tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50656038183683700692024-02-07T01:12:00.784-05:00DaybyDaythouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.comBlogger189125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-37471535706524556032014-11-22T20:08:00.000-05:002014-11-22T20:08:29.723-05:00I did not realize how long it had been since I had posted to my blog. My life was overwhelming me, dragging me along the bottom as it sped off to who knew where. God has slowed the vehicle and helped me to catch up. I am learning to not be in control, to trust that He is. I know where I am going and what God requires of me and I am beginning to want what He wants for me and my family.<br />
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<br />thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-47493572490511729582012-04-15T15:06:00.000-04:002012-04-15T15:06:08.917-04:00S announced that he is going to Bolivia for two months with his 17 year old Bolivian girlfriend. This makes me laugh out loud for several reasons.<br />
Reason number one: He lost his passport months ago; never reported it lost and has a ton of stuff to do in order to get a new one. Also they are supposedly leaving the first of May and it will take a lot of effort, time and money to have a passport by then.<br />
Reason number two: It costs money to travel. Although, I believe that his girlfriend, who is going to nursing school and works, is offering to pay for his airfare. He's been fired from Target and works as a waiter at a family restaurant.<br />
Reason number three: Apparently, smokers are frowned upon in Bolivia and she has asked him to stop.<br />
Reason number four: It takes planning and thought to travel. He doesn't practice either.<br />
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I keep these reasons to myself. I find I am hoping he actually goes to Bolivia.<br />
<br />thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-42269532744403400662012-04-13T19:24:00.001-04:002012-04-13T19:24:29.804-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My last little chick driving at last. I remember saying to my husband "I can't do another baby." His reply was "She won't be a baby for long." <br />
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<br />thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-40089010642252573792012-04-09T18:27:00.001-04:002012-04-09T18:27:05.717-04:00I've had a revelation. I'm one of those people with "forgotten memories" or whatever they're called. It's frightening and unnerving and since recovering these childhood memories, I've been in somewhat of a panic as to what else I've hidden away in my brain. What else is staring me right in the face that I am overlooking?<br />
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What do I do with all this anger?thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-19702871439908668822012-03-29T17:00:00.000-04:002012-03-29T17:00:08.498-04:00My daddy's second wife never made it a secret that she did not care for me. Over the years, I struggled to find common ground or make a way to have some kind of relationship with her. I encouraged my children to have a good relationship with her. And then somewhere over the years I just quit. At best, she tolerated me and I gave up caring. <div>
The last few years before he died, when his health was bad and he was in a wheelchair and depended completely upon her for his care, were the worst years. She humiliated him in front of us by checking his pants to see if he had "messed". She reported to anyone who would listen, posting it on facebook, how many times he had an accident and how often she was having to clean him up. She attempted to expose his backside so she could show his sores. Daddy told me to leave it alone; don't say anything or "she'll make me pay". Keeping his request to remain silent was one of the most difficult parts of it. </div>
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Listening to her attempts to confuse him and manipulate his feeling about his children was another. She told him many times that we weren't visiting him and we didn't care about him. Several people told me I was lucky to have someone take care of him, as if I didn't want to do it, as if her assertions that I didn't love him were correct. I lived five hours away and had two girls in school and even if I could have gotten time to get away, she would have none of it. She griped and complained that we wouldn't help. NOBODY will help and yet she refused the help we offered. My niece offered to come and help and she accused her of wanting her house. We offered to pay for a nurse and she was insulted. What she wanted was for daddy to will her his little rambler and the 30 acres of dirt it sits on. She wanted him to think that she alone deserved it because she alone loved and cared for him. </div>
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He left her a life estate.</div>
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When he was dead, she rid the house of all his belongings and proceeded to Internet date. She gave 100,000 dollars to a man in Arizona because she thought he was going to marry her and give her a million dollar house to live in. When that was revealed to be a scam, she moved on to local Internet dating and has landed herself a widow from her hometown, who's also in a wheelchair.</div>
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I just need to tell her 29 years of pent up anger and frustration. I need to say "STOP what you are doing and saying and STOP lying about me and my family and GET OUT of our house and STOP calling yourself by my daddy's last name you hateful, nasty, bitter woman!"</div>
