages of dribble into my journal. I once wrote either a one-page short story or essay each day. Covid begged for brevity -- hence the poem. I ain't no poet so trust me when I say there is nothing worthwhile in those hundreds of stanzas, a topic chosen on a nanosecond notice. </p><p>The news calls next in regard to the developing science on Covid and US/World events. Which means I read a diverse array of newspapers and periodicals so I can distinguish between opinion and reality. People on my street are flush with opinion. I require data. Real data. Data doesn't lie.</p><p>Breakfast follows yoga. </p><p>Then there's that book I'm rewriting -- again. That requires a dedicated two hours of staring out the window.</p><p>Curbside grocery shopping. Cooking dinner. Toilet cleaning. The maintenance of house stuff like swiping at cobwebs and blowing dust off bookshelves. </p><p>Then comes things I want to learn -- like how to draw and paint. So a daily lesson from a book. I'm an incredible artist and since I don't have to show my work, no one will ever know I'm lying through my teeth. </p><p>Usually one day a week, I don't follow my path. My four-year-old granddaughter spends the day with us. That's a non-thinking day. We do whatever she tells us to do. </p><p>I've not felt the need to clean out closets and drawers. Pretty much everything that needed fixing before Covid still needs fixing. New recipes from the incredible Ina Garten have increased my cooking reprotoire. Following recipes is hard, though. Often I can't find where I put them meaning every night's a crap shoot as to whether a dousing of Cholula is required. </p><p>Admission here: Other than becoming a faithful follower of Ina and some chick named Shiva who leads yoga in White Sands National Park, I did all that other stuff before Covid. I just do it at a slower pace. No rush. No interruptions by having to be somewhere.</p><p>The year has not been empty of sorrows and joys. A year of not seeing the son in NYC brought a deep yearning for his embrace. Not to mention worry for his safety in the epicenter of sirens and virus. The loss of my husband's mother during Covid meant we couldn't be with her at her passing. </p><p>Joys included often seeing my other two sons and their families, one nearby and one within a few hours. </p><p>We welcomed a new granddaughter. Meet Ava Gwen. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStmp-0nRNPI5UCZQ5ew2KdRv29mNHUU_Gfovaj7PpquWE_eOiV-TsIWORaATQKLnmwBKkV8Wz4BX0olOPTBd3LpNE0F_HYa1T0aKMo1WhFhVzb6Omr780EiP6I_og7h4klSE1-Hcih1rq/s1616/IMG_6429.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1563" data-original-width="1616" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiStmp-0nRNPI5UCZQ5ew2KdRv29mNHUU_Gfovaj7PpquWE_eOiV-TsIWORaATQKLnmwBKkV8Wz4BX0olOPTBd3LpNE0F_HYa1T0aKMo1WhFhVzb6Omr780EiP6I_og7h4klSE1-Hcih1rq/w400-h388/IMG_6429.jpg" width="400" /></a></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1gyUyhsy9z0sQWkjQK3C9nECn9NN-KXJHqzpdwI54DSHIN_3k-CNksVvPt9p4YTBAHxqWr2l7xeW1a1hqcMKtxFAbcmabw1Q1NV-Wq_HpxpBLGtXRAHB2cBNy_-lJRbjkgtaHOrs4x-VK/s2048/IMG_6231.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1gyUyhsy9z0sQWkjQK3C9nECn9NN-KXJHqzpdwI54DSHIN_3k-CNksVvPt9p4YTBAHxqWr2l7xeW1a1hqcMKtxFAbcmabw1Q1NV-Wq_HpxpBLGtXRAHB2cBNy_-lJRbjkgtaHOrs4x-VK/w400-h300/IMG_6231.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Most grateful am I for my partner, who eats whatever I cook. He doesn't have to share the TV screen (we have only one) and knows not to talk to me until after my second cup of coffee. He chats with all the neighbors on his walks and gets the scoop, so I don't have to. We watch the PBS Newshour together and share an adventurous spirit. Which prompted the purchase of that used Airstream camper creating an avenue for exploration in a stagnant travel world. Which also aided greatly in keeping up spirits. </p><p>I don't know if you call that change. Or if I'm told I can't go one way, I'll figure out another route. For in my desires to learn new things, I also like to see new things. The wanderlust something I can't control. </p><p>The Airstream got us out of Dodge and taught us something completely new. Steep learning curve. Sewer hookups. Boondocking. Watewater management. </p><p>Hikes in Big Bend National Park, Minnesota and Wisconsin forests, and a magical day spent in White Sands National Park soothed our weary souls. For even hermits who know how to entertain themselves grow weary. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_OHC3etcXmTguQrXsn-kS_tau1h3F2bF-zWtzN83hkcoT-HYWlI1Hym1bdajLNAPWx5blu4llzivB4ZJCEvv9_i7PEwj_JUajB91_KV-GDvBIEAb7VvKVWRy-OxqDY_dpO24dEbokg3Z1/s2048/DSC_0577.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_OHC3etcXmTguQrXsn-kS_tau1h3F2bF-zWtzN83hkcoT-HYWlI1Hym1bdajLNAPWx5blu4llzivB4ZJCEvv9_i7PEwj_JUajB91_KV-GDvBIEAb7VvKVWRy-OxqDY_dpO24dEbokg3Z1/w266-h400/DSC_0577.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Big Bend National Park - Santa Elena Canyon, where the United States kisses Mexico.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifDnm4oeBdj5qstfgeG5ijG552qQySvwhETlon1-d93DbKmClUUX_x7Cq26U5ScDCzkBS2_LunRzhULUqZY1gXkbRIjcW3tZiXf1pFO_Myw3O_5IUf4SFUzHpFCPYYg0MxfiAxlL4VuOWx/s2048/DSC_0481.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifDnm4oeBdj5qstfgeG5ijG552qQySvwhETlon1-d93DbKmClUUX_x7Cq26U5ScDCzkBS2_LunRzhULUqZY1gXkbRIjcW3tZiXf1pFO_Myw3O_5IUf4SFUzHpFCPYYg0MxfiAxlL4VuOWx/w400-h266/DSC_0481.jpg" title="Big Bend -- The Window" width="400" /></a></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;">Big Bend National Park - The Window</div></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jXzqiZ1btMVhE4bVFtBIHhCPK2gFtX_9u3USz9CV-yZ6czJY2EHRnbyWP8JPtkExvngX8b8oSlBXJTFy2auSroEERjtwKWT6wb0hYl-fxB1TSvEIq914Np8OA8Nxyznd3XFgfaDfyFg8/s2048/DSC_0687.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jXzqiZ1btMVhE4bVFtBIHhCPK2gFtX_9u3USz9CV-yZ6czJY2EHRnbyWP8JPtkExvngX8b8oSlBXJTFy2auSroEERjtwKWT6wb0hYl-fxB1TSvEIq914Np8OA8Nxyznd3XFgfaDfyFg8/w400-h266/DSC_0687.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXIMsLCFpYXggnSRqEUnPEi2VWuoBvShBf4aEVZBxMxwRt-m5_thagBDeTX0JMgGhV1zDhVdEPohIdg_abu1DcGTGXVeQqjSgJcVkz5kdk2SnCx6IsITZ3OujSIfrJGQ5N7bTfU3ZLmDd/s2048/DSC_0691.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXIMsLCFpYXggnSRqEUnPEi2VWuoBvShBf4aEVZBxMxwRt-m5_thagBDeTX0JMgGhV1zDhVdEPohIdg_abu1DcGTGXVeQqjSgJcVkz5kdk2SnCx6IsITZ3OujSIfrJGQ5N7bTfU3ZLmDd/w400-h266/DSC_0691.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">White Sands National Park</div><br /><p>Camping was a safe exploration. Have to pee? Pull over and do your business on your own throne. Fix lunch in your own kitchen. Park your camper more than a six foot length from others. No excuse needed for an unfriendly leer if someone dares an approach.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Of course, there were those who came too close. Like Tony from somewhere in Nevada who drove a huge RV bus with electric bikes that could go 80mph. Tony liked to chat, standing less than six feet away and interrupting my pathetic watercolor lesson on the picnic table. </span></div><p>"Just tell me to go away if you don't want to talk to me," he said. </p><p>Before I could say, "Go away, Tony," I learned that Tony sold high-end sports cars before he retired. Tony's family raced golf carts, or something like that, in the desert. Tony planned to watch the big Nascar race on Sunday. If not for Covid, he'd be at the race. In all that exhaust and noise. Watching cars go around in a circle. </p><p>Instead he's wasting the life of a reluctant listener.</p><p>Not that she has anything against people who watch cars go around in a circle. </p><p>Tony took a gander at my art instruction book, the flower I was supposedly painting. Then just nodded his head at my rendition, which looked sort of like Picasso's girlfriend after Jackson Pollack dumped that first paint can onto a canvas. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQb_hx0F8h5GQhhDglqOxfk-fG6wUZmTY6W-CkQRogF4wXEeXcHuj5M6ZabR0XQ11krf85q4fJ-MP5DELPx0ulxl2EgM3TPlTySFyWhltNAV5TAujAACZQo130bgBLGxMcoUh_c7j1pZNo/s2048/IMG_6345.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQb_hx0F8h5GQhhDglqOxfk-fG6wUZmTY6W-CkQRogF4wXEeXcHuj5M6ZabR0XQ11krf85q4fJ-MP5DELPx0ulxl2EgM3TPlTySFyWhltNAV5TAujAACZQo130bgBLGxMcoUh_c7j1pZNo/w300-h400/IMG_6345.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><p>The next day, November 7, I didn't explain to Tony why I was drinking a bottle of champagne in the middle of the afternoon. </p><p>On our travels, we met a couple in Wisconsin who completely redid a 1954 Airstream. Another couple in Big Bend making plans to go all the way to South America in their camper.</p><p></p><p>A group canoeing the Rio Grande playing their guitars and flutes around their campfire, allowing us to sing along to John Prine songs from our campsite. </p><p>A young family of five on a two-month tour of national parks--the parents working and kids virtually schooling while on the road.</p><p>An older couple in the process of selling the sailboat they'd been living on for five years while sailing the seas. </p><p>On these road trips, I continue my daily norms. Morning coffee. Writing. Meditating. Yoga inside the Airstream -- utilitzing the skylight for my arm stretch to achieve Volcano Pose. Walking. Tending my soul.</p><p>A year has passed. I'm a week out from full vaccination. What lies ahead? </p><p>I've asked my friends how they've changed this past year. What they do or don't do anymore? What do they see happening when their world opens up? What have they learned about themselves? What's important?</p><p>Interesting replies. I'm gathering them, and and hope to write about them. Subjective subject. No one really says yet exactly what they are going to do beyond gathering with dear friends and sharing a long hug. An indication that the change back into the world might be more gradual than the quick retreat we all made last March.</p><p>Still figuring it out for myself. My experience is different from those working out of their homes, children underfoot and schooling them. Those who lost their income and careers. Those who live alone and crave the touch of others. Those with elderly parents living with them, rather than in nursing homes. Those who are not well. Those who became ill from the virus. </p><p>The family members of the millions around the world who have died. </p><p>We all have a story. We've all been affected. Even those who think not. Can't go through something like this and think you haven't. </p><p>What has changed for you? What will or will you not do that you used to? What have you discovered about yourself? What's something new you learned to do? </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><i>End Note: R</i><i>eading this sort of puts a wasp in my panties to write one as to where I am now, two years and four months into the pandemic. Hmmm.</i></p><p><i>Where are you?</i></p><p><i>Also, have to show that other grandbaby that blessed us. Meet Parks Conrad Anderson</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYGOH1x83FBhrtwIj8G7xCIJ5HBxxVe63uPvNcS_3YF4iZCSjulKxt9kBUOYOEKcx6Ql1a6pYsu9IZ1DtWZwO3ldX7zKlIedUhtRCBX530EeNROdMs1wAsMh7sTMim3mfE2uc-DLfpSWMO6zn2wAOPe1E3-UqiS6SUTjaLhpxx_z6IS8EPaVh_CWD3w/s1830/IMG_2708.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1799" data-original-width="1830" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYGOH1x83FBhrtwIj8G7xCIJ5HBxxVe63uPvNcS_3YF4iZCSjulKxt9kBUOYOEKcx6Ql1a6pYsu9IZ1DtWZwO3ldX7zKlIedUhtRCBX530EeNROdMs1wAsMh7sTMim3mfE2uc-DLfpSWMO6zn2wAOPe1E3-UqiS6SUTjaLhpxx_z6IS8EPaVh_CWD3w/s320/IMG_2708.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-19358217603564929282021-01-20T14:18:00.006-06:002022-03-06T00:18:17.000-06:00A Visitor in the Midst of a Storm<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: left;"> </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Friendship is a sheltering tree. </i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Samuel Taylor Coleridge</span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">In mid-March 2020, I returned from a trip to Mexico City and Troncones, Mexico to find a changing world impacted by an unfamiliar virus. Like everyone else, I stocked my pantry and prepared for the ugly sweep of the virus. I anticipated solitary days of reading, writing, yoga, and fiddling with a mountain of art supplies and having only my husband as entertainment. But that expectation remained on hold. While everyone else sheltered in place, I headed to the airport. I had company coming. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">I wasn’t picking up a family member. Nor someone particularly close to me. Truth be told, I’d never met the person. Her name was Celia and she lived in England. And she’d been my PenPal since 1965.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">In spite of the growing infection around the world, Celia’s first trip to America remained in order. She and her husband, Nick, had arrived in America two weeks before. They had toured in California -- driving a rental car down the Pacific Coast Highway, arriving in San Diego to visit a lodger they'd had a few years before. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">As the world changed hourly, I’d checked with them a couple times via text. Seemed the virus trailed behind them down the California coast. With their flights still scheduled, they planned to plod on. I worried they might get trapped in America. Among other thoughts.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">I was not nervous to meet her. I couldn't imagine it wouldn't be a fine meeting. Rather, I wasn't certain what might come with them from California -- or what we might give them -- before they could find a way back to England.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">During WW2, my father was stationed in England. On the weekends a local woman, Ma Huckle, took in soldiers, fed them home-cooked meals, did their laundry, called them her sons, and offered moments of home, away from the bombings and terrors of the war.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">My dad kept a written relationship with Ma Huckle, and her two daughters, after his return to the US. In 1965, Ma Huckle’s granddaughter, Celia, a year older than my eight years, and I became acquainted. We wrote our letters on onionskin paper as it was thin and didn't cost much to airmail across the Atlantic. My stationary was white. Hers was blue. We shared photos. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">I don't recall much of what we said. The past 35 or 40 years our exchanges were only a yearly form Christmas letter, both of us penning a note at the end that we must truly meet one day. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">Now, we were finally doing that -- in the midst of a pandemic. Yet her family had taken care of my dad in a harrowing time. I suppressed my fears and decided that no matter what lay ahead, I would take care of Celia now.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">At the airport, only six or seven other cars were parked in the normally bulging short-term garage. The familiar dodge of vehicles while navigating the six-lane racetrack to enter the terminal didn't exist. Not a car or parking lot shuttle in sight. Reminded me of <i>Omega Man, </i>a really bad movie from my youth featuring the last person left on Earth.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHz3eBLtPTtczoiWtVbOjn2HxHjOIU2Z4QcA51IhFIklO00vlqJidlG7ZMTYko_C6YqvM0matGMOtMmyUuzoHBCBl7RNDLv0x-Tlu0fKm7WEyloMEpPBnbHEoSpXw_T1PmCeBG9Q5a4Ujm/s1049/IMG_5390.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1049" data-original-width="749" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHz3eBLtPTtczoiWtVbOjn2HxHjOIU2Z4QcA51IhFIklO00vlqJidlG7ZMTYko_C6YqvM0matGMOtMmyUuzoHBCBl7RNDLv0x-Tlu0fKm7WEyloMEpPBnbHEoSpXw_T1PmCeBG9Q5a4Ujm/w285-h400/IMG_5390.jpg" width="285" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">Only two airport workers lingered inside by baggage claim. To say it was eerie is an understatement. I kept one foot in front of the other, and paced, trying not to touch anything. Of course, I had to pee.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">I had no trouble recognizing Celia as she came down the escalator, and not because only 11 people were on the flight from San Diego.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">In a normal time, we might have hugged. We didn't. I elbow bumped with her husband as they quickly gathered their bags. We chatted as I drove them the hour to my house, where my husband and I got them settled, took them for a boat ride, and welcomed them at our table for dinner. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">Beyond the lack of an initial hug, it never entered my mind beyond that to not feel comfortable, to finally have this woman in her 60's, just like me, sitting at my table. A connection of over 55 years. I knew her, so well. I didn't say that, but she did, a day or so later. That we seemed to fit right together.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfk2behrfmp12hXikeWSqURj8ZiLs6eQSVjvo835nkY_ftZVA8A-QJ29-BZXWehpPRimwYJGaA9xTP9ov0jSvgFngBpTEz4apTKmwUpjmseVFZSHSo1ro9NCqBIRAOGXRVt35zkskJjnTB/s1277/IMG_5391.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="1277" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfk2behrfmp12hXikeWSqURj8ZiLs6eQSVjvo835nkY_ftZVA8A-QJ29-BZXWehpPRimwYJGaA9xTP9ov0jSvgFngBpTEz4apTKmwUpjmseVFZSHSo1ro9NCqBIRAOGXRVt35zkskJjnTB/w400-h300/IMG_5391.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">We spoke of our travels, our children, our current interests and curiosities. We joked about which of our leaders took more time with their hair in the morning. They drank lots of tea. We drank lots of wine.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">Rain poured from the sky for the next three days. No letting up. Cold winds. No more boat rides. No warmth from the sun. All the stores and museums and everything we'd planned to share about our Central Texas world -- closed. One afternoon we drove to the LBJ Ranch. The buildings were closed but where, in a brief respite from the rain, we walked by the former president’s grave and the historical posters of the Civil Rights Movement and Lady Bird's quest for a wildflower and litter-free beauty for America.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">Longhorn cattle and Herefords grazed only feet from our car as we drove through the ranch. Springtime in Texas. Baby cows. Wildflowers and green, green, green. A peaceful place for a brief afternoon away from whatever lurked in the real world, our newly knit group in our own bubble.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">As the world tightened its borders, Celia’s travel agency arranged flights two days early. After a brief car tour to show off the capitol building and Austin's jewel, Barton Springs Pool, we walked along the trail of Town Lake (now known as Lady Bird Lake), before arriving again at the ghostly airport.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">We didn't elbow bump a farewell. All of us, my husband and her husband. Celia and me, embraced. We had come full circle in our few days together. Over 55 years of correspondence across an ocean. Not quite the visit any of us ever imagined, but a coming together nonetheless.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIdwpBwAArY6pNssErN5VYAMSm5ajuqfHOqoGQP2T7nui19ZR7SobSBwGOm6NQ9j0bZSbjr8QWAyDoOdQNWihIHiZs0qikJetzUWrwWk7q7s_vcG3nM29-o1Ymjnfs6hh5PTpI68UcVUgI/s2048/IMG_5401.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIdwpBwAArY6pNssErN5VYAMSm5ajuqfHOqoGQP2T7nui19ZR7SobSBwGOm6NQ9j0bZSbjr8QWAyDoOdQNWihIHiZs0qikJetzUWrwWk7q7s_vcG3nM29-o1Ymjnfs6hh5PTpI68UcVUgI/w400-h300/IMG_5401.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">Somewhere, in my attic, are Celia’s childhood letters. I'd intended to find them before she came, but life changed for all of us in the days leading up to her arrival. I'd been lolling on that beach in Troncones, Mexico and when I came home, all hell had broken loose in the world. Putting a well-stocked pantry together seemed more prudent than sorting through childhood boxes not opened in forty years. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">I will find them one of these days as things return to a new normal. Meantime, as a gift, Celia brought me a tin of Dorset tea, a box of Moore biscuits and a jar of England's finest marmalade. Each afternoon since her departure, I’ve made myself a cup of Dorset tea. The biscuits are long gone, as is the marmalade. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;">At the end of our Christmas letters this year, I wonder what we’ll write. Maybe I’ll say something like how I can't wait until one day I drink a cup of tea and crunch a biscuit with marmalade in her English garden. Perhaps I’ll even hand her a ribbon-wrapped stack of old letters. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 40.5pt 6pt 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">This essay first appeared in NextTribe online magazine. </span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">https://nexttribe.com/international-pen-pals/</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 40.5pt 6pt 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 40.5pt 0.0001pt 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-44286656886939304712020-09-02T14:51:00.010-05:002020-09-02T16:25:38.342-05:00Stopping by the Woods on a Wisconsin Afternoon<div><b><i>When using a public campground, a tuba placed on your picnic table will keep the campsites on either side vacant. Author Unknown</i></b> </div><div><br /></div>My husband and I bought a used Airstream trailer. I’d always kinda, sorta wanted one. I’m almost done writing a book about an Airstream caravan following a famous trail — a middle-aged woman’s coming of age story. <br /><div><br /></div><div>An Airstream calendar from several years ago hangs in my house, still getting turned to months long past. On another wall hangs a barnwood plank depicting an Airstream hand-painted by my daughter-in-law, Chelsea. In the wall socket is an Airstream night light given to me by other daughter-in-law, Leigh. On the coffee table is a history book of Airstreams, given by my friend, Michelle, who is mad at me because I got one before her. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, okay. I really did want one. However, having a real one in our driveway was a little intimidating. The learning curve very high. Where most Airstreams look very small when you see them in RV lots next to the other brands, they do indeed appear tiny. Hook one onto the back of your truck, and, well, it ain’t so damn tiny. </div><div><br /></div><div>Walkie Talkies have aided in our backing up, provided the man in the truck takes the directions from —— a woman. And we’ve launched our first long journey. A road trip up north to get out of the oppressing Texas heat. </div><div><br /></div><div>Over a week ago, we took off on our first adventure. We’ve discovered covering 350 miles a day is an ideal distance for us — so contrary to our days of knocking out 900 miles. My husband is getting used to driving in the slow lane, now keeping track of how many cars he gets to pass in a day. Banner Day? 5. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our first campsites were only for one night so we booked pull through RV parks. Not very exciting. The one in Missouri was a big gravel parking lot with trailers lined up next to one another. Most of the people lived there full-time. </div><div><br /></div><div>On the road, it was easy to stop and use the trailer bathroom and make lunch. Didn’t have to go into stores or gas stations. Or eat fast food. Been a little interesting filling up with gas — with a trailer behind us. </div><div><br /></div><div>We made our way through Oklahoma, Missouri, and Illinois to visit with family in Wisconsin for a few days. We plan to visit some good friends in northern Minnesota, but right now we’re hanging in a beautiful state park on the Chippewa River in western Wisconsin. </div><div><br /></div><div>A little bit of crisp in the air says fall is here. On my bike ride this morning, I stopped to pick up several maple leaves that have already turned orange. I often set my kick stand to take in the beauty of the river and tall trees and the rustling of the leaves in the trees. I miss the large rustling leaves living in Texas. The leaves on most the trees are so small, one can barely hear them swishing against one another. Something I immediately notice when I venture up north. </div><div><br /></div><div>An occasional acorn lands on the roof of the trailer. I’m wearing a sweatshirt. I slept with two Mexican blankets covering me last night. </div><div><br /></div><div>And this is my new friend. He nudged my leg yesterday. I must be in his parking space.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlHwmgvdzEVTxZS1meVhMXVPPav_Wu5rtfnudNy32zSFJrCFp6YKvXxA2zDoj9fds7fvGS1_o7DvFdNBoyacv0MJ6RwfUYeAJMIXXp3M-eC1D6uNKHd8r7XdMCvfSXt34j28YS-A16jB7w/s2048/E5047368-4279-48D5-9FE0-4BF4691CD1A4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlHwmgvdzEVTxZS1meVhMXVPPav_Wu5rtfnudNy32zSFJrCFp6YKvXxA2zDoj9fds7fvGS1_o7DvFdNBoyacv0MJ6RwfUYeAJMIXXp3M-eC1D6uNKHd8r7XdMCvfSXt34j28YS-A16jB7w/s640/E5047368-4279-48D5-9FE0-4BF4691CD1A4.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">For those of you yearning for a change of scenery, I am happy to share. </span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGYSoTtsBwlJiMbIsIHMHh1h4axsU1uff2_7ajVDb-RH3uIC-UUS8hOmx0zvk-FVnU05FDL0wwoTUGZQzZzj4Yj_Lso1ddqQ29AMA8MiiXBNN8YS5ujyIsfRiWh-toHYo8IDxeO-_yxIS5/s2048/43F3ED52-54DB-4911-AE0D-15145960144B.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGYSoTtsBwlJiMbIsIHMHh1h4axsU1uff2_7ajVDb-RH3uIC-UUS8hOmx0zvk-FVnU05FDL0wwoTUGZQzZzj4Yj_Lso1ddqQ29AMA8MiiXBNN8YS5ujyIsfRiWh-toHYo8IDxeO-_yxIS5/s640/43F3ED52-54DB-4911-AE0D-15145960144B.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8G0c11Uwvj6HDnIq-lvfv-DVsolDKO31IWQoPBZKHQket3TvxpIz8zr9qywxJul7VETYN_QP1sQW2z49wSV4wiCkYPLaa87L8yqmiVKVv-Jve7gPs_Jw7xf4WOIpC7z9LlVDdwlmrcxUY/s2048/5F391AD9-BB78-4C5A-BB5B-B299C9CC5CF2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8G0c11Uwvj6HDnIq-lvfv-DVsolDKO31IWQoPBZKHQket3TvxpIz8zr9qywxJul7VETYN_QP1sQW2z49wSV4wiCkYPLaa87L8yqmiVKVv-Jve7gPs_Jw7xf4WOIpC7z9LlVDdwlmrcxUY/s640/5F391AD9-BB78-4C5A-BB5B-B299C9CC5CF2.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWivxBrJo_vgGvWrP7zCOYPI2Y96VbywMXAVQ5h3GXA_VhLbJNuOd9k54VC0uhZrCZKNtlmIcOOubMnRM4VvbjWb91o-TLcAstrCO3dFWA5RxjBhMeoyEVPfps2nb5ulyDDpgolnsA3Lf3/s2048/676C3940-785D-498C-891A-1315E631B46D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWivxBrJo_vgGvWrP7zCOYPI2Y96VbywMXAVQ5h3GXA_VhLbJNuOd9k54VC0uhZrCZKNtlmIcOOubMnRM4VvbjWb91o-TLcAstrCO3dFWA5RxjBhMeoyEVPfps2nb5ulyDDpgolnsA3Lf3/s640/676C3940-785D-498C-891A-1315E631B46D.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc-XL7ex_hsO5NqFEnLZZiMPDns78hgaYghlTAKmldeFGenu6he7lNhgu8YJfMc_la3pVYaHNJW1Q3tvo0Dhx5Qel535qLi2OoPFAKD5Ba2Mi5gdbIHqRTli1zM_8-xMAQAWXXUVo8PtD2/s2048/B4BFF96D-22E8-42CF-B392-D2C177DB9FF8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc-XL7ex_hsO5NqFEnLZZiMPDns78hgaYghlTAKmldeFGenu6he7lNhgu8YJfMc_la3pVYaHNJW1Q3tvo0Dhx5Qel535qLi2OoPFAKD5Ba2Mi5gdbIHqRTli1zM_8-xMAQAWXXUVo8PtD2/s640/B4BFF96D-22E8-42CF-B392-D2C177DB9FF8.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I want to learn how to forage.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOMAmMZDH0IH7QapZIX9ofYHM8V9NV_5YY2LZkSf5iXSud8rvvx9WnJl8Q-vEXghiDduxKC4k7Gn8vLpOb6MHEp0BQSYEhAYu983g8oOEQ4ehpMxreuD6Us4h2XXR8ZVqxTeRWOw1vmOLd/s2048/0F32CC9D-CF56-4A5B-B4E8-EAC45B7421ED.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOMAmMZDH0IH7QapZIX9ofYHM8V9NV_5YY2LZkSf5iXSud8rvvx9WnJl8Q-vEXghiDduxKC4k7Gn8vLpOb6MHEp0BQSYEhAYu983g8oOEQ4ehpMxreuD6Us4h2XXR8ZVqxTeRWOw1vmOLd/s640/0F32CC9D-CF56-4A5B-B4E8-EAC45B7421ED.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5llQN-0_IhB6iQUETRVhOfIjxstloK2zO0IXfXFcGB9qO466ahz1MXUtzuElA9Qc3X3P2Gnz-7qKLIH5MjZzXTC-QncnEvgnf-t3I4-RC-Fkp381y5fZ_nZLfYQ5EUQAFUusVSBycmiD2/s2048/5BFB161A-C8EF-4B0D-8966-8F60D1671158.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5llQN-0_IhB6iQUETRVhOfIjxstloK2zO0IXfXFcGB9qO466ahz1MXUtzuElA9Qc3X3P2Gnz-7qKLIH5MjZzXTC-QncnEvgnf-t3I4-RC-Fkp381y5fZ_nZLfYQ5EUQAFUusVSBycmiD2/s640/5BFB161A-C8EF-4B0D-8966-8F60D1671158.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ7hRWj52PfiOA3T18K3m0oawXUXCDmFIwL5R_u7QrpAqNsAtXz3P-kNck6sLaYk0ZOz4vkiUy5XNc2eG06zc-RjLl0qYg8wqG8ZLeq0P5x91uAEyM79m3nbBlVeRk3rJJPm29MUXVDq9g/s2048/5E7F96A7-68FE-4747-A7E1-A2A554FB71F2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1418" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ7hRWj52PfiOA3T18K3m0oawXUXCDmFIwL5R_u7QrpAqNsAtXz3P-kNck6sLaYk0ZOz4vkiUy5XNc2eG06zc-RjLl0qYg8wqG8ZLeq0P5x91uAEyM79m3nbBlVeRk3rJJPm29MUXVDq9g/s640/5E7F96A7-68FE-4747-A7E1-A2A554FB71F2.jpeg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A violinist!</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpKMgtpMb7M63V7tpe_mxIsUO01cewKjc6X7gsBbO4WbOJ2zWu6RXbp2fgW11HVt3aVWW03taqa17Dp8FE5d_tJNIr6Cax4w2jpm59Y2FQczS6LQpbviiy9LkJfY5uCRg81Za3kko-Ny8/s2048/77CA2903-903F-4292-B2C7-23841909B9DF.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpKMgtpMb7M63V7tpe_mxIsUO01cewKjc6X7gsBbO4WbOJ2zWu6RXbp2fgW11HVt3aVWW03taqa17Dp8FE5d_tJNIr6Cax4w2jpm59Y2FQczS6LQpbviiy9LkJfY5uCRg81Za3kko-Ny8/s640/77CA2903-903F-4292-B2C7-23841909B9DF.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6Y3fT_sDuurd6kSKE_XRlCQN44VOKWKhKqPZ6FOa2E0thQsKeyCkK8QZ4wlw3wkmN_Y9nOCD0rk0a9LqCTkCtfMvUXBkCat_DyCDnnJzL84Xo3B4ViEAXt1TX6eUFXviIyF8eTyqzjoV/s2048/45D25635-0BD4-4E7C-BB18-F5AFAFAE9007.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6Y3fT_sDuurd6kSKE_XRlCQN44VOKWKhKqPZ6FOa2E0thQsKeyCkK8QZ4wlw3wkmN_Y9nOCD0rk0a9LqCTkCtfMvUXBkCat_DyCDnnJzL84Xo3B4ViEAXt1TX6eUFXviIyF8eTyqzjoV/s640/45D25635-0BD4-4E7C-BB18-F5AFAFAE9007.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSJoEUzmTaNq3vk29vHqC2DESUFpSdUsq65Vhj7G7ngsta1HekSj8hCPUR3eBi5oHtFWL1GUIE4gYx6wyZCKFZTqgDxNP9OYll0r_YzlhwX6i32e1Hakn5joxUbt1HCnw9GXJlQspZ1c3/s2048/182E6F5B-8EDC-4D43-9517-F8FECDD7F7D1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSJoEUzmTaNq3vk29vHqC2DESUFpSdUsq65Vhj7G7ngsta1HekSj8hCPUR3eBi5oHtFWL1GUIE4gYx6wyZCKFZTqgDxNP9OYll0r_YzlhwX6i32e1Hakn5joxUbt1HCnw9GXJlQspZ1c3/s640/182E6F5B-8EDC-4D43-9517-F8FECDD7F7D1.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Beautiful and peaceful. Except maybe for me. Forgive me if this post doesn’t look right. I’m learning how to work on an IPAD. Many, many swear words have accompanied the process of this post. I’m working on the picnic table and the people next to us just packed up and moved to another campsite. Hmmmm. Thinking I don’t need no stinking tuba. </div>Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-48635624874715101252020-08-12T12:18:00.009-05:002020-08-13T14:37:01.458-05:00What to Do in a Pandemic? Of Course, Buy an...<p style="text-align: left;"><span face="" style="background-color: #e5e5dd; caret-color: rgb(51, 0, 0); color: #330000; 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;"><b><i>You can avoid having ulcers by adapting to the situation: If you fall in the mud puddle, check your pockets for fish. Author Unknown</i></b></span></p><p>In April, my husband and I began a five-week trip-of-a-lifetime to New Zealand, Australia, and the Cook Islands. Yup. Dream trip come true. The two of us exploring -- from Milford Sound to the Great Barrier Reef, finishing with a weeklong stint in a one-bedroom cottage steps from the lagoon in Raratonga. Floating in the South Pacific. Heaven.</p><p>Our dream trip remains a dream. As does all the travel everyone else in the world has planned. Not much excitement for any of us -- except the navigation of life in the time of Covid-19. Due to a dedicated stance on masks, social distancing, and maintaining our "pod," we've been fortunate to escape the illness and loss many have suffered and continue to endure. For us, a long stint stuck in our home has proven to be our adventure.</p><p>I'm not one to get bored. I can't recall the last time I was bored. The pandemic hasn't changed that. My unread books pile up on my ToBeRead shelf like always and I'm borrowing audio books from the library, via Overdrive, like normal. (Okay, maybe a little more.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxDXp13-zLrH2T-G3fO4dWOfXgEHoYX8QQIb3vlt60dVtExJKgvpvj8skXF6TzidvmwmTyToHWbmZWhxR96x8iStHMEJS4v57D5U5jHj__nqEna0XiwmkFTwkwD1wWIo6VcCozmxcgZ-qa/s2048/IMG_5854.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxDXp13-zLrH2T-G3fO4dWOfXgEHoYX8QQIb3vlt60dVtExJKgvpvj8skXF6TzidvmwmTyToHWbmZWhxR96x8iStHMEJS4v57D5U5jHj__nqEna0XiwmkFTwkwD1wWIo6VcCozmxcgZ-qa/w512-h384/IMG_5854.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYS6UNvLjAcgKd8pYm9l1g4105aoENZtfLsLocjRD4owXqBDqfUshEw4qspnxeCum8XZzpNB91w0ujppgyD-wgTO2hyphenhyphenUgTtr1FFvrEnbtWJns9UNQTaMof3poS4pkQV3WA7wT6oNKeKUh/s2048/IMG_5855.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="There are more behind that front line." border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYS6UNvLjAcgKd8pYm9l1g4105aoENZtfLsLocjRD4owXqBDqfUshEw4qspnxeCum8XZzpNB91w0ujppgyD-wgTO2hyphenhyphenUgTtr1FFvrEnbtWJns9UNQTaMof3poS4pkQV3WA7wT6oNKeKUh/w512-h384/IMG_5855.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><p>Yup -- that front line of books has a back line.</p><p>Playing with watercolors and acrylics and practicing patience with my lack of ability while organizing my thoughts? I haven't even begun to scratch the surface in that venture.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoG4Pxi-i2K-QyuCIWNOaOSc8LzkQzCYjdI7LovZO1T5d4PUgm2-iUEmc4A87-LK8xoVbmw-JzEADkH12OtiqEu3YElgFdP-GeQfpI6R94hqHeHYOdHyzVK8NF1zmZpLKK4TFkIVx6ng5m/s2048/IMG_5636.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoG4Pxi-i2K-QyuCIWNOaOSc8LzkQzCYjdI7LovZO1T5d4PUgm2-iUEmc4A87-LK8xoVbmw-JzEADkH12OtiqEu3YElgFdP-GeQfpI6R94hqHeHYOdHyzVK8NF1zmZpLKK4TFkIVx6ng5m/w384-h512/IMG_5636.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Now and then, I have grandchildren to play with. Makes life easier when you do what a four-year-old tells you to do -- or follow a 17-month-old around the perimeter. <div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnDRIl0rvAC0pGZHds5SfRUa27L2KgqxKPZmwxTQ_XMZqtBK2yxh1J4Qf1y904Zspnd_QsVnw2PyuMcX6v3Qxs2aMPm6bE2QJMcyhoasxPA2xfzHjKfGC8hjfkr8VZs3_7cwyijDci_3Sx/s2048/IMG_5809.