tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91058430371865729722024-02-19T12:40:43.782-08:00ArtemiscellaneousAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-28515616807369620002012-10-23T09:24:00.000-07:002012-10-23T10:49:21.563-07:00Making a Baby is the Funny Part<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes fact is, in fact, stranger than fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When life becomes weird, funny and yet
touching, it is time to share… even though the subject matter is somewhat of a
private nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me say, before I get
going on this, that everyone involved approved my post ahead of time – they even
encouraged it thinking it too good a story not to share.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For quite a few years, Emmett and I have been very good
friends with Erika and Sunni.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were
even there for their wedding a few years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The wedding was beautiful and it was a lot of fun for Emmett and me.
There was great food, fun music, wonderful people and just enough drama to make
it salacious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Personally, I was excited
because I got to tick another item off of my bucket list:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>attend a gay wedding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, I had always thought more in terms
of attending a gay guy wedding because, let’s be honest, it would have to be fabulous
right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, Erika and Sunni really
rose to the occasion and threw a bash to be proud of.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Emmett and Erika are particularly close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They both love beer… Erika brews it and
Emmett is happy to taste it for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They are always the last ones standing at any party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are both outgoing and have never met a
stranger. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Erika is a medic and Emmett
was one in the Air Force.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are both
suckers for animals, children and old people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They are both a little outrageous and don’t care who knows it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are like twins separated at birth.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still it came as a bit of a surprise last year when Erika
and Sunni asked us if Emmett would be a sperm donor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Erika explained that they would use Sunni’s
eggs and Emmett’s sperm and Sunni would carry the baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They thought Emmett would be a great choice
because Emmett, in their opinion, is the one guy friend they have who most
resembles Erika in terms of personality, plus he’s attractive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was flattering for Emmett. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was surprised at my
reaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would have thought I would
be outraged that some other women would be interested utilizing Emmett’s sperm
with the thought of having a baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Honestly, I was touched that they trusted both of us enough to share
such an important piece of their lives with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They told us that we would have no official responsibility towards the
child but that should this work, we could be as involved, or not, as we
chose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett and I talked seriously
about it and decided that we would prefer to be considered a favored aunt and
uncle and be included in as many life events as possible with the child.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A lot of people might ask why I didn’t mind since I have not
had children with Emmett.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The answer is
simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We tried and it didn’t
happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have left it in God’s hands
and apparently we are not meant to have children together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had Emmett refused to have children with me,
I think I would have felt differently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
might have felt resentful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this case
though, I honestly understood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Erika and
Sunni could not have a baby without help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The plan had always been that Sunni would carry the
baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Erika was happy with the plan
because she abhorred the thought of being pregnant, much like a guy might.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, we would all laugh at the thought of
a pregnant Erika.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be like
seeing a guy pregnant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be weird.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although Erika is a woman, she embraces her
masculine side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She loves wearing jeans
and t-shirts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wears baseball caps
and loves sports and beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She never
wears make up but does wear her hair cut very short.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is strikingly attractive but chooses to
downplay it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Erika and Sunni
married, Sunni wore a beautiful wedding gown and Erika wore a white suit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only time I’ve ever seen Erika in a dress
is when she dressed like a woman for Halloween.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, when after much testing, it was determined that Sunni could not
carry a baby to term, it was decided that Erika would have to be the birth
mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wasn’t there in the doctor’s office with Sunni and Erika
but I can only imagine, first their despair at the news that Sunni could not
carry the baby and then second, the realization that Erika would have to carry the
baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To Erika’s credit, she took it like
a champ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She rallied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She saw the humor in the situation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A lot of time passed and Emmett and I heard nothing from the
girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had moved to Alabama and we
thought that perhaps they had either abandoned the project or else decided that
someone closer would be more convenient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Imagine our surprise when a few months ago, Erika and Sunni reiterated
their interest in utilizing Emmett’s sperm… especially since now it would have
to involve UPS and some very expensive, and strange, shipments.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The girls sent us a Styrofoam shipping package, some small
vials (which contained some cloudy liquid solution), and an ice pack in
preparation for the day when the call would come and Emmett would too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The plan was that Erika would contact Emmett
when she ovulated and Emmett “produce” and then rush to UPS for the last
shipment of the day with first possible delivery to Erika in the morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few months went by and timing proved a little challenging
as Erika would ovulate when Emmett had no access to the baby kit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally though this past month, Erika
contacted Emmett that she was ovulating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The timing was great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett had
a break in the day and was able to lend a hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The problem was though he had to get to work and didn’t have time to go
