tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65384790151158668792024-03-13T12:58:50.187-05:00One Lucky Chickmafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-64792039669886803282014-07-12T14:03:00.002-05:002014-07-12T14:03:59.938-05:00LostCan't find my way out of this deep hole.<br />
Ashamed.<br />
Lonely.<br />
Lost.<br />
Embarrassed.<br />
Confused.<br />
Lonely.<br />
Lonely.<br />
Lonely.<br />
Lost.<br />
Immobilized.<br />
Static.<br />
Stuck.<br />
Sad.<br />
Dark.<br />
Lost. <br />
My friends have serious issues to deal with, life and death issues. And here I am, feeling sorry for myself. So ashamed of that. But I can't find my way out. Can't find the strength to offer them strength. Feel useless. <br />
Instead of getting better, this feeling is getting worse. At least today I can cry. That release feels good, now that it's finally here.<br />
My haven feels empty. It's not providing the comfort it usually affords me, because it's suddenly so still, so empty, so barren.<br />
No point to anything.<br />
Everything leaves, everything fades.<br />
I have so much.<br />
I have nothing of import. <br />
Maybe writing this will help. Maybe not. <br />
<br />mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-87540317783453937352013-12-31T18:37:00.000-06:002013-12-31T18:39:02.728-06:00What They Don't Tell You<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's always in the fine print. The</span> </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">little tiny words </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">that no one ever reads. The stuff that pops up just before you click, "I agree to these terms." What terms? Do YOU ever read the fine print? I don't. I <i>mean</i> to. I always tell myself, "Next time I make a purchase, I'll read the terms in advance." But I don't. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">So I'm caught unprepared. I'll admit, I like surprises, true surprises. Something unexpected that touches me. I love the feeling of delight a surprise can deliver. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">I received the most lovely gift this year on Christmas Eve. The gift itself wasn't a surprise, but still, I was caught unprepared. Had I known the depth to which this surprise would touch me, I don't know if I would have (or COULD have) agreed to the terms. Because this wasn't just a surprise--this was a change-your-life-forever-after gift. And how can you prepare for that? Even if someone TELLS you that things will never be the same, can you really comprehend those terms until you are LIVING with them? This was a I-don't-know-how-to-think-how-to-act-how-to-help-with-this surprise. I am unprepared. I should have advice to give, I should have time to give, I should have money to give, I should be better at this. I am unprepared. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">But I do have gratitude and love to give. As the recipient of such a precious, precious gift, I hope to give back as much as this gift has given me. More. I may not have read the terms of this gift in advance, but I hope to show how grateful I am with each action and word. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">I know there will be many more surprises. I won't remember to read the fine print, and I'll feel unprepared. But I'll be grateful and enjoy the unexpected treasures yet to come. </span><br />
<br />
mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-41652351954998030522013-09-29T17:22:00.001-05:002013-09-29T17:22:32.239-05:00Not Yet<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Nope, I haven't figured it out yet. Just when I think I'm on the right road, I realize I don't know where I'm going.</span></i></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Do you ever feel like your daily life is supposed to be leading somewhere? I guess I'm a goal-oriented person, because I find myself thinking, "I'm almost there," or, "I'm almost done," on and off, all through the day. But when I stop and think, I'm not sure where "there" is, or what "done" means. And then I realize that I'm doing it wrong. Life. I'm doing life wrong. </span></i></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I believe I should be moving forward, and growing, changing, improving. But I need to remind myself to pay attention to the <span></span>moments as they happen. Because it all moves so fast. It might feel great to be able to cross something off of my to-do list, but the real joy can be found in the moment of doing, and too often, I miss that moment on the way to "being done."</span></i></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #660000;"><span style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: small;">Go ahead, roll your eyes at my new-agey, happy hippie chatter. I know what I sound like. When I was your age, my eyes would have rolled right out of my head at this, too. But now I'm at the right age to appreciate the idea that it really is the journey, not the destination. So I'm trying to get better at life. I guess that's the point, isn't it? </span></span></span> </span></span></i>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-46648922264248658562013-08-14T10:12:00.001-05:002013-08-14T10:12:27.580-05:00For you, my friend<span style="color: white;">Someone to crowd you with love,<br />
Someone to force you to care, <span id="goog_2021554941"></span><span id="goog_2021554942"></span><br />
Someone to make you come through,<br />
Who'll always be there,<br />
As frightened as you<br />
Of being alive,<br />
Being alive,<br />
Being alive,<br />
Being alive.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"> </span> <br />
<span style="color: white;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">That's you, my friend. You're always with me. You're in my head, even when I wish you weren't. You know me so well, and yet, you still like me. Love me. </span></span></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Someone you have to let in,<br />
Someone whose feelings you spare,<br />
Someone who, like it or not,<br />
Will want you to share</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A little, a lot.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: white;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I've got to believe that friendship like ours is rare. It's too precious to be common. I can't explain why we have always had this connection. It's visceral, palpable, essential. It lives and breathes. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br />
Somebody, need me too much,<br />
Somebody, know me too well,<br />
Somebody, pull me up short<br />
And put me through hell<br />
And give me support<br />
For being alive,<br />