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnDRIl0rvAC0pGZHds5SfRUa27L2KgqxKPZmwxTQ_XMZqtBK2yxh1J4Qf1y904Zspnd_QsVnw2PyuMcX6v3Qxs2aMPm6bE2QJMcyhoasxPA2xfzHjKfGC8hjfkr8VZs3_7cwyijDci_3Sx/w384-h512/IMG_5809.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><p>Of course, there is the online ordering of groceries and the creative cooking. Ina Garten's Instagram entries have certainly added variety to my repertoire of the past 42 years. Continuous watering of the container garden vegetables, since I didn't plant a garden this year, takes up time. (I wasn't supposed to be here for the spring planting and harvest. Right?)</p><p>And, one can always clean house. (For me an occasional necessity -- an activity I accomplish with efficiency and speed.) </p><p>But, still, somedays, I get itchy. </p><p>Not bored. Just itchy to be somewhere different.</p><p>So itchy, I announced to my husband I was pulling out all our old camping equipment and we were going camping. The tent. The campstove. The coffee pot. The lantern. The clothesline. Everything. We were getting out of Dodge.</p><p>My husband shuddered in his chair. "I'm too old to sleep on the ground."</p><p>"We'll buy a huge blowup air mattress for your tender body," I snapped. </p><p>Once upon a time, we were big campers. On our honeymoon, we drove from Michigan to the Pacific Coast Highway, camping from Astoria, Oregon to below Big Sur. We didn't have much money in our early years so campouts at Lake Michigan, and, later, while living in Colorado, Utah, and Connecticut, became our vacations and getaways. Our entertainment.</p><p>Having all three sons become Eagle Scouts meant we did significant time at campgrounds. Since getting rid of the kids, we've taken to seeing the world. We don't stay in the fanciest of hotels as we only use them for siesta, shower, and sleep. But much nicer to sleep in a hotel on the Zambezi River than a tent where the crocodiles can have you for a midnight snack.</p><p>With those future adventures on hold -- and even road trips curtailed from visiting family or anywhere to get out of the relentless Texas summer heat, camping was the only solution I could come up with to avoid hotels and restaurants. Camping with a river to cool myself.</p><p>My husband wasn't on board. While I researched open campsites on the Frio River, he pounded away on his laptop. One morning he said there was something we needed to see in Houston - a three-hour drive away.</p><p>Next thing I knew, this happened.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8TvfPs_gY1EeL6XolJOlLLD9xMQWlWSOuD1o_8H655eNZtkM5FA_yDO71tnuAjEvXCVYlXN3C4cDvRUiPzdGt1M32kXMjOmo5Jxc7rPLlBgHEOvBQLwoXRJLt9zGeTBzBm1Cgl7Tgziz4/s2048/IMG_5700.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8TvfPs_gY1EeL6XolJOlLLD9xMQWlWSOuD1o_8H655eNZtkM5FA_yDO71tnuAjEvXCVYlXN3C4cDvRUiPzdGt1M32kXMjOmo5Jxc7rPLlBgHEOvBQLwoXRJLt9zGeTBzBm1Cgl7Tgziz4/w512-h384/IMG_5700.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><p>This was not an idea out of the blue. Our plan in our retirement was to purchase a used Airstream -- after we satisfied ourselves with more international travel. The afore-mentioned Oceania areas of the globe followed by South America, Asia, and Spain/Portugal/Morocco. And, and, and...</p><p>As long as our bodies and pocketbook held out, we were going for it. No fancy cruises. Rental cars and roadmaps, picnic lunches and guidebooks in hand. The Airstream would come after, when we were older farts traveling the US and Canada, leeching real showers off friends along the way.</p><p>Enter the virus. Adaptation. The re-arrangement of the plan. Online shopping to explore grey/black water hoses. And, our first adventure. 60 miles from home at Blanco State Park. Floating down the river. Oilcloth on the picnic table. AC! on a hot August night in a campground. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVWR6HvldfCOeMi_LSGf3I-3-H0GHxYQKiYHHNxAmzE2uahY2Qul1erDoLYvUyo-xt4mkqP2IeUH0AYTI1rYH1omBNtWaqxaWSTXloAIesgAmWlCc-rY5x-OqB-7rBTnzolIIiqO0fP0d/s2048/IMG_5828.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVWR6HvldfCOeMi_LSGf3I-3-H0GHxYQKiYHHNxAmzE2uahY2Qul1erDoLYvUyo-xt4mkqP2IeUH0AYTI1rYH1omBNtWaqxaWSTXloAIesgAmWlCc-rY5x-OqB-7rBTnzolIIiqO0fP0d/w512-h384/IMG_5828.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><p>I write this post today as my husband and I celebrate 42 years of marriage. Where we had to use our wedding gift money to fund that 6000-mile honeymoon trek, and our VW broke down in Chicago, and my parents towed it home, and lent us a car, and it snowed while we figured out how to put up our new tent in Yellowstone National Park--in the dark -- we are now in a little better position to purchase our used 2014 Airstream. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVtrf4aBmy3wIEi8HdnlFV6_vz-Au3PMwKUVQBgEBNRjxp2z4cnoDISOpt9yC5nlI6KRby_HnZ3z0l2HaSPXR8v-hLREQ3b8J5wxWxzUt2zlEI8b-n4x9jfk7hDdauT5tiD7AtD9H9kni/s655/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.00.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="522" data-original-width="655" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVtrf4aBmy3wIEi8HdnlFV6_vz-Au3PMwKUVQBgEBNRjxp2z4cnoDISOpt9yC5nlI6KRby_HnZ3z0l2HaSPXR8v-hLREQ3b8J5wxWxzUt2zlEI8b-n4x9jfk7hDdauT5tiD7AtD9H9kni/w512-h408/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.00.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZjKTPeLcDScNv8rJ38xu1z07QilL6TVzdoxi-CX9T51G5xk19Wv8t93lsWw6Bc1cCTYvVbbatoM4eSz5fkJEgK6zncgsoH7uwJyNu6Gy-LafWa4EcAxvaLSFDhWtg9mFDQO-yffmenGp/s1056/IMG_1807.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1056" data-original-width="944" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZjKTPeLcDScNv8rJ38xu1z07QilL6TVzdoxi-CX9T51G5xk19Wv8t93lsWw6Bc1cCTYvVbbatoM4eSz5fkJEgK6zncgsoH7uwJyNu6Gy-LafWa4EcAxvaLSFDhWtg9mFDQO-yffmenGp/w458-h512/IMG_1807.jpg" width="458" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaDQGJrxg_WfrobtfjgLURywbxusL0_9aMT9IuN4a7kx_zAjRMY7jYJICYRf_8ggbwk9xJ_r5xHKwU3WpE9YMNYXBqY7reKTw6bfHgAl8UsUXJj2pMuh2ml5mEykNvXFqagjVSzd2OuT6s/s1008/IMG_1799.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="944" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaDQGJrxg_WfrobtfjgLURywbxusL0_9aMT9IuN4a7kx_zAjRMY7jYJICYRf_8ggbwk9xJ_r5xHKwU3WpE9YMNYXBqY7reKTw6bfHgAl8UsUXJj2pMuh2ml5mEykNvXFqagjVSzd2OuT6s/w479-h512/IMG_1799.jpg" width="479" /></a></div><p>Although we're not snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef or watching the glowworms in New Zealand or hiking up to Machu Pichu this year, we are back where we started -- at a campground.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNJsNRAv7HkR3sjV7A8eqgvJYdYRfRSpIZsFOjbLgc_XNMQvGo7tM-0tN_3EIICIpu4eL3ARpenG-TSCSebsfqgl5ngJ_rtCWc0_3Ng3r3-H3Xj-WKqUWQPWxEX7f95LK8SUtr5eFg__v/s2048/IMG_5833.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCNJsNRAv7HkR3sjV7A8eqgvJYdYRfRSpIZsFOjbLgc_XNMQvGo7tM-0tN_3EIICIpu4eL3ARpenG-TSCSebsfqgl5ngJ_rtCWc0_3Ng3r3-H3Xj-WKqUWQPWxEX7f95LK8SUtr5eFg__v/w512-h384/IMG_5833.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9f3_Ba7ikKCD8nHFEcCJUt3keZ9OiXGIt0yER63n2Ok1Cklq_TYj8w7Dc5uoZQgszAxQcaLgEz4HXZnOoxh4bBW3707PQ8ptKDdMbExOsLZm10UtgQcDisNd1_0zqTF1XLQVLBn6w2Ob-/s2048/IMG_5711.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Needs a little decoration." border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9f3_Ba7ikKCD8nHFEcCJUt3keZ9OiXGIt0yER63n2Ok1Cklq_TYj8w7Dc5uoZQgszAxQcaLgEz4HXZnOoxh4bBW3707PQ8ptKDdMbExOsLZm10UtgQcDisNd1_0zqTF1XLQVLBn6w2Ob-/w384-h512/IMG_5711.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;">Poetic, I'd say. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGOPoq0ooTy58zx-b4TKxSv0xqjhcoOOEznqYmS_FLQXmqeHxYXivTeMNKLJtui8N2yrXYX3VJ9b9r2O9d4I5vV_PjZFy0aIFkK-RNwBtIdq9lol2TZdpqcPiLpEQXqRNkuizQPMwNgRh5/s2048/IMG_5836.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGOPoq0ooTy58zx-b4TKxSv0xqjhcoOOEznqYmS_FLQXmqeHxYXivTeMNKLJtui8N2yrXYX3VJ9b9r2O9d4I5vV_PjZFy0aIFkK-RNwBtIdq9lol2TZdpqcPiLpEQXqRNkuizQPMwNgRh5/w384-h512/IMG_5836.jpg" width="384" /></a></div><p>Now, if this thing could just learn how to back up by itself. </p><p>Hope you're all doing well as we all plod through this, our newest lesson, in perseverance --</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">and life. </span></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-86532475804048123352020-05-19T14:53:00.001-05:002020-05-22T00:45:34.677-05:00The Introvert's Dream<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>I get along with myself quite well. </b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">Julie Sucha Anderson</span></b></i></div>
<br />
In this day and age of Shelter-In-Place, I must say that I, the closet introvert, is not having that hard of a time. The virus has made me take notice that I've cut a world out for myself where not having to go anywhere is sort of what I prefer to do.<br />
<br />
I'm not a total recluse. I do like people. I'm in lots of groups. Book Club (18 years), Bunco Bitches (29 years), writing groups, creative circles. I love worldwide travel and studying new cultures, museums, and talking with the local people--whether we speak the same language or not. I'm a foodie, so eating in restaurants that have tasty and delightful dishes works for me.<br />
<br />
However, I do get weary if I'm out and about for too long. Back in normal times, once a month I had what I called my Social Week. Bunco, Book Club, and writing group all met during the same week. Dinner out or in with friends and family, too, most often.<br />
<br />
It's all fun but when the week is over, I breathe a sigh of relief and return to my quiet world.<br />
<br />
As to those who might say I'm not an introvert? Those who call me the Camp Director? Well, I am a great hostess. Hundreds of people have stayed in my home. I've never been one to shy away from hosting a shower, a party, or out of town guests.<br />
<br />
But there is introvert heaven in that, too. For if you're in your own home, you can always hide in your bedroom. Or leave the scene to get something, anything ready. Feign sleep while in your hammock. Introverts learn how to do these things. For me, it's often much easier being the hostess rather than a guest.<br />
<br />
Enter Coronavirus 19. Enter Zoom. Oh. My. God.<br />
<br />
If someone had told me years ago you could attend meetings from home, sitting in your favorite blue chair, via Zoom? Host Bunco, book club, happy hours or join your writing group, even a Yoga class, via Zoom? See your entire family or extended families all at once without airport pickups or having to change sheets, via Zoom?<br />
<br />
Talk about a revelation. I can invite people into my home and not have to clean it first -- or wash my face. Or put on makeup. Or pluck my chin hairs. I can wear yesterday's clothes. No cooking or cleanup afterward.<br />
<br />
Zoom? Where the hell have you been all my life?<br />
<br />
I can now go to Happy Hour and not worry about driving home.<br />
<br />
I can still bring people together and joy of all joys, if someone is monopolizing the conversation and not understanding they have to wait their turn to talk, I can mute them. Ha!<br />
<br />
Having everyone before you on your computer screen, you can see their reactions to someone's tale. So fun to study them and see your friends and family laugh or frown as they chat.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDfXI9w6btTOwq8EMletXj2nNoL5kEER5MEl0sOR5CY9NZ3W1qczI9oG6b1s2sunuq2N71MZAv2fE8Gogakfwl5RxJ49-Lm3pWOKSNgNmUXqmVFgwhmLj0-6lkcG7u93DywAmo1DHdClbZ/s1600/IMG_5427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDfXI9w6btTOwq8EMletXj2nNoL5kEER5MEl0sOR5CY9NZ3W1qczI9oG6b1s2sunuq2N71MZAv2fE8Gogakfwl5RxJ49-Lm3pWOKSNgNmUXqmVFgwhmLj0-6lkcG7u93DywAmo1DHdClbZ/s400/IMG_5427.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bunco Bitches (missing a couple -- late to the photo taking)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlIqu8cKTMc85asYlZzBJDY1eSaeeXNcRtmgUFSIykYqmWbcCSvTNvgl1BYZYxlVg4XCiJ65xhKYgFixSn0K4V5hsjz3lyLR2Il9hke2swPBPeWVwB3TzCEAuySxSmZuOI7FTrI_7Ow6G/s1600/IMG_5627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlIqu8cKTMc85asYlZzBJDY1eSaeeXNcRtmgUFSIykYqmWbcCSvTNvgl1BYZYxlVg4XCiJ65xhKYgFixSn0K4V5hsjz3lyLR2Il9hke2swPBPeWVwB3TzCEAuySxSmZuOI7FTrI_7Ow6G/s400/IMG_5627.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the Book Club (again, too late to get all 15)</td></tr>
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I must say it isn't only Zoom that suits my life during this troubling time. Take Curbside pickup at the grocery store. I order online, pull into a parking spot, and someone puts it in my car. Wonder of wonders.<br />
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I check out my library books on my Overdrive App and load them on my Kindle or receive it in audio form.<br />
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Perhaps I fit into this world so well because I've dabbled in this direction for years. I'd rather write letters than talk on the phone. I'd rather argue in a letter, than in person. I'm a big fan of catalogs and online shopping. If I have to enter clothing stores, it's a surgical strike. I know what I want and get in, and out. I have better things to do than meander for hours in a store. Just ask my friends. I'll always meet for lunch, but don't call me to shop. (Unless it's a book store or garden center.)<br />
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Right now, I'm more than ready to travel somewhere. But, this isolation thing isn't bugging me too much. My husband retiring a couple years ago helped with having to see him every day -- all day long. We've actually managed our time together quite well. He goes for long walks. I hide in my hammock.<br />
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Other than him, that love of my life, I don't see anyone. Except for these guys. They get exemption from Zoom. After an initial several weeks of quarantine, to insure everyone's safety, we've helped care for them while their parents try to work from home without day care.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A three-year-old -- sits still longer.</td></tr>
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The older grandchild we get to see more often and treasure the time. The younger lives further away so the time together is beyond precious. Wears our old butts out, but it's also become a new weight loss program. Chase a 14-month-old for seven days and see what your scale says.<br />
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As the world begins to open up, I know I'll have to rejoin it -- at some point. Meantime, I'll share the world outside my window. I'm humbled with gratitude to have it.<br />
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As well as my new virtual world.</div>
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Zoom -- The Introvert's Dream.</div>
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Stay safe everyone. </div>
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Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-53743120317093493432019-05-16T07:16:00.002-05:002019-05-16T08:29:35.758-05:00When Your Son Has a Son<br />
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<b><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">A baby dances with its feet in the air.</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ruth Krauss</span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In 1988, my husband and I lived in </span>Connecticut. We rented a house two blocks from the beach on Long Island Sound. I had a great job in New Haven. My son had the best babysitter in the entire world and we had many friends. I loved exploring New York City and New England having moved there from Utah two years earlier. </div>
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My husband hated his job. When he was offered a job in Austin, Texas, let me just say this. There were fingernail marks in the freeway from Milford, Connecticut all the way to Texas. I wasn't upset only for the things I would miss. I was also six months pregnant. I knew no one there. And now my second child would be a Texan rather than a New Englander. God forbid. I'd never been to Texas, but.what I'd heard scared me. What if my new baby came out wearing a ten gallon hat?<br />
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Austin turned out to be a great place to raise our family. And that new little baby, my Jordan, well, he was a sweetheart.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQAoq0raYCSQmoltj3hyphenhyphenXaVq07lFxmAEXSdaDlpoSB_nrRhKj0BtafTcT46m6j9RiWBLGIcv0sDTJ3zjPf3s6oqjQV47dCsia_f_wW9arQH8QY01niqT7Oh5C8RrwnI0Z95FOnSZ7uU3zW/s1600/Jordan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="1012" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQAoq0raYCSQmoltj3hyphenhyphenXaVq07lFxmAEXSdaDlpoSB_nrRhKj0BtafTcT46m6j9RiWBLGIcv0sDTJ3zjPf3s6oqjQV47dCsia_f_wW9arQH8QY01niqT7Oh5C8RrwnI0Z95FOnSZ7uU3zW/s320/Jordan.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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He did grow up to wear a hat, but not like I pictured. After years of wearing one like this while running Pioneer Farms Living History Museum, </div>
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he now wears another. That of a father. </div>
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Last September he moved from Austin with his pregnant wife (I so felt your pain, Leigh) out to East Texas to take a job with Texas Parks and Wildlife. At the beginning of March, I was boogie boarding with a bunch of wild women aging boldly while this incredible child was born. Too much fun showing everyone my new grandson's picture. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Miles Robert</span></div>
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I spent five days with Miles when I returned and they are five days I will cherish forever. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1WalNtIUIETPqnsJlSv7vC_UWiS_T0AjjiKhCLYWgAyekYBs-WcWdS0cQ9nUJPWxBKM456ou6Mu0Io1yl9E5v_sXWns3qwAn8HkijctIvh_-gV8k7iu8YEFRlQRY0YHmrgaZzx5KxFXvj/s1600/IMG_2664.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1WalNtIUIETPqnsJlSv7vC_UWiS_T0AjjiKhCLYWgAyekYBs-WcWdS0cQ9nUJPWxBKM456ou6Mu0Io1yl9E5v_sXWns3qwAn8HkijctIvh_-gV8k7iu8YEFRlQRY0YHmrgaZzx5KxFXvj/s400/IMG_2664.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I watched as this beautiful new family worked through the exhaustion and trials of new parenthood, My daughter-in-law quickly realized that she had prepared well, but just because women had been having babies forever didn't mean first time around they knew what the hell they were doing, especially when your body has been through the ringer and you're sleep deprived. With that simple recognition she chose to trust herself. Smart mama. Great mama.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first bath</td></tr>
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I watched that son of mine as Miles added more days to his young life. So calm, so relaxed. Little Miles so comfortable and safe in the arms of that gentle soul. </div>
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Watching my children with their children is something that leaves me in awe. I'm not quite certain how to describe what I see as I'm not certain how to interpret it. I still can't believe they are old enough to have babies of their own, yet I'm proud they participate in the raising, the doing, the work of raising children. Such an exciting time in their lives.</div>
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One afternoon I watched my oldest son as he and his daughter lay on the grass in the back yard, '<i>noculars </i>in hand as they searched the sky for birds.</div>
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Or another day where I watched a tired new dad sit, his new son, Miles, lying in his lap, both content with the world. </div>
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Baby Miles. Of course we ask questions like "Who does he look like?"</div>
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His Mama?</div>
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Or his daddy?<br />
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You decide.</div>
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Does he have Uncle Ian's cheeks?</div>
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Will Grandpa teach him good stuff or bad stuff? Will Grandma have to monitor?</div>
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Will he always keep us entertained?</div>
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Aw, little Miles. So very sweet. I'm sad he is two hours away. Now I know something of what my mother used to feel, her grandchildren 1402 miles away. I do get to see him every few weeks and rock him in my arms or have him sit in the crook of my crossed leg. To show him pages from a book or play a little music for him. In his early days of hanging with me, he responded best to the Stones and Eine kleine Nachtmusik. Gotta like that.</div>
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When I say goodbye, I can't wait for our next visit. For Miles, dear Miles. Even though I might still be learning about little girls, your cousin Maisy will tell you that hanging with Grandma is an okay thing to do.<br />
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But here's a little secret. This Grandma knows how to do boys. She's well seasoned in boys. We will have great fun. Just you watch.</div>
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When my son had a son, I cried. I knew he'd be a great dad and I held such joy for him. I have no doubt Miles will become as fine a man as my Jordan, my son.</div>
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Congratulations Jordan and Leigh.<br />
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Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-53334616124693049142019-03-17T15:37:00.001-05:002019-06-02T18:21:24.801-05:00Did I Ride In My Last Rodeo?<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><i>Spending that many hours in the saddle gave a man plenty of time to think. That's why so many cowboys fancied themselves Philosophers.</i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Charles M. Russell</span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">'m no philosopher. Far from it. But I have to say that a week ago while spending a couple hours on a real horse, I did a great deal of thinking. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">As a follower of <a href="https://nexttribe.com/">Next Tribe</a>, an online magazine for bold women 45 to 60+ years of age (and as a member of my local tribe) a friend and I considered one of their retreats. </span><span style="font-size: large;">From what I'd read of the destination -- Troncones, Guerrero, Mexico -- it was a sleepy community of small outdoor restaurants and shops. The retreat facilities at <a href="https://www.presentmomentretreat.com/">Present Moment</a> offered a beautifully tended landscape and Palapa-style bungalows with no windows. Activities available for choice were yoga and meditation, cave hikes, massages, kayaking, writing, photography, and horseback riding on the beach. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Other than the additional surfing and boogie boarding, the trip sounded like a nightmare to my husband. But to me? I'm 62. The women I'd met in Next Tribe thus far were fascinating, creative, and adventurous. Why the hell not? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My friend, Beth, and I arrived in Zihuatanejo, Mexico and took a 30-minute taxi ride to Troncones, the small surfer village void of touristo crowds, marinas, and glitzy hotels. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Upon arrival, we quickly made 20 new friends of smart, accomplished, well-traveled and fit women. We ate fresh fruits and vegetables and fish from the sea. The uncrowded beaches and a sunset to die for greeted us as well. How could this not be perfect?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixpqpDGnl4DNRKduuowPs1GROZnOZZpw1UKo2fDez7263LPiKy0ebiCbwePmK_mwMzze3j1U3873s8-Q2tFs4kbpVRQSq7zZYxxJdYuTfm0_MQ4kaAekAIK2T3VsjIutxbAVxqJv9FIsOc/s1600/IMG_2398.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixpqpDGnl4DNRKduuowPs1GROZnOZZpw1UKo2fDez7263LPiKy0ebiCbwePmK_mwMzze3j1U3873s8-Q2tFs4kbpVRQSq7zZYxxJdYuTfm0_MQ4kaAekAIK2T3VsjIutxbAVxqJv9FIsOc/s400/IMG_2398.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Perfect it was. Of course, most of the women were younger than me, yet a couple older. All were in much better shape than me. But, hey. I'd had eight months from the time I signed up until the trip to practice my yoga. That I started two weeks before I left didn't seem to matter. Ahem. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJXXs8hpByxgcxl_rINw9XW_fYc6ha8cEzcakJZRgO-o1VOLUXRbBoVpcB_799XzfKNLUQnA_oxzAyF9aZkhW4veU-mC3Xu-ahlPojbx1iYnzdWoUAeQm40u-4lwxXZebK6bHHQ9Zc3Ax/s1600/IMG_2447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJXXs8hpByxgcxl_rINw9XW_fYc6ha8cEzcakJZRgO-o1VOLUXRbBoVpcB_799XzfKNLUQnA_oxzAyF9aZkhW4veU-mC3Xu-ahlPojbx1iYnzdWoUAeQm40u-4lwxXZebK6bHHQ9Zc3Ax/s400/IMG_2447.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The yoga hut</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Next Tribe had a yoga session each morning at 8. Surprisingly, I was up that early. But I walked right past that lovely group of women up there striking poses. I don't exercise first thing in the morning. In fact, I don't talk to people first thing in the morning. I poured myself a coffee from the open air restaurant and found an Adirondack chair on the beach and wrote my morning pages, allowing the rising sun to warm my Tired-of-Winter body. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR4hiOh44N9JAlBv8vaHnSU82pSxiE_hdrQtbKojwXKI56FtBG_ud5muVxdMKLJpQvKviFXMRNx_vPJjAo-iD-ZJfjalIt44ii6hVT52iqFdDHIUnSuKhBRVWjL4wkvRnrQNXNHDrWEEr-/s1600/IMG_2503.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR4hiOh44N9JAlBv8vaHnSU82pSxiE_hdrQtbKojwXKI56FtBG_ud5muVxdMKLJpQvKviFXMRNx_vPJjAo-iD-ZJfjalIt44ii6hVT52iqFdDHIUnSuKhBRVWjL4wkvRnrQNXNHDrWEEr-/s400/IMG_2503.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">My view when I looked back at those who move in the morning.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As class after class took part in all kinds of yoga and practices all day, I waited for Gentle Yoga at 4pm. When I got in there and found out it was an hour and half long class, I winced. My yoga tapes I'd been doing so smuggly at home only lasted 22 to 28 minutes. What had I done? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But I loved it. The waves crashing in my view, the sea breezes blowing on my face. Comfort. Pleasant moments. The next day's class I was there and ready. When I followed the leader and looped a belt around my bottom and enclosed my feet in the loop in a suspended Indian-style grip where I thought my groin muscles would detach from my torso, the instructor asked if I felt supported. I said I hoped there wasn't a fire. I had no clue how to get myself out of the loop. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But this immersion into something I didn't know gave me confidence I could still learn something new as well as the old. When it came time to sign up for a sunset horseback ride on the beach, I was in. I'd ridden horses all my life, starting when I was 7. At camp on Lake Okoboji in Iowa every year, I signed up to get the horses brushed and saddled every morning. Often I went with my brother or husband up to Evergreen, Colorado to exercise and ride a friend's horses -- including the day my knee wiped itself off on the fence post netting the meniscus tear I ran on for the next twenty years before getting that baby trimmed up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My last ride had been up in the Black Hills while exploring South Dakota with my sons. I had my middle son in the saddle behind me and a car came near us with a yippy little dog. Scared my horse and he freaked and backed down into a deep gully beside the road. I didn't freak. I quickly guided the horse back up the hill and safely onto the trail, my son told to hang tight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I knew how to ride a horse. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When it came time for Next Tribe to ride, about 20 horses gathered on the beach. It seemed the ranch hands were assigning horses to my fellow riders. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJyS5rEd9HZeObzR8E-lbJAdIa_GfY0eyFn_SmWxC_9lK6i6e8I7lAgLvZn6vb__J_e2pOPbZbp2doIxlJRSt4kK7Z5wURnV44oWAFhwwQUzuhrg5QxaEddhqGcem6pSaO2nii5e_dGb7u/s1600/IMG_2432.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJyS5rEd9HZeObzR8E-lbJAdIa_GfY0eyFn_SmWxC_9lK6i6e8I7lAgLvZn6vb__J_e2pOPbZbp2doIxlJRSt4kK7Z5wURnV44oWAFhwwQUzuhrg5QxaEddhqGcem6pSaO2nii5e_dGb7u/s400/IMG_2432.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">All of a sudden, there was only one horse left -- at the end of the pack. An old plug, just like me. When I placed my foot in the stirrup, I discovered I couldn't get my old ass up in the saddle. I couldn't plant that bad knee and use it to thrust myself up there. Nor did my shoulder strength appear to exist.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I'd seen the young <i>caballerros</i> help up one or two others, so I wasn't completely horrified, but I have to say the two young men who arrived to get my errant leg up, over, and across the horse weren't quite certain where to push. I'm not certain exactly where they did. I hope I haven't twisted those boys for life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Alas, I was aboard. Mission accomplished as far as I was concerned. I knew what to do next. Only I didn't. I'd worn the wrong shoes. No traction to keep my feet lodged in the stirrups. I also appeared a rookie, free hand clinging to the saddle horn. I attempted a photo of myself. Does it look like I'm having fun?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">My bad knee didn't like the position it was in and I recalled that last ride in the Black Hills was in 1998, a mere 21 years before. But, so what? We were only walking down the beach. How hard could this be? My horse's name was Caterina and I patted her neck and said, "Get me through this alive, Caterina."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQDF6QIp2-Q4sNksbCRUrTlmZZXhYytAT07TsBA-LvHBWPgZyafFFlSP3UsoPbq9IfUStDszV4ALAN0Sj2_HsqChc_soSXDIpE3fAPnBK0EGIbitxs_k9MOQY5veKght8NznKNimbAG4Zl/s1600/IMG_2434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQDF6QIp2-Q4sNksbCRUrTlmZZXhYytAT07TsBA-LvHBWPgZyafFFlSP3UsoPbq9IfUStDszV4ALAN0Sj2_HsqChc_soSXDIpE3fAPnBK0EGIbitxs_k9MOQY5veKght8NznKNimbAG4Zl/s400/IMG_2434.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Off we went.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOi-vmkfQKaF26elXTx8zJiBFG1BZdD0cHLXMrpRKHvYeZE1LAAbkmTr-6-LTUF_hRkRXDlNDc8FzzIAYj7SArvYnPx1wSFlxxUB8cCSoZ3w16zx9TbT9_fKwEa2KKvi1enYiSwSfCRCA/s1600/IMG_2435+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1265" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOi-vmkfQKaF26elXTx8zJiBFG1BZdD0cHLXMrpRKHvYeZE1LAAbkmTr-6-LTUF_hRkRXDlNDc8FzzIAYj7SArvYnPx1wSFlxxUB8cCSoZ3w16zx9TbT9_fKwEa2KKvi1enYiSwSfCRCA/s400/IMG_2435+%25281%2529.jpg" width="395" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">My traveling partner -- looking like she was born on that horse.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">All was well until we took a turn and started climbing up through the rocks. My horse wanted to wipe my knees on them. Well, I let her know that wasn't going to happen to me again and I steered her away from that trick. But then she stumbled on the rocks. And stumbled again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Now, I know horses can do this to you on purpose, but as I patted her side and called Caterina by name, I assured her we didn't have to stumble. "Just watch where the f---- you're going."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We got through that and cruised along another beach until the next set of rocks, where my old plug stumbled again, greatly. I found myself perpendicular to a rock and I'm pretty sure I yelled out "Holy Shit" or something like that as my horse finally uprighted and stumbled again before coming out onto the next beach. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I started to look at the places we passed on the beach. I hoped for a hotel with a bar. Me and Caterina would tie up and wait for them to come back. Have a few shots of tequila. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">No hotels. No bars. Surely we'd turn around soon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The sun set and in its magnificence, I tried to get my phone out of my back pocket so I could take a photo. I decided hanging on was a better idea as we came across more rocks to stumble upon. As the sun slipped into the ocean, we arrived at our third long beach and I was certain we'd stop here and some van or bus would take us back to our place. If my horse couldn't find her footing in the light, she sure as hell couldn't find it in the dark. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">But, we turned around. To go back the same way. I was so done. Which is when I started doing that philosophizing/praying the artist Charles Russell refers to in that quote above. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Please, please, please horsey, whatever your name is again. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Get me home safely.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Please do better on the rocks.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Get this old broad back alive. Please?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This is also where I began evaluating the choices I make. Even though when I turned 60 I agreed to go after whatever opportunities I'm given, I decided a less challenging approach might be in order. Yes, sitting on that horse, fear entered into my philosophizing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">While I was doing the Plato thing, that old horse passed over those rocks just fine. When we cleared the last of them and had a free ride the rest of the way back, I again contemplated my future. As much as I took in the beauty of the setting sun, the opportunity to be present in this breathtaking place with incredible women, I wanted off the horse. And it was okay. Just as I'd walked off a ski slope several years before after 40 years of snow skiing, I felt no regret with the decision. There just comes a time when you know some of your riding days are done. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The next day, I was back in the saddle. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A saddle that fits me fine. My horseback riding days are done, but to answer the question of this essay? Did I ride in my last rodeo? Yes, but I'll still go to the rodeo.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">You bet I will. Because at this one I also had THE BEST BOOGIE BOARD RIDE OF MY LIFE!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjDvFMtutJI04uJuB6lI5YnEyoPijRtty-Sx4ucxpv3n3Kz1u2wWKlY2T5RvB0xNoHGg2ec1acwawYjCugzWEXgYkQl9VgixaKewEZQtuxIc1d5A2pVmrcm336SGs3Icn542Je1i6c5jQ/s1600/IMG_2586.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEjDvFMtutJI04uJuB6lI5YnEyoPijRtty-Sx4ucxpv3n3Kz1u2wWKlY2T5RvB0xNoHGg2ec1acwawYjCugzWEXgYkQl9VgixaKewEZQtuxIc1d5A2pVmrcm336SGs3Icn542Je1i6c5jQ/s400/IMG_2586.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheers!</td></tr>