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I feel better.</div>thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-84044974969355244012012-02-14T11:24:00.000-05:002012-02-14T11:24:11.868-05:00Four children is a lot of emotion and energy to keep up with. I don't often feel up to the task.<br />
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The oldest called today from California. His computer crashed and he owes 2500 dollars in taxes. Audition after audition leads to a big fat zero and, as he puts it, he's not having any FUN. How did I communicate that life was going to be fun?<br />
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I spent Friday helping S move. It's not good for me to see firsthand how he lives. But on the bright side, if there is one, his new girlfriend helped him pack up and she also helped him find this new room-in-a-basement. Hurrah for the new girlfriend.<br />
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L is having a hard time with the loss of her boyfriend's father. He had been her Sunday school teacher and she had respected and admired him. She was home this weekend to visit and was put out with her beau because he invited his buddy along on their movie date. Granted, it was to see Star Wars Episode 1. The beau continually makes the mistake of putting his buddy before his girl.<br />
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The youngest is standing by to cause chaos when her moment arrives.thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-22772468999567489852012-01-19T18:44:00.000-05:002012-01-19T18:44:17.821-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgfkQq7CxYh7Fv2fjE1-ftDBmvMq0WFr2D2SqH7IWz_soVAn26ZPs3ky1aFv56IdhH203h2JOOvnsr_ACTpNrZHAagiXb14rhzGDuzYmrwYvVxImAT1G_a1ba6_Wig8Z1eU0yRdsxkBz8/s1600/IMG_3685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgfkQq7CxYh7Fv2fjE1-ftDBmvMq0WFr2D2SqH7IWz_soVAn26ZPs3ky1aFv56IdhH203h2JOOvnsr_ACTpNrZHAagiXb14rhzGDuzYmrwYvVxImAT1G_a1ba6_Wig8Z1eU0yRdsxkBz8/s320/IMG_3685.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
My daughter's boyfriend's dad died this week. He had pancreatic cancer. <br />
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His sickness began at the same tender time they began to date and it's dark presence has been between them the year and a half they've been together. She has born up under her boyfriend's inability to include her in his family. He has kept her at a distance from them, even as he has jumped into ours. We are even further out of the circle, so much so that our presence at their home now would be intrusive.<br />
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It is so painful to be on the periphery of such a great loss; to care and to pray and to hope and to grieve with someone from a distance.thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-15982309678586866722012-01-16T13:31:00.000-05:002012-01-16T13:31:05.383-05:00<a href="http://youtu.be/-H_BwyiwbB4">http://youtu.be/-H_BwyiwbB4</a><br />
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My oldest son is the guy in this commercial. He made it over a year ago and it just now is playing in my area. So wild to see his face pop up during the Caps game or during the morning news.<br />
He's finally gotten himself a couple of jobs and can get by financially on his own. All he needs now is persistence, patience, and a big break.thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-73335104197376101502012-01-15T22:24:00.001-05:002012-01-16T13:33:47.372-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwVn8sR8mxwr5-z3xKuykLv1uW6Ulh0b1_CnkYxQjBuKk3bw3ojozfLDlVG9j1N4ZdN_rnx6ZsuHSisTuo0E68wundpfC6jozaCruZv1_3PefcEYt5T55rWpv_548kf_3IwI6FVT4lc4/s1600/a_happy_new_year_-_sledder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwVn8sR8mxwr5-z3xKuykLv1uW6Ulh0b1_CnkYxQjBuKk3bw3ojozfLDlVG9j1N4ZdN_rnx6ZsuHSisTuo0E68wundpfC6jozaCruZv1_3PefcEYt5T55rWpv_548kf_3IwI6FVT4lc4/s320/a_happy_new_year_-_sledder.jpg" width="204" /></a></div> The last few years I've come to appreciate that my New Year resolutions fail because they are proclamations of what I am going to attempt to do all by myself, in my own strength. They last about a flat minute. <br />
This year, I've asked God to show me where He desires me to go with Him. The answer appears to be this: Do the work. No matter my mood or my feelings or circumstances, show up and do the work: the work of prayer, of care for my family and friends, of doing what has to be done to manage my health and my home and my gifts.<br />
In the place of my usual overzealous pounce on a list of resolutions that I quickly lose steam over, I feel a budding of inner strength and peace. We will make progress this year, God and I together.thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-31863581729038987772011-11-28T18:40:00.000-05:002011-11-28T18:40:15.632-05:00Blur and whirl of days. I've been putting one foot in front of the other and dragging myself back to bible study. I took a break after daddy died; I just didn't want to be around people. I'm an old curmudgeon, I think. <br />
Coming back to daily study after a hiatus has been like coming out of the shade into the sunshine. It was pleasant enough in the shade, but I hadn't realized that I had gotten chilled there. Beth Moore's study, Inheritance warmed me all the way to the core and CBS study of Luke is reminding me of how I want to Live and not just exist. The miracle of God's word is that it brings just what we need when we need it, if I read it.thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-70210599026433868942011-09-19T16:46:00.000-04:002011-09-19T16:46:28.998-04:00My blog is like a lot of other things in my life, only halfway invested in. I start something and then I loose steam for various reasons and find myself back in my own little corner.<br />