Make me alive.<br /><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">from <i>Company</i>, lyrics by Stephen Sondheim</span></span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span> </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Over miles, over years, in our dreams and in our waking. You're there. You make me want to be alive. You keep me alive. Thank you for making me one lucky chick.</span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hQy5TJn2RtM/UgueFDUFUvI/AAAAAAAAAO4/oX88DzebE_U/s1600/hugs-91164496169.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hQy5TJn2RtM/UgueFDUFUvI/AAAAAAAAAO4/oX88DzebE_U/s200/hugs-91164496169.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span></i>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-16267443856490200862013-07-21T07:50:00.000-05:002013-07-21T07:52:30.469-05:00Overjoyed<span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><i>In "Broadcast News," William Hurt asks Albert Brooks, "What do you do when your real life exceeds your dreams?" Brooks' character replies, "Keep it to yourself." </i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><i>It's a dilemma. When things are going poorly for me, I post cryptic messages on Facebook; I need to let it out, but I don't want to share too much. But when things are going well, I have a harder time sharing the news. I don't want to boast, I don't want to jinx it. I want to express how lucky I feel. I want to acknowledge that I don't take any of the positive for granted, and that I probably don't deserve most of what I've been given, but it feels like bragging. </i></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #bf9000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><i>I think I'm a good person. I believe that sending good out brings good back in. So I guess I'll just say that right now, I must be sending a whole lot of good out to the universe. And I'm grateful for what I'm getting back. Stevie says it best: </i></span></span></span><iframe width="420" height="315" src="//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/_a1LogyX9Uw?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-525587107801459862013-05-12T10:13:00.003-05:002013-07-21T07:23:14.689-05:00Happy Mother's Day<iframe width="420" height="315" src="//www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/uzrGFQysfYU?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-43435713297466671732013-04-03T08:29:00.003-05:002013-05-12T10:14:51.149-05:00And with the dawn...<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">It's a bright, sunny day. Cold, but sunny. I am not usually a fan of this kind of day. For some reason, bright sun brings on headaches for me. But not today.</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></i></span>
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">There is just a hint of spring in the cold, cold air. The sounds of birds singing again, the daffodil buds barely peeking through the dirt, the squirrels playing their games of tag again in the yard. Just enough spring to lift my heart. </span></span></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/LcxYwwIL5zQ?rel=0" width="420"></iframe>
<span style="font-size: large;">I spent the weekend sobbing, singing the "Poor me, poor me" song. But I'm over it. I still don't think I'm strong enough to visit my favorite eastside haunts yet--I know I'll get weepy without my constant companion. But today's dawn brings a hopeful promise of good things to come, and I'm gonna go with it. I have so much. I am so lucky. And grateful.</span></i></span></span>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-8111682770203480682013-03-13T09:50:00.003-05:002013-03-13T09:50:56.788-05:00Grateful for the Grief<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">I'm so selfish. I can't belie<span style="font-size: large;">ve that in the midst of good news, I am so sad. Parenting is<span style="font-size: large;"> filled with these dichot<span style="font-size: large;">omies. No one tells you that. But <span style="font-size: large;">even if someone had told me, and I had actually listen<span style="font-size: large;">ed, until you live it, you can't understand it. And I certainly wouldn't change the track of my life, even if I knew that I'd have less grief <span style="font-size: large;">if I<span style="font-size: large;">'d never had my girls.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">This is a<span style="font-size: large;">n exciting time for her. This is the beginning of the next part of her life. Thi<span style="font-size: large;">s is SUCH an amazing opportunity. Yet I sit here and sob. It doesn't mean I'm not thrilled<span style="font-size: large;"> for her<span style="font-size: large;">, that I'm not excited for her, that I'm not so, so very proud of her. But I'm <span style="font-size: large;">se<span style="font-size: large;">lfish<span style="font-size: large;">ly sad for me. For us. Because, despite a<span style="font-size: large;"> rock-solid foundation, things will change. Dramaticall<span style="font-size: large;">y. And if you've followed this blog at all, you know that I'm not good with change. I retreat. I obse<span style="font-size: large;">ss. I grieve. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">So that's where I'm at. I don't want things to b<span style="font-size: large;">e different, because I WANT this chapter to begin for her. But I<span style="font-size: large;"> want it to stop h<span style="font-size: large;">urting. I want to stop feeling so lonely already. I want to be a grown-up about it. And right now, I can't. I'm too ra<span style="font-size: large;">w. I know we w<span style="font-size: large;">ill all survi<span style="font-size: large;">ve<span style="font-size: large;"> and thrive. I know this. But right now, I'm sad<span style="font-size: large;">. I'm grateful, but I'm sad. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">And now, to lighten the mood, Alison, here is the song I was trying to remember for you: </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><i><br /></i><br />
