tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5532185999084464132024-03-05T22:36:58.115-08:00Laner's BlogI'll blog here about my life in general - basically whatever crosses my mind.glad2behttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03945278714403827885noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-88032141344356170232020-09-20T19:32:00.003-07:002020-09-20T19:32:35.040-07:00Making Stuff: A tasy take on stuffed peppers<p> David and I have been using our new found time together at home to revisit our love for cooking. One thing we both have liked in our adulthood are stuffed peppers. One night, I wanted to use up things we had in our pantry and discovered that we may be able to make stuffed peppers. David made a run to the store and found these beautiful peppers while I surfed the internet to find a recipe. What I found were several recipes that didn't quite add up to the contents of my pantry, so David and I decided this was an opportunity to put what we know about cooking and about what mixes well together, and we created our own recipe. It was very tasty, so I decided I wanted to be sure to get it in writing for future use.</p><p>If you try this and like it, let us know. If you try a new take on it, let us know. If you didn't like it, let us know. . . Just let us know!</p><p>Note: You'll notice that this recipe doesn't use the full cans - if you would prefer, double everything and freeze two of the peppers for later!</p><p><b>Couscous and Tomato Stuffed Green Peppers for two</b></p><p><b>Ingredients:</b></p><p>8 oz. ground beef (or sausage would be good, too)</p><p>1 tsp. minced garlic</p><p>1 T. minced onion</p><p>1/2 can diced tomatoes, drained</p><p>1 tsp. Italian seasoning</p><p>Salt and pepper to taste</p><p>1 T. tomato paste</p><p>1 c. tomato sauce</p><p>2 large green peppers</p><p>1/4 c. dried pearl couscous</p><p>1 c. sharp white cheddar (rustic cut)</p><p><b>Directions:</b></p><p>1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.</p><p>2. Wash the peppers. Cut the tops off the green peppers, remove the stems and seeds. Dice the remaining part of the tops. </p><p>3. Spray an oven safe dish with olive oil. Place the bottom of the peppers open side up in the dish, then spray with olive oil. Place the dish in the preheated oven to lightly roast the peppers for about 10 minutes. You don't want to cook them completely, as they will continue the cooking process once you have stuffed them.</p><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-NTXUT8FrWMXVdVkyvlsktFI14TGM1Zt3ARmpxuOM1m8LzRtiylLwZVDwnCR4NPLHk0ceoJoIrEXN6EmaNulsQ4DdQhyphenhyphena7p7_D4XciNymQz919hnSWxc3Lz0KEI4-kkjv1Nnwi58YGqc/s320/IMG_20200902_165246.jpg" /></div><p><br /></p><p>4. While the peppers are pre-roasting, brown the ground beef in a skillet on medium-high heat with the onions. Drain if you didn't use lean meat.</p><p>5. Add the garlic, diced peppers, tomato paste, tomatoes, italian seasoning, salt/pepper, and tomato sauce and simmer on low, stirring occasionally.</p><p>6. Prepare the couscous according to package directions.</p><p>7. Once the peppers have finished, let them cool while you add the couscous and 1/2 of the cheese to the meat mixture and continue to simmer on low, stirring occasionally.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIATLevW32qMbHhHpbS8EFXqqoUgmRyLbegR_XoA8nPRA5wl2duMhHJum62znUodK5Uo39spY8Miy8C4-_MxrLJdgI2_dIWxXPjN5qBbPkjABGGSmZsrszR0N8NPN0K1buOMcbewH__A/s2048/IMG_20200902_165131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNIATLevW32qMbHhHpbS8EFXqqoUgmRyLbegR_XoA8nPRA5wl2duMhHJum62znUodK5Uo39spY8Miy8C4-_MxrLJdgI2_dIWxXPjN5qBbPkjABGGSmZsrszR0N8NPN0K1buOMcbewH__A/s320/IMG_20200902_165131.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>8. Stuff the peppers with the meat mixture, then top with remaining cheese.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZHEpXEljKcg5yFmE0KqGm1AbDFsv3yoKibXHNUaU9OrtGSUt02YZUEb-U10EYCYRjy9BzP5VAZSgzST1cqug_xevZsuciSYc8FgJ3oZgyj4xHxq8AQtgG0qJNOOWiAqTC-og6sNQNCsk/s2048/IMG_20200902_165500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZHEpXEljKcg5yFmE0KqGm1AbDFsv3yoKibXHNUaU9OrtGSUt02YZUEb-U10EYCYRjy9BzP5VAZSgzST1cqug_xevZsuciSYc8FgJ3oZgyj4xHxq8AQtgG0qJNOOWiAqTC-og6sNQNCsk/s320/IMG_20200902_165500.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>9. Bake, uncovered in oven for 25 minutes or until cheese is melted. </p><p><br /></p>eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-4616490683138374402020-05-31T06:44:00.000-07:002020-05-31T06:44:09.791-07:00Hi I'm privileged, and you might be, too<h2>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Priv-i-lege</b></span></h2>
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a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group.</div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It doesn't have anything to do with how much money you have. It doesn't have to do with how many struggles you have endured in your life. It isn't your fault, personally, that you have privilege, but it is your fault if you don't do something about it.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I was born in a lower middle-class, white home in middle USA in 1965. My father became disabled early in my remembered life. My mom was a nurse. We quickly moved from lower middle class to poor, but we never realized it. My parents raised us all to understand that riches were measured by relationships and that education was the only possession that could not be taken away from us. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It seemed fun and daring when my sister and I climbed into the dumpster behind a floral shop to gather a bouquet for our mom for Mother's Day and it was a teary-eyed mama who accepted it, and reveled in the storytelling of our adventure. It didn't feel like poverty.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I didn't begin to understand any semblance of what poverty was like until I was an adult. Even then, I know I didn't have it as bad as others. Using my money to buy dog food and baby formula because these creatures who depended on me didn't deserve to not eat. Having friends invite us over for dinner every other day because they knew that was the only time we ate. I sometimes actually miss the feeling of a cold shower in the dark, when both electric and gas had been shut off. I will turn off the light in my bathroom and only turn on the cold - shaking myself back into remembrance of how good my life is. Experiencing my miscarriage all alone, with no phone, driving through a tornado warning to make a phone call to my mama, crying. Driving a car with a cracked head, water in the radiator that looked like frothy chocolate milk, no radio, and a passenger side door that wouldn't quite latch. But I had transportation. I had a mama. I had love. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">No matter how many struggles I have gone through in life, I never once walked down the street knowing that I might get arrested at any moment because of the color of my skin. I never once had to have a conversation with my sons about how to act when they are approached by a police officer, for fear they might get killed. I never once had to send my husband off to work, wondering if this could be the day he might speed a little too much, or have a broken taillight, get pulled over, and I might never see him again.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">My white privilege is not something to feel defensive about, when people point it out to me. It is something to own and use for good.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">I am privileged.</span></i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIp8YN0yFEs51YykLAq8OEfPgwekp-52hBUpbQ-HUxHhEOB6fNRB0Y4veAb0CWHJ0MHbeZOcBc5LjrzNhsRXwJ3OFCxi4iYH_EI48bk0UDvmXi9ntkLR5ni4DOP1Abu6G3aoy3AhnfxM/s1600/hand-1917895_1920.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIp8YN0yFEs51YykLAq8OEfPgwekp-52hBUpbQ-HUxHhEOB6fNRB0Y4veAb0CWHJ0MHbeZOcBc5LjrzNhsRXwJ3OFCxi4iYH_EI48bk0UDvmXi9ntkLR5ni4DOP1Abu6G3aoy3AhnfxM/s320/hand-1917895_1920.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">With that privilege, which I have only because of chance, I have a responsibility to be a part of the change. I love my brothers and sisters in this world, all of them - white, black, brown, young, old, Muslim, Jewish, Christian, Agnostic, Atheist, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, gay, agreeing with my opinions or disagreeing with my opinions - every single human being on Earth has a RIGHT to live their lives in peace, with the people they love.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I stand with those who do not share the luxury of privilege and dream of a day when all of my brothers and sisters are truly equal.</span></div>
eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-75823852830761040112020-05-23T11:17:00.002-07:002020-05-23T11:27:30.016-07:00Family Recipe: Ham and Cream Gravy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTQaucmKsxAzHsbU_b_nkMzf1VmvDqYGJclekqByumHXfLm0iy7oT6QwcHIFHePa_RmIcITcYMnkcY_7OaDs0GbfKgSd5Wa5-5BdBdaLEi46TONVM5y47ThY412N2T_5TJ7DuzkaLPBCM/s1600/hamandcreamgravy.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1001" data-original-width="1500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTQaucmKsxAzHsbU_b_nkMzf1VmvDqYGJclekqByumHXfLm0iy7oT6QwcHIFHePa_RmIcITcYMnkcY_7OaDs0GbfKgSd5Wa5-5BdBdaLEi46TONVM5y47ThY412N2T_5TJ7DuzkaLPBCM/s400/hamandcreamgravy.png" width="400" /></a></div>
Growing up, there were a handful of family favorites that would be requested over and over. Some of them, like liver and onions, made me groan at every mention. Needless to say, you'll never see a blog post from me about trying a liver and onion recipe. The mention of others was truly comforting. My mama's ham gravy, and sometimes sausage if she wasn't feeling like it was a ham day, was something everyone loved. We never had this for breakfast, although in retrospect, it would have been perfect for it. Instead, it was a hearty supper on the days my mom would make biscuits and ham gravy!<br />
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When I was looking through her recipe box, I was actually surprised to find a recipe for it. I had assumed it was one of those things that she just had in her head (I've encountered quite a few of those in my adult life as I tried to get her to share her recipes for things like borscht and stuffing). This made the card a find, but as I read through it, I realized it was a very big find.<br />
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After the recipe, there an extra note that my mom wrote:<br />
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"I use whole milk (not 1%, 2%, or fat free). It is even better if you replace a cup of milk with a cup of cream. (When we lived on the farm, mom replaced most of the milk with cream)."</blockquote>
This one paragraph meant that it was not only a family favorite for my family, it had been a family favorite for my mom's family (and I would guess that probably was not the end of that story). Also, "the farm" was my mother's favorite place of all time. Her demeanor and even the sound of her voice changes whenever she starts talking about the place where her family lived through the Depression. While others were struggling to survive they had fresh eggs and milk with cream and even animals to butcher. There are so many treasured memories there that her sister even commissioned an artist to paint the house from an old black and white photograph, complete with barking dog on the front steps.<br />
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When I made this recipe, I decided to go the whole mile and use the cream. This was not something my mother did, or if she did, she didn't do it very often. The full cream made the meal even heartier, and super tasty. However, I think I would prefer to do half cream and half milk. We chopped up a ham I had gotten on discount, where I know my mom used to just use thin slices of deli ham.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tAbYv_CCnrKs5SZpXuLfjd_0AkteYHi13vQH0WIRhBxaUO_n8fy1bkvTYNABmSLtcgku0M3O7H4Kbw4IH4hwvhegeH2CZk2SklTL_9I2VeRjVgVVmKW4smy9-BwK3_gbN4LVfVHP0AY/s1600/biscuits.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tAbYv_CCnrKs5SZpXuLfjd_0AkteYHi13vQH0WIRhBxaUO_n8fy1bkvTYNABmSLtcgku0M3O7H4Kbw4IH4hwvhegeH2CZk2SklTL_9I2VeRjVgVVmKW4smy9-BwK3_gbN4LVfVHP0AY/s200/biscuits.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
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For the biscuits, I used Mary B's Buttermilk Biscuits - these frozen biscuits cook up like homemade. David and I learned about them while on a weekend getaway where the property owner left biscuits in the freezer and homemade peach jam in the fridge for her guests. The mix of homemade(ish) biscuits and thick, creamy gravy were a delight. Because of the weight of the meal, one batch fed six of us.<br />
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I'm not going to post the nutrition information - in part because it really depends on a lot of factors. But the other reason is - this just isn't the kind of recipe that you really want to know the nutrition information for! Enjoy!<br />
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Ingredients:<br />
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3 T. butter<br />
2 c. chopped ham (12 oz.)<br />
3 T. all-purpose flour<br />
1/4 tsp. salt<br />
1/8 tsp. pepper (next time I'm adding more pepper to make it a peppered gravy)<br />
2 1/4 c. milk<br />
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Instructions:<br />
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1. In a medium saucepan, melt butter. Add ham and cook over medium heat until ham is light brown.<br />
2. Stir in flour, salt, and pepper. Add milk all at once. (Note: we shook these ingredients together and added them - I'm pretty sure that's what Mom did, too).<br />
3. Cook and stir over medium heat until thick and bubbly. Cook and stir for one minute more.<br />
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Makes 3 1/4 cups.<br />
<br />eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-57476542139320199242020-05-11T16:50:00.001-07:002020-05-11T16:50:15.089-07:00Family Recipe: Baked Cheese and Hominy Loaf<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One of the family favorites I remember when I was a kid was my mom's baked hominy casserole. I loved hominy, and this cheesy combination with green peppers and onions was like the epitome of comfort food. Unfortunately, when I was in high school, I had some hominy casserole in the midst of one of the most terrible illnesses I had experience, and I forever associated hominy casserole with a terrible headache after that.<br />