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I had lunch with my son today. He's created a mess with his car insurance; ignoring the notices that said it was time to pay up. My husband told him a million times that he would pay it for him and yet...my son ignored it. So the DMV will take his license and his tags if he doesn't have insurance and my husband said he was done offering his help. Enter Mom, me, pushover queen. I got on the phone and paid the insurance and arranged for the form that has to done because I can't have him loose his car and then his job.<br />
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He wants to live at home so he will have money to "have fun". I told him that the prodigal son returned home when he was ready to accept the life his father had for him. Not because he wanted to have more "fun".<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I know my son is an addict; whether to drugs or alcohol. And at the moment, being high on substances is how he wants to live. Day by day and bit by bit I am letting go of my hopes for him. I am letting go of my addiction to "helping" him. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfcNV7DSY75vsJSjWsgmCYJEdHaFkXSt67aQ_9S7feuER90ZyyAqZoMWwk05ms6iRNDQrlFYEqMS2nj4NAB4uOyQtFWct0Wr5kxf1GkxNm1BAirCcNzVtyElXmcXMXAHONkNcWy5Lc8s/s1600/IMG_3266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfcNV7DSY75vsJSjWsgmCYJEdHaFkXSt67aQ_9S7feuER90ZyyAqZoMWwk05ms6iRNDQrlFYEqMS2nj4NAB4uOyQtFWct0Wr5kxf1GkxNm1BAirCcNzVtyElXmcXMXAHONkNcWy5Lc8s/s320/IMG_3266.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-76196471805225871992011-07-10T21:56:00.002-04:002011-07-10T22:05:10.874-04:00<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPfCBDeoEzqqwEEqxnVafswVtpPT3d5oxJsb7n2VaJoS7W58lgDSweknTJJqr96wWOkPqaOpTLMjP-YeBoF38pZJCy2Czqd0TWjvgsSC1x-Wdh1rPgZQkAiY1jVIj0ZZBfp99OyJbHrk/s1600/PICT0158.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPfCBDeoEzqqwEEqxnVafswVtpPT3d5oxJsb7n2VaJoS7W58lgDSweknTJJqr96wWOkPqaOpTLMjP-YeBoF38pZJCy2Czqd0TWjvgsSC1x-Wdh1rPgZQkAiY1jVIj0ZZBfp99OyJbHrk/s320/PICT0158.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">These two ladies walking on the beach are two of my daddy's three sisters. My brother and I ran into them one Saturday many years ago as he and I were walking on the pier. We spotted them and stopped to talk. I snapped this picture as they walked off toward their cottage.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The woman on the right is Aunt Iris. She died in November 2009 at the age of 83. She was, in my mind, a true southern lady. She dressed well, spoke beautifully and had a passion for the beach. I didn't know her very well although she occasionally would stop by the house and visit with my daddy.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunt Iris, daddy and Uncle J</td></tr>
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</div>The other is my Aunt Mary. For many years her family called her Pee Wee because of her stature. She is a tiny little dynamo with a bawdy sense of humour. Her husband died of tuberculosis when she was pregnant with their third child. She worked long hours and never dated. When all of her children were on their own, she met a urologist who courted and married her. She announced that she was no longer Pee Wee: she was Mary. Her new husband promised her she'd never have to work again. They traveled regularly in their Winnebago and had the time of their lives.<br />
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In recent years, Aunt Mary developed ovarian cancer. She lost her beautiful white hair and wears lovely hats that coordinate with her cane, which she uses because of the intense pain in her hip. At 84, she still drives; a frightening thing to witness. On Tuesday morning, July 5, she had gotten in her car to drive herself someplace, sending her 91 year old husband into the house out of the oppressive heat. An hour later, he happened to look out the kitchen window and he spied her sitting in the car struggling to open the door. No one is sure if she ever left the yard or not. Her keys were in her lap; her things on the seat beside her. She had suffered a massive stroke.<br />
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I talked with my Uncle J on the phone today to ask him how my aunt is doing. His voice was thick with tears as he said: "She can't move her whole right side. She can't speak and you know, Mary always has something she wants to say and it just hurts me to think she can't say what she wants to say. I've been thinking about the ten of us and when Mary goes, I'll be all that's left. Who will I call? I always call Mary when I can't remember how a thing goes or who somebody is."<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It feels like sorrow is just rolling over my daddy's family. Then Aunt Mary's granddaughter, who was due in mid-August with her first child , Aunt Mary's first great-grandchild, had complications and was induced. She gave birth last night to a tiny, but healthy, baby girl. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Someone coming and someone going. </div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoBvlJqwD02IQa5OLBUvgZHXctdxinBBkAzlPJMyrnCldkhD7LgfgiROtGuwo8cSXNlwYLIAXIVVY0jIqNSp7-COXShtSKdjbIDvycMGM9FmeF499ZQBTLKf6j7SpMkWM6_0LMDB0zkKY/s1600/24363_108004862567266_100000732587308_102932_7718066_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoBvlJqwD02IQa5OLBUvgZHXctdxinBBkAzlPJMyrnCldkhD7LgfgiROtGuwo8cSXNlwYLIAXIVVY0jIqNSp7-COXShtSKdjbIDvycMGM9FmeF499ZQBTLKf6j7SpMkWM6_0LMDB0zkKY/s320/24363_108004862567266_100000732587308_102932_7718066_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy's memorial</td></tr>
