tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35259018721207573632024-03-13T00:39:35.832-05:00Nightdreams & DaymaresI am a woman trying to find her place in this world. I have an awesome son. And, I am married to someone who is as perfect for me as someone can be. We are still mourning the loss of my daughter. We are working through it. We are still trying to find happiness in the grief. It is there. I want to help others find it with us.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.comBlogger122125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-9393548937904082162014-06-10T12:14:00.002-05:002014-06-10T12:14:51.080-05:00A Little Me TimeI have not blogged in a good while. Shoot, I haven't written anything in a while. Ya know why? Because, I am paranoid that people will think that I am a narcissist and a copy cat.<br />
<br />
There, I said it. Somehow I have it in my head that by writing something and posting it on the Internet, I am being self-centered for thinking that someone would actually want to read it. Why do I think like this!? I love to read other people's blogs, and I don't think that they are self-centered. <br />
<br />
Why do I have it in my head that it is great that other people can be boisterous and confident in who they are and share it with the world? I will cheer them on in the endeavors in subject areas that I am somewhat skilled in. But, then feel lost and lonely because they are most certainly going to exceed my skill level and leave me behind. I want to help and be involved in my friends lives. But, I just know that I am a more of a nuisance that anything and they are better off without me around. Even my husband.<br />
<br />
I know that I talk incessantly. And, two thirds of the time I regret what I have just said. So, it is easier to stay away and not say anything.<br />
<br />
I make plans and have dreams that fall through a lot. So, I get mad at myself for telling anyone about them. Because I feel like I have let them down, too.<br />
<br />
I am my own worst critic. I need to work on it. A lot. (I can hear my husband yelling, "Amen!" from here.)<br />
<br />
But, I started my blog because I wanted to keep a journal. But, I am terribly about misplacing notebooks and such. I figured I can't lose the Internet. I mean, if anyone could it would be me. But, still. So, I am making it a point to write for me. And, if people want to follow along, all the better. But, fair warning. There will be chickens. Lots of chickens.<br />
<br />
Psssttt... on the subject of losing the Internet, here's a funny from one of my favorite shows, <i>The IT Crowd</i>.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/iDbyYGrswtg?rel=0" width="560"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-10703086548746985652014-05-16T12:45:00.000-05:002014-05-16T12:45:25.540-05:00Always Look on the Bright Side of Life<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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So, here I sit in a dress and make-up, running through the
plans for the afternoon in my head, wondering if I can squeeze in a trip
through the carwash. Leave work, pick up the corsage, go by the house to change
shoes and tend to chickens (and shave the spot on my knee that I missed this
morning), get Mr. J., fill up on gas, and head to Anson. </div>
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<br /></div>
My son has 8<sup>th</sup> grade banquet tonight. It’s like
a mini-prom. There is a dinner, awards, video montage of the kids’ pictures
from when they were babies until now; they actually come in escorting their
dates and everything. They do portraits and IHOP after the banquet. It is a lot
of fun.
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I have one worry. And, it’s not about the kids, not the
dance, not getting everything done. I worry that I will spend more time
remembering his sister than focusing on him. And, that is not OK. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUghUvWckcM9l2MzgwkYesTQ3S7aUj9-XrMVXRvuhSgpboqg1CBgwQVPf0KwTFUZIHtveZFyGt907quq9CwjHMvp5gou9q39ON_y9rKqGvrY6u8KcVrObzhWYYpE8RsjxLUmi5GLDi7pc/s1600/unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUghUvWckcM9l2MzgwkYesTQ3S7aUj9-XrMVXRvuhSgpboqg1CBgwQVPf0KwTFUZIHtveZFyGt907quq9CwjHMvp5gou9q39ON_y9rKqGvrY6u8KcVrObzhWYYpE8RsjxLUmi5GLDi7pc/s1600/unnamed.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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<i>Sarah's 8th Grade Banquet photo on my work computer </i></div>
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<br /></div>
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I am so terribly proud of the young man he is becoming.
And, he knows it. I make a point to make sure he knows without coddling him. And,
he expects us to think about his sister and talk about her. But, this is about
him. Sarah’s 8<sup>th</sup> grade banquet was one of the last school functions
she had. There will be awards ceremonies and he will start high school. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 12.0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
Then, *gulp* then there will not be any more memories of “When
Sarah did it…”. He will have passed her. In October, he will be older than she
was when she died. This year is going to be awkward and, hard. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 12.0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-top: 12.0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
But, on the upside, Ty gets to start on his own road
without having to follow his sister. And, she was a big act to follow. I am
actually excited about high school and the possibilities for my son. So, here’s
to fresh starts and bright futures!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-6188764145100851092014-04-22T12:46:00.003-05:002014-04-22T12:46:38.309-05:00Ponderings on Easter
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
Since Mr. J was under
the weather Easter morning, we did not attend a worship service. Well, not in
person. We did get to watch an amazing service on the television. It was a
Catholic service out of Buffalo (We assume New York.) Jerry was raised Catholic
and has been told he has family in Buffalo, NY. So we thought that was pretty
cool. I wish we could go there sometime. They have a very eclectic
congregation, speaking several languages. The building itself had the perfect
amount of adornment without looking as though all of the money was spent on it.
It was nice to be able to ask Jerry questions right then. I am terrible about
remembering what to ask later. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
The sermon portion of
the service was my favorite. He spoke about the priorities of Easter Sunday. He
pointed out that we, as people, seem to place more and more importance on the
things we spend money on for the holiday than why we are celebrating it to
start with. The clothes, the candy, the meal… it’s great as long as we keep the
memory of Christ’s resurrection first and foremost. The last thing he said was,
“And, enjoy those chocolate bunnies.” with a smile on his face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
This sparked a conversation
between Jerry and I. I was telling him that I don’t remember if someone told me
this as a child, or if it is something I pondered on my own, but for me, Easter
is not just a celebration of Christ coming back. It is a fresh start. This is
where we get to start the year, again. To me, the Easter outfit isn’t just for the
one day. I always saw it as a traditionally adding a worship worthy garment to
refresh the wardrobe. It is a way of doing the best we can to put on our best
when we go to praise and worship. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
We, well I, have
decided that we shall follow what many others do and plant the gardens on the
Saturday of Easter weekend each year. This year, I spent the time planting
singing hymns and focusing on God’s blessings while putting out plants. That
includes the sprinkles that were falling on my back as I was hurrying to put
out flower seeds and sweeping the sidewalks.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
So, this being a
spring-board for the rest of our year physically, emotionally, mentally and physically,
it is a great time for us to look at the direction we are going in. So, much
prayer will be taking place. And, just so you know, I pray for all of you. I
pray that God will pour his peace and love on everyone that I interact with,
both in person and through more modern methods, on a regular basis. That being
said, may God be with you and heap his blessings on you and yours this spring.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-14940071740496183872014-04-11T15:28:00.001-05:002014-04-11T15:28:59.679-05:00I'm a Little Country... I'm a Little Rock and Roll...At 6:42 this morning, I found myself backing out of my driveway so that I
could attend Muffins with Moms at my son’s school. His school is 25 miles or so
away from where I live now. I used to live in that town. But, when I left his
father, I moved back home. Well, I went to go spend the time before school with
my son, baked goods and juice. It was really nice. <u1:p></u1:p><o:p></o:p><br />
<u1:p> </u1:p><o:p></o:p><br />
He started pointing out mothers to me, telling who their children are. Then
he says, “If you want to know who anyone is, just ask me.” I informed him I was
fine. But, thank you for offering. He goes to a very small school. But, there
were a lot of the moms I did not know. There were however teachers and moms
that I have known for years. But, it was still a reminder how much things have
changed. And, some things have come back around full circle. <u1:p></u1:p><o:p></o:p><br />
<u1:p> </u1:p><o:p></o:p><br />
I made the same drive at the same time of day that I made for nearly 7
years, this morning. Back before I left my husband. Back before I moved to
Abilene. Back before I lost a child. Back before I lost myself.<u1:p></u1:p><o:p></o:p><br />
<u1:p> </u1:p><o:p></o:p><br />
I am finally starting to pull myself together. And, I don’t mean
emotionally. The knee-jerk reaction when getting the divorce was to turn away
from anything in my part of my life. Anything to do with the country and
farming. <u1:p></u1:p>I didn’t listen to any country music for months, except
for when my so would beg. <o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
It sounds like I had never had any experience with anything country or
western except while married. But, that is not true. I was raised in a fairly
eclectic family. My grandfather was a rodeo cowboy and a farm hand. My
grandmother grew up picking cotton. And, my other grandparents had chickens and
gardens. They farmed, too. I remember going back my grandmother’s family home
and meeting the turkeys. It wasn’t pretty. They raised them to sell. They
opened the doors to a huge barn full of them. They were eye high to me.