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Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-85665533954675843902019-02-20T11:09:00.000-06:002019-02-20T14:11:51.256-06:00We're All Waiting<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">"Even on the road to hell, flowers can make you smile."</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Deng Ming-Dao</span></i></b></div>
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While writing my morning pages today, I was distracted by a resounding chorus of chirping birds. In my backyard I found hundreds of red-breasted robins. We don't have robins in Austin, Texas. Growing up in Austin, Minnesota, they were the only birds I ever saw.<br />
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But right in my backyard, hundreds flitted from tree to tree, their voices drowning out the passing cars. Their activity prematurely dislodging the live oak leaves still priming the branches for their replacement's arrival next month. Like a rain of leaves.<br />
<br />
I got out my camera and went out in my pajamas, barefoot. The patio was cold. I wanted to be quick, but my camera wouldn't work. The battery was dead. Apropos to the season. Dead, like everything else this time of year. February. The dog days of winter.<br />
<br />
I plugged in my battery and paced the floor. Perhaps like the birds fluttering from branch to branch, impatient for the weather to warm; their migration back up north to continue. The season to change.<br />
<br />
My morning pages of late have documented the gloomy weather.<br />
<br />
Gray day.<br />
Rain day.<br />
Windy, cold day.<br />
Cold.<br />
Gray.<br />
A slight streak of sunlight. Hope?<br />
Absent sun.<br />
Brown -- the world is brown. Will the world always be brown now? No hope?<br />
<br />
My daily mediation book this year is <i>365 Tao </i>by Den Min-Dao. Each morning I read a page. This day had the quote from above. Appropriately placed for February, I'd say. Would seem I'm not the only one tired of the dormancy of winter.<br />
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It could be worse. I could still live up North where I'd also mention the gray skies. Most days I'd say white instead of brown. New snow. Old snow. The old snow always worse because it would have the dirty splashes of vehicle spill turning the snow banks a dull gray or black. Sticks and errant debris crusted into the once pristine white, now its own ugly.<br />
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But even in the South, patience is required. All kinds of patience that is often hard to muster. Especially on days when something new arrives right outside my window.<br />
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My pacing prompted me to grab my cell phone and I did get this photo. A little cropping blew it up, but it disappointed me. I wanted to get that clearer, better shot, with my zoom lens. My feet chilled on the cement, I listened to the collective chirping and watched the birds flutter from branch to branch, as if they were as anxious as me waiting for that better shot. At flight. The robins, waiting to stretch their wings and fly for miles, rather than from yard to yard on a slowed trek of waiting for warmth.<br />
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My daily Tao today also says "We should take time to appreciate beauty in the midst of temporality." Only after posting this photo here, do I notice the blue sky behind. The beautiful orange breast. The Live Oak tree behind that doesn't drop its leaves until another is present. That if the crepe myrtle were not dormant and free of green, I would not see this beautiful bird of my youth.<br />
<br />
My camera battery is now charged, but the robins have left. I can hear them far off, a block or so away. Patiently working their way north.<br />
<br />
The sun is out today. The weather report says we won't see it tomorrow. This is my "temporality moment." Perhaps a visit to a greenhouse is in order. The flowers to come certain to make me smile.<br />
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<br /></div>
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Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-55576485682914855912019-01-08T10:56:00.000-06:002019-01-09T11:02:27.800-06:00What's on Your 2018 Reading List?<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #e5e5dd; color: #330000; 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;"><i><b>Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it. </b></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #e5e5dd; color: #330000; 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;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-small;">P.J. O'Rourke</span></b></i></span></div>
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Years ago I kept a reading journal where I recorded every book I read. A few years later, I added a tagline. Years after that, I joined Goodreads and let them keep track. Gave me an opportunity to see what everybody else was reading and their rankings.<br />
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I often compare my rankings to my friends and choose from their recommendations. But sometimes I love a book and my reading friends hate it. Or vice versa. What's wrong with them?<br />
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Based on a five-star system, I don't give away too many five stars. Sometimes I want to give a one, yet I give a two. Or a two, I'll give a three. Just because I know how hard it is to write a book. Kind of like having been a waiter, I'll give mine a little more tip than most. Especially if they are good.<br />
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<br />
An avid reader since forever, I love all the places books take me. All the new things I learn. I always have several books going. The pattern something like this:<br />
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<div>
Daily Meditation</div>
<div>
Poetry (3 new poems a day)</div>
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Essay or Short Story collection (one a day if I can fit it in)</div>
<div>
Novel for night reading. Sometimes a non-fiction</div>
<div>
Audible book for riding in the car </div>
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<br /></div>
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At the end of 2018, I wanted a clean slate for the new year. As I finished each book, I didn't begin another. Agony. Sheer agony as my reading mind tried to comprehend another episode of <u>Buy My Old POS Car</u> or <u>Take this Wheel Nut and Put it Here</u> with my captivated husband.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
On December 31, I read the last meditation in <i>The Journey to The Heart</i> and shelved it. On January 1, I began <i>365 Tao</i>, my new daily med for 2019. I eyed my Books To Be Read shelf with glee. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I'm rather fickle, though. How is it I can look at the shelf crammed with 30+ unread books and none of them appeal to me? Surely they allured me when I purchased or borrowed them. What I wanted to read on December 31 was completely different than what I chose on January 1.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG45DmTtHqY5-o2i7Tz5-7e2w91z0evGFo0kMVXr0M25w8A64Sz9AJKQaISfynfjEc4X04O8a-JkOSAjtskVbHnAZnfSLBffEHtrR07758ld5Jpgzbbirbcbnw2nQd-umPJBxvMYPWb-DK/s1600/IMG_2225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG45DmTtHqY5-o2i7Tz5-7e2w91z0evGFo0kMVXr0M25w8A64Sz9AJKQaISfynfjEc4X04O8a-JkOSAjtskVbHnAZnfSLBffEHtrR07758ld5Jpgzbbirbcbnw2nQd-umPJBxvMYPWb-DK/s400/IMG_2225.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please note there is another of unread behind those you see.</td></tr>
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Thus far, I 've added:</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>Do I Make Myself Clear --Why Writing Well Matters</i> by Harold Evans</div>
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<i>In the Shadow of 10,000 Hills</i> by Jennifer Haupt (finished)<br />
<i>Hotel Silence </i>by Auour Ava Olafsottir<br />
<i>Becoming</i> by Michelle Obama<br />
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Still need a poetry book. Any suggestions? The Rilke I ordered won't be here until mid-February.<br />
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I only signed up to read 35 books this year in the Goodreads challenge. In past years I've challenged myself to 50 and usually complete more. But I find myself getting itchy to get to that 50. I become obsessed about a number rather than reading for joy. (What does that say about me?)<br />
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This year, 35 sounds good. That will happen naturally. Without the race, I might tackle some of those thicker books stuck on my stuffed shelf. Make more room.<br />
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Please join me on <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/">Goodreads</a>. My handle is Julie Sucha Anderson.<br />
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Tell me. What's on your bookshelf for 2019?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.bloglovin.com/blog/6272137/?claim=3zy29nnanwc">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a><br />
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Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-69918087534773843742018-12-22T10:19:00.000-06:002018-12-22T23:46:19.160-06:00The Lists of Christmas<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><i>There's nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.</i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Erma Bombeck</span></i></b></div>
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Last night while babysitting my two-year-old granddaughter, I pulled out my old copy of Peter Spier's <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Peter-Spiers-Christmas-Spier/dp/0385131836/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1545410253&sr=8-2&keywords=peter+spier%27s+christmas">Christmas</a>!</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgowy7cq4F-qyrpkNFX91hMIqNPkaP3tc1isJUyqeg_jphwrWsqVBIiR6T0jWTdLfqwSuYNfMmuK-OqjohkjOuzv95Eshrk3fsAwDvXL6BdKmLfE5OZUzh1FN3Kj8cby9Qf2-8USbjlX7wp/s1600/IMG_2168.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1484" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgowy7cq4F-qyrpkNFX91hMIqNPkaP3tc1isJUyqeg_jphwrWsqVBIiR6T0jWTdLfqwSuYNfMmuK-OqjohkjOuzv95Eshrk3fsAwDvXL6BdKmLfE5OZUzh1FN3Kj8cby9Qf2-8USbjlX7wp/s200/IMG_2168.jpg" width="185" /></a></div>
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The colorful graphics depict the chaotic season so well. No words, just pictures of the process -- setting up of lights/trees/, the shopping and wrapping, card/ornament/cookie making, pageants and caroling, food shopping, the big dinner, the opening of gifts, the mess of it all -- the kitchen filled with dishes and the floors draped in wrappings. The exhausted parents. The unchosen Christmas trees lying forlorn at the tree stands.<br />
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Then the cleanup, the discarded trees and garbage lining the streets and the reboxing of the decorations and lights. A graphic at the end of the book says only 360 days or so until it all has to be done again.<br />
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This morning I listed in my journal all the things I could possibly do today.<br />
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Make that last batch of cookies<br />
Sew that smaller blanket for my granddaughter and one for her babydoll<br />
Go downtown and watch the Christmas tuba concert on the capitol's steps<br />
Iron the tablecloth and napkins<br />
Go see the quirky 37th Street lights<br />
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I don't feel like doing anything except sit in my bright bedroom and read. I'm tired. As I age, life seems to speed by faster and faster. Christmas arrives sooner and sooner. I swear I did all this stuff only a couple months ago. But, once again:<br />
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The decorations are up - inside and out<br />
The gifts purchased, wrapped and mailed or under the tree<br />
Boring Christmas letter written and mailed<br />
Christmas Eve menu planned and ingredients purchased<br />
Cookies made (I've lost my touch -- need to rekindle baking techniques)<br />
Swedish cardamon coffee bread and lefsa made<br />
A host of other little things not remembered at the moment<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtHeCDzbnCZqeGJSC8wwtLiPIrm4ar9-yS3Y8ZlzrmnvgAljb-2yzQLaSuGYxPicZbx9wgsgAOJX27inxb1VoMR13m_qlC7p7pNYu0klukUSd19YSxBbejxP461Zq9vLoc-zuLs-B7kLj/s1600/IMG_2158+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1518" data-original-width="1600" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKtHeCDzbnCZqeGJSC8wwtLiPIrm4ar9-yS3Y8ZlzrmnvgAljb-2yzQLaSuGYxPicZbx9wgsgAOJX27inxb1VoMR13m_qlC7p7pNYu0klukUSd19YSxBbejxP461Zq9vLoc-zuLs-B7kLj/s400/IMG_2158+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty fine-looking piece of lefsa, if I do say so myself</td></tr>
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But I won't lie. Christmas was definitely more fun when I was a kid. My lists then consisted only of dreams:<br />
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A new bike<br />
A new doll<br />
New pajamas<br />
A snowcone machine<br />
A new game<br />
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Such anticipation while my mother worked her tail off to make Christmas happen. I had no idea.<br />
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In my current life my lists and duties have lessened. I don't have all the children's events to prepare for and attend -- the church pageants and school parties. The guitar recitals and band concerts. My children are off on their own and my parents no longer alive so I don't have three meals a day to prepare for a crowd.<br />
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But planning for Christmas Eve is still a huge venture. Detail work. Lots of detail work. All the little stuff that makes it special. All the little stuff possibly no one notices except me.<br />
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Which is probably why today I'm choosing how I want to spend my day before the final crush begins. I do need to dust the house and get the mailman his yearly gift. On Sunday, I'll need to make certain my fresh dill is still fresh and I don't need another visit to the insane grocery. I'll do the prep for our traditional Christmas Eve dinner and make certain everything is ready for when the kids arrive Monday morning and the festivities lasting until midnight begin.<br />
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Eggnog and Swedish coffee bread<br />
Gingerbread House creation<br />
Ugly Sweater decorating contest (decorating done at the participant's leisure throughout the day)<br />
FaceTime with youngest son in NYC<br />
Swedish meatball construction<br />
Someone making a sandwich -- and then everyone wanting one<br />
A long walk<br />
Naps<br />
Tea and scones<br />
Facetime with youngest son in NYC<br />
Cocktails<br />
Church<br />
Cocktails<br />
Ugly sweater contest judged via text message by extended family throughout the country<br />
Appetizers<br />
Traditional Swedish Dinner<br />
FaceTime with youngest son in NYC<br />
Present sharing<br />
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My list for Christmas day is nil. Where I used to make another huge dinner, I now sleep late, my children off with their other families or headed home. No structure to this day. Leftovers. Rest. The festivities complete. Until it's time to put Christmas away.<br />
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Last night my granddaughter undressed the Elf on the Shelf and herself, put the stuffed reindeer to bed in a box, and helped me create a railroad track. I wore a crowned Santa hat and she a rack of antlers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhar5wuGFoFuISNejdxzA_e5MDq0aJlmiHzJE5D3yy_MCIxqG3Bx89Qi-mulNVY1364tG5RjzlXuf6cFVi9Ip7U9GRJToAMh2-lFm2Tflx7xcdjwjC1L2F8db9ZwA42SiR3naJDh-ZpwOH6/s1600/IMG_2166.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhar5wuGFoFuISNejdxzA_e5MDq0aJlmiHzJE5D3yy_MCIxqG3Bx89Qi-mulNVY1364tG5RjzlXuf6cFVi9Ip7U9GRJToAMh2-lFm2Tflx7xcdjwjC1L2F8db9ZwA42SiR3naJDh-ZpwOH6/s400/IMG_2166.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Had to call her Uncle Jordan to chat.</td></tr>
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She doesn't quite understand all this Christmas hoopla yet. I don't think she cares about the manger scene and the presents under the tree. Too many other distractions. Next year might bring more awareness. More of that anticipation in the air, the excitement. A better understanding of a guy in a red suit with a white beard that can fit down a chimney.<br />
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I look forward to that and next year her Uncle Jordan will bring his new baby, too. Two grandchildren. Possible pageants and recitals to attend in the future. A new cycle.<br />
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As to what I'll do today? Sitting here writing this post has given me time to look out the window. The sun shines on the lawn in places where it didn't when all the leaves were on the trees. The house is quiet, and peaceful. The buttercream candle offers a pleasant scent, just like the cookies I most likely don't need to bake.<br />
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Sitting here I've decided that if some of those details don't get done, it's okay. Because watching the sun filtering on the lawn is more important. Watching and noticing is how I will collect myself after all this preparation. That in this collecting, I will acquire anticipation and gratitude for those who will gather around me on Christmas Eve day. All of us together -- FaceTime or real time -- sharing gifts of time together, laughter, and fun.<br />
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Yes, today I will look out the window. And gather.<br />
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Merry Christmas everybody. Have a good one.<br />
<br />
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<br />Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-44922754417120146162018-10-29T08:07:00.000-05:002018-12-30T16:30:53.523-06:00Life Interruptus -- With Gratitude<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #e5e5dd; color: #330000; 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;"><b><i>We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #e5e5dd; color: #330000; 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;"><b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Thornton Wilder</span></i></b></span></div>
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Thirteen days ago I woke up thinking I'd get myself organized. Do my daily reading and writing and then fill the empty coffers in my fridge. Make something healthy for dinner. Maybe even clean the toilets. </div>
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Then I looked at the texts on my muted phone. People asking if our lakehouse was okay. Um. Okay, so I didn't wake up until 8:30. I went to bed way past midnight with no knowledge of anything significant developing out on the Llano River. I knew they were expecting more rain, but it had been raining for a while. </div>
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The previous week there had been immense rains and some flooding, but other than an accumulation of passing timbers and brush that parked at our house for a while, we were fine. Besides, our lake in the river chain of six is a constant level lake. It doesn't flood. We have flood gates at the dam.</div>
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A video sent to us by our neighbors of a wild and unfamiliar scene in front of our houses interrupted my husband's morning interlude at the indoor golf driving range. He arrived home as I was collecting rain gear. We drove the hour and ten minutes to Lake LBJ, me watching the news reports on my phone. Pelting rain hindered the drive. Our neighbors texted they were leaving their house. When the news reports announced our little isle was under evacuation, I didn't know what to think other than we needed to turn around. We had hoped to move things to the upper level. Tie up the boat. Move the vehicles in the garage to higher ground. Or something like that. Not certain our thoughts were quite that organized. We had never prepared for an event like this.</div>
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The volume of water thrashing down the river surprised everyone. The Llano River rose over 39 feet. While driving in, we heard the Kingsland 2900 bridge collapsed. You may have seen video of this on national news. (You can Google it going down.) That bridge is six miles from us.</div>
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Upon arrival at our isle, we couldn't get across the causeway to access the house. From the looks of it, we didn't know if the road would be there when the water receded.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ljxJVm7TaQmDi-j292MpyO3yndWu3y00kpdqE8jBQpo9y0FysP1eDL-ZmQH1JeP3_2mZvQGPXprWPg8SoaQaWpDBfhlNrkVd6JMgVk6djMc7EZaDR3Vo54AFHTA5dOjfwCNGkCh6_FqW/s1600/IMG_1624.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ljxJVm7TaQmDi-j292MpyO3yndWu3y00kpdqE8jBQpo9y0FysP1eDL-ZmQH1JeP3_2mZvQGPXprWPg8SoaQaWpDBfhlNrkVd6JMgVk6djMc7EZaDR3Vo54AFHTA5dOjfwCNGkCh6_FqW/s400/IMG_1624.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rescue was in progress via boat retrieval of an elderly gentleman from the end of the isle.</td></tr>
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Unable to access the house, we drove up to higher ground. The rain whipped around us. We could only wonder how our old cabin fared on the other side these houses pictured below. That was our island, our house, our neighbor's homes -- flooding. I felt so bad for it. Doesn't that sound crazy? I felt bad for it. Our homes under siege by waters that weren't supposed to flood it.<br />
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We couldn't do anything. We drove back home. Grateful we could do that.<br />
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Almost 13 years ago, we purchased our cabin. We are old Yankees (Minnesota and Michigan) and lakes and deciduous trees are ingrained in our hearts and minds. To finally own a place on a lake was a dream come true.<br />
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In Central Texas, the six Highland lakes are really the Colorado River (different than the big one out west) divided by a series of dams. The Llano River joins the Colorado River to begin our lake, LBJ, which is a constant level lake. It's a pass through lake shuffling water down the line to the larger Lake Travis, and then into Austin and beyond. Lake LBJ doesn't flood because the dams and their floodgates keep it from doing so. Where those two above-mentioned rivers join, houses have flooded in the past. But our house is six miles down, with land left undeveloped in between for waters to flow if needed. Ahem.<br />
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First constructed on pedestals in 1964, our cabin purchase was a funky collection of odd doors to added rooms and a rickety old dock. We rebuilt the dock and made do with the rest. Paint and love.<br />
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Over 400 different people have spent the night in the past 12 years. Many of those have come several/many times. This does not count those who came only for the day, or by boat. Boys Scouts, baseball teams, fraternity boys, family, bunco bitches, book club, family, WriterGrrls, writing friends, old friends, new friends, our kid's friends, our friend's friends, our families friends.<br />
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Over 400 different people. And everybody got clean sheets and helped with food prep or cleanup. If they didn't, they didn't get invited back. Unless they were family. Ha!<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">"A Double-Wide on stilts," my husband always says. Looks like this when all the kids are home and we fly our respective flags. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifK6HbbzYN-w7cZjQSzSX8qXT85PbTqyiKFyfbeGnjiitXLV-8CXO7bbiRrww72_QydxUk4v0nVnXEBJiiFCy1KRdk87ssay-fuENIODLARWekr374GUWRz3V26ABwYyHK7I3gkA_gMazl/s1600/IMG_1465.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifK6HbbzYN-w7cZjQSzSX8qXT85PbTqyiKFyfbeGnjiitXLV-8CXO7bbiRrww72_QydxUk4v0nVnXEBJiiFCy1KRdk87ssay-fuENIODLARWekr374GUWRz3V26ABwYyHK7I3gkA_gMazl/s400/IMG_1465.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Or like this if there's a bunch of people on the dock.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhdnCxsfnpVjNjPuzebdSaWaqVE9W5_lNSzR5RpLOI7FnSbUnaA3vROyBex-cvA2Ye-k_APpS2ZIRvKAomqD7bb6F7lhR8gtJx2bgcOHn2xPSn_-x9TwSnCGQiXqfqOT_QQF7Mede1K9MC/s1600/DSC_0038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhdnCxsfnpVjNjPuzebdSaWaqVE9W5_lNSzR5RpLOI7FnSbUnaA3vROyBex-cvA2Ye-k_APpS2ZIRvKAomqD7bb6F7lhR8gtJx2bgcOHn2xPSn_-x9TwSnCGQiXqfqOT_QQF7Mede1K9MC/s400/DSC_0038.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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So, back to thirteen days ago. When the rain subsided that evening and the flood waters were in retreat, our neighbors waded over the causeway and sent us this photo of our dock.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1uaOyE4-XIqoyodhK85Y4NKQC_CIpPbeIpH3H_lQ4Vh18r1eFHLHsuI1YbfhZjNBKqfHXcuHMDMzqDw0OpaiTl1_sUh9qAY3gdZ4KAq8imA4AKHzqGeZ8rm1jnNR8UlDqTbDJ47YFw0JV/s1600/IMG_1284+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1uaOyE4-XIqoyodhK85Y4NKQC_CIpPbeIpH3H_lQ4Vh18r1eFHLHsuI1YbfhZjNBKqfHXcuHMDMzqDw0OpaiTl1_sUh9qAY3gdZ4KAq8imA4AKHzqGeZ8rm1jnNR8UlDqTbDJ47YFw0JV/s400/IMG_1284+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Henry, You swan, you! You survived! And our boat was there. We'd seen newsreels of boats going over the dams and figured ours was one of them. Photo credit to David Hawkes</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: start;">Our neighbor's dock set the pick for us, would seem.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1EqXgg0Q8gkBSK3T2WkqzP84zKd8US0mhLbhIvK-w-0ImtwruiD57CG8fOCtIV3Y_nCL6QbUdkhRx4GGGgq0Bp5vUeBLPrgGY0eW69eoPaQXfLaEl-mhCFaM652IPq1h81PeD4umtHPzt/s1600/IMG_1274+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1EqXgg0Q8gkBSK3T2WkqzP84zKd8US0mhLbhIvK-w-0ImtwruiD57CG8fOCtIV3Y_nCL6QbUdkhRx4GGGgq0Bp5vUeBLPrgGY0eW69eoPaQXfLaEl-mhCFaM652IPq1h81PeD4umtHPzt/s400/IMG_1274+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit to David Hawkes</td></tr>
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The next morning, we bought 20 gallons of water at the grocery and drove to the lake. When we arrived, the first thing I saw was that pink flamingo on the bottom right of this photo. Wasn't mine, but there it was, just perched on that hammered Mexican sage. When I saw it, I took it as a sign. It would all be okay. I depended on it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRjVLYWp654ZjE3rg2x-BexLqzSjuwfA4_2qAMGA8mf8h9GU9K6YBAx9Lb1fDlEQgJI1b_CClzHAR17qG294vWST8BpLyIoKJILFB_Vwo2FSO1PamsGk6lmrzyu3zk2oZbsdOsUnrU8Ds/s1600/IMG_1648+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRjVLYWp654ZjE3rg2x-BexLqzSjuwfA4_2qAMGA8mf8h9GU9K6YBAx9Lb1fDlEQgJI1b_CClzHAR17qG294vWST8BpLyIoKJILFB_Vwo2FSO1PamsGk6lmrzyu3zk2oZbsdOsUnrU8Ds/s400/IMG_1648+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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After we removed all those trash cans and got through the gate, we discovered why our driveway was all rutted -- the crushed granite re-distributed along the path and all over the yard by the flood's rush.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbRK_s17yH3UMTiW-339OXWQirRJqp5rdAOJ2vPlc5L7zNaSMDnqnxNVfDxSm1HfWBvpiQUS2GMS7MTfV-jkAOGlkqK215Egmgjd3BlMdDramGirSRN9wein0cKx68F4ZrZE4xXKfVS69/s1600/IMG_1654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbRK_s17yH3UMTiW-339OXWQirRJqp5rdAOJ2vPlc5L7zNaSMDnqnxNVfDxSm1HfWBvpiQUS2GMS7MTfV-jkAOGlkqK215Egmgjd3BlMdDramGirSRN9wein0cKx68F4ZrZE4xXKfVS69/s400/IMG_1654.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did not tromp through that to look inside. Not right away. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxG7o67vyEFLQU4aBAYeTLBE0-tQ2YtB-oQDKP7-Ra-Nnh84xxqdFyllESYCJInvQIPvyj6XIiVUFWL7zBKuR-DRN-nU2nEqrs2VrS8obANMggoankhGDasE7q0JhDZb0GzOhgbEUKj2Y/s1600/IMG_1656.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxG7o67vyEFLQU4aBAYeTLBE0-tQ2YtB-oQDKP7-Ra-Nnh84xxqdFyllESYCJInvQIPvyj6XIiVUFWL7zBKuR-DRN-nU2nEqrs2VrS8obANMggoankhGDasE7q0JhDZb0GzOhgbEUKj2Y/s400/IMG_1656.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Didn't that have a cooler on that rack?</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0-HsyAITD8uYywMXIgSaBge7fPPXem1EoecvXywHO3CTeFggEXdxIq_lUqU7LQJb7jTj5UeIEnQ4-QuSDQcSZNGBUCt64txOX8uNOccT0mSC1rb7r3VdJDILTc515m_vMIhpLlrz-_3n/s1600/IMG_1658.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0-HsyAITD8uYywMXIgSaBge7fPPXem1EoecvXywHO3CTeFggEXdxIq_lUqU7LQJb7jTj5UeIEnQ4-QuSDQcSZNGBUCt64txOX8uNOccT0mSC1rb7r3VdJDILTc515m_vMIhpLlrz-_3n/s400/IMG_1658.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRfJIu8aG6RBNvzxia9O-0DXL8SUY-h1be_4daA9tiFrH5H5RNpWJpWJeAfalzqiZp26Hnu6VAySjh7-qc6uMYZmJhtihpoTml5mGG17nkNZEX0EpsYULnTCmhr4EP9gwxGPGUhbjkLoOz/s1600/IMG_1660.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRfJIu8aG6RBNvzxia9O-0DXL8SUY-h1be_4daA9tiFrH5H5RNpWJpWJeAfalzqiZp26Hnu6VAySjh7-qc6uMYZmJhtihpoTml5mGG17nkNZEX0EpsYULnTCmhr4EP9gwxGPGUhbjkLoOz/s400/IMG_1660.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Interesting design.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFCJOjXwRHIkFL65vSKgkO3F-jXhSpw0KosSLGMn5mxaIcdwVPBQ45vmS6V6drIbiOk_3Oli9VqYpk94qdb5DE0AFK-h-qNmt99XIjlN_uRm1Sq1KLxqh0ZezIiHiZTcsiPUQEWCUpKlpC/s1600/IMG_1662.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFCJOjXwRHIkFL65vSKgkO3F-jXhSpw0KosSLGMn5mxaIcdwVPBQ45vmS6V6drIbiOk_3Oli9VqYpk94qdb5DE0AFK-h-qNmt99XIjlN_uRm1Sq1KLxqh0ZezIiHiZTcsiPUQEWCUpKlpC/s400/IMG_1662.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More odd sights, like our badminton rackets lying in the yard as if abandoned mid-game. </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiklWnTyRMDCyJ-j_mhDN8ioRDxOIxW0RRg01SJn3AhZtLiLi9sqkkMSsJSeEzhezB9dckeEFXdu-F2Z1lfYcl11YdKvqxgrx0upbk5l73h5_HmaPPQsYUOO8RPVOXY2z5AxSYTX5iqfTUX/s1600/IMG_1667.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiklWnTyRMDCyJ-j_mhDN8ioRDxOIxW0RRg01SJn3AhZtLiLi9sqkkMSsJSeEzhezB9dckeEFXdu-F2Z1lfYcl11YdKvqxgrx0upbk5l73h5_HmaPPQsYUOO8RPVOXY2z5AxSYTX5iqfTUX/s400/IMG_1667.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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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/AVvXsEjPpBe5dh9vE3C2EUDnccrQS2-dgWmdo6EuC0yLN5oQbvzkKxY90ob8Qfivi_hcaBO87UBeOWTpjIy4x6FDEHR94c0VYTT58H51cwDxHyxnCj5MMHH414cjZuNgHOj0s1BLZqhMgyhCSdR_/s1600/IMG_1675+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPpBe5dh9vE3C2EUDnccrQS2-dgWmdo6EuC0yLN5oQbvzkKxY90ob8Qfivi_hcaBO87UBeOWTpjIy4x6FDEHR94c0VYTT58H51cwDxHyxnCj5MMHH414cjZuNgHOj0s1BLZqhMgyhCSdR_/s400/IMG_1675+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uh, oh. Note the water line on my Volks. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEgyBCd1Y-ekOicurCBSfJb3ZwR0rtMnTxdZPHwRV3jbQUzfBdIZe-GxI7dEPKSgTKCbQp-MtjNVd5s3TuyA6NvTT-FUUgEZ-Y1sxksHR9M973Ch7L2rFRC4rSaO4P2FwQg3x_YZXdCEw0iQ/s1600/IMG_1676+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBCd1Y-ekOicurCBSfJb3ZwR0rtMnTxdZPHwRV3jbQUzfBdIZe-GxI7dEPKSgTKCbQp-MtjNVd5s3TuyA6NvTT-FUUgEZ-Y1sxksHR9M973Ch7L2rFRC4rSaO4P2FwQg3x_YZXdCEw0iQ/s400/IMG_1676+%25281%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Okay, so my arrangement wasn't so nice. Is this one better?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEg4CSajUmPbZtH4gVnrB8fqDT1xt8Ir7i9nhOMd9s3NClwEW9__ho_O9JvdDtFTL_t4Utlw8kUpsHp-pR_rIGAyc4piXJPBcMrrt0xm4fo5wVf5qvSqA31c40lNn5w9pyY1Ea2M7Xyjfg7O/s1600/IMG_1678.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4CSajUmPbZtH4gVnrB8fqDT1xt8Ir7i9nhOMd9s3NClwEW9__ho_O9JvdDtFTL_t4Utlw8kUpsHp-pR_rIGAyc4piXJPBcMrrt0xm4fo5wVf5qvSqA31c40lNn5w9pyY1Ea2M7Xyjfg7O/s400/IMG_1678.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yuck. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbW7uauAKsIS17eQrJQ2fjMBtE4hu6j0iQExFUJUYr_oGpH8hQm_eOSpn_olHn5gTljV7rgbt9M8Uh6BipwKlOo0L1wl4nPQMn7sXz3_lUOAliE5WucbLDRzARg7P5B_G05lk1QdQ7BGQ-/s1600/IMG_1682.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbW7uauAKsIS17eQrJQ2fjMBtE4hu6j0iQExFUJUYr_oGpH8hQm_eOSpn_olHn5gTljV7rgbt9M8Uh6BipwKlOo0L1wl4nPQMn7sXz3_lUOAliE5WucbLDRzARg7P5B_G05lk1QdQ7BGQ-/s400/IMG_1682.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then these fine young men arrived. Two <br />