</tbody></table>thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-25275854085445621492011-06-30T13:56:00.000-04:002011-06-30T13:56:03.441-04:00Somewhere I read: A mother is only as happy as her unhappiest child. I'm finding that phrase to be true in my own life. I'm trying hard to enjoy my home and family and friends, but always there is a film-sometimes darker than others-a film of sorrow, worry, and grief. I think it must be like this when you've lost a child to death; always part of you unavailable for life.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweTFa4XqhqdqjkTZr51CEMIfIFAbYoUSGtsYGZFs4i4_Mt-bO6YOvbv1kDw-ACNlPsdrdKOV-YUwjWskLQ_nqa5s-VLebVxHvtnyWLBbKizu8YWZBoVgfzZdnl30aZqPG4adoyudVRJU/s1600/DSC_1001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweTFa4XqhqdqjkTZr51CEMIfIFAbYoUSGtsYGZFs4i4_Mt-bO6YOvbv1kDw-ACNlPsdrdKOV-YUwjWskLQ_nqa5s-VLebVxHvtnyWLBbKizu8YWZBoVgfzZdnl30aZqPG4adoyudVRJU/s320/DSC_1001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I think it is important for me to be thankful that my son is alive. Every day that he is alive I can have hope that God will pull him from the abyss of addiction that he dwells in.thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-33199738714287672862011-06-15T15:51:00.000-04:002011-06-15T15:51:49.276-04:00I had a phone call from my oldest son whose living in California trying to "make it" as an actor. He asked me to pray for him that he would get some money or acting work. I don't know whether to be happy or sad over that request. He's made it clear that he isn't buying into Jesus and he isn't 100 percent on God. I think that he thinks that he can live off of my faith as a kind of insurance policy. Asking me to pray doesn't take any commitment on his part and who knows, maybe God will answer.<br />
I recognize in my son the idea that God can't possibly help me do what I want to do for ME-God only helps people accomplish things that are noble and good. This idea has kept me from pursuing many of my own interests, even though I don't do anything noble or good in their stead. I refuse to live abundantly because how I want to spend my time seems frivolous.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirPhrn7HZdArswyNtDNXkOuEuCVWb_ADxUfMtWrKhpXMQquvxEXuV5mbTBvfxOnl1kKz_sNP39uAdWpdTH2xJkehrOK-LLNWa83LE6wm2TJpKXqZJ8InG4ZnL9y2t9doY4Q0tL9hvzEes/s1600/2008joshgrad+009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirPhrn7HZdArswyNtDNXkOuEuCVWb_ADxUfMtWrKhpXMQquvxEXuV5mbTBvfxOnl1kKz_sNP39uAdWpdTH2xJkehrOK-LLNWa83LE6wm2TJpKXqZJ8InG4ZnL9y2t9doY4Q0tL9hvzEes/s320/2008joshgrad+009.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>I think I better pray for both of us to accept God's blessings and encouragement.thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-82702482994372206432011-05-12T06:56:00.000-04:002011-05-13T16:25:06.793-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMG3QHo9VL8SZqDU_vom2n0WGxoJJnA-c6Srv6Lozpml45P-bSN1XNNBJP-_6vhG6CBx6972mjEfHptN1520bAIJgb8BuJofPnKGYHwdTG7AaEP3UuIZPvEG6k2waIhGUtbgpheeyMOU/s1600/PICT0210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMG3QHo9VL8SZqDU_vom2n0WGxoJJnA-c6Srv6Lozpml45P-bSN1XNNBJP-_6vhG6CBx6972mjEfHptN1520bAIJgb8BuJofPnKGYHwdTG7AaEP3UuIZPvEG6k2waIhGUtbgpheeyMOU/s320/PICT0210.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">May 10, 1981, thirty years ago, I wedded a man I'd known only ten months. Aside from the month we met, ours was a relationship conducted long distance. He was in Maryland and I was in college in North Carolina. It's amazing when I think about it now. I would advise my girls against such a hasty endeavor and yet, it was the best decision of my young life. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvjqHhPcChlb81bi35xsDTl3nJc9uc0Q1gZ5-YWiWQIZHySRwrmzEeM5HxHvpc8VVqRgTwS3SHpjYRInyiDXHbAajTRAbp9A2YoSHRSzL-_gmizD5yKPiZysIS0ObdyKe-dordm0tvy2s/s1600/IMG_3261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvjqHhPcChlb81bi35xsDTl3nJc9uc0Q1gZ5-YWiWQIZHySRwrmzEeM5HxHvpc8VVqRgTwS3SHpjYRInyiDXHbAajTRAbp9A2YoSHRSzL-_gmizD5yKPiZysIS0ObdyKe-dordm0tvy2s/s320/IMG_3261.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-17678468182785375012011-04-14T09:55:00.000-04:002011-04-14T09:55:55.205-04:00This past week has been chilly and rainy and my mood has matched. My body has been stiff and achy and I have gotten out of bed at 5:30 am to take my baby to the bus and returned home to crawl right back under the covers for a few more hours.<br />
My mama is losing her job. At 72, it's no big surprise and yet, she is not prepared. For three days I've been on the phone with my oldest brother listening to him panic about what's going to happen or not happen, with mama. He's going to have to sell his cabin and he's having troubles with his partner. He's teetering on the edge and mama is looking to him to make sure her life stays the same-or so he thinks. All this talk about mama brings to the fore my own stuffed down anger with my mama and that leads to daddy; then to daddy's wife. Before I know it, I'm just plain old mad and depressed.<br />