Traumatized is not a strong enough word. <o:p></o:p><br />
Well, anyway, back on track. Back around Christmas, Mr. J (aka my Hubs)
bought a pair of cowboy boots. He had been wanting a new pair for a good while
and found some her really liked. And, since he is very particular about the
style he likes, I told him, “Sure, go ahead.” But, on the inside, I was very
uncomfortable. The last time I had shopped for men’s boots was with my
ex-husband. And, I try really hard not to compare them. But, it happens. Both
good and bad. And, even though I dated many men that wore boots, it was still
somehow tied to my first message and awkward. But, I was NOT going to tell him
that. <o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
Another thing from when I was married originally was that we raised
chickens. I taught first grade one year. It was in the small town where my son
still lives. Every year the extension agent would work with the first classes
and they incubate and hatch chicks. It was a lot of fun. Except for the last
few chicks that just did not make it. Luckily, we found them before the
students came in that morning. But, I digress. My children also participated in
the activity as first graders. Somewhere along the way, my ex decided that we
should get chickens. I gained so much enjoyment from them. I loved gathering
eggs and tending to them. Even though I grumbled about it. <o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
Well, recently, friends had mentioned they wanted chickens. And, after some
checking, I could have them in town. As long as they aren’t too noisy, I would
be good. (Our neighborhood sounds like a zoo as it is. And, it isn’t just our
house.) So, 2 batches of chicks and 4 ducklings later, I have come to realize
that I really am a bit of a country girl. I even want goats, again and a
donkey. Those will require moving, in time.<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
I have started to separate out what parts of me were trying to be a good
wife and what parts were me being genuinely happy. I will take a while. But, I
finally feel like I am starting to feel like I am getting my feet underneath
me. And, part of reassembling those pieces of me I left scattered everywhere
has been finding which pieces are truly mine. And, surprisingly, for me, some
of those pieces are from the country.<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
And, I can finally admit how good those boots look on Mr. J.<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0in;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-11996051286037073182014-04-01T10:46:00.000-05:002014-04-01T10:46:31.831-05:00I Hate April Fool's Day.
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
There is a reason that I don’t enjoy April Fool’s
Day. It is the same reason that I do not enjoy much stand-up comedy. I do not
enjoy people being made fun of. And, when it comes down to it that is what it
amounts to. April Fool’s jokes end up making people feel unintelligent. Most
stand-up comedians have acts that revolve around of poking fun at themselves or
someone else. There is a fine line between mockery and imitation. I am not
saying that I do not on occasion do it myself. But, I always feel guilty when I
do. <o:p></o:p></div>
And, as a friend posted this morning, we try to
instill honesty in our children. Well, except for this one day. Today it’s ok
to lie your pants off. As an adult, we understand what is intended to be a joke
and what is not. Kids do not, always. We need to set better examples. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And, there is a meme going around about not
telling people that you are pregnant when you aren’t. Yes, people take things
too seriously and personally at times. But, as a woman who is having a really
hard time with the fact that she can’t and shouldn’t have a baby, just stop it.
It’s not a subject to joke about. Also, it is terribly unoriginal. If you are
going to pull a prank today, at least be original.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I hate to feel stupid. Ridicule cuts me to the bone and I know I am not the only one that feels that way. So, I will take a pass on this holiday, thank you very much.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-16871676908908022052014-03-25T20:09:00.000-05:002014-03-25T20:09:17.352-05:00The Day Has Finally ComeOne of the things that I was looking to happen as time went on was that there would be moments when Sarah would slip my mind. When she would no longer be on my mind constantly.<br />
<br />
I am finally there.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. I have not forgot her. She is always there. Always at the back of my mind. But, she has stepped back and let me move forward.<br />
<br />
But, then every once in a while, out of the blue, it hits me out of the blue.<br />
<br />
I had a baby that grew into a beautiful young lady. And, she is not here anymore. And, she is not coming back. I should be able to call her. I should be able to reach out to her. But, I can't.<br />
<br />
Then, there are tears and panic attacks.<br />
<br />
Afterwards, I compose myself and go on about my day.<br />
<br />
A dear friend should be holding her baby right now. But, she is not because her baby did not make it full term.<br />
<br />
My heart is hurting. <br />
<br />
For her and for me. I hate that other people can understand what I am going through. It kills me to know that there are other people out there that have lost their babies, whether they be infant or adult.<br />
<br />
At the same time, it is comforting to not be along. <br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-45776408115025853892014-03-11T09:35:00.000-05:002014-03-11T09:35:06.913-05:00I Just Can't Shut UpI talk a lot. Or, I don't talk at all. Generally, if I am in a group of people I know and like, I will talk non stop until I leave. Them spend the next two days wishing I had just kept my mouth shut. No one has ever said anything too ugly about it. At least not to my face, or to someone that would tell me. If anything has been said, it was with a genuine smile and in a very good nature. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I don't talk, I am probably regretting all of the talking from a few days before. Or, something is really bothering me. And, it usually stems from my self-deprecating attitude. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had a friend comment that they were surprised that I am terrified that people really see me like I see myself. Lazy, all talk, fat, dumb, selfish, self-centered and unworthy. I am working on getting past it.</div>
<div>
(Fair warning, to those that know me, if I ever get past it, I will probably just talk even more.)<br />
<br />
Some people see those of us that have self esteem issues as "fishing for compliments." Sometimes it's accurate. More than often not. Just knowing your enough is all we strive for. But, somehow we just don't see it. <br />
<br />
So, on behalf of all of us overly talkative, yet terribly anxious types out there. Be kind. Just smile and nod. We know we can come across as a bit anxious and obnoxious. But, we are working on it.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-57548767320415073152014-03-07T17:20:00.000-06:002014-03-07T17:20:27.227-06:00No Catching Fire in This House
This must be “writing about movies week” at Das
Whetsel Haus.<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p>T</o:p>oday, it’s why I will not be watching or reading <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Catching Fire</i>. I can hear you out there
stuttering over your, “Buh-buhhhhhhtttts.”<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
It’s not going to happen. Simple as that. I read
and watch the first book. I enjoyed them. But I cannot finish the series. There
are three reasons.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is one of Sarah’s favorite book series. She
read it ravenously. She had a list of books that she wanted me to share with
me. We tended to enjoy the same books. She read The Vampire Diaries before any
of her friends because I gave her my copies from the 90’s to read. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t like the idea of finishing things that
we were going to do together. I am not ready for that finality. I know she is
gone and she is not coming back. But, it does not mean that I want to shut that
door behind me. There was a classmate that had passed away a good while back,
now. My mother ran into her after we lost Sarah. She told my mom that he had a
credit card bill that she was still paying on. She would only pay the minimum
on it. The idea of that bill with his name on it being gone terrified her. I
completely understand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sarah was VERY excited that there was going to
be a movie. She was also very excited about Jennifer being cast in the lead
role. I spent the entire first movie wondering what Sarah would have liked or
not. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was very exhausting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">During a conversation about the book, (I had not
read it yet. I didn’t read until after she died.) she told me that until
recently, I had reminded her of Katniss’s mother. But, she was proud that I had
got myself together. And, she said I would understand when I read the book. I
sobbed when I read the passage of the book where she describes her mother. Or,
the shell of a person that her mother was. It was dead on the money. I have
finally come to forgive myself for being that mother for a time. But, it still
stings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, no, I will not be watching Ms. Everdeen in her latest
adventures. But, I am sure they will great and she will be bold. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Enjoy it for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-57709745329381361912014-03-06T21:34:00.002-06:002014-03-06T21:34:51.774-06:0020 Things I Learned From, and Because of, Annie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2S0owEVDCTlYopyDXBVMTOG96XtlgbGTsGhW6xesdXcDGoGsroNO14nsLgqEiBbjGfCZT8W7h-Ev5nAods2Hxdz9RIwck_TUtrN3Zhty2166KmyAfF1Vp9Vml8PPbFt1Uhc658_t_QGM/s1600/IMG_3813.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2S0owEVDCTlYopyDXBVMTOG96XtlgbGTsGhW6xesdXcDGoGsroNO14nsLgqEiBbjGfCZT8W7h-Ev5nAods2Hxdz9RIwck_TUtrN3Zhty2166KmyAfF1Vp9Vml8PPbFt1Uhc658_t_QGM/s1600/IMG_3813.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
When I was in third grade, a terrible and
wonderful thing happened to me. The movie Annie came into theaters. Some of you
may be thinking to yourself, “And?” This will help. This is a picture of me
from third grade. Yep, I had Annie hair. No, my hair wasn’t red. But my brother’s
was. I loved the movie. But, I faced a lot of ridicule for having Annie hair.
It didn’t help that I went around singing. Like ALL the time.<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<!--[endif]--><o:p><a href="http://movies.yahoo.com/video/annie-trailer-2-231005798.html" target="_blank">The Trailer for the New Annie</a></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
So, when I found out there was a new version
coming out, I got very excited. I still am. I take a very Shakespearean view of
movies and plays. No, not Elizabethan, Shakespearean. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That means a production is done set in the
present time period and style. So, the idea of a modern version is very
appealing. No, I am not thrilled with Cameron Diaz as Ms. Hannigan. Fergie or
someone else that comes across more street savvy might have been a better
choice. But, I digress.<br />
I learned a lot from Annie. It was the first
musical that I sunk my teeth into. I can still sing nearly every word. And, I
still sit on the edge of my seat while she his hanging by the tips of her
fingers until Punjab rescues her. I cry when she sings “Maybe.” I cry when he
sings “Maybe.” I cry through the entire finale, until Carol Burnett rides in on
the elephant. Anyway, here are some of
the things I learned.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Children are cruel. Even the most well-meaning
ones. I had the shorts, curly Annie hairstyle before the movie came out. It was
the one I always had. Kids had always laughed at my hair. But, after the movie,
it was worse. I hated my hair as a child. A lot of kids laughed because it was
coincidence. They weren’t really making fun of me. But, somehow, I took it as
mean. It helped me to develop a thicker skin. At least until I was an adult. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is perfectly acceptable to break out in song
at any time. Yes. I still sing a lot. Not well, but, I sing. It makes me very
happy. I occasionally break into “Sandy” when my dog walks in the room. If I
had realized what he would end up looking like, that’s what I would have named
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A dog can make a huge difference in your life.