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Last week, when I was looking through Mom's recipe box, I came across her much-used recipe for hominy casserole and decided it was time for me to get over my long rest from this tasty meal! Of course, when I mentioned it to David, it did not have the requisite "something-must-have-died" component, so we decided to try it with diced ham - it just sounded like it should match up well with hominy and cheese.<br />
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This recipe is a great option, though, for vegetarians (not vegans, I guess, because it has milk and cheese, although you could easily substitute). It is hearty without meat - totally worthy of being a main dish or it can be used as a potluck-style side dish.<br />
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It is super easy to make. It has some strange ingredients - scalded milk? We read up on scalded milk in recipes and apparently, this was an ingredient that was a reflection of a time when milk was not pasteurized - scalding the milk before using it destroyed the bacteria that resided in fresh milk. It also called for 1 tablespoon of green pepper - that is not much green pepper!<br />
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The concoction is combined, then cooked slowly in a 275 degree oven for an hour. I would not suggest changing this - the time slow-cooking it gives time for all of the ingredients to really mesh together.<br />
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For our attempt, we used one small green pepper and one green onion. We also added a package of diced ham.<br />
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The verdict? It was super tasty! David thought that it was a little bland, so if you are a person who needs more seasoning, you may want to experiment a little. Still, it was a nice blast from my past!<br />
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Ingredients (as we made it):<br />
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1 c. milk<br />
1 c. bread crumbs<br />
1 c. grated cheese<br />
2 eggs, beaten<br />
2 cans hominy<br />
1 small green pepper, diced<br />
1 large green onion, sliced<br />
8 oz. cubed ham<br />
salt & pepper to taste<br />
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In a large bowl, combine milk, bread crumbs, and cheese. Add remaining ingredients in the order they are listed. Put in a greased casserole dish in a 275 degree oven for one hour.<br />
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<br />eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-86753034685209916202020-05-03T17:38:00.003-07:002020-05-03T17:38:48.785-07:00Family Recipe: Chicken on a Sunday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq8DevoI8Ukn3iRVjeUUd3m00aTt7Fq8cK0rt5BXkBZ86NkLw5RTraXUqXeqQIPsUgvsyMQb6pmwXnZhdJOLjRnUbSB4GoA3nrW2qkbsb6fd-CDKbcJNt1T-j2ibkXKgqnIgF5TqcDpK8/s1600/ChickenonaSunday.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1001" data-original-width="1500" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq8DevoI8Ukn3iRVjeUUd3m00aTt7Fq8cK0rt5BXkBZ86NkLw5RTraXUqXeqQIPsUgvsyMQb6pmwXnZhdJOLjRnUbSB4GoA3nrW2qkbsb6fd-CDKbcJNt1T-j2ibkXKgqnIgF5TqcDpK8/s320/ChickenonaSunday.png" width="320" /></a></div>
This week, the recipe I chose to try out from my mother's recipe box is Chicken on a Sunday. The name of the recipe is what caught my eye first. The thing that cinched it was when I saw the small note in the top right of the card "good-best" and an X on the upper left side. You see, there were about five recipes with the same title. Some said "good", others said "good-better." This told me that my mom was on a search for the best Chicken on a Sunday recipe, and when she found it, she wanted to be sure to remember which one she liked!<br />
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Chicken on a Sunday originated as a way for busy moms to ensure that their family had a hot meal ready for them when the family returned home from church. It's a super simple recipe that only uses a few ingredients (I had all of them in my pantry).<br />
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Mom's recipe called for cooking in a baking pan in the over at 250 degrees for 2 1/2 to 3 hours "During S.S. and church." I decided to change it up a bit - I cooked mine on high in the crock pot for about 3 hours. I also used chicken thighs instead of a full frying chicken cut into pieces (I still have no idea how to cut up a chicken).<br />
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The result? It was super tasty! The chicken was very tender. The only thing I would change (and I'm changing it in the recipe below) would be to put the chicken in the crockpot first, THEN the rice. When I did it the way it was supposed to be layered in the baking pan, i found some of the rice had not cooked after the time was up, so I had to stir everything up and let it continue to cook until the rice had cooked. Other than that, the transition from oven to crockpot was a breeze!<br />
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INGREDIENTS<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgkYG1FR1gTbtkqwsPG-dy9ExG3S2RlP5VF5PBDm8oZLHD2ai6nr6yxCb4GnY9JSr64CNQ5vY3DkjUjq6kqiVRWq05b9NxIIYopcP8_MW4isUPL5B-OVAkwJ5O9DmmJoQqEo-jYtcetT4/s1600/nutritionCoS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="762" data-original-width="223" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgkYG1FR1gTbtkqwsPG-dy9ExG3S2RlP5VF5PBDm8oZLHD2ai6nr6yxCb4GnY9JSr64CNQ5vY3DkjUjq6kqiVRWq05b9NxIIYopcP8_MW4isUPL5B-OVAkwJ5O9DmmJoQqEo-jYtcetT4/s640/nutritionCoS.JPG" width="185" /></a></div>
1 c. milk<br />
1 c. rice (uncooked)<br />
6 chicken thighs (recipe calls for 1 frying chicken cut in pieces)<br />
1 envelope onion soup mix<br />
1 can cream of mushroom soup<br />
1 can cream of celery soup<br />
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1. Sprinkle raw rice on bottom of baking dish (if using crockpot, you'll want to put the rice on top of the chicken).<br />
2. Put chicken pieces on rice (again, place this first if using a crockpot)<br />
3. Sprinkle dry onion soup mix over chicken.<br />
4. Mix mushroom and celery soup with milk, then pour over chicken.<br />
5. Cover with foil and bake in 250 degree oven 2 1/2 to 3 hours (or in a crockpot on high for 2 1/2 to 3 hours).<br />
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The recipe gives you your protein and carbs - you'll want to serve with a vegetable on the side.<br />
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Note: Nutrition facts assume the use of chicken thighs rather than a frying chicken.<br />
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<br />eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-69469693457243585322020-04-21T18:28:00.000-07:002020-04-21T18:28:42.487-07:00Family Recipe: Pork Chops in Celery Cream Gravy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhydr0fwVXcYdw_gS97Pq5Z_QCoAvQloZAUSIf4RuqxFHMmwj2YBHRE4z0Hg3Id8ojcWpraSCSTP6QCjkaz-PevRWRjFJGRlr6Dq8-JdmczbIJd5-HM-Jt-5Sp9EvxvVYbePesXVXKrfwM/s1600/porkchops.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1500" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhydr0fwVXcYdw_gS97Pq5Z_QCoAvQloZAUSIf4RuqxFHMmwj2YBHRE4z0Hg3Id8ojcWpraSCSTP6QCjkaz-PevRWRjFJGRlr6Dq8-JdmczbIJd5-HM-Jt-5Sp9EvxvVYbePesXVXKrfwM/s400/porkchops.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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I've been sorting through boxes and boxes of recipes that I got from my mom. She had recipe boxes full of recipes in her handwriting, her mother's handwriting, and from my grandmother on my dad's side (who typed all of her recipes). There are recipes that mean nothing to me - clearly never made, only written on cards in my mother's neat handwriting. Recipes that she intended to make someday, but never did. There are recipes I remember well - family favorites that I already know how to make and others I never did. There are recipes that she notated the name of the person who gave her the recipe in the corner of the card, which makes that one mean more because clearly she did taste that one and liked it enough to get the recipe. Then there are those that are dark from food stains and age, bent and smeared from sitting on a kitchen counter while ingredients were measured, beaten, poured, and mixed.<br />
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Once I sorted out the ones that my mother never had, I decided that I was going to start trying to make some of the recipes that I was unfamiliar with, so that I could learn more about my family through the foods they ate. My mom is still with us, but she can't cook anymore, my grandmothers are long gone. Doing this makes me feel somehow connected to all of the strong women in my family.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ysLkg0Ymsfj9gNDdLeRLUrO5btefJRR1Oy4W8yQcWUlp-ktC9UdFpSf39PFAMZM44d4J8vUNIeWSq0dG-YEJ_q6uOhNHPVsDhSYiPPmD1aYIW7BJPZckctEjmG371hyQQDxFsPnCxi4/s1600/IMG_20200421_184712.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ysLkg0Ymsfj9gNDdLeRLUrO5btefJRR1Oy4W8yQcWUlp-ktC9UdFpSf39PFAMZM44d4J8vUNIeWSq0dG-YEJ_q6uOhNHPVsDhSYiPPmD1aYIW7BJPZckctEjmG371hyQQDxFsPnCxi4/s320/IMG_20200421_184712.jpg" width="240" /></a>So here is my first attempt! Pork Chops with Celery Cream Gravy. I chose this one because it was the one that my husband sounded interested in when I read the choices off - this could be due to the fact that we discovered a package of pork chops in our freezer when we did a quarantine food inventory.<br />
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Anyway, we thawed out the pork chops and found the rest of the ingredients in the pantry. The instructions were easy, the ingredients were things that we normally have in our pantry, and the family verdict: they loved it! Nathan said his favorite part was the "sopping" sauce - the celery cream gravy that the pork chops have been baked in. We used bone-in pork chops but they were cut thick like boneless normally are, so it was important to have the sauce to add moisture into the meat.<br />
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We served it with a side of broccoli, a salad mix of cucumbers and zucchini, and some yeast rolls we also found in the freezer. We will definitely add this to our collection of "tried and true"!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC68j-pxh4ubiPwh6XY8qAM5xZUR0c1axYn_35elxUKrGiI6Z3JuqQnVE_IVkVyA1W_utPZidaPdeiQGO_1QKvQeb4aUt8VCt-CGlQokrTzU7sbZ10P2aB8RBYAihyY0EuVZibV_VBaUc/s1600/porkchopsnutrition.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC68j-pxh4ubiPwh6XY8qAM5xZUR0c1axYn_35elxUKrGiI6Z3JuqQnVE_IVkVyA1W_utPZidaPdeiQGO_1QKvQeb4aUt8VCt-CGlQokrTzU7sbZ10P2aB8RBYAihyY0EuVZibV_VBaUc/s1600/porkchopsnutrition.JPG" /></a><br />
Here's the recipe:<br />
<h3>
Ingredients</h3>
<br />
6 pork chops<br />
salt and pepper<br />
1 medium onion, diced<br />
3/4 tsp. sage<br />
3/4 c. milk<br />
1 can cream of celery soup<br />
<br />
1. Trim most of fat from chops and sprinkle lightly with salt and pepper.<br />
2. Rub skillet with fat (instead, I drizzled olive oil in the pan) and brown chops on both sides. Remove from pan and place in baking dish (I sprayed the baking dish with olive oil).<br />
3. In the skillet, cook the onions in drippings (the fancy word is fond) until tender.<br />
4. Stir in sage, soup, and milk, mixing to loosen all browned particles (a/k/a fond!) from skillet.<br />
5. Pour mixture over chops and bake in 350 degree oven about 1 hour until chops are tender.<br />
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<br />eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-76875261522315858732019-10-18T19:06:00.001-07:002019-10-18T19:06:40.838-07:00After the fact bucket listOn Monday, I did something I never thought I would do. It wasn't something that was even ever on a list of things I wish I had done. I did a stand-up routine at a local theater.<br />
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Now that I've done my first stand-up comedy, I am adding it to my bucket list (so that I can check it off!). There are some things I learned.<br />
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1. Not every audience is going to connect with the material you have. A seasoned comic can change their path, but one that is doing this for the first time has to keep on trudging through.<br />
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2. Stand up comedy is super vulnerable. You walk up to that mic and you are putting all your faith in that your audience will connect with what you are saying and find it funny. This is the most courageous thing I have ever done in my life.<br />
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3. I also realized that I have some funny things to say, but I don't know if I have enough to do stand up comedy. I'm thinking I could MC, where I have to say one or two funny things as I'm introducing the next act. However, because of the second sentence in number 1, I do think I could move into stand-up if I had enough material.<br />
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4. An act of courage can be inspiring to others. I have received several emails and messages from people who have felt empowered by my courage to get up there and try stand-up. We'll see whether all of these people actually do the things they say they feel empowered to do.<br />
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All in all, I'm very happy that I found my courage to do this. Let me tell you, it really took a lot - my introverted self would normally have backed out of this, but I purposefully told people I was doing this so that I couldn't back out.<br />
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My message in all of this? Don't let your own personal fears keep you from giving your dreams a try. The worst case scenario is that you completely bomb and nobody remembers you.eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-21802082238331371512019-03-17T19:20:00.003-07:002019-03-17T19:20:23.124-07:00Low Carb High Protein Chicken Cordon Bleu Casserole<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIadituk8vOT8bjF_Jz3Nxr49z18pUKgRkm6zv0K_dJNZ3uvnA2ReCzOQvXG9SU8n3GH5qpTtypguAb7wdJxraKdCOaRdanGQv2NG1qvkILgGZPzL4iRJpALF1PdNKYLPtBa2QhgOUEuc/s1600/IMG_20190317_130510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIadituk8vOT8bjF_Jz3Nxr49z18pUKgRkm6zv0K_dJNZ3uvnA2ReCzOQvXG9SU8n3GH5qpTtypguAb7wdJxraKdCOaRdanGQv2NG1qvkILgGZPzL4iRJpALF1PdNKYLPtBa2QhgOUEuc/s400/IMG_20190317_130510.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