The rainy days, dreary mood and conversations with him have raked up lots of negative nastys. I need the respite of a good hour or so with the Lord. I need to get back to my time with Him. I laid aside my bible, bible studies and church when daddy died. It felt like too much effort to seek God out. I feel the weight of all my circumstances falling only on me. I've had too much of the rain and as always, God sends the sun. He calls me back. He reminds me that He's there holding the umbrella and handing out rain boots.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEzGiVHuK0NYkQc555k9C0URm_690CayhWVjjg-1gO5hPB9iDYItnIEa-7_Xa9ZJ0jNfZCfJI8Pj9C0rT0_ARmqyaPO3N-uf8HJURuh6QRKxJ2ALcC2c2bGKKpTUyw2orRLv0COjmav3A/s1600/1910umbrellagirls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEzGiVHuK0NYkQc555k9C0URm_690CayhWVjjg-1gO5hPB9iDYItnIEa-7_Xa9ZJ0jNfZCfJI8Pj9C0rT0_ARmqyaPO3N-uf8HJURuh6QRKxJ2ALcC2c2bGKKpTUyw2orRLv0COjmav3A/s320/1910umbrellagirls.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-13514597552376387912011-03-27T17:54:00.000-04:002011-03-27T17:54:34.122-04:00Baby Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For my birthday this year my hubby gave me a Wolverine. It's a handy little thing that I can scan negatives with and get digital info. Faster and easier than scanning photos but still time consuming. I have what seems like millions of negatives so even though I scanned negatives for hours this week, I've barely scratched the surface. Here are some of when my children were babies. Makes the mama very nostalgic!</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZenBOzjiy_K5mw78dZ7K7_Lz8S8XDtipfeuLlgZgxPATSC3tvyzZSfkLuKCkgPThcYDYRIwh-1qmXFJEKOL2jXx_DF4J6rEXtzs-IKmzs8d10CUDaZ6lTrgGw5wNe5q2zySRk4e5Dp2A/s1600/PICT0085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZenBOzjiy_K5mw78dZ7K7_Lz8S8XDtipfeuLlgZgxPATSC3tvyzZSfkLuKCkgPThcYDYRIwh-1qmXFJEKOL2jXx_DF4J6rEXtzs-IKmzs8d10CUDaZ6lTrgGw5wNe5q2zySRk4e5Dp2A/s320/PICT0085.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My firstborn</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YB6LuvZcqGssbq4IiHuE0psPRt-l_OxXcoTO9Ko_7r5yZ_utBiaJNwiZO-6NJRc2270VfA2g-9VDTH0w00n3u0Amb2c7tN-3y5kcYSAB7MSw6aznd30zqGRi86YxpiskVhVtq19rEnU/s1600/PICT0115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YB6LuvZcqGssbq4IiHuE0psPRt-l_OxXcoTO9Ko_7r5yZ_utBiaJNwiZO-6NJRc2270VfA2g-9VDTH0w00n3u0Amb2c7tN-3y5kcYSAB7MSw6aznd30zqGRi86YxpiskVhVtq19rEnU/s400/PICT0115.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our little family</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRmz9iOHSQnflKC5ely6xYk_byz_7_bDv8bD_bubDvW4B8OvQxE5SNBHcxpltRCUV7nEPlgvkLtpZCtNkZ-7YHa5WWCeHv3vY-nAcnvD4862jdQKRkdukUKt2XPM19-8Tcj5GGv_UTXl4/s1600/PICT0148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRmz9iOHSQnflKC5ely6xYk_byz_7_bDv8bD_bubDvW4B8OvQxE5SNBHcxpltRCUV7nEPlgvkLtpZCtNkZ-7YHa5WWCeHv3vY-nAcnvD4862jdQKRkdukUKt2XPM19-8Tcj5GGv_UTXl4/s320/PICT0148.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My middle two-best buddies</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9C_7X_729f86CIhMocA_gslRO3By6QHGycC0iEu4ycXJ3SilquTW9cVMtpjs8B2seKMrx8WBVLn4HshNQN4rebdYimo-6AeJr77KTGQSlMbdbowB_I4dA5fMbIZefoamHX_pJ67N3foo/s1600/PICT0190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9C_7X_729f86CIhMocA_gslRO3By6QHGycC0iEu4ycXJ3SilquTW9cVMtpjs8B2seKMrx8WBVLn4HshNQN4rebdYimo-6AeJr77KTGQSlMbdbowB_I4dA5fMbIZefoamHX_pJ67N3foo/s320/PICT0190.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our baby</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSjMzyTbao39yRjyu2sZpdDR1_a3O58QBh37gFmTru9kXs8_e3Z9g6TvDOpZNM-rzo3GwEoWcrwleqp2Q35U8DtSATD-E9ZNnRwDRqaTffBPsNPV2tiGDDLeGLiK7ZXBoXsNi4SI_PKg/s1600/PICT0324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSjMzyTbao39yRjyu2sZpdDR1_a3O58QBh37gFmTru9kXs8_e3Z9g6TvDOpZNM-rzo3GwEoWcrwleqp2Q35U8DtSATD-E9ZNnRwDRqaTffBPsNPV2tiGDDLeGLiK7ZXBoXsNi4SI_PKg/s400/PICT0324.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hubby with his two boys</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KhbmeA99umIhUE1Yo0MxVV0vtskYEobshcY18-4U7cSSTcRkW6XVL15GN4vG-vwA9V-ceel9YwrYXjvc5RIrrL07Tb-wIojaE0C0a3xqAJkegP46nkxvw6ZziDXb8CgBO_KZq-K29ns/s1600/PICT0189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KhbmeA99umIhUE1Yo0MxVV0vtskYEobshcY18-4U7cSSTcRkW6XVL15GN4vG-vwA9V-ceel9YwrYXjvc5RIrrL07Tb-wIojaE0C0a3xqAJkegP46nkxvw6ZziDXb8CgBO_KZq-K29ns/s320/PICT0189.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sisters </td></tr>
</tbody></table>thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-86295141356975985192011-01-18T18:45:00.000-05:002011-01-18T18:45:39.558-05:00Christmas at the cabin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgugZNUOMpqz-w7ZCrWLinvnIYEKNkPNz9vlcD-LO_P4UGOEXi_HAevjtYJioZ6CWur4Gpbm06y66AtKIQbg0xQaiQ2AZD9BCQKETQb2A9LtwNrbPHpbPZPUSsDwUkwDLsxIdoUfz4_7bA/s1600/IMG_2965.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgugZNUOMpqz-w7ZCrWLinvnIYEKNkPNz9vlcD-LO_P4UGOEXi_HAevjtYJioZ6CWur4Gpbm06y66AtKIQbg0xQaiQ2AZD9BCQKETQb2A9LtwNrbPHpbPZPUSsDwUkwDLsxIdoUfz4_7bA/s320/IMG_2965.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Christmas eve my hubby, me, J, L and SK drove up to NC to meet up with my brother, B and his partner, W, to spend Christmas at their cabin. It's the first time in years that we all have had Christmas together. My mama came up with B and W and my youngest brother, M, would be meeting us later. M went up to Ktown first to spend Christmas with his son and see my daddy's widow before joining us. His daughter and son-in-law came on up to the cabin.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikPe8il-2aewJPnOdOoky3U8ip6lrasGop8JdDpJjFy2GW2-ntnVuKyE0muV4a5kUBISisGmhwg1cJpwxaecnkC9W00ii58_FgPnd8Rut_5dLGgLeDKRYRR2dapESfljvSeOFw0-rpEpw/s1600/DSC_0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikPe8il-2aewJPnOdOoky3U8ip6lrasGop8JdDpJjFy2GW2-ntnVuKyE0muV4a5kUBISisGmhwg1cJpwxaecnkC9W00ii58_FgPnd8Rut_5dLGgLeDKRYRR2dapESfljvSeOFw0-rpEpw/s200/DSC_0001.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>We awoke on Christmas day to several inches of snow and it continued to snow all day and into the next-we were snowbound on the mountain! Nobody was really complaining as we had a warm fire, food and games to play. My mama buried her nose in the final Harry Potter installment and the rest of us played a rousing game of dice.<br />