(OK, so this is something I SHOULD have learned.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s OK to be a tomboy in a dress. Annie did it
with grace and ease. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You can win people over with a smile and a
strut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes, the love of your life is right under
your eyes. You just have to have some help to open them. Just ask Daddy Warbucks.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">7.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes, you have to be VERY patient waiting
for the love of your life to open their eyes, even though you are standing right
in from of them. Ask Grace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">8.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anything Tim Curry, Carol Burnett or Bernadette
Peters are in will be a pleasure to watch. (Except for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It</i>. We just don’t acknowledge <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It</i>.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">9.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Curly haired girls look great in red. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">10.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That love doesn’t just come from blood. You
chose your family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">11.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Never climb a ladder when followed by a bad guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">12.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is always going to be a grump (Pepper) and
a baby (Molly) in every group.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">13.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Singing and dancing always makes cleaning more
fun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">14.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Life with a bunch of girls will drive you to
drinking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">15.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There is very little in this world that is more important
that feeling wanted. Be it by family, friends or in romance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">16.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Having your own indoor pool is the coolest thing
EVER. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">17.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A party is not a party without elephants.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">18.</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri; text-indent: -0.25in;">Having a sparkling, kick-ass personality is ok.
This includes throwing a few punches on occasion.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">19.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The sun’ll come out tomorrow. Seriously.
Sometimes, you just have to hold on until the day passes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> 20. But, the BIGGEST thing I learned was to overcome my fears.
For the talent show that year, I went on stage with Shanna Phillips and sang “Tomorrow”
in front of my schoolmates and their parents. I even wore the dress my mother
made me from an Annie pattern. I was really proud of myself. Actually, it was
one of my proudest moments.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, if you haven’t watched Annie in a while, especially if
you have kids. Do so. Now. I mean it. Get to it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-17906778987675955372014-03-03T20:17:00.002-06:002014-03-03T20:17:25.958-06:00The Father In Law I Never MetSo, Kelly over at <a href="http://debiehive.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">DeBie Hive</a> posted about seeing her father today. Well, a man that strongly reminded her of him. Reading it reminded me of a man I never met. My father in law passed away just before Jerry turned four. His only vivid memory of his dad was when he died. But, as I spend more time with Jerry, the more I get to know his father.<br />
<br />
There are certain qualities and tendencies he gets from his mother. But, there are moments when I know his dad is slipping out. His dad must have been a flirt. I also know that he was warm and charming. This I have heard from his aunts. His mother talks about things he did. But, not about him. The pain of losing him is still fresh after nearly forty years.<br />
<br />
There are certain smiles and the way that he holds me that you can not teach. They only come naturally. He looks more like his father every day. I love that he has carried on his father's legacy of being a compassionate gentleman.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-653699213524205042014-02-27T10:23:00.000-06:002014-02-27T10:23:46.295-06:00Sharing Our Kids, and Some Belated Thank YousSo, I am strolling through my FB feed when I come
upon a meme posted by a fellow mother that lost her child to Type 1. Basically
it says that all of the people that come to the funeral will not be there for
you after you lose your child. This hit me weird. <br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
Well, weird isn’t the word. Wrong isn’t the write
word, either.<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
Unfair is more like it.<o:p></o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p><br />
Your child isn’t just YOUR child. They are part of
the world. Whether you want to believe it or not, your tiny little piece of
your own world is part of the great big world, too. Especially when they get
older and start school. Or, if your community is aware that your child has
medical issues that they are fighting. You family, friends and community
members are emotionally invested in your child. The parents of your children’s
friends know your child. I found this out after losing Sarah. I had several
parents that had stories that their children had brought home about her. They
were all good stories that revolved around her concern for others and how they
were impressed that she was so comfortable in her own skin. <br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
These people that loved your child, they are
experiencing loss, too. In our case, my best friends had children that had
grown close to her. Hell, they considered her one of their children. They
experience loss, too. So, when they see our faces, they don’t just see the
person that lost their child. They see their own grief. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
It is unfair for us to expect them to think we are
the only ones that grieve. And, you know what else? Their grief goes on for
years, too. Especially those of us who were really close to us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
So, sometimes, we have to suck it up and realize
that we are being selfish and share. And, for those people that do move on. It
isn’t fair of us to expect them to stay behind with us and hold on to our
grief. Life moves on and so should we.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
On another note, I do not think that I ever said
thank you to the people that were there the morning we lost Sarah. They saw me
at my very lowest. They were the ones that came running. I know that I will
miss people because the morning is foggy and horrible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 1em 0px;">
My family… so much love. <o:p></o:p></div>
<o:p> </o:p><br />
Cathy… She was literally at my side when they
broke the news and the first to console me. I always loved you. But, being
there meant more than you will ever now. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Shara… I cannot imagine having to call me. It was
not your fault and that should not have been your cross to bear. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Barbara and Ron… The fact that you took the time
to come all the way out and wanted to help, yeah… I have nothing. Thank you.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Joy… You stepped and made things happened. You
invited complete strangers into your house to take care of me. So much love for
you.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Val… No words. Just love.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
And, finally Jessica and Jasen… You have seen me
at quite literally seen me at my lowest. Including my crashing and screaming.
Thank you, my friends. We love you more than you will ever know. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />Don’t worry, I tell Mr. J thank you all the time. <o:p></o:p><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-43481336999151322362014-02-14T10:35:00.000-06:002014-02-14T10:35:14.672-06:00Words Are Weapons...Words hurt. They stick with you. Even though you may know that what is being said is not true or said out of anger, spite or jealousy, they are agonizing. Even words that are said out of sympathy can be hurtful at times. Especially when you feel the person needs sympathy, and they do not. And, we are often so busy worrying about what we want to say that we do not listen, even when we are asking for help. This is my introductory paragraph. I have made my 3 points. So here we go with the body. Maybe I should just do this in outline form. I would. But, I fear I might age myself. Do they even teach outlining, anymore?
<br/ ><br/ >
This is hard for me to write. Partly because I am afraid that it will come out as bad mouthing my ex. I am not. We have both changed a lot since our divorce. But, I am sharing because I want other people to learn from our mistakes. The prompt for this was when a friend shared that she was told she was a bitch and needed to shut the hell up. I immediately flashed back to years ago standing in the kitchen getting scolded for an improperly cleaned kitchen.
<br/ ><br/ >
I did not communicate very well in my marriage. I am to blame for the problems, too. But, this is about things that we say that hurt. Especially when they are said over and over again. The phrase that I heard over and over again was, “If you don’t like it pack your stuff and get out.” It was always said in anger. It was only said when we fought. But, it still hurt. I never responded much to the statement. I couldn’t. Those words hurt far too much. I think there may have been once that I actually said, “No. You leave.” If I had started expressing my wants and desires in the relationship from the very beginning, it never would have got to that point. But, I didn’t. The words hurt. And, they stick.
<br/ ><br/ >
Your value as a person is determined mostly by what you contribute to the world. When I heard my spouse leave, I heard, “We would be better off without you here.” And, he was surprised to hear I had suicidal thoughts and was shocked when I left. My value as a wife and mother mattered more than anything. And, I took the words to mean that I had no value. I felt that it meant I was in the way. (Hearing “Get out of the way.” Or “You’re in the way.” when I was where he needed to get at something has lead me to feel like I am always underfoot or a nuisance. I am slowly moving away from feeling that way. But, there are days that I can’t escape it.)
<br/ ><br/ >
So, if I ever say I don’t understand why anyone would want to be around me, I am working on it. But, it’s going to take time.
<br/ ><br/ >
We don’t think about the things we say when we are mad. That doesn’t mean they aren’t what we are thinking.
<br/ ><br/ >
Next point, sometimes we should just keep our mouths shut. As human beings, we always assume that people want to hear what we think. OK, I am a blogger, so I think and hope that people want to hear what I think. But, I am not going to walk up to someone and start spilling my guts. (To be honest, I tend to get ran over in conversation anyways and make mental notes of what to talk to Mr. J about when we get alone.)
<br/ ><br/ >
And, you know, sometimes it is OK. But, when it comes to subjects like healthcare, having children, relationships… tread lightly. It is perfectly fine to tell the person that you are there to listen and to talk. But, do not assume they need to hear what you think. There is a blog going around stating that people would not have to give you reasons why they are not having children. Had I been a responsible blogger, I would have stashed the site and shared it here.
<br/ ><br/ >
The blog is based around the idea that how many children we want and why is our business and that people shouldn’t be expected to spit babies out like a pez dispenser. But, it goes both ways. We shouldn’t judge people or comment on families with lots of children, too. The comments about “Why haven’t you had any children yet? I bet you just can’t wait to have children!” and others of the nature are often meant to show concern or interest. But, generally, it is a sensitive issue.
<br/ ><br/ >
In other words, remember that we do not know what is best for other people. It is arrogant of us to think otherwise.
<br/ ><br/ >
My last gripe stems from my job. But, it flows into the rest of my life, too. Sometimes, we need to shut up and listen.
<br/ ><br/ >
I am the receptionist in an office where people pay debts. A majority of the time, the callers are so wound up with trying to remember what they think they need to say that they get themselves all worked up about it and end up rambling loudly and making a fuss. Then, I still have to make them start all over because I do not know who they are and I have to find them in the computer. When we are so busy regurgitating what we have on our mind that the person we are speaking to can’t keep up, we are fight a losing battle so to speak. A majority of the calls take several minutes of them fussing over something as simple as stating, “I will be able to take care of this on such and such date, if that is sufficient.” All because they decided the person on the other end of the phone is going to be rude and overly demanding.