I've been working on converting family favorite meals to be more friendly to my choice to maintain a high protein, low carb diet. Chicken Cordon Bleu Casserole has been a big hit with my family every time I make it. It combines very flavorful, yet distinct foods and is definitely a comfort food staple.<br />
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The main things I changed were to use crushed pork rinds (I like the Bakenets brand for this) instead of crushed crackers for the topping and boneless, skinless chicken thighs instead of chicken breasts. As a result, this recipe is very low carb and very high protein, but still has all the great taste. I would even say the crust is tastier when made from pork rinds.<br />
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Here's my recipe:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgS8yf2KEHKkOBDTILK1z9mRKI74c6QeW7jtP-cr1T92aidhPlMQ2vlS1EluhtwQxldlJ8bdcBkIUN9f5kmopep485II5V2CWnebDXwM-ZnXS2nrL3AY6lcHuUN0RFSEnLa2ySvDqNvM/s1600/ccbcasserolenutrition.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="822" data-original-width="252" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgS8yf2KEHKkOBDTILK1z9mRKI74c6QeW7jtP-cr1T92aidhPlMQ2vlS1EluhtwQxldlJ8bdcBkIUN9f5kmopep485II5V2CWnebDXwM-ZnXS2nrL3AY6lcHuUN0RFSEnLa2ySvDqNvM/s640/ccbcasserolenutrition.JPG" width="195" /></a>8 boneless, skinless chicken thighs<br />
1 lb. sliced deli ham<br />
8 oz. swiss cheese<br />
3 oz. pork rinds<br />
1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese<br />
1 jar four cheese alfredo sauce<br />
1/2 T. dijon mustard<br />
1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce<br />
Cooking spray (original)<br />
Cooking spray (butter)<br />
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Before Assembly:<br />
<br />
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.<br />
2. Flatten the chicken thighs with a meat tenderizer<br />
3. Shred the swiss cheese<br />
4. Crush the pork rinds.<br />
5. In a small bowl, combine the grated parmesan with the pork rinds.<br />
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Preparation:<br />
<br />
1. Spray a 9x13 baking dish with the original cooking spray.<br />
2. Layer the chicken thighs in the bottom of the dish.<br />
3. Cover the chicken thighs with ham slices. You may end up with enough for a double layer and that is okay.<br />
4. Cover the ham with shredded swiss cheese.<br />
5. Cover the swiss cheese with the pork rind/parmesan cheese mixture.<br />
6. Spray the topping with butter cooking spray.<br />
7. Place in preheated oven for 30-35 minutes until juice runs clear and crust is browned.<br />
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<br />eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-42017329361712637342018-04-25T15:18:00.003-07:002018-04-25T15:18:37.311-07:00Angst<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigAAVxg8Mgbac1yLL_i9kPz1A0hmwo_9HvHjasEj1iQDiNk9OnUZ0ah3CrmcSoMkDiWcQoNXWCQbytDk_5dvd_phYMcM6ORBqmUidHfeyWuwW5bCCobyOyANwJLd18Vs2JC-L_trawdV0/s1600/Angst.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="130" data-original-width="613" height="83" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigAAVxg8Mgbac1yLL_i9kPz1A0hmwo_9HvHjasEj1iQDiNk9OnUZ0ah3CrmcSoMkDiWcQoNXWCQbytDk_5dvd_phYMcM6ORBqmUidHfeyWuwW5bCCobyOyANwJLd18Vs2JC-L_trawdV0/s400/Angst.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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There has been something about having a 5 at the start of my age that has sent me into a perpetual state of reflection, anticipation, and pondering. The result of all of this is a deep understanding of, and perhaps even welcoming of, the condition of angst.<br />
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Human beings, <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/animal-emotions/201801/do-animals-really-know-theyre-gonna-die" target="_blank">as far as we know</a>, are the only living creatures who ponder their own death before it happens. Yay, humans!<br />
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I always knew, of course, that I would die someday, but the angst is recent. I can't say that the pondering is entirely recent. You may recall that I previously confessed <a href="http://lanerpalooza.blogspot.com/2015/07/hello-darkness-my-old-friend.html" target="_blank">in a blog post</a> to contemplating suicide as a teenager, but this pondering that is linked with a complete understanding of the complete and utter erasure of my being is certainly recent.<br />
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In a conversation with my son, Tony, one day, we talked about a church member and mother of one of his friends who was battling cancer and had very little time left in this world. We contemplated how we might feel if we were faced with this certain end. He said something that was so profound to me that it was possibly the catalyst for my angst. He said,<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>"I'm not afraid of dying, I'm afraid of not being here."</i></b></div>
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Now that, my friends, is exactly where I'm at. I've never been afraid of dying. My dark teenage thoughts were encouraged to linger because of that. My family raised us in an atmosphere of open discussion about the realities of death. We contemplated it whenever a relative would die. We all thought we were so enlightened because we were not afraid. I truly wasn't afraid of death, I was more often afraid of the process of dying - how hard would it be, would it be painful, etc.<br />
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Once Tony voiced the more terrifying state - <i>of not being here</i> - I haven't been able to shake it. I sit in my house now, typing this, and looking around at the life that I have and how precious it is, and how beautiful my children and grandchild are, and all that I have to look forward to and then it rushes at me. The angst. The sheer meaningless reality of human existence.<br />
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I photograph headstones as a volunteer for Find A Grave and sometimes when I'm standing over that stone, I try to imagine the person interred there. What did they sound like? What was their favorite thing to do? What foods did they hate? The stone doesn't tell me. The dates tell me whether there is likely to be anyone alive still who could know, but in the end, enough time will pass for all of us that nobody will still be around who really remembers us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_rfqpW3LSSjT38Niirbr3SWDWNeTH0AkMEk9g5Rh2BpOMgDTWaMqihld0h0YOTqskDFzM2BGc0TR0QoCA1GWyZNxOP5iDq8wAw8wzUFLDw_vhD8z198jwj3K2K2i2SSHxYITBtOboLo/s1600/meaningless.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="110" data-original-width="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_rfqpW3LSSjT38Niirbr3SWDWNeTH0AkMEk9g5Rh2BpOMgDTWaMqihld0h0YOTqskDFzM2BGc0TR0QoCA1GWyZNxOP5iDq8wAw8wzUFLDw_vhD8z198jwj3K2K2i2SSHxYITBtOboLo/s1600/meaningless.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ecclesiastes 1:2 (NIV)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><b>Angst.</b></i><br />
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The writer of Ecclesiastes had it. We don't even know for sure who he was. Even if we do think we know who he was, we don't know what he sounded like. We don't know what his favorite thing to do was. We don't know what foods he hated.<br />
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<i><b>Angst.</b></i><br />
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It can either paralyze you or empower you. When we are truly aware of the limited days we have, we can become depressed and fearful or we can feel a drive toward making our lives count for something.<br />
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I'm choosing the latter. While I can get teary-eyed when I'm filled with angst like I am today, the condition itself calls for action. I begin making plans. I start thinking about goals. I cheer myself toward making a difference in the world (and by world I generally mean my corner of it).<br />
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<i><b>And I write.</b></i><br />
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Because, that is one thing that could tell somebody 200 years from now who I was, what I found to be most important . . .<br />
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and maybe even what foods I hated.<br />
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eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-2193877941141512842018-01-13T10:22:00.001-08:002018-01-13T10:22:53.704-08:00Memories: Re-Imagining the RainA very large part of the person I am today originated in the year 2002. In January, my baby who was just over a year old, was diagnosed with cancer. I had separated from my husband a few months before, I was unemployed and attending university, and I had two other children at home, ages 5 and 3.<br />
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Through that year, I encountered more challenges than I ever had before, or ever have since. Struggling through the end of an 18-year marriage, dealing with the realities of poverty and single parenting, and existing as a person whose child was battling a life-threatening illness was daunting and difficult. If I ever say anything that makes it sound like it was easy, I'm covering for you so that you don't have to feel bad about it. It was hard. Add to that an ex-husband who didn't help, a church family who deserted me eventually for whatever reason (I'm told that my ex was telling them stories that made them not want to be there for me), and my own father dealing with a heart attack and subsequent bypass surgery, which left my own family barely able to be present for me, and you have the very definition of hardship.<br />
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The good thing about hardship, though, is that when we endure it, when we focus on positives, set goals, and pull ourselves out of it, we have embedded a certain trait into our psyche - one that will define how we approach every single challenge from then on. This little thing is called grit.<br />
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At the time, though, grit was the last thing on my mind. Often, I would come home at night from school or the hospital feeling alone. Many times, while my children slept in their beds, I searched, begged and pleaded for strength. Sometimes this was in silent prayer, but often it was in the form of song.<br />
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Music is a big part of my life. I mentioned another song <a href="http://lanerpalooza.blogspot.com/2014/07/amazing-grace.html" target="_blank">in the blog post "Amazing Grace" </a>which has profound meaning to me, and for sure, that song was sung often while I rocked my son to sleep in those hospital rooms. However, when I was at home in those moments when I was barely hanging on, there were two songs that I would sometimes play over and over, singing as loudly as I could without waking up the children. After two or three repeats, I would move from my deepest desperation into a complete sense of empowerment.<br />
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The songs were "I Can Only Imagine" by Mercy Me and "Bring on the Rain" by Jo Dee Messina. The combination of these songs reminded me of the two powers I have within myself to encounter and defeat any difficulty that comes my way.<br />
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"Bring on the Rain" reminded me that my life was going to be experienced in the way I chose to experience it. Whether I decided to focus on the negatives and have a negative life or whether I chose to embrace the positives and know that negatives are just another part of the whole adventure, was entirely up to me.<br />
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"I Can Only Imagine" invoked a power beyond myself. The power that God provides and which always has been and always will be there for me. The power that has overcome the world. My God has my back. He always has and always will. Sometimes outcomes are not what I want them to be, but I can always know that whatever those outcomes are, God will have my back. He had it in 2002 and revealed himself to me in so many minute and infinite ways.<br />
<br />
Still today, the sound of those songs brings back memories, tears, and a renewed sense of empowerment. They are a reminder that rain can be seen as a storm or as a giver of life.<br />
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<b><i>The choice is yours.</i></b>eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-13313935446662426332017-11-23T08:17:00.001-08:002017-11-23T08:17:55.951-08:00Best of both worldsI have always loved pie. My favorite is strawberry rhubarb, or cherry, or pecan, or pumpkin, or chocolate, or .... You get the idea.<br />
<br />
Last year, I found a recipe that helps me not have to decide which pie to eat - it combines pumpkin and pecan (and chocolate if you add chocolate chips). I made it last year and loved it so I'm making it a tradition. This year, I decided to make it pretty.<br />
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Yum!</div>
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<a href="https://www.halfbakedharvest.com/salted-bourbon-pecan-pumpkin-pie/" target="_blank">Check out the recipe here</a></div>
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<br />eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-22383953973337795162017-10-17T18:40:00.000-07:002017-10-17T18:40:38.019-07:00A wish come true<div class="MsoNormal">
I always wonder about celebrities and the differences
between their public persona and reality. I had the opportunity to find out for
myself over Easter weekend when my family traveled to New York City. <o:p></o:p></div>
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To explain, let me share a bit of our story. In 2002, our
youngest son, Nathan Griffin, was diagnosed with <a href="https://www.stbaldricks.org/blog/post/types-of-childhood-cancer-alveolar-rhabdomyosarcoma/" target="_blank">alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma</a>.