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<object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/mRNpa_vTjRM/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mRNpa_vTjRM&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mRNpa_vTjRM&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-71893164038995951182013-03-03T19:54:00.002-06:002013-03-03T19:54:23.560-06:00Marching On<span style="color: #b45f06;"><span style="font-size: large;">Forgive the <span style="font-size: large;">title pun--<span style="font-size: large;">yes, it's already March, and I've been absent for awhile. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Life has offered a variety of po<span style="font-size: large;">sitive and nega<span style="font-size: large;">tive exp<span style="font-size: large;">eriences<span style="font-size: large;"> in the past 2 months, and I'm grateful for <span style="font-size: large;">all of them</span>. No matter how much I whine, I know I'm still one lucky chick. I still get to wake up ev<span style="font-size: large;">e<span style="font-size: large;">ry day. I still get to laugh and cry every day. I still get to feel overw<span style="font-size: large;">helmed<span style="font-size: large;"> and satisfied. I am still here. I am lucky.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zSyDDVWhkWQ/UTP-rzPkF2I/AAAAAAAAAL0/jIY-CQvTDGQ/s1600/A_Colorful_Cartoon_Majorette_Marching_with_a_Baton_Royalty_Free_Clipart_Picture_110109-146209-724053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zSyDDVWhkWQ/UTP-rzPkF2I/AAAAAAAAAL0/jIY-CQvTDGQ/s200/A_Colorful_Cartoon_Majorette_Marching_with_a_Baton_Royalty_Free_Clipart_Picture_110109-146209-724053.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #b45f06;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thanks for the thoughts, hugs, messages, smiles you've <span style="font-size: large;">sent my way. I'm lucky to know you. I <span style="font-size: large;">am marching forward, held up by supportive friends, loving family, and the knowledge that I am on<span style="font-size: large;">e lucky chick. </span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-89370493537173507672012-12-31T20:05:00.001-06:002012-12-31T20:05:36.707-06:00Fingers crossed<span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: large;">2012. I'm so lucky. I had loads of time with my girls, loads of good food, loads of junk food<span style="font-size: large;">, loads of cat<span style="font-size: large;"> snuggles<span style="font-size: large;">, loads of good experiences with my students. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm so lucky.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">2013. I'm hopeful. I'm anxious. I'm grateful already for what<span style="font-size: large;">ever comes</span>. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">January holds a rather large mountain to climb, but I'<span style="font-size: large;">ll be positive<span style="font-size: large;"> enough, strong enough, and resilient enough for all of us. We'll climb tog<span style="font-size: large;">ether. We love each other<span style="font-size: large;">. That's what will help us <span style="font-size: large;">get to<span style="font-size: large;"> the ot<span style="font-size: large;">her side<span style="font-size: large;">, where we'll sli<span style="font-size: large;">de dow<span style="font-size: large;">n, screaming, crying<span style="font-size: large;">, and laughing</span> all the way.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8-Jcvy3pmBE/UOJDhmd03II/AAAAAAAAAKk/_lXrCUluGi4/s1600/Fingers-crossed1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8-Jcvy3pmBE/UOJDhmd03II/AAAAAAAAAKk/_lXrCUluGi4/s1600/Fingers-crossed1.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm so lucky. We've got each other<span style="font-size: large;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YGOdZTr8CEM/UCgtQ6x1-iI/AAAAAAAAAMA/7VDUmtnGh2E/s1600/Fingers-crossed1.jpg">photo credit</a> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-25075308325896604012012-12-31T19:28:00.000-06:002012-12-31T19:28:15.907-06:00It's Okay<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">I'm trying so hard to breathe. Since the end of N<span style="font-size: large;">ovember, I<span style="font-size: large;">'ve noticed that I <span style="font-size: large;">have to concentrate specifically on taking in a full breath. </span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's tricky, this whole "tension" thing. You go<span style="font-size: large;"> about your daily<span style="font-size: large;"> routine, seemingly unscathed <span style="font-size: large;">by circumstances out of your control. But then you notice that you're not fully breathing, not fully focusing, not fully pa<span style="font-size: large;">rticipating<span style="font-size: large;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">I<span style="font-size: large;">'ve got to do a better job of staying alert for t<span style="font-size: large;">he creeping signs of tension. I've got to let go of what I'm holding inside. If I crumble for a little while, the world will go on spinning. My issues won't go away, but they also won't eat me alive<span style="font-size: large;"> as long as I breathe. In. Out.<span style="font-size: large;"> Repeat.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><i><br /></i>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-6612964677553949802012-12-10T08:06:00.001-06:002012-12-10T08:06:11.605-06:00The Waiting is the Hardest Part<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">'Tis the season. The season of waiting. The season of anticipation. Every day feels like an intake of breath. </span></span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">When does the release happen? Is it when the shopping is done? When the gifts are wrapped and tree decorated? When family gathers to celebrate? Or does it happen the day after, vacuuming the wrapping paper shreds, washing the dirtied dishes, putting the furniture back in place? </span></span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I am a person who feels the post-holiday crash pretty deeply. In the evenings between Christmas day and New Year's Eve, I lean toward wallowing in sappy movies, sappy music, sitting in darkness lit only by tree lights. I take my year apart mentally, analyzing every misstep, listing the changes I will make to move forward. It's not so much a release as a letdown. It's as if there's nothing to look forward to, only things to regret. And that's bullshit. </span></span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I'm learning (ssss--lll--ooo--www--lll--yyy) to keep myself in anticipation. Because there's ALWAYS something coming. I don't mean in the "Oh-I've-got-a-thousand-things-to-get-done!" way. I mean in the "What's-around-this-corner?" way. I'm learning to look forward with curiosity, with eagerness, with openness, instead of with dread, with anxiety, with a feeling of impending doom. </span></span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I am not good with change. I worry. I fret. I dread. I know I won't completely be free of those weights, but I'm</span></span></i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><i> determined to look ahead with excitement. I am not patient, but I'm determined to find the joy in the waiting. </i></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><i>I will inhale and open my eyes.</i></span></span><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span></i></span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Clip art: http://www.stpaulschestnuthill.org/wp-content/uploads/Advent-Wreath-011.jpg</span><br />