<br/ ><br/ >
So, stop. And listen to each other. This is the one thing Jerry and I really have a problem with. Mostly because we are both ADD and our minds wander of the train of thought A LOT. But, we both know we do it and are patient with each other.
<br/ ><br/ >
So, to wrap things up... 1.) Be kind and choose words that will continue to lift people up. The ones that tear them down will do more damage than you can ever imagine. 2.) Be mindful of what is actually any of your business. 3.) Listen and be patient. Enough said.
<br/ ><br/ >
And, one last thing. If you are reading this and think that people who get hurt by people’s words need to get thick skinned or get over it, there is a good chance you are part of the problem.
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-37342732688986212402014-02-05T20:52:00.003-06:002014-02-05T20:52:28.694-06:00Every time that you lose it sing it for the world...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Be careful what songs you play at your child’s funeral. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">From that moment on, you will be tortured by the memory
attached to the song. However, if they were favorites of you and your child,
you will get the worst emotional whiplash you can imagine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My daughter got her taste in music from me. We listen to a
little bit of everything. But, we tend to gravitate to the more dark and “alternative”
music. I listened to Sarah’s music with her partly because I enjoyed it. But, I
mostly did it because my mother did the same thing. She wasn’t giving us
permission to run the radio or “giving into us.” She was being involved and
wanted to know what we were listening to. Plus, Bon Jovi was huge. And, she
loved Bon Jovi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, when Sarah was gone,
I was at an odd place in my musical choices. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Do I keep listening to these bands because I want to? Or,
would I be listening to hold onto Sarah. Either was an acceptable reason. But,
I wanted to figure it out. There are particular songs that we sang together a
lot. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Weightless” by All Time Lowe. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“NaNaNaNA” by My Chemical Romance. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Wagon
Wheel” by The Old Crow Medicine Show. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Highway to Hell” by ACDC. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Those songs I
smile and cry my way through. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>But, when a song comes out by of the bands that she loved, I am torn. Do I like the song because it's a good song, or because Sarah would have liked it. My taste in music will be forever touched my the taste of a fourteen year old girl. Granted, she had good taste in music. So, I am not complaining. But, it makes listening to music both sad and happy. </o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>But, the ones from the funeral are the hardest to hear. </o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>We called the list of songs we played at the funeral "Sarah's Setlist." And, here it is.</o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>"Good Riddance" - Green Day</o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>"Hands" - The Almost</o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>"Hallelujah" - Paramore </o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>"Lullabies" - All Time Low</o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>"Wagon Wheel" - Old Crow Medicine Show</o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>"Love Story" - Taylor Swift</o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>"What a Wonderful World" - Joey Ramone</o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p>"Airplanes" - B.O.B. w<span style="font-family: inherit;">ith Hayley Williams</span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Breathe" - Ryan Adams</span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Beautiful" - Christina Aguilera</span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;">And, these are the two songs we played during the service.</span></o:p></span><br />
<br />
</div>
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<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/bfmJ17FYHMU" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />But, most importantly, more than anything else you might take away from this... The ONE thing I hope you take away... Listen with your child when they listen to their music. If I had not, I would not have known her so well. I would have missed out on the opportunity to find out how much she and I were alike. How much I saw myself in her. How much she saw herself in me. And, I have the memory of hearing her sing in my head. I can still hear her voice. It is probably the most precious thing I have.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-5140858942147971762014-02-04T20:42:00.001-06:002014-02-04T20:42:51.389-06:00A Letter to My HusbandDear Jerry,<u1:p></u1:p><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I know you have a big day coming up this week. It is a day that you
have been anticipating with both dread and relief. On February 6<sup>th</sup>
you will have spent more days on this Earth than your father. <u1:p></u1:p>You have
carried more on your shoulders than any one person should have to. You have
carried your own burdens of grief as well as helping the rest of us to carry
ours. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I know that you were not aware of that when you took the kids and I into
your lives that more grieving would follow. There was no way that we could know
we would lose Sarah. And, I feel so selfish letting you help me carry my hurt
when I know that you love her, too. You were a friend to her in a way that no
one else was. And, you have filled those shoes with Ty, too. You are an example
of warmth and affection to he has learned from. The patience you show him melts
my heart and gives me peace of mind.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I remember a time when you didn’t know that you would live to see the day
that you made it longer than your father. The faith that the rest of the world
has in you is so much stronger than you will ever know. You are an example of
kindness and compassion. Intelligence and humor. Art and strength. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
More than anything else, I am amazed with your never ending patience with
me. You love me despite, and sometimes because of, my faults. I am not an easy
person to live with. I have panic attacks when it comes to paying bills. I am
horrid at cleaning house. I can barely make on complete thought. But, you find
me charming and know when I am about to break. And, you know that sometimes I
don’t need words, just to be held. <o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 1em 0in;">
<o:p> And, in a week when we have friends that are having babies, you listen to my "if we were blessed with children" speeches with patience and understanding. You know that I do not expect to actually have more children. But, you are compassionate about the fact that I want them. You don't flinch when I say, "If we had kids...". This world would be such a grand place if they were blessed to have children you raised from birth. </o:p><br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>
<o:p>You are so loved. And, not just by me. Your family, Ty, your friends, even the animals. Thank you for the blessing that you are. I get teary eyed thinking about the influence you have had on us. And, I am so proud of the charismatic, charming, confident man you have become. I loved you before. But, it grows with every step we take together.</o:p><br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>
<o:p>With all of my heart,</o:p><br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>
<o:p>Marlo</o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-30515534259222350562014-01-29T10:47:00.000-06:002014-01-29T10:47:33.489-06:00Since I Haven't Written in a While<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wow, I have not sat down to write in days. Well, not
anything that I finished. So, today I shall do some mini-blogs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The state of Texas is considering dropping Algebra II from
their curriculum. There was a debate when my husband posted the link. One
person was very concerned that the school districts were concerned that classes
involving higher level thinking are not encouraged. Some are concerned that
requiring higher level course that are not going to be helpful to the students
future course of studies or future job plans would damage the students G.P.A.s.
My concern is that there should be more “real world” math required before
graduation. Like how to manage a household budget and balance a checkbook. I
say this as someone that wished someone had made me take these classes.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, that is not why I am writing this. This is about one of
the hardest things I have had to deal with as a parent. School was always easy
for me. The only thing I remember ever really having trouble with was fractions
in 3<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">rd</span></sup> grade. Sarah was the same way. Ty is not the same way. He is
very bright. But, he has to work a lot harder. But, give him something
mechanical, and he is gold. He will not need Algebra II. He needs courses in
mechanics. Yes, math will help. But, if he ever wants to be his own boss, he
will need business math. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
______________________<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is difficult for me to put myself in his place, because I
have not been there. Just like it was hard for Sarah’s father to understand
that she did NOT have trouble in school. And, what little she did get stuck on,
she was stubborn enough to keep at until she got it. But, Ty gets frustrated with himself. And, he is hard on himself. He is capable, he just has to work harder on "school" stuff.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now when he gets to more hands on activities, he blows me away. He is the child that changed a sensor out on a round hay baler at 7 or 8 years of age. By himself. (His father loosened and tightened the bolt for him. But, that is all.) He is going to be a gear head. We are all trying to encourage him to be a mechanic of some sort. He loves it. I am hoping he can work in physics and business courses. I am very proud of him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
______________________<br />
<br />
I have been rethinking my goals. I love this blog. It is my therapy and I know it has helped other people deal with their own losses. And, I am not going to stop blogging. But, I am going to place another venture higher in my priorities.<br />
<br />
As most of you that follow me know, I sew. I love sewing small projects. Baby/lap quilts and blankets, baby stuff, small home décor items, totes and things of that nature. In the past I have done some sewing for a little side money. The business name is Whetsel's Wearables and Crafty Creations. The goal is to get it up and running full time.<br />
<br />
