tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41427058077613083482024-03-12T20:01:28.788-05:00Pillow BookMusings on life - music, photographs, food/recipes/diners/coffeeshops, and books/poems/articles I enjoy. If you like The Avett Brothers, black and white photos, local cafes, non-fiction, dogs, and the feeling you get when you return to your hometown, read and contribute.Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.comBlogger244125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-5990394591114227292019-07-24T18:24:00.000-05:002019-07-24T18:24:43.339-05:00Ain't nobody got time for hairbrushes or clever titles. <span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">In
<i>The Picture of Dorian Gray</i>, Oscar Wilde concluded (when musing the
relationship between experience and artistic proficiency), “He lives the poetry
that he cannot write.” I feel like that’s been me for the past two years, and
the past two months in particular. I’ve read in fits and spurts. I’ve journaled
on random Tuesdays. I’ve crafted on rainy weekends. In reality though, I have
done very little requiring sustained intellectual focus. A small part of me
feels guilty, as though I should prioritize time for creativity and new
knowledge no matter what else is going on; for there was a time in my life when
this combination provided fulfillment and a sense of purpose. The much bigger
part, however, simply feels grateful…for my husband, for my daughter, and for
the life of poetry that I cannot write. As the renowned philosopher Doug Stone offered
in the fall of 1992 (some 100 years after the publication of <i>The Picture of
Dorian Gray</i>), ...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">With
that being said, recent conversations about motherhood have reminded me how
nice it is to feel a sense of community when experiencing something out of the
norm. As a result, I feel motivated to connect and to create. Considering I
have not written anything in years, however, I figured it best to “write what I
know,” to write my daily reality. Thus, here are some reflections from the past
few months that some of you other parents might find relatable.</span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Songs
can be written about anything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">It
makes me sad that she seems to be getting used to the phone in my hand, but it’s
hard not to take pictures all the time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Some
people act like they have a “right” to see my child or as though I have
personally offended them if I don’t want to take her many places. I don’t
understand that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Just
when I think, “You know, it would probably be easier to just carry her rather
than take the car seat,” it isn’t. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s
difficult to accomplish things at home that require focus or thought. Even if
she isn’t crying, I want to be there if she drops her paci, or spits up, or
just seems to want attention. I now understand how stay-at-home moms might not
have supper cooked or the house clean (which I didn’t get before Autumn came
along).I’m not complaining though; I like that she makes me slow down. I like
that holding her as she naps might be the most productive thing I do some days.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
used to really need along time. I now take a shower with the shower curtain ¾ open
and her sitting right beside me in the Rock-and-Play. </span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Speaking
of which, when I say, “I’m ready,” I mean “I’ve had a shower.” Ain’t nobody got
time for hairbrushes and make-up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Ceiling
fans are the best things ever. I love how happy she is when she opens her eyes
and looks up. To see her lounging on the Boppy pillow – smiling at how silly
the ceiling fan is – makes every morning better. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">She
notices new things every day and seems so happy about that…butterflies landing near
the deck shrubs, the blue guitar on the radio station canvas, new facial
expressions on her dad’s face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again,
watching her smile at these little things is just the best ever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve
always been a worrier, but goodness gracious, bless the hearts of any medical
professional whose number I have. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Breastfeeding
is hard and I have transitioned to formula. It just got too difficult to pump
and feed at regular intervals when I went back to work. We had been using a
bottle for a while though because early on she was spitting up a lot and we had
no idea how much she was getting. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
uncertainty of it all was stressful. I wonder if people actually question a
parent’s feeding decisions as much as I assume they do …but if you’re one of
those judging…just stop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
question decisions every day and I know I make mistakes every day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">There
IS a difference in wipes. We’re currently using Cloud Island.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
never thought I’d say this, but I DID need all of those receiving blankets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
have OCD tendencies…until she whimpers or looks unhappy. Then nothing else
matters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Backpack
diaper bags and Rock-And-Plays are lifesavers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
never thought I would want to be a stay-at-home mom. I assumed I would get
antsy or bored or would feel unproductive. I now completely understand that
desire. I love my “boring” weekends with her so very much. With that being said…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
am SO fortunate to have the job I have. Autumn goes with me nearly every day. I
have co-workers who don’t mind diapers being changed behind them, who talk to
her every time they walk by, who mention her on the radio when doing remotes,
who have already bought her Christmas presents, who send me texts that say “She
makes all of our days brighter!”, who just ignore the diaper bag, car seat, and
sleeper laying around the office, who clean up spit-up off the floor, etc. I
love my work family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">If
I’m being honest, I used to see a parent riding in the backseat while the other
one drove and thought it was silly. I’ve yet to ride in the front seat when
Jamie is also in the car. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
don’t even really notice formula on my shirt anymore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
never knew I would get so excited about a dirty diaper…or tell people about it.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Have
a $4000 deductible? Uh, no you don’t. You have an $8000 deductible if you have
a baby. We just assumed she and I would be counted as one person. She is, of
course, priceless and we were very happy with the hospital and our doctor, but
I thought this misconception might be good to highlight for expectant parents. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Scarfing
down food one-handed is a thing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
still haven’t figured out sling wraps. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
didn’t really understand the “don’t touch their hands” obsession until now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Her
crossing her little hands is the cutest thing ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve
yet to figure out why some people continue talking (usually about unnecessary
things) when a child is crying (or a dog is barking…I used to think that was
crazy).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
didn’t know I would be so foolish. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
didn’t know I would call her “sister” and “girlfriend” so much. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Gas
drops are as great as everyone said they would be. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
first time I saw real tears, it absolutely broke my heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Swaddling
seems easy enough. Ha, we had to practice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">33.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
feel very fortunate to share this experience with my best friend since
Kindergarten. I’m sure we never thought we would be having our first kid at
38/39 years old. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">She
is the best thing Jamie and I have ever done and she is the best part of every
day. We thought we knew love before. </span></div>
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Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-1006464096188919972017-12-10T15:17:00.000-06:002017-12-10T15:18:59.515-06:00You will be missed every single day, sweet girl. <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://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PHev5j1KW10/Wi2cQMFb-1I/AAAAAAAAEFk/ueSNSH2zJL0Y1WUVVD9DFAzqzBFpxQwJgCLcBGAs/s1600/22279452_10104953198397630_2899886496569400166_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PHev5j1KW10/Wi2cQMFb-1I/AAAAAAAAEFk/ueSNSH2zJL0Y1WUVVD9DFAzqzBFpxQwJgCLcBGAs/s400/22279452_10104953198397630_2899886496569400166_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lucy (affectionately known as "Lucy Lou")<br />
September 6, 2006-December 3, 2017</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Waking up to only two pups these past few mornings has been
really hard. Even over the last several weeks when Lucy was sick, she would get up,
wag her tail, and offer what seemed to be “Morning, Mom” as soon as she saw me.
It was something to which I had been accustomed for eleven years, an innocent, “Yes!
It’s morning!” happiness expressed on a face, increasingly gray with age, that
everyone always described as “the sweetest.” I will miss that daily 6:00 am
greeting from the little girl who had the kindest heart and the most loving spirit.
In his “This I Believe” essay, Silas House argued that “Dogs make us better
people” and the relationship between Lucy and me is a testament to this seemingly
simple conclusion. Lucy was one of the few constants I had in my adult life.
Despite changes – some tragically sad, others incredibly inspiring – I got to
come home to her every day. And it did not matter the city or the house we were
living; as long as Willie and I were around, she didn’t seem to mind the
specifics. I could count on her to be friendly to every person we met when
strolling Main Street in Danville, Glasgow, Burkesville…or any random town on any
random road trip; I knew she would be equally kind to Charley and Willie even
when they got food first or stole the bed she typically slept in; I knew her
ears would perk and she would dance by the door if asked, “Want to go for a
walk?” or “How about a car ride?”; I knew she would be excited to see me
regardless if I had been gone for eight hours or eight minutes; I knew playing
at the farm made her as happy as working it had made Dad; I knew I could trust
her completely around Isabella, Averey, and Charlotte, that she was the kind of
pup that made little girls want to color pictures of dogs and buy Christmas
presents for pets; I knew that she, and her brother and sister, could make even
the worst days better. In these ways, and in a thousand others, Lucy helped me
appreciate small joys, reminded me to be more patient than I would otherwise be
inclined, and taught me that some love truly is unconditional. <o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
Lucy just made everyone happy when she was around and I am
grateful for every day I got to be in her life. I’m grateful for all of the
kind words my friends and students have offered over the past few days. I’m
grateful for the little boy for whom we originally got Lucy (and his father who
always commented on her soft ears); I’m grateful for those who attended
birthday parties for Lucy, or welcomed her to picnics, or got her an Easter
basket, or petted her head when she ran up to them at the park. I’m grateful
for family members who came to see her at the clinic to say goodbye, helped dig
her grave at the farm, and who warmly embraced the role of grandmother long
before actual grandchildren came along. I’m grateful for a father who was known
to take his own dog to WKU with him every day, a father who, as an adult, was
rarely seen at Marrowbone store without one in tow. I’m grateful for a husband
who laid in the floor of vet. clinic with Lucy and me for hours upon hours and
who carved her a headstone at the farm (using the type of cursive writing that Lucy
always used when signing cards<span style="font-family: "segoe ui emoji" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";">😉</span>).
I am certain that Lucy loved all of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I am also certain that while feel-good clichés such as “She had a
good, long life.” or “She knew she was loved.” or “You still have two pups that
you adore.” apply, none really make me feel better right now. I am
heartbroken in a way that I do not know how to describe, in a way that I do
not feel like others can understand. Even though we are all sane adults who can
mentally accept that other people have loved pets too, when
we lose our own, there seems a part of us that concludes, “Yes, but…” The universality
of emptiness and sadness suddenly seems less concrete, less truthful. In fact,
I’m sitting here right now thinking, “I imagine this all sounds crazy to most
people. They just can't understand.” Delusion helps us cope sometimes though. If
I tell myself that no one else could have possibly shown her more love or made
her feel any more special, I will hopefully reach the point when the clichés at
the beginning of this paragraph are indeed the framework for my memories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
All I know for sure right now, though, is that you will be
missed every single day, sweet girl. You were, you are, and you will remain so very loved.<br />
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Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-283219950680147472017-06-18T06:52:00.000-05:002017-06-18T06:54:21.000-05:00Get a soda and Little Debbie cake on random Tuesday afternoons. This editorial, shared by Caroline a couple of years after Dad passed, remains one of my favorite essays: <a href="http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2012-06-17/news/ct-met-schmich-06-20120617_1_fourth-letter-father-phoenix-house" target="_blank">"Write your father."</a> I saved the link that Father's Day and often thought to myself in subsequent years, "Sit down and do that. It will be good for you." Last year on his birthday, some six years after his death, I finally felt ready. I'll spare you the details about my wacko, but loveable, herd of animals and the conversation with him about philosophical concepts of "place," and specifically Turner Farm, but I did want to share the closing of the letter. These are things I hope he knew I recognized and respected, but for which I didn't take the time to thank him. On this particular Sunday in June, I encourage you all to take the time. <br />
<br />
Thanks, CLT, for living a life worth living. <br />
***<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">You
reminded me that sometimes things really are this simple…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Do
something. Make a decision. Show up. Change what you don’t like. Just live your
life. Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Learn to let go of needing explanations; knowing
will likely change nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t coerce
someone into accepting or loving you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Know what you believe and be able to explain why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t force your views on someone else, but
don’t stand idle in the face of ignorance or mean-spiritedness. Don’t look for
a fight, but don’t be scared of one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Don’t seek attention, but don’t be lazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Don’t be afraid to cuss sometimes. Let your animals ride in the car;
clean trucks are overrated. As long as you have a vest on and your ears
covered, you’ll probably be alright.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
fire and a crockpot of soup make working in the cold seem worthwhile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Conservative pundits are ridiculous…but so
are out-of-touch hipster liberals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Work
hard every minute that you’re up. Know when to bite your tongue with your
parents. Cowboy boots go with everything. Vacations will be rare so try to
really be present when you’re on them. Take kids (whether yours or someone
else’s) fishing and to country stores and let them steer when coming up the
driveway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All day breakfast places are
always a good choice. Keep books and magazines handy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell stories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Don’t go for the obvious joke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Kick somebody in the ass if they need it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Give someone money if they need it, but try
first to give them a job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t overuse
“I love you” or hugs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wear flannel. Make
Christmas presents or go to Grider Antiques on Dec. 23 and look for cookie
jars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be able to ad lib presentations at
school or work, coming across as professional, but down-to-earth. Eat
dessert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get a soda and Little Debbie
oatmeal cake on random Tuesday afternoons. Spend Friday nights with your family
at Shoney’s and Wal-Mart. Spank your kids if they’ve earned it (and they will
earn it). Make sure they know how to drive a straight shift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you want something, make it happen. Create
opportunities for yourself. Don’t rely on someone else for your own happiness…but
be grateful for those who want to share their life with you; be proud to be
theirs, they, yours. Swallow pride and occasionally do what you have to do in
order to do what you love. Have the courage to be who you really are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Live a life worth living.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-87105861782232273962015-10-18T07:23:00.000-05:002015-10-18T07:23:49.512-05:00I wanted to give her concert tickets. Then I considered a box of pumpkin faces. A blog post and gift card were my last option. <br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">To
be honest, I still can’t really picture Adrienne with a baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like imagining the Burkesville Dollar Store
both clean and not gommed up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my
mind, she will always be the “little sister” to whom Mom gave unfortunate bowl
cuts, yet in contradictory logic, clearly considered and considers the favorite
(Leigh and I accepted this long ago; at least it meant I prolonged that hairstyle
until collage when I accidently self-inflicted it in the
fall of 1998). She is the blunt one who, upon making her first ever trip to
Benton, told Zach’s early-rising, quite fit mother, “I don’t love walking. If
you’re asking me if I want to go exercise with you, no.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adrienne has no qualms in acknowledging that
she’s never started a lawn mower or cooked supper two nights in a row. As of a
few months ago, “nurturing” and “good at doing things you don’t want to do” are
probably not the qualities I immediately and instinctually associated with Adrienne.
This is not to suggest, however, that my sister is either irresponsible or unlikable.
In fact, quite the contrary. You can’t help but love Adrienne. She will
consistently be one of the funniest in any room she walks in. She is a fantastic
elementary school teacher. When she gives her opinion, you can trust that it is
honest and will inevitably remind you to also expect (if not demand) what you
deserve. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is a kind granddaughter,
the only child who will let Mom dance in the kitchen (including an awkward, yet
repeated, hip bump) to “Slow Jazz” without saying something along the lines of,
“Just stop,” and the wife who is obviously adored by her not-so-bad-himself husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
</span><div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">And,
you know what, despite the opening line, Adrienne is also the one who I am
starting to see as a really wonderful mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In fact, I think Charlotte is going to have just one of the coolest moms
ever, a mother who teaches her how to get along with everyone, make witty
off-hand comments, and always expect and create the life she deserves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could want nothing more for any of my
nieces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, as long as Zach always gets
up in the middle of the night, fixes all the meals, does all of the yardwork,
washes all the clothes, and finds time to take the dogs out too, they should be
in good shape. ;) </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Today,
though, Adrienne is not mother-to-be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Adrienne is birthday girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happy
birthday to the “little sister” who is becoming an even better version of
herself, the one who inspires this nine-year-older sister to be more flexible,
the one who unfailingly looks cuter at seven months pregnant than I do at zero
months pregnant. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Now,
hurry up and get that baby out so we can go to more Avett Brothers concerts. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span><br /></div>
Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-89302083564567719332014-07-28T11:22:00.002-05:002014-07-28T21:25:12.016-05:00Goodbye, friends.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y6xibXdLoX4/U9Z4EzB8p5I/AAAAAAAAECE/AotXESFAz_U/s1600/Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y6xibXdLoX4/U9Z4EzB8p5I/AAAAAAAAECE/AotXESFAz_U/s1600/Poster.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Because you know how I love haikus...</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has run its course.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thus, with one last post, goodbye.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Sad, but time for change.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I started Pillow Book over four years ago, my goal was
to create a digital version of Vivian Swift’s illustrated travel journal, <i>When Wanderers Cease to Roam</i>. I wanted it to be my own journal of staying
put, a journal that detailed the quirky and beautiful that existed in my very
ordinary daily life, a life that I was rather unexpectedly rebuilding in my
hometown at the age of 29. I had hoped it would “reconnect me to the beauty I’ve
been missing” and inspire this disengaged graduate student to actually enjoy
writing again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, I feel like I have basically accomplished those things.