On the 28th we celebrated my oldest's 25th birthday by going into Asheville and doing some shopping and then having dinner. Food was delicious and he found the travel bag he was looking for. Hubby had to take him to the airport in Knoxville the next day so J could get back to California and his job.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0gl4IbiVK78gKlI8pvvwPpotQmzEN5nGrvHxn98VoKS9JE4zU6HS3mrN2CyywBg-NOkQmU99xY95PEbJNYqYxqbNsZyEyVp1ZKH-VK7m-tg3R4SpPP5we6Ul1uMbV3oRde0MOA1lgpw/s1600/IMG_3008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy0gl4IbiVK78gKlI8pvvwPpotQmzEN5nGrvHxn98VoKS9JE4zU6HS3mrN2CyywBg-NOkQmU99xY95PEbJNYqYxqbNsZyEyVp1ZKH-VK7m-tg3R4SpPP5we6Ul1uMbV3oRde0MOA1lgpw/s320/IMG_3008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglgtz3PucfSxeagvWmJKD2LccinxiZrTBOhDSmtbEOQXztkpvlGuZe7nNlAU0LakEXCZRWhcg3Rn2Hw63DOpcAb6_8wlaPf1oikbHxiCCWJobBzzVJTlbwA-K-n5kJOEZu4pJAhTNHXrQ/s1600/IMG_3018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglgtz3PucfSxeagvWmJKD2LccinxiZrTBOhDSmtbEOQXztkpvlGuZe7nNlAU0LakEXCZRWhcg3Rn2Hw63DOpcAb6_8wlaPf1oikbHxiCCWJobBzzVJTlbwA-K-n5kJOEZu4pJAhTNHXrQ/s200/IMG_3018.JPG" width="200" /></a>M arrived after a whole lot of folderol about whether he should come or not. He finally decided to make the drive and we all went over to the cabin where his family was staying for his yummy pecan waffles one morning, eggs and bacon another and last but not least, a fish stew-an eastern NC dish. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We went shopping in Waynesville one day, watched ECU get humiliated on TV at a sports bar another, and mama, my niece and I went sledding one afternoon. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzZzGVlDXOoH7bqS1Rgi2K6hjwozc_JjmOXHmEPF5SloADr4IKJIK5ti-RCoZnFdS25ghMnR2pLrVU6QgOvne5Pr9afOm0jAQ_zl43h3m_eyKRRGd2E_HKlufLpb_ORHq-D1tFCGsXwU/s1600/IMG_3051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzZzGVlDXOoH7bqS1Rgi2K6hjwozc_JjmOXHmEPF5SloADr4IKJIK5ti-RCoZnFdS25ghMnR2pLrVU6QgOvne5Pr9afOm0jAQ_zl43h3m_eyKRRGd2E_HKlufLpb_ORHq-D1tFCGsXwU/s200/IMG_3051.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">M headed home on New Year's eve and the rest of us spent the evening nibbling on snacks and playing dice. After a great week we all headed to our respective homes on New Year's day with all day Sunday to regroup before starting back into our routines. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I spend very little time with my brothers and their families and there were moments when we all realized why, but overall we had a wonderful time without too many clashes.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UEGNemkEbgQowVonajjnEl5PjQL8ozNEGpfVDLaUY1R40OfxpCad1PtviwqNBACCK32zXti5LeYlNpGWj3o_ahb5CNxySNIkBauOUkn7HGMbe0uuKnzqwIAgaJvwaPXGdUyJmv9bY_Y/s1600/DSC_0097+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8UEGNemkEbgQowVonajjnEl5PjQL8ozNEGpfVDLaUY1R40OfxpCad1PtviwqNBACCK32zXti5LeYlNpGWj3o_ahb5CNxySNIkBauOUkn7HGMbe0uuKnzqwIAgaJvwaPXGdUyJmv9bY_Y/s400/DSC_0097+%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-19796920560198142012011-01-17T14:30:00.000-05:002011-01-17T14:30:25.060-05:00Christmas in our town<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM5-GSdSzbamMzfpTCdBweXn4PRPyaENyN004Rf8zKgZmNPk6VSDj_Vl8QQYzSC6zYkFH1bjHJfq3FWD_eq6BqQJYwnwYsuF7uPdDAP_60bwY6WOZJV8LmVYQVVOfYrjJnCmqnYCu2YaY/s1600/DSC_1006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM5-GSdSzbamMzfpTCdBweXn4PRPyaENyN004Rf8zKgZmNPk6VSDj_Vl8QQYzSC6zYkFH1bjHJfq3FWD_eq6BqQJYwnwYsuF7uPdDAP_60bwY6WOZJV8LmVYQVVOfYrjJnCmqnYCu2YaY/s200/DSC_1006.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Now that I've had a few weeks to catch my breathe, I have to say that we had a great Christmas. I had intended that I would not decorate as I didn't want to come home from Christmas in the cabin and be faced with the remnants of an earlier celebration. My daughters had other ideas and on the Friday after Thanksgiving they got out the little tree and decorated it. I must say that it gave just the right amount of holiday spirit!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We expected our oldest in from California on the 23rd. As my husband and I were having our morning coffee on the 22nd, he got a text from the oldest saying he had made it to the airport. "He's got the wrong day!" was my husband's response but when he checked the ticket info he realized that HE had the wrong day. So, I finished wrapping the presents, thawed something for dinner and we celebrated on the 22nd.</div> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnuLkAcKGpX57pfeXODx-V-Z3RJfo3SGX0oFU_n1aGUSAVNYeRzGPvGHeIsUwPndXGz4d9mZAaGY8W_RBQ4p1oCTM8w3RnVO6258JMo1yNHujbtbxm2a0l-_y9DgpNa27gmXLmg048s7g/s1600/DSC_1036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; height: 166px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 231px;"><img border="0" height="132" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnuLkAcKGpX57pfeXODx-V-Z3RJfo3SGX0oFU_n1aGUSAVNYeRzGPvGHeIsUwPndXGz4d9mZAaGY8W_RBQ4p1oCTM8w3RnVO6258JMo1yNHujbtbxm2a0l-_y9DgpNa27gmXLmg048s7g/s200/DSC_1036.