This is a very aggressive and very rare soft tissue cancer. Nathan had just
turned a year old when we was diagnosed. He spent the second year of his life
in and out of hospitals, fighting for his life through surgeries, chemotherapy,
and radiation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Over the last 14 ½ years, he has undergone additional
surgeries and dealt with the side effects of so much therapy at such a young
age. Last year, I was called by the mother of a boy who we met all those years
ago and she told us that she had nominated Nathan for a wish through
Make-A-Wish. Make-A-Wish is an organization that grants wishes to children who
are battling or are battling a life threatening illness. Nathan could not get a
wish when he was going through chemotherapy because of his age, but he did
qualify last year as a survivor. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Nathan’s wish was to meet the cast of Saturday Night Live.
He had to be 16 before SNL would allow him to attend a show, so we waited and
were so excited when our wish granter, Dennis Baird, called us and said our
trip had been scheduled for April, 2017.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCi2hIlvF70acKV12qHiHiBEHWNPMft6aMNxVK-h54-kuUX9baUXIRrwI7sX7Cwgx2iBnALWFShfB_SNbxwayKvX-YEUDwce5LeadJQoShz7R4goEJDU7ndp1IJgk1F0if2Qkp2FJd0H85/s1600/17992128_10212311005547879_9145188222217002268_n+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCi2hIlvF70acKV12qHiHiBEHWNPMft6aMNxVK-h54-kuUX9baUXIRrwI7sX7Cwgx2iBnALWFShfB_SNbxwayKvX-YEUDwce5LeadJQoShz7R4goEJDU7ndp1IJgk1F0if2Qkp2FJd0H85/s320/17992128_10212311005547879_9145188222217002268_n+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Over Easter weekend, Nathan, along with David, myself, and
two of our other children, Rene and Tony, were flown to New York City to see a
live taping of SNL. We felt so special when the limo pulled up to take us to
the studio. After the show, we got a backstage tour and then almost the entire
cast came out to give Nathan hugs, talk about theater (he is a big-time theater
kid!), and sign the cue card from the cold open that says “Live from New York,
it’s Saturday Night!”. We were all amazed and a bit in shock. Next, one of the
producers told us there was one more person who wanted to meet Nathan. Nathan’s
biggest dream came true when Jimmy Fallon (who hosted the show) came out of his
dressing room, along with Harry Styles (the musical guest). All of the
celebrities who visited with Nathan were so down-to-earth, friendly, and truly
interested in him. Jimmy spent a long time with Nathan, teaching him his
signature moves and learning Nathan’s from him. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It was a magical evening as part of a beautiful weekend that
was all planned and paid for by generous folks who donate their time and money
to Make-A-Wish. The organization does wonderful things for children who have
had to deal with so much more in their young lives than they ever should have.
We are forever changed by the experience.<o:p></o:p></div>
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If you are looking for a way to make a difference in the life of a child, consider <a href="https://secure2.wish.org/site/SPageServer?pagename=donate&ft=SPEMA&fi=17_12&level1=100&level2=50&level3=25&level4=20&level5=10&presel=level3&Campaign_ID=MNOO%25fy%25&Appeal_ID=%25fy%25ON-XXX-SRCH&Package_ID=MY-UBLA-MAHL&Subtype=DEV-Multimedia%20Online&gclid=CM_i5Mar2dMCFYe1wAoddg8JGg#sm.00001qgzf6jouaeqaq20r4w1yd8eq" target="_blank">donating your time and/or money to Make-a-Wish!</a></div>
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glad2behttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03945278714403827885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-88205926321610290522017-10-17T18:20:00.001-07:002017-10-17T18:24:00.797-07:00It's a soup night!David and I have been trying to lower the number of carbs we eat and we have discovered some very tasty dishes! Lately, the Dallas weather has actually been just chilly enough that we have used the excuse to make soup at least one night each week. Tonight, we made a fish chowder that was super good!<br />
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<br />
One of my favorite things about this chowder is that, like most chowders, you can really drop whatever you feel like into it. I'll post the recipe I used for tonight's chowder, but feel free to mix it up with different kinds of seafood or other veggies!<br />
<br />
I usually use tilapia or cod in this but tonight I didn't have any, so I used imitation crab instead (which is usually pollock or some other kind of whitefish, so it worked). If you are trying to keep processed foods out of your lineup, you probably won't choose that route!<br />
<br />
I used flour to thicken the soup, but I think I would change that next time around. The net carbs on this dish is 16, which isn't too bad, but I think I could have gotten it lower. Also, if you are looking for lower calories, you could double the evaporated milk instead of using the heavy cream.<br />
<br />
Here is the recipe for tonight's soup - enjoy and let me know how yours goes!<br />
<br />
<h2>
<b><u>Fish Chowder</u></b></h2>
<i>320 calories per serving, 8 servings</i><br />
<i>16 net carbs</i><br />
<br />
<h3>
Ingredients:</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2 T. butter</div>
<div>
1 large onion, diced</div>
<div>
1 celery stalk, diced</div>
<div>
4 medium white mushrooms, chopped</div>
<div>
4 cups fat-free chicken broth</div>
<div>
8 oz. imitation crab meat (or white fish)</div>
<div>
12 oz. cooked salad shrimp (or other seafood)</div>
<div>
6.5 oz. can chopped clams</div>
<div>
1/4 tsp. Old Bay TM seasoning</div>
<div>
Salt and pepper to taste</div>
<div>
1 can evaporated milk</div>
<div>
12 oz. heavy cream</div>
<div>
1 large head cauliflower, diced and steamed (if you want this in a hurry)</div>
<div>
8 oz. clam juice</div>
<div>
1/2 cup flour</div>
<div>
2 oz. bacon pieces (optional)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Steps:</h3>
<div>
<ol>
<li>Melt butter in stock pot. Add diced onions, celery, and mushrooms and saute until soft.</li>
<li>Add chicken broth. Heat on medium for 2 minutes.</li>
<li>Add seafood and seasonings. Stir. Simmer for 10 minutes.</li>
<li>Add milk, heavy cream, and cauliflower. Stir. Simmer for another 10 minutes.</li>
<li>Combine clam juice and flour in shaker. Pour into stockpot and stir.</li>
<li>Heat until thickened and hot throughout.</li>
</ol>
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Enjoy!</div>
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eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-78854286928574863272017-01-26T16:08:00.000-08:002017-01-26T16:08:00.874-08:00Denying the reactionI have not been really vocal outside of my immediate family and friends about the struggle I've been experiencing over the last year, and more deeply since November. I've done a lot of thinking these last few months and realized my silence, and the silence of millions of others like me, is partially to blame for the surreality we are living today.<br />
<br />
My initial reaction, whenever I ponder a little too long on this, is a strong desire to retreat. To escape into the wilderness. To make real my strongest dream as a teenager, which was to move into a cabin in the mountains and never be seen again. Seriously. That was what I wanted. I even wrote that down my senior year and put it in a time capsule. I laughed when I read it years later after the time capsule was opened.<br />
<br />
<b><i>I'm not laughing anymore.</i></b><br />
<br />
An introvert has the advantage of having lots of conversations happening inside their head at any particular moment in time. It is not a conversation with lots of voices, or a conversation with others, but rather a conversation with our own self. Living in solitude, then, is less stressful for me as it might be for others who need social interactions. Don't get me wrong - I would not be able to live in solitude indefinitely, but a monthly or bi-monthly trip into town for supplies would be enough to get me through the next month.<br />
<br />
I could not leave my family, though, and that is what keeps me here. That, and something my pastor said to me when I talked to him about this pull. He said that he had no doubt that living in the woods would be what I needed, but it wasn't what the world needed. He said that if I did leave society, I would also be taking Elaine, and everything she contributes, away from society.<br />
<br />
I don't have any illusions that the world, or even my local community, would miss Elaine that much. I don't believe that I hold within my brain the gift of something big. I do see his point, though. By running away, I would not be facing the challenge. I would not be joining forces with the brave folks who stayed behind. I would be doing nothing to make things different for anyone but myself.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>Can't get much more selfish than that.</i></b><br />
<br />
So in this blog post, I am making it official. I am denying the instant reaction and sticking around. I am focusing on what I can <i>DO</i>, rather than how I can <i>COPE</i>. I am being <i>VOCAL</i> instead of being <i>SILENT.</i> I am <i>LOSING</i> some friends and I am <i>MAKING</i> new ones.<br />
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I know that I will be labeled because I live in a society where labels are the first thing to come off a welcome wagon. I've never been such a part of this society that labels stick.<br />
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<b><i>I apologize in advance for those labels littering the ground behind me as I brush them off my shoulders.</i></b><br />
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I know that some people will tolerate me, but think differently about me. I expect it, and I acknowledge that is a part of their defense mechanisms - handed to them in small doses by society from the day they were born.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>I apologize in advance for not giving a damn what they think.</i></b><br />
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I know that some people will feel threatened by my opinions, as they are threatened by others like me.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>I will not apologize for who I am.</i></b><br />
<br />
Peace.<br />
<br />eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-73497365762319449582016-07-22T07:43:00.001-07:002016-07-22T07:43:13.102-07:00What I've learned about Pokemon Go and why you should careUnless you've been living under a rock or have opted out of 21st century technologies and all forms of media, know that there is a game called Pokemon Go that has taken over the free time of people of all ages.<br />
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Pokemon Go is a game that can be installed on mobile devices. The game uses the GPS from the device to provide players a view of their real world with an overlay of their game character (avatar) and the items and creatures to interact with. The object of the game is a little complex and it depends on the person playing it what they might say the whole point is - it is either to collect all the Pokemon, to defeat other players in the Pokemon Gyms, or to pass time.<br />
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As a 50-something educator, mother of five, and sociologist, I decided it would be short-sighted of me to not invest some time into the game to figure out what the big deal is, what are future implications in society, and how does this translate in the classroom. I received some disapproving glances from friends and strangers, high fives from teenagers, and hugs from my children during my experience as a player.<br />
<br />
This article will divulge the basic information I have gleaned as a player and ideas I have for how this information could transfer into either future research or changes in practice, regardless of what line of work you are in. It was not a scientific study, so everything I am about to write is anecdotal, but still worth pondering.<br />
<br />
<b>The Players (called Trainers in the game)</b><br />
<br />
The first thing that began to emerge for me were four distinct categories of players:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Teenagers: This was the obvious, and largest group. These kids started playing it because everyone else was playing it and continued because of some motivation that became apparent to them (which I will discuss later in this article).</li>
<li>Older teenagers and young adults: This group doesn't game as much as they used to, but the lure of their childhood favorite game was strong. One day, when my son and I were headed out for a Pokewalk (you have to actually walk, a lot, to play the game fully), he grabbed his old Nintendo DS and put all of his Pokemon games in his pocket (which he had dug out of storage the night before), and played Pokemon on his DS while we drove to where we were walking that day.</li>
<li>Adults who already walk a lot or spend time outdoors: A lure is set out at a Pokestop by a player in order to attract more Pokemon to the area. Lures help all players, not just the person who put it out, so players tend to congregate in those locations. In those locations, I could always find folks who were out walking their dog AND playing Pokemon, or smoking cigarettes because they were not allowed to in the house AND playing Pokemon. I even saw a postman walking his route while playing Pokemon.</li>
<li>Parents: As a mom to five, I realize the extreme surprise that came with the first day a teenager stood up and said "I'm going for a walk." Our large yard has been unused for the last 15 years and trying to get the kids to go for long walks has been out of the question. Last week, my 15 year old walked over 3 miles with me in 100 degree weather without a single complaint. Moms and Dads are seizing the opportunity to reconnect with their children during family Pokehunts.</li>
</ol>
<div>
<b>The Motivations</b></div>