You have heard me philosophize/blabber on and on about my family, heartbreak of
all sorts, collective joy, awesome v. not awesome lists, local restaurants and go-to
recipes, my undying devotion to the Avett Brothers, personal insecurities, my
love of all things whimsical, my distrust of false hope and unsubstantiated
fluff phrases and technology and people who don’t return shopping carts to the
collection bins, and my desire to see this wonderful little southern Kentucky
town be a real-life version of Stars Hollow.
You have offered thoughtful comments and hilarious Facebook quips. Many
of you have put me to shame with your guest posts, posts that always reminded
me how fortunate I am to be dumber than my friends. You have inspired me to write and think and
read more. You have reminded me that
while perhaps different in hue, we are all basically fighting the same battles.
You have helped me embrace happiness in simplicity. You have encouraged me to
live a more creative and a more engaged life.
You, and this blog space, have kept me sane and kept this perpetual
wanderer from roaming. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you for sharing the past four years with me. You all deserve a spot in my gratitude jar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, lets go write a book.<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>
<o:p></o:p></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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OFEV1Ng0rKw/U9Z4OAfvHzI/AAAAAAAAECM/DYgHvvdGdIk/s1600/dora+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OFEV1Ng0rKw/U9Z4OAfvHzI/AAAAAAAAECM/DYgHvvdGdIk/s1600/dora+1.jpg" height="247" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time for new adventures...:)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><br /></span></div>
Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-79216278913187804512014-06-30T19:40:00.000-05:002014-06-30T19:40:22.397-05:00My favorite princess...<div class="MsoNormal">
Isabella turns five on Wednesday. Although no poem, short story, or song could do justice to how much joy she (and Averey) bring to my life, I try to write her a little something every year. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Happy birthday to the little girl who has the biggest heart of anyone I know. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2PPNebR7taY/U7H_ijKOOiI/AAAAAAAAEBA/KDGXfDlw_OE/s1600/IMG_0382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2PPNebR7taY/U7H_ijKOOiI/AAAAAAAAEBA/KDGXfDlw_OE/s1600/IMG_0382.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";"><span style="color: #c27ba0;"><b>"My Favorite Princess"</b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">It was a year of
firsts for the newly crowned big sister of the clan,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">“avenging” her
mother’s t-ball fears, pink glove (and sand piles) in hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">She swam in the
ocean and at her BFF, Kynsley,’s pool,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">and somehow,
beyond explanation, made ruffled pants look reasonably cool. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">She “earned”
forty two new pairs of Wal-Mart pajamas on persuasiveness alone,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">a convincing
conversationalist, skills honed on her parents’ smart phones. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">The day she
pretended to be TJ, fake male voice and insurance lingo at hand,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">was the day I
realized her graduation from endearing to witty, foolish land. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">She became a
daddy’s girl, piling in the truck or razor when farm duty called,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">checking on
fences and cows, insisting she “help” when hay needed to be hauled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">You see,
Isabella Kurtys doesn’t really take “no” for an answer;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">she’s “got it
covered,” whether as farmhand, Averey’s babysitter, or BAFA tap dancer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">Speaking of
which, her role as “big sister” is obviously the most important “first,” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">a part she has
embraced, one we’ve surprisingly never had to coerce. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">I’m sure
hairbrushes will be thrown and unfathomably unequal school desks arranged, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">but for the time
being, it’s living room laughter and a little red rolly ball exchanged. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">They love each
other just as the Anna and Elsa they both so adore,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">a companionship
that has naturally developed, one never implored.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">And thus, to see
them together would melt the most Frozen of hearts,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">in matching
Matilda Jane dresses they perfectly play the doting sister part. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">And so, on this
last Sunday in June, I write a poem for the little girl who has become so much,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">the one worthy
of labor-intensive homemade cakes, life-sized Disney cut-outs and such.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";">She is the niece
whom I love far beyond the words I annually try to put down,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">the birthday
girl who this humble Aunt thinks everyday deserves a crown. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Andalus","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Colonna MT';"><span style="color: #c27ba0;">Much love on your 5<sup>th</sup>
birthday, Isabella Kurtys,<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Colonna MT';"><span style="color: #c27ba0;">Aunt Liza, Willie,
Lucy, Charley, DC, Wendell, and all the outside cats</span></span></b><span style="color: #5f497a; font-family: "Andalus","serif"; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 191;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Andalus, serif;">***</span></div>
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<i>A few points of reference:</i></div>
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-Isabella's t-ball team was called the Avengers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-Leigh Ann and I both cried and refused to play when Mom took us to our first t-ball practice. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-Leigh has never let me live down the time I threw a sage green hairbrush at her. I still talk about how she gave me the crap school supplies and makeshift office furniture.</div>
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-I hope you have seen the video on Facebook where Isabella and Averey are rolling the little ball to each other. It is incredibly endearing. </div>
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-Isabella loves Frozen and had a Frozen-themed birthday party last Sunday. </div>
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Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-26663612442385642712014-06-06T06:06:00.000-05:002014-06-06T06:13:46.997-05:00A little help from my friends...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hsDwYdAHt6M/U5Dyc35xLVI/AAAAAAAAEAs/ko8EJrt0j8Q/s1600/tumblr_membe1MH2Q1qfyjoto1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hsDwYdAHt6M/U5Dyc35xLVI/AAAAAAAAEAs/ko8EJrt0j8Q/s1600/tumblr_membe1MH2Q1qfyjoto1_500.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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I seriously doubt that I have ever been at risk of this; nevertheless, I really love this quote. Some people get intimidated or frustrated or defensive or just plain mean when in the midst of impressive people. I have learned to appreciate it (somewhat out of necessity...such is life when your friends tend to be amazingly handy, creative, well-read and intelligent). We should all put ourselves around people who make us want to be better. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Thank you to all of you who do just that. </div>
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***</div>
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As I mentioned in the last post, I asked several women in my life to answer the same questions related to fulfillment and expectations that I posed to myself. Since that time, I also decided to send the same questions to several male friends/family who I thought might be willing in contribute. I figured it would be interesting to see if males and females responded significantly differently.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Regardless of gender, the first received responses, as suspected, have already proven testament to my "find a comfy chair and stay put" room status. </div>
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***</div>
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<i><span style="color: #93c47d;">I taught next-door to Jackie Rogers at Pulaski County High School from 2004-2006. Even though I haven't kept in touch with Jackie much over the years, I'll never forget how much I enjoyed being around her. She was one of the wittiest people I had ever been around (and about the only person I knew who could so easily trade quips with Scott), the students loved her, and the staff and parents respected her. If you were a kid, you wanted to have her in class; if you were a teacher, you wanted to have my classroom so you could crack jokes with her in the hallway and eat lunch together. </span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"One of my best friends and I like to get away in the fall
for a quiet week on the beach. We pack several books, drums of sunscreen,
versatile outfits and lots of shoes. If it rains, we sit on our balcony with
coffee and say, “bring it on.” If dolphins come close to the shore, we nod with
casual interest like we have one at home. If a shark joins us in the water, we
crap our skirted bathing suits full. It isn’t that we are uber cool, we don’t
even use the word “uber”, it is just that we have become comfortable. We’ve
settled into our 40s and are wearing it around like yoga pants. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last year on our first morning in the condo, coffee in hand,
sunrise on the water, making plans for supper in about 12 hours; I rubbed the
dull ache in the middle of my forehead. I
told my friend, who was as content as I to sit silently together or laugh like
sorority girls, that I hoped the headache would go away before we made our way
to our pre-paid, umbrella covered chairs. She informed me that it would go away
in 24 hours. “You’ve got an old woman headache,” she informed me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Old woman headache. Now that was new to me. She explained to
me that people “my age” start getting these perimenopause headaches and it
would get worse. Being four years older, I am benefitting from her misfortune
of going first. “Why didn’t old women tell us about this?” I asked her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They tried,” she said. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then we laughed. Everything is much funnier after 40. By
“after” I mean the moment you wake up on your 40th birthday. You’ve spent the
last decade scoffing at the hundreds of people who comment on how you will
suddenly not be able to read or how your body parts will give in to gravity. It
seems so cliche, until you wake up the morning of your 40th birthday and wonder
why you can’t make out the expiration date on the milk. For several months you
blame it on the lighting, but finally you buy a value pack of readers and start
wearing them on top of your head.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At this point, I embraced it. I wasn’t in this alone and I
wasn’t the first to watch my 20s and 30s slip away. When I reflect on those
years, they were fun but too full of competition and struggle and self-doubt.
If I could pinpoint the moment I let that go, it would be when I saw this quote
that seems to be floating around a lot on social media “Girls compete with each
other. Women empower one another.” I didn’t have it tattooed on my foot, rather
I burned it in my heart. The more I give, the fuller my life becomes. “Cast
your bread on the waters,” the Bible says, “and after many days it will return
to you.”'<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
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<o:p>*** </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><i><span style="color: #93c47d;">Since most of you who read this are from Cumberland County, you likely know Barbara Booher. Even though I went to school with her son, David, it wasn't until I took the job at the library that I realized what a wonderful person this woman is. The library, our kids, and the community in general are truly lucky to have her. I promise you, you won't find many people with a bigger heart. </span></i></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<i><span style="color: #6aa84f;">1. Do you consciously resolve to be a better/happier woman? How do you do this? </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I really don't consciously think about what would make me
happier. I might realize that I need to
make a change of some kind in order to function better. But, I have discovered
that I have a personality that needs to be "helping or giving" to
someone in order to feel fulfilled or "happy". I find true joy in doing for others. I have also learned that people aren't
fooled. I must be real and sincere in
what I do.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>2. What advice would you give to someone in regard to creating/inspiring a fulfilled life? </i></span></div>
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My advice is to know exactly what your priorities are and
make your decisions accordingly. Don't
get caught up in "busyness".
It will rob you of your energy, time and your peace of mind. I know that
my relationship with my God comes first, my family second, and then anything
else in my life. I also know the
importance of respecting the fact that people have different priorities.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="color: #6aa84f;">3. What lesson have you learned the hard way?</span> </i></div>
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I learned the hard way that I can't do it all, I can't fix
it all and that I can't be everything for everybody. But I can do my part.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>4. If you wrote one quote on your bathroom mirror, what would it be? </i></span></div>
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There is a plaque in my house that says "Be Kind, Be
Wise, Be True". I think of it as a
revision of the Bible verse that says "Finally, be ye all like-minded, compassionate,
loving as brethren, tenderhearted, humble minded." 1 Peter 3:8<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><span style="color: #6aa84f;">5. If you had one piece of advice for your daughter/best friend/[any other woman of significance in your life], what would it be? </span></i></div>
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My advice is to always stay focused on what is important....and
the importance of passing on the values you have been taught to others around
you through your actions and words.<o:p></o:p></div>
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***</div>
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<i><span style="color: #93c47d;">Jim Brady is probably one of the most interesting people I have ever met: father, author, wine maker, explorer, philosopher, animal-lover, jack-of-all-trades, [insert about anything else you can think of]. There are so many little nuggets of wisdom in his response....even if for some reason he did capitalize the entire thing.;)</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>LIZA’S 5 QUESTIONS IN HER QUEST FOR A FULFILLED LIFE…</i></span></div>
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1)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>STRIVE TO BE THE BEST VERSION OF YOURSELF YOU CAN BE, CONTINUALLY, AND REGARDLESS OF OTHERS’ THOUGHTS OR VIEWS ON HOW YOU PLAN ON SUCCEEDING.YOU WILL FIND RESISTANCE ALONG THE WAY DUE TO THE FACT THAT SOME PEOPLE ARE JUST INDECISIVE ABOUT THEIR OWN WELL BEING AND WILL RESENT THAT YOU ACTUALLY GIVE A SHIT. IT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE IF THEY DO NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR REASONING, KEEP MOVING FORWARD, AND IF YOU INFLUENCE THEM EVEN A LITTLE, ALL THE BETTER; IF NOT… IT’S NOTHING PERSONAL.</div>
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2)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>DON’T LIVE IN A BOX. OPINIONS OF IDEAL LIVING PROBABLY DON’T AMOUNT TO MUCH IN THE GRAND SCHEME OF THINGS. WHEN YOU STEP OUT INTO THE REAL WORLD YOU REALIZE THAT MOST OF HUMANITY IS HAMPERED BY THEIR OWN STRUGGLES WITH HUMANITY. WE ALL LIVE IN THE SAME WORLD. DON’T BE AFRAID TO MAKE BIG DECISIONS IF YOU WANT THINGS TO BE DIFFERENT. YOU SOMETIMES HAVE TO HURT PEOPLES FEELINGS AND TURN PAGES; IT’S ONLY THEN, THAT YOU CAN REACH THE NEXT CHAPTER. SOMETIMES A FRESH START CAN REKINDLE OUR CREATIVITY.</div>
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3)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>NEVER CONTINUE DOWN A PATH WHICH THE AMOUNT OF HAPPINESS AND JOY IS EXCEEDED BY SADNESS AND MISERY. IT’S OK TO HAVE EXPECTATIONS THAT SOMETIMES FALL SHORT. DON'T BE AFRAID TO WALK AWAY.</div>
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4)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>WHAT YOU BELIEVE WILL KEEP YOU SAFE…PLAIN AND SIMPLE.</div>
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5)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>LIFE IS WHAT IT IS. GOOD, BAD OR INDIFFERENT…LIFE ISN'T FOCUSED ON YOUR RESULT. GOOD THINGS HAPPEN TO BAD PEOPLE, BAD HAPPEN TO GOOD. THE SOONER YOU TAKE YOU OUT OF THE EQUATION, THE HAPPIER, AND THE MORE RESILIENT TO DISAPPOINTMENTS, YOU WILL BE. THIS WILL NOT MAKE YOU IMPERVIOUS TO THEM, JUST MORE AWARE THAT IT ISN’T ANYONE’S FAULT, IT JUST IS, WHAT IT IS. SOME LIVE, SOME DIE. SOME LAUGH, SOME CRY. </div>
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6)<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>ALWAYS GO TO BED WITH A CLEAR CONSCIENCE KNOWING YOU PUT IT OUT THERE AS HONESTLY AS YOU COULD, WITH THE CONFIDENCE YOU DID THE BEST YOU COULD IN THE GIVEN SITUATION. YOU WILL BE MISUNDERSTOOD AT TIMES, BUT IN THE END YOUR INTENTION WILL BE TRUE AND YOUR PILLOW WILL BE SOFTER.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/-Ob59hsRaFU" width="420"></iframe>Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-2771971170950824482014-06-01T09:29:00.001-05:002014-06-02T05:05:36.852-05:00I would hope I'd be Chandler. <div>
You would be hard-pressed to scroll through any online media or news site and find something along the lines of "What I've learned in my 32 years." or "How I chose to live a happier life." or "Advice to my 25-year-old-self" mysteriously missing. Why? Because these types of articles are the "philosophical" equivalent of "What <i>Friends</i> star would you be?"-type quizzes and "Bout to get my __________ on! Just sayin'." status updates....they are everywhere (For what it's worth, I take the Buzzworthy quizzes with far more fervor than any reasonably sane person should. The end result could be a conclusive explanation of what kind of cheese I would be or what city I should call home...i love them all. I am fairly certain, however, that I have never suggested I was 'bout to get my anything on). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And in complete disclosure, I typically find myself clicking the link for all of these articles. I know that I will likely just find more of the same cliche stuff that frequents every other list - be grateful/mindful, value sleep, drink water/meditate/exercise, money doesn't buy happiness...but it makes things easier, never stop dreaming, you will always have to compromise - yet I read anyway. I suppose a part of me is simply looking for validation of the things that I have also come to know/accept, but the bigger part is hoping that, in one of those bullet points, I will finally find the key....to complete contentment, to trusting my decisions, to actually being the "best me I can be." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And so I read...</div>
<div>
But inevitably don't. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And while I realize that my disappointment is illegitimate considering 1) there is no magic life key and 2) there is no sound reason some random blogger should be able to really "speak to" my soul and mind as though we were BFFs, I always find myself frustrated, thinking things like "Well, no shit, of course sleeping four hours on a couch every night isn't bringing out the best Liza I can be." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If "sounds like someone needs to meditate and be more mindful of blah, blah, blah." is going through your mind right now, quit reading my blog. You are dead to me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's what I choose instead...</div>
<div>
I have asked several women in my life to answer a variety of questions that typically inspire these types of articles. Some are very close girlfriends, some are acquaintances who I wish I knew better, some are women who I have never actually met, but who inspire me. There will be a wide spectrum of careers, incomes, ages, and locations represented. The similarities between this impressive group of women, however, is far more significant than their differences. They all seem to really be living life. They take chances. They have fun. They think and read. They love. They seem passionate. They are the ones through whom I like to vicariously live. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And so, in the next post, you will hear from these ladies. </div>
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Until then, however, I offer my thoughts on the same questions I posed to them. While none of us have that elusive magic key, maybe, just maybe, we will say something that makes you think, or laugh, or take solace in your own thoughts. </div>
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Or...we might just make you roll your eyes and think cuss words. In which case, close Pillow Book and go get your Buzzworthy quizzes on instead. </div>
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***</div>
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<b><span style="color: #93c47d;">1. Do you consciously resolve to be a better/happier woman? How do you do this?</span></b></div>
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I do. I actually probably overthink this. I am constantly trying to come up with ways to be more productive or a better steward to my community/world or just generally a happier person. I have not settled on some definitive answer yet, but here are some specific things I do in search: I write letters to friends, I make to-do lists of things I really don't want to, but need to, do and I do at least two of them, I read through my gratitude jar, I reread passages from my favorite books, I go through my Pinterest boards and try recipes or projects that I pinned long ago, but never did, I take my dogs to the creek and let them play, I fix coffee, pour it in my favorite mug, and sit on the porch, I make lists of the places I want to go and the things I want to do, I tell someone why I appreciate them, I walk the farm or clean stuff at the barn, I declutter and give or throw away things that I don't need or have not used. </div>