LDS missionaries offering to help. We shared that we had lived in Salt Lake City and our oldest son born there. That we are probably the only people around who know why both their first names are Elder. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEj4l6a46Dwis6l8Dfe7f8CyBW6kyliKqH2_le1nBtwBx3-vzJOkg8CyDkgXoNt8EvJuz_jHIQuPxA26_yETikWEM2rsGBHBeDZimbD3rzuZ2CB231qBINVckKl1WIyDrk_9YGJdarMDgD8z/s1600/IMG_1689+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4l6a46Dwis6l8Dfe7f8CyBW6kyliKqH2_le1nBtwBx3-vzJOkg8CyDkgXoNt8EvJuz_jHIQuPxA26_yETikWEM2rsGBHBeDZimbD3rzuZ2CB231qBINVckKl1WIyDrk_9YGJdarMDgD8z/s400/IMG_1689+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They helped carry all this out. Most comfortable recliner chairs ever. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEhqVsoDPsUzFA12iz4EX9p4IAyS1vuGQU-Wy5H2sZwwMc_Ny9YeRpvQbWd4nj4XihQfdkVRS6XDs4bTVQN5ShkN8QdyK5jZNP1u97xi7XoEo7AxCzTaTdlU0o10OXyyCmznc6sh9OCml6Ah/s1600/IMG_1692.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqVsoDPsUzFA12iz4EX9p4IAyS1vuGQU-Wy5H2sZwwMc_Ny9YeRpvQbWd4nj4XihQfdkVRS6XDs4bTVQN5ShkN8QdyK5jZNP1u97xi7XoEo7AxCzTaTdlU0o10OXyyCmznc6sh9OCml6Ah/s400/IMG_1692.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They carried out the neighbor's stuff too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEg3lRSnMCRW36SUIKEmVEidaMx164ESnnjPj30xcntqzrJ3vyOEDIRFA-lrnuTE57U6Za3C3Vrlxu4MGbnOLYAzd60els29Us4D_qzX8VN30n3KqeFUsPPz8635Ac8kL7MkLZGFIzkZa3e8/s1600/IMG_1694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3lRSnMCRW36SUIKEmVEidaMx164ESnnjPj30xcntqzrJ3vyOEDIRFA-lrnuTE57U6Za3C3Vrlxu4MGbnOLYAzd60els29Us4D_qzX8VN30n3KqeFUsPPz8635Ac8kL7MkLZGFIzkZa3e8/s400/IMG_1694.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The other side of us hauled out also.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXSkpqmT-tzqH98WRBYulnsUHdmQIwNtLC6ebzaUkp6djQnlLgXc_d-W0bCO9Ipx6JDxJwzFQBF7aQxH66PGhuC2UxH1dTJuQ9Bc4cgj-Sz4HA9XHi3bePI1EXgkbVZoeZmMzB48lllIgF/s1600/IMG_1696.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXSkpqmT-tzqH98WRBYulnsUHdmQIwNtLC6ebzaUkp6djQnlLgXc_d-W0bCO9Ipx6JDxJwzFQBF7aQxH66PGhuC2UxH1dTJuQ9Bc4cgj-Sz4HA9XHi3bePI1EXgkbVZoeZmMzB48lllIgF/s400/IMG_1696.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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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/AVvXsEiGih4j8YmWCKzuNKLvydJuBMl_QorK8hCmRCtuyEVc2MmzydvweNliiSLEeQnD9YD81rK0HreNMF0nOgpCylYPeoY1oyD4oIOBfPBaTf5n9QEy1ko86Wv-LOYk9T0uwA-pHc7vuakyCveE/s1600/IMG_1697.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGih4j8YmWCKzuNKLvydJuBMl_QorK8hCmRCtuyEVc2MmzydvweNliiSLEeQnD9YD81rK0HreNMF0nOgpCylYPeoY1oyD4oIOBfPBaTf5n9QEy1ko86Wv-LOYk9T0uwA-pHc7vuakyCveE/s400/IMG_1697.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In that mess was a neighbor's old boat, a jet ski, a fishing boat, a shed, a roof, two jet ski docks, Tom, Dick and Harry.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEjuS3FbI9yg5_BAh_zFYeUBGwwmbuZibE2rEyBd3bDhwTR_HYDO5mUJ9BHxPX4jWDKtSbUZkCF9kRwZN9R-zSJdWAJYlKV4vUs6EbvNGMmrveoqiOPlzzFUyUoFllUjSulyOj0BN8K_8vXd/s1600/IMG_1700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuS3FbI9yg5_BAh_zFYeUBGwwmbuZibE2rEyBd3bDhwTR_HYDO5mUJ9BHxPX4jWDKtSbUZkCF9kRwZN9R-zSJdWAJYlKV4vUs6EbvNGMmrveoqiOPlzzFUyUoFllUjSulyOj0BN8K_8vXd/s400/IMG_1700.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My oldest son's father-in-law and his friend arrived with a power washer (ours disabled by water) and </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEjEVoAmIzh0tAgAz7H47t6oy0KaOol8sxHaLAN6oHOjTHvB-aGSQz61aATBFFDFIg439Yaom5MhytIsnZDL-R4jJP2sQigThb879vkeQXFsSRiPyLg2dpog6-VK67ci6_KdnJ9Y9tK6FYE1/s1600/IMG_1701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVoAmIzh0tAgAz7H47t6oy0KaOol8sxHaLAN6oHOjTHvB-aGSQz61aATBFFDFIg439Yaom5MhytIsnZDL-R4jJP2sQigThb879vkeQXFsSRiPyLg2dpog6-VK67ci6_KdnJ9Y9tK6FYE1/s400/IMG_1701.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">within many hours of hard work, both the bunk room and the TV/bedroom/ laundry room were shoveled out from under layers of mud. Oldest son, Jacob, arrived to assist.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEhdcCGABvqzN0tgvI46g_ASFiR2JcYWGyP5XN79IhyILMy9gJfBUTG9s8hQXKXq-gS-N4RUufFaBiKBUJ02XDWPtF1m4RHu8Rk3W7oyoH-jfQnAtnceWbzMeBn9W9FE96BkTuYzlt0iOGCG/s1600/IMG_1702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcCGABvqzN0tgvI46g_ASFiR2JcYWGyP5XN79IhyILMy9gJfBUTG9s8hQXKXq-gS-N4RUufFaBiKBUJ02XDWPtF1m4RHu8Rk3W7oyoH-jfQnAtnceWbzMeBn9W9FE96BkTuYzlt0iOGCG/s400/IMG_1702.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silver lining? That carpet is gone. That bed rest against the fence? 300 lbs when wet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEgcP6Cmte2zi1lKY0QM5jGh5VXbazri1EnahnEUskP39pN9-ZOE2l68Gz1daJDXs94BQW7HDDvlUVtm8VbQLS-PyruCJ8UOU3viwWAmELxesKma_r1PDc-GiYTf3BNznMo-LOd2oV_Pf5l5/s1600/IMG_1735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcP6Cmte2zi1lKY0QM5jGh5VXbazri1EnahnEUskP39pN9-ZOE2l68Gz1daJDXs94BQW7HDDvlUVtm8VbQLS-PyruCJ8UOU3viwWAmELxesKma_r1PDc-GiYTf3BNznMo-LOd2oV_Pf5l5/s400/IMG_1735.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Nice assortment of semi-washed off stuff.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJcF4cQAsAjxPZn_WPW0FVyK3WYJ-KGsuKtuo5xeCPoZCjDitCzR8kicaD7E_2lyTGQt4XEre3bZk_ZFFdLR3WVFegMtoSGCiaaNHpvdvhO_iziL2WiVcFgQIRHaW09Jsj8WYYb2hWKtb/s1600/IMG_1687.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJcF4cQAsAjxPZn_WPW0FVyK3WYJ-KGsuKtuo5xeCPoZCjDitCzR8kicaD7E_2lyTGQt4XEre3bZk_ZFFdLR3WVFegMtoSGCiaaNHpvdvhO_iziL2WiVcFgQIRHaW09Jsj8WYYb2hWKtb/s400/IMG_1687.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Red Cross had dropped off cleaning supplies to friends down the road. We visited at day's end to assess their situation. We were all okay. It was only stuff. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlq7yeMMexCIrJvMozmaVqWkwjC0ElvAlk_rpGWJt9laEzBQg7shHBKhok0Lkny9KFNElts8LUyL0yXpPQtyumuSKir27COF3XziWcTvA_hgbxthMuoNMChwi6Teaj6AlRIewjAdpdcoOz/s1600/IMG_1710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlq7yeMMexCIrJvMozmaVqWkwjC0ElvAlk_rpGWJt9laEzBQg7shHBKhok0Lkny9KFNElts8LUyL0yXpPQtyumuSKir27COF3XziWcTvA_hgbxthMuoNMChwi6Teaj6AlRIewjAdpdcoOz/s400/IMG_1710.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day Two. My daughter-in-law pulls her landscaping crews from their jobs and drives out to the lake with 8 guys. Overwhelming emotion.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUTTRWiK-7jcy1O5gA9zjZ4t5brtLQjIxAVgb9rD2UokdIhxadlP7JW5cUqpRj7vuD_DDDVi95KCELN-FbHZKonQaoYN9hPlYGDilLMwRW3PMdw51ezbuQ4jw35Z6wk6LzyvCrvXGKHxyL/s1600/IMG_1705+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1454" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUTTRWiK-7jcy1O5gA9zjZ4t5brtLQjIxAVgb9rD2UokdIhxadlP7JW5cUqpRj7vuD_DDDVi95KCELN-FbHZKonQaoYN9hPlYGDilLMwRW3PMdw51ezbuQ4jw35Z6wk6LzyvCrvXGKHxyL/s400/IMG_1705+%25281%2529.jpg" width="362" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scraping the mud and cleaning the debris off the dock. Trash cans pulled from the lake. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsokxQoVh9Af9nPyKT9ewU_W0NBH81pzUqhUxrt8lwJN7tHvATSDF8m4NzVDtriat_fyKE_U-A5HMlMnGWWwBnEFp3IBE_dSC_bRlujvr_EMkgBcZBzUNacJ1RfzYMdCzqs-ggeNs44ucq/s1600/IMG_1714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsokxQoVh9Af9nPyKT9ewU_W0NBH81pzUqhUxrt8lwJN7tHvATSDF8m4NzVDtriat_fyKE_U-A5HMlMnGWWwBnEFp3IBE_dSC_bRlujvr_EMkgBcZBzUNacJ1RfzYMdCzqs-ggeNs44ucq/s400/IMG_1714.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trailers loaded and hauled off packed with our stuff, and the neighbors, to the dumpsters in town.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmVzW0Czizbz0VfTTzezpevXBaXPOtEvUiaTjLLCd_JxLLmwcFQUgQJ29fJxBy5iPEEJKT7Kpm5_lfHvbLgN0MMx9JdgRzQn9gAOvZXfomLJQsij308d5j2vxD8CT962VCi58r080RgFx/s1600/IMG_1715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmVzW0Czizbz0VfTTzezpevXBaXPOtEvUiaTjLLCd_JxLLmwcFQUgQJ29fJxBy5iPEEJKT7Kpm5_lfHvbLgN0MMx9JdgRzQn9gAOvZXfomLJQsij308d5j2vxD8CT962VCi58r080RgFx/s400/IMG_1715.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The flamingo is our leader. Chelsea rocks!</td></tr>
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Day Three. Blessed with such assistance the day before, we headed out to help friends further up the Llano River. Uh... speechless. Did what we could to help while the rain poured and the temp was unseasonably cold.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjklwgjPAQ49aEqXDwtdGkDJOU_X9jR9u2svMFtMLX6pNGoVvTHwmq0Jsc31Z4Aar7NH6nkyDbCLYvPVscAjF698vncmJm6E5vAdKmEgeIvbPbsVkZ6KkAcjavUChYg3wmAfXngzQ3MoRYP/s1600/IMG_1720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjklwgjPAQ49aEqXDwtdGkDJOU_X9jR9u2svMFtMLX6pNGoVvTHwmq0Jsc31Z4Aar7NH6nkyDbCLYvPVscAjF698vncmJm6E5vAdKmEgeIvbPbsVkZ6KkAcjavUChYg3wmAfXngzQ3MoRYP/s400/IMG_1720.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those lumps were docks. I think.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once our friend's dock and yard, they now have a beach. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaalWl5EA23vRqVlR2cQL0zQYWQJdXjLfED47FBT88Cj20lTlK8H6kkqTaKQ_zf6Kpf9SIPu4U4c0_XRnRW6VYvtcuMKh97TbadicIUStVOqp4iyI_l4wrVwbgp6W9BsSKEE8S-9gEanFB/s1600/IMG_1725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaalWl5EA23vRqVlR2cQL0zQYWQJdXjLfED47FBT88Cj20lTlK8H6kkqTaKQ_zf6Kpf9SIPu4U4c0_XRnRW6VYvtcuMKh97TbadicIUStVOqp4iyI_l4wrVwbgp6W9BsSKEE8S-9gEanFB/s400/IMG_1725.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Their house was high up on the hill. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGd3nHROBmZD1kW0Q8hapHzPzL4Jxdq3zIAEIbE_MiAcD45jdx4mEcOI6LJuilTMsu_xAKy-IYcn7Hlr43_bUHjTBxMwIL2xM6awpGbMI-daGn742acT-5wwKRQri-Ac6JC74ISI1eLBEy/s1600/IMG_1729.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGd3nHROBmZD1kW0Q8hapHzPzL4Jxdq3zIAEIbE_MiAcD45jdx4mEcOI6LJuilTMsu_xAKy-IYcn7Hlr43_bUHjTBxMwIL2xM6awpGbMI-daGn742acT-5wwKRQri-Ac6JC74ISI1eLBEy/s400/IMG_1729.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Their newly renovated downstairs, which held all their belongings. The upstairs having been emptied for renovations in process up there. If we came across a family photo in our sorting of what didn't float down river, we handled it with great care.</td></tr>
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<span id="goog_1138331051"></span><span id="goog_1138331052"></span>Day 4. Our friends from home arrive. The cleaning and sanitizing crew.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxJv-Fy0U7yXDgeOz3VXKhPoROz63zS-f31EiclJu8crzDpODdE7EtUqu8IFnh6TvCe3EUB-eanJI8vst_s5prHybaxsrVPUn9z696AapzT7ng8ZfRdxAmqB2Wcm7SucYgAiq4gvM6msi/s1600/IMG_1738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxJv-Fy0U7yXDgeOz3VXKhPoROz63zS-f31EiclJu8crzDpODdE7EtUqu8IFnh6TvCe3EUB-eanJI8vst_s5prHybaxsrVPUn9z696AapzT7ng8ZfRdxAmqB2Wcm7SucYgAiq4gvM6msi/s400/IMG_1738.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lisa, Debbie, Terrianne, Kris, Chelsea</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miss Maisy. Two-year-old granddaughter not interested in being left out.</td></tr>
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A local church sent loads of people to help those who didn't have other helpers. They took out loads of ruined stuff and helped break down drywall. Down the street, the couple featured in the middle of this photo had boat, dock and yard damage, but no water in their home. They make massive trays of lasagna, salad, cookies and sweet tea. Went up and down the streets inviting everyone working to come eat. Sustenance at the right moment. Incredible gift.<br />
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Back at the house, the destruction of paneling and drywall and insulation continued. I don't have more photos of this crew as I was otherwise engaged. Hard workers. Mark, Mark, Bob, Bob, Tim, Wayne, oldest son Jacob.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost done.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old shower and sink gone.</td></tr>
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And then this. I had found this on the floor on the first day and brought it upstairs. I set it outside as it was full of muddy water and ruined. As many know, my folks, now both gone, lived in Green Bay, Wisconsin for years and my boys spent many a summer day at the Packer training camp where the players mixed with the kids. My mom and dad would send newspaper clippings and magazines to youngest son and huge fan, Ian.<br />
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I didn't cry at anything else going on, but when I saw this, I cried. Just one of those things.<br />
I sent this photo to Ian in NYC. Sad. I shared that text with two friends, Debbie and Kris, and told them I just couldn't be the one to throw it away. Debbie, who is also my daughter-in-law's mom, said she'd do it. Off she went. The box was gone when I went upstairs.<br />
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Meanwhile, we tried to unclog all the debris hunkered down under the dock. We pulled lawn up chairs and fire pits. Picture frames and trellises. Mike, the neighbor's son, got in our remaining kayak to get it flowing away from the docks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3QWJr-9DaGl8HR0bu9RcvspjUhVdmM-_zk8bfA41HMwKoOUDI327RppoftbG8OsHPxKyb-bQx5Cq9CLJtz634VoSjDOP6zbvxqSxoRv5Z_WUrESDZNfCkFcfItShL_xBY1xag50xLoXW/s1600/IMG_1752.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3QWJr-9DaGl8HR0bu9RcvspjUhVdmM-_zk8bfA41HMwKoOUDI327RppoftbG8OsHPxKyb-bQx5Cq9CLJtz634VoSjDOP6zbvxqSxoRv5Z_WUrESDZNfCkFcfItShL_xBY1xag50xLoXW/s400/IMG_1752.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxVoOrz7BNsxvwuyU1LPeD_QtPOoskPoOe49RaOp-iQlgfGMJgq6ogDTn0oxk7rvPpeOHXU9mgxp1GfxitdzL5Sat0FkkctZzuraCGJCV6sbrXEFZH2HmAQebDziBoIUnwf2IeuOmcoA-/s1600/IMG_1755.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxVoOrz7BNsxvwuyU1LPeD_QtPOoskPoOe49RaOp-iQlgfGMJgq6ogDTn0oxk7rvPpeOHXU9mgxp1GfxitdzL5Sat0FkkctZzuraCGJCV6sbrXEFZH2HmAQebDziBoIUnwf2IeuOmcoA-/s400/IMG_1755.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The neighbors grandkids, all out for a work day, made great fun of the work. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyvOE96Id0Gc4LAkfyruSFIxefFBWvkS37W6r0ib6e7frbnPrBJTaHp0DbrL5LGEOPK6JHg1_ZGCmjGazYKd7-3fv-3Bb1pGFvudJmb98lNrGt-R2WiYkqsqkswK6xSXwG-SukYwGVjS2/s1600/IMG_1757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyvOE96Id0Gc4LAkfyruSFIxefFBWvkS37W6r0ib6e7frbnPrBJTaHp0DbrL5LGEOPK6JHg1_ZGCmjGazYKd7-3fv-3Bb1pGFvudJmb98lNrGt-R2WiYkqsqkswK6xSXwG-SukYwGVjS2/s400/IMG_1757.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">End of day. Time for a beer, wine and snacks for the exhausted workers.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMKzOdVvnEDRGvjlQ0PkAcCNr5jrognm3aTuabyu_vUqVhyphenhyphenbAppAVy2BCI9upaIa_OeshVVnHe2o7i5DIxYwDnWBx4QLHIhuo3U3qk2LPF1YHg5loWB_xVXSpzWdoQuHkYIfsMBeYwAnxm/s1600/IMG_1759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMKzOdVvnEDRGvjlQ0PkAcCNr5jrognm3aTuabyu_vUqVhyphenhyphenbAppAVy2BCI9upaIa_OeshVVnHe2o7i5DIxYwDnWBx4QLHIhuo3U3qk2LPF1YHg5loWB_xVXSpzWdoQuHkYIfsMBeYwAnxm/s400/IMG_1759.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That night. A hint of a sunset. Hope.</td></tr>
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Day 5. Middle son, Jordan, arrives after his work week. He goes with his dad to help his older brother prop up his father-in-law's dock which has collapsed on his boat. He returns to our place to rip up the floor tiles, scrape off the glue, and tidies the stripped downstairs. Prepares it for fans and Clorox.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTz-BMxgNZPxohBV4igRPJouRQprIBLmFb-5juQAH9abYhVNiE6xj1k62T12JOSch0QTivf6gPmSlml5H1e58zL9ItLgIJj43rI7Tc6frSx4UmbrknxHCWfrlI7bSYQLE9OeqRHyDA-B4S/s1600/IMG_1761.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTz-BMxgNZPxohBV4igRPJouRQprIBLmFb-5juQAH9abYhVNiE6xj1k62T12JOSch0QTivf6gPmSlml5H1e58zL9ItLgIJj43rI7Tc6frSx4UmbrknxHCWfrlI7bSYQLE9OeqRHyDA-B4S/s400/IMG_1761.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcHbttrlX064InhmaDuLyr-GIjiscD-98jkPJxW6yAtIisHB6eSyr6uodmKLce-tstDc9rJdxBmR4IEdzsMsLfk1THg_mEOCTgmzfetSli5Xxk7oELQB3-uklhgOGjK4rWsfCoJTSDgsXe/s1600/IMG_1762.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcHbttrlX064InhmaDuLyr-GIjiscD-98jkPJxW6yAtIisHB6eSyr6uodmKLce-tstDc9rJdxBmR4IEdzsMsLfk1THg_mEOCTgmzfetSli5Xxk7oELQB3-uklhgOGjK4rWsfCoJTSDgsXe/s400/IMG_1762.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3XXXd8f5zoGrESLObCtbiLddcEUyaDf9dCj8VeTtN1lO6AOmYfGjYxeAdnaDqNSOO_DZXXt7EVe_pB6Py1fMHOzO8a1nmM7Te3Cb_fKkLFcjEWSupGsN3pWpMLAcQludEb1OIr3xOHjJv/s1600/IMG_1763.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3XXXd8f5zoGrESLObCtbiLddcEUyaDf9dCj8VeTtN1lO6AOmYfGjYxeAdnaDqNSOO_DZXXt7EVe_pB6Py1fMHOzO8a1nmM7Te3Cb_fKkLFcjEWSupGsN3pWpMLAcQludEb1OIr3xOHjJv/s400/IMG_1763.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7X10x-45yeYww4BAGLdENBHmQ9ChztuxFP2ZLiYOxso_Z55nsxtfHXy0iyLbe8bZmsUGbqXbSf9gEjkiKmpGx7zAUeA5bCMNQNjEt5gW9rd_19qeHsJ2wDaogf_xAOoryqL9lpBoJhdko/s1600/IMG_1764.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7X10x-45yeYww4BAGLdENBHmQ9ChztuxFP2ZLiYOxso_Z55nsxtfHXy0iyLbe8bZmsUGbqXbSf9gEjkiKmpGx7zAUeA5bCMNQNjEt5gW9rd_19qeHsJ2wDaogf_xAOoryqL9lpBoJhdko/s400/IMG_1764.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A clean mess.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
The days go by.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCD9ue3mBECWcMDKhJKCJi3Zfyp65T11k3d1w1HwJu-Hr0iyqclKdvf8qYNtROD36juRA5lu6Rc8y4MiWZj7Dz_kvIpUpL0QqRNZYa1gfqSbVf49qyDz5MR2Y6UAgyDz_sx7ZDWKpZQo7u/s1600/IMG_1765.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCD9ue3mBECWcMDKhJKCJi3Zfyp65T11k3d1w1HwJu-Hr0iyqclKdvf8qYNtROD36juRA5lu6Rc8y4MiWZj7Dz_kvIpUpL0QqRNZYa1gfqSbVf49qyDz5MR2Y6UAgyDz_sx7ZDWKpZQo7u/s400/IMG_1765.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBXoClN14hl4fpjmJZKgxO-M3PXS7EZR7hC4JoXJ2j1-71gsdyHUuzJcspIcwZC6Bhkac0GvToiL2AC4tDlaHvqmb9oC8V6zn7ev2e03LZjRHGMzhp0Z_eKMUynBidFaQ_T4MVwMhvxnl/s1600/IMG_1767.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBXoClN14hl4fpjmJZKgxO-M3PXS7EZR7hC4JoXJ2j1-71gsdyHUuzJcspIcwZC6Bhkac0GvToiL2AC4tDlaHvqmb9oC8V6zn7ev2e03LZjRHGMzhp0Z_eKMUynBidFaQ_T4MVwMhvxnl/s400/IMG_1767.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where, oh, where is our neighbor's boat. Left when the water receded.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
A walk around the hood. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSfFDpoBLaIs_cDxD_TT0TFtnQV5U3o7yaDpu1f9vWqd9e5raPxKsWWove2etE3xxTb-Ik_XtN6H9W5LtdG5lg8_hOhRWzGpIriO5srdLx2k6DkVsGgIIgQbcOHbDT-RzsQwirCHvw46_/s1600/IMG_1774.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSfFDpoBLaIs_cDxD_TT0TFtnQV5U3o7yaDpu1f9vWqd9e5raPxKsWWove2etE3xxTb-Ik_XtN6H9W5LtdG5lg8_hOhRWzGpIriO5srdLx2k6DkVsGgIIgQbcOHbDT-RzsQwirCHvw46_/s400/IMG_1774.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5G3tQqdujtNEr6f6gQjP6C8Wsjx5K9UM-b4uM37MMeQa4L3ak-WNJzamtsZDAGMwdRPOnFcW3KsD6EOa0U8ie1u3MLwmqYqzIu36My74kyZP9HEi7VtudCGlvdoxJm454MAjSvPTJEfyY/s1600/IMG_1778.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5G3tQqdujtNEr6f6gQjP6C8Wsjx5K9UM-b4uM37MMeQa4L3ak-WNJzamtsZDAGMwdRPOnFcW3KsD6EOa0U8ie1u3MLwmqYqzIu36My74kyZP9HEi7VtudCGlvdoxJm454MAjSvPTJEfyY/s400/IMG_1778.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Our work continued. Everyday, our Advil-powered bodies kept going. Hauling trash. Cleaning this. Cleaning that. Pushing logs on their way. Sweeping. Power washing. Went home for a day to do laundry. Three of my friends had taken wet linens and towels home to wash (huge help to keep me out of a laundromat), but there was still so much.<br />
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A Boil Water notice was in effect for Austin so we went out to dinner that night for oldest son's birthday in Cedar Park. After dinner, we transferred from Debbie's car to mine the massive laundry she had done for us. And then she handed me this. As you may recall from above, she said she'd take care of that box of Packer memorabilia. That she did. I couldn't speak. I hid behind this framed wonder from that sodden box, and cried.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCgTCL1HUPOOKNR0C9gDNPdiKnutbWgunpHgoRQJEhTT3bfuKFEiMuK8e-JvOdXNdQCpV8lyCkJa_zykDHOdTp1htaXTUXfLnc14qglRpzKRFPf7ZVNCGWNRF_Vnfg5H15Ofx5RTYEqTCY/s1600/IMG_1779.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCgTCL1HUPOOKNR0C9gDNPdiKnutbWgunpHgoRQJEhTT3bfuKFEiMuK8e-JvOdXNdQCpV8lyCkJa_zykDHOdTp1htaXTUXfLnc14qglRpzKRFPf7ZVNCGWNRF_Vnfg5H15Ofx5RTYEqTCY/s400/IMG_1779.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That had to make you cry, too. </td></tr>
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My husband and I will recover from our aching bodies and tiredness. More important we are humbled and overwhelmed with gratitude.</div>
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No one got hurt.</div>
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Stuff is just stuff.</div>
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The downstairs might smell better -- some day when we fix it up. </div>
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We had power and water upstairs throughout the process. </div>
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Neighbors came together and shared tools and muscles and laughs and tears and tiredness and love with hopes for the better lake days to come.</div>
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New friends were made. </div>
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Old friends cherished even more.</div>
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Endings bring new journeys.</div>
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There is much more I could put into this post, but I can't pull it all together at the moment. A tad tired. We were privileged by the continuous giving from strangers, family, friends. If we hadn't received that help, we'd still be deep in mud.. That has touched us deeply. I said at one point, somewhere, that I don't think I've ever been as kind as so many have been to us.</div>
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Saturday, at 3:30 in the afternoon, I sat on the end of the dock. Boats were going by like this, in tow, </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuyJKqHwGQQXgUqUbbiDMJEU9c5JEtsVJfaHcksIWVnNI8q-YEl99zGcGXUBhjSFxpCp8uQV0LP-bdUIhPpg09LtF0dP_3nhTh7gPBblilE3-HgGj284i7eAkZ9EynWblncNQCT0Dj7c1k/s1600/IMG_1789+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuyJKqHwGQQXgUqUbbiDMJEU9c5JEtsVJfaHcksIWVnNI8q-YEl99zGcGXUBhjSFxpCp8uQV0LP-bdUIhPpg09LtF0dP_3nhTh7gPBblilE3-HgGj284i7eAkZ9EynWblncNQCT0Dj7c1k/s400/IMG_1789+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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rather than upside down. The lake, still full of debris, had calmed.</div>
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We'd put everything back together at our house as best we could. All that was left to do was wait for the downstairs to dry out. Could be a while. </div>
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My husband said, "Time to go."</div>
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We left the flamingo and Henry, the one-winged swan, to keep watch.</div>
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Would seem they make a pretty good team.</div>
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Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-40114048192691239032018-10-03T10:52:00.001-05:002018-10-03T22:49:07.219-05:00Adding up the Numbers<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
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<span style="background-color: #e5e5dd; color: #330000; 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;"><b><i>Old age is fifteen years older than I am. </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #e5e5dd; color: #330000; 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;"><b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Oliver Wendell Holmes</span></i></b></span></div>
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Several months ago, my husband and I were in the Atlanta airport changing terminals. When we walked onto the tram wheeling our carry-on suitcases, three very tried looking younger women sat on a bench seat, which was the only seating. They quickly rose and asked if we wanted to sit. My husband and I both said no thank you. The women sank, thankfully, back into their seats.<br />
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At the next stop, the trio exited. I then noticed a sign by their sitting area.<br />
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"Please Offer Your Seats to the Elderly and the Handicapped."<br />
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I turned to my husband and asked, “Do we looked handicapped?”<o:p></o:p><br />
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We often ride subways or buses in NYC when visiting our son or take parking shuttles or public transportation in other cities and countries. Doesn't bother us to hang onto a pole or hanging loop. We plant our legs and hold on. But in reality, although it shocked me, I know now it was our age that prompted their kindness.</div>
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Aging is a subjective issue. Yes, time goes by. People are born and people die. Lots of living in between. But the question I ask is how do we define where we are in that range?<br />
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As you can see, this blog is still entitled Midlife Roadtripper. When exactly is midlife? Midway through your childhood? Your adult years? Your career? Halfway through your rest home days? One foot in the grave/one not?</div>
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Like I said. Subjective. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In my life, my husband and I have entered a new era. He's home all the time now. His career is over. Mine is not. I’m not even certain I’ve started one yet. (When you’re a writer, your pen never stops moving no matter what age.) Yet his retirement is an exciting time. Freedom has arrived to choose how we spend each day. Travel time opens up. No excuses required to take a lazy day or daydream. We enjoy a slower pace.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Our children’s lives are the opposite. Career advancements, children, new homes and new friends. <o:p></o:p>Changes offering movement at an exciting pace. </div>
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My granddaughter is flush in a time of intellectual curiosity. She’s two, and her communication skills are blossoming, along with her determination to explore and learn. And to tell people what to do now that she can. She tests her parents as she seeks her limits. As she should for that is how she will discover her capabilities and strengths. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Would seem then, that my kids are the midlifers and my husband and I are the old farts. Certainly they don't feel midlife is 32 just as we don’t feel like old farts. Yes, my knee doesn’t work like it used to and my husband's new hip gives different trouble then when it wasn't fixed. But we don’t feel old. <o:p></o:p><br />
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On a recent trip driving Independence Pass and on to Redstone in Colorado, I remarked to my husband how so many of the people we saw were white-hairs. He said, "You're with one." Indeed I was, although not completely white yet.<br />
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Many, many years ago, while on a walk with my mother, she remarked how her age shocked her. That she didn't feel 55. That in her mind she was still 21. I’ve not forgotten that sharing of hers as through the years I’ve tried to think about what age my mind thinks. I know when I’m out walking or just out and about, I see myself in my mind as maybe, 40 or 45. It's only when I pass by a mirror that I stop in surprise. </div>
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Who is that woman in the mirror? Scares me.<br />
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My brain tells me that I do have a timeline and best get my ducks in a row to make certain I accomplish all I can with whatever time is left. But isn't that true for any age?<o:p></o:p></div>
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My analytical, linear self is not as active as my creative self. My sensitivity gets in the way also. This makes this subject harder for if I were only a numbers person, this might be easier. When I look at the numbers, they add up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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52 years since I turned 10.<br />
46 years since I got my driver's license.<br />
42 years since I lived and worked on the Jersey shore for the summer.</div>
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40 years since I graduated from college and walked down the aisle.</div>
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22 years since I swam topless in the Mediterranean in Vernazza, Italy and also completed a triathlon.</div>
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If my dad were alive he’d be 96, my mom 92.</div>
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My children are 32, 30, and 26.<o:p></o:p></div>
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1956, the year of my birth was 62 years ago. Before the Internet, cell phones, and DDT was declared dangerous. Thirteen years before men walked on the moon. Women needed their husband’s permission to get a credit card or birth control. If I'd lived in the South, my good friend Linda couldn't sit next to me at the movie theatre or use the same drinking fountain. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sad to say, in some respects, not so much time has passed after all. Ahem. Another essay.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I do see where the numbers are a factor. When I'm playing cars on the floor with my two-year-old granddaughter and she ups and runs off and I’m rolling over onto my knees and using the coffee table as a crutch to stand up, I know I'm not what I used to be.<br />
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I can swim in a unicorn and drink a mimosa at the same time. I can place my palms flat on the ground in front of me with unbent legs. I can walk three miles (if I have to) or swim more than half a mile (if my car drives me to the Y.) I do 50 squats every few days to keep my knee from aching and 50 calf lifts to keep my bad feet in check.<br />
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But the other day I noticed some bumps on my index finger knuckles. Little knobs. The ring that has adorned my left hand representing 40 years of an incredible relationship with my husband can only be cut off if it needs removal – that knuckle arthritically expanded through the years.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Daily, I see more moles. More chin hairs. The veins on my hands stand out more, the skin no longer soft and cushy and pure like my daughter-in-laws and granddaughter. <o:p></o:p></div>
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These bumps on my fingers have upset me, the physicality of their appearance. For I can disguise my hair in dye and hide my eye circles with concealer, but I can’t do anything about those bumps. Or the ones that will follow.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I clearly see my ten-year-old self. That young girl finally in double digits. That girl who more often than not saw life differently than everyone else. <o:p></o:p><br />
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In the normal life span one is given, yes, the numbers, and the AARP, and the government all say I’m a senior citizen. A senior voter. Not an ancient by any means, but according to them, old. I defy that. I'm a midlife older person. And to hell with the senior citizen label and the numbers. If given the opportunity, I will age with radiance.<br />
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There, I feel much younger now.</div>