Eventually, I want to open a fabric store with a small boutique for the items I make. I want to make this happen. For now, I have started a blog to go with it. But, it isn't quite ready for a grand reveal.<br />
<br />
______________________<br />
<br />
Well, that is all for now. And, stay warm! It's cold out there!</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-91741225971807102072014-01-26T19:44:00.000-06:002014-01-26T19:44:16.247-06:00A Quick Tip For Anyone That Sews!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
If you have ever used a store bought pattern, you know they come out like this. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXw8sYXYkpw-6C3p-8jJAHpYId-2JU2O16gOkWRZtqphHJLoo_lUwPap_ybNvYr79hs3ViyKqvKlRQvElArkNP13FTqTT1zOTDUM1kU0P8Gw3LtRxSolVRysXiOySqa1h7rWPMkR0XGAA/s1600/IMG_2988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXw8sYXYkpw-6C3p-8jJAHpYId-2JU2O16gOkWRZtqphHJLoo_lUwPap_ybNvYr79hs3ViyKqvKlRQvElArkNP13FTqTT1zOTDUM1kU0P8Gw3LtRxSolVRysXiOySqa1h7rWPMkR0XGAA/s1600/IMG_2988.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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But, quickly it is more like this.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-a7yC7vMwi3tyxSMm1J-Us5u4L2qGNbHahwf17oFcN39pgYWPhxcI9tz3tff2jtjWAkLU_FW1TtifDCwuxpGF1LcqQgZiCkD3CKzbYRgik0Wva2VKvNQaGEK7D5nTZ0RwRrkEPHVKCUA/s1600/IMG_2992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-a7yC7vMwi3tyxSMm1J-Us5u4L2qGNbHahwf17oFcN39pgYWPhxcI9tz3tff2jtjWAkLU_FW1TtifDCwuxpGF1LcqQgZiCkD3CKzbYRgik0Wva2VKvNQaGEK7D5nTZ0RwRrkEPHVKCUA/s1600/IMG_2992.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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I found a box of shipping envelopes, the lightweight cardboard ones, that we had no use for because we were no longer using that service for deliveries. So, I took a good sized stack home.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivgVC5pvuqnhf2H5YHbpJmwCMDL1Ees0nWJBbli4aMPtrokqC34WzkJ7uM9duiguh6kH1xni3IFIvGYdoGnFrq4e8JxEsiQn0pBp2NxLwyg1RPOmZ7LvWn-2-AupYARaUdZ_U_5g4fUy4/s1600/IMG_2990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivgVC5pvuqnhf2H5YHbpJmwCMDL1Ees0nWJBbli4aMPtrokqC34WzkJ7uM9duiguh6kH1xni3IFIvGYdoGnFrq4e8JxEsiQn0pBp2NxLwyg1RPOmZ7LvWn-2-AupYARaUdZ_U_5g4fUy4/s1600/IMG_2990.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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The pattern pieces fit in much easier in here.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOeiFaQaauEFJyb7LWor3Qi754DV7thDFjDhgxms_nvkkBJMsaezctUr6sEB_a5VEA0PH8tu8IABVgUIY4w1oNclrx9Ig8c20F0WQ6JYYbUj_zIR9j_WjgKjlbph4lNDBGSgw8cYZWukY/s1600/IMG_2991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOeiFaQaauEFJyb7LWor3Qi754DV7thDFjDhgxms_nvkkBJMsaezctUr6sEB_a5VEA0PH8tu8IABVgUIY4w1oNclrx9Ig8c20F0WQ6JYYbUj_zIR9j_WjgKjlbph4lNDBGSgw8cYZWukY/s1600/IMG_2991.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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And, they are the right size to cut the envelope down one side and across the bottom and tape to the box. So, now I can keep up with them much easier! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4gPFcY919tokC8PrNWyXyrGhJuIWoUZAR0pljFpw3-MsIM2e7yMeM7BmllNieDOtrg5LokfxxCEYwXqUqohJCTJ6NeCeBOZu01gA7jjWTGzY1-9mPuoPHf0d5YZ0KrHskKh7QAR6jDPc/s1600/IMG_2993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4gPFcY919tokC8PrNWyXyrGhJuIWoUZAR0pljFpw3-MsIM2e7yMeM7BmllNieDOtrg5LokfxxCEYwXqUqohJCTJ6NeCeBOZu01gA7jjWTGzY1-9mPuoPHf0d5YZ0KrHskKh7QAR6jDPc/s1600/IMG_2993.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-54371802667429767182014-01-20T18:38:00.001-06:002014-01-20T18:38:05.810-06:00The Night I Didn't Feel Like A Bad Mother.I remember this evening with such clarity. It was not long after I had left the kids dad and moved to Abilene. I had felt like a failure as a parent. <div><br></div><div>I was at a loss as to what my duties were now. And, I was living at my parents. So, I didn't even have my own room. Not to mention the kids.</div><div><br></div><div>But, this night, as least between Sarah and I, all was right in the world. He have never laughed that hard together. I laughed until I cried. She laughed so hard that she fell of the bed. Then, she started laughing harder as she bellowed, "I am literally ROTFLMBO!" (That is rolling in the floor laughing my butt off, if you didn't know.) That is one of my single happiest moments ever.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEslFnN3Gv-eH5Ty6uyxM-UZVR3931zr4QAo3zoVWxBjMSalozeD3o0W3JVJ6gVzY9ni6mScRuV5utBzW3vmvjpILbV-Yli9ctii-PPHMQp_Jz_HmOX09fs2iWKFKVnEnojiYr1vSg3c/s640/blogger-image-1799843968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPEslFnN3Gv-eH5Ty6uyxM-UZVR3931zr4QAo3zoVWxBjMSalozeD3o0W3JVJ6gVzY9ni6mScRuV5utBzW3vmvjpILbV-Yli9ctii-PPHMQp_Jz_HmOX09fs2iWKFKVnEnojiYr1vSg3c/s640/blogger-image-1799843968.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-65746662047968728322014-01-12T21:35:00.001-06:002014-01-12T21:35:55.026-06:00The Reality of the Darkness; The Ongoing Saga of Ophelia Redstar<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
You might have noticed that my blog address is Ophelia Redstar. It may seem odd because it doesn't have anything to do with my blog. But, it isn't any further from the truth. Ophelia is my literary alter ego.When I day dream about non-reality, make believe land, she is me. She is also a vampire that is also a vampire assasin. She is the part of the me that is strong, out spoken and has a backbone. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had planned on participating on the "Write a Novel in a Month" that was going on in November and realized, it wasn't going to happen. But, I had decided that I was going to write about her story anyway. I wanted to write Sarah in at least one story line. I plan on writing my son in, too. But, anyway, this was what I wrote.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
____________________________________________________________________________ </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The night was one that Ophelia would never forget. It was a
haunting evening, All Saint’s Day. Day of the Dead. And, she had ended up in
Mexico. She had been following the trail of a vampire by the name of Phaedra
that had a deviant taste for children. She used the excuse that the blood of
children helped to keep her youthful appearance. All she could figure was that
Phaedra forgot the source of the blood had no effect on your appearance. It did
however have an effect on your mind and strength. And, consuming the blood of
children tended to make creatures unstable. Impatience and short tempers being
the strongest effects. She had slaughtered her way through several small
villages, leaving a string of tiny corpses along the way. Young girls between
fourteen and sixteen were her favorite “treat.” She was very jealous of their
youth. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being Day of the Dead, there would be children everywhere, along
with the rest of their families. Ophelia knew that the Phaedra had lost control
and would see this as a feast. Not only was she risking the lives of innocents,
she was risking the safety and isolation of the supernatural world. A few
deaths could be covered up and dismissed. Even in this day and age where people
believed in things that go bump in the night and “bad luck,” word would spread.
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
A radiant glow was visible from miles away from the
cemetery. There were thousands of candles all through the headstones and
markers. You could hear the voices of men singing happy songs traveling through
the air. And, the laughter of children billowed and rolled through the hills
where she had been waiting for sun down. This was the last place the “Red
Ghost” had been seen. Her lair was easy to find. The stench was appalling. She
had at least become a little smarter this time around. She was luring the
children out to the hills where she would quite literally drain the children’s
bodies and drop their remains over the edge of a cliff. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was overwhelmed for a moment. Originally, Ophelia had
followed this trail thinking that the guilty culprit’s were the ones who had
turned her and stole her children. The last time she had seen the bodies of
children, they had been her own. She felt rage rise with bile in her throat as
she remembered being drug by her foot away from her burning home. The men had
done their dirty work in the cellar. But, they made sure that they left them
out for display for her to see as they had their turns with her. All four
children had been violated in every twisted way that the bastards could
imagine. She would never be able to fully put the sounds of their echoing
screams out of her head. She did not know what was worse, the screaming or when
it stopped. That is when hers began. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She knew as long as she could hear them, they were alive.
But, one by she could hear the screams would turn to crying. The crying to soft
sobbing. Sobbing to whimpers. Then silence. She was in such shock that she did
not realize the men were on their way back to the house. “Men” is not the right
word. These men had ceased to be men years before. They had been turned in the
years of the Civil War where blood shed was every where and there was plenty of
blood to keep a fresh, young vampire gorged on blood. That much consumption
caused problems. It would make the vampire crazy and victim to their own
bloodlust. Their sire wanted it that way. He was a debaucherous demon. Even for
a vampire. These men would follow him to the end of the earth. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her last memories as a human were being dragged from the
house by her foot. She could feel her ribs snapping and twisting as her face
dug into the ground. Her bones dig into her organs, puncturing them. What
little blood that was left after their feedings was seeping out of her heart
and veins. Muscles and tendons tore and pulled loose in her leg. Her foot finally
snapped loose at the bone as they reached the creek. They laughed as they
tossed her body into the ice cold water. The cold November air caused the water
to drop her body temperature even lower. They thought she was dead. They did
not realize that she was alive. But, just barely. Her will to live was gone. It
died with her children. She had been thrown a good one hundred feet from the
creek. And, as her head crashed against a large stone she felt her neck snap.
She heard the crunch as her vertebrae collided and then snapped apart as she
bounced on the creek bottom. And, she did not care. She just wanted to die. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Without her children she did not want to live. She didn’t
care anymore. Her husband was gone and now her children. It had been five years
since that night. Years had taught her that you had to go on. If you did not
have anyone left to care about, fight for the people that do. And, she was not
going to let anyone else lose a child tonight. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Upon descending the hill, she saw Phaedra in silhouette against
the glow of the candles. She was tiny. No more than five feet tall. But the way
that she stood there in the night air with her hair whipping in the wind, she
seemed enormous. It was almost as though she was floating in the air.