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When I came across groups of people at a lure, I had the opportunity to talk to some. I found that there are different motivations for people who play the game. This is the piece I was really interested in. My burning question was "Why would THIS game take hold of the world so quickly, and how can I leverage that to forecast what it might mean to our future society?" Again, I began to see some distinct motivators that people would sort under:</div>
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<ol>
<li>Playing a game: This is the obvious motivator. We have become a society that doesn't like downtime. Whether we are waiting for an elevator or for a red light to change, we believe we have to be doing something and for some people, a game is that something. Remember Candy Crush?</li>
<li>Collecting things: After playing the game, this is where I have fallen. Even though I feel like I have experienced the game enough to begin to answer my question, I still play a little. There is something in me that must obtain as many Pokemon as I can. I'm a collector of things. It makes sense that would translate into this augmented world. In speaking with others who are playing, I find that the collecting motivation crosses all age groups.</li>
<li>Competition: Along with competition for Pokemon generally, the game includes competition for control of gyms. Defeating and thus controlling a gym doesn't really do a lot - except that everyone who sees the gym while your Pokemon is controlling it sees both your Pokemon and whatever name you've given it and your avatar. There is a little bit of recognition there, although nobody knows who the players really are. For this aspect of the game, players are required to affiliate themselves with one of three "teams". I am Team Mystic (blue) and have been a little amused by some people who first ask me what team I'm on before they will give me tips or answer my questions.</li>
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<b>The Misconceptions</b></div>
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Something I didn't set out to observe, but which happened accidentally, was how people who aren't playing Pokemon Go perceive people around them who they believe to be playing. Since the game began, we have all seen increasing numbers of people outside walking and more groups of people walking or lingering in places. We also have seen more people walking while holding a phone in front of their face . . . or have we? I have been asked if I am playing Pokemon Go while I was reading an email in the parking lot of Starbucks and while I was texting my son to remind him to put out the trash as I was waiting in line at the grocery store. These compete strangers who would never have spoken to me otherwise, felt empowered to smugly ask "Are you playing Pokemon?". I have to say I was a little bit offended. I was reminded of how I felt when smart phones first came out and I found them to be the most convenient way for me to take notes when I was listening to a presenter. I was called out in the middle of a presentation for texting during his speech. As all heads turned to look at me, I held up my phone and said "this is all I have for taking notes, would you like me to stop listening to you?"</div>
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Another misconception is that it is dangerous to play Pokemon Go. The truth is, it is dangerous to do anything without planning and being aware. If a lure is in a shady part of town and an area that easily hides potential criminals, why would you stop there? Included in the "dangerous" aspect is the misconception that all Pokemon players are so busy watching their phones that they are walking in front of traffic, off cliffs, etc. The truth is, people have been doing stupid things like that since the beginning of time. I would guess the same percentage of people are going to not look both ways before crossing the street playing Pokemon as there would have been reading a book, talking on the telephone, daydreaming, etc. I would still like to share this campy video a nearby Police Department made to warn people of the dangers of not paying attention while playing Pokemon:</div>
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<b>Why Should I Care?</b></div>
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Now that I've discussed the observations I've made, I want to say this: It is vitally important that everyone pay attention to Pokemon Go. I'm not saying that everyone needs to play it, but I am saying that everyone needs to be culturally literate enough to understand what the game is and think about what it could mean for our society and for their work. Here are the things it has made me think about:</div>
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<li>I don't know if Pokemon Go itself can be sustained. The "new" will wear off eventually and the truth is, the game doesn't have enough to it to keep people enchanted with it. I do understand the power of the corporate world in our society, however, and realize that there are most likely some planned additions/evolutions of the game already written and waiting to be pushed out to eager players. There are things that aren't in the game that surprise me, like the ability to see other players on the map, or request assistance from other players.</li>
<li>Implications for businesses: </li>
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<li>Some small businesses, such as restaurants, have already capitalized on the game by setting lures at nearby Pokestops. I wonder how long it will take before businesses have the ability to pay the company to place a Pokestop at their business and even pay a monthly fee to have a continual lure placed there.</li>
<li>On the flip side, businesses have already realized potential security issues and nuisances caused by lingering players. Some government facilities experience people trying to convince them to let them through secure areas in order to get to elusive Pokemon. Other businesses complain that people are loitering in their lobbies, taking up space that is meant for paying customers.</li>
<li>An interesting development is happening where local governments are hosting Pokemon events. My town is having one next week for three hours in the evening at one of the city parks. There will be lures set at all the Pokestops in the park, vendors, food trucks, and lots of people. This type of event is due to someone stopping the griping about people lingering and figuring out a way to leverage it to their advantage.</li>
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<li>Implications for education:</li>
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<li>When school is back in session, students will be using precious bandwidth to keep their game going. Campuses will need to make plans now for how to handle the extra demand.</li>
<li>There is a new divide between teachers who have not become aware of the implications of Pokemon and students who have. I hosted a group of young people from my church last week whose conversation turned to the game. When they started declaring what team they were on, I said "Team Mystic!". There was a pause in the conversation as they all looked at me. One boy said "You play???" and the girl next to me raised her hand and gave me a high-five, as she was also "blue." From then on, I was not an observer in the conversation, I was included in it, even though I didn't talk much. In the classroom, just knowing enough to seem like you care about something your students care about goes a long way toward establishing some cred with the kids, and cred goes a long way toward establishing those very important relationships with them.</li>
<li>Wouldn't it be wonderful if our students could get as excited about learning your content as they did about learning how to play this game? I'm not advocating for integrating Pokemon Go into your curriculum, although some teachers and librarians have already figured out how to do so. I'm advocating for you to understand the motivations and how those could translate into your classroom. For example, collecting things seems to be a giant motivator across all groups - coming up with a system in your classroom where students can seek special cards or badges (not just achievement badges) and in the seeking, they learn something new, could begin to turn your classroom into a place where students are eager to seek, wonder, and explore.</li>
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<li>Implications for society: For this part, I put on my forecast practitioner hat and begin to wonder, "What does this translate into years down the road?</li>
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<li>Do we have other games like Pokemon Go that appeal to the MMORPG players of my day? Do these games evolve into a sort of a Second Life experience, which was ahead of its time?</li>
<li>Does this move our whole society out of obesity? As people explore their surroundings in a physical and augmented world, does the tendency toward sitting and snacking get lost and we all become healthier? Does this result in a booming outdoor adventure market?</li>
<li>Is there an increase in deadly skin cancer as a result of people talking longer walks than they realized and not using sunscreen? (I'm serious)</li>
<li>Do technology companies device better batteries that charge on renewable energy sources in our environment or recycle the heat from the phone back into usable power?</li>
<li>Does corporate America find this as a new way to control our exposure to products and services and sway our opinions? Do politicians?</li>
<li>Do we all wear nifty, lightweight glasses that give us immediate and constant augmentation of our realities?</li>
<li>Should I buy stock in Nintendo and Sony as everyone is reminded of their old gaming favorites and flock to buy them again?</li>
<li>Do teenagers, who are having a hard time finding jobs with the high number of adults filling the jobs they previously could get, begin selling their services as surrogate players? I can drop my mobile device off in the morning and Tommy can take it and 20 others in his backpack while he is walking all over town, hatching eggs? Occasionally, Tommy sits in a park and captures Pokemon on all the devices, being paid per Pokemon, the rarer, the more expensive.</li>
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The list can go on and on. I have not even begun to <i>strategically</i> consider what this means to our future society. This article is a first step in that process.</div>
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Have you considered Pokemon Go? What might it mean for your line of work?</div>
eplybonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00276818993501791739noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-7285028780949895912016-06-05T12:49:00.001-07:002016-06-05T12:57:32.370-07:00My stab at shabby<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovukee6npue94dVm2lWYx5RUraneDANwKCWzAS_9wh34aAhlGjOkV5MShZINpx15mV2DimVVMSjG4n5pcw1MdrzXoiKSq4i1mytzF-NOyvf06bVZ1mj0-zqcpNQlhyphenhyphenOsQuE62_05-S_U1/s1600/beforeafter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovukee6npue94dVm2lWYx5RUraneDANwKCWzAS_9wh34aAhlGjOkV5MShZINpx15mV2DimVVMSjG4n5pcw1MdrzXoiKSq4i1mytzF-NOyvf06bVZ1mj0-zqcpNQlhyphenhyphenOsQuE62_05-S_U1/s320/beforeafter.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The before and after for the project in this post</td></tr>
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Today, I'm writing about a lesser-known side of me. Those who are close to me know that I like to craft when I have time, which isn't often, and that I sometimes can see things in objects that others don't see. This usually leads to doubting looks from my husband when I suggest colors or decor for our renovation projects, since he can't see what isn't there yet. Happily, what I see is usually attainable and once there, he can appreciate what I had already known would be.<br />
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Which brings me to this blog post. I love to get bargains. Not clothes, not shoes, just stuff. I love nothing more than to find the exact piece I need for an area in my home at a resale shop, antique store, or estate sale. There are stores I shop specifically for the deep discounts on items with sluggish sales. I have a large piece of metal wall art that should have cost me $150 hanging on my wall, merrily reminded me that I only paid 3 bucks for it. This excites me. One of the finds I am excited about was the focus of a project this weekend. I converted a worn-out, neglected sideboard into a piece of furniture I've seen in upscale antique stores for $250 or more. It cost me a total of about $60. This post explains how I did that.<br />
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One of my favorite places to visit frequently is Goodwill. Lots of the furniture and decor in my house is from finds there. One day, I happened upon an antique sideboard there. It was so worn out and neglected. It had not been a high-dollar piece in its day, and the laminate on the wood was bubbled and peeling. One of the casters was broken. The finish was scratchy and sticky in places. It looked like someone had kept it on a porch for a long time. The tag said $25. I loaded it up and brought it home.<br />
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My husband gave me one of his doubting looks. I assured him it would be fine. This weekend I finally had time to work on it. Here is what I started with:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqlNGLYHzHictnCNM7Qi_H9Mh91srzoS7CZoAZG0jclEBz_fDnrMOzDJ6VAPaVgVX9jWvLitKwy2D5hDRd6KNUTsYrukosdUBkvMU4B1xCz_YT_5KOXG14BN86Exsv05sx38sfFViw3oOe/s1600/IMAG0606.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqlNGLYHzHictnCNM7Qi_H9Mh91srzoS7CZoAZG0jclEBz_fDnrMOzDJ6VAPaVgVX9jWvLitKwy2D5hDRd6KNUTsYrukosdUBkvMU4B1xCz_YT_5KOXG14BN86Exsv05sx38sfFViw3oOe/s320/IMAG0606.jpg" title="" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sideboard as I purchased it at Goodwill</td></tr>