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Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-58200157236073751982018-08-09T08:33:00.000-05:002018-08-14T21:44:31.194-05:00A Fruitful Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: programme, sans-serif;">I love you in a place</i></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "programme" , sans-serif;"><i>Where there's no space and time</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "programme" , sans-serif;"><i>I love you for my life</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "programme" , sans-serif;"><i>You are a friend of mine</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "programme" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Leon Russell</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit;">If you take a look at this photo from my back porch, you might notice that tall cactus in the collection on the right. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Up close, it looks like this.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Pretty ugly, yes?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Funny thing is, that misshapen cluster holds quite a story. Not to mention it's over 45 years old. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Long ago, when I was young and thin, in college, and 19 or 20, I traveled with a couple of girlfriends from Michigan to Colorado for a Spring Break ski trip. Somewhere down on Colfax Avenue in Denver (which at that time was not a very nice section of town so not certain why we were there) I purchased a tiny three-inch high cactus. Can't tell you why I did that either as I'm a flower person.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">On the drive back to Michigan, one of my traveling companions mistakenly set the thermometer in our hotel room to AC mode rather than the heat. We awoke with chattering teeth. My little cacti didn't fare so well either. It had shivered all night and barely stood, now wrinkled and soft. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I warmed it and took it home. I set it in the sun in my bedroom. Every few months, I watered it. It lived. And thrived. Even grew an inch.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">At that time, I had a boyfriend. We had dated in high school in Denver and back in 1973 we looked like this.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJlsVNXYVFvZOdZyeI4pvAaH4pKe7cJqGjJxinlEu5fChOMyvIUQna_J7kyQcXFnCUmkgBMdkjkFg0lkWHshqC7TWJ-KLqKId3klMOqoUz7Ztun6GwLpkM2zjaQIWAG4oYJKdzXfUteHX/s1600/IMG_1322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJlsVNXYVFvZOdZyeI4pvAaH4pKe7cJqGjJxinlEu5fChOMyvIUQna_J7kyQcXFnCUmkgBMdkjkFg0lkWHshqC7TWJ-KLqKId3klMOqoUz7Ztun6GwLpkM2zjaQIWAG4oYJKdzXfUteHX/s400/IMG_1322.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">At the time of that ski trip (1975) we both lived in Michigan --me in Muskegon and then East Lansing. He in Ypsilanti near Ann Arbor. </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">We were young. We dated other people. We broke up. We sort of dated each other. All that for a couple years or more. We finally broke up-broke up. For good.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Some things don't die, though. One night, after many months apart, I caught a ride to Ypsi and took that cactus with me. Its survival supplied my metaphor and excuse for being there. Even though</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> this little cactus might have shriveled and almost died due to a chill and inattention, I took care of it and now it grew. I left the cactus with that boyfriend of mine saying that maybe we could do the same thing and see what happens. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">He agreed and took on the cactus.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">More than two years later after I'd graduated from college, this happened.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">On a hot August day.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_euWfZRSDYuKwj6zFTxAvO5gjQPWqO8iODW35tsGbSEFRuiWx3YqwQHmMzQZO7IjaXwDc441d4jzj9YOAcERbXz0rfwXHYsG9Pplw-YaoMN5rvqq2j9AY95Zdz0VD1BlTBtHdvFzSBOu2/s1600/IMG_1797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="944" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_euWfZRSDYuKwj6zFTxAvO5gjQPWqO8iODW35tsGbSEFRuiWx3YqwQHmMzQZO7IjaXwDc441d4jzj9YOAcERbXz0rfwXHYsG9Pplw-YaoMN5rvqq2j9AY95Zdz0VD1BlTBtHdvFzSBOu2/s400/IMG_1797.jpg" width="373" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQkGhJUwGgWA2fHrVw6yEO8b0PHxZK_Wu5t2Q8TIdCsAH56dqIy_eVSgCE2TgWGW7jKkFug-6nuhzuKsYegQCggqJHCsLk8AMAP9NOR0NGD3kbuFlK1dNw1K85CJOyp_KKOXKZ5_grYPFq/s1600/Scan+2018-8-6+10.29.41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="464" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQkGhJUwGgWA2fHrVw6yEO8b0PHxZK_Wu5t2Q8TIdCsAH56dqIy_eVSgCE2TgWGW7jKkFug-6nuhzuKsYegQCggqJHCsLk8AMAP9NOR0NGD3kbuFlK1dNw1K85CJOyp_KKOXKZ5_grYPFq/s400/Scan+2018-8-6+10.29.41.jpg" width="321" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My roommates made that cake -- while they were drinking beer.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGyVJ5C3wNaHZOq5bHyVDgbI8WSewbNdtxDLizHuqjBsL-LWEtlOWSTyXBetRWhSd50qaU6szm7i7zmGkjUzqyRMiqcjal3rI4Fg2Qjzn4ozXHgu_eQT4sDGNDRcffv_mCKxKYjDidEkJS/s1600/Scan+2018-8-6+10.33.58+%2528dragged%2529+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="651" data-original-width="489" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGyVJ5C3wNaHZOq5bHyVDgbI8WSewbNdtxDLizHuqjBsL-LWEtlOWSTyXBetRWhSd50qaU6szm7i7zmGkjUzqyRMiqcjal3rI4Fg2Qjzn4ozXHgu_eQT4sDGNDRcffv_mCKxKYjDidEkJS/s400/Scan+2018-8-6+10.33.58+%2528dragged%2529+2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGIsIGAWxgDKw3FxS5e8wJqxVl7CYH3X2AxcTCaTLOBnVASmXiOxXuR-ZXG-6ksTe2rTKchoTMlynPXesVrtmtJYcMz6h8otevAioaay78djI9e356WIGHkpuVXQZZtrZ4XHGFAo6G8rJ/s1600/Scan+2018-8-6+10.33.58+%2528dragged%2529+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="454" data-original-width="650" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGIsIGAWxgDKw3FxS5e8wJqxVl7CYH3X2AxcTCaTLOBnVASmXiOxXuR-ZXG-6ksTe2rTKchoTMlynPXesVrtmtJYcMz6h8otevAioaay78djI9e356WIGHkpuVXQZZtrZ4XHGFAo6G8rJ/s400/Scan+2018-8-6+10.33.58+%2528dragged%2529+7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Asp3U4eUdXetNR1JDeIdK3SJ66YzANkOBDtN4sEja9fEvtW4ESm3LgOClgYB95lYRyeie0guY7JLzIe-rAsF7b23gfQiYA9wFfpP_-esNMGnind3gv2-zYabkVpPfvSCnA7nxAelpB5y/s1600/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="522" data-original-width="655" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Asp3U4eUdXetNR1JDeIdK3SJ66YzANkOBDtN4sEja9fEvtW4ESm3LgOClgYB95lYRyeie0guY7JLzIe-rAsF7b23gfQiYA9wFfpP_-esNMGnind3gv2-zYabkVpPfvSCnA7nxAelpB5y/s400/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.00.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The cactus moved to our new home in Ypsilanti. And it grew. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYSR8gjMkSHEUbpNp4n2rhaA_ULF2YrYgnVL3c2y1gBVGYjFk9g3xXNyvH0TbprafEJBlqWNJARKnhIUm83uhPHMNHq8v2hOrH6IgFBhDLnKuHgqy1sBEoRMThTxSsntUaJFt7jCPhyleX/s1600/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.00+%2528dragged%2529+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="521" data-original-width="682" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYSR8gjMkSHEUbpNp4n2rhaA_ULF2YrYgnVL3c2y1gBVGYjFk9g3xXNyvH0TbprafEJBlqWNJARKnhIUm83uhPHMNHq8v2hOrH6IgFBhDLnKuHgqy1sBEoRMThTxSsntUaJFt7jCPhyleX/s400/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.00+%2528dragged%2529+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Then all this other stuff happened.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5bFzAJ1pDH_adrhwrNxwp25FmuuLuEKw1LzGPoaW26q5MsZ47LXGzrKLIuyPlOyZ1xg2jxKyHQflqi8iJt7FtwSY1s5YT-OCfslmC3ksinoHQXP5vxDKHWTM1hPi2LBAdOMZdKupGifuG/s1600/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.00+%2528dragged%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="509" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5bFzAJ1pDH_adrhwrNxwp25FmuuLuEKw1LzGPoaW26q5MsZ47LXGzrKLIuyPlOyZ1xg2jxKyHQflqi8iJt7FtwSY1s5YT-OCfslmC3ksinoHQXP5vxDKHWTM1hPi2LBAdOMZdKupGifuG/s400/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.00+%2528dragged%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-OPL6pg5qAEjx_tX0P7nQnFkpv_ca2fXcd3xH-hCVeBnILAT4C_6Z0K9BQ1zOAXacmDl9kv4M_WMJBOD3bNJsS1RJDXBfJTKazKc9D1nxpaIC6IO6HxXF5laRcWPaQmxbkd-O7fwzTJK/s1600/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.00+%2528dragged%2529+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="519" data-original-width="793" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-OPL6pg5qAEjx_tX0P7nQnFkpv_ca2fXcd3xH-hCVeBnILAT4C_6Z0K9BQ1zOAXacmDl9kv4M_WMJBOD3bNJsS1RJDXBfJTKazKc9D1nxpaIC6IO6HxXF5laRcWPaQmxbkd-O7fwzTJK/s400/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.00+%2528dragged%2529+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Graduation - University of Colorado Chemical Engineering</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNKPbchVGji5QHQR-Fgd5JhXoCiIUxmkhA2JxiE69su3neCrC1TIeeK194Jdd3k8UCI5wqy4Q0tHP3BD-MCd5FAtA6DSF3gD53pg051Y3gXa1Nq-3MnIzFDubMeCKzJ-3v8Yb4rnMMTpAe/s1600/Scan+2018-8-6+10.33.58+%2528dragged%2529+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="523" data-original-width="780" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNKPbchVGji5QHQR-Fgd5JhXoCiIUxmkhA2JxiE69su3neCrC1TIeeK194Jdd3k8UCI5wqy4Q0tHP3BD-MCd5FAtA6DSF3gD53pg051Y3gXa1Nq-3MnIzFDubMeCKzJ-3v8Yb4rnMMTpAe/s400/Scan+2018-8-6+10.33.58+%2528dragged%2529+6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby #1 </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQo5j0qR4mmYnZSBQZ0iGNkruSwMetO8i9FPmbzZeKu-9ZK1ibzM1wgHQfdkmqPPGmybCC8ntWV9kMjJyyhAlg_9gNbifCHop7H9EcfCXH_-qoVtWjmIG5xZWFnjtEBMspYtSGvYge8X9Z/s1600/fullsizeoutput_5020.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1049" data-original-width="1512" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQo5j0qR4mmYnZSBQZ0iGNkruSwMetO8i9FPmbzZeKu-9ZK1ibzM1wgHQfdkmqPPGmybCC8ntWV9kMjJyyhAlg_9gNbifCHop7H9EcfCXH_-qoVtWjmIG5xZWFnjtEBMspYtSGvYge8X9Z/s400/fullsizeoutput_5020.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby #2 </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlZeTGuEjGCLd6ZBCIDFAYr8Uqg8yDF-eLSq4gLdcBukRRaG_awRG1U8ftnJacbLIEK0VVbwFMEWeIx6kPWg92JNPmxSOBdY6JuNcKMuaI0adIBwvy1xhDgqyKONn1R_SiteV_MOyGBgpN/s1600/Untitled+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1170" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlZeTGuEjGCLd6ZBCIDFAYr8Uqg8yDF-eLSq4gLdcBukRRaG_awRG1U8ftnJacbLIEK0VVbwFMEWeIx6kPWg92JNPmxSOBdY6JuNcKMuaI0adIBwvy1xhDgqyKONn1R_SiteV_MOyGBgpN/s400/Untitled+5.jpg" width="291" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTr08pwBVKNh9n4ll33fRgYqtPdBfoDY3sIafTQS28pqI8vbpduKF23HSDHCj2Jq8LXMozhOUIpJOSsZxM0fiaiDUB8On4piWsLGhAhNE4f6TP0QFKjtYkgsIMBNIEM4KS9iin61sSeqo_/s1600/fullsizeoutput_5021.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1478" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTr08pwBVKNh9n4ll33fRgYqtPdBfoDY3sIafTQS28pqI8vbpduKF23HSDHCj2Jq8LXMozhOUIpJOSsZxM0fiaiDUB8On4piWsLGhAhNE4f6TP0QFKjtYkgsIMBNIEM4KS9iin61sSeqo_/s400/fullsizeoutput_5021.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby #3.</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;">In those years we moved across the country several times and great care was taken to ensure the cactus' safety during the journey -- Michigan, Colorado, Utah, and Connecticut, before landing in Austin in 1988. In spite of the moves, and not always the best conditions, the cactus survived and thrived.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04p-tIJHeKARRRRhuHC8DC7eoC5sOQkGDO978cxSp3fLzKFkIYf36H_8Z8tChSxVhebkqlgfgwPk4fwdmft_s_60EXTpfRqYroBQSWkEIUPNz-lBOFiScHi9vXLAbqn_XUqYx5OYYsriv/s1600/Pioneer+Farm_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="1050" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04p-tIJHeKARRRRhuHC8DC7eoC5sOQkGDO978cxSp3fLzKFkIYf36H_8Z8tChSxVhebkqlgfgwPk4fwdmft_s_60EXTpfRqYroBQSWkEIUPNz-lBOFiScHi9vXLAbqn_XUqYx5OYYsriv/s400/Pioneer+Farm_2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In spite of all the balls flying around our house.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
About this time, I began putting the cactus outside in the springtime where it relished the direct sunlight. In our early 40's we conned my parents into taking care of our kids and managed a three week escape, backpacking through Europe.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzLv_MfdJp0y_kmpH9luWLYamX0Dq7offA4Az0Y1rWqaN6QJ-selGi8GrrxMtot6g9S1xkqnrrLrK5l9ui_SLh_6bg3xQSLRwTpwYUUEuiHMDinqMvoE0h5MKqAnluFQGdSmMou-C2dLp/s1600/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.00+%2528dragged%2529+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="519" data-original-width="414" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnzLv_MfdJp0y_kmpH9luWLYamX0Dq7offA4Az0Y1rWqaN6QJ-selGi8GrrxMtot6g9S1xkqnrrLrK5l9ui_SLh_6bg3xQSLRwTpwYUUEuiHMDinqMvoE0h5MKqAnluFQGdSmMou-C2dLp/s400/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.00+%2528dragged%2529+8.jpg" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trevi Fountain</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPjnt2REpw_ieCa9K5nuoqk56qxgzLyhSgU1hey2D0S4CvFQsLAQoopzOlP2TPfWi2ThorrRYrU_JEsS58IU5nvADC3FdlnR7NUMvXLa40z5gY64ak1FYBhc4wzXUpon42soYbKw6idBDu/s1600/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="561" data-original-width="756" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPjnt2REpw_ieCa9K5nuoqk56qxgzLyhSgU1hey2D0S4CvFQsLAQoopzOlP2TPfWi2ThorrRYrU_JEsS58IU5nvADC3FdlnR7NUMvXLa40z5gY64ak1FYBhc4wzXUpon42soYbKw6idBDu/s400/Scan+2018-8-6+10.44.43.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monsee, Austria</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5Gwyu7AQs1Wvwj6rwXJgxFkTdfSDMwaCIkptG7xz3gmtODq1EwHsTdOucU_8FLZIdtnUKF0V0599HMW9VAp07Cj0nV7z8sXUmZKEJpkmRs0P77OKoLOjoISjaYL4Tw6LT0JcSmN4XBek/s1600/Untitled+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1265" data-original-width="988" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5Gwyu7AQs1Wvwj6rwXJgxFkTdfSDMwaCIkptG7xz3gmtODq1EwHsTdOucU_8FLZIdtnUKF0V0599HMW9VAp07Cj0nV7z8sXUmZKEJpkmRs0P77OKoLOjoISjaYL4Tw6LT0JcSmN4XBek/s400/Untitled+4.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forget the kids. </td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
They just kept getting older, anyway.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
As did we.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnMffBX9852zpfLkBeZNdv-V8C6QScw9Ji2f9piEq2_-v5aY6XWd2hjFMF-jpSjJLc3cwS7xWUFglqZ5-z8xiLQNlC9st7sGi2YBg1JsdWrGNNICZNPCO9LhrVHJHTaEwcKJYiNKKAr23S/s1600/img276.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1094" data-original-width="1005" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnMffBX9852zpfLkBeZNdv-V8C6QScw9Ji2f9piEq2_-v5aY6XWd2hjFMF-jpSjJLc3cwS7xWUFglqZ5-z8xiLQNlC9st7sGi2YBg1JsdWrGNNICZNPCO9LhrVHJHTaEwcKJYiNKKAr23S/s400/img276.jpg" width="366" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Green Lake<br />
<div>
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</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP3ep-bNNERNGnEwaEiqaGBV6wK_brgFo8OC_YDzSVTIQNYLGhV9NzEsZjkYgVNgNgMrKIBOB7Vg28jjCZCGJWvxdT_lRLNQfs8keVl_K7vdwWFhqvq8Z_1rqoDXxqaSHd39IAlHRO1oUj/s1600/Untitled+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1101" data-original-width="1600" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP3ep-bNNERNGnEwaEiqaGBV6wK_brgFo8OC_YDzSVTIQNYLGhV9NzEsZjkYgVNgNgMrKIBOB7Vg28jjCZCGJWvxdT_lRLNQfs8keVl_K7vdwWFhqvq8Z_1rqoDXxqaSHd39IAlHRO1oUj/s400/Untitled+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello 50.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
As to the cactus, for years my husband and the boys, heeding my calls for caution, carried it out onto the patio each spring and then hauled it back inside to avoid a winter's freeze. It usually brought an argument as it required teamwork to avoid the many spikes that line each arm. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hidden in the house, I never thought it might become a tad sullen without the direct light. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Again, it provided my metaphor. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Took me years to figure it out, which is when I began to leave it out in the winter, covering it in old sheets during our rare freezes. It liked it out in the fresh air full-time. It grew stronger. Tougher. For the next couple years, it flourished and gained many new arms or whatever you call all those shoots.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Other than that Europe trip, our vacations consisted of Road Trips. We loaded our kids into our GMC Safari van and crisscrossed the lower 48 states, before cell phones. No TV in the car and AAA books and maps as our guide.<br />
Field of Dreams. The Bridges of Madison County. The Black Hills. Devil's Tower. The Corn Palace. Green Lake, Minnesota. Green Bay, Wisconsin. Sheboygan. Chicago. Mackinac Island. Mammoth Cave. Gettysburg. Washington DC. Chincoteague Island. Yankee Stadium. Fenway. Nova Scotia. Trail Ridge Road. San Diego. Disneyland. Mesa Verde. Four Corners.<br />
<br />
One hotel room at the Day's Inn. Always an argument over who got the rollaway.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5I4M09-Cr85x5JiHX_ZWXDKiV-WmPOOGua07rTtQNDFutnNBPuzttjSXISClwhMOuk3b3Tif8MK2PekdiSIRITUqJ4befxbYJ-1d3lktFw8_bokXjz8AlOWxWDkfFlvUF8-H8PFy1YJJx/s1600/IMG_0116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5I4M09-Cr85x5JiHX_ZWXDKiV-WmPOOGua07rTtQNDFutnNBPuzttjSXISClwhMOuk3b3Tif8MK2PekdiSIRITUqJ4befxbYJ-1d3lktFw8_bokXjz8AlOWxWDkfFlvUF8-H8PFy1YJJx/s400/IMG_0116.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even though they were nice boys.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
In 2008, we ditched the kids for a 30th anniversary trip. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjabpMcH0r-QaMGOdCpUoSwGyUI5YBvuFk9F86QmYemGHKwLVqZigNhe0BOFpGln4vJel1_8sWJwUeH2UeqOeaIj4SLXECM4v3iQ3zbS55uQ7LbdJ0m1A7LXthBej4La1uWKuCjS2r2moA/s1600/P1010115_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjabpMcH0r-QaMGOdCpUoSwGyUI5YBvuFk9F86QmYemGHKwLVqZigNhe0BOFpGln4vJel1_8sWJwUeH2UeqOeaIj4SLXECM4v3iQ3zbS55uQ7LbdJ0m1A7LXthBej4La1uWKuCjS2r2moA/s400/P1010115_2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alaska</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizsTu2gt7_xvMSsKVqPU-ca5VDORaVIGwnv9lFTWPWpe7wpckcGJkmsKD4k28ofKagOh6_F8xosjOFJwr6cBo9lNcNXbRiwUEU3t3tCPeA6Ft_tg36hrfLbCiBToLQhY3SpUtJD_hkA2YG/s1600/P1010179.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizsTu2gt7_xvMSsKVqPU-ca5VDORaVIGwnv9lFTWPWpe7wpckcGJkmsKD4k28ofKagOh6_F8xosjOFJwr6cBo9lNcNXbRiwUEU3t3tCPeA6Ft_tg36hrfLbCiBToLQhY3SpUtJD_hkA2YG/s400/P1010179.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's cheaper without your kids.<br />
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Left on its own, the cactus grew much stronger in the outside air. One day, one August day, I noticed an odd growth.</span></div>
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</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisiZrWgPuaq343rwRk6Urwfpp01pcvRywKvWY_6f_UnSAs367ilij53iG1ApRRiyqRfYZ32MadrQfMowR9Vqehkmk06LyiCbYfpUCgo02B7J56ze4KJAP_jQcyEje9iAxG9RsaQ99vyYv4/s1600/IMG_5130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisiZrWgPuaq343rwRk6Urwfpp01pcvRywKvWY_6f_UnSAs367ilij53iG1ApRRiyqRfYZ32MadrQfMowR9Vqehkmk06LyiCbYfpUCgo02B7J56ze4KJAP_jQcyEje9iAxG9RsaQ99vyYv4/s400/IMG_5130.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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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/AVvXsEi01xhJdJEnXq_uASdMicj4gvf3CtHDugTYlcVjABowekcT-FkBNHzxU-LtknjEO2e-9zR8fChJ8b4dFUeMIXlHbSN8RzzQ37L6mcsaY8AdjXwLKQ3rH-rLemDOjLi-6_XTKuv5s85weo6N/s1600/IMG_5127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi01xhJdJEnXq_uASdMicj4gvf3CtHDugTYlcVjABowekcT-FkBNHzxU-LtknjEO2e-9zR8fChJ8b4dFUeMIXlHbSN8RzzQ37L6mcsaY8AdjXwLKQ3rH-rLemDOjLi-6_XTKuv5s85weo6N/s400/IMG_5127.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the prettiest thing I'd ever seen, but most unusual for certain.</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: center;"> </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Shocked me. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Next thing we knew, all these guys moved out and became financially independent.</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfIDegom9r0nlmGVcDaxckCHc4MrqGaEivjpD1F6NJxW4mw6OOAsV6IU-K-MbN_CAM6a_A2ErmaUB_o6UXUXeXuZ_t9Lmp9KG7V8EP-8eCNrPg2yyUD-S6dhRkwW2860OHcUxVAPB3Jo11/s1600/DSC_0232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="1024" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfIDegom9r0nlmGVcDaxckCHc4MrqGaEivjpD1F6NJxW4mw6OOAsV6IU-K-MbN_CAM6a_A2ErmaUB_o6UXUXeXuZ_t9Lmp9KG7V8EP-8eCNrPg2yyUD-S6dhRkwW2860OHcUxVAPB3Jo11/s400/DSC_0232.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Bingo!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZIWvsyqDnLl2ZN1dqs3aw4F-ZkPQy_h_Hhlkanmiv9iUEWted1DijDegxwqLzxOY036qiOH9aLeZT1ggDROVthMxXVapGCs3r0CrMeathbA-HW83i1uEi78R9N_UOTdinaXi9SNC7OTjY/s1600/P3110486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZIWvsyqDnLl2ZN1dqs3aw4F-ZkPQy_h_Hhlkanmiv9iUEWted1DijDegxwqLzxOY036qiOH9aLeZT1ggDROVthMxXVapGCs3r0CrMeathbA-HW83i1uEi78R9N_UOTdinaXi9SNC7OTjY/s400/P3110486.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turks and Caicos!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ipvPOY-Ba7nxbSKCCBNRcV7xoes1qaKFP0r6Miy_InJUWJoeJCeyFXyP0au6ktYPx8piuLJDlFDv_t6j3l6W9E55PzqwCM_5YkHBUbS8VqEswbQLpRrGnA4ZH1K1ArjFGA-tMx0BBtNH/s1600/P3030143.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ipvPOY-Ba7nxbSKCCBNRcV7xoes1qaKFP0r6Miy_InJUWJoeJCeyFXyP0au6ktYPx8piuLJDlFDv_t6j3l6W9E55PzqwCM_5YkHBUbS8VqEswbQLpRrGnA4ZH1K1ArjFGA-tMx0BBtNH/s400/P3030143.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St Martin with great friends.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgRjF076WfDv6QkG-t6DpJ_yUxKd4IMdT5MRjzQg67ms-JjXQg7jfDe9RDpy9OZcO7bMYOKoLz-2Y0XnAfvGXkZJbTZdDP25DEJw2fQBpQW3bEJr1oX9sptN3IP2HIpmJDtL6qnYterrpB/s1600/IMG_2471.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgRjF076WfDv6QkG-t6DpJ_yUxKd4IMdT5MRjzQg67ms-JjXQg7jfDe9RDpy9OZcO7bMYOKoLz-2Y0XnAfvGXkZJbTZdDP25DEJw2fQBpQW3bEJr1oX9sptN3IP2HIpmJDtL6qnYterrpB/s400/IMG_2471.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Denver Botanical Gardens</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJMp77MR5GBixZYaPHwpnT0afJRik86pWkfsAhBiTpceYTAgO_Z-efdS3VbDfqULtcEqztjA6UMohn3BIh8vxXI4s0xFvgMYiKGOkmjt9J44pC62Pv5zS1NCxUY9B3GlCt_frhODCWxekR/s1600/DSC_0365+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="860" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJMp77MR5GBixZYaPHwpnT0afJRik86pWkfsAhBiTpceYTAgO_Z-efdS3VbDfqULtcEqztjA6UMohn3BIh8vxXI4s0xFvgMYiKGOkmjt9J44pC62Pv5zS1NCxUY9B3GlCt_frhODCWxekR/s400/DSC_0365+%25281%2529.jpg" width="335" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">British Columbia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Every year, in August, the cactus bloomed. One year -- two blooms. Another-- four. Always in August. Our anniversary month...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEienEWKryZBnH9bkcN0IamDzZ3sf16CRdEwsDFPb7Oiw7OAi3x3csl3VdH71ihE1VkfztgKprkEW6H72K4-fUyI8lPipaleFQnVKCtXeEQw_bsVTTTHPLlfG7QlwU0BXHGAsXYXdOOnCqju/s1600/IMG_2086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="771" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEienEWKryZBnH9bkcN0IamDzZ3sf16CRdEwsDFPb7Oiw7OAi3x3csl3VdH71ihE1VkfztgKprkEW6H72K4-fUyI8lPipaleFQnVKCtXeEQw_bsVTTTHPLlfG7QlwU0BXHGAsXYXdOOnCqju/s400/IMG_2086.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
while we added to the cast of players.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJcb3OzyktsFJJphKuLAaTwto4a3n3gvLOWXPFJ0TwvQnEMdKAbkio_KEHaaktHGwygEzxlnpQ_0J0RbD7vgsy5tF9cLaaJl3f7-pdLxEsni9GOyZxwuVL_ypb3RZfD8Rr_PlUgqOfo7m/s1600/conrad-anderson0517.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJcb3OzyktsFJJphKuLAaTwto4a3n3gvLOWXPFJ0TwvQnEMdKAbkio_KEHaaktHGwygEzxlnpQ_0J0RbD7vgsy5tF9cLaaJl3f7-pdLxEsni9GOyZxwuVL_ypb3RZfD8Rr_PlUgqOfo7m/s400/conrad-anderson0517.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oldest Son's Chelsea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFR7qmY8Hb_ukY_oyO58UnPi4k6qUH2nfhnoTUd7L4TpdbNi_AVLmmYMF_5VZt_WJQq9Ywa7OnJd4nVXEvzKvveZu0ks5H2IWI2m6sxtoSLB_arRPM1psZCuqRmg0l9rl5tpjO2rpUZ0p/s1600/114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="1600" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFR7qmY8Hb_ukY_oyO58UnPi4k6qUH2nfhnoTUd7L4TpdbNi_AVLmmYMF_5VZt_WJQq9Ywa7OnJd4nVXEvzKvveZu0ks5H2IWI2m6sxtoSLB_arRPM1psZCuqRmg0l9rl5tpjO2rpUZ0p/s400/114.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Middle Son's Leigh</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_futP95MJVvj8XtJJLhMQrO2nDUsQuccDoHTS2fFXZlqH6Vzo9zADysqAwXLZ9Jc4XhzUMuMQ89r5jQmnKuRaYbrGp1vgfI4EAWdkcHqDEFkQjkaenRLULTV6pjkWfmnJk8UD1aCyinjE/s1600/IMG_5951.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_futP95MJVvj8XtJJLhMQrO2nDUsQuccDoHTS2fFXZlqH6Vzo9zADysqAwXLZ9Jc4XhzUMuMQ89r5jQmnKuRaYbrGp1vgfI4EAWdkcHqDEFkQjkaenRLULTV6pjkWfmnJk8UD1aCyinjE/s400/IMG_5951.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maisy Grace</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We kept playing.</div>
</div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5avb-g9wBjllXvmYY-3F_KZ4U466Pz7ZNMjtowYV6ZkdL_RE4PAIhyXSab_fvsGwX7Rj1kwcZSqIBx-2XicILCSG0_KuZa_JWEvAgjhhS4JAEuY2i3uGwPRsCrww3_JfUQMth8zeLNaB/s1600/DSC_0170.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5avb-g9wBjllXvmYY-3F_KZ4U466Pz7ZNMjtowYV6ZkdL_RE4PAIhyXSab_fvsGwX7Rj1kwcZSqIBx-2XicILCSG0_KuZa_JWEvAgjhhS4JAEuY2i3uGwPRsCrww3_JfUQMth8zeLNaB/s400/DSC_0170.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">At the lake.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi33sq_9LGFzR8RlSbL6jw04wr4Uw8-6WeAjZlbNOF09GdWe4MRpYhqx7oCWz31TE_wvvKZoPhwlcFkhOk18gc1hikvl0R0Sp6gtuUSYnIa_s5cxaco0Gjk_JO1hdCcUFHj-EzXRMvS93bH/s1600/IMG_5060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi33sq_9LGFzR8RlSbL6jw04wr4Uw8-6WeAjZlbNOF09GdWe4MRpYhqx7oCWz31TE_wvvKZoPhwlcFkhOk18gc1hikvl0R0Sp6gtuUSYnIa_s5cxaco0Gjk_JO1hdCcUFHj-EzXRMvS93bH/s400/IMG_5060.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guadeloupe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
https://youtu.be/AfXbo_gZENw<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i9.ytimg.com/vi/AfXbo_gZENw/default.jpg?sqp=CNSbr9sF&rs=AOn4CLDx-3bTK_bBH--PQqeAZAj7E8kAyg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/AfXbo_gZENw?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAj_bvde815rZ_uQQGRMk0I_jIedVhwj4MA0EyiRJpU9NZfHcxwVsVmICbscVZXFO9QzwMaIqWkZiMfW50M3ho4igULoN1mgOe5siKjV71ryx1j3kCGvywuJvaOkjsXPAdiX0oobBPTKY/s1600/IMG_6225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="623" data-original-width="830" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAj_bvde815rZ_uQQGRMk0I_jIedVhwj4MA0EyiRJpU9NZfHcxwVsVmICbscVZXFO9QzwMaIqWkZiMfW50M3ho4igULoN1mgOe5siKjV71ryx1j3kCGvywuJvaOkjsXPAdiX0oobBPTKY/s400/IMG_6225.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Blue Lagoon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivZAWlJDSl9Dm7R2yKisx-zt33_Ee63fkYXgO38g3QQNTv6MxEgGriqZmcs_k1VRGIH1viTvFqsFo3P7092ba3bHJxt6IJ6WctLDK8Kcwtv0A-Pts2s8kXUGkY40lG-uO-KVnhbrZb_Ou/s1600/DSC_0196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivZAWlJDSl9Dm7R2yKisx-zt33_Ee63fkYXgO38g3QQNTv6MxEgGriqZmcs_k1VRGIH1viTvFqsFo3P7092ba3bHJxt6IJ6WctLDK8Kcwtv0A-Pts2s8kXUGkY40lG-uO-KVnhbrZb_Ou/s400/DSC_0196.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iceland</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAPTYghjcGJlUqsubN3jFzShzu3Q1hnRcDNUTxc3-WCg6wWOXF_oNLm9dxTMSVJfuQAwNrGAiBItlFNRBwZbd4x1pU-JBE6OeaTqS_vzfhYZg0_u-2FUo-nCYX5GEejL74xkdWxmz2Lvq/s1600/IMG_6681.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAPTYghjcGJlUqsubN3jFzShzu3Q1hnRcDNUTxc3-WCg6wWOXF_oNLm9dxTMSVJfuQAwNrGAiBItlFNRBwZbd4x1pU-JBE6OeaTqS_vzfhYZg0_u-2FUo-nCYX5GEejL74xkdWxmz2Lvq/s400/IMG_6681.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Norway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUgh-xGLlpf1SKZ0X0eDEd4k7upiBp_eKoyGA0nHczsiX3MWeVhKErLCLtP20oH_SaFQI_v2IcHJfRDhz6qyW2y9QkzOVZcTOuUXnhxL3YoxazSw5DDWCVikwH1lho3Ytwz5zsUQ2V-aMp/s1600/IMG_5825.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUgh-xGLlpf1SKZ0X0eDEd4k7upiBp_eKoyGA0nHczsiX3MWeVhKErLCLtP20oH_SaFQI_v2IcHJfRDhz6qyW2y9QkzOVZcTOuUXnhxL3YoxazSw5DDWCVikwH1lho3Ytwz5zsUQ2V-aMp/s400/IMG_5825.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please note my halo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinJke8pSwstjuHMYAvU7Lnz_Cf9gNRq74KpoWKYBEssVIF0nRidwHQKfQE6UNRiLyzV731EV8KAUtX1ug6lINkGPw1SDkZ5ZhZgFDDgbpSxnLgnOJosDnoYio7jYy_NuAS1jObYK09us_V/s1600/IMG_7183.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinJke8pSwstjuHMYAvU7Lnz_Cf9gNRq74KpoWKYBEssVIF0nRidwHQKfQE6UNRiLyzV731EV8KAUtX1ug6lINkGPw1SDkZ5ZhZgFDDgbpSxnLgnOJosDnoYio7jYy_NuAS1jObYK09us_V/s400/IMG_7183.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New York City</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO6IOLiYhwIh9hMUQ7EzFt4yzkrNrjAUrCOoxjG0o3pubaStcFq5WhpQ8yGByBxln1dWffxK453jK6q-qpmZG7EKNf8V5ARMGoWwaBB1yJOqYR6meJx0oXewJn1M0sHgTNYgq-1INLXRPq/s1600/IMG_0200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO6IOLiYhwIh9hMUQ7EzFt4yzkrNrjAUrCOoxjG0o3pubaStcFq5WhpQ8yGByBxln1dWffxK453jK6q-qpmZG7EKNf8V5ARMGoWwaBB1yJOqYR6meJx0oXewJn1M0sHgTNYgq-1INLXRPq/s400/IMG_0200.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You have to visit NYC when your youngest son lives there.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We added a new continent.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCorFgqyTYhDh84GGUh3diRbK7SrfhgeKCSAFFT28Q-P2NiZRLvIgcOYfe-sgFMsjL-E-3u3gHHNxrAPnVT1CVOh8Qcnj-aJpnRJEVSlEDcUKoc8FOweZOcg2fqRco27XoGCvyw2VaCmHJ/s1600/DSC_0583.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCorFgqyTYhDh84GGUh3diRbK7SrfhgeKCSAFFT28Q-P2NiZRLvIgcOYfe-sgFMsjL-E-3u3gHHNxrAPnVT1CVOh8Qcnj-aJpnRJEVSlEDcUKoc8FOweZOcg2fqRco27XoGCvyw2VaCmHJ/s400/DSC_0583.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the<br />
Zambezi </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHaFzJmnioGfP7YQRDZbFETKJdgzmUCYX5HpUW1zcJ-WMCozbp4WS-RH-Tct_B0016lSXPFrTxVdYRrACN5mGDC1Gnp9NyPwUbTX7Q42Gl-OP6H8z5pic0UxVxKpbOwcqijZpzVJADI0o/s1600/58dd68f0-13af-11e8-b194-05aed7370769_VF-IMG_2568VF-IMG_0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1143" data-original-width="1600" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHaFzJmnioGfP7YQRDZbFETKJdgzmUCYX5HpUW1zcJ-WMCozbp4WS-RH-Tct_B0016lSXPFrTxVdYRrACN5mGDC1Gnp9NyPwUbTX7Q42Gl-OP6H8z5pic0UxVxKpbOwcqijZpzVJADI0o/s400/58dd68f0-13af-11e8-b194-05aed7370769_VF-IMG_2568VF-IMG_0004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5-sQOuyHQ85Y2AqkLMDAptH7tKcnjsEnurmadpSrZnYYefUTxC7xUCPZVoxdotHd8_Gy74jJJOyYpUrlaEvOtVvq0j32qOT6n9p3j7U4IVtbVMGjiKfWzqnn8OO3CfgsQbzSyqHqxLcV/s1600/IMG_0293.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5-sQOuyHQ85Y2AqkLMDAptH7tKcnjsEnurmadpSrZnYYefUTxC7xUCPZVoxdotHd8_Gy74jJJOyYpUrlaEvOtVvq0j32qOT6n9p3j7U4IVtbVMGjiKfWzqnn8OO3CfgsQbzSyqHqxLcV/s400/IMG_0293.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The for-real backdrop.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFYpLNwRbt0Vjlu-gptADxXsHNAGGG0nnwVhT6cGClolFBKeKXjJ7rjJn7TA133raRcdAJXo6FFlDRx2qdjNytSwLrfcyUwPd0hvIfdJNNWPY9v4XTn4yvnIEAI6K6Dwf92iokMaKb_Pj/s1600/IMG_0356.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1158" data-original-width="678" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFYpLNwRbt0Vjlu-gptADxXsHNAGGG0nnwVhT6cGClolFBKeKXjJ7rjJn7TA133raRcdAJXo6FFlDRx2qdjNytSwLrfcyUwPd0hvIfdJNNWPY9v4XTn4yvnIEAI6K6Dwf92iokMaKb_Pj/s400/IMG_0356.jpg" width="233" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cape of Good Hope</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
After Africa in February this year, life changed. The husband retired. He loved his new found freedom. </div>
<br />
Accustomed to quiet 12 hour days of solitude, I attempted to complete my novel accompanied by the roars from blowers, power washing, and the TV. My inspirational view of the backyard from my writing space became obstructed by a motorcycle rebuilding project. Vroom. Vroom.<br />
<br />
Murder scenes kept appearing in my writing even though my book wasn't a WhoDoneIt. Finally, finally with the writing complete and the house power-washed to perfection, we reverted to travel mode. A first-time trip to Lake Tahoe to visit family followed by a 4200-mile Road Trip up north, don't you know.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPzIuuw_n9OAkkZNFoJ35YUukTUwHzBRHnDCL8reS5Ou6kdq0owu1XjOzL2Ukh3q4sQgvsR4uDheab5oe2lWCV47oE6y5Rl73gq315ednqR7xFZtD3MC0Bg3d_z1ITiL4v4B5ueyMyfsf/s1600/IMG_0674.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="798" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPzIuuw_n9OAkkZNFoJ35YUukTUwHzBRHnDCL8reS5Ou6kdq0owu1XjOzL2Ukh3q4sQgvsR4uDheab5oe2lWCV47oE6y5Rl73gq315ednqR7xFZtD3MC0Bg3d_z1ITiL4v4B5ueyMyfsf/s400/IMG_0674.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Tahoe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqA5QoXKu7yjlZYmAarVBSFkWWN-HJ8rPEFzrORH3DMWVgCr4jStqCGqqD7sNtEa8J9GAOaE4Qpc9vOUYeJ_8dhh788RaGvkrn6jKa1aJTcaGI5SWcuvypqgZYyPVi_YP602wVkQRc44O3/s1600/DSC_0482+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1225" data-original-width="1600" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqA5QoXKu7yjlZYmAarVBSFkWWN-HJ8rPEFzrORH3DMWVgCr4jStqCGqqD7sNtEa8J9GAOaE4Qpc9vOUYeJ_8dhh788RaGvkrn6jKa1aJTcaGI5SWcuvypqgZYyPVi_YP602wVkQRc44O3/s400/DSC_0482+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Apostle Islands -- Wisconsin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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After we returned, in mid-July the cactus bloomed. I thought it odd that it bloomed a month early. I chocked it up to the changing climate noting that lots of things seemed a bit off these days. Ahem. </div>
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A couple days ago, while on my way to the compost bin, I noticed something completely different. </div>
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Fruit<br />
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Most appropriate.<br />
Come Sunday we will celebrate 40 years of wedded...<br />
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bliss.<br />
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More than a few prickly spikes along the way, but good to know there are still surprises ahead. We'll let the cactus be our guide.<br />
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And that damn thing better not die.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "programme" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">While searching photos for this post, it came to my attention that these ARE the only photographs we have of the two of us. We'll have to work on that.</span><br />
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Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-24079643619225297182018-07-24T16:45:00.001-05:002018-07-29T00:22:17.333-05:00Hot Time in Texas<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><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;">Heat,
ma’am! it was so dreadful here, that I found there was nothing left for
it but to take off my flesh and sit in my bones. </span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><i><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;">Sydney Smith, Lady Holland’s Memoir</span></i></b></span> </div>
<br />
A breeze flutters the flag on my porch. The red, white and blue swishes this way and hovers another before falling for a momentary rest. The fronds on my neighbor's palms fan slightly to and fro. Their flag flies almost upright high out on the dock, the breeze out there more like a wind. <br />
<br />
I watch all this undulating as I sit inside and try to put a few words together. My chair outside on the porch idly waits, like it's calling me to come park my behind. I like to write out there. The breeze adds to this enticing invitation. <br />