<br />mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-60844161764648575092012-11-21T08:21:00.002-06:002012-11-21T08:21:11.627-06:00'Tis the Season<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #351c75;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">nostalgia </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">scents</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">laughter</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">warmth</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">flavors</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">hugs</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">blankets</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">tears</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">contentment</span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">love</span></span></i></span><br />
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<span style="color: #351c75;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">always, love </span></span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> </span></span></i></span>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-80794184508277212592012-10-19T07:11:00.003-05:002012-10-19T07:11:28.787-05:00GREAT<span style="color: #660000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Great. I missed a second post in September. Great. I missed an early post in October. Great.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While I'm working hard to retrain myself, to foster and maintain better habits, I still mess things up regularly. I am definitely a work in progress.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In late September, I was assigned the task of listing things I am GREAT at. <span style="color: blue;">*Brief interjection: If you are bothered by dangling participles and poor grammar, read no further. This post is rife with both. You have been warned.*</span> Have you ever tried to do this? It's humbling, and kinda depressing. Because it was very easy to list things I am GOOD at. I am self-aware enough and confident enough to say, "Yes, I'm a good cook," or "Yes, I'm a Trivial Pursuit player." </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I took it to the next level. Things I am BETTER-THAN-AVERAGE at. Hmmm. Okay, I play piano better than the average person. I have better-than-average classroom management skills. I am blushing as I write this next one, but...I think I'm better-than-the-average mom. I can only say that because my girls are grown women who haven't become serial killers or Republicans (yet). </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #660000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now on to the GREAT list. *pause* Ok.*crickets chirping* Yeah. This is tough. On the surface, it seems easy. I'm a great friend. I'm a great daughter. But, no, those statements aren't true. I think (ok, I KNOW) I'm a good friend. A really good friend. But GREAT? No. Because I still won't go see every show that my friends are in. Because I still won't call friends on a regular basis, just to chat. A great daughter? Nnnnnnoooooooo. I call my dad frequently, but many times it's due to guilt, not due to an overwhelming desire to talk to him. I still complain almost daily about having to put up with his racist rants, but I don't have the guts to confront him about them. I still harbor loads of resentment and anger toward him for events that occurred DECADES ago. Do I love him? Yes, without question. Am I a GREAT daughter? Not a chance.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WI9BNOCNfhs/UIFDHr7Ee6I/AAAAAAAAAJw/IBA8mDCsFLc/s1600/totally-great.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WI9BNOCNfhs/UIFDHr7Ee6I/AAAAAAAAAJw/IBA8mDCsFLc/s200/totally-great.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My list of GREATNESS comes from a negative place. I am a GREAT complainer. I am a GREAT passive/aggressive manipulator. I am a GREAT nag. See what I mean? The reason I was asked to create my list of greatness was to bolster my often-flagging self esteem. Oops. Sort of backfired on me. But, you know what? That's okay. I appreciate the fact that I made these discoveries. Or rather, that this task caused me to FACE these characteristics. Of course I've always known they were there. But looking this closely at my NON-greatness will help me grow, too. So, maybe that's my starting point. I'm GREAT at listing my flaws. And I'm GREAT-ful (see what I did there?) for the task of looking deeper.</span></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WI9BNOCNfhs/UIFDHr7Ee6I/AAAAAAAAAJw/IBA8mDCsFLc/s1600/totally-great.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OGggPVOG2xw/T2-ElsNCeNI/AAAAAAAABXI/6EWT1urWUZc/s1600/totally-great.jpg</a></span><br />
<span style="color: #660000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-48169971296581957432012-09-08T08:50:00.000-05:002012-09-08T08:50:59.888-05:00I Know What I Did Last Summer<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="font-size: large;">This breeze is so refreshing. It's the first fall-like day. That always gives me a boost. I'm a fall fan. I'm a cool-to-cold weather fan. I'm a windows open, put on a sweatshirt fan. Today's a good day.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="font-size: large;">The end of this summer was not filled with good days. I went through what I call a breakdown, but what my new therapist prefers to call a road bump. Tomato, tomahto--it was not fun. Now, I had no disasters, no terrible disease, no deaths of loved ones. Nothing that others would consider "a good reason" for my sudden inability to deal with daily life. Part of the learning curve of this experience is realizing that it's okay to feel as if my world is ending and to stop worrying that others think I'm just weak. My feelings have validity, and that makes them important.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="font-size: large;">Whew, that's a tough thing for me to say. I'm grateful that today I can say it. My feelings are valid, and they are important. It doesn't matter if they aren't important to others--they're important to me, at this moment in my life. I can work with that. I can look forward from that. Today is a good day.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-43172706272066341892012-08-08T11:12:00.004-05:002012-08-08T11:16:38.679-05:00Totally Geeky Music Educator Post<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XMvjxbrovQk/UCKP2OYKJCI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/EtO6a-Kqvrc/s1600/instrument+kids+clipart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XMvjxbrovQk/UCKP2OYKJCI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/EtO6a-Kqvrc/s320/instrument+kids+clipart.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This might not interest you, but I need to share this publicly or I won't hold myself to it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm
always so excited by/inspired by what I see and hear at our October
Music Convention, but it frustrates me a little that it occurs after the
school year has begun, when I am short on time and energy. Today, I found inspiration in an article in this
month's <a href="http://musiced.nafme.org/resources/periodicals"><i>Teaching Music</i></a> magazine (membership required), and I made a vow to start the year with a (probably) exhausting but definitely exciting plan. The article was the extra push I needed to go where I've wanted to go, but been too afraid of failing (and, honestly, too darn tired) to fully commit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've always done some sort of interest groupings with my kiddos--we all know that it's a tenet of best practice and I've seen terrific growth in the students' learning with these groups. This year, however, I'm going to break it down even further and move closer to the individualized learning plan(ILP). Now this is nothing new; districts have been talking about this for years. But, except for occasional special projects for students who specifically asked for more, I have leaned on small group work to save myself the extra planning, extra setup, extra, extra, extra everything this will most likely entail. To put it bluntly, I've been selfish, and it's just not giving my students the best I have to offer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">SO...I have resigned from almost all committees for the year, decided NOT to look at theatre auditions for this season (with one already-auditioned-for exception ;) ), and am going to start our first days of school by basically talk, talk, talking with my kiddos. The subject of the article was about creating a culturally diverse classroom. Here are parts of the article that got me started this morning: "If we're trying to provide equitable education, then we have to respond to the goal of music for all, and to redefine the paradigm...For starters, avoid limiting music literature studied...There's music production, music creation, African drumming ensembles, klezmer music ensembles...And we can try to make students better consumers of music." (Adria Hoffman)*. </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">There are so many musical opportunities to explore, and I'm lucky to have another chance to join my student adventurers in their quests. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">*"Around the World in Six Class Periods," K. Powers, <i>Teaching Music</i>, Aug., 2012</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Image from http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3FGD2UDEgXg/TZ4YVI9nJvI/AAAAAAAAAEg/Y0dywJf8DSw/s740/instrument%2Bkids%2Bclipart.bmp</span><br />
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<br />mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-78980629219093786182012-07-16T08:45:00.001-05:002012-07-16T08:45:30.635-05:00Nerd Alert<table id="entries"><tbody>
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<td class="word">Nerd (from http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=nerd)</td></tr>
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<td class="text" colspan="2" id="entry_326454"><div class="definition">
A person who gains pleasure from amassing large
quantities of knowledge about subjects often too detailed or complicated
for most other people to be bothered with.
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<div class="definition">
Often mistaken for Geeks, who aspire to become nerds, yet lack the
intelligence, and end up giving nerds a bad name due to their poor
social skills.
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<span style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">How weird is it that one of my favorite things to do over a summer break is read books and articles about my profession? Total nerd. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">I spend most of my summer time reading--this summer I've already finished 12 books, mostly memoir, mostly light. During the school year, I don't have/take the time to read much, except before bed, so blasting through so many books by midsummer is gratifying. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">But now that it's mid-July, some of my interest has turned to professional journals, research, and philosophy. And it happens every summer at this time. What's up with that??? I've been doing this "job" for over 30 years; I kind of know what I'm doing. But still, I am fascinated by new approaches, new ideas, new methodology. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's not a job to me, it's not my livelihood; it's my life.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="font-size: large;">Based on the Urban Dictionary definition at the top of this post, I am a nerd. And I'm grateful for it. I think it makes me a better teacher, a better musician, a better person. </span></span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/lEiuEvTH_z4?rel=0" width="420">S</iframe><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEiuEvTH_z4">Source</a>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-81272832308613126872012-07-01T11:45:00.000-05:002012-07-01T11:46:42.917-05:00ABUNDANCE<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U_xdr126TVg/T_B-b18YCXI/AAAAAAAAAJE/iDcXrvHFQk0/s1600/waterballoons-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U_xdr126TVg/T_B-b18YCXI/AAAAAAAAAJE/iDcXrvHFQk0/s320/waterballoons-1.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Where did June go? It was just here a second ago...I'd like to say I enjoyed every moment of the first month of summer vacation, but I don't know where the time went! Technically, I guess I've only been on vacation for 2 weeks, as I spent the first two weeks post-school taking classes with my colleagues. So it feels like my summer has just begun.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I need to once again take time to appreciate the abundance in my life. Abundant freedom--I can wake up and decide what I want to do with my day. Abundant food--I can cook anything I want, because I'm blessed with the resources to do so. Abundant comfort--I have air-conditioning, I have a pool, I have a crazy cat. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This weekend, however, I'm most thankful for abundant love. I got to spend the time cooking, laughing, talking, walking, shopping, swimming with my three favorite people--my girls. The analogy I've been making in my head to describe this abundance is that spending time with my girls is like filling a water balloon--every single moment adds another drop to the balloon, until it's(I'm) so full, it bursts. But the fun doesn't end with the burst---it just creates MORE fun, more laughter. I hope we get to burst balloons for the rest of the summer and beyond.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: purple; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-small;">http://syllybillywaterballoons.com/index/wp-content/gallery/gallery1/waterballoons-1.jpg </span>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-80387133629689353712012-05-25T08:22:00.002-05:002012-05-25T16:22:11.601-05:00Pie, Pie, Me-Oh-My!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zv3JeS5sJho/T7-Ho3ivMNI/AAAAAAAAAI4/RCVFDc4peH0/s1600/cherrypie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zv3JeS5sJho/T7-Ho3ivMNI/AAAAAAAAAI4/RCVFDc4peH0/s320/cherrypie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #bf9000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Humble pie, that is. I've been whining all week, and now I'm putting an end to it.</span></div>
<div style="color: #bf9000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<ul style="color: #bf9000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<li><span style="font-size: large;">I feel crumby, because I've had a migraine all week. But I don't have cancer, I'm not dying--I'm lucky.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="color: #bf9000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Work didn't go the way I wanted this week. But my kiddos are learning, I know I'm good at what I do, and I love my job--I'm lucky.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="color: #bf9000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<li><span style="font-size: large;">The weather is WAY hotter and stickier than I like. But I have a pool, I have a home, and I'm alive--I'm lucky.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="color: #bf9000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<li><span style="font-size: large;">My pool is a dirty, mucky mess. But I'm strong enough to buckle down and clean it, and when it's clean, it's heavenly--I'm lucky.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="color: #bf9000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<li><span style="font-size: large;">My house is a dirty, mucky mess. But it's a home, and my girls will be here soon, and I'll get around to cleaning eventually--I'm lucky.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="color: #bf9000; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Serve me up another slice of pie. This time, make it <span style="color: red;">cherry.</span> </span></span><br />
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<br />mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-16789237171235757282012-05-06T07:22:00.003-05:002012-05-06T07:24:24.208-05:00Mile 57<span style="color: #bf9000; font-size: large;">I'm not a runner. But if I was, I
think I'd like to be a long distance marathoner. I like the idea of
being fast, so short sprints sound appealing, but overall, I think the
satisfaction of sticking with something for the long haul sounds like my
cup of tea. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ox19d9AFQI0/T6Zs-eaqZDI/AAAAAAAAAIs/O8cEXHIWOVw/s1600/runningshoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ox19d9AFQI0/T6Zs-eaqZDI/AAAAAAAAAIs/O8cEXHIWOVw/s320/runningshoes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #bf9000; font-size: large;">What
I'm hoping is to be here for the long haul. I'm of the age where some
of my friends are checking out. Not in large numbers, but enough to
notice a trend. It's cliche, I know, but it makes you take a look at
what's important. And, to me, for now, what's important is the road
ahead. I want it to be long and varied. I want it to be picturesque. I
want it to be filled with emotion, strong emotion. I want it to be
surprising. I want to share it with my girls. I want to <span style="font-family: inherit;">sh</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">are it with my friends. </span></span><br />
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: #bf9000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I
want it to be long. Of course, I'm also picky. I want to be in good
health--strong, independent--so that I can enjoy every minute of the
marathon. I don't ever want to be a burden. I don't want to make someone
else sacrifice just so I can continue the race. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #bf9000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I
just want to be here for a long while. I'd like to maybe stick around
for as many years as I've already been here. Maybe during those years,
I'll figure out how to fix the things I've wrecked, and how to use the
time I have to the fullest, to make the world better. </span><br />
<span style="color: #bf9000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">While
looking ahead to the road stretching out in front of me, I want to be
mindful of every footfall. I want to feel every pebble under my running
shoe, every jolt of my arthritic joints, every sharp pang of air moving
in and out of my lungs. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #bf9000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I hope it's not too much to ask. I'm at the starting line, ready to take that first step. </span><br />
<span style="color: #bf9000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">http://pcmlifestyle.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/runningshoes.jpg</span></span> </span>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-41856972505703659422012-04-15T07:26:00.000-05:002012-04-15T07:26:56.002-05:00It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k1pc1kOV0rU/T4q-dB3PFNI/AAAAAAAAAIY/ZFSsusnWC2c/s1600/IMG_0037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k1pc1kOV0rU/T4q-dB3PFNI/AAAAAAAAAIY/ZFSsusnWC2c/s320/IMG_0037.