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The inlays on the doors attracted me to the piece and I thought it would make a good project for me to learn how to do the shabby chic style that is so popular.</div>
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The first thing I had to do is remove all the hardware. I pulled the casters off and unscrewed the knobs. I also removed the doors and hinges.<br />
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Next, my plan was to pull all the laminate that was separating from the wood. The side (shown in the picture) was obviously needing this done. One of the drawers also had very loose laminate. I wasn't sure about the top or the doors - they each had some laminate that had come off, but it seemed like the rest of it was pretty firm. I thought maybe I'd leave them that way to add another dimension of weathering.<br />
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However, when I started working on the doors and the top, it became clear that the laminate was going to have to come off. I started searching the internet for the best way to do this and found a recommendation to use acetone to be the most likely. I ran to the store, bought acetone and got back to work.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBb0pLlyhGhu_w6Bsm4PWgwgZGbP8rfcgZy2cwHkWrvMqubzyDtmHZ72kgJxA7PGY9vOKYTNEczIF0RiGU6OIok1b7YPvV-T8KIAdbyBxYcSOrjyFNd4D8Twuu9gnHgrRMnm_5ItN-ojoH/s1600/IMAG0611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBb0pLlyhGhu_w6Bsm4PWgwgZGbP8rfcgZy2cwHkWrvMqubzyDtmHZ72kgJxA7PGY9vOKYTNEczIF0RiGU6OIok1b7YPvV-T8KIAdbyBxYcSOrjyFNd4D8Twuu9gnHgrRMnm_5ItN-ojoH/s320/IMAG0611.jpg" width="180" /></a>Most of the laminate came off pretty easily. Unfortunately, the laminate on the doors was very stubborn. The inlays were a part of the laminate, so parts of them came off with the laminate. There was a lot of it that wouldn't budge, even when my hubby used an electric sander.<br />
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I really, really wanted this to be a one-day project, so I had to come up with a solution. I figured out that I could turn the doors inside out and put them on opposite sides so that I would have a smooth surface to work with. This leaves my doors looking like this inside of them, which means I will probably need to put decorative contact paper or some kind of fabric or even a laminate inside the doors before I'm completed finished with the project.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9aRk8iHI-IiEW_c9e-2ZZ_5Hj5UyZ0kw73zJD98LDyJklDZBjb8qd3Klay31_f80-87IpLbVdlaUv-5G2xy89nBj9sST53AD_QV2l3pbJA7xYlYsv554zqcu3ZA_5RVQwV9SHsfwyz4hG/s1600/IMAG0610.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9aRk8iHI-IiEW_c9e-2ZZ_5Hj5UyZ0kw73zJD98LDyJklDZBjb8qd3Klay31_f80-87IpLbVdlaUv-5G2xy89nBj9sST53AD_QV2l3pbJA7xYlYsv554zqcu3ZA_5RVQwV9SHsfwyz4hG/s320/IMAG0610.jpg" width="180" /></a>After I had removed the laminate, I sanded all of the surfaces. The paint I purchased to use for this project is chalk paint, which was a little expensive, but enabled me to paint directly on the finished surfaces without a lot of prep. The drawer I removed the laminate from still had streaks of laminate on them, but I decided they might add interest to the finished piece</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8AF2JAf5Zdskhrcy2RdrHFWe00Om69ikF3LL-xt8QGGGk5xjLiuTEACm7eovaMcRSflSPh7cwb-CA_wV6o2ZLAE7pj8rM7NgXuUHQlnAAowFn5qrmVk9RJMSkIiGIOHUtxqsLXcKxjdu2/s1600/IMAG0609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8AF2JAf5Zdskhrcy2RdrHFWe00Om69ikF3LL-xt8QGGGk5xjLiuTEACm7eovaMcRSflSPh7cwb-CA_wV6o2ZLAE7pj8rM7NgXuUHQlnAAowFn5qrmVk9RJMSkIiGIOHUtxqsLXcKxjdu2/s320/IMAG0609.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
After everything was sanded, it was time to start painting. The process I had decided to do called for two layers of paint. The first layer needs to be the color you hope will show through when you do the weathering. The second layer needs to be the primary color you want the piece to have.<br />
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My first coat was in a color called "Nana's Fudge." It is made by <a href="http://littlebillygoat.com/" target="_blank">Little Billy Goat</a>. It is important that you use some kind of chalk paint for a project like this, and I found Little Billy Goat paint to live up to its promise to paint on without much prep and also to cover up blemishes just due to its texture.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGTYrJa8CvbYHakargtKP7OdTRlWL7Qp-C7PZoacwqS7jRv5hcBwbdBbMSmwoEF9yUHxjDzkWAW6JOa9s48RcbKNHoLL0jhEtclPq4D8j6uzB5O5ERZJcWiWWb8zYDLYX5rzQXwibGaXZX/s1600/IMAG0612.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGTYrJa8CvbYHakargtKP7OdTRlWL7Qp-C7PZoacwqS7jRv5hcBwbdBbMSmwoEF9yUHxjDzkWAW6JOa9s48RcbKNHoLL0jhEtclPq4D8j6uzB5O5ERZJcWiWWb8zYDLYX5rzQXwibGaXZX/s320/IMAG0612.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After a coat of "Nana's Fudge"</td></tr>
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I noticed after the first coat that the area that had been exposed to weather on the side looked like it was darker. I decided this might also fit into the look I was going for. I only painted one coat of Nana's Fudge.<br />
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After that coat had dried, I added just a small amount of vaseline in areas I didn't want the next coat to stick to. This was mostly in light, streaking motions across the drawers, up the sides, and across the top. The idea behind this is that it would make the next layer easier to remove from those places.</div>
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Then it was time to do the second coat. This time, I used a color called Tablecloth, also by Little Billy Goat. At first, I was a little distressed that my brush seemed to have one stiff bristle which kept painting lines in this coat. However, after I did this for awhile, and made sure that the strokes went the length of the piece, I realized this was adding another, cool dimension to the paint.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-WtMZ1R31q5VLy9mdQbgGtV8n4lBAt9cU2EVLKd-I_ohwMHG9ZKFOSIG5cX_0uXosb9UNPTv5bTphsK9u08zvfBESioeswI3_wvF4oN7MDsUWlBVsbSJOXCzwpX6zMQ5U-gkEEIfhIEgE/s1600/IMAG0616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-WtMZ1R31q5VLy9mdQbgGtV8n4lBAt9cU2EVLKd-I_ohwMHG9ZKFOSIG5cX_0uXosb9UNPTv5bTphsK9u08zvfBESioeswI3_wvF4oN7MDsUWlBVsbSJOXCzwpX6zMQ5U-gkEEIfhIEgE/s320/IMAG0616.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Weathering" on the top of the piece</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLmFJy8GsxKZkdxwLRwTNA1jfAnbX-KvB2y1_WjNqvgK1BMRLstJ9W-Y7Mr1Hs1VKINcgeCmsrgcTTG0rFfwL6pJBxLv529klDGJkmNSZYF3DIWi-niqE30gIb2hAOUybM2CSXHngWGKV/s1600/IMAG0617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLmFJy8GsxKZkdxwLRwTNA1jfAnbX-KvB2y1_WjNqvgK1BMRLstJ9W-Y7Mr1Hs1VKINcgeCmsrgcTTG0rFfwL6pJBxLv529klDGJkmNSZYF3DIWi-niqE30gIb2hAOUybM2CSXHngWGKV/s320/IMAG0617.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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"Weathering" on one of the drawers</div>
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After that coat had dried, I first took a scraper to the areas that I had put the vaseline, followed by a heavy sanding. The result was even better than I had planned. The fudge color showed through in a manner that looked very natural. I put a little more strength into the sanding along the edges and around the inlay on the top piece of the sideboard.</div>
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Lastly, I put reassembled the doors/hinges and added new knobs to the piece. I have to admit, I am not in love with the knobs I chose, but those are something I can easily change. </div>
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Overall, I am very happy with the results. I had a piece that was dark, worn, and overbearing and now I have a piece that is light and comfortable in my bright front room. My family's doubting looks have turned to exclamations of "Wow, that actually looks good!" We will live with the piece for a few days before I apply the matte sealer (also from Little Billy Goat) to finish the project.</div>
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What do you think?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-KAobYDO-sObYFKG5xiiaZm5remwsuqceDK0Rsw1ujbaPZ7eEfl3P4XdU8PBgSHGFhpZQCQPw9NN8U2YbtRGtoHEYnBA8Wqpai9lUBEdB31aAaLyc-VZ2EGcsRXJUgmWSQ0c3SqxXZvAz/s1600/IMAG0614.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-KAobYDO-sObYFKG5xiiaZm5remwsuqceDK0Rsw1ujbaPZ7eEfl3P4XdU8PBgSHGFhpZQCQPw9NN8U2YbtRGtoHEYnBA8Wqpai9lUBEdB31aAaLyc-VZ2EGcsRXJUgmWSQ0c3SqxXZvAz/s320/IMAG0614.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The finished piece</td></tr>
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glad2behttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03945278714403827885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-88280997290774338282016-05-11T16:11:00.000-07:002016-05-11T16:23:30.430-07:00The power of a signThe last time I was in the hospital with my sister, Bev, was a few months before she died. I had traveled up to see her because it was possible this would be my last chance. She was so weak and weighed only 98 pounds. She couldn't stay awake and when she was awake, she couldn't talk. We couldn't even tell whether she was aware we were there or if she could hear what we were saying.<br />
<br />
She could. She let us know as soon as she was strong enough to talk.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaACMrG0qRxS5EDmMHFD9IYYxQPEZ7ltFXqRJ8pt7bLhU_kJV3ObkC6wDLbgXfVchF-vyCfAd6HR0pO4FjvoBEJM7K9mRLcW_aSczGhK7txvhwWNOfPZugLHzbxJBjekyIknpNtFprDi7o/s1600/Picture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaACMrG0qRxS5EDmMHFD9IYYxQPEZ7ltFXqRJ8pt7bLhU_kJV3ObkC6wDLbgXfVchF-vyCfAd6HR0pO4FjvoBEJM7K9mRLcW_aSczGhK7txvhwWNOfPZugLHzbxJBjekyIknpNtFprDi7o/s320/Picture1.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
One day, before her strength returned, I was standing beside her bed. I was the only one in the room with her and it was one of the moments she was awake-ish. I stood there, looking at her beautiful blue eyes and I just kept thinking her eyes had always been beautiful and still were. "Sweet Bevie," quietly issued from my mouth.<br />
<br />
Her right hand, nearest me, lifted from the bed. She wasn't strong enough to raise it - the heel of her palm rested on the mattress. The rest of her hand signed "I love you,"<br />
<br />
Today, I added this wind chime to the calm retreat my children created for me for Mother's Day. A beautiful reminder of my sweet sister and her ever present love.glad2behttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03945278714403827885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-35624390401145741052016-04-08T05:18:00.001-07:002016-04-08T05:18:58.925-07:00Out There<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8W-BjCxb1MwvuSyp50MwLrgVWyNod9ZsmMnX3MoK2Obk9WRUT1f3oxhLoJ4H5z2wl7tMDnBcY4d2DM7zNKoDg4TTzo5_UaByeRoYuzOBI408dF8MNpxguRolvHEYh3h_-9J7otM5dkx56/s1600/road-163518_960_720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8W-BjCxb1MwvuSyp50MwLrgVWyNod9ZsmMnX3MoK2Obk9WRUT1f3oxhLoJ4H5z2wl7tMDnBcY4d2DM7zNKoDg4TTzo5_UaByeRoYuzOBI408dF8MNpxguRolvHEYh3h_-9J7otM5dkx56/s320/road-163518_960_720.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a traveler. On a train called Society that moves me
through Life. I was brought onto the train by my parents, who believed it was
the safest place for me. As I grew, and tried to run off the train, or even
change cars, they would catch me, like any good parent would do, and set me on
the seat next to them, shielded from the view of what was “out there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When they couldn’t catch me anymore, I spent most of my time
in the dining car, where I sat with others like me, peering out the window,
talking about a someday when we would be “out there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When it came time for me to have children, though, I looked
around the dining car and realized there were no families there, so I moved
back to the travel car. With my babies on my lap, I pulled the shade on the
windows so that the brightness of “out there” would not disturb them, and after
a time, I forgot about the window.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One day I woke up from sleeping and remembered the
window. I lifted the shade and was overcome. I saw things “out there” I had
never noticed before. There were mountains in the distance, a forest past the
field. Narrow and overgrown, but visible trails leading away from the tracks, platforms in the sky. The colors and the movement of air and trees were
beautiful. I remembered my peers in the dining car and wondered why I never
left the train.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I told my children the stories my friends and I used to tell
about the great “out there” and they listened – their eyes lit with the
excitement of possibility, adventure, and unknown. They scrambled out of my
lap, running from window to window, peering out and seeing … but not knowing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a time, they came to me, one by one, and said they
were moving to the dining car, then one day, they left the dining car and sat on a
flat car with no walls or windows. Closing their eyes, feeling the rush of wind,
and tossing their arms into the sky, reaching for something they did not know
but that they knew was “out there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once in awhile, I go sit on the flat car with them. Usually
in the middle, because I miss the security of the enclosed car. They laugh and
sing, and dance in the air, but none of us ever get off the train.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I dream of a day when they, or their children, or their
children’s children, get off the train. “Out there”, they might be like me and
remember the security of the traincar. They may build houses to live in the
fields, rather than venturing into the woods, but they will be “out there.”