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<b><span style="color: #93c47d;">2. What advice would you give to someone in their early/mid 30s regarding a fulfilled life? </span></b></div>
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If you have to talk yourself into it, it probably doesn't fulfill you. Realize that stability is important - you have to have to job, you have to take care of responsibilities, you should appreciate what you do have - but if acceptance is the product of constant reminders and logical analysis, there is likely something more that you really want. Figure out what that is. You may never pursue it or you may even decide (sometimes upon crashing and burning) that your reality was in fact quite greener, but living with "what if"s or constantly questioning "What is missing?" will crush your soul. Don't be afraid to consider this question. </div>
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<b><span style="color: #93c47d;">3. What lesson have you learned the hard way? </span></b></div>
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One of the greatest fairy tales of life is that if you work hard enough or want something badly enough, you will achieve it/it will (or, will not, in some cases) happen. This is not true. Accept that. Sometimes this is learned through death. Sometimes through lost love. Sometimes through denial letters. There often is no silver lining. When one door closes, another one does not always open. But...</div>
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work hard and want something desperately anyway. One way to survive loss is take comfort in knowing you did everything you could. </div>
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<b><span style="color: #93c47d;">4. If you wrote one quote on your bathroom mirror, what would it be? </span></b></div>
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"Decide what to be and go be it." </div>
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<span style="color: #93c47d;"><b>5. If you had one piece of advice for your daughter/best friend/[any other woman of significance in your life], what would it be? </b> </span><br />
Don't be around people who make you question your self-worth. You are stronger than that. </div>
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This is switching gears a bit, but not entirely. Stay with me...</div>
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You know, jumping out of a plane sounds much more scary than it actually is.</div>
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No, really.<br />
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When I think about or tell people the basics - climbing to an elevation of 10,000 ft. in a five-seater plane on a cloudy, drizzly day (by the way, "drizzle" at 120 mph isn't like the "Oh, I don't need an umbrella to walk to the car. It's just drizzling." sort of rain); standing on a 6" ledge at that height in a slightly oversized, Kentucky-blue jumpsuit with black rectangle accents; crossing my arms, leaning my head back and jumping out with the parachute-toting, tandem skydiving instructor I only met about thirty minutes prior - I'll admit that it sounds pretty outrageous. I promise you, though, it didn't feel that way at all to me. Exhilarating, surreal, inexplicable, yes. Scary, careless, unsafe, no. <br />
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I realize that seems to make very little sense.<br />
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<i>Well, here is my rationale...</i><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M6buXt7rWBg/U4swWO55pMI/AAAAAAAAD_M/sBLzBCB6vlk/s1600/Skydive+Kentucky_00094.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M6buXt7rWBg/U4swWO55pMI/AAAAAAAAD_M/sBLzBCB6vlk/s1600/Skydive+Kentucky_00094.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a>1. The staff at Skydive KY in Elizabethtown, while professional, was friendly and laid-back. They had an office dog. They didn't offer cliche or corny jokes about flying/jumping/landing. I did not hear "dude" once. They suggested that we would have fun, but never implied that we were embarking on some life-altering adventure. In short, they seemed capable, but relaxed. I had avoided talking about the trip to anyone beforehand because I did not want to answer questions or be burdened with others' fears or excitement. I appreciated that in the two hours or so before the jump, the time when we were signing liability forms, being trained, and watching other people jump, I could still live in this environment of relative calm, devoid of nervous chit-chat or unnecessary verbal build-up.<br />
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2. I trusted the person I was with. I never questioned whether Lee would do it. I never worried that I would have to talk him into it and in so doing, make myself more nervous. I knew that if anything seemed askew or I was in any danger, he would stop it. I knew that we would both have fun and not take it too seriously. I knew he would be up for Cracker Barrel biscuits afterward.<br />
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3. I think we should do out-of-the-ordinary things when given the opportunity.<br />
4. I realize that I could die tomorrow on my way to the library. I realize that if we worried about everything that could go wrong, we would do nothing, whether that was mundane tasks like driving to the grocery store or extreme sports like skydiving.<br />
5. Even though I have certainly made mistakes, done my fair share of stupid, stupid things, and have regrets, I know that in the past few years I have consciously tried to live the best life I can live. I have made hard choices, I have taken chances, I have tried to be more open with my feelings, I have pursued some of my dreams, and kept hope that the untouched ones might be fulfilled. I guess I am just more of the Avett Brothers mindset, "if I live the life I'm given, I won't be scared to die."<br />
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Plus, as i said, jumping out of a plane really isn't as scary as it sounds.;)<br />
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Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-74800112853970594442014-05-14T16:52:00.001-05:002014-06-02T05:19:47.975-05:00Mother's Day, Part II..and this one has nothing to do with Jackie Turner driving me crazy. In a post long, long ago, I discussed my contradictory feelings toward rather randomly-and/or-arbitrarily-date-selected "holidays" like Groundhog Day, Labor Day, President's Day, Mother's Day (if you can find the exact post, good work you little sleuth you...because I sure can't find it). The basic point was as follows: Sure, most holidays benefit card companies and inspire us to give the impression, via words and actions that seem offered as much for our own self-aggrandizement as for an expression of gratitude, that we are far more sentimental than we actually are. At the same time, however, those who get on high horses and go on and on about appreciating parents, service men and women, and blue collar workers EVERY day rather than on one designated date on the calendar can be just as annoying as all those hokey, pastel, calligraphized cards I mentioned in the last post. Quit being dumb. Of course I love my country on more days than July 4. Of course I find my mother worthy of recognition on more days than a particular Sunday in May. Of course I know in non-November months that white settlers stole land from Native Americans. Holidays are fun and sometimes it is nice to do something, or buy a gift, for someone you love. How about we just leave it at that?<br />
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One article in connection with this discussion that has particularly interested me since I read it a few years ago, is one written by Anne Lamott (a favorite author of mine). In <a href="http://www.salon.com/2010/05/08/hate_mothers_day_anne_lamott/" target="_blank">this article</a>, which I by no means agree with in its entirety, Lamott questions Mother's Day on the basis of these arguments: 1. it elevates mothers above other women who have chosen to or cannot have children. 2. it tends to ignore all those non-birth "mothers" who have nurtured us perhaps as much as, if not more so, than our actual mothers. 3. it plays into the notion that "true" love and self-sacrifice can only be known through parenthood.<br />
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As a non-mother, here is my take...<br />
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I didn't feel bad last Sunday. I would never want pity or for others to assume that I sat around wondering, "Why isn't there a day for ME?" If I rolled my eyes when glancing at Facebook it was because public displays of affection of any sort tend to make me gag, not because it was some defensive physical embodiment of my biological clock. I would never want mothers to feel bad about recognition simply because there are those of us who do not have children, just as I would never want someone to feel guilty for mentioning their dad around me on Father's Day. Just because I do not have something, does not mean that I'm so selfish that I can't be happy for those who do. <br />
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In regard to Lamott's third point, I do think she is on to something here. Although I am not sure on the accuracy or source of her data, she mentions that roughly 98% of American parents seem to feel that unless one has been a parent, their capacity for love is diminished, that "non-parents can't possibly know what it is to love unconditionally." This point also reminds me of Elizabeth Gilbert's in <i>Committed</i> (I highly recommend) whereby she argues, "all too often, those of us who choose to remain childless are accused of being somehow unwomanly or unnatural or selfish." In both cases, the conclusion is the same: "<i>they</i> are not like <i>us</i>." Regardless of the validity of these general claims (and really, how could we ever really test this?), I would guess that they are assumptions most parents do secretly hold to some degree.<br />
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And you know, you parents might be right. I'm sure you want to roll your eyes when I talk about how I love my dogs like they are my children. I know that when I talk about the privilege of being a stepmother to a wonderful, wonderful child, most of you probably think "that doesn't really count." I realize that being an aunt carries very little of the responsibility of a parent. Nevertheless, I also know, without hesitation, that I would give my life for any of those mentioned above. I know what I feel is not just something "kind of like" love.<br />
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I can't be defined by something I am not; thus to suggest that my ability to give of myself is relative to, and less than, a parent seems just as arbitrary as our national fascination with a groundhog coming out of a hole.<br />
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I am fully aware that this quote somewhat challenges the point I just made (that the roles we play do not have to be in competition with one another), but I love Jane Austen and I love that being an aunt is <i>one</i> of the roles that does define me.<br />
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<i style="text-align: center;">"I have always maintained the importance of Aunts as much as possible. Now that you have become an Aunt, you are a person of some consequence." - Jane Austen</i><br />
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Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-4244184702507782552014-05-10T15:44:00.001-05:002014-06-02T05:19:09.621-05:00The real story of mothers and daughters.I know what I <i>should</i> do.<br />
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I should buy my mother a pale pink, unfathomably overpriced Hallmark card that has a quote about unwavering love in oversized gold calligraphy. I should attempt to compete with all the other Facebook statuses, proclaiming my two sisters and me to actually have the "best mother in the world" (which brings to mind the scene from <i>When Harry Met Sally</i> where Marie says that everyone thinks they have good taste and a sense of humor...but they couldn't possibly all have good taste and a sense of humor). I should write a blog post and make special effort to work this in: </div>
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The truth of the matter, however, is that my mother often makes me want to do this:<br />
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or this: </div>
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In short, my mother drives me bonkers sometimes. She gives unsolicited beauty tips; if I had a nickle for every time she has commented on the width of my eyebrows, I wouldn't have to work. She sits still when I'm trying to talk to her roughly 1 out of 10 conversations. She states the obvious. She will ask me about stuff I've repeatedly told her that I don't want to talk about or upon which I have already decided. She will do what we ask her not to do, even if our reasoning is "that's really stupid and unsafe, Mom." She is worse than many 15 year olds when it comes to having a phone out all the time.</div>
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No ma'am, Jackie Turner, no field-of-flowers-Maya-Angelou-quote-filled card for you.</div>
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My card would tell you that for all the reasons mentioned above, and a few thousand others, you make me crazy. It would then say...</div>
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I know I do the same to you....and basically for the exact same reasons. I do just as many dumb things for the same reason you once put a step ladder in the back of your gator and painted a barn: because we want it done. Now. Without help. I will press issues when I don't feel like you've given me a satisfactory explanation. If you would put your phone down and look up at me for ten seconds, I would critique your eyebrows. </div>
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But there is one more similarity between us that has become increasingly obvious as I've grown older, a personality proclivity that has both forced tough conversations and ultimately made our relationship more honest and more substantial: You and I have come to accept that at least half the time, we are not going to agree with the other's decisions. In fact, we may occasionally think the other is making a gigantic, possibly life-altering mistake. But the thing is, even though we might hoot and holler about it for a little while, saying harsh things reserved primarily for mother/daughter relationships, we acknowledge that it's the other's life to live. We voice our opinion, but ultimately defer. We understand that loving someone does not mean that you will always like their decisions, or them for that matter. </div>
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Letting someone be who they insist on being is a wonderful gift. For this, Mom, I thank you. </div>
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Oh, and for....</div>
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1. Instilling in us the notion that no man should ever control how we cut our hair. </div>
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2. Making conversation in otherwise awkwardly quiet rooms or cars.</div>
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3. Raising us in a home where we had a choice of Kool-Aid or milk only and had dinner at the table nearly every night. </div>
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4. Letting me climb in a pickup truck and drive across the country with Dad when I was about eight years old. </div>
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5. Spending your summers skipping rocks with Leigh and me at the ponds and creeks near the house...or at Greenwood Mall with Sbarro pizza and our baby doll strollers in tow. </div>
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6. Still doing Easter baskets and Christmas stockings for all of us. </div>
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7. For offering to pay to have a horse's sheath cleaned even when your daughter tells you, "That's dumb. We're not going to pay someone without trying it first ourselves."; for nevertheless putting on your overalls and work boots when that same daughter pulls in your driveway at 5:15 and asks for gloves. </div>
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8. For being the type of teacher people describe as "their favorite ever." </div>
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9. For making sourdough bread from scratch.</div>
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10. Hell, for occasionally being the wind beneath our wings. </div>
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Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-3962042417009461432014-05-07T20:23:00.002-05:002014-05-07T20:34:49.918-05:00"Solitude is blessed." I finally did it. <br />
<br />
Goodbye sliding keyboard phone. Goodbye keys that don't work and thus make my texts illegible. Goodbye surprise presents, ranging from twin decorated tin cans to an old Blackberry, that have been dropped off at the library to both mock and assist. Goodbye all Facebook suggestions to upgrade like a normal person. <br />
<br />
Hello....<br />
Samsung Freeform! You are a much nicer non-smart phone than I had!<br />
<br />
That's right; I refuse to cave until phone companies absolutely make me.<br />
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***<br />
<i>Here is why I refuse to get a smart phone:</i><br />
1. I don't want to be like 95% of the people I know with smart phones. I don't want to be scrolling all the time. I don't want to have my phone out at dinner or when I'm with friends. I want to pay attention to people when they're talking. I am already distracted enough; I don't need one more thing to fiddle with....and I'm on no delusional high horse; if I had it, I would use it. Hell, I've wasted HOURS watching America's Next Top Model marathons. My willpower is not that strong.<br />
2. I don't want everything to be easy. I like stopping to ask for directions (i.e. "get a fountain drink"). I like finding recipes in actual cookbooks and taking pictures with an actual camera and reading actual books. I like trying to figure things out (same reason I am often hesitant to use a calculator) instead of just punching something in and relying on someone else to give me an answer. We are getting increasingly lazy and dependent; I want to prevent or stall that as long as possible.<br />
3. There are other things I would rather spend the money on.<br />
4. I think Louis C.K makes a couple of great points: A) Just because it's available, doesn't mean we have to do it. B) We rely on technology in part because of an inability to be alone.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/xSSDeesUUsU" width="560"></iframe>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/5HbYScltf1c" width="560"></iframe>
***<br />
<i>Speaking of which...</i><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/k7X7sZzSXYs" width="560"></iframe>
I love this video, not only because it validates my loner tendencies, but because it reminds me to really be present in my life....and to do things like go to an unknown-to-me city and just roam. I'm not going to lie and say that living alone is always easy. It's not. Sometimes I get stuck in my own head, the silence around me accelerating a medley of "what if"s. Sometimes I just want to cook supper for someone. Sometimes I wish I had kids' ball uniforms to wash. For the most part, though, I embrace my solitude. I love going to movies alone. It has never bothered me to eat at restaurants alone. I like imagining all the things I can do, all the places I can go, and all the things I can try...primarily because I have few restraints. I like walking into a house that looks exactly like it did when I left in the morning. I like not having to compromise. None of this is to suggest that I have no desire to be a part of a family unit again sometime or that I am unwilling to relinquish some freedom (I was very fortunate to live in that world for a while)...only that being alone and being lonely are not the same for me.<br />
***<br />
I like this a lot.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/h8jBZ1C-6pI" width="560"></iframe>Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-82814031474173933782014-04-28T18:24:00.000-05:002014-04-28T18:24:07.736-05:00Lessons I sometimes forget...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<i><span style="color: #93c47d; font-size: large;">By: Guest blogger, Brandy Pruitt</span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";">A good friend once wrote me a note
during a difficult time in my life that read, “Good people deserve to be happy,
and you are good people.” I received it
sometime during 2005 </span><span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style', serif;">(I believe) and I still have it
tucked away in a box of special memories.</span><span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style', serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style', serif;">I go to this box on occasion and pull things out, reading over them and
remembering; evoking feelings and tears that I am typically too busy for.</span><span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style', serif;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";"><span style="font-size: large;">I understand that life is full of
both good and bad. I am fully aware of
the ‘God will not lead you to it without leading you through it’ phrase that
should make me feel better. I accept
with my whole heart that yes, it CAN always be worse. I know these things. Every Debbie Downer and Negative Nancy I’ve
ever had the pleasure to meet knows these things. And yet, I still feel an obligation to say
that an often cheery disposition can not disguise the ugly truth that life is a
struggle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";"><span style="font-size: large;">There are days when my struggles are
too much. I’m simply too stressed, too
anxious, or too emotional to continue with my daily life. My chest feels heavy…my eyes burn and blink
back tears; tears that are sometimes full of anger or disappointment, sadness or
loneliness. Sometimes, they are just
signs of pure exhaustion and defeat: the only white flag I have the energy to
wave. Some days I allow my struggles to define
me and they win. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";"><span style="font-size: large;">But there are other days that I
win. There are days that I allow my
life, both the good and the bad combined, to define me. I may feel stressed, sad, or defeated but I
somehow overcome it. I may still feel
that heaviness in my chest but I choose to fight it. On these days, I end up sitting on the attic
steps of my home and reminiscing. Sure,
there are usually still tears; but they are the happy and therapeutic kind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";"><span style="font-size: large;">My special box lives on my attic
steps, along with a lot of other not-so-special junk that has no where better
to be. Oddly enough, the entire time
that I have lived in my home I have found solace in the attic. Maybe it’s because it is the only part of the
house that was built in 1956 that seems to remain unchanged. Or maybe because it’s the only part of the
house that my obsessive cleaning habits know they aren’t welcome. Maybe it’s because all the keepsakes from my
children’s lives are stored there or because you can hear everything going on
in the entire house from those steps.