Flamboyance was always a specialty of hers. It wasn’t just for show. It was
just who she was. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A small child, a girl no more than four, stuck her head
around one of the outermost headstones. Her tiny feet began to take
increasingly faster steps towards Phaedra. The child was being drawn in.
Creating infatuation is a gift that few vampires have. And, the ones that do
have it as humans, too. You know them, the people that others just want to be
friends with. People give them things. Cars, jewels, groceries. The girl’s face
was lit up, laughing. I had to move quickly. I wanted to surprise her, and the
girl just blew any chance of that. There would not be any bloodshed. Not
tonight. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She felt the fire in her chest flare as she pulled Retribution
from his scabbard. It was a short sword that had been coated in silver. Using
it made her nervous. She would have to keep from touching herself with it. The
leather she was wearing would keep her from coming in contact from the metal.
Tall boots, pants, corset and shirt were very fitted and would make her stick
out like a sore thumb in her pre-Victorian world. But, it kept her safe. And,
to be honest, the outfit was enough of a distraction that people did not look
at her face. Not that many people lived to see her, anymore. The weight of the
sword was very heavy in her hand. Even after all this time, she still hadn’t
adjusted to the power in body. The sword should have been heavy for her to even
lift. But, as a vampire, it was light as a feather. Power and anger pulsed
through her muscles as she began her run at Phaedra. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A small scream escaped the mouth of the little girl. It grew
as her sweet brown eyes grew larger at the mad woman running towards her. A
sharp hiss rang is her ears as Phaedra’s head whipped around. Her eyes were red
and full of lust and hysteria. Yes, she was completely off her rocker. But, she
was ancient and old. That meant she was a formidable opponent. Her was strength
was her speed and agility. That little bit of surprise that Ophelia had was now
gone. Now, she would have to rely on her determination and use the anger that
burned within her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was so focused on her mission that she was oblivious
that the songs and laughter had ceased. It was deadly silent. As soon as the
vampires had laid eyes on each other, the ghosts of the children buried in the
cemetery began to gather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The candles,
toys and candies that were left by their families had enticed their spirits to
come tonight. Tonight, when the veil between this world and the next, the spirits
of the children that were there had a leader. The spirit of a fourteen year old
girl, dressed in a torn white dress whipped around her feet. She began to
gather the children with a gentle motion of her hand. The spirits followed her.
Their family members following right behind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ophelia ran, almost faster than a human eye could see, sword
close to her side. She gripped it tightly in fear that she might lose it. Or,
that it might be ripped from her grip by her opponents. Phaedra flew right at
her. On lookers would say that it reminded them of a head on train collision.
The movement of the two were so fast that no one was ever sure what happened in
the struggle. The sword that had been gripped like a vise had managed to be
flung from her hand. From the ground she could not see. Her advisary had
blinded her with dirt and had gripped her bony hand around Ophelia’s throat.
She could feel her muscles pulling away from the bone. This was not how she had
wanted this to go. Not at all. The cackling laughter from the woman looming
over her was added to her confusion. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was still a young vampire herself. She was still new to
killing. It left a bitter taste in her mouth. She was ready to die. She had
been since that night five years ago. Thoughts of finally being able to die
brought her peace. Not knowing if she would go to heaven, hell or somewhere in
between, she just wanted to go. She was surprised that heaven might be an
option. But, when she heard the voice of her daughter, her daughter that had
been long dead, say, “Mother…” she quickly filled with confusion. Surely she
didn’t see her face. Her sweet blue eyes and warm smile. She was slipping in
and out of conciousness. But, she knew that she wasn’t seeing things. Her
daughter’s ghost was there. She was even growing more solid. Her bare feet
disturbing the dry dirt, causing it to billow up in clouds as she walked
towards the sword laying on the ground. With a look of determination and using
all of the focus the girl could muster, she placed her know corporeal hand
around the grip of the sword. And, with a tenacious effort, she lifted the
sword and swung it in one motion, bringing the Phaedra’s head flying from her
body.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ophelia flew up from the ground. Her own shock and
astonishment left her body tingling, unaware of the trauma dealt by the now
dead vampire, whose body was already beginning the rapid process of decay. All
Saint’s Day was when the spirits of the dead were supposed to be able to come
back to visit their loved ones. But, she had always thought that this was just
an excuse to celebrate the lives of loved ones. Once she gained her center, she
realized that there were ghosts over other children making a circle around
them, as though they were creating a protective barrier between the vampires
and the people and the cemetery that had come to see what the ruckus was.
Ophelia and Rachel ran to each other just in time to hold each other before she
turned to mist again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
”I don’t understand. Come back my baby! Don’t leave me again!” Ophelia screamed
as the child dissipated completely. She did not realize that she was sobbing
and gasping for air as she grasped at the ground where her daughter had been
standing. Every once of excruciating pain that she had felt over the last five
years hit her all at once. She felt human for the first time in a very long
while. It wasn’t until a gentle hand touched her shoulder that she realized the
ghosts were all gone. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The sun will be up soon. You can sleep in our cellar.” She
looked up to see a girl no older that her own Rachel had been sitting beside
her. “My grandmother said that anyone, vampire or not, that would the ghosts of
our children would protect is worthy of our protection as well.” Her smile was
gentle and warm. And, more importantly, genuine. Ophelia realized that she had
been there for hours, curled on the ground heaving with dry sobs. “My name is
Rose,” she spoke gently as she straightened her skirts as she got up from the
dry ground. She was not scared of her. Knowing she was a vampire, and she still
trusted her. She invited her to her house. The house where her family sleeps.
She could not turn down her generosity. But, her heartbreak was starting to
ease a bit. There was a part of her, the part that had saved her skin many
times that said this could be a trap. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, there comes a point when you are completely
emotionally, mentally and physically drained that all you have left is faith.
Faith in the ones that offer you shelter in the storms of life. She reached her
hand up to the girl. Together, they dusted the dirt from her and her clothes
and walked quietly to the house. It was located in the center of town. Right on
the square. As the got closer to the house, she realized she could hear singing
again. But, it was quiet. Murmurs, just above a hum. People were heading back
into their homes. In her mind, she was evil. She was not worthy of love or
trust. But, these people that had never seen her before, and knew what she was
smiled at her. Warm, genuine smiles stretched across their faces. Some of them
even brought her packages wrapped in brown papers. An elderly man scooted
towards her and slowly reached out and delicately took her had in his. He
placed his lips to the back of her hand. “Gracias,” he said as he bowed low. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She didn’t understand. Of all the creatures in the world to
fear, vampires were high on the list. She was the thing of nightmares. Children
should be running and screaming. These people should be crossing themselves and
shivering. But, they were not. Instead they were welcoming her with open arms.
There was something very otherworldly going on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rose looked over with a small smile. She could tell that
Ophelia was confused. “My grandmother has spoke to the townspeople on your
behalf. They understand that you came to protect our children from the Blood
Witch and not to harm anyone.” Before Ophelia could respond the girl quickly
added, “She is psychic. She read your mind and could tell that you were only
here to help. Also, you are hurting and lonely. If there is anything that you
ever need, we are at your service. If you need somewhere to rest or to hide. We
will help you. You came to us in our time of need, without expecting anything
in return.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ophelia stopped for a moment. Warmth and love radiated from
the girls face. Any other time, she would have been furious that someone read
her mind. But, the entire town wanted to take her under their wing. She had
never in her life felt this kind of acceptance. She had spent her life not
knowing who she was. Her parents had died when she was a young girl of eight.
From then on, nothing was right again until she met Michael. Then, she lost him
and her children. There had been so many occurrences of strange and
supernatural activity around her that she was quite scared that she had been
jinxed or cursed. What harm would come to these people for protecting her?