to UPS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to do it.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, realizing the strangeness of the situation, I took the
Styrofoam box which had been carefully packaged with the now-full vial and ice
pack, to UPS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just knew they were
going to ask me what the contents were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I just knew I was going to have to find another UPS to use in the
future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though it was embarrassing,
I decided to use humor to cover up the mortification.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I clerk asked what was in the package, I
stated “sperm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband’s actually.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The young guy tried to remain professional
but his eyebrows shot up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The UPS store
manager happened to be nearby and she told me that they have been known to ship
bull sperm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well,” I told her, “he’s
not a bull, but he is bullheaded.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I left UPS, I called Emmett to let him know his sperm
was on the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was relieved but his
thoughts were elsewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Listen, I’m trying
to train Kim and she needs to make a pudding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We are out of eggs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I need
four.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you deliver them to me at the
restaurant?” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I stopped short.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are
you serious?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“First you want me to drop off sperm and now eggs?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett laughed, “Yeah, I guess so.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shook my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I feel like the advance team for the stork.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both chuckled at the bazar circumstances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Later that week Erika texted and said that she should know by
Halloween whether or not she is pregnant, and if so the baby’s due date would
be the 4<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> of July.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> A</span>s of this post, we don't know what the outcome will be but we do know that a universal
truth has proven true: </span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">making a baby
is the</i></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> fun(ny) part.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
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</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-16316151862264669142012-09-27T12:11:00.001-07:002012-09-27T12:12:14.909-07:00Create or Stagnate<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s been a while since I last posted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, it has been
almost exactly five months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now due to popular demand, and a shift in my own thinking, I have decided to try my hand
at blogging again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why, you may ask, did I stop blogging?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was it because nothing interesting was
happening down here in the Gump?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Absolutely not!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The opposite is
true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the five months since I last
posted, Emmett has gone through general management training at Baumhower’s
Restaurant and since taken over his own store (the Downtown Montgomery
location). The girls are now in a good, local technical high school and doing
fantastically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In July, Kiera, Kylie and
my nephew Fletcher and I drove from Alabama to Massachusetts (and back!) to
visit family and friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have picked
up two new family members:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bella Lovato-Moore
our sweet Rat Terrier who we adopted from our dear friend Myra who passed away
suddenly this summer and Ms. Mocha Moore, our half-faced kitten (14 weeks as of
this writing) who was found wandering the mean streets of Montgomery. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As you can see, I did not stop blogging
because there was nothing of interest to report on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Did I stop because I was too busy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although I do have plenty to do, there are hours every day where I don’t
have any plans and end up catching up on reading, cleaning, organizing, job
hunting, working out… well you get the picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have never been less busy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
enjoying my non-stressed out life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
prayed for a long time for a break and now I have it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I am not too busy to write.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The truth is that I got mad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I got hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got scared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let these negative feelings get in the way
of my creativity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took me a while to
identify why I wanted to anything else rather than write… and I do mean
anything (shampooing rugs, weeding, watching <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Honey Boo Boo</i>, etc.).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally,
though, I pinpointed what it was that gave me the biggest case of writer’s block
in history.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The last blog that I posted about was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Love, Gaming and Saving</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
general, I got nice comments on the post (which of course anyone would like to
hear), but then I got an “off the record” comment from someone (who shall
remain nameless) saying how “mortified” he was that I was making excuses for my
husband’s bad behavior of gaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
felt that I was enabling Emmett’s gaming and not being truthful with myself
about how I felt. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This reader, I know,
is not the only one that felt that way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He just happened to be the only one who actually said something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I could go into all the reasons why I “enable” my husband’s
gaming but I don’t think any minds would be changed anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you want to know why, go back and read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Love, Gaming and Saving</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I am choosing to press on and write
about what interests me; my observations, my thoughts and my opinions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am going to not let someone’s disapproval
keep me from pursuing what makes me happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am going to choose creativity over stagnation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In retrospect, what I should have done is shut out the negativity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could have used my emotions to create
instead of stagnate. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, the truth is, I
was afraid that by putting myself “out there” in such a public way, I was
inviting negative criticism about my life, my writing “talent”, my choices. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hearing criticism is always hard and never pleasant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t think of anyone who relishes hearing
disapproval.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People react in different
ways to criticism. Some people get mad, make a public scene and drag everyone