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As inviting as it may appear, I won't succumb. I know it's an illusion. It's hotter than hell out there. The view from this side of the window comes with AC. I'll leave the 102 degree temperature for hardier souls. And hope those working in it are drinking lots of water.<br />
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Yesterday the temp reached 109. One hundred and nine. It was too hot to swim, the relentless sun rescinding my hopes for comfort. When the sun finally sank below the horizon, I ventured out. The flags drooped limply. A cicada whined for a mate. The water didn't move. The air suffocated me in its silence.<br />
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I jumped into the lake. Rather, I jumped into a giant hot tub. The lake needed relief from the sun's rays more than me. <br />
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It's quiet at the lake during the week. My husband took up all the weekend dweller's trash cans after the garbage truck came by. The neighbors next door, who live here full-time, have bailed for mountain air. Smart people. While my husband watches movies downstairs on the only TV, I find myself unable to choose what to do. I'm out of sync.<br />
<br />
Normally, I'm sequestered in my hammock, a stack of books beside me while relishing every second of the long days of summer. I'll jump in the water when I get too warm or before switching to a different book. I float and study the landscape or the movement of the water, or the boats going by. I talk to the ducks or geese that swim around me. Or a turtle, that pops up his head to see what I'm up to.<br />
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Today, I watch the theater before me from behind the glass. My stack of books sit idle, the covers seemingly saying, "Pick me up. Choose me." I don't choose them. Nor do I clean something around here that surely needs cleaning. My watercolor paints on the table don't care how little I know about using them. They are ready. I thought I was too.<br />
<br />
But I only have energy for looking out the window, where absolutely nothing is happening, except the breeze blowing the flags and the water rushing by with today's wind, like it's running from the heat.<br />
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No boaters sail by. No tubers or skiers sing out with glee. No birds fly by. No ducks or geese wait for a toss of cat food or a swimming companion. We're all in hiding.<br />
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Seems a sin to be inside on a summer day. </div>
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But I'll wait until today's sun, like yesterday's, sinks behind that vista</div>
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and the temp drops to 90. Then I'll float -- in the moonshine.</div>
<br />Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-77519877648246409752018-01-16T14:45:00.001-06:002018-02-01T01:02:43.608-06:00Is Tidiness My Thing?<div style="text-align: center;">
<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;"><i><b>Creative clutter is better than idle neatness.</b></i></span></div>
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<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: x-small;"><i><b> Author Unknown </b></i></span></div>
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Sometimes when I can't solve what I want to solve, I tackle something minor. Like my sock drawer.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lpu6TKCmBUkMQj85njAmJMbKOxgpdXZlLCbxnjBsBxsXRDQ_UwstvKVNeV2Mwrtrb_0edrr9epsK9Jm6a3TgJW4FzxtRMdRpZ0o6idOnPyyPHlEscj-uYEq3GirSPT8HrkVdoEOS2FZR/s1600/IMG_0040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lpu6TKCmBUkMQj85njAmJMbKOxgpdXZlLCbxnjBsBxsXRDQ_UwstvKVNeV2Mwrtrb_0edrr9epsK9Jm6a3TgJW4FzxtRMdRpZ0o6idOnPyyPHlEscj-uYEq3GirSPT8HrkVdoEOS2FZR/s400/IMG_0040.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'd like to say these are all the socks in my sock drawer, but they aren't.</td></tr>
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Falling in line with all the stores that display storage containers front and center after the holidays, it seems a good time to get a handle on my own home. The past six months I've been intent on the quest to finish a book I started writing twelve years ago. The essentials were met -- a safe kitchen and bathroom, clean bed sheets and clothing, dinner made at night. Other than that? Nada.<br />
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My household work took a seat behind the bus. Then came Christmas. With the arrival of January and Christmas tucked back into its bins and hidden upstairs, I eye the plainness left in that tidy wake. I like it. <br />
<br />
I do like a tidy house, a place for everything. I like that because I need the space for all my unfinished projects. The current puzzle. The watercolor painting I totally don't know how to paint. The outside plants hiding from the cold weather. The pile of stuff that needs gluing. And a few hundred more things that make our house our home.<br />
<br />
Last week I read a book by Marie Kondo entitled <i>the life-changing magic of tidying up</i>. I breezed through the reading of the decluttering method with ease. I absorbed the process of taking my things into my arms to feel if they bring me joy. If no joy emits, banishment becomes the item's fate.<br />
<br />
I get it. I understand that having 15 potholders is not something that's neither necessary or joyful. Nor is a twelve year supply of my favorite body lotion.<br />
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The writer suggests a format to decluttering. Clothes, books, then the rest of your crap. My clothes I culled a few years ago when we renovated our rotted out bathroom/closet area, but my books? No, I'm not going to put them in the middle of the living room (for gathering them throughout the rooms of my home would require days.) Even though my Books To Be Read shelf has only 25 books, I have read all the rest. I can't tell you how often I refer to them. Or pull them out as my granddaughter grows. <br />
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I concede I have some books I can let go, like the tidiness one I just read. But in passing that book on, I take note of Ms Kondo's suggestions. I no longer have 15 potholders, but I still have a mess of a sock drawer.<br />
<br />
I love socks. Every day when I reach in to pull out a pair I rummage around seeking the right choice to fit my day. All my other drawers are organized and, recently, sorted and donated (to get that 2017 tax savings.) But the sock drawer? It has a flashing warning sign on it for it requires a holding down of contents to get it closed. Besides, you can't donate old socks.<br />
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Inside that drawer are socks for winter play and summer play. Socks for black shoes and black pants. Socks for brown shoes and brown pants. Socks that are fuzzy. Socks that are thin. Socks to go over socks for when my feet get cold in winter. Socks that kept my mother's feet warm in winter.<br />
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I have socks for Christmas. Socks with my favorite paintings by Renoir, Matisse, Degas and Vermeer. I have 24 pair of socks from my husband -- last year's Christmas gift. Two pair of socks a month via the mail.<br />
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Do I need this many socks? Of course not. Do I want this many socks? Yes. For my daily sock choice is not always due to weather or my outfit. It's more often based on mood. Some days I feel whimsical. Some days blah. Some days artsy, or conversely utilitarian. Once in a while I want to wear pink. Sometimes I want plain black. And some days, I want to remember my mom and pull on her warm socks and feel comforted.<br />
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The maestro organizer Kondo has a different idea for sock drawers. This morning as I stuffed the clean socks from a load of laundry into the drawer, I decided maybe she had a point. I tossed my socks on top of the dresser and after holding each pair in my hands to decide if it brought me joy (or if I would ever wear it again), I folded the chosen in the formatted manner described in the book. I placed them in the drawer as ordered. Quartered and visible so I can see exactly which one I might want. And, yes, it is still chocked full.<br />
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Not another pair can fit in my neat little lines, unless I do a double stack. Yes, I could have made my rows a little neater. But I didn't. And it looks neat to me.<br />
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Now, I ask you. What chance in hell do you think this drawer has of looking like this in a month? A week? After next wash day when all I want to do is stuff my socks in my sock drawer and get on with something that truly does bring me joy?<br />
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Cheers to the art of tidying. Happy New Year Everybody.<br />
Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-63859157550140479562017-08-21T17:01:00.000-05:002017-08-21T18:44:00.849-05:00Mulitiple Choice Quiz-- Excuses Why the Midlife Roadtripper Has Not Blogged Since August 2016<br />
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<b>Midlife Roadtripper Excuse for Not Blogging Quiz</b></h3>
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Quiz Instructions: Choose whatever answer fits your fancy. </div>
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<u><i><b>Excuse #1</b></i></u> <b>Blog Header</b><br />
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A, She turned 60<span style="font-size: x-small;"><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;"> in </span></span>August 2016 and therefore her header and blog name no longer apply.<br />
<br />
B. She didn't realize she hadn't posted since August 2016 because in her mind she was current. One day she cleaned house and found about ten notes written to herself that said "Write a Blog Post" hence discovering she was twelve months behind. Whoa! Have to blame it on the 60 thing. (Holy Crap! She turned 61 last week. Even worse.)<br />
<br />
C. She doesn't want to believe that 61 is no longer in midlife and sounds ancient to anyone under 59. She still
doesn't know how to get the photo in her header to center nor start over to find all the stuff that has been invented on Blogger since she
started this adventure over nine years ago. <br />
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D. If she keeps this blog going, she will have to come up with a new name minus the Midlife and the only possibilities that come to mind are:<br />
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<i>The Old Bitch Keeps on Ticking</i><i> </i><br />
<i>Someone Pluck her Chin Hairs</i> <br />
<i>The Bonus Years</i> -- <i>Meandering With a Worn Out Shrew</i><br />
<i>Senior Roadtripper (NO!) </i><br />
<i>Life with Julie (NO!)</i><br />
<i>Roadtripping When Your Knees Hurt</i> <br />
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None of these inspire her.<br />
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<u><i><b>Excuse #2</b></i></u> <b>Busyness</b><br />
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A. Twelve days after her granddaughter, the very sweet Maisy Grace, was born, the Midlife Roadtripper turned 60 and went to Schlitterbhan Water Park to celebrate. She rode down water slides and after landing at the bottom of the one she feared most (where she crossed her ankles to avoid a landing douche) she decided it wasn't all that thrilling or hard and could easily conquer Schlitterbahn at 70.<br />
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That realization inspired her and she couldn't quite figure out how to put that experience into a blog post. Then she went on a vacation to the foreign land of Guadaloupe where beaches were king and no one spoke English so she forgot her communications skills and therefore couldn't write anything anyway.<br />
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<br />
B. She had a bunch of women writers come to her cabin in September and they set goals and she realized the reasons she hadn't been working on the second book she's been writing were bullshit so therefore dedicated her blogging time to working on the novel. <br />
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She wrote the book to the end, printed it out, read it, saw how much work it needed, and put it on her desk for a complete re-write, again. And then. And then.... Christmas. New Years. Valentines Day. Easter. May Day. Needed the table.<br />
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C. She developed structure and rhythm in her disorganized life. It became habit to read three new poems a day, write her three journal pages of rambling crap and then write a one page can't-pick-your pencil-up-til-you're-done essay/short story or poem before she got her ass out of bed to work on the book she now dedicated an hour to every day. After that, she had no more words left to write.<br />
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D. She's lying and just stays in bed all day until her husband gets home from work whereby she has managed to put on her sweat shorts and t-shirt, brush her teeth, and hand him a chef surprise dinner. "You might need to get out the Cholula for this one, Hon."<br />
<br />
<b><u><i>Excuse #3</i></u> The Election</b><br />
<br />
A. The election threw her for a loop and everything she believed in regarding the advancement of women, people of color, and education had been blown to shit so she chose to live in the world of well written fiction by reading all the books in her house she hadn't read before. 70 books last year. 45 so far this year.<br />
<br />
B. She joined the VFW near her Hill Country cabin which doesn't require one to be a veteran and won't let you in if you have teeth so she knocked her teeth out and joined. She can play 12 Bingo cards at once now while not falling off her seat at the end of the bar.<br />
<br />
C. Her blog post rough drafts began with cheery stories of hope for the future for her children and grandchildren but soon melted into dystopian visions of barefoot women confined to kitchens surrounded by snotty nosed children who have no future, no clean drinking water, no breathable air, and no national parks to visit because they are filled with oil derricks and tainted water.<br />
<br />
Which made her want to write politically. Which she doesn't want to do.<br />
<br />
D. She just didn't give a shit about anything anymore.<br />
<br />
<b><u><i>Excuse #4</i></u> Physical Education</b><br />
<br />
A. She decided to dedicate her life to her body and started running 10 miles a day and then going to Yoga and Pilates in the off hours.<br />
<br />
B. She guzzled camomile tea and just stared complacently out the windows of her house all day. Enjoying the moment.<br />
<br />
C. She spent excess time wandering her neighborhood with an audio book playing on her phone, her camera around her neck, sauntering mindfully down the streets taking photos of birds, flowers and cracks in the sidewalk.<br />
<br />
D. Her new FitBit reminded her when she hadn't moved 250 steps each hour so she had to practice moving her arm up and down while in a sitting position to make certain at the end of the day her report showed she had moved every hour from 10am to 8pm.<br />
<br />
<u><i><b>Excuse #5</b></i></u> <b>Creativity</b><br />
<br />
A. She attended several women's circles on creativity and now has so many things on her pile of creative things that are fulfilling her that she has to make herself go to bed at 1am even though there is still so much she could be doing for enjoyment.<br />
<br />
B. She has decided that now she is 61 she must prioritize her life and make certain that the ways she spends her time needs to have meaning for her, for she truly does value herself.<br />
<br />
C. She has too many projects going not to mention the ones she hasn't yet discovered and truly does enjoy finding a few new pieces in the current 1000 piece puzzle spread on the table or sometimes just looking out the window and studying the clouds. Or the water. Or the swan that has decided to hang by the dock.<br />
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<br />
D. She wants to finish that novel started 12 years ago. Not necessarily for publishing purposes -- just because.<br />
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<b><u><i>Excuse #6</i></u> Seriously</b><br />
<br />
A. Perhaps many of the above.<br />
B. Perhaps she has read 116 books in the past 20 months. <br />
C. Perhaps has decided that the ultimate travel time for she and her husband will be in the next 15 or so years, if they are lucky, and needs to make those trips happen. Their list of places to visit is long and she spends time researching trips so they can be travelers more than tourists. Also trips cost alotta so learning about Discovery Corps and Friendship Force and any others that she is completely open to learning about.<br />
<br />
She ignores looks from her husband when she says things like "You know, if you're in New Zealand it would be silly not to hop over to Fiji." Or, "We should probably get to the Maldives before they're under water."<br />
<br />
D. Perhaps she is working on her novel and by the time she does her daily reading/writing/warm up and walks to get her steps, cleans toilets, makes dinner for her husband, and then reads some more or knits a stocking or makes a blanket or farts around reading the <i>New York Times,</i> she truly just has nothing more to say.<br />
<br />
<b>Final Quiz Instructions</b>: Make your picks. Multiple guesses allowed. Suggestions for a new blog title and old people travel groups accepted in the Comment section below.<br />
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As to that grandbaby? Well, who wouldn't stop everything to spend time with her.</div>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><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;">The moment I make an excuse, I confess to many things. </span></b></i></div>
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<b><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: x-small;">Muriel Strode (1875–1964), <i>My Little Book of Life</i>, 1912</span></b> </div>
Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-32326477132148343162016-08-05T14:25:00.000-05:002016-09-12T00:13:36.659-05:00Look What I Got!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><b><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;">If God had intended us to follow recipes,<br />
He wouldn’t have given us grandmothers.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Linda Henley</span></span></b></i></div>
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<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;">Last Christmas Eve I was slamming egg nog in Austin with my husband and oldest son and daughter-in-law -- the ones that have been married for six years. The middle son and wife were in New York City spending the holiday with youngest son. With my computer perched on the kitchen table, we had them on Facetime while that Bama Sous Chef boy opened his presents from us.</span><br />
<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;"><br /></span>
<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;">My daughter-in-law put a present in my lap and said it was a good time to open it. I did and found a book, a lovely copy of <i>The Night Before Christmas</i>. We were admiring the beautiful drawings in the book and as I studied them, my son informed me there was something else in the package. I turned the pages looking for whatever else might be in there when in desperation he said, "In the package, Mom. Not in the book." </span><br />
<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;"><br /></span>
<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;">What I then pulled out made me burst into tears.</span><br />
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<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;"><br /></span>
<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;">As I scanned the room, I saw we were all flowing. When I looked at my sons on the computer screen, they were wiping at their eyes, too. The Crying Family.</span><br />
<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;"><br /></span>
<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;"><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;">I never know how I'm going to react to things. Especially those I'm not expecting. I like to think I'm someone in control of my emotions. I know I'm a crier and often can't shut that off, but I also have delayed reactions. In grave situations or when something needs to get done, I hold it together for any given length of time. Later, when things settle down, I either fall apart or enjoy the elation, depending on the event. </span></span><br />
<br />
<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;"><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;">As I've waited these months for that little baby to join the world, I've pondered my upcoming response. What kind of grandmother will I be? What will I be thinking when I see that child? Will I react like I'm supposed to? And what might that "supposed to" be?</span></span><br />
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<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;"><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;">I needn't have worried. For the other night, I don't think I was thinking. Pure emotion reigned. It was incredible joy.</span></span><br />
<br />
<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;"><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;">But not so fast. We did have to wait. Where the first 8 months of that pregnancy flew by, the last four weeks seemed an eternity. Much more so for my daughter-in-law, Chelsea. As I recalled, the last two weeks of pregnancy made me feel it was a permanent condition. That those two weeks of misery were designed to extinguish all my fears and anxieties in regard to childbirth. Chelsea gained that same perspective.</span></span><br />
<br />
<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;"><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;">When labor finally, finally began, the grandparents-to-be gathered in the birthing room to wait it out. From early morning until late in the day, poor Chelsea and my son, the worrier, were stuck with the four of us while she labored, he studied and tended to requested massages, and we entertained ourselves.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jacob studied the nurse and doctor notes.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm0paZEOPiV9EJc2xUSbkyAuEzF_gyOUDIhtJbZhngRyxaJqqNBO_OcB5YnkFHX9KKd9nz4Zyk_VrKqRDLtr91LqZys-yV3FwA0CtHSRAoBxz79BX1OKEyej7NZy6E1ZEz4G_CFJNENsEB/s1600/DSC_0225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm0paZEOPiV9EJc2xUSbkyAuEzF_gyOUDIhtJbZhngRyxaJqqNBO_OcB5YnkFHX9KKd9nz4Zyk_VrKqRDLtr91LqZys-yV3FwA0CtHSRAoBxz79BX1OKEyej7NZy6E1ZEz4G_CFJNENsEB/s400/DSC_0225.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob yucked it up from the Lazy Boy chair.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEiBHvU4sl-oEx_H5B1xp4E4ICRl4NqzQLan8CSUDJLAzgZmLxq5I2V-BXyxb9Atopk4TPWbcrJHp26iIct4of2lfVRjDZizYvm4r1uegu2LidfFcUuiZcnyOaKo8PtF9UX7nDwDFfCLHR7V/s1600/DSC_0226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBHvU4sl-oEx_H5B1xp4E4ICRl4NqzQLan8CSUDJLAzgZmLxq5I2V-BXyxb9Atopk4TPWbcrJHp26iIct4of2lfVRjDZizYvm4r1uegu2LidfFcUuiZcnyOaKo8PtF9UX7nDwDFfCLHR7V/s400/DSC_0226.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Debbie and I covered every subject on Earth.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEgwZfqxKenExxaVqilIim4oXfgpnEt9HejrY4mmfdqAnAsOtYuWs8BhPvHWNcP_WNs_hCqA8tZyK_Fhk09Roi61bOs4meYAN2acUs0v49AGokFGMfxvqXHoJigT5AVtw7bJamFSNFeTVojW/s1600/DSC_0229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwZfqxKenExxaVqilIim4oXfgpnEt9HejrY4mmfdqAnAsOtYuWs8BhPvHWNcP_WNs_hCqA8tZyK_Fhk09Roi61bOs4meYAN2acUs0v49AGokFGMfxvqXHoJigT5AVtw7bJamFSNFeTVojW/s400/DSC_0229.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEggKcueT2dQ3_ppWcmBLX3J1O6oSQvHsQkVZo7uBeYWLe_hGHl0NQ5edMVtHr3uuL2oag3Yx_eywmpIWVjR3DAM9zaRrPpq3u4XmE7xXdc3CaIbJxSSlLh_Ditf_-_-yDuNFHexNl45TkLN/s1600/DSC_0231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKcueT2dQ3_ppWcmBLX3J1O6oSQvHsQkVZo7uBeYWLe_hGHl0NQ5edMVtHr3uuL2oag3Yx_eywmpIWVjR3DAM9zaRrPpq3u4XmE7xXdc3CaIbJxSSlLh_Ditf_-_-yDuNFHexNl45TkLN/s400/DSC_0231.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just muzzle that man!</td></tr>
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<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;"><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;">When Chelsea reached the pushing stage, the old folks left the room and huddled in a waiting room. Or walked laps around the hospital. Or ate tacos from the cafeteria. Or who knows what else. Middle son arrived after tending the animals left at home. (New daughter-in-law, Leigh, was out of town for work and most unhappy she was missing it. Chef boy far away and working as well.)</span></span><br />
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<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;"><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;">Finally, our phones all dinged. Oh, my, goodness.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfjZGlgnXJoDnVMytBWjHZasgruqErex3SIiK2E3VJUnuGy_n-j6HCr9jeyZZ98C4Esd_r2SdoRQ8ZI4jN7ZF7IoABEZpioqlrSLEs0EUWDvxPi_MmIYf2pSdPT0L-n0v4DLpPcrLjMnM1/s1600/IMG_4779.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfjZGlgnXJoDnVMytBWjHZasgruqErex3SIiK2E3VJUnuGy_n-j6HCr9jeyZZ98C4Esd_r2SdoRQ8ZI4jN7ZF7IoABEZpioqlrSLEs0EUWDvxPi_MmIYf2pSdPT0L-n0v4DLpPcrLjMnM1/s400/IMG_4779.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<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;">Bingo! We all had to get busy.</span></div>
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The waiting world now informed of our good news.</div>
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"The baby is here!"</div>
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We began another waiting game. After the doctor put Chelsea back together, the hospital declared The Golden Hour where only the new parents were with the baby. Seriously? Banished with only our phone photo in hand to sustain us, we took to the hospital parking lot for some good old-fashioned Tailgating. </div>
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<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;">Cheers!</span></div>
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<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;"><br /></span></div>
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<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;">As the "Golden Hour" moved into its third hour, we were lagging. Our champagne buzzes long subsided, we were more than ready when we got the message to come on down the hall. And then,</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkpO8AKxRv5I5tZk9l-GFfUmBt81vCO5xDZ_q9BB01kfxOUndwaIP8wCp-5ANT90OlzB5C578EYlUjZ1dNTuzRHa8rjDS07kNR1c4D4BrfaijvWdyjtmjCQMg8T7q1qXoX-HHHmD1QVV4/s1600/DSC_0284+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkpO8AKxRv5I5tZk9l-GFfUmBt81vCO5xDZ_q9BB01kfxOUndwaIP8wCp-5ANT90OlzB5C578EYlUjZ1dNTuzRHa8rjDS07kNR1c4D4BrfaijvWdyjtmjCQMg8T7q1qXoX-HHHmD1QVV4/s400/DSC_0284+%25281%2529.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
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I don't know why I worried about my reaction. Sheer joy escaped unaided. </div>
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We counted fingers and toes.</div>
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And then just looked at this beautiful child, who studied us with equal wonder.</div>
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<i><b> Yes, it's a girl!</b></i> </div>
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After three brothers and three sons, I get a girl. </div>
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The next day we spent a little time getting to know her.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6HLHm3jL4jrOT9OUXV3Jfgeiqo5WWaDWinX7TVhIRsyquHR6do4S4VyGY8ZEHa8EQJX-Dv_QLjL0IJ1sOLW92uWKOHMQJPsGSlOBbJg3U-msIFK-vtVg7e2y9KbkZTI6k9M4xKTseAbe/s1600/IMG_4792.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6HLHm3jL4jrOT9OUXV3Jfgeiqo5WWaDWinX7TVhIRsyquHR6do4S4VyGY8ZEHa8EQJX-Dv_QLjL0IJ1sOLW92uWKOHMQJPsGSlOBbJg3U-msIFK-vtVg7e2y9KbkZTI6k9M4xKTseAbe/s400/IMG_4792.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uncle Jordan</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandpa Bob</td></tr>
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And as the days go by, we gaze in awe.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank you, Debbie, for sharing this one with us.</td></tr>
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Of course, we retrieved Jacob's baby photos from the closet and wondered if we could see her daddy in her.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtsdcJqOksGvw7DcGkiHGmbjGwVzr3vM_piDE6d_Lxao_yXj1RJdYXv8XSwkG0cLmcuIP4tm1ZcYs2Z8uBL76dEVZVi7liRfEnu7XmMJteonLCsgztY4_4j8Vj9AzWi-S330llb4l-41Ku/s1600/IMG_4806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtsdcJqOksGvw7DcGkiHGmbjGwVzr3vM_piDE6d_Lxao_yXj1RJdYXv8XSwkG0cLmcuIP4tm1ZcYs2Z8uBL76dEVZVi7liRfEnu7XmMJteonLCsgztY4_4j8Vj9AzWi-S330llb4l-41Ku/s400/IMG_4806.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jacob</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jacob</td></tr>
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Or this one I have of her beautiful mama.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDhJRZDxTe_0Hh1Ou9ODDHOp8XLqLH5ACX-0UT7bEssFg-Idsf95AUzQYTZa2EdS09s-5syIu63KAIAf5jCZLnR_pnhwEDEm_XeUPRLuWqIi48Lt8tKFWNKYAtCDBLVB84V68en5gIJM5/s1600/IMG_0013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDhJRZDxTe_0Hh1Ou9ODDHOp8XLqLH5ACX-0UT7bEssFg-Idsf95AUzQYTZa2EdS09s-5syIu63KAIAf5jCZLnR_pnhwEDEm_XeUPRLuWqIi48Lt8tKFWNKYAtCDBLVB84V68en5gIJM5/s400/IMG_0013.jpg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chelsea</td></tr>
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After much consideration, I'm thinking she looks like Maisy Grace.</div>
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Welcome to the world, sweet girl. </div>
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I don't know if I know how to be a girl Grandma, but I'm thinking I'll let Maisy teach me. Meantime, we'll just hang.</div>
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Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-65996232162385817272016-07-19T16:33:00.003-05:002016-07-21T13:19:20.982-05:00Wedding Bells<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><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;">Grow old with me! The best is yet to be. </span></b></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b><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;">Robert Browning</span></b></i></span></div>
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We had a wedding. Boy, did we have a wedding. Family and friends from all over the country came and we had us a good time. After running on adrenaline for a couple months, a few weeks rest finds me able to muster some words. Please indulge me as I share our fun.<br />
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May I present the bride and groom. Middle son, Jordan and his lovely bride, Leigh.<br />
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But, before that happened, we had all this other stuff going on. A week's worth. It started when the Bama Sous Chef boy flew in from New York City and we had a family dinner to start the festivities.<br />
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Then the rest of the family and the college roommates drifted in from Denver, Sheboygan, Warba, San Diego, Flagstaff and Seattle and some real cooking started.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrVJwaxc_ZvoSIpX6BVcK4FeqlJaQtR7lMMFJNOdDzDpTicZgrB3AWUyq21tzc4CTPijl6gOn32EPhBjs-R_0fi7SKFvC5NAlkHzmElyUqrhC967lsBSS60bgnBXOpAFoMHGfOoLP_Et4T/s1600/IMG_4628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrVJwaxc_ZvoSIpX6BVcK4FeqlJaQtR7lMMFJNOdDzDpTicZgrB3AWUyq21tzc4CTPijl6gOn32EPhBjs-R_0fi7SKFvC5NAlkHzmElyUqrhC967lsBSS60bgnBXOpAFoMHGfOoLP_Et4T/s400/IMG_4628.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smoked pork butts going on.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Northern Arizona University boys gathered less one still to come. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bride taking a breather.</td></tr>
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And the dock started to fill up.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyWvnubDi8NfUVuMcyLpM82qupLoKZFp3onjbEx5Pp8qFyKys19luZQcVRLqP4rQusD3gYhXCTs-Nl0Jwc9uDs-O47ktkCkJadYm3dCJiZVfI64locv5QCPKrfCDNhrBHPBpjTl6Uh0OXF/s1600/IMG_4709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyWvnubDi8NfUVuMcyLpM82qupLoKZFp3onjbEx5Pp8qFyKys19luZQcVRLqP4rQusD3gYhXCTs-Nl0Jwc9uDs-O47ktkCkJadYm3dCJiZVfI64locv5QCPKrfCDNhrBHPBpjTl6Uh0OXF/s400/IMG_4709.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Take that fish off for him, Pete.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkTgFZKBZUzzjfi6VQIBYewJxPtwPe02WvOOnFGQ0TuO-4OfpkO8uO6l4QzP-1uat6C4LfDEPMNNwCLP-auJUoWgO2VnNTKoD2c2gcU7k8Z8ERt9FveKHJ2Kx9D8sjKPw-KFIuhrnp8oL/s1600/DSC_0875.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivkTgFZKBZUzzjfi6VQIBYewJxPtwPe02WvOOnFGQ0TuO-4OfpkO8uO6l4QzP-1uat6C4LfDEPMNNwCLP-auJUoWgO2VnNTKoD2c2gcU7k8Z8ERt9FveKHJ2Kx9D8sjKPw-KFIuhrnp8oL/s400/DSC_0875.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We don't know who this is.</td></tr>