Whatever the reason, I enjoy it. I go to my favorite spot on the
third-from-the-top step and just sit. I
sit and pilfer through notes that make me laugh, and cards that force me to
realize I have people who care about me.
I read letters from my high school boyfriend and look at pictures my
children have drawn. These things may
all fit into a box (although “fit” may be the wrong word when you see my box) but
they are so much bigger than that box that encompasses them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #93c47d;">Lessons
I learn (over and over again) sitting in my attic:</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Goudy Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Goudy Old Style";">-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";">Friendships can span years, miles,
and even differences of opinion. How
corny is it that I am reminded of a song I used to sing in Girl Scouts? “Make
new friends, but keep the old…one is silver and the other’s gold.” But seriously, they are. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Goudy Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Goudy Old Style";">-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";">If you want to know something,
ask. But be prepared to hear the answer. Know what you will do with it, even before
you ask for it. Make your decision and ‘own
it’…hard as it might be. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Goudy Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Goudy Old Style";">-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";">Family is forever. They will love you and forgive you quicker
than anyone. But they can also hurt you
quicker also. And despite your best
efforts, sometimes you will do the same to them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Goudy Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Goudy Old Style";">-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";">Write notes and send cards to people. I honestly think taking the time to tell
someone via ‘snail mail’ that you care about them is a special thing. When my ex-husband passed away, I received a hand
written card from a stranger referencing a bible verse she thought might help ease
my pain. She lived in Richmond, KY and
heard his obituary on the radio. A
little weird? Maybe. More important than
cards I received from close friends and neighbors? No. But it made me smile at the time. And this stranger has a spot in my special
box because of it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Goudy Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Goudy Old Style";">-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";">Joys weigh more than sorrows. Now that is a hard lesson to remember. It’s easier sometimes to believe the
opposite. It’s almost effortless to just
wallow in sadness and bask in the pity of others. But don’t; it will be worth it, I promise. Learn to refuse pity. Either from yourself or others. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Goudy Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Goudy Old Style";">-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";">Your life may be full of the very
thing someone else fervently prays for; appreciate it. I have been reminded so often of this. Especially when I look around my attic: it is
full of things my children have accumulated over the years. They make me happy. Also drive me crazy sometimes, but it’s a
happy crazy. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Goudy Old Style"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Goudy Old Style"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";">
It is hard to not sound cliché about one’s love for their children, but they
are my soul mates. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Goudy Old Style"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Goudy Old Style";">-<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";">Forgive people. Even when they don’t
ask, forgive them. And also,
yourself…forgive yourself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";"><span style="font-size: large;">Every once in a while, there are
some surprising truths and wonderful things that spring up exactly where you
need them; exactly where you’d put them if life were a script you could
write. And for a fleeting moment…the
world (or at least the tiny little part of the world you can call your own) is
good. Savor those moments. Hold tight to those memories and visit them
often. Stuff them in a box if you must. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<s style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></s></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><s style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style', serif;">Good</span></s><span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style', serif; text-align: center;"> people deserve to be happy, <s>and you are good people.</s></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic";"><br /></span></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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FkGQOc3XCJU/U17g0qU0OPI/AAAAAAAAD6A/7FHx_KUX7z4/s1600/brandy2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FkGQOc3XCJU/U17g0qU0OPI/AAAAAAAAD6A/7FHx_KUX7z4/s1600/brandy2.jpg" height="320" width="272" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My box runneth over. How lucky am I?</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="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m27UTjTDrYg/U17gzxNE41I/AAAAAAAAD5s/-CbS6PXw-A4/s1600/brandy1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-m27UTjTDrYg/U17gzxNE41I/AAAAAAAAD5s/-CbS6PXw-A4/s1600/brandy1.jpg" height="320" width="292" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was serious about that no cleaning up here rule. </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="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z4nly6PCFOI/U17g0OeeYqI/AAAAAAAAD5w/tOgOfNOAybQ/s1600/brandy3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z4nly6PCFOI/U17g0OeeYqI/AAAAAAAAD5w/tOgOfNOAybQ/s1600/brandy3.jpg" height="320" width="288" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have started a new box.:)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<s><span style="font-family: "Goudy Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Traditional Arabic"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype
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Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-19341067502788570552014-04-25T05:38:00.000-05:002014-04-25T05:38:27.858-05:00Lessons from...a (semi)-Reformed Perfectionist<i><span style="color: #93c47d;">By: Guest blogger, Mandy Higgins</span></i><br />
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When I volunteered to write a post for Liza’s lessons
feature, it seemed appropriate to discuss my penchant for perfection and the
lessons I learned in, trying at least, to let it go. But, because I don’t
believe you ever truly get over being a perfectionist, I immediately began to
panic as I wracked my brain for just the right anecdote to make my point, and
how to structure the post to make the most effective statement, and where to
write it, and for how long, and what would happen if I chose the wrong words
and… You see, the pursuit of perfection,
like anxiety, is a rabbit hole of doom. It leads you in all kinds of directions
you didn’t know were even available when you began. Luckily, since I’m semi-reformed and all, I
can pull back the throttle a bit, open the shades, and stories emerge. So,
readers, friends, and fellow Pillow Book admirers, I present to you an anecdote
and a few extra “lessons” on semi-reformed perfection. <br />
<br /></div>
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In
December, on the same day my doctoral degree was conferred, my husband and I
closed on our second (and potentially forever) home in Lexington. It’s a 1950s
rambling ranch with a small yard and a ton of space. We live in a cute,
transitioning neighborhood close to all the things and some of the people we
love in the city. However, we bought our house in the midst of the worst winter
in recent memory. Here’s my first piece of advice: don’t buy a home in the
winter. Just, wait til March. Why, you ask? Well here’s the thing—yes, you’re
likely to get a better deal, BUT, but, you have no idea what your yard looks
like when it’s covered in snow and the trees are dormant, and there’s no
blooming plants. Fast forward to March—winter’s ice and snow began to thaw,
revealing our new yard full of leaves, moss, and ivy. Those trees that were bare
when we bought the place four months ago have begun to bloom and the future
raking is already occupying my mind. You’re probably wondering how all of this
relates to perfection. Very simply, I’ll never have a perfect, manicured,
green, leaf free yard. We could rake every day, meticulously mow, seed, sod,
water, and weed eat, and still, our yard will have leaves. The magnolia that
was the selling point for us—oh, it drops leaves on a regular basis. </div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">And the ivy—dormant in the winter,
but in full force these days, the ivy is proof that my perfectionist tendencies
are under repair. I spent most of Sunday pulling up ivy in a small patch along
the side of our driveway. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">It’s not even
my ivy! Instead, it has burrowed under a fence and taken up refuge from the neighbor’s
yard.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Perfectionist Mandy would have not
even begun the project of removing the ivy. I’ll never get rid of it all, I’d
tell myself, so why even start? It’ll just keep coming back, you’ll never get
it right, so why try? But instead of giving in to my base assumptions, I spent
the afternoon pulling and pruning, cutting and cursing through the ivy. The bed
is mostly free; a few shoots are still visible between the fence posts and the
root system is still intact in a few places, which means in a month or so, I’ll
be back at it—attacking the ivy and my desire for perfection at the same time.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0dxDMTD2wU4/U1o33JB5y4I/AAAAAAAAD5c/16TOlaOUy6M/s1600/mandy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0dxDMTD2wU4/U1o33JB5y4I/AAAAAAAAD5c/16TOlaOUy6M/s1600/mandy.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The ivy is a visible marker of my
semi-reformed status. Some of it remains, but a lot of it is gone (at least
from that particular part of the yard). It’s proof that even when not done
perfectly, effort makes a difference.</span></div>
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A few other lessons for you from my
semi-reformed world:</div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Being a perfectionist stops you from trying new
things. When you’re so focused on doing something perfectly the first time, you
don’t give yourself the opportunity to fail, and so you don’t give yourself the
opportunity to do something different.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Being a perfectionist steals joy. When your life
is dominated by a plan, by the desire to have everything just right, and by the
need to make sure no one sees a mistake or a misstep, it’s almost impossible to
be happy. Things aren’t always perfect. Sometimes the flies get in the punch,
or the words come out of your mouth wrong, or the timing isn’t right.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Perfection is the mask that keeps us from knowing
ourselves and others. We use it to hide our insecurities and to control our
fears. We use it to deny others access to our true, often vulnerable self, and
to rewrite our identity in terms that are comfortable.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></div>
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I haven’t fully let go of my perfectionist tendencies, but
I’ve learned that there is beauty, and love, and magic in imperfection. Life
doesn’t usually unfold on the path and along the plan that us semi-reformed
perfectionists seek, and I’m learning that plans and paths are meant to meand<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>er. Thus, I am
semi-reformed. I still seek perfection
but I am no longer defined by it. I embrace, reluctantly at times, the chance
to fail and I relish in the imperfect ways we all try to get through the day. </div>
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But, the perfectionist in me is always sitting dormant,
waiting for the perfect opportunity to rear its ugly little head—don’t tell her
I’ve got a book proposal, anthology chapter, and conference paper to
write…she’ll be relentless.<br />
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Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-17986407253444458502014-04-18T13:48:00.001-05:002014-04-18T13:48:57.659-05:00Lessons I've learned from my mower...<span style="color: #93c47d;"><i>By: Guest blogger, Terry Staley</i></span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rNZtRH_i5Yg/U1Fx7Isa8iI/AAAAAAAAD4Y/Sc6K70-kmKk/s1600/mower+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rNZtRH_i5Yg/U1Fx7Isa8iI/AAAAAAAAD4Y/Sc6K70-kmKk/s1600/mower+2.jpg" height="345" width="400" /></a></div>
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Spring is here<br />I'm ready to go<br />Let's get this show started<br />I'm ready to mow<br /><br />Bruce tuned up the motor<br />New belts and new blades<br />I'm ready to go<br />Get out of my way<br /><br />Up and down the yard I go<br />Things are going smooth<br />All of a sudden something happens<br />My mower will not move<br /><br />I can't be out of gas<br />That just can't be right<br />I can't be out of gas<br />I filled it up last night<br /><br />Oh yeah, I'm out<br />I've filled it up<br />I'll start again<br />I won't give up<br /><br />I start again and to my surprise<br />
As I am going up and down the rise<br />
Woah Woah is what I said<br />But in the ditch I went instead<br /><br />That is it<br />You sit and pout<br />I'm going in <br />You're staying out<br /><br />After a call<br />Up came my son<br />We pulled the mower out<br />And it's ready to run<br /><br />Just as I was about to be done<br />I started up the bank<br />I was on a run<br />When suddenly...I was done<br /><br />Done, not as in finished <br />Done, not as in through<br />I mean done as in<br />Call in the tow truck crew<br /><br />Upside down My mower lay<br />I get up <br />And I'm OK<br /><br />Another call <br />to my son<br />Another "Mother"<br />What have you done<br /><br />To my rescue<br />My brother came<br />He took my mower<br />Will it ever be the same?<br /><br />Spring is here<br />It came once more<br />My brother, the mechanic<br />Has fixed up my mower<br /><br />I love it<br />It's camo and looking like new<br />And now when I mow<br />I'll be hidden from view<br /><br />So what are the lessons<br />I've learned from my mowing?<br />No matter what happens<br />You have to keep going!<br />
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Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-5355551171201077072014-04-15T18:12:00.000-05:002014-04-15T18:12:43.505-05:00Lessons from an artist...<span style="color: #93c47d;"><i>By: Guest Blogger, Elise Kieffer</i></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--aOZ5Kyzs8U/U02D5Io70yI/AAAAAAAAD38/pXRZUxlQiNE/s1600/2012+ES+Painting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--aOZ5Kyzs8U/U02D5Io70yI/AAAAAAAAD38/pXRZUxlQiNE/s1600/2012+ES+Painting.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
Just writing the title “Lessons from an Artist” makes me
feel pretentious. So let’s agree to this instead: Lessons From THIS Artist. I
am no Guru, but these are my observations based on my own experiences. I am an
Artist so the journey is a meandering one. Follow me!<br />
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<span style="color: #93c47d;"><b><i>Lesson One: Don’t
ever let anyone put you in a box.</i></b> </span></div>
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You are gloriously jagged and flawed and
plump and full and there is no box on this earth that can hold you. If,
perhaps, there is a box that fits you today, tomorrow it will no longer suit.