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Can't believe I'm saying this, but, man, I am LOVIN' spring!!! This goes completely against my instincts--I am a die-hard fall/winter person. But this weird, early warm weather has forced the spring flowers into bloom, and I am surrounded with color and scent. </div><div style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I have a high sensitivity to smells. Not only do I have the immediate gut reactions of, "Oh, that smells great!," or, more often, "Yuck! Get that away from me!!," but I am also immediately transported to another place and time by certain aromas. This has been happening to me since my freshman year in college, and it's very smell-specific. </div><div style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The strongest response is linked to lilacs. One whiff of blooming lilacs, and I am once again sitting in my freshman dorm hallway, looking out the window, listening to Copland's "Appalachian Spring." This moment comes to me so clearly that I know what I'm wearing, what I'm writing on an open notebook page in my lap, and weirder still, I can actually FEEL the melancholy in my heart--the same melancholy that led me to sit in the hall at that very moment. I mean it---I FEEL it. PHYSICALLY. </div><div style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">That's what's so weird about my reaction to smells. I have some sort of direct line from my nose to my memory bank, and I remember things so viscerally that I relive those emotions over and over, each time I smell that scent. The same thing happens when I smell a certain combination of damp mustiness, gasoline, and an ever-so-slight tinge of baking bread. This time, I'm standing in the "utility room" of our family's long-gone cottage. I'm a teenager; I'm about to hear the slamming of the screen door as I step out from the cool room into the warmth of the July sun. My uncle Sam is baking bread. My cousin/twin sister is waiting for me on the gravel road, so we can walk to the beach. I am THERE. </div><div style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I don't know if other people react this way. I know that I can go from laughing and happy to weeping and depressed with one whiff. Really. That's how strongly a smell can affect me. And what's really weird is that, I think I'm grateful for this. While I would prefer not to revisit some of the memory emotions I have stored away, most of these memories are sweet. They're connected to times of my life that I don't mind reliving. Even the painful times. I like to "see" the people who shared the original moments with me. I like the fleeting tingle of joy I get when I open an old dresser drawer and smell my mom's perfume, still embedded in the drawer lining. I'm once again wrapped in the embrace of my extended family when the combination of tomato sauce and cigarettes wafts into my head. It's weirdly comforting. And this spring is doing that for me. Thanks, spring.</span>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-64381865693613165212012-03-25T11:14:00.000-05:002012-03-25T11:14:13.206-05:00HelplessI worry about my dad. There's nothing I can do to help him, and he pretty much refuses to help himself, but I still worry. Due to a series of poor choices, some of which I know about, most of which I don't, he's in a deep financial crisis. And in his mind, the only way out is to get a job.<br />
But he's nearly 80, is an expert in a field which is a younger man's game, and has no computer skills. His life experience counts for nothing, at least to the aforementioned younger men, so he is unemployable.<br />
He will not take suggestions or assistance from anyone. He will not seek out the free computer classes geared toward seniors. He will not volunteer for anyone. He will not stop his wife from freely and frequently spending what little money they have. Pride is his m.o. He has always provided for his family, and he will not let his family provide for him.<br />
He is convinced that whenever an employer receives his (impressive) resume, as soon as they discover his age, he is cast aside. In his opinion, that is the only thing keeping him unemployed. And while I'm willing to concede that age most definitely is a part of the problem, I can't believe it's the only thing. But maybe I'm wrong.<br />
Where I live, I don't see a lot of seniors working full time. Or maybe I just don't notice. My little town has a large population of 65+ folks, but when I look around, I guess I see them more socially, and not professionally. Our Senior Center provides lots of activities, and there are many community-organized trips, classes, adventures. But my dad is not a social guy. He has no hobbies. Working construction was his life. Decades ago, he moved away from his construction buddies to start a new life in Florida, and he basically has no friends. He has no one to hang out with, no regular pals, and he would not be caught dead anywhere near a Senior Center. He doesn't see himself as a senior, in the same way I don't see myself as middle-aged. But we are. We are.<br />
I am going to be the exact same kind of senior citizen. I have friends around me, and if I don't manage to piss off my children, I might be lucky enough to have them still around. But I'm not into daily coffee with a group of lady friends. I like to be alone. I like my work. I don't know how to give helpful advice to my dad because I can only see that I'm going to turn out just like him, and I don't know how to stop that train.<br />
So, what to do? How to help? What to say? Our weekly phone conversations are painful, maudlin. After a few minutes of enjoying the recent escapades of my children, his voice drops as he says, once again, "I can't get work. I have nothing to do." I can FEEL the life draining out of him. He's bored, he's scared, and he's alone. Yes, he's married, but I don't want to talk about that. It certainly doesn't fill his long days. And since he feels useless as a provider, I imagine he feels useless as a husband.I have no idea how to help him, or if it's even my place to help. I can't MAKE him take any of my suggestions. I know I wouldn't want to, if I were in his shoes, because I'm just as stubborn.<br />