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And the table got busy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-d-NX3g_iizAqclo0T08aP8WTCK8OQva6PtKxEHxbDgHEbDGlQL2LmU_47_p1DEIKw4Y_pWyg8Y-xKQX5yjFYqycx3qd0f4e2WL_Tqac0yNusaesJKICQKCuhF3BULtJ3PjOSNoLawgv/s1600/DSC_0862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-d-NX3g_iizAqclo0T08aP8WTCK8OQva6PtKxEHxbDgHEbDGlQL2LmU_47_p1DEIKw4Y_pWyg8Y-xKQX5yjFYqycx3qd0f4e2WL_Tqac0yNusaesJKICQKCuhF3BULtJ3PjOSNoLawgv/s400/DSC_0862.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHkiNqCo6pzvtaNcBwbdhsbr4uRCVaUdeNJuQ1DHXPNOQ63pcsYdy-MqBoogUauQRiTbEszEJrHEebq8ISLV-tqFQ93hQLUKJ5xwN690tLTOUgotMHF5-aJGq_zYRxMKXt397Tf8dI1ebe/s1600/DSC_0907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHkiNqCo6pzvtaNcBwbdhsbr4uRCVaUdeNJuQ1DHXPNOQ63pcsYdy-MqBoogUauQRiTbEszEJrHEebq8ISLV-tqFQ93hQLUKJ5xwN690tLTOUgotMHF5-aJGq_zYRxMKXt397Tf8dI1ebe/s400/DSC_0907.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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We had dinner for 10 on Wednesday. Dinner for 38 on Thursday. Chef Ian of New York City, with assistance from Chef Ryan of San Diego, put on a feast. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pork Butts ready. Ring the Dinner Bell.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVt5IAaXlzW8u7sFnQ4HT29H8hBnytBktf8fInyIx_H2OYyQXF2g3yxCyx3XwYRPyULpw0Uw-GjyzWB3RWHIIigcyn39qJF4GixYG29aMv0zWZ3UrWtZkKIFoSb_MvBlOwpu_ZF6UMYS6f/s400/13344760_1176942712325687_7778985731365507291_n+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">38 people gathering for a blessing before dinner.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJ_XbvSumqUBwgidPkFnIgd9nD5kQJWJb7SMLH05IqRz2nnqvaGPdDqBaWvBcrjKBDvahg6uCPxMRoPtzWDB2QFg1_KvxTaegx9hyn2EqabWr43drZ8ma_tdy89z_OJ_9GE2eg-ZspCqE/s1600/DSC_0913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJ_XbvSumqUBwgidPkFnIgd9nD5kQJWJb7SMLH05IqRz2nnqvaGPdDqBaWvBcrjKBDvahg6uCPxMRoPtzWDB2QFg1_KvxTaegx9hyn2EqabWr43drZ8ma_tdy89z_OJ_9GE2eg-ZspCqE/s400/DSC_0913.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Burk hung out under the table waiting for scraps.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Then we had 67 for dinner the next night for the Rehearsal Dinner. We had planned to cruise Lady Bird Lake aka Town Lake, but due to the flooding going on, the lake was closed. Had a good view of downtown Austin, even though we weren't moving. Saw the bats take off in the distance.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPT9AMAOzzDAMSsx-0ATD0DxnQ_qnJXqC-EaN430XrE4BtmZ_S0QnxtZC9iEZ5FIpLfO3MIeIqEb9oy5ksGpZ2tt_uyZSShyphenhyphenXrazCa9PhaP19YPRuzUek0H2bYD_8jUmnejChpdKRThjm/s1600/DSC_0923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBPT9AMAOzzDAMSsx-0ATD0DxnQ_qnJXqC-EaN430XrE4BtmZ_S0QnxtZC9iEZ5FIpLfO3MIeIqEb9oy5ksGpZ2tt_uyZSShyphenhyphenXrazCa9PhaP19YPRuzUek0H2bYD_8jUmnejChpdKRThjm/s400/DSC_0923.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy son.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9crUT5S-CsHoKhzyob_OfsZngZTra-lOMJVHchFTnQqBOkGgzvNpX9on853Y0fIe4VuS5mwGuIWbFbozELxWijhzFusI5Y7og2iFAQ9U9zlPhE7MXE1WQkTcT5wn9aDkYJJy8bAKSFz8G/s1600/DSC_0925.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9crUT5S-CsHoKhzyob_OfsZngZTra-lOMJVHchFTnQqBOkGgzvNpX9on853Y0fIe4VuS5mwGuIWbFbozELxWijhzFusI5Y7og2iFAQ9U9zlPhE7MXE1WQkTcT5wn9aDkYJJy8bAKSFz8G/s400/DSC_0925.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Groom's Dad, Bob. Bride's Dad, Bob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friends and family</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitUO9akdTOD793QS989PbktyKXcmYbL6Oa4Az5bYYkR5lfGv8m_lXhAgpGnplpoYs3gL2bKWpkV2pAOITzy8U27tqufZ-fTWz8QsmnOFLNRlCPr_p2MLVxmXHsHmbKPTjdAGbhDDe3Dz9K/s1600/DSC_0960.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitUO9akdTOD793QS989PbktyKXcmYbL6Oa4Az5bYYkR5lfGv8m_lXhAgpGnplpoYs3gL2bKWpkV2pAOITzy8U27tqufZ-fTWz8QsmnOFLNRlCPr_p2MLVxmXHsHmbKPTjdAGbhDDe3Dz9K/s400/DSC_0960.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uncles and cousins</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht3DomRCWS6ywY27KDhzuoBN_PZ8w6Nr7oxD7AAT71ZtgdbuRpaq1-KKIk0FecKIiB6M2MnyYNmVfR-sEDgyJ9pYLRQHDj6KYpEx6jGPseTngJzejFgSw97vFI2VDryRHkuYRmz18lGjas/s1600/DSC_0969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht3DomRCWS6ywY27KDhzuoBN_PZ8w6Nr7oxD7AAT71ZtgdbuRpaq1-KKIk0FecKIiB6M2MnyYNmVfR-sEDgyJ9pYLRQHDj6KYpEx6jGPseTngJzejFgSw97vFI2VDryRHkuYRmz18lGjas/s400/DSC_0969.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old neighbors, dear friends, and the Godparents.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFgyOxDhsaeRSGKfEpPC_Y9EgR8SAPc3JCnV99LsUDa07cLEtkZAfqx9G6fDVDiBrLyeTjclj4EGIe1aFm5GQ3GZ_d0fM1bIxTuk-XKK-RWiAfS6m3GbmNp6erJD35PR2AeGXcX6_OWilw/s1600/DSC_0971.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFgyOxDhsaeRSGKfEpPC_Y9EgR8SAPc3JCnV99LsUDa07cLEtkZAfqx9G6fDVDiBrLyeTjclj4EGIe1aFm5GQ3GZ_d0fM1bIxTuk-XKK-RWiAfS6m3GbmNp6erJD35PR2AeGXcX6_OWilw/s400/DSC_0971.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No fun going on.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8N75kUaU-m2D5O4t98SI3dAzY8azj78FAky9TgCeFKnw1A6B0NNniV0CFYZ3NNNtJPyhqABL_s9tU1RH56lXiHVGOyHbxLCH6dbVdIl-xkOrgIYcT2wsgClpwOfDwcwrREQ0cQUdFdwiS/s1600/DSC_0972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8N75kUaU-m2D5O4t98SI3dAzY8azj78FAky9TgCeFKnw1A6B0NNniV0CFYZ3NNNtJPyhqABL_s9tU1RH56lXiHVGOyHbxLCH6dbVdIl-xkOrgIYcT2wsgClpwOfDwcwrREQ0cQUdFdwiS/s400/DSC_0972.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bride dancing with an old uncle.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhii1PHcKkpWe4ZRekSPCWxlnsil8L-EG5OtHvCkhzV7UCHQgDsOaApUZ4tRvPXA_4w2hWgQdAwPjxAySDyi8yueyy8jGHWKAjyuz5FN-Qj8H0khZBvSOMnwTQCzJ-2EYxLQXCrtLwu25HM/s1600/DSC_0987.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhii1PHcKkpWe4ZRekSPCWxlnsil8L-EG5OtHvCkhzV7UCHQgDsOaApUZ4tRvPXA_4w2hWgQdAwPjxAySDyi8yueyy8jGHWKAjyuz5FN-Qj8H0khZBvSOMnwTQCzJ-2EYxLQXCrtLwu25HM/s400/DSC_0987.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunts and cousins</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEVUND-DB03hpIpe5w1BNgbzcsyC7-0ZduMNrTNk7zg5VxAqp8i-b1_NCYRMQ87Pc59uNWgJ3__3EtyCuYg7nx3sPmj2d0MvTV2Ya1-frnjoCd0OFCf-RqGaqzQflSSwF02fUM5ioZQNFs/s1600/DSC_0988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEVUND-DB03hpIpe5w1BNgbzcsyC7-0ZduMNrTNk7zg5VxAqp8i-b1_NCYRMQ87Pc59uNWgJ3__3EtyCuYg7nx3sPmj2d0MvTV2Ya1-frnjoCd0OFCf-RqGaqzQflSSwF02fUM5ioZQNFs/s400/DSC_0988.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Groom, dad, uncles, and a godfather.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBmT070TOwOhK2rGeelYvHzM8-cwNemr7HGL_7KbfM9jlSRdVOAAUaTF0hc64KfDhEGMBC6solDy9JUu-hm-zlp4TiApB-q0ymOrfLctBUKtJU3q9X8SZvNMdLkeNVCidfN7twX1-wvadD/s1600/DSC_0989.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBmT070TOwOhK2rGeelYvHzM8-cwNemr7HGL_7KbfM9jlSRdVOAAUaTF0hc64KfDhEGMBC6solDy9JUu-hm-zlp4TiApB-q0ymOrfLctBUKtJU3q9X8SZvNMdLkeNVCidfN7twX1-wvadD/s400/DSC_0989.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brother</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8JpcqREg2FJXTBDj-IT1xx8nsIf3Uhe_8RRvi-TsKFXzpX6coKcSOdbauuOmtJo0ucGvbC7T-9et5W6K5MgvytCvfV8Up8wSHGSTNoAmhf_A9SRqBCZ8Q7s8EartOQE6ImXSb_r5gj5o/s1600/DSC_1000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-8JpcqREg2FJXTBDj-IT1xx8nsIf3Uhe_8RRvi-TsKFXzpX6coKcSOdbauuOmtJo0ucGvbC7T-9et5W6K5MgvytCvfV8Up8wSHGSTNoAmhf_A9SRqBCZ8Q7s8EartOQE6ImXSb_r5gj5o/s400/DSC_1000.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another brother and wife.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpCLl3JFGd953rGc2KKZiPhk5x2GPNnHZW1RD6q_N48gt67dalbhBailfR6YdAYHOB3x1gpmUOqZz0NXjF1f-0Ahs-S5a8ab2xH-zwE4PDrTB45hxSo_8wwqZMyS0UmxKKylYIPk9gq2H/s1600/DSC_0993.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpCLl3JFGd953rGc2KKZiPhk5x2GPNnHZW1RD6q_N48gt67dalbhBailfR6YdAYHOB3x1gpmUOqZz0NXjF1f-0Ahs-S5a8ab2xH-zwE4PDrTB45hxSo_8wwqZMyS0UmxKKylYIPk9gq2H/s400/DSC_0993.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Collection of new relatives.</td></tr>
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Finally the wedding day. All I had to do was show up.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
I'm so glad I did.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDnX-UTCcM3fHrMDEiab0CzqfspVbZR-mvPmmdNC4owZzguzBxQnlbkSgFiBu4it2bOqM61314u-M8SjNFCyQgzV1FqDwYoLGX8jM-fPu-pPRuO78g4Ve4OXIshXNg6KzVuShGjOSAAdP/s1600/DSC_0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDnX-UTCcM3fHrMDEiab0CzqfspVbZR-mvPmmdNC4owZzguzBxQnlbkSgFiBu4it2bOqM61314u-M8SjNFCyQgzV1FqDwYoLGX8jM-fPu-pPRuO78g4Ve4OXIshXNg6KzVuShGjOSAAdP/s400/DSC_0001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Really Mom?" Jordan refusing nice stationary to write his bride a letter. "What's wrong with notebook paper?"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JjF1eI2y0sIP0X_Lb2qqcLxE1q90n_SDCvj1IFfC9-uBI4-0egHj1Iu8nsgQI_4NhSxH1USo-z7c38F0RMPI2I2mCkMX-Ncc9_flci6TCmzb3ALzW7hkH6GiyhsLQLzeGCJ9zduGp0Ym/s1600/DSC_1018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JjF1eI2y0sIP0X_Lb2qqcLxE1q90n_SDCvj1IFfC9-uBI4-0egHj1Iu8nsgQI_4NhSxH1USo-z7c38F0RMPI2I2mCkMX-Ncc9_flci6TCmzb3ALzW7hkH6GiyhsLQLzeGCJ9zduGp0Ym/s400/DSC_1018.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging with the godparents and friends.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxNbDGgThLINz95Tn1tf9HJz_SI1SNEx4XGN5cuCSqM66BrhjQqybT9FmC0OFaxfIuE4WKZKhyphenhyphenb8t9u2mOI91ruH5ZQbwX8aMzdPFtVRmv8DAtOTqutjrM_sAsGxr7oGXWWpS2V4o7dnQ/s1600/DSC_1020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxNbDGgThLINz95Tn1tf9HJz_SI1SNEx4XGN5cuCSqM66BrhjQqybT9FmC0OFaxfIuE4WKZKhyphenhyphenb8t9u2mOI91ruH5ZQbwX8aMzdPFtVRmv8DAtOTqutjrM_sAsGxr7oGXWWpS2V4o7dnQ/s400/DSC_1020.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jacob and Bob waiting. Neither one sits well.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQd6KTw-B0LOreBlfHszrt6YLNcbBGL7_lhArureY_QnaTFtzUZan7v-vprSyqxtmmXAdCR_s08AWxjyW92i_UG2RUU65X3EcjGToigigmuoYuvfTR7aq3TeUkeGOxbsvd7etKv1HcgEwr/s1600/IMG_4635.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQd6KTw-B0LOreBlfHszrt6YLNcbBGL7_lhArureY_QnaTFtzUZan7v-vprSyqxtmmXAdCR_s08AWxjyW92i_UG2RUU65X3EcjGToigigmuoYuvfTR7aq3TeUkeGOxbsvd7etKv1HcgEwr/s400/IMG_4635.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beauty parlor time for the bridesmaid, flower girl, her mom and the mother-in-law to be.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH1Eq0JML-o7xYOQZtXZ2DkDsgj8rmryQiMhwiz67-LhW7Zl1MlR2LKjpeSbkSrqy9a95bN_F4un2QqfUtdHqlLW3vrpnNa-rhm0_qs7U-e652XWcwB6nH8860bVXxIZDQuP0mkC_i_Mw5/s1600/IMG_4636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH1Eq0JML-o7xYOQZtXZ2DkDsgj8rmryQiMhwiz67-LhW7Zl1MlR2LKjpeSbkSrqy9a95bN_F4un2QqfUtdHqlLW3vrpnNa-rhm0_qs7U-e652XWcwB6nH8860bVXxIZDQuP0mkC_i_Mw5/s400/IMG_4636.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm taking the photo.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"> Finally to the wedding venue.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiacPD-_WyIDTSb7dGrZlPfO0ql8tqMSPwQC4je2Txz-V1GNxIL3svk5YCoIFUcwQhyRgmoRe4zWs-Kk6vdsyISqPy2wlgF-qEP6W_qPabb8tkPzWbCViZxDJhCOdtS0b30IlZ0Q2OBwOfn/s1600/13435309_10102195597706688_6168447221435460004_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiacPD-_WyIDTSb7dGrZlPfO0ql8tqMSPwQC4je2Txz-V1GNxIL3svk5YCoIFUcwQhyRgmoRe4zWs-Kk6vdsyISqPy2wlgF-qEP6W_qPabb8tkPzWbCViZxDJhCOdtS0b30IlZ0Q2OBwOfn/s400/13435309_10102195597706688_6168447221435460004_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My four sons. I really have six. Each of my three boys all had a special one we called one of our own. Here's Jay, Jord's bud since they were 4.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMf2Tr63s2lWu7KsnY_hQtBLmo2sQKZXrrXnvrXH0V2bNYkpscZrILhY8AwGh1_XffVvFwHXoLvuzByhgqHPxjoZo3dl7y0O05mp_D8CIeNmZKTO2J-CNVwY5UKEze1jKEzA_zSVLjA3-Y/s1600/13417604_997158257019277_4823861357880404273_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMf2Tr63s2lWu7KsnY_hQtBLmo2sQKZXrrXnvrXH0V2bNYkpscZrILhY8AwGh1_XffVvFwHXoLvuzByhgqHPxjoZo3dl7y0O05mp_D8CIeNmZKTO2J-CNVwY5UKEze1jKEzA_zSVLjA3-Y/s400/13417604_997158257019277_4823861357880404273_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob and his brother and sister.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTbFbIYBpcrjAgxGKSE_ZAmvILeeaqpkBrCn2aXQT7yIlQjvuNAbJM9mVUwbbMrolnOsWgaEHZNUUDX-WXAwCMDR3rKJp6psBNo1op5qZ0MSS7c02K78i5KcRBo6hj8ELEsqHgOgPe1-z/s1600/IMG_4652.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidTbFbIYBpcrjAgxGKSE_ZAmvILeeaqpkBrCn2aXQT7yIlQjvuNAbJM9mVUwbbMrolnOsWgaEHZNUUDX-WXAwCMDR3rKJp6psBNo1op5qZ0MSS7c02K78i5KcRBo6hj8ELEsqHgOgPe1-z/s400/IMG_4652.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ian doing the Best Man thing.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUocPvTn6XMNDs18W1tmVU-WkRu0iw2pD6Sk7tBxGpQ6N2Co8TtWm6_aN_2yMYZMlWDSA0sTSa3yu9ihUc2zLjk4T3qbOsGgcrU4Hxdur9sXUc-cx0UEKeNc7xhOPvI-_eVinWNGvUMOS/s1600/13433343_10102195588719698_1212109574817492970_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUocPvTn6XMNDs18W1tmVU-WkRu0iw2pD6Sk7tBxGpQ6N2Co8TtWm6_aN_2yMYZMlWDSA0sTSa3yu9ihUc2zLjk4T3qbOsGgcrU4Hxdur9sXUc-cx0UEKeNc7xhOPvI-_eVinWNGvUMOS/s400/13433343_10102195588719698_1212109574817492970_o.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bride's beautiful mom. Penny for her thoughts.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0IhkXTTlfyxdCRQxf4k1BzI2-XGUrZ3TzmGEHPttQ12Zen7euZCcf4pDrmqKKuanMu32c-uBXdkag3L0u1WT6EuTYi6TBBb4j5tXmUZfQdz8ig0-pgSI5Eoog1zSTyHmdIXwD_Ocgko6M/s1600/13415396_10102195587322498_3748602386701586950_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0IhkXTTlfyxdCRQxf4k1BzI2-XGUrZ3TzmGEHPttQ12Zen7euZCcf4pDrmqKKuanMu32c-uBXdkag3L0u1WT6EuTYi6TBBb4j5tXmUZfQdz8ig0-pgSI5Eoog1zSTyHmdIXwD_Ocgko6M/s400/13415396_10102195587322498_3748602386701586950_o.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob and Uncle Frank ready to get the show on the road.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
So it began.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9f6xHxiW8tshTIvmiRINky091YeVdvil6lSPX_AdHGOhsm7gvgqnIzrCvZYDNI4X_haBlVxN-_XZWTyT9FyMzTffyYh5c7jv6xpHpns5Zxgn8iLQoDQyzf3Ww4_g-SEBPL45vV08GkG8x/s1600/IMG_4656+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9f6xHxiW8tshTIvmiRINky091YeVdvil6lSPX_AdHGOhsm7gvgqnIzrCvZYDNI4X_haBlVxN-_XZWTyT9FyMzTffyYh5c7jv6xpHpns5Zxgn8iLQoDQyzf3Ww4_g-SEBPL45vV08GkG8x/s400/IMG_4656+%25282%2529.jpg" width="261" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom trying not to cry and keep up with her 6'3" son.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_K1TAF1lUeBJW18bwEggl-9wqap2it_nYOAV94d_7r1iBR-jlTn-rNwZh80LE9E4tDQn27nk_e8-xU2gbV5BB6z_TI3TZjLRojxiANKAu9R822XRINpI4VPMlbTH9dEioMknN19kYoR9/s1600/IMG_4657.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_K1TAF1lUeBJW18bwEggl-9wqap2it_nYOAV94d_7r1iBR-jlTn-rNwZh80LE9E4tDQn27nk_e8-xU2gbV5BB6z_TI3TZjLRojxiANKAu9R822XRINpI4VPMlbTH9dEioMknN19kYoR9/s400/IMG_4657.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oldest son, Jacob and wife, Chelsea (plus baby-to-be any day now.)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsKLiILG-l2M3I3PSkCNVoshpoSd6pdR0piNDAG-awFswx6KOHFiZmKo9KxRPwhi6JgAB-Y0-nLS22rMOFTa9BOjSnc0iWjLDU_sAaD5J4cuubNn3gcJcRDzafBp0NAlR22BeXDdhMgVLS/s1600/IMG_4660+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsKLiILG-l2M3I3PSkCNVoshpoSd6pdR0piNDAG-awFswx6KOHFiZmKo9KxRPwhi6JgAB-Y0-nLS22rMOFTa9BOjSnc0iWjLDU_sAaD5J4cuubNn3gcJcRDzafBp0NAlR22BeXDdhMgVLS/s400/IMG_4660+%25281%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Youngest son, Ian, and bride's sister, Andrea. Perfect example here of the tall Andersons and petite Carvers.<br />
Note the pretty flower girl, Miss Miranda, coming down the stairs behind them.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-AT9W6ow_d14RAo7FoCsjSv7d-c_OvA4pY7sxEms6CNua7BIEIez0NK30_0iCUowfd6KGh-Z-vU7CAuFe4uh1WDXd6Nbl5sSuWkxQMUoO2u-5Fd26_Y4YnJg8sm1YopA6_vV3gDjK0S4h/s1600/IMG_4659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-AT9W6ow_d14RAo7FoCsjSv7d-c_OvA4pY7sxEms6CNua7BIEIez0NK30_0iCUowfd6KGh-Z-vU7CAuFe4uh1WDXd6Nbl5sSuWkxQMUoO2u-5Fd26_Y4YnJg8sm1YopA6_vV3gDjK0S4h/s400/IMG_4659.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The groom ready.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwrGr7Of9OE8ASCGdo1SNKMdhahhytKCx5wXsz09C0mqjkr60dWWy_Sp5EwlSdInRBQj1b1tJr1uz9G-W6eTPtmRWtfETCC8wsyEJrkK2xRj4dpmnG3Z63gpxPPCscjWzAmq38a__oLfya/s1600/IMG_4661+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwrGr7Of9OE8ASCGdo1SNKMdhahhytKCx5wXsz09C0mqjkr60dWWy_Sp5EwlSdInRBQj1b1tJr1uz9G-W6eTPtmRWtfETCC8wsyEJrkK2xRj4dpmnG3Z63gpxPPCscjWzAmq38a__oLfya/s400/IMG_4661+%25281%2529.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bride and her proud daddy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBkbIzSOrXwl8elFAEtUkf86yLCkTThwYYTZLJAbwyQ8ZZD9Hoqcy8iTZUbL0QIeCMmp2jcwbODtZyYnJeaolGHCqK-DhGtgY9yw7ZPW8V18aH3zN9O4SSSQ49T1Q8n-lLrTVrA5sb_Gr/s1600/13415532_10102195590131868_4772802234431331664_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBkbIzSOrXwl8elFAEtUkf86yLCkTThwYYTZLJAbwyQ8ZZD9Hoqcy8iTZUbL0QIeCMmp2jcwbODtZyYnJeaolGHCqK-DhGtgY9yw7ZPW8V18aH3zN9O4SSSQ49T1Q8n-lLrTVrA5sb_Gr/s400/13415532_10102195590131868_4772802234431331664_o.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjui7xuHHzs1AZCRJjV5GPPTIxPjoLpluI2U3vJbSlFs2u7DsElZW_06PBFrqCBELh-Hqwm-XX749oTcnxbddL9gBKMkjQ3kODN1hGB6MUz5YHYlUoaQbBGbSfDuu-JQEpYPKXYQ24tXPME/s1600/13403343_10102195590860408_5025980310947037883_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjui7xuHHzs1AZCRJjV5GPPTIxPjoLpluI2U3vJbSlFs2u7DsElZW_06PBFrqCBELh-Hqwm-XX749oTcnxbddL9gBKMkjQ3kODN1hGB6MUz5YHYlUoaQbBGbSfDuu-JQEpYPKXYQ24tXPME/s400/13403343_10102195590860408_5025980310947037883_o.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Married</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjunM-2z1g8-Lj0ULchFRUb6OsjerafMpBB8hpjU4eVmEmI3tPUoPvPQzNazyf2YTMi_aO7CUPOmde4IocW0U252Uv8pBy53Y1TwWOl2SF0Mqi7z0qTT7CLgHSThzBSQci0cWmEt3h54n2q/s1600/13413163_10102195589133868_6335917437430850579_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjunM-2z1g8-Lj0ULchFRUb6OsjerafMpBB8hpjU4eVmEmI3tPUoPvPQzNazyf2YTMi_aO7CUPOmde4IocW0U252Uv8pBy53Y1TwWOl2SF0Mqi7z0qTT7CLgHSThzBSQci0cWmEt3h54n2q/s400/13413163_10102195589133868_6335917437430850579_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Party</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj099nMi5H9UukliJOIpYcZAWRYPfNL57Sn4Ic0VZkhTKBYkA_2Bq3UpFG0dKD2KWWMRGBcj5VKWEF-bRkvEhEV0KWamOl0zppoSV42xlYmuG98FmuoFeCnbbCAa7XIpt_G0Sbpy2bH3zI8/s1600/13391380_10102195589887358_7472339328132421627_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj099nMi5H9UukliJOIpYcZAWRYPfNL57Sn4Ic0VZkhTKBYkA_2Bq3UpFG0dKD2KWWMRGBcj5VKWEF-bRkvEhEV0KWamOl0zppoSV42xlYmuG98FmuoFeCnbbCAa7XIpt_G0Sbpy2bH3zI8/s400/13391380_10102195589887358_7472339328132421627_o.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can add this. I know the bride likes this one.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAx-SF0odaI_Ie9eshWpLMHD92wT7kV5sHOTDsyuUqclHqsOd7064BwuECzss7bw6_txTHeDHCI10uWrOKg4dvCgiVNkN-vKPmH28MRUYsx3ZizgypH7e8rH-sm1Toq9BnWebl-AQQAiGA/s1600/13418516_10102195589558018_2594813861692018070_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAx-SF0odaI_Ie9eshWpLMHD92wT7kV5sHOTDsyuUqclHqsOd7064BwuECzss7bw6_txTHeDHCI10uWrOKg4dvCgiVNkN-vKPmH28MRUYsx3ZizgypH7e8rH-sm1Toq9BnWebl-AQQAiGA/s400/13418516_10102195589558018_2594813861692018070_o.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bride's grandmother and mom. Lovely women.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxLClPBEZlwBgNEMRcB5FvtL6Z2VjLqwJycoxUqEWZUq7cp8pzIZc_tE0uJ8qxgYxRAJPVJXE9KrnW-yWcd-daNrVNYgFhcHIbVBXIYbxWlYXlq9AmX6q1GTcKDqV_L7fYiwJfUZfKgjx/s1600/13450960_10102195588879378_2969293743049730319_n-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxxLClPBEZlwBgNEMRcB5FvtL6Z2VjLqwJycoxUqEWZUq7cp8pzIZc_tE0uJ8qxgYxRAJPVJXE9KrnW-yWcd-daNrVNYgFhcHIbVBXIYbxWlYXlq9AmX6q1GTcKDqV_L7fYiwJfUZfKgjx/s400/13450960_10102195588879378_2969293743049730319_n-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suchas and Andersons<br />
Uncles and Aunts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW53LZLCMj6iPiq_OgsinmGJMNemIFbLLS2s1i9MmeFu5vCmKHtuqcsuOlErTLE65xPePRds9Y1vMDfZaplGqQCeqVU5jp0pSZlgby09_FKLQpTB0teEjA8O4Py4RxfCZgRHecEMn8rZ_T/s1600/13332986_995285817206521_8880198988962427150_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW53LZLCMj6iPiq_OgsinmGJMNemIFbLLS2s1i9MmeFu5vCmKHtuqcsuOlErTLE65xPePRds9Y1vMDfZaplGqQCeqVU5jp0pSZlgby09_FKLQpTB0teEjA8O4Py4RxfCZgRHecEMn8rZ_T/s400/13332986_995285817206521_8880198988962427150_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andersons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrgamSVDIY9PgZrq7iV0YtM_krM5jCXZsMOFdc_zC98KU4qTEwIAPD2cZF7wWt4YWiaV0elV5lnqmoyuNhtj0YTyl5GWq_O9R8-u5H7THHRRMa0LCRh6OR6mOn1PTmFB4nR6HzATJ3J8uB/s1600/IMG_4641+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrgamSVDIY9PgZrq7iV0YtM_krM5jCXZsMOFdc_zC98KU4qTEwIAPD2cZF7wWt4YWiaV0elV5lnqmoyuNhtj0YTyl5GWq_O9R8-u5H7THHRRMa0LCRh6OR6mOn1PTmFB4nR6HzATJ3J8uB/s320/IMG_4641+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
Groom's Cake. Jordan chose this. It is the cabin we stayed in for years
at Park Lake Resort in Spicer, Minnesota. I first went when I was two
years old with my parents and Jordan started going when he was 15 months
old. Sucha family -- my parents and brothers and their families -- gathered there every year in the summer. Freedom and fun always had. Was also an amusing surprise for many of the wedding guests on our side who had joined us
there as well. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh39mZhA_raK9nds3le4EHXHnpwBWf_gFHPusMk1kAMI5Gw5f4_mH5AVjx5bsDbzgT_nzYkzFIZJzZVpGV2kIW8wedoNQIJ6vSYR-_A5pDz-_rkzoABI77feUJgR0DSiq2e84PbWjMMCggP/s1600/13417471_995296957205407_3586129470636604889_n-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh39mZhA_raK9nds3le4EHXHnpwBWf_gFHPusMk1kAMI5Gw5f4_mH5AVjx5bsDbzgT_nzYkzFIZJzZVpGV2kIW8wedoNQIJ6vSYR-_A5pDz-_rkzoABI77feUJgR0DSiq2e84PbWjMMCggP/s400/13417471_995296957205407_3586129470636604889_n-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anderson Clan including the cousins and little ones.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRD3xXA2n58kWIA5qRYCiJ4H6fDL_K5prWnMA1fhmclLsm5Ft5WMPPqO9jUp5aRm3T3-ddOkk2FUMWN96Zp0npevxRyIKlJrvdkB50ZlRz4dXtEfzYpujKMlUtZ6dsoAjP0Z-EH855_M7B/s1600/13466110_10102195596449208_1403725712832366790_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRD3xXA2n58kWIA5qRYCiJ4H6fDL_K5prWnMA1fhmclLsm5Ft5WMPPqO9jUp5aRm3T3-ddOkk2FUMWN96Zp0npevxRyIKlJrvdkB50ZlRz4dXtEfzYpujKMlUtZ6dsoAjP0Z-EH855_M7B/s400/13466110_10102195596449208_1403725712832366790_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dodging the lavender</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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And then there were those 45 people for brunch the next morning. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My pregnant niece, Michelle. Felt good to put her feet up. Aunt Julie can do hammocks.</td></tr>
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As many of you know from past posts, getting myself ready for these events is quite the chore. As previously reported, it takes an army.<br />
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As to that dress -- I PICKED IT OUT ALL BY MYSELF! Hard to believe, I know.<br />
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Special thank you to Cleo (aka Denise) for doing my makeup even though I wouldn't sit still for more than a minute. For Julie W. and Kris, for helping decide on the color and size of my dress. Linda R for telling me the dress would do and going with me to try on 1400 different bras so it would look like I had boobs.<br />
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I also chose how I wanted my hair to look.<br />
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This was at the end of the night and after an hour ride back to the lake. But, you can imagine. Picked out forty pins before I went to sleep.<br />
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A week after the wedding, all the company was safely back in their homes and I collapsed into my hammock. Haven't moved since. <br />
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After a honeymoon driving around Scotland, the now old married people are back home and beginning their new normal as married folks.<br />
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Congratulations, Jordan and Leigh. We love you so. </div>
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Have an incredible life together.<br />
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Special thank you to <i><b>Jonathan McClogan</b></i> for sharing his wedding photos with me so I could share them with you.<br />
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As you know, these photo essays wear me out. I just looked at the clock and six hours have gone by. So much for reading in my hammock today. Ha!</div>
Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-88203280896559224072016-07-06T10:30:00.000-05:002016-07-06T15:14:05.825-05:00Summer 2016 Reading List<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><b><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;">Medicine for the soul. </span></b></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b><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;">Inscription over the door of the Library at Thebes</span></b></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdP0fmtoqhbCiQ_W3DSeuEchoeINDwfjBDc1AJpwty1birL1POR4jCjZfZ2JeBwdbA_EIjkXpeuzen6ZRdT7eDFmSKLhP1fB66ucBaX9K_1IfBFurFIzN9edvXOLgQ9nsFneBGE6U7Appv/s1600/P6280375.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdP0fmtoqhbCiQ_W3DSeuEchoeINDwfjBDc1AJpwty1birL1POR4jCjZfZ2JeBwdbA_EIjkXpeuzen6ZRdT7eDFmSKLhP1fB66ucBaX9K_1IfBFurFIzN9edvXOLgQ9nsFneBGE6U7Appv/s400/P6280375.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
Time to post the annual Summer Reading List.<br />
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For the past year and a half, I've worked diligently to only read off my To Be Read shelf and basket. I've done quite well and the number of my unread books has gone down substantially. But as I put together my 2016 Summer Reading List, I've digressed. After months of wedding planning followed by implementation and the hosting of many visitors, I've treated myself and purchased several new books. Included also are a few from my shelf including a classic or two. <br />
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I've linked them to Amazon for easy viewing, but, as always, support your local<b><i> independent</i></b> bookstore.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9sWabnRRfb9xoliTzLXT9uF9dlM1zpjt2jezNoPrCHxkj1N-oiaEQRK6nUwM4Ub43jUxQX9aVaJqRHk8FlUsMWeLscr5pv7RXvKYL73gkLB3EMIK-3CvcL-oNIa8OCxcgZqWgempNHo42/s1600/61inqpOATlL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9sWabnRRfb9xoliTzLXT9uF9dlM1zpjt2jezNoPrCHxkj1N-oiaEQRK6nUwM4Ub43jUxQX9aVaJqRHk8FlUsMWeLscr5pv7RXvKYL73gkLB3EMIK-3CvcL-oNIa8OCxcgZqWgempNHo42/s320/61inqpOATlL.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/City-Mirrors-Novel-Passage-Trilogy/dp/034550500X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467815527&sr=1-1&keywords=city+of+mirrors">The City of Mirrors - Justin Cronin</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuC657cwmVzH6Xty0LjqtjylxXxcO2cGY_ll9Bl1eQrzFW2uhdyqVlJkNDo2IIxfGDdtNO7lFA52u0sdl6zdMZvCpY-x6DfjoVi_F7RqHrfXjKlEBGd-iURtvwVtAc9TBxqdasQjPjDUcC/s1600/51W00TGvxTL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuC657cwmVzH6Xty0LjqtjylxXxcO2cGY_ll9Bl1eQrzFW2uhdyqVlJkNDo2IIxfGDdtNO7lFA52u0sdl6zdMZvCpY-x6DfjoVi_F7RqHrfXjKlEBGd-iURtvwVtAc9TBxqdasQjPjDUcC/s320/51W00TGvxTL.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Story-New-Name-Neapolitan-Novels/dp/1609451341/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467815652&sr=1-1&keywords=the+story+of+a+new+name">The Story of a New Name -- Elena Ferrante</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZQrgwVaXvmhNt72_Ont4peRdrqDpEnzLjIuWqBqpOy5AiM6AAwZx_g-hZy7UNnSMNBfIqK7wQm2GxAsDsW_s2JzuoobwxvaxlmUdrRr1IMPdzliCqse3OhTdLE2V_NH511ZMObG-rvsHY/s1600/51mGOdfmifL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZQrgwVaXvmhNt72_Ont4peRdrqDpEnzLjIuWqBqpOy5AiM6AAwZx_g-hZy7UNnSMNBfIqK7wQm2GxAsDsW_s2JzuoobwxvaxlmUdrRr1IMPdzliCqse3OhTdLE2V_NH511ZMObG-rvsHY/s320/51mGOdfmifL.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Silas-Marner-Signet-Classics-George/dp/0451530624/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467815746&sr=1-1&keywords=silas+marner">Silas Marner -- George Eliot</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzM2Wp7gej2228jyOzmWZx5D7SrXqZKlCBnIBk9FK-YJ_v0YBv4ml_Lx_-y1p2Dj_HunGAJ5I85lD8zPQEemJ0fVVHrzenQqfUv7qUGKNBN4fYQ_xgEL892TP2IN5ZRKtmkaqJedMOMty/s1600/61Kqeuw0ajL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzM2Wp7gej2228jyOzmWZx5D7SrXqZKlCBnIBk9FK-YJ_v0YBv4ml_Lx_-y1p2Dj_HunGAJ5I85lD8zPQEemJ0fVVHrzenQqfUv7qUGKNBN4fYQ_xgEL892TP2IN5ZRKtmkaqJedMOMty/s320/61Kqeuw0ajL.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Miracle-Life-Edgar-Mint-Novel/dp/039334164X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467815829&sr=1-1&keywords=the+miracle+life+of+edgar+mint+by+brady+udall">The Miracle Life of Edgar Mint -- Brady Udall</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqe2n2PFXyJPZjoexe_9hsvkjc2sFtZYE2zSPhgus6I_rXXAuzgfCoiFuUf8au4EGC6eYly-OqkNuTk8Eq7LOBjdQEraawpPk5piQVlsenWFpS2l8qaUXqjLH6utzjuCn5VbHhKKzAS17/s1600/A157c6ouiiL-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqe2n2PFXyJPZjoexe_9hsvkjc2sFtZYE2zSPhgus6I_rXXAuzgfCoiFuUf8au4EGC6eYly-OqkNuTk8Eq7LOBjdQEraawpPk5piQVlsenWFpS2l8qaUXqjLH6utzjuCn5VbHhKKzAS17/s320/A157c6ouiiL-2.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Across-River-Melissa-Westemeier/dp/0990828743/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467815921&sr=1-1&keywords=across+the+river+melissa+westemeier">Across the River -- Melissa Westemeier</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQV9rofOQbonsHZ-vwqi7PhPpDYEBIl351XxpbAbD6JoQM57HOdXXoMfaVZ86jXFRL0KtXvVoU410HCskHq8Sy6wFOWmYaAv4O23FIojHVbUT6Xd_nqvKhkaClu7c7KM1A1zavtK2ak-wI/s1600/51lprRT5YCL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQV9rofOQbonsHZ-vwqi7PhPpDYEBIl351XxpbAbD6JoQM57HOdXXoMfaVZ86jXFRL0KtXvVoU410HCskHq8Sy6wFOWmYaAv4O23FIojHVbUT6Xd_nqvKhkaClu7c7KM1A1zavtK2ak-wI/s320/51lprRT5YCL.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Modern-Lovers-Emma-Straub/dp/159463467X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467815181&sr=1-1&keywords=modern+lovers">Modern Lovers -- Emma Straub</a></div>
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/At-Edge-Orchard-Tracy-Chevalier/dp/0525953000/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467816092&sr=1-1&keywords=at+the+edge+of+the+orchard"><br /></a>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fa454lTZ48bVugqVWALeaPopisvyKc7DDWex-VXuuljzvW3-OhnoaqmyRvYESMTRkPSft02zN91Y9gIx1zXK4QJV1Z25Ou8Wyph4Aj2XB6zS2fP8jKeYEmuEGX_wyD_35lm9smNuVJSY/s1600/51XJ6LCEAtL-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fa454lTZ48bVugqVWALeaPopisvyKc7DDWex-VXuuljzvW3-OhnoaqmyRvYESMTRkPSft02zN91Y9gIx1zXK4QJV1Z25Ou8Wyph4Aj2XB6zS2fP8jKeYEmuEGX_wyD_35lm9smNuVJSY/s320/51XJ6LCEAtL-2.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/At-Edge-Orchard-Tracy-Chevalier/dp/0525953000/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467816092&sr=1-1&keywords=at+the+edge+of+the+orchard">At the Edge of the Orchard -- Tracy Chevalier</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Everybodys-Fool-novel-Richard-Russo/dp/0307270645/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467816266&sr=1-1&keywords=everybody%27s+fool">Everybody's Fool -- Richard Russo</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieBu4vwqcVLK6ppIJFCdmoddwmPjg2PcU2FCrA8ZUUg5hANUwuE7gMjY1xXZjpc7y_7hCx_JhhLnpA9XBLXHk_bUr5pqr8XQj0JAPVq4Aa3HtPOIKt-YMQ5NWcZ_ynwfGXsjYyA5NTeWWA/s1600/71kYUR4jJjL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieBu4vwqcVLK6ppIJFCdmoddwmPjg2PcU2FCrA8ZUUg5hANUwuE7gMjY1xXZjpc7y_7hCx_JhhLnpA9XBLXHk_bUr5pqr8XQj0JAPVq4Aa3HtPOIKt-YMQ5NWcZ_ynwfGXsjYyA5NTeWWA/s320/71kYUR4jJjL.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Marriage-Opposites-Alice-Hoffman/dp/1451693605/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467816384&sr=1-1&keywords=the+marriage+of+opposites+alice+hoffman">The Marriage of Opposites -- Alice Hoffman</a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Excellent-Lombards-Jane-Hamilton/dp/1455564222/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467816479&sr=1-1&keywords=the+excellent+lombards+by+jane+hamilton">The Excellent Lombards -- Jane Hamilton</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4QqgxrTh6AJZ0Usa5wcnpCvYWsv4bHMQlupX7bG0GvSFKKBiO_cW9TOIcIm1GF2xAAxe3mimZPK5DnfGnFC1bjvGpKImBwyalL6coM9QR0SbL1jbCiVrPv0hGxMpQs4v7xL61q_PkbUC/s1600/71oMMNLVexL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4QqgxrTh6AJZ0Usa5wcnpCvYWsv4bHMQlupX7bG0GvSFKKBiO_cW9TOIcIm1GF2xAAxe3mimZPK5DnfGnFC1bjvGpKImBwyalL6coM9QR0SbL1jbCiVrPv0hGxMpQs4v7xL61q_PkbUC/s320/71oMMNLVexL.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Winesburg-Ohio-Dover-Thrift-Editions/dp/0486282694/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467816620&sr=1-1&keywords=winesberg+ohio">Winesburg, Ohio -- Sherwood Anderson</a></div>
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On my Audible, I have<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Be-Frank-Julia-Claiborne-Johnson/dp/0062413716/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467816734&sr=1-1&keywords=be+frank+with+me">Be Frank With Me -- Julia Clairbone Johnson</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwshejvioTp5JGwxAuA8QSXfASWufslAiQZEFyFDYcoaoIhCVS7_c1dvSzvH3zd5ARI4_GCamtmVrG8hEufJjekx-y-BQnctl9LkVu7U7JhQiNgP1OFkWFY6LZAp1n-KTI1L3qXIL_4N-A/s1600/510E6e-de7L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwshejvioTp5JGwxAuA8QSXfASWufslAiQZEFyFDYcoaoIhCVS7_c1dvSzvH3zd5ARI4_GCamtmVrG8hEufJjekx-y-BQnctl9LkVu7U7JhQiNgP1OFkWFY6LZAp1n-KTI1L3qXIL_4N-A/s320/510E6e-de7L.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Little-Life-Hanya-Yanagihara/dp/0804172706/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467816817&sr=1-1&keywords=a+little+life+by+hanya+yanagihara">A Little Life -- Hanya Yanagihara</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Voyager-Outlander-Diana-Gabaldon/dp/0440217563/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467816890&sr=1-1&keywords=voyager+by+diana+gabaldon">Voyager -- Diana Gabaldon</a> (have read that about three or four times but must get ready for next season of Outlander)</div>
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I say <i>Summer Reading List</i>, but due to my fluttering mind when