With each generation, children will explore the pathways and one day, one of
them will figure out the way to those platforms in the sky.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>They will fly.</b><o:p></o:p></div>
glad2behttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03945278714403827885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-65242083488836098572016-03-22T15:45:00.002-07:002016-03-22T15:45:20.731-07:00Water, water, everywhere . . .I've been out of town on a business trip the last few days. I don't have traveling partners, so in the evenings, I'm finding things to do. There is an IMAX theater across the street located in a museum. They are currently showing, among other things, two shows that I was interested in - Grand Canyon and National Parks. I decided to buy a double-feature ticket and see both of them.<br />
<br />
As I watched these documentaries, I found myself very emotional. Part of that emotion was because I feel guilty that my children have not seen the beautiful places I have seen. But part of that emotion was because I found myself wondering if they will ever be able to.<br />
<br />
<b>Nature, as many other things on our Earth, has become a commodity. </b><br />
<br />
I vividly remember one day in 1974 when I was just 9 years old, walking across the bridge that spans the Royal Gorge. It cost my parents $4 for our family to walk across the bridge and back. It was a lot of money to us, especially after my dad had just purchased, without really thinking, an original painting from a very-drunk artists selling his works on the side of the bridge. That vacation, we would barely make it home, literally on fumes and with one quarter remaining in my dad's wallet (enough, he said, for him to walk to a phone booth if we break down to call my granddad). I remember that day so vividly because of the emotion that was packed into it: emotion from fear of the artist who smelled of alcohol; confusion about my mother's stern face as my dad handed over money for the painting; joy at the beautiful sights and thrill of breathlessness as I gazed over the side of the bridge into the deep, deep divide; and a momentous occasion - the resignation of President Nixon, which we had pulled over to listen to on the radio on the way to the gorge.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to today and you will see a very different view of the Royal Gorge if you venture there. A private company owns the lease to the land and has run a theme park on both sides of the bridge which requires a person to pay $25 or more just to get in so they can walk on the bridge. There are a couple of places a person who doesn't want to shell out the money can peer at the bridge from afar, but no longer can a family of six toddle their way across the bridge through their poverty.<br />
<br />
The Grand Canyon documentary talked about our overuse of water and how it is affecting the Grand Canyon. While watching it, I kept remembering the same trip described above having a quick stop at the Grand Canyon, just at dusk, as we watched the sun set behind the unbelievable canyon. I also kept thinking about what I know about the truth of what is happening to the water in the Grand Canyon and in other places that have depended on the Colorado River over the ages.<br />
<br />
The United States became dam happy in the early 20th century, placing hundreds of dams across the country in the name of providing reservoirs of water for areas that had low water supplies. This damming of nature resulted in our neighbors to the south experiencing extreme drought and areas that relied on fishing for their livelihood could not only no longer fish, they also had no drinking water. Some of the dams in the southwest also destroyed history and removed evidence of ancient culture, as ruins and artifacts succumbed to the sudden onslaught of water.<br />
<br />
Creation was made in a way that ensured it would always be here. Nature has its own ways of renewing materials and evolving to suit climate change. When we have decided to change those processes, we have chosen to eliminate nature and heritage, and shorten our future.<br />
<br />
The real issue, though, is that the general public are either blissfully unaware or intentionally disregarding these truths.<br />
<b><br /></b>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89Agd4kS6SJwHYLNNLFZJKR04lv8P8DPO6QqOeaszaRJE73M8-pCsI0kUr2n95jgTfU5ydCgt1liq5Kxi8mSL0v9dHnZcj4vbFjMU0dlw7cSSGms-GRIMKUahOaoe63tDKXt1B43zcCHs/s1600/responsible.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89Agd4kS6SJwHYLNNLFZJKR04lv8P8DPO6QqOeaszaRJE73M8-pCsI0kUr2n95jgTfU5ydCgt1liq5Kxi8mSL0v9dHnZcj4vbFjMU0dlw7cSSGms-GRIMKUahOaoe63tDKXt1B43zcCHs/s400/responsible.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
As a society, we don't always choose to be unaware, we have been coerced into it. We blindly allow environmentally-damaging practices to continue and we choose to continue them ourselves.<br />
<br />
Nature had a way of ensuring that the salmon population in Alaska would forever provide food to its inhabitants, but we have systematically removed salmon habitat over the last 100 years. The water cycle promises us that we will never run out of water, but we have built dams and processing plants that forever remove water from that cycle in parts of the country that previously had plenty. Why haven't we done as native ancestors did and built along waterways or maintained a nomadic life, following the flow of water or the changing of seasons? Why have we decided that because we can build systems that allow us to live in the desert that we should, in fact, do so?<br />
<br />
<b>When this is all gone, will we even wonder if we were responsible?</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
It isn't too late to do something about it. Dams can be removed. We can choose to live in ways that are friendlier to our environment. We can decide that we will no longer build in harms way but rather in ways that are harmonious with our Earth.<br />
<br />
Wake up. See the water leaving us. Lament the loss of wildlife and habitat. Do just one thing toward ensuring that our descendants will still have nature left to enjoy, and don't have to rely on a movie screen to reveal what once was . . .glad2behttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03945278714403827885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-14359297543286181522015-12-04T06:26:00.003-08:002015-12-04T06:26:59.710-08:00First ChristmasShe's here. In the memories the ticking clock on my mantle recall. In the falling leaves that pile in my mind, waiting for our feet to pounce on them. As I walk through my new house, describing to her everything I plan to do. Sisters, sharing our lives together.<br />
<br />
Except she isn't here. I don't hear her laughter or her voice saying "Laney". I don't see her hand with index and pinky finger outstretched, silently acknowledging her love for me. I don't see her in the kitchen, happily preparing Christmas yumminess.<br />
<br />
A sister, cherished memories, and sadly missed.glad2behttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03945278714403827885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-18569307043969933122015-09-12T14:54:00.005-07:002015-09-12T14:54:59.099-07:00If only we had wingsI was sitting at a stoplight on my drive to work one day this week and I noticed something. It was one of those lights that takes an unusual amount of time to change, so I was watching two very small birds navigate the long, gray pole hanging over the lane. One bird ran without hesitation to the end of the pole and stopped. The second bird was more hesitant. It ran a few steps then stopped and looked around, ran a few more, stopped a little longer. When the second bird found itself behind a sign that was attached to the pole, it hopped up to the top of the sign and perched itself on the thin metal.<br />
<br />
I was a little surprised by the choice the bird had made. While it had been hesitant to run along the pole, which was quite wide from its perspective as a tiny being, it seemingly had no concerns about jumping and perching on a much thinner support. Why, I wondered, was it not afraid of that slender sign.<br />
<br />
My morning brain came a little out of its fog and thought, duh ... it has wings! What would happen if it miscalculated the hop? It would have to fly a bit. No biggie.<br />
<br />
The light turned green and I continued thinking about the bird. When we are very young, we approach our world like that bird does. We don't know anything about gravity. We haven't learned that it might be dangerous to run along that fencepost. We are daring, perhaps fearless, in our exploration of the world.<br />
<br />
Then something happens.<br />
<br />
We find out that we don't have wings and the superhero cape attached to our shoulders with safety pins hold only the love with which our mothers or fathers placed them there. Our balance falters. Knees get skinned. Salty tears wash the dirt from our cheeks.<br />
<br />
We learn that we have limits.<br />
<br />
That bird I saw is one of the least intelligent organisms on the planet. Its brain is so tiny, once it has directed the bird's heart to beat, lungs to breathe, wings to flap, and metabolic processes to occur, the only thoughts that could possibly run through it is to eat and to reproduce. Why, then, does this little creature get wings while human beings, who have such a capacity for thought and learning that we have not even begun to use our entire brain, get wobbly legs and frequent injury?<br />
<br />
But what if we did have wings? What would be our limit? Where would we go? What would we do? Would we be as sedentary as we are? Would we spend our free time joyfully flying, free to explore wherever we wished to go? Would we take more risks?<br />
<br />
I'm not sure the answer is yes. Because the real truth is that we have been made with beautiful and miraculous capabilities, yet we squander them. We let our knowledge of gravity and our experiences of hurt and discomfort keep us from pursuing what is "thin". We go for the "thick things" - eating, sleeping, entertainment, watching TV, and shopping. We avoid the exposure we may experience by pursuing the "thin" - knowledge, exploration, exercise, and love.<br />
<br />
If only we could see our wings.<br />
<br />glad2behttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03945278714403827885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-63059907952235327872015-09-03T03:59:00.003-07:002015-09-03T04:01:34.839-07:00Forever changed<i><span style="color: #134f5c;">"I'm so sorry."</span></i><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><br /></i>
<i>The words coming out of the surgeon's mouth three hours after my infant son went in for a surgery that was supposed to last less than an hour struck me as you would imagine. The next words would change me forever,</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><br /></i>
<i>"It's cancer."</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><br /></i>
<i>His apologies were not about my son having cancer, but rather about him assuring me days earlier that I shouldn't worry. That the likelihood of him having cancer was so rare, it wasn't even something to concern myself about.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><br /></i>
<i>The next two weeks are a blur. There are memories of dark hospital rooms before being moved to a pediatric oncology unit. There are memories of well-meaning friends and family saying all the wrong things. Memories of his oncologist telling me how to prepare myself for what was to come. </i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><br /></i>
<i>I do remember, vividly, a conversation with the surgeon the day after the surgery. "We haven't gotten the results back from the lab, but the chances this is rhabdomyosarcoma is so rare, I am sure that isn't it."</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><br /></i>
<i>And the visit the next day from the oncologist, "it's alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma." In those two days, I had the time to read the information packets the hospital had given me and I knew this was one of the worst pieces of news I could get, but I had already prepared myself for that being the news I would get.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><br /></i>
<i>The first day we returned home is still surreal to me. I can remember driving into my driveway, getting the kids out, walking to the porch and thinking. "Oncologist". "Oncologist". "Oncologist."</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><br /></i>
<i>The sound of the word became very odd to me. "Your son has cancer" began repeating in my head.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><br /></i>
<i>"This is the home where your child has cancer." This thought stopped me in my tracks. I didn't want to go in. I was fearful that walking into that house would acknowledge or in some way make true that my son was entering into a fight for his life.</i></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
While you have been reading this, a family has been changed with a diagnosis. One out of 285 children will be diagnosed with cancer. Of those, one in five will not survive. Those who do survive often deal with long-term effects, hassles with insurance companies, and an always-present, heightened sense of awareness of changes in their body. For the families of all of the children fortunate not to go through this, it is hard to imagine the reality of childhood cancer. <a href="http://www.cancer.gov/types/childhood-cancers/child-adolescent-cancers-fact-sheet#q1" target="_blank">Please seek to learn more about childhood cancer</a> and what you can do to support the research that can help to keep families from being forever changed.glad2behttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03945278714403827885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-71976540317857622662015-08-27T17:11:00.000-07:002015-08-27T17:11:07.516-07:00Wherever you go, whatever you doToday, I connected with all three of my college-student children. It started this morning with my son, Trevor, who is a junior, who had sent me a link yesterday to a radio interview he was assigned to listen to in class. That was followed by my son, Tony, who is a freshman, needing help with getting Office loaded on his laptop. This afternoon, it was my daughter, Rene, reflecting on her day and her realization that she is an upperclassman, and how hard it is to believe she is in her third year of college.<br />
<br />