Worrying is what I can do. Cry is what I can do. Otherwise, I'm helpless.mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-70798492624719451322012-03-03T07:52:00.000-06:002012-03-03T07:52:45.977-06:00Techtastic<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I like to think of myself as a tech master. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Right now, liquid is shooting out of my daughters' noses. They think the combination of technology and me is hiLARious. And to most people younger than 45, it probably is. But the truth is, for my age, I'm pretty much a tech savant. Yup. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And that's what I'm grateful for this week. It's hard for me to imagine my daily life without my computer. And my Nook. My phone, not so much, though I will concede that it's kind of a fun toy when I have absolutely nothing to do. But I was late to the cell phone game, and I still don't like the idea that people (other than my girls) can reach me anywhere, anytime. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I use my computer in my classroom every day, all year long. It's a tool, a means to an end, the end being that this stuff ain't goin' away, so these kiddos need to use it and make friends with it. Of course, the technology they use today will be long outdated by the time they're adults (heck, by the time they're teenagers!), but it's not about the TOOL. It's about learning how to LEARN, experimenting, jumping in without fear. And I believe that seeing me--the fat old lady in front of the room--using tech tools without fear is a terrific example for them.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S0JhIhuPptQ/T1If-s7sHII/AAAAAAAAAII/hCaGLJ8WKFg/s1600/face_icon_wink.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I think of my dad. He struggles to catch up, let alone keep afloat in the ever-changing world of technology. He cannot find employment because he cannot use a computer. Simply cannot. For years, his secretary did everything for him. Now, after a few years without her, he finds he can't even fill out a job application, because they're all online. He has <b>50 years </b>of work experience, but he's useless in the eyes of would-be employers, because he can't use a computer. <span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: small;">(Yes, I know; thank you to all of you who suggest that he take free classes for Seniors, etc.---let's just say, it hasn't worked out, and leave it at that ;) ).</span></span></span><span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So, I'm grateful for the opportunities I've had, and I'm proud of myself for pushing out of my comfort zone and into the world of technology. I embrace it. I enjoy playing with it. It's satisfying to solve a tech issue for others. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And it's so easy to use my phone to </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">text my daughters for tech help.</span></span><br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jUxL-YNl2Dg/T1IhgXMo7sI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/i7lVzUFT2h4/s1600/nerd-geek-cartoon-character.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jUxL-YNl2Dg/T1IhgXMo7sI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/i7lVzUFT2h4/s200/nerd-geek-cartoon-character.jpg" width="139" /></a>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-43176369098446760532012-02-12T07:25:00.000-06:002012-02-12T07:25:39.171-06:00"Had a cat, and the cat pleased me..."<div style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-30hAefAeOm8/Tze8-PN06vI/AAAAAAAAAIA/pwwakqGoD9E/s1600/Photo+on+2011-08-21+at+19.10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="font-size: large;">Do you know that song? "...I fed that cat by yonder tree. Cat goes fiddle-eye-fee." Today I just want to sing the praises of my kitty. He's huge, floppy, furry, dopey, crazy, noisy, silly, and he loves me. </span></div><div style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-30hAefAeOm8/Tze8-PN06vI/AAAAAAAAAIA/pwwakqGoD9E/s1600/Photo+on+2011-08-21+at+19.10.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-30hAefAeOm8/Tze8-PN06vI/AAAAAAAAAIA/pwwakqGoD9E/s320/Photo+on+2011-08-21+at+19.10.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">This week, by whatever sixth sense kitties possess, he has been doing two things my children used to do when they were young. About an hour before I have to wake up (cats tell time, did you know that?), he either climbs into "my nest"--the area created when I lie on my side with my knees bent--OR, he walks along the side of my body, stretches himself out to his full length, and then sleeps that way until it's time for us to get out of bed.</span></div><div style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I would reach the point of exhaustion as a young mother, I would stretch out on the couch next to where my girls were playing, and one of them would invariably climb into my nest, or stretch along my body. This comforted me in a deep-down-in-my-soul way. The fact that George has begun doing this during this particularly trying week has been a real gift. </span></div><div style="color: #a64d79; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><span style="color: #a64d79; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So thank you, Georgie-Porgie. "The cat pleased me."</span></span>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6538479015115866879.post-31601632353284126642012-01-28T07:27:00.000-06:002012-01-28T07:48:35.864-06:00Mama Said<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/c8SD9baVPKw?rel=0" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Everyone has bad days, bad weeks. Some even have bad years. How do you handle it? </span></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>My mom has been gone a long time now, and yet I want to talk to her almost every day. Nothing in my life is terrible--not even remotely bad. As I've stated repeatedly, I am One Lucky Chick. But I'd still like to talk to my mom. And I'd like to hear about HER day. I'm pretty sure that, though I was an adult when she died, I was so immature that I rarely asked her how SHE was doing, or how HER day went. I was always concerned about me, me, me. I would whine to her about all my earth-shattering problems, and she'd listen and offer advice. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>Actually, now that I really think about, she DIDN'T so much offer advice as give me a kick in the pants! My mom was a take-no-prisoners sort of woman; a "stop whimpering and buck up" girl. Boy, do I admire that now! At the time, I remember thinking, "She's so mean; she's not pampering me and treating me like the princess that I am." Yeah, I was a self-centered brat. I regret never having said, "How are YOU doin', Mom?" I know that if she did share how her day was going, I probably just LOOKED like I was listening, when, in fact, I was most likely thinking about where my boyfriend was and what we'd be up to as soon as I got out of the house.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>Nowadays, I tell her how my family is doing. I make jokes with her, I laugh with her. I carry her around in my heart and I can hear her voice saying, "Oh, you bird!" (her favorite catchphrase). And nowadays, I DO ask her, "How's it goin', Mom? What have you been up to?" I'd love to hear what she has to say. I hope she's comfortable, pain-free, and happy. And I hope she knows how fabulous her grandchildren are. And I thank her over and over and over for </i>everything</span><i><span style="font-size: large;">. </span></i></span></span></span>mafeaprnshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00851380904257586425noreply@blogger.com0