You will grow slimmer in some areas as you learn to let go and say goodbye
while other pieces of you will expand as you learn and grow. </div>
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More than one box has been offered to me through the years.
Here is one: You are an Artist, therefore flakey, flighty, unintelligent, etc.
“This box does not fit!” Says the Artist with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in
Musical Theatre Performance and a Masters degree in Public Administration and
Nonprofit Management. A dichotomy? Probably. But nonetheless it is me and so I
politely decline that box. </div>
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There are so many examples of boxes that we offer to one
another. Perhaps the greatest victory of my journey was learning that I don’t
have to accept any of them. I am too liberal for this box and too conservative
for that one. I am too intelligent for this one and not nearly clever enough
for that one. Aren’t we all just a little off? Too pretty. Too plain. Too
funny. Too serious. Always too much or not enough.</div>
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You are better than any box that anyone will ever offer you.
Realize that. Own it. Don’t apologize that you don’t fit in. Celebrate it.
(Says the former sorority girl with the Star Trek costume hanging in her
closet). We are all mosaics, stained-glass windows, infinite pieces and parts
that together compose a fantastic creation. Don’t minimize it by squeezing into
some tiny little cube that someone else says should hold you.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EzS0EZVse5w/U02DKGEtuTI/AAAAAAAAD3s/l8am8aHn8G4/s1600/Hard+Knock+Life.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EzS0EZVse5w/U02DKGEtuTI/AAAAAAAAD3s/l8am8aHn8G4/s1600/Hard+Knock+Life.jpg" height="263" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #93c47d;">Lesson Two: Realize
that you might never be content, and be OK with that.</span></i></b></div>
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I
have been perpetually divided against myself. I long for the Theatre and
everything about it. Makeup, costumes, sets, characters, intensity, the
audience, the show. Oh how I love it! And I am a mother. I’m not just a mother.
I am the particular variety of mother who wants to be there for everything! I
want to be the one to put my babies to sleep at nap time and bedtime. I want to
nurse them until they are old enough to ask for it in a full sentence. I want
them to be able to climb into my bed and feel safe. I want to hang their laundry
out to dry on the line because it is one little thing I can do to show I care.
I cannot do that, and also be away at a show every night, rehearsing every day.
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I
had to choose. And I have to choose again and again and again as I continually
ask myself. “What am I doing here again? How did my life become so much less
glamorous than it once was?” I chose. And you know what? When I go back and
make those choices again I end up right here, right now. That means that I have
to make sacrifices for what I truly love. It means that I might have to
continue to lay part of myself aside for the sake of the greater self I choose
to cultivate. Life is made of seasons. In this season I am first and foremost a
mother. When that season ends I will long for it and rue the moments I did not
take the time to cherish. I will ever be longing for something I do not have
and that is OK. That is what makes me the person I am and it is what makes me
always strive for more. I am sure you have made sacrifices too. Accept them.
And if you have to, keep accepting them every day. I have sometimes envied
people who seem content with their lives just as they are but when I really
stop to think about it I recognize how very much I have achieved in my life
because of my discontentment. It is because I want something more or different
that I continue to strive and grow and change. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fYfpFOh2Uzk/U02D4mqt1yI/AAAAAAAAD4A/xPRWF0O2e-Y/s1600/2012+ES+Guitar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fYfpFOh2Uzk/U02D4mqt1yI/AAAAAAAAD4A/xPRWF0O2e-Y/s1600/2012+ES+Guitar.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #93c47d;"><b><i>Lesson Three: Be inspired.</i></b> </span></div>
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You probably expected this one
from an Artist, didn’t you? Life drains us. It robs us of our individuality
through the aforementioned boxes. It steals our dreams through the previously
addressed sacrifices. Don’t let it steal the beauty around you. It is
everywhere! Find what is beautiful to you and embrace it. C.S. Lewis talked of
his first experience with what he called “joy.” It was Nordic mythology. I’m
going to go ahead and tell you, that doesn’t do it for me. But Stephen
Sondheim? Oh yeah. That’ll get me going every time! (If you don’t know who that
is it’s OK. It might not be your inspiration!) <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U9MgAn8bSH0/U02DliH9iLI/AAAAAAAAD30/IO-p_h4yr7M/s1600/Madi+Preschool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U9MgAn8bSH0/U02DliH9iLI/AAAAAAAAD30/IO-p_h4yr7M/s1600/Madi+Preschool.jpg" height="200" width="132" /></a><b><i><span style="color: #93c47d;">Lesson Four: Create SOMETHING! </span></i></b></div>
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I am in no way an artistic
snob. If you find fulfillment scrapbooking, then that is your art. Whether it
is painting, dancing, model trains or even Legos that is your inspiration, your
joy, take it and run with it. Just find time in your life to create something
from nothing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I
have given birth to two amazing children and there is no feeling on earth like
bringing forth new life. All men should envy the power and gift that women
possess to usher tiny human beings into the world. However, I have also
listened as actors brought MY words to life onstage. I have listened as MY
songs were recorded by other Artists. Seeing, or hearing, your creation come to
life, come into the world, is bringing new life, new beauty into the world. It
is motherhood. It is fatherhood. You have a song. You have a story. You have
something inside you that is uniquely yours, and the world needs it. I cannot
sing your song and I cannot tell your story. Without your individual creation
and artistry, the earth is not nearly as interesting. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Being
an “Artist” is not a vocation. It is a way of life. It is an acceptance of
oneself as you are with a continuing desire to evolve. I am liberated. I no
longer feel the desire or need to conceal one part of my soul for the benefit
of the other. I am who I was meant to be. Desires, Talents, Dreams, Passions,
Hopes, and Flaws. I strive to grow, to evolve, to change daily. I am no one
close to the woman I hope to become, but I will embrace who I am. I hope you
will do the same. I am an Artist. Who are you?<o:p></o:p></div>
Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-89953254331180690372014-04-08T06:14:00.000-05:002014-04-08T06:14:44.435-05:00Lessons from Big Blue Nation <b><i><span style="color: #93c47d;">By: Guest blogger, Zach Edwards</span></i></b><br />
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To someone not blessed enough to spend their life here, the Commonwealth of Kentucky doesn't appear to have too much to offer. If you look simply at the statistics (high poverty, low-performing schools, high rates of obesity, etc.), you'd probably be right. Obviously, the whole picture is much broader than that, and without the opportunity to actually experience life in the Bluegrass, you don't realize how great it actually is. Kentucky is a special place for a variety of reasons.<br />
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There's arguably no more beautiful and contrasting landscape in the entire country...Picturesque mountains in the east, low-lying river valleys in the west. While unpredictable at times, the weather here is tolerable and we get to experience four legitimate seasons throughout the year. There are no better thoroughbred horses anywhere on Earth, and we are the only place on the planet where real bourbon is made. When asked where one is from, only those from Lexington and Louisville reply with anything except, "______ County." And despite all the negative stereotypes of Kentuckians thrown around in pop culture, there is a certain sense of pride we take in calling this great state home, rarely found in folks from anywhere else in the country.<br />
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Even if those truly <i>Kentucky </i>examples don't impress an outsider, we can always hang our hat on one undeniable fact: We have the best damn college basketball program on the planet.<br />
Whether or not you're a sports fan, or if you wholeheartedly disagree with my statement above, you'd have to admit there is something special about Kentucky Basketball and its fans. It is a sentiment ingrained from the womb in millions of members of Big Blue Nation that is passed down through the generations. And no matter how good or bad a particular season may end up, that sense of pride never fades.<br />
<br />
During this time of year, virtually the entire country gets swept away with March Madness. And, in Kentucky, when the Cats are rolling, it is essentially a 3-week holiday. Kentucky Basketball fans discuss hoops all year long, no matter what the calendar says. But March is a special time, and the most anticipated time of year for many Kentucky fans. Vacation days and savings accounts are used to follow the team all over the country. The "Blue Mist," a colloquial term attributed to the masses of Kentucky fans taking over entire cities where the Cats play, has been coined. Atlanta, Georgia, the site of the SEC tournament many times, has been referred to as Catlanta for the same reason. When the Kentucky Wildcats are in town, the local economy gets a big boost (see <a href="http://www.sbnation.com/college-basketball/2014/4/2/5565908/kentucky-wildcats-louisville-cardinals-ncaa-tournament-2014" target="_blank">How Big Blue Nation Spends Its Green </a>*<i>disclaimer: includes some salty language</i>).<br />
<br />
John Calipari has, on numerous occasions, quipped "You people are crazy," in reference to Kentucky fans. And he's right on the money. We camp out for a week to get tickets to a practice. We travel all over the country to watch a group of college kids play a game. We talk about the players, dissect every word spoken by the coach, and truly engulf ourselves in trying to fix problems when the team isn't playing well. We are crazy...Crazy about our team, and crazy about basketball.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, "crazy" isn't always a good thing. Many Kentucky fans admittedly take things too far. They harass 18 and 19-year old kids on Facebook and Twitter. They call for the head coach to get fired after every loss (and even some close wins). But after the next victory, they're right back on board. I liken it to a drama-filled love affair between two teenagers. When things are good, there's nothing better in the world. When things are bad, it is utter despair. There will be countless breakups, and reconciliations, but no matter what, they will be together forever. The only difference is that the roller coaster love affair between Kentucky fans and the Wildcats truly is unending.<br />
<br />
The roots of that love affair are deep, and come from a variety of directions...Most of which point back to Adolph Rupp, who coached the Cats from 1930-1972. Rupp led Kentucky to unparalleled success in a time when college basketball was in its infancy. He took his teams to New York City regularly to play at Madison Square Garden, giving his Wildcats national exposure. He won 4 NCAA Championships, took the Cats to 6 Final Fours, coached Team USA to an Olympic gold medal, and did all of it using rosters compiled almost exclusively of players from Kentucky. That early and sustained success, coupled with a lack of professional sports teams in the state, led to a rabid fan base unmatched, with the possible exception of Alabama football, anywhere in the sports world.<br />
<br />
For me, though, Kentucky Basketball has always been more than winning percentages and championships. Sure, those things bring a sense of pride in the world of college hoops, but it is much more than that. Some of my earliest memories include sitting in the living room, watching the Cats play on TV with my dad screaming at the top of his lungs. Or, sitting on the stairs in our garage while he tinkered with something at his work bench, a Kentucky broadcast blaring from the speakers in the corner, and he fluidly telling me about Kyle Macy's free throw routine, or how the loss to Georgetown in the 1984 Final Four still haunts him to this day.<br />
<br />
The first game I remember watching was the famed classic in the regional final against Duke in 1992. I was 7 years old, and I remember Dad mumbling about how he didn't even want to watch, because he knew Duke was going to blow us out. So, we went to eat dinner at Bonanza in Draffenville, only to make it home in time to see the last few minutes of regulation. The game went to overtime, and we watched the conclusion, but I'm sure I don't have to tell you how it ended. I remember laying in the living room floor, watching as the final buzzer sounded, seeing the hurt and disbelief on my dad's face. He slowly stood up from his recliner, and I watched him lumber past me on his way to bed, without speaking a word. I knew, at that exact moment, I was forever hooked.<br />
<br />
I remember the first time I stepped foot in Rupp Arena, and how awesome the place was for a wide-eyed kid who had ridiculous dreams of one day donning the blue and white and running out onto that floor. I remember seeing the joy on my dad's face the first time he got to watch a game live, some 30 years after he first became a fan. He went that long without ever seeing a game in person, and yet his allegiance never wavered. Some people follow Kentucky religiously for a lifetime, and never get the opportunity to see a game other than on a television. And yet, they still refer to the team as "us" or "we."<br />
<br />
But, the most special memory I have of Dad and I in connection with UK basketball came much later, while I was still living in Lexington. I had gotten us tickets for Kentucky vs. Miami (OH) in November of 2009. It was John Calipari's first season as head coach,and future #1 NBA Draft pick, John Wall, was making his collegiate debut. We ate a late dinner at O'Charley's, had our first beer together (yes, it was the first time we had drank a beer <i>together</i>) and made our way to Rupp. The game didn't go so well for a while, as the Cats dug themselves into a 19-point hole. But during the second half comeback (Kentucky ended up winning on a John Wall jumper with 2 seconds to go), I remember looking over at one point after a big play, and seeing my dad screaming and pumping both fists in the air. He was like a kid on Christmas morning opening that one gift he had hoped against hope to receive. At that moment, I realized the game itself didn't really matter...It was the second game of the season. But having that beer at O'Charley's, seeing my dad that happy, and getting to spend time with him did matter. For the first time in my life, I didn't really feel like it was father and son. I felt like it was friend and friend.<br />
<br />
And that is what makes Kentucky Basketball so special to the fans that follow the team with a religious fervor. Of course, winning games and championships is hugely important, but it's the memories with friends and family connected to those games that leave the biggest impression.<br />
<br />
One of the items you'll find on my bucket list is to attend a Final Four. And while that hasn't happened yet (and given the skyrocketing prices of tickets, might not for a very, very long time), I was lucky enough to be able to attend the Midwest Regional Final in Indianapolis two weeks ago. Not only did I get to personally witness one of the greatest games in the history of the NCAA Tournament, culminating in Kentucky's 16th trip to the Final Four, but I got to do it with my wife, Adrienne, and my best friend, DJ. I'm sure when I look back on that day twenty years from now, the excitement of the game and seeing Aaron Harrison's game-winning shot will have faded somewhat. But the memory of me letting out a guttural scream of pure joy, wrapping my arms tightly around two of the most important people in my life, will remain as vividly as if I were still there.<br />
<br />
I can only relate to my own personal experiences, but that doesn't negate the feelings of thousands of other Kentucky fans across the globe. After Kentucky lost to Connecticut in the title game <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_883870092" tabindex="0">Monday</span> night, I was admittedly depressed. It was arguably the best three-week run in the history of college basketball (with the exception of coming up short at the end), and I was more sad to see it end than I was sad about us losing the championship. But, as I sat in my recliner listening to the post-game show on the radio, it helped me understand just how special (and important) Kentucky Basketball is to so many people in Big Blue Nation.<br />
<br />
Towards the end of the show, a caller commented about how he had been going through some tough times in his personal life leading up to the SEC Tournament in Atlanta a few weeks ago. He said the run the Cats made to reach the SEC Final, and the valiant effort they showed against Florida in that game, gave him a glimmer of hope for what they could do in the NCAA Tournament. He went on to say, despite all the bad things going on for him personally, the joy and excitement he experienced as the Wildcats marched to the National Finals helped alleviate the pain he felt in his personal life. And this team gave him a source of happiness, in a time when he didn't have it from anywhere else. And, despite the loss, his life was better because of what this team had been able to accomplish. That's what Kentucky Basketball truly means to millions of fans scatter all over the world.<br />
<br />
Being a Kentucky fan has certainly brought plenty of happiness to my life. The all-time winningest program in history, the most NCAA Tournament appearances and wins, the highest all-time regular season and NCAA Tournament winning percentage, 8 national titles and 16 Final Fours are all evidence to that. But, the real joy (for me) comes in sharing that passion and excitement with loved ones. I hope there comes a day when I'm piddling in my garage, my wide-eyed son sitting on the steps, listening to me ramble on about Cameron Mills' "Shot Heard Across the Bluegrass," or Keith Bogans spraining his ankle against Wisconsin in '03 and what might have been. Maybe I'll tell him about the joy it was to watch the pure dominance of Anthony Davis and Michael Kidd-Gilchrest, or the day I saw the 2014 team advance to the Final Four during their magical NCAA Tournament run. I hope he shares in that passion, and I hope he takes me to a game someday, after sharing a beer at an O'Charley's. I hope he looks back on those days like I look back on them with my dad. And I hope he realizes...Sometimes, it isn't simply just a game.<br />
<br />
Go Big Blue!<br />
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Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-36033269070396218602014-04-02T19:57:00.000-05:002014-04-02T19:57:16.363-05:00Confessions of a Reluctant Grave DiggerI am fortunate to have incredibly talented people in my life, artists who produce beautiful paintings and photographs, jack-of-all-trades who continually impress me with handy(wo)man/problem solving/crafting creativity, and friends far smarter than me who challenge me and simply make my life more interesting. I also happen to know more than my fair share of amazing writers. While all make a living doing something else and all are far too humble to admit their talent, I wanted to take a few weeks to spotlight their literary skills. This month, I have six or seven friends who have agreed to continue the "Lessons in ...." series that I started last month.<br />
<br />
First up is an old Centre College pal who I met in 1998 and have kept in touch with over the years. Although he went to school in Metcalfe County, we didn't meet until college. He was in a band. He drove a green El Camino. He was hilarious. In short, he was far cooler than me. Shaun now lives in Tennessee with his wonderful wife and precious daughter and is a public school teacher. <br />
<span style="color: #93c47d;"><br /></span>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #93c47d;">Confessions of a Reluctant Grave Digger</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<i>by Shaun C. Smith<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<i>in loving memory of Loette Smith</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was sitting in the backseat of my
parents' car with my hand on the door handle. I knew when I opened the door I
would once again be bombarded with the onrush of summerhot Texas air into the
for-the-last-second-cool cabin of the car. We had driven into the dusty grave
yard accompanied by a few other cars bearing assorted family members. I had
been looking forward to Grandma's service for the chance we would all have at
emotional release, but had started to dread it due to the finality it brought
with it. It didn't help that the graveyard was quite a bit older, not one of
those fancy new grave yards they have these days with well-manicured lawns,
flower maintenance/management programs, and markers that have been kept neat
and straight since day one. Many of the markers were care of Modern Woodmen of
the World and gave the grounds the look and feel of a petrified forest (you may
want to look that up if you haven't seen a field full of Modern Woodmen of the
World markers, pretty impressive stuff). Either way, I knew the first thing I
would do after catching my breath from the barrage of hot that would attack my
face and person the moment I exited the vehicle would be to find the pastor or
preacher in charge and follow his lead.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Grandma was from Texas. She
married Grandpa in Louisiana. They moved to the San Francisco Bay Area of
California. Grandpa died out there in the 1980s. He was cremated and his ashes
were scattered on the Bay. Toward the end of her life, Grandma moved to
Kentucky so my Dad could help take care of her. It wasn't too long before she
started having mini-strokes and started falling. It was a fairly quick decline
and rather tragic. I got to tell her good-bye and rub her feet for her one more
time, I hope she heard me and knew it was me. It happened in February or one of
those months before or after. She was cremated.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Grandma loved her father and her
step-mother. In fact, her wishes were to have her ashes interred alongside
them. They are both buried in Eustace, Texas. Good luck finding that on a map,
but I'm sure if you looked hard enough, you would find it eventually. Grandpa,
at one point, ran his own newspaper there and my Dad was born there (at home,
not in the hospital) and eventually, Grandma would return there indefinitely. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
When Grandma passed away, we
knew she was going to be cremated, so there was no rush to have a funeral.