Could she risk their lives for her own? But, she couldn’t refuse their
hospitality, either. And, the option of a safe haven was so very appealing. “I
will stay for a while. But, I insist that we find somewhere away from people so
that I am not a danger to anyone.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“As long as you stay with us until dusk. You have to rest,”
the girl replied as she guided Ophelia into a doorway. “Welcome to our home. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-7260879594382868052014-01-07T21:49:00.001-06:002014-01-07T22:02:03.925-06:00What My Dreams Are Made OfIf money was no object at all, what would you do with your time?<br />
<br />
I think about this a lot. More than I should, really.<br />
<br />
My day would start a little something like this...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I wake just before the alarm buzzes to signal the beginning of the day. The sun is creeping up slow and bright, so I think that I will let Jerry sleep in a bit. He does have clients to meet with. But, not until lunch. I roll over and kiss him on the cheek before attempting to get out of bed. It is kind of difficult with two small dogs sleeping on your feet. The wooden floor feels cool and smooth on my feet as I tiptoe to the restroom to get ready for the day.<br />
<br />
I am so glad that we had this house built. We wanted an old home. But, we also wanted modern amenities. So, we went with an old house plan that has been adapted to our needs. The sun is beginning to poor into the window over the kitchen sink. I look out to see Venom sitting outside his house, just waiting for Jerry to bring him his food. I swear he is shaking his head at the chickens clucking about in their coup. I will head out to gather eggs after a cup of coffee and the inside animals are tended to. The darn parrot is being loud. Again. But, Jerry loves him. So, I do, too.<br />
<br />
After feeding the hamsters, birds, fish, and crabs I head out to the screened-in porch to enjoy the warm summer morning. I look out over the back yard to take in the view. There are five large fenced in sections for large dogs. Each dog gets their own pen. We even have a couple ready to fill. We would only have one except that two of the dogs were found together and they were only this happy together. Currently, they are playing tag around the pen. Then, there is the large barn out a ways across the yard. It's not all a barn. Half of it is. The other half is our studio and office space. We wanted to work from home. But, wanted a separation between work and home. This was a great compromise. It also meant we could have a barn with bathrooms with hot water and bathrooms. The chicken coup is built into the side of the barn so that we can shut the outside area off when it is too cold for the birds. There is also a small kitchen type area for washing and storing eggs. Also, to take care of the animals when they need extra help.I set my mug down and pick up the egg basket and head out to tend to my share of the animals, the goats and chickens. <br />
<br />
I come back into the kitchen to find Jerry, still in his pajama bottoms fixing himself a cup of coffee and warming up some quiche. I put the eggs I bring back into the fridge. I am going to bake cookies so that Ty will have plenty to snack on when he gets here this evening. The place feels warmer and more full when he is here. I hop up on the kitchen counter and convince Jerry to fix me a slice just in time to find out her has already warmed one up and sliced up some fruit. I have things to do today besides baking cookies. I have orders to fill. But, I also need supplies. I will head to Abilene to get them after the mail comes in. It's Friday after all. Maybe I will come along for Jerry's lunch meeting. I think they are meeting at Abi-Haus.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, the dogs are barking their "Someone is here!" bark. Since, I am the only one dressed, I go to the door to find the UPS man with boxes of supplies, and maybe a pair or two of shoes. I sign for my package and drop the shoes on the bench by the door before heading out to the studio to see what all is in the boxes and make my list of supplies. Jerry, being the smart aleck he is, is blocking the door. So, I give him my "move it or lose it" glare before kissing him on the cheek. He moves over and grabs Cinnamon, the newest kitten before she follows me out the door. Lucy follows along beside me out to the barn. She is a mutt. A small long haired, happy go lucky mutt. And, she loves me. Rick rather stay with the cats. He thinks he is a cat.<br />
<br />
I set the boxes down so that I can open the door to make my way into the studio. It is a large room that we have sectioned off into our own office and studio spaces. There is even a loft area for Ty. He has his own space with his own computer supplies and all the art supplies he wants. As long as he uses them. I smile as I notice a painting on an easel. It is of a girl. He has done a very nice job. But, the real questions are is she real and, if so, will see the painting.<br />
<br />
I bring the boxes to the table where I unload the fabrics and threads into their homes on the shelves. I find my shopping list and make a quick note of the numbers for the ink we need for the printers. I have onsies to knock out this week. So, I need to print the designs so I can get them out first thing Monday. I take a moment to let it sink in. I am living a life that makes me truly happy. I am doing what I enjoy. My husband is happy and thriving doing the things he loves. I have a son that is well adjusted and making a difference in his own world. Lucy starts nudging my foot with her head. I pick her and the list up and proceed to lock up the building. I stop to scratch the dogs that are waiting rather impatiently for Jerry to hurry up and feed them. Lucy and I help him finish taking care of the big dogs. She loves the big dogs and nuzzles them through the fence. Jasper the oldest of the dogs seems to think that she is his pup. He is very gentle and is the only dog that we actually let out to roam when we are gone. He doesn't tear anything up and would not hurt a fly.<br />
<br />
Once we are done getting the animals tended to, we head out to town. We take Jerry's car. The '67 Camaro in Granada Gold. It is just like his dad's. He loves the car almost as much as me. And, almost as much as I love my '69 Chevelle parked next to it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-43919938406287270602014-01-02T18:58:00.000-06:002014-01-02T18:58:00.181-06:00...2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdfjz0jA6ulErUrqQGg26YRQl2c5G_4tN8rOIa5zx2R8Xx6sMpoM80w30RkoX9ZJPlcVi1wVTIpnOy_faaf_m8kL-JpkXnAzJauf1yNrgvM_ZnwJ6VTvz05F7acQDO4wvNTmb9M4eo81M/s1600/time.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdfjz0jA6ulErUrqQGg26YRQl2c5G_4tN8rOIa5zx2R8Xx6sMpoM80w30RkoX9ZJPlcVi1wVTIpnOy_faaf_m8kL-JpkXnAzJauf1yNrgvM_ZnwJ6VTvz05F7acQDO4wvNTmb9M4eo81M/s320/time.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
Time…</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
Yep, I am really good
at wasting it. I don’t mean going to the movies, goofing around with friends.
That is spending time. Those are choices I make to enjoy my time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
Even playing some games
on Facebook are how I spend my time. They let me clear my head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
Lazy Saturday mornings
in bed are spending time working on the relationship with my husband and
enjoying time with our pets.<o:p></o:p></div>
<o:p></o:p>But, I waste a lot of
time by sitting down thinking of the things I want to or should be doing
instead of just getting up and doing them. I have many regrets based on what I
could have done with all of that wasted time. This year, my goal, not my resolution.
Is to spend my time wisely. To cherish it. To make a difference in the world
around me. And, to enjoy life. I want to make steps forward in making my small
business big enough that I do not have to have a job outside of the home.<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
I want to actually
finish the projects I have started and planned. I want to work out on branching
out and REALLY sharing the things I do know with the rest of the world. I want
My husband and I to do podcasts with our friends about the geeky things that
make us happy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px;">
I want to move so that
we have a home where we can have room for people to come over and treasure the
time with them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<o:p></o:p>I will make more of an
effort to take advantage of every moment with my son. Even if he is out on a
field or the court, it still feels like time together!<br />
<br />
But, most the key thing is not to WASTE time. My time is mine and I will decide how to spend it. And, spend it I will.<br />
<br />
Now, I am not calling this a resolution. A resolution is saying, "I WILL do this!" It is a do it or give up situation. I am setting goals. There are projects in particular that I want to finish. There are things I want to accomplish. I will post about those later this month. But, today, I am simply declaring my word is TIME.<br />
<br />
(I would have written this yesterday, but I was spending my time bonding with my family.) <br />
<br />
<o:p></o:p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-84881171051539726192013-12-31T20:23:00.002-06:002013-12-31T20:23:33.071-06:002013...<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">HAPPY NEW YEAR</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">from Das Whetsel Haus!</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8fTlCS5Lh3BZCunHbpAWVZfmgaCv-vbIzQjB743ln3n9L-U9NV9y2U2bg8HkJsdFrsVXTOPnM-o3VMl5kXjb-DMa-fxIId1YHOkWkW5v7fDkml2BBJZdAk0ZT5fm7Nej0_pYTdUgaKIw/s1600/photo(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8fTlCS5Lh3BZCunHbpAWVZfmgaCv-vbIzQjB743ln3n9L-U9NV9y2U2bg8HkJsdFrsVXTOPnM-o3VMl5kXjb-DMa-fxIId1YHOkWkW5v7fDkml2BBJZdAk0ZT5fm7Nej0_pYTdUgaKIw/s320/photo(1).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I would be lying if I said that I wasn't glad that this year is almost over.<br />
<br />
BUT...<br />
<br />
It hasn't been a bad year. It has been a year of finding a groove, making friends and finding uplifting moments.<br />
<br />
I am currently watching a 2013 in review on NBC. That means I am writing this through tears. I have cried at the drop of the hat. I am also smiling. There are so many great stories from this last year. I cry every time I hear the word "Batkid."<br />
<br />
The best thing that happened in my life in this last year has been making friends. Some old friends that I reconnected with and some that are brand spanking new ones that have helped me to figure out who I am. I am not one for resolutions. But, I will be making goals. Both personal, with my family and as a business woman.<br />
<br />
There is one keyword that I plan of focusing on. It was value and weight. Is important and a limited resource. And, you never know when yours will be over.<br />
<br />
The word is "Time."<br />
<br />
Anyway, it is time for company and games. I hope your 2014 is better than 2013. No matter how good your 2013 was. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-46538726212092490172013-12-23T22:41:00.000-06:002013-12-23T22:41:01.238-06:00What We Dream About and ForI have started this blog about four times. But, every time I have, I have had my emotional feet knocked out from underneath me. And, thinking about the things that I want and don't have going on just makes me depressed and angry. But, I am trying to work on it. I would be lying if I didn't say that part of working on it did not include meds and a whiskey and coke at night. But, just one.<br />
<br />
I have also come to a realization that some of my fantasy list also falls under realizations I have made and things I have learn. So, this will be a bit of and eclectic and random list. I know HUGE shocker, right?<br />
<br />
1. Some of my wishes are for the world. The bible speaks of having the faith of a child. I have always held this close to my heart. It is part of the idealist in me. This wish is that the people of the world would find their inner child and latch on to it for everything they have. I have also realized that this is a lot easier with small children in your home. Whether they are your children or someone else's.<br />
<br />
2. I use the phrase "This is a kindness." a lot now. I heard it on Doctor Who. Apparently, it is a rather common phrase here in the states, too. I like it a lot. I use it instead of "Can you do me a favor?" It implies that the act is not expected to be paid back. And, I am a proponent for doing things because it is the kind and right thing to do, not because you are keeping a tally of who owes you for what.<br />
<br />
3. I am missing the country a bit. Mind you, I don't want to be out as far as I used to be. But, I would love to be out of the city limits with maybe 10 to 15 acres with trees. I want to have more chickens and goats. I also want to be able to rescue large dogs and have room for them to play. I want other animals, too.I want large farmhouse/storybook home with a studio space.<br />
<br />
4. I want a mountain cabin all to myself. I could use time away from people.<br />
<br />
5. I want to quit grinding my teeth. I did for a while. But, I started again for some reason.<br />
<br />
6. My last wish for the evening is that you get to see the mark your child makes in the world. And, while they are alive. Pay attention to how your child interacts with people. Both adults and children.<br />
<br />
I was shocked by how many parents knew about Sarah. I mean their children came home from school talking about her. And, not because she was the diabetic kid in the class. The talked about how strong her personality was. How she stood up for other kids. How she stood up for herself and made her presence known.<br />
<br />
If you have children that have touched your kids that way. Let their parents now. It is an awesome feeling.<br />
<br />
_____________________________________________________________________________<br />
<br />
On a different note, I have a dear friend that lost a baby during pregnancy. I love her and her husband. If there was ever a couple that I would wish a child for a family, it would be them, I got a message from her this morning stating that she had a dream she wanted to tell me about.<br />
<br />
I have had friends that have had dreams with Sarah ever since we lost her. But this one touched me more that the others. Somehow in my mind, I see Sarah greeting children as they come into Heaven, showing them the ropes and singing as she goes. This is the message I received.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"<span data-measureme="1"><span class="null">I dreamed about my baby
being in Heaven. The baby was being held </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span data-measureme="1"><span class="null">by someone else. They turned
around, and it was your Sarah. She told </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span data-measureme="1"><span class="null">me not to worry because the baby
was with family and friends. </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span data-measureme="1"><span class="null">Your Sarah is helping take care of my
baby."</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span data-measureme="1"><span class="null">I cried and smiled when I read it. This is a hard time for people that have lost children. It doesn't matter if the baby didn't survive the pregnancy or the child lived for several years. It is still hard. Please be kind and patient.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span data-measureme="1"><span class="null">I love you, Stephanie and Andrew. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span data-measureme="1"><span class="null">My heart goes out to all of the families that have lost children. May God pour your peace out over these families during this holiday season. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span data-measureme="1"><span class="null"> </span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-48284518587007512002013-12-19T15:12:00.000-06:002013-12-19T15:12:58.074-06:00A Perfect Storm that Lead to A Grumpy Idealist<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have started so many blogs today in my head. I have had a tumultuous
week. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The assumption, on my part
anyways, is that this week has been a perfect storm of randomness that pushed
me a bit over the edge Monday. Then, it just kept going. It has been a
craptacular storm of negativism and complaining all around the world. I am avoiding
to avoid Facebook for a while. I have had my fill of people perpetuating
stereotypes and slinging stones that I am done. So, I am going to write two
blogs today. This one to vent. And, then later this evening, I will write my
fantasy Christmas list. So here we go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I will only say one thing regarding the Duck Dynasty story.