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> My second son could not join us for Christmas at the cabin as he had to work. It was our first Christmas day without all our offspring with us, but the celebration beforehand demonstrated that the number of the day doesn't matter; it's the being together that counts.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvK57XZj81T8NaeEijKX_soGD0c-0c8CEpYUkI-uefrLxJJKueXdmk8fbp119MnSEHdq9fqUMoNE_XnPbU0i2m7MSs9j714wWmT7YPkB1PExrLcNb06sx2aWD761s9dgx9LF27jnOKD98/s1600/DSC_1005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvK57XZj81T8NaeEijKX_soGD0c-0c8CEpYUkI-uefrLxJJKueXdmk8fbp119MnSEHdq9fqUMoNE_XnPbU0i2m7MSs9j714wWmT7YPkB1PExrLcNb06sx2aWD761s9dgx9LF27jnOKD98/s320/DSC_1005.JPG" width="320" /></a>thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-72789855608795646682011-01-13T15:48:00.000-05:002011-01-13T15:48:07.426-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4x0uqmH2MFuDorrT2y1A70T0ng1_3ff6p-X1VN0NIf7R7sdT0TsqdPn31A9B63yNlExaMjcOpplgcVo1iQZ0Z5tK2W9UMjm3VRqiYfxhsUEl_lKYJ-Df_Bl6PBHzykRNDZCvEXUtP5aw/s1600/main_logo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4x0uqmH2MFuDorrT2y1A70T0ng1_3ff6p-X1VN0NIf7R7sdT0TsqdPn31A9B63yNlExaMjcOpplgcVo1iQZ0Z5tK2W9UMjm3VRqiYfxhsUEl_lKYJ-Df_Bl6PBHzykRNDZCvEXUtP5aw/s1600/main_logo.png" /></a></div>My oldest booked a McDonald's commercial, his first success in his quest for stardom. I feel it is fortuitous as one of his first words was "'donals". thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-90522248154887825402011-01-04T17:07:00.000-05:002011-01-04T17:07:42.694-05:00New Year...resolution<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMuR8yU3qZDLEqARYa_cXcg07-jpdISXb7iHrj0eCiZ3OtagyLP9G_5eMvf_5qKSsVrbMXbddfZdxk3Gk7UmBKVBx65gqXO77Xa6gNpC_ScrkNdX5CptJqdZWjs0gD6wS8EAS0-BmeULM/s1600/DSC_0986.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMuR8yU3qZDLEqARYa_cXcg07-jpdISXb7iHrj0eCiZ3OtagyLP9G_5eMvf_5qKSsVrbMXbddfZdxk3Gk7UmBKVBx65gqXO77Xa6gNpC_ScrkNdX5CptJqdZWjs0gD6wS8EAS0-BmeULM/s320/DSC_0986.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd like to be among the multitudes of people who are NOT making New Year resolutions but, alas, I made the mistake of going to the doctor for my yearly check-up right before the holidays. HAHAHA WHAT was I thinking?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The phone call came on the 23rd: Cholesterol 257. Must go on a STRICT low cholestrol, low calorie diet and return in 3 months. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">TADAAA instant New Year's resolution!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Day 3 of that resolution and I'm doing OK: Walked 30 minutes today and yesterday. No read meat and lots of fruit and veggies...and I don't mean my all time favorite veggie-french fries. I think I feel my blood thinning.</div>thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-90587110391069655392010-12-13T22:03:00.001-05:002010-12-13T22:05:27.248-05:00I have this.<a href="http://www.sjogrens.org/home/about-sjogrens-syndrome">http://www.sjogrens.org/home/about-sjogrens-syndrome</a><br />
The verdict is in. I have this syndrome. I'm lucky as I don't have lupus, RA or schleraderma. I'm also lucky because it can take years to get a diagnosis and my rheumatologist suspected it right away. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNA0c7Xd3EP-c7YV-tb1UGy7_CPyWt6Qf0VDdX9nD6az78lb94OeFxSmhUE9lYlxWMm2ZEd7wPafB_B5bMRd6lh-8jpjZfyKeWEVkNMiKKrm3MxlLg9RqBdarhW5V_RYZyLOvSHtrKKR4/s1600/DSC_0230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNA0c7Xd3EP-c7YV-tb1UGy7_CPyWt6Qf0VDdX9nD6az78lb94OeFxSmhUE9lYlxWMm2ZEd7wPafB_B5bMRd6lh-8jpjZfyKeWEVkNMiKKrm3MxlLg9RqBdarhW5V_RYZyLOvSHtrKKR4/s320/DSC_0230.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>So. I don't feel so lucky just yet. Maybe when the med kicks in and my feet stop hurting.thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-10119629123553805962010-11-22T17:20:00.001-05:002010-11-22T17:39:26.600-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieXLXlFLVtgoeTQ8Xi0hXdxBQbYMBwivBM4sfhbcdH8fYWSbL_hgfsh92adSfRQjACL_Xb5ZSbgWekRJJO1pHQV6sr6_mJcjhoLID8ZadZfrvNiwsIfpwiGsM6EGyixWgKvS2wvFmAjWo/s1600/IMG_2053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieXLXlFLVtgoeTQ8Xi0hXdxBQbYMBwivBM4sfhbcdH8fYWSbL_hgfsh92adSfRQjACL_Xb5ZSbgWekRJJO1pHQV6sr6_mJcjhoLID8ZadZfrvNiwsIfpwiGsM6EGyixWgKvS2wvFmAjWo/s320/IMG_2053.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Last Thanksgiving daddy held my hand tight and told me he had made peace with God and was ready to go home. It was the last time I saw him before he died.thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-72557205265886158862010-11-17T11:01:00.001-05:002010-11-17T11:07:39.903-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVIKg5hBNVq7Us32Q0s8goHorY8PRCCwokxm2m4GRvT6Yf_oxjfaj7bhPKnB3pU87M_K9jGPwLnosoujUdAMWa2HVg4fNbyipUiHdB3IVQpaunWMSfXnwoBmBFjtBBeeXdf1oQTV5c3Og/s1600/74332_116506595078045_100001561140942_120884_2170924_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVIKg5hBNVq7Us32Q0s8goHorY8PRCCwokxm2m4GRvT6Yf_oxjfaj7bhPKnB3pU87M_K9jGPwLnosoujUdAMWa2HVg4fNbyipUiHdB3IVQpaunWMSfXnwoBmBFjtBBeeXdf1oQTV5c3Og/s320/74332_116506595078045_100001561140942_120884_2170924_n.jpg" width="309" /></a></div> If I had realized that this photo would be the only picture I would have of me with both my parents, I wouldn't have goofed around and flung my hand out like that. When I look at this picture now, what I remember is how comfortable I was with the thought that my mama would never really leave daddy even though at the time this picture was taken, she was only months away from doing so.<br />