Because her wishes involved interment in a different time zone, and because
ashes don't decompose we decided to wait until we would be headed to Texas for
our family reunion later that summer. Waiting for the family reunion made it
convenient for everyone to be there. Considering the vast majority of mourners
were also on the family reunion invitation list, it just made sense. I took a
lot of comfort in waiting for summer, I also figured it gave my parents enough
time to get the service planned and make all the necessary arrangements over
the phone or by email. One of the things I was most excited about in regards to
waiting for the reunion was the chance to spend some time with my cousin, who
is really more like a sister. I knew I would be able to help comfort her as she
had spent several years living with Grandma and had been incredibly close to
her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
My Mom, Dad, and I left from
Bowling Green, Kentucky late one night in their car, along with a puppy (long
story). We were leaving at night because I had always been able to drive
through the night and figured it would be a great way to give my parents the
chance to sleep in the car and arrive somewhat rested in the morning. Around
about Jackson, Tennessee, I learned that a lot had changed in the past few
years and night driving was no longer my friend. My Dad couldn't sleep because
he wanted to make sure I was awake. When I realized that I had some
"staying awake" concerns, he took over for me so I could sleep. I
soon realized that I couldn't sleep because I wanted to stay awake to make sure
my Dad could stay awake. It was a Catch 22 of sorts. I suppose the smart move
would have been to get a hotel room, sleep, and then wake up early, but we had
places to be in the morning. So, the rest of the night went on in endless,
startled awakeness with all of the bleary eyed terror that accompanies one of
those through-the-night-but-no-one-really-wants-to-be-awake-and-in-a-car rides.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Upon our arrival, we became
nomads in search of place to rest. We sought refuge first at our hotel, booked
for the night, but were laughed at for our request for an early check in (at
7:00 am). We headed to my Dad's cousin's house. She said we could let ourselves
in, but she was going to a doctor's appointment. It was another lengthy drive
on top of the incredible sojourn we had just completed, but we had a breakfast
in us and the sun was out. We made it, found our way in, and instinctively
found the softest surfaces we could find, faceplanted and passed out. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Upon awakening, the reuniting
began as my Uncle and his family had also arrived. As he was my Dad's only
brother, this was an "immediate" family reunion of sorts. From that
point forward, the service was the farthest thing from the forefront of my
mind. We eventually made it back to the hotel and got in our rooms. Some of us
went to sleep; some of us went out to eat. The next morning found us all fairly
well rested and happy to be together as a family. We ate breakfast before we
left to go the "not-so-immediate" family reunion.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was hot; we reunited. At a
certain point in the day, those that wished to pay their respects to Grandma
started doing that thing where you have to do something and you don't really
want to do it, but you know you have to do it, so you look at someone who must
also do that thing you know you have to do, but don't really want to do and
make that face that says, "I don't really want to do this, but I know I
have to do it," and then actually physically speak the word,
"well," which is understood by the second person as a sign that we
now must collectively gather the others who have to go do the thing they don't
really want to do, but have to do and then tell them that the time has arrived
for doing the thing that we all have to do, but we don't really want to go do.
Of course, not to say that nobody wanted to do it, it was just a somber
occasion. Sure, if we'd all had our druthers, Grandma would have been at the
reunion with us. The fact of the matter was that she wasn't with us and we had
to get to the service.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
So we drove out there. It took
about an hour to get there and I remember at some point, my Dad said,
"This is Eustace." I looked up and saw a wide spot in the road with a
police station on the left and a cemetery on the right. We turned right and
pulled into the cemetery. I remember being somewhat surprised that no one was
there to meet us. I made it a point to look immediately for the person in
charge of the service when I got out of my parents' car. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
People were getting out of their
cars and I figured I needed to join them. My Dad made his way to the trunk as I
got adjusted to the blast furnace heat. I hoped for a nice breeze, but I hadn't
felt one since we'd crossed the border the day before. My Dad called me over to
the trunk and handed me something. It was a shovel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"What's
this for?" I asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"To dig
the hole."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"What
hole?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"The
hole for the ashes."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Where
are the ashes?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Here,"
he handed me a box.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I suddenly
understood the definition of "aghast". All this time, we'd been
driving state to state, through the night, reuniting with family, cousin’s
house sleeping, bed crashing, breakfast eating, and puppy delivering (again,
long story) all with the intent of holding a service for Grandma and all the
while, her ashes (and the shovel that would dig the hole in which to place
them) had been riding along with us in the trunk. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Dad,"
I asked, aghast, "who's going to dig the hole?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"You
are," he answered matter of factly, as if I had stopped paying attention
during that part of the conversation we had never had in which we discussed the
plans for the service.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Who's
going to do the service?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"We are,"
he answered matter of factly, as if I had stopped paying attention during that
part of the conversation we (again) had never had in which we discussed the
plans for the service.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Dad,
there's a police station right across the street! I think this is illegal!"
I countered, once again, aghast.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Well,
we'll just form a wall between you and the police station. The hole doesn't
have to be that big, you know." He did have a point there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
And so, as
my immediate and not-so-immediate family formed a wall between me, my shovel,
and my Grandma's ashes, some Bible verses were read, some prayers were prayed,
some tears were shed, and then, I dug a small hole between the graves of my
Great-Grandfather and Step-Great-Grandmother. When I was done, it was time to
lay Grandma to rest. As I turned the bag of ashes over to return ash to dust, I
got my breeze. Of course, my back was to my family, so no one noticed. My
cousin brought me the small marker that had been made so I could put it into
place. "What's on your shirt?" she asked through what had just been
heavy tears.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
"Grandma."
I answered, with what should have been a stronger variation of aghastness. But
oddly, I was no longer aghast. I was actually comforted by what I had just done
and although I was a bit unsure of what to do with Grandma's ashes that covered
the front of my shirt, my cousin and I leaned down and placed the marker over
the ashes that had made it into the ground. When we stood back up, my cousin
helped my brush off the front of my shirt. The not so immediate family slowly
took off and the immediates stayed back to say good bye to each other and
eventually, we left to drive back to Kentucky.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I realized on the ride home,
that I had been very fortunate to have the experience I had just had. Not many
people get to literally bury someone they love these days with a day's worth of
labor or heavy machinery. It was fast and simple, but a very tangible act of
love that left me with a different view of death. Death is not just an end, but
also an opportunity to quantify your feelings for someone. These days, people
show their love in a time of death by pouring money into things that will be seen
for hours at best, then buried forever. What an incredible honor it was to bury
my Grandmother, by hand, in front of my family. The experience, although it
caught me off guard, has been one of the most enlightening and spiritual I have
ever had. It was an incredible chance to do just one more act of love for her. I
can only hope that when my time comes, I'm surrounded by family and friends
that would be willing to drive 700 or so
miles only to form a human barricade between a graveyard and a police station
just so they can lay me to rest. Of course, I hope that isn't necessary for a
very long time.</div>
Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-75165384599730166902014-03-12T21:20:00.000-05:002014-03-13T11:12:51.051-05:00Lessons in death...A few mornings ago, I read <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/noah-michelson/5-things-i-learned-from-helping-my-dad-die_b_4936843.html?utm_hp_ref=email_share" target="_blank">this article</a> on <i>Huffington Post,</i> "5 Things I Learned From Helping My Dad Die." Despite literally watching my own dad die, despite the vivid memories I have of how his last breath sounded, I read the essay in its entirety without crying. And I just wrote this post without crying. While those acknowledgments give a partial answer to the prompt itself, I think a more complete answer is important...not because my understanding of the death process reflects some profound and instructive emotional journey, but because it pays tribute to the person my dad was, the person my mom is, and the person I have a better chance of becoming because I am their child. Just as Mom always let Dad live the way he wanted (and he, her), she helped him die that same way: with quiet dignity, with confidence of self, with humor, and with acknowledgment that sometimes life just "is what it is."<br />
***<br />
For those who don't know, my dad died of colon cancer in 2010, some ten years or so after initial diagnosis. For those who have read this blog much at all, you know that he was my hero. I can look at pictures today or think of some funny quip he offered and immediately break down in tears. I remain heartbroken. I miss him literally everyday. And, I will unabashedly tell you that those things that many find comforting like "he's in a better place," or "things happen for a reason" just make me angry. Sure, we can always look back at something bad and find some encrypted lesson to make ourselves feel better. I certainly don't assume that to mean, however, that there is some great cosmic order. Horrible things happen to wonderful people. No higher being I could respect would destine that. <i>And I say that only to preface the seemingly and potentially contradictory points that follow. </i>Just because I learned valuable things between 2000 and 2010 does not mean that I am grateful for the experience. That's ridiculous. I would trade anything I know/own/have done to have my dad back.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, for the reason mentioned in the opening paragraph, here are five things I learned from helping and/or watching my dad die:<br />
<br />
-We should all be clear as to how our funeral and burial should go. Dad talked to the preachers he wanted to preside over the service and explained how he didn't want a sermon. Mom knew what kind of music he wanted. He was buried in his Wranglers and button-down shirt by his barn. Avoiding these conversations will not delay death. Be realistic and plan a service that honors the person you/they actually were. Sure, everyone hopes that funerals provide some comfort to the family, but it seems more important that they celebrate the things the person loved. After the deaths in my life from 2008-present, I started and have revised a "Funeral Requests" document that outlines how things should go for me. Lord knows there better be some Avett Brothers playing rather than gospel hymns.<br />
<br />
-There is no shame in letting your loved ones help you. It doesn't matter if that entails cutting your toenails while you're in a hospital bed, or spending the night on the couch beside you so they can wake up and get you homemade soup in the middle of the night and then jump to grab the mug when you nod off, or being a nurse that handles any issue without flinching or disgust, or sleeping in waiting room chairs while you're in the ICU or the fold-out oversized chairs, night after night, when you get moved to a room or canceling or changing plans because it is obvious you don't feel good even though you were willing to go. Your loved ones want to do these things. Let them.<br />
<br />
-There are things worse than death. Drawn-out suffering is good for no one and sometimes there is a peace that comes when someone dies. Dad pulled through more surgeries, treatments, and procedures than even the strongest man should have been able to do. And even when it first became clear that he was in fact near death, he held strong for several weeks after the first night we were all called to the hospital. It was time, though, when it did happen in the middle of that particular night. Acknowledging this does not make anyone a bad person.<br />
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-Illness and impending death do not justify selfishness or pity parties. Dad was in the Cumberland County Hospital for the last two months of his life. Every day when I would walk in, he would ask me about my day. He acknowledged a life well-lived, a life in which he had always done "the best he could." He smiled when visitors stopped by and often said something witty or endearing. I love remembering his sly grin, appreciative and surprised eyes and the sound of his voice when he said, "well, there's Miss Chicago," upon seeing Caroline walk into the hospital room. He didn't get frustrated when we all got tickled at something ridiculous. He was nice to the doctors, nurses, technicians, and interns. He repeatedly said "thank you" to mom, the hospital staff, and anyone who came by to talk. Neither reveling in "why me?s" nor making other people feel sad/guilty/awkward has ever cured anyone.<br />
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-People of dignity, die with dignity.<br />
***<br />
I have written about my Dad a lot, but in all honesty, I don't know how much I have ever said about his actual death. If I have failed to do so in previous posts, I want to thank the staff at the Cumberland County Hospital from the bottom of my heart for the respect they showed my entire family throughout the last few weeks of Dad's life. Sometimes kindness, expressed in funny stories from former Ag students, the providing of extra pillows for the wife who spent every night in the hospital room, in turning a blind eye when a beloved dog was not-so-sneakily brought in for a visit, is far more valuable than the most advanced medical technology. Thank you for giving him, and the rest of us, far greater quality of life than any family in the throes of death would ever expect. Thank you to all who came to visit and to all who continue to tell "CLT" stories when they see me. Thank you to my mother and my grandmother for being examples of strength and unselfishness; you never used cancer as an excuse or sympathy ploy; you worked in cahoots with Dad when he wanted to lie by omission to shield others from pain or worry; you didn't tiptoe around him just because he had an incurable disease; you accepted early on that things would be hard, but that you would deal with them as they came; you gave him physical support, mental focus, and emotional strength when he reached those very few moments of weakness. Thank you to my Dad for living and dying so nobly.<br />
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<br />Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-80160389172522945832014-03-10T08:14:00.000-05:002014-03-13T06:27:38.590-05:00Lessons from the circulation desk...Until I started working at the library, I had no idea what a huge variety of people live in Cumberland County. That isn't to suggest, of course, that I had ever espoused the redneck generalizations and stereotypes of small, southern towns; I knew we weren't a bunch of uneducated hicks who all drove big trucks and had field parties well into our 30s and 40s. Those people exist primarily, if not only, in Luke Bryan songs. Do we have dumb people? And racists? And homophobes? And moochers? And jackasses? Well, sure. ... just like every other small town and big city in America.<br />
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On the other hand, we also have some of the most genuine, hard-working, and kind people I will ever know. If I were going to run out of gas, I'd want it to be in Cumberland County. If I needed help moving furniture, or assistance at the barn, or advice on some random piddle project of choice, I could turn to any number of neighbors and friends. In my moments of arrogant exhaustion, I regain perspective by looking around at all those people who are getting up earlier than me/working longer and harder/coming home later. If I want to see goodness personified, I only have to drive three minutes and spend less than that with my grandmother.<br />
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Obviously, this is not some profound conclusion. Just as some seem inclined to promote the barefoot and pregnant nonsense, an equal, if not greater, number consistently play-up the "aww, shucks" nature of small-town life. Laced with oft-unintentional condescension, descriptions of the compassion, pride, and revered naivete of areas like Cumberland County sometimes seem like back-handed compliments in a "bless their hearts" sort of way. Intelligence is neither assumed, nor acknowledged. Political awareness is overlooked. Reading, music, and art affinities get lost in discussions of smiles, waves, and general hospitality.<br />
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My point is simply that in addition to all the things I mentioned in the second paragraph, Cumberland County is also home to some of the most multifaceted, interesting, and intelligent people I know. And working at the public library reminds me of this nearly every day. For every one rude person who comes in trying to scam us in an attempt to check out movies under an alias, there are four who give me book suggestions or talk about something they saw on the news or invite me to a play or ballgame or fundraiser in which their child is participating. Local authors come in and do book signings. A huge variety of people stop by to pick up farmers market applications. PhDs, retired doctors, renowned artists, decorated military servicemen/women, teachers, skilled craftsmen/women, jack-of-all-trades pseudo engineers and farmers with more knowledge than nearly every professor I've ever had, and successful business owners frequent the library just as much as those to whom many assume the public library caters: the unemployed, the poor, the shiftless, the outcast, the loner.<br />
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We also have people who take ten years to reach the crux of their argument. Sorry. ...<br />
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I say all of this to highlight one particular comment from one particular patron on one particular Saturday morning. She said something I found so profound that it has stuck with me for 15 days and literally been on my mind every one of those. Offering a review of Elizabeth Gilbert's <i>The Signature of All Things</i>, a book <br />