it comes to which book I might like to read next, a trip to the library
might alter my course. As an eternal lover of summer, I pretend summer doesn't end until my garden freezes. That is usually sometime in December and by then I normally have all those on my <i>Summer</i> list completed.<br />
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As mentioned above and in past posts, we've recently had a wedding -- my middle son has a lovely bride. Working on that post as I'm waiting for more photos. After all the festivities, I got away from my reading and daily writing so I've been in hibernation the past couple weeks as I work to settle my mind and get back on track before oldest son's first baby comes in a couple weeks. Too much excitement around here for me, the closet recluse.<br />
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I did read <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Nest-Cynthia-DAprix-Sweeney/dp/0062414216/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1467817923&sr=1-1&keywords=the+nest">The Nest</a> this past week</div>
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which was the perfect mindless book to get back into the swing. Not much depth. Pageturner.<br />
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What's on your Summer Reading List?<br />
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<br />Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-21318929618051661602016-05-26T09:56:00.002-05:002016-05-26T21:55:11.027-05:00Mindful Photography<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><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;">The mind is the most capricious of insects — flitting, fluttering. </span></b></i></div>
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<i><b><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: x-small;">Virginia Woolf</span></b></i></div>
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The next couple months are going to be most interesting around here. We have a wedding in June and a baby coming in July. The baby part is easy. I'm not the one going through labor. We readied the old cradle and stroller for baby visits and we wait for that child to appear. Already this grandparent gig is much easier than parenting. <br />
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But the wedding comes first. The wedding festivities six years ago for the baby-to-be kids was an incredible high and the one coming up holds all that promise as well. But, those who say the groom's mother has nothing to do? Phooey to you. Along side our wedding responsibilities like the rehearsal dinner and figuring out how to dress myself, we have family and friends coming from all over the country. Lots of work going on to get the homestead ready and plan for good times and good food while we gather.<br />
<br />
For years you sit around scratching your belly saying, "Ya know, Pa. Someday we should fix that."<br />
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That someday has arrived. With all the details. If I get everything on these lists done before everyone arrives, I can<i> </i>have great fun when they do. And I do like to have fun.<br />
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<br />
For sanity purposes, I decided to take a Mindful Photography class this past month. I completed the course last Friday and I have to say that along with my daily poetry/essay reading and journal writing, I have retained some sense of stability. My husband might argue with that long statement, but what does he know.<br />
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Mindful Photography. Contemplative and Miksang Photography. Miksang is a Tibetan word that translates to "Good Eye." That means we declutter our brains and just shoot away -- or something like that. Pure perception and straight shooting. Not worrying about the light and the perfect setting and all that jazz. Instead focusing on what we are seeing when we open our minds and see.<br />
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Sounds like how I, not being a photographer and barely knowing how to use my camera, normally take my photos. One moment, one shot. Similar to writing a shitty first draft. (God bless you Anne Lamott for that most appropriate term.)<br />
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But this mindfulness also involved the contemplative part. As said by Christine Vatters Paintner in her book <i>Eyes of the Heart, </i>this is a receptive practice, where we allow grace to enter and open ourselves to hear and ponder.<br />
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Perfect escape for me. The photography practice has offered a chance to breathe. I'm grateful.<br />
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Led by a very accomplished and organized teacher who assured me I wasn't the first intimidated by this venture, this <i>Put It On Auto and Shoot </i>person experienced great joy in the process. Here are a few things I found on my outings.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Just What Is</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Ordinary</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Openness</span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">Fullness</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">From a Child's Point of View</span></span></div>
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<br />
I'm a rookie, but now I'm a more mindful rookie. Calmed. In the moment.<br />
<br />
Back to my lists. Mindfully. And if anybody wants to clean toilets...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-91580543230784041552016-04-18T11:04:00.000-05:002016-04-18T22:46:12.278-05:00A Tale of Love<style>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span>
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<div class="MsoBodyText2" style="margin-right: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">During
my twenties, I knew I lacked the maturity for motherhood. At almost thirty, no hint
of an imminent transformation presented itself. I finally made decent money and
planned a trip to Jamaica. My restless husband awaited my decree of
readiness. One night, after several glasses of wine, I said okay. The next day
I changed my mind, but it was too late.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyText2" style="margin-right: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">A
doubtful contender for motherhood, I visited the parenting section of the
library frequently. Little by little, I came to terms with my changing body and
gained confidence in my future parental abilities. I cancelled the trip to
Jamaica and assured myself I could manage children as well as any other
administrative position I’d conquered. Besides, surely I’d be blessed with a
daughter. Had I not done my time playing army and touring car dealerships as
the sister of three brothers? My mother, eager for a granddaughter and more
female companionship, mailed me a tiny pink sleeper laced with dainty rose
petals. I fingered it daily while daydreaming of nursing Meg, as I would call
her. I envisioned a lifelong friend.</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent2">
When the leaves fell in late October, I pulled a
light blue sleeper from the third drawer of the dresser and buried the pink one
under the stack of yellow and green. I dressed my newborn son, Jacob, in the
blue sleeper and nursed him as he melted into my heart. </div>
<div class="MsoBodyText2" style="margin-right: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">In
stores I closed my eyes to the little girl dresses, Mary Jane shoes, and Easter
bonnets and instead purchased jeans, cowboy boots, and baseball caps. I
bypassed the dolls at the toy store and walked directly to the fire trucks. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Each afternoon of my second pregnancy, I
pushed the stroller down to the beach at the end of my street and sat on the
break wall while my little boy threw rocks into the ocean for an hour -- or
two. Caressing my growing belly, I watched his tossed stones disappear into the
sea and pictured him walking beside a stroller carrying his baby sister, Caitlin,
dressed in the lacy pink sleeper.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">When the trees budded that May, Jacob
walked beside the stroller from which his new brother, Jordan, smiled upon the
world, and me, who loved him in spite of his male equipment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">As the years passed, my days of peaceful
walks and dreaming the time away disappeared.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">“Will you pitch to us, Mom?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Dirty dishes and clothes baskets filled
with grass-stained jeans played second fiddle as I took my pitching position in
the middle of the front lawn. I covered first, second, and third base, too, as
the small feet of my sons and the neighborhood boys further etched the base
paths into the grass, so unlike, I imagined, the lush lawns of houses with
little girls. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">We visited parks and nature trails, where
my two free-spirited sons swung from the highest heights on jungle gyms and
made forts of brush and mud. I scrubbed dirt out from under fingernails and
plugged my nose after trips to the mudslide. At the pool, one son scaled the
fence in hopes of petting the puppy running freely on the other side while the
other discovered the diving board, without my watchful eye. At the library, one
picked out books on dinosaurs and rocks; the other chose stories of Vikings and
war ships. Though I read them <i>Black Beauty</i>, <i>Island of the Blue
Dolphins</i>, and <i>Trumpet of the Swan</i>, they preferred <i>Hank the
Cowdog, The Indian in the Cupboard, </i>and <i>The Adventures of Tom Sawyer</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">On Sunday mornings, one boy sat on each
side of me in church—at least, initially. On more than a few occasions, one or
both spent part of the service out in the hall with strict instructions not to
further misbehave or I’d have to kill them in front of God and everybody.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">As I cooked up play dough, my swollen
middle brushed against the front of the stove. Once again, the rose-petal
sleeper took a prominent place in my thoughts, and I added a touch of red food
coloring to the mix. I watched as my sons molded the light pink dough into cars
and guns and snakes. While I collected wild flowers with Jordan or coached
third base at Jacob’s baseball practice, I mused about the new life harbored in
my womb and prayed for a little girl named Michaela. In my thoughts I took her
to dance class and braided her hair. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">After the Easter bunny came that April, I
placed a sky blue sleeper on Ian, my new son, who smiled at me for the first
time on the night of his birth. I passed the little pink sleeper off to the
lady down the street.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">When my father in Wisconsin cleaned out
his basement, he shipped me six boxes of Barbie doll furniture that my
grandfather had built me in my childhood. I stuffed the boxes in the attic for
a granddaughter to play with someday. Maybe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Jacob, Jordan, and Ian grinned when I
walked into their classrooms to help or pick them up. They hugged me after I
tended their scraped knees and mended their broken hearts. They instinctively
reached for my hand when we crossed streets. Sometimes, they kept their hands
in mine well beyond the crossing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">As time went by, I drove to six baseball
practices and six games a week. My van smelled like a locker room. I camped in
a tent in both the heat and the cold. I sat through three sets of guitar
lessons and I ran laps with all three sons during the weekly three-mile physical
education marathon. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Never did it occur to me that every mom
didn’t have fourteen boys playing basketball in their driveways, three more
upstairs building Lego contraptions, and two others wrestling on the living
room rug. I rarely noticed the looks of sympathy as I walked through a grocery
store with three boys screwing up behind me. I traipsed through natural
history, science and industry, and air and space museums. I smiled and thanked
the man at the art museum who gave me a discount when I showed up with my three
boys and a couple extra in tow. Rain at Yankee Stadium and Fenway Park didn’t
faze me; I had remembered the rain ponchos.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I taught my boys to cook, to garden, to
use chlorine bleach in the white load, to chew with their mouths closed, and to
write thank you notes. I didn’t say a word when, out of the corner of my eye, I
spied them crying while I read of the dog’s death in <i>When the Red Fern Grows</i>
or when Beth died in the movie <i>Little Women</i>. If they noticed they were
the only boys in a theater filled with weeping mothers, daughters, and
granddaughters, they never said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Despite my efforts to incorporate less
stereotypically “manly” things into their lives, some classic “male” attributes
remained constant. I repeatedly explained that it wasn’t necessary to fart,
burp, or discuss bodily functions at every meal. I often found myself drawn
into races down ski slopes when my first choice would have been a leisurely
run. And I was talked into skipping <i>Phantom of the Opera </i>for tickets to
the Alamo Bowl. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-right: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I did, however, pass on boat shows,
rattlesnake roundups, and paintball games. I was often alone, sometimes
gratefully, while my husband taught such skills as oil changing, lawn care,
carpentry, and car washing. (Apparently, there is an art to the latter.)
Sometimes, I was present, but still alone, like when on a hike we came upon a
waveless lake amid hills engulfed in a quiet fog. Not fifteen seconds had
elapsed before my family of men broke the serenity with a boisterous game of
rock skipping. Then there were the countless times when a lovely dinner at a
restaurant turned into a sports event. A tightly folded paper napkin works
great as a mini football. Thumb-tips placed together with index fingers held
upright? Goal posts, of course.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">On days when the testosterone flew too
wildly about my house, I planted myself on the doorstep of a friend with
daughters only. No one there played soccer with balloons in the living room or
washed the car with the best bath towels. No one there tromped through the flower
garden in search of errant golf balls or leaped over four full steps of clean
clothes in need of a trip upstairs. No one there disregarded what I had to say
simply because I didn’t have a penis. In the company of those of my gender, I
filled myself back up and then headed home to my household of men.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">When Jacob turned eighteen, my heart
turned over. Watching him one Friday night as he laughed with his friends at
the high school football game, I questioned whether I could survive not seeing
him everyday after he left for college. When I noted the confidence in Jordan
as he led his scout troop, I marveled at when he had grown up to become such a
fine leader. When Ian, with the aroma of too much cologne trailing him as he
paced the kitchen, asked my opinion regarding a girl at the sixth grade dance,
my eyes flooded. How quickly my years of raising boys had passed. What would
become of me when they left to build their own lives?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Over a bottle of wine -- or two -- I laid
my heartache on my husband. <i>Certainly our sons will marry and go off with
their wives’ families forever. That’s what men do, isn’t it? Who will carry on
the tradition of making Swedish coffee bread at Christmas? Will any of them
invite me to Christmas dinner? Surely their wives will hate me. If only I had a
daughter. A daughter would never leave me out in the cold. She would be my
friend for life.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">On a day when my future plight
particularly depressed me, my youngest son came into the kitchen, where I
stared out the window at the leaves fluttering from the trees. He stood silent
beside me for a time before touching my arm and saying, “You want to come out
and shoot baskets with me?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">I looked at this boy, his concern for me
engraved on his face, and I figured it out. How silly of me to have thought I’d
be alone after raising three kind, caring men. The rock-skipping and other
male-exclusive events I’d silently observed had prepared me for the changing
unity of our lives. Standing aside didn’t mean being apart. They had always
known I was there. Now I knew I always would be, too. Family -- and friends --for
life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">As I pulled my hair into a quick ponytail
and followed my son outside, I also decided that there had been a reason I
wasn’t blessed with a daughter to dress in the pretty pink sleeper, way back then.
Someone knew I’d be much better at shooting baskets than braiding hair.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<i><b>I wrote this essay many years ago. It was almost published a few times. Something about a penis scared off a few publishers (I did offer to alter that.) </b></i><br />
<br />
<i><b>I thought of this long buried away piece recently, for come July that oldest son of mine and his wife are having a baby. Yup, I'm gonna be a grandma. </b></i><br />
<br />
<i><b>My husband and I have a few projects going to get ready for second son's big wedding shindig in June. While putting new boards on the picnic table, we also dug around in the attic for a few things. Found this stuff and we're working on getting it back in good order.</b></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> So here is the question. Am I going to need toys like this for that new grandbaby?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Or will I finally get to pull out those boxes of Barbie doll furniture?</span></div>
Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-12311703346131988022016-04-05T11:24:00.002-05:002016-04-05T16:52:10.671-05:00April in Texas<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b><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;">Spring is nature’s way of saying, "Let’s party!" </span></b></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b><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;">Robin Williams</span></b></i></span></div>
<br />
April in Texas. Best time of the year for me. After the brown of December, January, February and most of March, I've escaped from winter's hold on the bleak. Perfect weather has arrived. I sit outside and I'm not hot. Nor am I cold. The sun on my skin provides much needed Vitamin D.<br />
<br />
Everything sings green. My garden grows.<br />
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Best part? No bugs.<br />
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Doesn't get much better than that. Except for when you head out in the car for a Saturday adventure. Country roads. Beautiful vistas. Wildflowers.<br />
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In the 1960's First Lady Lady Bird Johnson began a beautification
project throughout Washington DC and America. Since she lived in Austin
and also in the nearby Hill Country, her efforts are seen in abundance here
as she saw to the spreading of wildflower seeds to enhance the
landscape. You can read more about it <a href="http://www.biography.com/news/lady-bird-johnson-and-wildflowers-20878137">here</a>.<br />
<br />
The
roads surrounding us in Spring are filled with camera toting families, oil painters, and flower lovers cruising the countryside to find the best fields of
Bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrush along with many other species of yellow, white, pink and purple persuasions. <br />
<br />
On Saturday my husband and I
joined the masses and headed out with our friends Mike and Bonnie. I planned to drive so I
could go as slow as I wanted and stop whenever to get a better photo. However, that bad wife in me felt sorry for my husband as I know he
likes to drive. I offered him my car keys and listed the parameters
of his task ahead.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
1. This isn't a race.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
2. We will need to go slow.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
3. You will have to listen for "What a great place to stop." or "Slow down." or "Go back, go back." and comply.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
4. This isn't a race.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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He agreed.</div>
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Off we went.</div>
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Passed by the strawberry picking place and </div>
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headed onto the highway and then many country roads.</div>
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All of those merited a <i>Stop the Car</i> shout.</div>
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But this one, this one was just perfect. Took a turn onto a road that ended up a dead end, but, oh, my. Overwhelming find.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs1SvOZhQouYI4RRlw0ka8jis_GkAMVp743urME1PwnbvdPoCo_CDJ0ZSyYgx538DOeLpckq1CNKi8OWdZN61oyPYaiX8DzxcHRyHfDM2h_45-yv0ysxnTnSVEO3tZvWWWarP__xZi2wYW/s1600/DSC_0487.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs1SvOZhQouYI4RRlw0ka8jis_GkAMVp743urME1PwnbvdPoCo_CDJ0ZSyYgx538DOeLpckq1CNKi8OWdZN61oyPYaiX8DzxcHRyHfDM2h_45-yv0ysxnTnSVEO3tZvWWWarP__xZi2wYW/s400/DSC_0487.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let's see that again.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
We came around this corner and found a perfect spot for a vista view.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr2uDtv_xwtEeUCo5v9VtWki9ddXF5kpny6zGQ7ntuRsx-ycC3y4XGBKYQJPxVGQzJlO6SghtG7hnFIWWrDP_3QrhmjxeuK8mwQS8UWBTpeN4DOVIa04-7d0_u8CvFnyNNCteL-0j5yepW/s1600/DSC_0508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr2uDtv_xwtEeUCo5v9VtWki9ddXF5kpny6zGQ7ntuRsx-ycC3y4XGBKYQJPxVGQzJlO6SghtG7hnFIWWrDP_3QrhmjxeuK8mwQS8UWBTpeN4DOVIa04-7d0_u8CvFnyNNCteL-0j5yepW/s400/DSC_0508.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Any time you guys are ready...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Shortly thereafter, my husband forgot the mission of the trip. I opened my window to take a photo and he sped up. Bonnie said, "Wow, what a perfect place to stop." He turned up the radio.<br />
<br />
But gotta love the man for shortly thereafter he took a quick turn into a long drive that took us to this view<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE5Yf4hqXIPiOErzNyeFSkMXFHclSVNmHI1qdNp3hKQRuRbRDLiWuXOofPa0MGZWtelPGw2QoALKyHF5GIiAyuNyaCWvNZ97es8-oo8yslPDLINbB0j_qqT1kN7Pq_wfnId-1h8_PIQrQa/s1600/DSC_0518.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE5Yf4hqXIPiOErzNyeFSkMXFHclSVNmHI1qdNp3hKQRuRbRDLiWuXOofPa0MGZWtelPGw2QoALKyHF5GIiAyuNyaCWvNZ97es8-oo8yslPDLINbB0j_qqT1kN7Pq_wfnId-1h8_PIQrQa/s400/DSC_0518.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeK-13EQPeY55gh3S3vXS22AGe5j0ZUmG7LmiV430ca8zyj8EvxaDPy5q7dS1i9EW8MbZ_0TBaGpu-2tRMq3PxDk2d-u7Ju9INLHdGdaXURbgMbgE6XWJpxZ4wHVZ418gNuXsF9C58bWU_/s1600/DSC_0529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeK-13EQPeY55gh3S3vXS22AGe5j0ZUmG7LmiV430ca8zyj8EvxaDPy5q7dS1i9EW8MbZ_0TBaGpu-2tRMq3PxDk2d-u7Ju9INLHdGdaXURbgMbgE6XWJpxZ4wHVZ418gNuXsF9C58bWU_/s400/DSC_0529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and a winery. Nothing like finishing out the drive with a wine tasting and a view.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
After that, all we saw was just icing on the cake.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Ended up in the metropolis of Marble Falls for a big hamburger at Bill's.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Cheers.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thanks Bob, Mike, and Bonnie. Fun day.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Happy Spring Northern Hemisphere. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Loving the Bluebonnets.<br />
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And the paintbrushes.<br />
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<br />Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2463633428173967234.post-14536890148732922662016-03-18T14:08:00.001-05:002016-04-27T22:54:51.699-05:00Vroom, Vroom<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Let me silent be,</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>For silence is the speech of love,</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The music of the spheres above.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Richard Henry Stoddard </b></span></div>
<br />
Yesterday, while sitting on my bed with my books and journals, I heard the distant drone of a lawn mower. That sound has long been a favorite of mine. Growing up in the harsh winters of Minnesota, a lawn mower's music meant the long days of summer and I most likely had bare feet. I love when my feet are bare. Warmth.<br />
<br />
My brain filled with memories of days with no school structure and adventures made where my mother often had no clue as to my whereabouts. Bike riding. Swimming. The county fair. Vacation at a lake. My toes in the grass. Library books read under the shade of a tree.<br />
<br />
I closed my eyes, happy in my content recollections.<br />
<br />
As my meditation approached peak nirvana, the pull of a rip cord and the blasting rev, rev, rev of a power blower eradicated the gentle din of the mower. My neighbor's lawn people had arrived.<br />
<br />
Blowers unnerve me. The firing up of the machinery. The warming of the motor bypassing the sputter. Rev. Rev. Rev. The finger on the trigger testing the strength of the mower as it moves through the yard. The blower taking <i>for-ev-er</i> to complete its route.<br />
<br />
Incessant pandemonium ensues as debris is pushed savagely into a new resting place. The flurry of activity continues as leaves and twigs and soil and grass clippings relocate in a cloud to the destination chosen by the invader powering the man-made wind.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAUbJl7i4czstJ9MNBRVCiU165qNPiBDk_F3O-I095vA0-tr-5gHBgrvoeqWSNrmUGtUjjL11X_g5sS_DA-mgXv4RNONGXCx-ptIGlK280UdekH279GUjlTJ5H9FMHrP2M723TOz11Czb/s1600/IMG_4182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAUbJl7i4czstJ9MNBRVCiU165qNPiBDk_F3O-I095vA0-tr-5gHBgrvoeqWSNrmUGtUjjL11X_g5sS_DA-mgXv4RNONGXCx-ptIGlK280UdekH279GUjlTJ5H9FMHrP2M723TOz11Czb/s400/IMG_4182.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Beast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Whatever became of the good-natured swish of a broom? The muted scrape of a rake gathering leaves and mowed grass into a pile?<br />
<br />
This uproar of noise doesn't escape me at my home either. The neighbors and I know when my husband has arrived from work on Friday nights. First thing he does is open the shed door and fire up that beastly blower of disturbance. <br />
<br />
I recall finishing my work week with a place to rest my feet and a gallon of wine. But nowadays, from my most likely prone position in my hammock or from my chair inside where my quiet and silent life surrounds me, my peace is shattered. Noise has arrived.<br />
<br />
Vroom Vroom Vroom<br />
<br />
I understand it's not only that the walkway is now cleared of the weekly scraps that have fallen due to winds or the seasons of the Chinese Tallow trees. There is something to that Vroom. It's a guy thing.<br />
<br />
It's why when a motorcycle passes us my husband rolls down every window in the car and says, "Listen to that."<br />
<br />
Or when he fires up the boat and only puts the motor halfway into the water for a few moments and its blubble, blubble, blubble interrupts my content mind.<br />
<br />
"Listen to that purr," he says.<br />
<br />
I feign having hearing.<br />
<br />
I've long known many men like motors more than women do. Hence all the TV shows my husband channels through on a nightly basis. The car fixer shops filled with guys (and an occasional woman in a tight t-shirt) rebuilding motors while the noise level makes the workers shout at one another.<br />
<br />
Or the guy with the white hair and mustache who travels around the country buying expensive cars and then gets all tense while selling them at auction to guys with nothing better to do with their time and money. <i>Collectors</i>, my husband says.<br />
<br />
Okay.<br />
<br />
Noise and motors obviously do something for men that it just doesn't do for me. (I could possibly include speed here, but my mother drove a car and a boat like a bat out of hell, so I won't.)<br />
<br />
This thing, whatever it does, must have some power or shot of testosterone that I only see as an invasion and will never, never understand. Since I don't have a wanger and all.<br />
<br />
It's not the first time I've realized that not having a penis places me in a different world. (No shit, Sherlock, but I'm trying to keep this post light.) And, not only in regard to motors.<br />
<br />
Last year my husband was hot to replace our old boat which bought used had served us well for nine years and almost 700 hours of family/friend fun. Translation: about 100,000 car miles and still perfectly serviceable. I also didn't have to worry about jarring it if I nudged the dock while creeping into the mooring on a windy day.<br />
<br />
Since he thinks differently than me as to what our priorities are (again an appropriate placement for a <i>no shit</i>) he found a new/used one at a local boat shop. He asked me to come look at it. Although I had five thousand better things to do, I did appreciate that he wanted me to see it and met him there.<br />
<br />
I found him with the salesman in a garage at the back of the showplace. The dealership had pulled the boat into this space for his inspection.<br />
<br />
First words out of my mouth?<br />
<br />
"Really? No way this will fit in our dock. Way too big. And look at the rack on it."<br />
<br />
"Yeah," said my husband and the salesman in unison, their eyes glazing over as they viewed the rack.<br />
<br />
"Measuring tape?" I inquired.<br />
<br />
They both looked at me.<br />
<br />
"Tape? Measure?"<br />
<br />
The killjoy had arrived.<br />
<br />
After much search, the salesman proffered up my requested ruler and with collected delight the two of them declared that the width would just make it into the slip.<br />
<br />
"Providing you can just slide it in. And the water is calm," I said.<br />
<br />
No reply.<br />
<br />
"Can our lift accommodate the weight of this beast?"<br />
<br />
Killjoy, again.<br />
<br />
The salesman suggested we call the most expensive dock guys around to come and put in a hydraulic system to be placed on the bottom of the lake that would lower and lift our boat rather than the current pulley and cable raising system we have.<br />
<br />
"Is that in our budget?"<br />
<br />
My husband shifted back and forth on his feet.<br />
<br />
"And the rack," I asked. "How does that fit in our covered slip."<br />
<br />
"Oh," said the salesman. "You just put it up and down when you come in and out."<br />
<br />
"With all our visitors, we go in and out sometimes ten times on a weekend."<br />
<br />
He shuffled his feet.<br />
<br />
"You can sell racks on Craigslist," he conceded.<br />
<br />
I don't doubt that.<br />
<br />
I glanced at the really nice and expensive boat parked next to this one and remarked how its rack is not nearly as big. I asked why this one is so large if it serves the same purpose.<br />
<br />
The salesman shrugged. "Some guys just like a bigger rack."<br />
<br />
The sky opened up and I couldn't resist.<br />
<br />
"I get it. My rack's bigger than your rack."<br />
<br />
I took my leave.<br />
<br />
Suffice to say, a different boat found its way to our dock. It may not have a huge rack, but it does have a motor that goes Vroom, Vroom. I hear it when my husband revs it up and wants me to listen. I peak over my hammock's edge without moving my book and nod my head.<br />
<br />
I haven't taken this boat out by myself yet as I'm waiting for my husband to put a big dent in it first.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, as I sit with windows open writing this incredibly substance-filled blogpost, I've taken a few minutes to listen to the quiet. I hear the twitter of a visiting bird calling, "Cheater, Cheater, Cheater." The gentle coo of a Mourning Dove and the settling of the falling Live Oak leaves as they land on the patio. I hear the pansies saying hello.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17VoEpkgDR2kN5VV0TAQRjI85zyMFXrNqBmJHG7Ac9CWfmDmOJiafF8nbtBR_SeUWqhTYdyyh4P3yEOuHvYz1zb58HJDYnv5smZtz4a1y8NQqcQXYbSTE8aQWA0REyimFesnGNt509J5Z/s1600/IMG_4192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17VoEpkgDR2kN5VV0TAQRjI85zyMFXrNqBmJHG7Ac9CWfmDmOJiafF8nbtBR_SeUWqhTYdyyh4P3yEOuHvYz1zb58HJDYnv5smZtz4a1y8NQqcQXYbSTE8aQWA0REyimFesnGNt509J5Z/s400/IMG_4192.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
Yet I prepare. For as the day closes in and my quiet world escapes me, I hear in the distance a small plane passing overhead as it approaches the grass landing strip across the lake. A weekend fisherman roars by in pursuit of the perfect fishing hole, before anyone else finds it. A lawn crew fires up its motors a few houses down.<br />
<br />
Vroom Vroom<br />
<br />
Blubble, Blubble, Blubble<br />
<br />
<i>Cheers to my male readers. Please note I said 'many men' not all of them.</i><br />
<br />Midlife Roadtripperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700277803842883251noreply@blogger.com23