The radio interview Trevor sent me was an hour long. I have to say that my first instinct was to listen to a bit and let it go. I have a hard time listening or watching anything that is longer than a minute or so. To see the line of the podcast telling me I had nearly 60 minutes ahead of me was daunting. When he sent it to me yesterday, I listened to about three minutes of it and determined that it was important for me to listen in its entirety and I decided I would listen during my commute. I listened to the first 30 minutes in the morning and anxiously plugged in my phone to finish the rest on the drive home.<br />
<br />
As I listened to the interview, which discussed the poetry of Islamic poet, Rumi, I was captivated at the connection I felt to the content and the new recognition of the world around me.<br />
<br />
<i>"Wherever you go, Whatever you do, Be in love."</i> - Rumi<br />
<br />
Love. I have endless love for all five of my children. In spite of my own shortcomings, they have become truly unique and independent, thoughtful adults. They amaze me with their achievements, and entertain me with their youth. Rumi's poetry is about play, love, our physical selves, and God. Thinking about my children and my life through the lens of love and of wonder, I began to think about what had just happened to me.<br />
<br />
What happened as I listened is that I learned something. This, in itself, transported me back in time to my own college days, sitting in classrooms on that first day each semester and thinking to myself "ahhh, now I can feel smart again." Why? because I knew that in that room, I would learn.<br />
<br />
I hear from my kids and from others new to college about how difficult the loneliness is and how surprising the loss of connection is. I never experienced that because I was in my 30s and had two children already when I started college for real. My recollection of college is of the tremendous thrill of the pursuit of thought. The opportunities for discussions with others who were on the same journey as me. The late nights, after putting the children to bed, writing those last minute papers, cramming for those mid-terms, and finally deciding there is nothing more to give.<br />
<br />
I listened.<br />
<br />
I thought about how much I miss those times when I felt intelligent just because I was standing on a college campus and walking into a room. When I felt validated because a professor pulled me aside to tell me he always put my compositions on the bottom of the stack so that he could grade it last and be renewed with hope after the multitude of disappointing others.<br />
<br />
Because of the content of the interview, I also felt one of the strongest connections with God that I have felt in my life, and I was reminded of a nagging call that I have not answered.<br />
<br />
All of this is to say I fell in love today. In love with my life. In love with my physical self. In love with the world around me. In love with my children, all over again.<br />
<br />
It was a good day.glad2behttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03945278714403827885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-68747068230197161332015-08-05T04:21:00.000-07:002015-08-05T05:03:03.119-07:00My BevieHer life was full of adventure and short on hesitation. She barreled through events and decisions with a speed that seemed impetuous to outsiders. In reality, she cared. She cared deeply. She was the most loyal of all of us, the most often hurt, and the first one to forgive the offender.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She was married five times to four men, having found her true soulmate the second time around and finding him again the fifth. They would spend the best part of their lives together. Doing the things they enjoyed - bicycling, riding motorcycles, existing in the middle of nowhere with nobody bothering them. She loved photography and snapped some of the best shots of my babies as they grew up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In our youth, she was the focus of my first memory in life at the age of 2, when she who was 8 at the time was struck by a car while riding her bicycle. The woman said she was distracted by the cute blonde girl in ponytails (me) and hadn't seen my sister. At 2, my first memory is of my sister lying on the couch and a toddler's understanding that I had killed my sister. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I was about 4 or 5, we had been to rummage sales with my mother and I had seen a pair of shiny, black boots I just had to have. My mom wouldn't buy them for me. They barely fit and she knew I would grow out of them too soon to warrant bringing home. Later that day, my sister became a part of my first memory of being so happy I cried when she came home from being out riding her bike, or so I thought, with a pair of shiny, black boots she had bought with the only money she had. My mom was right - I wore those boots once or twice. They were tight and sweaty, but I kept my "gogo boots" for a long time and my sister was forever my angel.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So many memories of the kind of person my sister was. Which makes it even harder to lose her to cirrhosis at the age of 56.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You see, choices made can either build us up, break us down, or give us a new strength. For her, there were a combination of choices she made, a chance accident, and a habit of keeping personal issues to herself that gave hold to the disease that would kill her. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I take a lot of comfort in knowing that she was right with God when she died. During a recent visit, she talked a lot about how she could feel Jesus inside her heart and that she had regular talks with God, who had given her peace with the reality of what was happening to her. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My sweet Bevie is gone. Lover of horses, beaches, Donny Osmond, Elvis Presley, and love. My best friend, my most loyal protector, my biggest cheerleader.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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Heaven rejoices as she reunites with my dad and so many others, and meets our little brother for the first time.</div>
glad2behttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03945278714403827885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-553218599908446413.post-79754653808058170882015-07-31T07:34:00.001-07:002015-08-01T06:23:50.569-07:00Hello darkness, my old friendI'm sure many of you have seen pictures of people getting tattoos in the shape of a semicolon for <a href="http://www.projectsemicolon.com/">Project Semicolon</a>. If you haven't, or if you don't know what it is, here is a short description from their website:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Project Semicolon (The Semicolon Project) is a faith-based non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and love to those who are struggling with depression, suicide, addition and self-injury. Project Semicolon exists to encourage, love and inspire."</blockquote>
It is a very worthwhile endeavor - as a society, we have had the idea embedded within us that talking about mental illness is not acceptable. That having mental illness is a sign of weakness. That acknowledging we need help is something that we need not do in public.<br />
<br />
However, as I watched so many people jumping on board, I began to wonder if they really understood the project or if they were just doing it because they saw it on Facebook and thought it sounded cool.<br />
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As I considered my feelings on the subject, I came to two realizations:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>I want to have a semicolon tattoo, and I will talk about that later.</li>
<li>If it is true that people are jumping on board because it's the cool thing to do, that is more proof that it needs to be done. Awareness of the reality of mental illness needs to happen.</li>
</ol>
With regards to number one, I have decided to share my story. It is a story that began as a teenager and follows me through my adult life. I was raised to not fear death. I was taught that there is something peaceful and natural about it and that when we mourn a death, it is for us, not for the person who died, because that person is in a better place. As a Christian, I embrace the concept that death is a beautiful release from the suffering in the world and a peace unknown and incomprehensible.<br />
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The story I am about to tell has not been told to anyone in its entirety. My family will find parts of it to be surprising. For that, I apologize.<br />
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When I was in high school, my perception of the world was distorted. Everything was dark. Everything was not in my favor . . . ever. By 16, I routinely used alcohol to generate temporary feelings of peace and calm. As a senior in high school, I believed nothing would ever get better. I believed I had accomplished all that I would in life and there was nothing to look forward to. I would go for drives on winding roads at night, turn out the lights, press the gas pedal to the floor, and dare my car to lose the road. One such night, the thought occurred to me that maybe I was through with the dare and ready to make it happen. I approached a bridge and decided that I would simply drive off of it. Why am I still here today? As I entered the bridge, I had two thoughts enter my head. First, that driving off a bridge wasn't a sure thing. What if I live? Second, if I am gone, will anyone really even care? Sure my parents would be sad for awhile, but would their lives really change? Confusion at the first thought and anger at the second were the first real emotions I had felt for a very long time. I slowed my car down and drove home.<br />
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This wasn't a moment that changed my life forever. It was a moment that temporarily stayed my desire to leave this world. I continued on my destructive path and married at 18. Regardless of how our marriage ended up, I credit my first husband with saving my life. He was older, 24, and had been through some difficult times of his own, having lost both of his parents by the time he was 23. He was very controlling, but that is what I needed at the time. I stopped drinking. I started setting goals for myself, and I began thinking of a normal life with a family.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDNZXJGLNIZ5tVhTeqMx9fNtmpfACg71L6fywPrPNdHpHbwaE9IxbX0a0sZV4KdU0REACrLJWWnEs3aAC70m8BbVWOedRlgXU_esqoACMEfnL63YTy0pTBA-Mmh-86oj_Jwnz78_bduZO/s1600/hemingwayquote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDNZXJGLNIZ5tVhTeqMx9fNtmpfACg71L6fywPrPNdHpHbwaE9IxbX0a0sZV4KdU0REACrLJWWnEs3aAC70m8BbVWOedRlgXU_esqoACMEfnL63YTy0pTBA-Mmh-86oj_Jwnz78_bduZO/s320/hemingwayquote.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Forward eight years to the age of 26. My then-husband was out of town and I was alone in a four-bedroom house that had belonged to his parents. I remember one morning walking through the house, which still had remnants of his parents' presence, and suddenly a feeling, like a weight, slammed down on me. I fell to the floor, crying. In my tears, I wondered what I was crying about. My mind released what it had been holding for all those years and the depression flooded back. At 26, I believed my life was all that it ever would be. I had been trying to have children for many years. I had not had the money to go to college and never would. I was in a job that didn't satisfy me. My marriage was not all that I had hoped it would be. I felt trapped and alone. I wanted out.<br />
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We owned several guns and my then-husband and I shared shooting as a hobby. I had a handgun of my own that I took out of the gun cabinet. I went to the bathroom, thinking that room would be easiest to clean. As I stared at the gun, I wondered how I got there. Why was this back? I called my brother, who is ten years older than me. I told him I thought I wanted to kill myself. He said words that saved me for that day, "<i>think about the things that make you sad right now - if those things were not true about your life, would you still be thinking your life was over?</i>" My answer was no. He said, "<i>then start making those things not true and don't give up on yourself.</i>"<br />
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When my then-husband came home, I told him everything and he made an appointment with a therapist. It was my first experience with seeking professional help for my mental health. It was life-changing. My therapist suggested I try antidepressants while we worked through my issues, and my doctor prescribed Prozac. After two weeks, I realized my perspective on my life had changed drastically. I was able to think rationally about my life and, with my therapist's help over the next year, I changed the mantras in my head. Eventually, I went off the Prozac, and everything seemed fine.<br />
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I went to college. Eventually, I divorced my husband. I started a real career for the first time in my life, and I built a life that made me happy. I didn't sit and wait for it to happen to me, I built it. Through all of that, the lessons I learned in therapy were a constant necessity for me. Why?<b> Because once you dance with the darkness, the darkness is always near.</b><br />
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Because of that last statement, I have had additional bouts with depression all my life. Occasionally, I've needed to seek out therapy and/or medication. Most often, it is the mantras in my head that pull me through. Those of you who know me know that I have a wonderful life. At times, it seems too good to be true. I have a wonderful husband, five kids who are so amazing, and have been successful in my career. Even in the midst of that beauty, the darkness is just over my shoulder. If I allow myself to take a look, I sink back into that darkness. I might find myself huddled in my closet. I might begin to think sleep is the only way to get through the day. I might become quiet and introspective and not let my beautiful family in, and yes, I might begin thinking about how easy it would be to just slip away . . .<br />
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I wanted to share all of this because it is my story. <b>My story isn't over yet. </b>If you battle with mental illness and have not sought help. Do it now. Do it for yourself. Do it so that you can open the next chapter of your life. If you know someone who is battling mental illness, be supportive. Don't be afraid to talk to them about it, acknowledge it.<br />
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<b>It isn't shameful, it's an illness.</b><br />
<br />glad2behttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03945278714403827885noreply@blogger.com4