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Now, as I said, I've read that book. And I consider myself a fairly analytical and introspective person...BUT, I would have NEVER come up with something so articulate and eloquent. I would have been incapable of reducing a 500-page novel to something so accurately poignant. I'm not sure I have ever had an original thought so replete with tragic depth and truth. And, I think it important to note that as much as I initially was, and have remained, impressed by her conclusion, I have been equally haunted by it for two weeks now. I have looked at her words, the quote I quickly scribbled down on the little yellow post-it notes we keep by the circulation desk and have kept it affixed to the cover of Gilbert's book that I'm currently reading, <i>Committed: A skeptic makes peace with marriage</i>. But these are glances, despite their frequency, unsustainable by choice. To linger would be to question. Focus would breed regret. Simply put, if I took the time to really think about this statement, to consider the times I have betrayed my gut, my heart, my mind, it would be painful. Trying to rationalize those times to myself or to anyone else will be emotionally and descriptively difficult. I know I have been there though. I know she is right to call it the most monumental of tasks. <br />
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I don't feel ready this morning to go into any details. As I've said since I started this blog around four years ago, when I write stuff down, I'm more inclined to do it. I just thought putting it out there would be impetus for me to take the time to really evaluate choices that I would rather hide in the confines of a mind purposely overflowing with projects, recipes, and chores. <br />
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<i>Plus, it gave me a chance to brag on my patrons and the area that I do so love.</i><br />
Thank you for keeping me inspired. Thank you for encouraging me to think. Thank you for being so much more than Luke Bryan songs suggest, Cumberland County.<br />
***<br />
I haven't posted much this winter, so I thought I would share a few of my favorite moments from the past few months...<br />
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<br />Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-48471305549760535692014-02-26T20:14:00.001-06:002014-02-26T20:14:51.314-06:00A few redeeming February moments...<i><b>Things I have loved this particular February...</b></i><br />
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Jimmy Fallon takes over <i>The</i> <em>Tonight Show. </em>Paul Rudd joins him for a lip sync battle. If you don't like this, quit reading my blog.<br />
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This literally entertained me for about an hour one morning. It made me want to go buy some goats and a sheet of flexible steel ribbon.<br />
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This reminded me how happy I am that I chose Centre. If I have kids, I hope, beyond measure, they take the same path and ultimately find themselves in classes such as these. ... <em>Or</em> spend three weeks in Kingston, Jamaica studying at the University of the West Indies, eating lobster prepared by Bamboo Bobby on his makeshift beach grill, and drinking more Red Stripes in a 21 day period than they will the rest of their lives. ... <em>Or</em> snickering with their roommate and best friend who has also decided to wear a belly chain in the middle of January to their "Alcohol & Society" lecture. Purely hypothetical...their momma was far too classy to do stuff like that. <br />
***<br />
<b><i>Something I love about every February...</i></b><br />
I honestly don't care one way or the other about my own birthday, but I really enjoy celebrating those of the people I care about. And while each family member below is certainly worthy of his/her own post AND the potentially "cold" format of a social media site might suggest insincerity, my affection and respect for each of those spotlighted could not possibly be more genuine. Thank you, February, for producing such people of substance.<br />
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<i>February 27</i> - The best person I have ever known. I mean that. <br />
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<i>February 24</i> - The best former student I could have ever picked to set up with my sister. </div>
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<i>February 18</i> - The best friend I will ever have. </div>
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<i>February 15</i> - One of the best fathers I will ever know.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>February 14</i> - The best (and only) protector I'll ever need. </div>
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***</div>
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<span style="color: #93c47d;">"But February is an acquired taste. February used to be the month I paid the least attention to, except as inspiration to plan a long road trip as far away as possible. Now that I've acquired the habit of staying put, February is the month that keeps me closest to home, feasting on the memories of travel and news of my neighbors."</span> - Vivian Swift, <i>When Wanderers Cease to Roam</i> </div>
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I'm grateful for the cinnamon toast and coffee I like to have in the mornings in front of the fireplace. I'm grateful to know the people whose birthdays I celebrate. I'm grateful for memories of Jamaica and belly chains. I'm grateful for books that keep me occupied on snow days. I'm grateful that February is growing on me, too. </div>
Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-73740297993994345242014-01-21T20:36:00.000-06:002014-01-21T21:01:20.141-06:00Loving Blind<div>
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<span id="goog_1328319248"></span><span id="goog_1328319249">Every year I write a poem for our Christmas Eve get-together at Mom's. Typically composed of bad puns and play-on-words that could at best be described as "a bit of a stretch," these holiday-themed ditties rely on questionable rhyming schemes and an ever-present pool of Turner mishaps. This year, however, I did a little something different. Remembering all the old tapes I found in Dad's barn office over the summer, I decided to make a compilation CD with songs from each of the tapes. While the wonderful Terry Murphy took my handwritten playlist and magically turned it into a finished product (I still don't download music), I worked on an accompanying poem that served as this year's Christmas Eve reading.</span><br />
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The fact that I find most modern country lyrics to be about as kitschy as my holiday poems...and thus had an avenue of critiquing things like "country girl, shake it for me," was just an added bonus.<br />
***</div>
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<b><i><span style="color: #93c47d;">Luke Bryan is ridiculous.</span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Many clichés find home in the lyrics of country songs...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">a plethora of American flags, rusted tailgates, and tragic "loves gone wrong;"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">throw in some beer, maybe a football game or two and radio success is sure to follow,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">with windows rolled down, drivers passionately mimic phrases that seem unfailingly hollow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And, you know, maybe songs from our past were much the same,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">simplified versions of small towns, chock full of double names.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Being part and parcel of our memories, however, they inevitably rank higher,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">gaining significance as we subconsciously elevate them out of a lyrical quagmire.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Songs like <em>Loving Blind</em> and <em>Forever And Ever</em> are permanently etched in my mind,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">perhaps a testament to an authenticity often lacking in the contemporary kind;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">or maybe it's that I see my dad in the words of Willie Nelson, Garth Brooks, and Lyle Lovett,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">in songs that embody cross country road trips nearly any daughter would covet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I see him as the stoic cowboy in a Chris LeDoux song;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the <em>Simple Man</em> Ricky Van Shelton insists others got wrong;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the devoted father who taught his girls to <em>Keep it Between the Lines</em>,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the man with an unintentional legacy who will be <em>Always on my Mind;</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the concert-goer and chauffeur at the Kentucky State Fair</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">(a night spent with George Strait and the five pre-teen girls in his care);</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the young man with a touch of outlaw in a Johnny Cash or Merle Haggard sort of way;</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the jack-of-all-trades dreamer who Kenny Rogers would've played.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And so on this Christmas night I celebrate not the choral hymns of the holiday season,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">but the <em>Guitars, Cadillacs, and Hillbilly Music</em> that defy religion reason.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I celebrate the man I'd give <em>All the Gold in California</em> to have back,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the father I miss everyday...and to whom my adoration never lacks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And thus, part of your presents are a collection of old country songs,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">taken from the tape case of a man who never met a story too long.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">He was the cowboy and farmer and occasional ruffian they all tried to portray,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">and so take this CD - and a little bit of him - as you go on your merry way.</span><br />
***<br />
All the songs italicized and all the artists mentioned in the poem are on the playlist. Here is my favorite...</div>
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Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-71567055274358822612014-01-15T21:03:00.001-06:002014-01-16T04:19:00.698-06:00This I (don't) believe in...In the last post, I closed with Silas House's essay, "The Knowing," written for the recently released anthology, <em>This I Believe: Kentucky</em>, a collection published by an organization of the same name. As described on the company website linked <a href="http://thisibelieve.org/" target="_blank">here</a>, "This I Believe is an international organization engaging people in writing and sharing essays describing the core values that guide their daily lives. Over 100,000 of these essays, written by people from all walks of life, are archived here on our website, heard on public radio, chronicled through our books, and featured in weekly podcasts. The project is based on the popular 1950s radio series of the same name hosted by Edward R. Murrow."<br />
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I included it in the last post, one dedicated to animal-themed projects, because I love Silas House and I love my dogs. I appreciate that of all the noble concepts he could have so eloquently explored - some element of faith or friendship or tradition or love - he chose a theme seemingly mundane. While many of us consider our pets "family" and understand the reciprocal devotion nurtured in these relationships, if given the opportunity to tell the literary world about our "core values that guide [our] daily lives," I doubt many of us would go with "dogs make us better people." No, we'd probably try to tug heartstrings with moving soliloquies about things that seem more "literary worldish." We'd use a bunch of adjectives. We'd employ emotional catharsis to relay passion. We'd likely make the stoics and skeptics among us gag. <br />
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And I offer that last little pleasant prediction because I myself have felt it. Sometimes when I hear people talk about their certainties and beliefs, I secretly scoff. And while aware of my figurative eye rolls, I have never really thought too much about the motivating rationale until the past few days. So, while I included the House essay because of a very literal and obvious connection to the last post's dog theme, it has (somewhat frustratingly) sparked a much different philosophical conversation in my head. I have been forced to consider, "What do I believe or believe in?"<br />
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The answer I've come up with: very little. <br />
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And I want to say up front that I don't think what follows puts me on some intellectual or analytical pedestal. While doubt is sometimes a product of open-mindedness, science, or research, it can also be a sign of weakness, selfishness, or lack of resolve. In fact, I associate some of my own skepticism with these obviously less noble motivations. I certainly wish I could, in good conscience, espouse lofty (yet entirely authentic) faith in more than I do. When it comes down to it, however, I take neither pride in, nor feel guilty about, my conclusions on the four basic categories below (categories that seem to be the "go-to"s when discussing belief/faith). It simply is what it is.<br />
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<em>In religion...</em><br />
I pray, but to whom or what, I don't know. I don't believe that things happen for a reason and I take very little comfort in notions of "divine paths" or "destiny." I would never suggest that I have an understanding of heaven or hell or that I know who might end up in either. I know kind people who are atheists and kind people who are devout Christians; I don't think either kindness trumps the other. I don't have any real sense of what faith means to me. <br />
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<em>In others...</em><br />
I have complete trust in only two people. I know what to expect from them. I think they have a strong grasp of their own core values and feel fairly confident that if I were to ask them questions today, I would get the same answers I would get if I ask them those same questions in ten years. I feel like they know, and appreciate, the me that I like. This isn't to suggest that I don't respect, or even love, other people in my life; I simply don't find a sense of comfort and stability in those relationships.<br />
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<em>In myself...</em><br />
I can come across as confident...and sometimes I <em>actually</em> feel that way. Speaking my mind about things that matter to me is not a problem. I consider myself a moral person with good intentions. Nevertheless, my issues with stability in others are the same issues I have with myself. I worry I don't have the resolve to stick with/to things for the "long haul;" I'm always dreaming of other possibilities or pondering what I could - or should - be doing. I have little confidence that the things I want now will be the same things I'll want in 5, 10 or 20 years. I crave a sense of settledness, and yet fight against it with everything I have. <br />
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<em>In love...</em><br />
While some people do affect us in profound ways, often both indescribable and unexpected, I don't really believe in soul mates. I think we can love a variety of people in completely different ways and occasionally at overlapping times. I don't think "love is enough" or that "love conquers all." I think sometimes those who would be best for each other can't be together because of circumstances beyond their control. I don't think things necessarily "work out in the end." I think we can miss and regret and mourn someone for an infinite amount of time. Does love exist? Of course. And do some people have what most would classify as "true love"? Sure. Will we all have it? No.<br />
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<em><span style="color: #93c47d;">What I do believe in...</span></em><br />
*Dogs DO make us better people. Whatever my understanding of faith is, I have more of it in my animals than I do in anything else in my life. I know Charley will scratch my nose when I try to put the leash on her in the morning because she's so excited to go out. I know Lucy and Willie would protect me at all costs. I know Lightning is not going to kick me when I'm cleaning the stall while he eats breakfast. I know which blanket DC likes to use as a bed and which of my shoulders Wendell prefers to sit on while he loudly gives himself a bath. I know they all make my life better. I know they make me less selfish. I know they know I love them.<br />
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*the Avett Brothers. This sounds dumb considering I doubt my faith in a higher power, in others, and myself. I don't care; it's the truth. I see my life in their songs. I feel more alive when I'm at their concerts than I do at just about any other time. They inspire me to be more honest because they make me think about how I really feel. <br />
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*the influence of books/art/synchronized dance and the power of collective joy.<br />
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*the legacy of my father and my desire to lead a life that he would be proud of.<br />
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*the possibility that one day I'll have faith in more. <br />
***<br />
I also believe that sometimes we have to fake it...for our own sanity, so as to not put others in weird positions, to keep or regain perspective, and/or because wallowing never fixed anything. I saw this on a friend's Facebook or Pinterest page a couple of weeks ago and although neither an uncommon nor particularly witty cliché, it was a affecting slap in the face when I needed it most. <br />
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I had been sad and sad for a while. I had not worn much makeup because I figured I would just cry and mess it up at some point in the day. I just didn't care what others thought or saw. I was stuck in my own frustrations.</div>
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The best thing I did for myself: I got up one morning and put on mascara. </div>
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Not allowing yourself to fall apart...<em>this I believe in</em>. </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/FMNw7M-eUdU" width="560"></iframe><br />Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-24276040519008293052014-01-12T20:05:00.002-06:002014-01-12T20:52:11.067-06:00"Dogs make us better people. That's what I believe." - Silas House<div>
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Unlike Terry Staley, who resolved to be nicer and drink fewer Diet Cokes (pledges that lasted almost two days), I didn't even pretend to set new year's goals for 2014. I would rather drink nothing but water for the rest of my life than run another marathon; securing a certain amount in a savings account by the end of the year makes my 15 cats and 3 dogs laugh; since I have blueberry bagels with my coffee every morning and frozen cool whip topped with cookies, cake, or candy every night, losing weight seems unlikely. I guess, generally speaking, I just want to be more creative, work harder, and think of others more. </div>
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A few pet-themed suggestions on the creativity front...</div>