As a hard-core, dreamy realist, I am in awe that people seem to be unaware that
this is more about money than anything. Will they lose more money from
advertisers if they keep the show or from the audience if they drop the show?
That and GQ will sale issue after issue for an article that has nothing to do
with being a gentleman. No, I am not referring to religion. I mean really, if
these guys weren’t loaded and have their own show, would they be in the magazine?
I think not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had a rough day this week dealing with some other things
that are probably always to going to always be too private to blog on because
they do not just involve me. I have however decided that from here out, the
only people that should have a direct impact on my house, both the buildings
and activities that take place there, are no one else’s business other than the
people that live there. There is a certain amount of pressure that I have put
on myself about our home that has been debilitating. But, you know what? It is
a lot easier to get up and clean because you want it done than because, in your
own little head, other people care. I have hopes of a clean home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I may or may not have posted about people breaking into
storage buildings and homes lately. Well, it looks like at least one person has
been caught. These people have broken into our family storage building and took
some of our things. I try really hard not to judge. But, it happens. If they
really need the money for food and such, there are other ways. If it is just
plain being nefarious, then they suck. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh and one thing that I am going to quit doing is dumbing
myself down. I am going to start every <span style="background-color: white;">sesquipedalian</span> word I know! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And, one last thing, all of those people that kept
complaining about Christmas before Thanksgiving, where are you? I see very few
of you posting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-31079341223833273722013-12-13T20:25:00.002-06:002013-12-13T20:25:15.126-06:00A Few Lessons I Have Learned<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am pretty darn happy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>know what to
do with it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Don’t get me wrong. There are a lot of things in my life
that could be a lot better. But, in general, considering everything in my life,
I am happy. I am at a place where I can see a light of hope for the future. The
last few years left me with emotional whiplash. A lot has happened both good
and bad. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was drained. I am going to give you a visual. You have a
bathtub that is full of filthy water. You drain it completely. Now, you put the
plug back in and add more water. Clean water. It doesn’t stay clean. There is
still dirt there. But, not near as much. Then you drain it, again. If you keep
doing this, eventually you end up with fairly clean water. Water that isn’t
stagnant. There are some issues that will always be there, like ring around the
tub in an old porcelain tub that needs to be refinished. But, you get used to
it and pretty well ignore it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That is where I am. This morning, I felt like I was taking a
bubble bath in my tub. I wake up to the dog scampering over and laying down on
my chest with his normal, “You don’t need to get up right now.” puppy dog eyes.
Then the kitten comes over and starts nuzzling. Then look up to see Mr. J
smiling at me. (Yes, I see you over there making that gagging motion. I don’t
care. Nanner-nanner.)I was warm and happy. The only thing that would have been
better would have been if my son was there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have even come to a point where I don’t say son and
daughter. I realized that yesterday. Acceptance is a hard, painful thing. But,
it is healing. You can’t move forward without it. She isn’t coming back.</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have noticed that other people speak of her always being
14. But, when I think of her, I see her as a seventeen year old. Standing tall
and proud. Strutting about with that self confidence that is so rare in teenage
girls.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have learned a few things over the last year that I want to share. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You can never hug your children too much. Ever. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Never
mock the person that treats their animal like family. For some of us,
our pets really are family. I would be just as devastated if I lost my
dog as if I lost a blood relative.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That
you can never talk to your children too much. Treat them with respect.
It is how they learn, by example. I even tell them yes ma'am and yes
sir. There are a lot of children that never hear the words. It might be
the only time they hear them.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You
are an adult. Act like it. That often means not stooping to other
people's level. And, sometimes, that means not trying to show people up.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When you are an adult, you learn to let by gones be by gones.
When your spouse has friends that are friends with someone that you had
a falling out with a long time ago, grow up. Get over it and move the
heck on. You are hurting your spouse. Especially if the ax you are still
grinding is from before you were a couple. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That everyone grieves differently. And, that is OK. There is not a "right" way to grieve. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Don't be afraid to make new friends.</span><br />
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Well, I am going to wrap this up for now. I have a sinus headache that is eating me alive. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525901872120757363.post-468022426930458962013-12-08T21:35:00.000-06:002013-12-08T21:35:55.205-06:00Is That You're Engorged Sense of Entitlement, Or Are You Happy To See Me?I had this grand plan for a well thought out, structured, mature blog. Then I said screw it. I have been thinking on this blog for nearly a week. I am mad at my younger self. I wish I had realized that I was selfish and rude. I wish that I had made better decisions and been more aware of the world around me. (This includes paying more attention to my now husband. We met in college and if we had dated back then, we could have saved each other a lot of pain. Yes, we wouldn't be the people we are today. But, still.)<br />
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I wish I had been aware of the opportunities around me. I wish I had spent more time forming opinions and taking stands than flirting with boys. I wish I had gone for a degree I would eventually want to actually use. I really. I wished I had formed better habits.<br />
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But, hind sight is a bitch. Like karma.<br />
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That being said, the reason I have had these thoughts on my mind is because I keep seeing people acting like I did. I mean, I didn't act quite as poorly. But, I still see it. So, the lesson on this trip to the top of the soap box is don't be a dick. Yes, I mean you. I am not saying you are a dick. But, I think that we on occasion need to step back, as an individual, and thinks, "How do other people see me?"<br />
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There are people that say "I don't care what other people think." I am calling bullshit. From my experience, people that say that are lying to themselves, assholes, looking for a fight or seeking attention. Or, any combination there of.<br />
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I am not saying that your decisions should be determined by other people. But, your attitude shouldn't either. Just because you feel strongly on a subject does not make it OK to treat people that disagree with you like crap. It is NOT OK.<br />
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I now I am rambling a bit. But, I have been stuck inside do to the fact that my body hates cold weather and takes it out on my joints. I have a bit of cabin fever.<br />
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Being gracious isn't always easy. Especially if it is something that you really do not want or is intended as a jab at you personally. But, whatever you do, DO NOT tell the person you don't like it. Say thank you, and move on. Also, I am a firm believer that you should never expect things from people. By saying this, I don't mean that people are bad and that they aren't going to want to give you anything. I am simply saying that we should do things and give things because we want to. There should never be any invisible strings attached.<br />
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One last thing and I will let you go. And, this above all. Just be nice. Even when it hurts. And, especially when someone else is hurt. This includes the grocery store. Especially when the lady is standing there staring at the pop rocks on the verge of tears because they were her daughter's favorite. (Walmart has candy cane flavored ones.) Seriously, the person that spins out on the ice and is just sitting there. Give them a minute. Be patient. The clerk that is snotty and cold. Bathe them in your kindness. They may being going through things you will never know about. And, if not, they need your kindness and warmth more than anyone else.<br />
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So, in closing, as I said earlier. Don't be a dick.<br />
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And, one last thing. No one owes you anything. You are not entitled to anything. If you think you are, you probably don't deserve what you have.<br />
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I am stepping down from my soapbox now. As you were.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11441078839261305749noreply@blogger.com0