I also see why my daddy's second wife could never accept the family we were; why she despised my mother; why she has worked tirelessly to wipe out my daddy's first wife and the children she gave him. I see that my parents loved each other and they loved their children. It was love that remained even through divorce. It was love that I was blessed to grow up with and was probably the reason that I never thought my mama would really leave.<br />
My mama lived in an orphanage from the time she was nine after<em><strong> her</strong></em> mother walked out on<em> <strong>her</strong></em> daddy. She didn't know anything about marriage or family dynamics except the popular opinion of the times which was: If he doesn't make you happy, LEAVE. My parents would get along great for long periods of time-the calm before the storm-and then have loud shouting matches the result of which were that she would move into my room with me and inform me that as soon as her children were grown, she was leaving.<br />
I was 19; my brothers, 18 and 14. We weren't grown and what I know now is, it wouldn't have mattered if we were. Leaving was not the solution to her unhappiness. I can't speak to all situations where couples feel compelled to divorce. I can only speak about what I experienced and that was my parent's inability to deal with the problems between them. Their divorce didn't solve any of those problems; it only denied us all the one thing we really had going for us: love.<br />
My daddy's second wife of 29 years spends lots of time since his death saying how my daddy was her soul mate. She spends lots of time saying how he was her best friend and how he will always be with her. She spends a lot of time reminding everyone that <em><strong>she was his wife</strong></em>. In the year before his death, she also spent a lot of time reporting how often he had accidents to anyone who would listen; jerking his pants down to "see if you've messed yourself" in front of whomever; snatching his hat off and commenting on his balding head; telling him that his children didn't care about him and taking every opportunity to embarrass and humiliate him. She spent a lot of time bullying him and trying to make him leave his 30 acres of dirt and little 3 bedroom rambler to her so she could have the power over what my brothers and I eventually inherit.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> What she is unable to understand is that I have my inheritance. In the months before he died, daddy entrusted me with a message for mama: he never stopped loving her and he wished he'd tried harder. My mama says that now that he's gone she doesn't think about what he was like in his later years or even what drove her to leave in the first place. <br />
She remembers that she loved him.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCWHz7cgy2yApxrwJQsYwYX7xHDDqA4SvbZaw0oyawIk-xjO87h3e9bzqQiddDGuyNahI5tgKAKUrHvkscGb0GCXhQM76vzkuF7RiVVztBMH7UPcyaJmxNiJclY7RXkJZ5cY7axJB7RQ/s1600/75307_116526275076077_100001561140942_121217_1216365_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCWHz7cgy2yApxrwJQsYwYX7xHDDqA4SvbZaw0oyawIk-xjO87h3e9bzqQiddDGuyNahI5tgKAKUrHvkscGb0GCXhQM76vzkuF7RiVVztBMH7UPcyaJmxNiJclY7RXkJZ5cY7axJB7RQ/s320/75307_116526275076077_100001561140942_121217_1216365_n.jpg" width="299" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div> thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5065603818368370069.post-33431845180103561322010-11-11T07:33:00.002-05:002010-11-11T07:50:10.956-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGpouHP_KkXBZugS-TJuYuN42GMpHcpB2fmc5I8CJJJ3TpRLbNUmkygB3kr_d1ubp0bkmwmBc4Nbx0cosuNyLoM9pq6WPPWzoSQDWlbtqi8FF3J3tRYN_xv7kR-9C22KcJnZYi8LMFlE/s1600/scrap9.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGpouHP_KkXBZugS-TJuYuN42GMpHcpB2fmc5I8CJJJ3TpRLbNUmkygB3kr_d1ubp0bkmwmBc4Nbx0cosuNyLoM9pq6WPPWzoSQDWlbtqi8FF3J3tRYN_xv7kR-9C22KcJnZYi8LMFlE/s320/scrap9.bmp" width="205" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> I miss the days when mothering was simple. I felt important and wise and, to some degree, I was. My present day mothering of young adult children, who are living with life changing stresses, alternates between them clinging to me in that loving, nostalgic way and punches that knock me to my knees. As they stumble around and attempt to make their own separate lives, I stand at the ready to assist but all too frequently I am knocked to the ground and chastised for my failure to make everything work out exactly as they wish.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> My offspring don't seem to realize that I am living with life changing stress, too. It feels as if they believe their father and I have finished with any living of our own. Our feelings, needs, hopes and dreams are inconsequential to any of theirs. I suppose their attitude comes from so many years of letting my children be the culmination of all I hoped for as a young girl. I wanted nothing more than to be a wife and mother; to have a family of my own with which to live. The problem is that having a family is not a feat to be accomplished; it is a way of living. Only lately it feels more like a boxing match where I spend most of my time unconscious on the mat.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> But I am starting to learn how to box; to keep my head down and heart protected; to avoid the quick jabs ands punches that come my way. And when I get hit square and fall to the mat, I'm learning how to get back up again.</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>thouartloosedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09631802937442217896noreply@blogger.com2