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1. Poetry can invoke eye rolls. Poetry can be intimidating. Poetry can be really damn hard to write. Nevertheless, poetry can also be fun. Have someone give you an opening line, then you add one, then back to the other person, etc. Tag team your next poem. Lee and I did this one last fall.</div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">To love a dog is to be parent of a child who never learns to speak, each need assumed from squeals and small dances deciphered,</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">dances that to the untrained eye seem gibberish in motion, but as subtle as Vegas neon to the doting maker of homemade dog treats.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">To love a cat you must first admit you are its pet, and always ready when they are accepting affection;</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">for you see, even the most adoring of felines is prone to play the cowboy that rides away, not the corseted woman with an unfortunate namesake.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">For them to love each other is more common than cartoons would have us believe, though Garfield and Odie are pretty spot on.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Whether it is the cat's instinctual inclination toward indifference or the pup's incessant hunt for new playmates makes no difference;</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">as long as they rally around the same bipedal, they are family, and may tease one another to reinforce that fact,</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">"tease" occasionally evidenced in a good ol' paw swipe to the nose or WWF take-down in the grass, neither performed in malice or spandex.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">A bit of stolen kibble or an overzealous tongue bath may be the first shot in these short-lived feuds,</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">feuds ended by an inevitable truce born and bred of sibling love and a shared giant pillow.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">They never grow up, always quick to tap into that inner kitten or pup, and deserve more years than nature gifts them;</span></div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">for in a fair world, those most inclined to forgive and equally unlikely to disappoint, would be memoralizing us in poem instead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span> </div>
<span style="font-size: small;">2. Vow to actually make some of the things on your Pinterest boards before you pin anything else. </span><br />
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<a href="http://decorating-by-day.com/2013/01/08/leash-and-treat-holder/" target="_blank">Leash and Treat Holder</a></div>
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Very professional and well-written instructions: Cut board however long you want it (mine were about 12"). Paint paw print wherever you think it looks good. Buy coat hanger/leash hanger and edged wall mount at Brown's Supply and screw in. While at Brown's, also get that metal ring thing that I think has something to do with a radiator. Get tiny screws and attach unknown metal ring to board by bending the slats a bit with a flathead screwdriver and screwing in. Tighten the ring so that it snugly holds a mason jar. Fill with dog treats. Hang on wall by dog entry/exit. </div>
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3. Read everyday, even if it's just an essay....like say, <a href="http://thisibelieve.org/essay/145884/" target="_blank">this one</a> (includes audio...you're going to love his voice), from my one day husband, Silas House. </div>
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<span style="color: #b6d7a8;">"The Knowing" as featured in the <em>This I Believe</em> anthology</span><br />
(This really does make me think of Waffle, Lucy, Willie, and Charley).<br />
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"I believe that if more people were like dogs, we’d all be a whole lot happier.<br />
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My dogs make me a better person just by being themselves. They don’t care about what color I am, or whom I love, or my religion, or any of the other ridiculous things that separate us as people. They only care that I am kind to them and others. That’s what should matter.<br />
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My dogs also know that giving and receiving affection are the most important things in life. Yes, eating is right up there, too. But I believe that if my dogs had to choose between lying still in a patch of sunshine while I sat beside them on the grass giving their bellies a good rub or devouring a meal of the same dog food they get every single day of their lives . . . well, I truly believe they’d choose the loving, despite their genuine devotion to gobbling down their kibble as if they might never have another morsel of food offered to them in their whole lives.<br />
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When they offer themselves up to receive adulation, they cause me to become still, to remember that most things actually can wait a few more minutes to get done because this moment right here, this moment of sitting beneath the trees with their swaying limbs, the sun warm on my face, the scent of the creek down in the woods, the birdcall in the deepest parts of those woods, and the holy world (all of it holy, every single bit of it) shimmering all about me, this moment is what life is about.<br />
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Having a dog—or any pet—makes us better people. They force us to slow down (each time I return home I have to spend a few minutes patting the belly of our outside dog, Rufus, because he’ll lie down on the driveway on his back, right in my way as I’m rushing to the door; I can’t refuse that and I often fold myself down onto the ground with grocery bags standing all around us to give him some loving), to pay more attention, to be kinder (especially to Pepper, who came from an abusive household before ours, and carries all of that grief in his eyes, in his damaged back, in his wariness), to give and receive affection, to be patient (especially on days when Holly Marie just doesn’t really feel like going to the bathroom anytime quick), to love and love and love.<br />
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Writers aren’t supposed to throw that word around much. We’re supposed to be stingy with putting that on the page. But it is necessary when talking about dogs because that’s what they embody. They remind us, time and time again, of the most important thing. Such a shame that we actually forget that. But we do.<br />
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I know that some people think it’s a sin to think an animal has a soul, but I do. I don’t care what anyone says or thinks. Because if anything in this world is close to God, it’s a dog. I believe a great amount of being in touch with God is required to hear the thunder from way off, or to feel the trembling of a train miles away, or to know when someone they care about needs them, and offer comfort no matter what, and not have one tiny bit of judgment in their whole beings. I believe a sort of holiness is required to remind us that everything in this world deserves affection. Dogs know these things. They know and know and know.<br />
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Dogs make us better people. That’s what I believe."</div>
Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-86442554843808839672013-12-03T20:11:00.002-06:002013-12-03T22:22:28.017-06:00"Fishin' in the Dark" would be my second choice. In the last post, I mentioned <a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/brianna-wiest/2013/11/18-things-everyone-should-start-making-time-for-again/" target="_blank">this article</a>, "18 Things Everyone Should Start Making Time For Again." I don't know why "18" was picked. I somewhat question the use of "Again" in the title; I'm not sure a few of the list-toppers have ever been commonplace. Several make me feel guilty because I know I should be doing them, but aren't (ex. "making phone calls to relatives" and "answering things in a timely fashion"). Nevertheless, I'm so glad Zach posted this on my Facebook page. I love that even today, some three weeks or so after I read it, I can still name most that are on the list. I love that the author mentioned "getting dressed up for no reason" and "cooking a nice meal for the sake of doing so." I love that it inspired me to come up with my own list...<br />
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<span style="color: #93c47d;"><em><strong>25 Things Everyone Should Start Making Time For...in my humble opinion:</strong></em></span><br />
1. Watch your favorite movies. <br />
In the past two weeks, I've enjoyed <em>Love Actually</em>, <em>When Harry Met Sally</em>, and <em>The Great Debaters</em>. <br />
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2. Ask your grandparents questions.<br />
Don't go for open-ended questions like "What's one of your favorite memories from childhood?" No one likes that kind of on-the-spot question. Stay simple: What was one of your favorite toys growing up? What was Dad's favorite food when he was little? What was your first job? <br />
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3. Make to-do lists. Keep them handy.<br />
The time it takes to sit down and write out your list will be much less than the time you spend looking befuddled in a parking lot and wondering why you just drove to the Dollar Store.<br />
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4. Do pranks on co-workers. <br />
Don't waste a lot of time doing it, but do it nevertheless. Why? Because it's fun. <br />
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5. Tell people you like an accessory they're wearing (earrings, socks, scarf, etc). <br />
Sometimes we throw on whatever clothes are handy/clean/required, but we tend to purposely choose accessories that we think "look like us" or make us happy. It's nice when people see us the way we see ourselves or comment on things that we think reflect our most authentic selves. <br />
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6. Get a library card!<br />
Because reading something every day makes you better. In every way. <br />
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7. Really pet and love on your animals.<br />
Our animals are more devoted to us than nearly every human in our lives. They don't stay mad at us when we've been jerks. They are always excited to see us pull in the driveway. Don't take them for granted. Obligatory pats or head scratches are not good enough. <br />
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8. Tell people why you respect them.<br />
Of course it's nice to let people know you appreciate them, think they're funny, and/or enjoy their company. Respect, however, is hard to earn and much harder to keep. Those who are able to do so, deserve to know. <br />
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9. Read something in the news that really doesn't interest you.<br />
Every morning, I pick out at least one article on the Huffington Post that I really can't relate to or have very little interest in. Why? Because it's good to learn something. It's good to be disciplined. It's good to do things that you really don't want to do. <br />
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10. Make your own breads, pie crusts, pizza crusts.<br />
It's not hard. It's cheap. You'll know what's actually in it. You'll be more inspired to then make pies, pizzas, and actual meals.<br />
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11. Plan weekly menus.<br />
You'll be less inclined to buy crap you will not use. You'll save money. You feel more organized when you walk in from work and are hungry. <br />
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12.Write.<br />
Anything...cards, poems, gratitude jar entries, diaries, blogs, quotes on chalkboards.<br />
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13. Make your house "look like you."<br />
If you don't smile when you look around your house, change some things. Pottery Barn is nice, but it does not speak of a life well-lived. <br />
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14. Have coffee/tee/cocoa in the afternoons.<br />
In a favorite mug.<br />
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15. Think about one good part of your day before you go to bed.<br />
Go to sleep with a grateful heart. <br />
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16. Figure out what song you think would be the perfect flash mob song. Ponder scenarios in which you could make said flash mob happen.<br />
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17. Take a small gift to someone. <br />
Suggestions: a good pen and cute notepad, a bag of their favorite candy, a gift certificate for a Blizzard.<br />
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18. Tell people "thank you" even if it's "their job" to do the task in question. More generally speaking, don't be shy with long overdue "thank you"s.<br />
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19. Dream. Imagine possibilities. Give yourself a chance.<br />
We are typically too quick to belittle or question ourselves. Don't settle for what is; always have "what could be" in the back of your mind. This doesn't mean, of course, that it's okay to take what you have for granted. It is simply a reminder to stay inspired. <br />
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20. Make something prettier than it was.<br />
Paint something, clean something, add flowers, tie a ribbon. <br />
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21. Write down a few things that scare you or that you don't understand.<br />
Do a few. Educate yourself.<br />
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22. Write down your weaknesses and/or times when you've messed up.<br />
When you get frustrated with someone else, remember this list. <br />
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23. Pick up litter.<br />
"Someone else will get it" is dumb. <br />
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24. Park farther away than you have to.<br />
We could all stand to be a little less lazy.<br />
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25. Make your own list of things you want to make more time for. <br />
***<br />
I know "classy" isn't the word most would use to describe my house. I'm completely aware that I will have to eat my words about Mom's house having stuff everywhere. I'm fairly certain that if one were to put something down in my house, there's a good chance it could go undiscovered for years. <em>But</em>...I like that it reminds me of my friends and family. I like that there are books and handmade projects and art all over the place. I like that, at least to me, it reflects a life well lived. <br />
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***</div>
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The pizza crust recipe I like to use...</div>
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***</div>
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My flash mob song and another one of my favorite movies...</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/7Qn3tel9FWU" width="560"></iframe><br />Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4142705807761308348.post-15018435177273202512013-11-18T08:44:00.002-06:002013-11-18T08:44:31.817-06:00It's hard to be sad when you're eating cinnamon rolls.One of the themes of this blog over the past three years has been that we all have a touch of "crazy." Loss-of-perspective sadness and frustration, seemingly nonsensical or outright stupid choices, and proclivity for pity parties is an affliction of human nature, not specific medical diagnoses. And in saying this, I am in no way belittling conditions that necessitate prescriptions or treatments; the point is simply that we all do things that we regret, we all second guess and get stuck in our own head sometimes, almost all of us will experience something that seems pretty damn close to depression. <br />
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In my non-scientific, entirely non-researched opinion, we come out of these periods by choice. We choose to focus on others. We choose to get off our asses. We choose to stay busy. We choose to see the good. We choose to make decisions, rather than wallow in indecisiveness. We choose to give our minds a rest. We choose to make time for new things. <br />
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People sometimes ask me why I always want to be in the middle of some project. The answer lies in the reflection above. I think sadness is oftentimes just a product of being bored. If I allow myself to just sit down and do nothing, I think too much, I feel sorry for myself, and I worry about things that may never happen. Sure, my approach probably exemplifies a whole different level of emotional immaturity or instability, but I choose it over the alternative. <br />
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As such, I like piddle projects. I get up before dawn and bake or paint or read. I cook for myself and try to create a pretty plate. I write letters to, or make things for, friends. I clean anything I can think to clean. I write blog posts. I planned themed parties for no particular reason. <br />
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I keep myself sane by keeping myself busy. <br />
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My wonderful brother-in-law posted <a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/brianna-wiest/2013/11/18-things-everyone-should-start-making-time-for-again/" target="_blank">this</a> on my Facebook page a few days ago (and I think many are spot-on). I thought I would do my own "18 Things Everyone Should Start Making Time For" list in the next blog post. I encourage you to send me the things you think should be included.<br />
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<strong><em>Some recent projects....</em></strong><br />
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<span style="color: #93c47d;">Jewelry party and brunch at Silver Chest Creations</span> (This was so much fun. If you'd like more information about SCC, see this <a href="http://pillowbook-liza.blogspot.com/2013/07/a-gem-just-up-road-post-office-becomes.html" target="_blank">earlier blog post</a>. If you're interested in planning your own party, just let owner, Melissa Anderson, know).<br />
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<span style="color: #93c47d;"><em>Making </em></span><a href="http://www.bettycrocker.com/recipes/old-fashioned-cinnamon-rolls/988d41dd-c0f6-4fe4-a012-b42c770f95f7" target="_blank"><span style="color: #93c47d;"><em>homemade cinnamon rolls</em></span></a><span style="color: #93c47d;"><em> (I really liked this recipe and definitely recommend...or you could just go visit with the folks at Kountry Kitchen and eat the most delicious breakfast pastry ever.)</em></span><br />
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<span style="color: #93c47d;"><em>Breaking out the mod podge again...</em></span> </div>
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Got the chair at Main Street 210.</div>
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Made copies of some Adrienne-themed pictures.</div>
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Mod-podged to the chair, used a sharpie to write a favorite Avett Brothers lyric, and sprayed with a clear sealant.</div>
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<span style="color: #93c47d;"><em>Making ornaments...</em></span></div>
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Buy clear glass ornaments, remove lids, squeeze in acrylic paint colors of choice, cover top with a paper towel, shake a bunch, let drain over an egg carton.</div>
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Happy piddling. </div>
Lizahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04772781079345535295noreply@blogger.com2