into their drama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are other people
who shut down their creativity and let the outside voices rule their inner goddess
(to steal a phrase from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fifty Shades of
Grey</i>) and then there are others who take disappointment, sadness, depression,
disapproval, etc. and create. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think of
all of those famous painters who did not let the naysayers win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine if they had?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We might never have had Degas, Monet and
Renoir to enjoy. When the French Impressionist movement first began in the late
1800’s, they were highly criticized for their style. The artists pursued their individualism
and eventually the misunderstood Impressionists were embraced by the world. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Had they let popular convention dictate their actions and stifle
their creativity, we would never have heard the words of magnificent women writers
such as Austen, Eliot, and the Bront<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ë</span> sisters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No Heathcliff?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No Mr. Darcy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What a duller, less romantic world we would live in. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am by no means comparing myself to those
great artists; merely, I am noting the actions of those who I admire so much
and hoping to follow, humbly, in their footsteps… fearlessly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-72014199434771889902012-04-30T07:15:00.000-07:002012-04-30T07:15:36.392-07:00Love, Gaming and Saving Money<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently I read an article in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Daily News</i> that cited a <a href="http://www.divorce-online.co.uk/" target="_blank">Divorce Online</a> report that divorces
resulting from online gaming spiked this year from 5% to 15%.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Researchers speculate that the reason for the
increase in “unreasonable behavior” (addiction to gaming) is the
recession.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently, the unemployed
entertain themselves by playing World of Warcraft, Halo, Call of Duty and a
variety of other online games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These
unemployed gamers begin to ignore their spouses (now called “gamer widows”) and
things disintegrate from there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
easy to imagine how the increased gaming could cause a decrease in successful
relationships. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For many years golfing
has had the same effect (golf widows).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However,
for all of the negative press that online gaming is getting, I would like to
share a different perspective; the story of how online gaming helped my
relationship with my husband and saved us money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What you say?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Impossible!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, it’s true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let me say right up front, that there are loads of reasons
to not like online gaming… the con list is a long one with the main culprit
being addiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The addition can spiral
into:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lying about how much time the
gamer actually plays, upping gaming time, withdrawal from friendships,
work/social disruptions, spending huge amounts of money on online gaming
services, obsessing about increasing gaming stats, and, of course the physical
side effects (lack of general hygiene, carpal syndrome, migraines, sleep
disorders, back and neck disorders).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There are probably a 100 other reasons to dislike gaming but we’ll
ignore these for now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Emmett has always enjoyed video games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a huge fan of Atari way back when and as
technology improved and online gaming was invented, his fascination only increased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I met Emmett in 2005, I knew he had some
interest in gaming but his lifestyle was so busy that he rarely, if ever,
played in my presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got engaged in
2006 and shortly afterward he bought an X-Box and started playing Call of Duty
(a.k.a. COD).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first, I hated his gaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt ignored by him -- anything I would tell
him while he was gaming was forgotten immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would sometimes eat dinner and play at the
same time (which enraged me).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would sometimes
spend up to twelve hours playing online, which would get in the way of shared
activities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was nearly a deal breaker
for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I marry someone who I
felt was addicted to something which excluded me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know, I’m not making a good case for gaming…
but wait… its coming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Emmett was working at the Harbor Watch Inn as the General
Manager.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a great job with loads
of socializing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Inn was as about as
busy as you can imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After work, he
would go out with different employees and friends to wind down and relax.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This meant that at least three nights a week
he was going to local bars such as Slap Happys, Port of Call and Shooters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would stumble home around 3:00 a.m. (after
he had gone to Leo’s for an afterhours breakfast).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would be at home pacing and pissed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was losing sleep worrying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On his days off, he was gaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What time was there for me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, really, the good reasons are coming…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Despite my concerns about the above mentioned issues, I
married Emmett.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About four months into
our marriage, he switched jobs and began to work at Longhorn Steakhouse in
Boston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His commute increased from 15
minutes to an hour and a half each way and his new bosses were no-nonsense… he
was not permitted to socialize with guests or other employees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the same time, I started to come to my
senses and get real about my thresholds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I talked to Emmett about the fact that we were spending far too much
money on his social life and that I wasn’t comfortable with him going out as
often (especially to bars).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He heard what
I had to say and agreed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stopped
going out immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He began to
substitute bar hopping with online gaming.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have to admit that at first he was a little bit obsessed
with his online gaming. He had met some good players online at COD and was
excited about becoming part of a clan (a group of gamers who form an alliance
in order to compete against other clans to up their gaming stats), and “prestiging”
(increasing your status online through experience and points earned
playing).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was excited about making
new friends who he felt had something in common with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was patient (as I could be) because, after
all, he had moved up to Massachusetts from Miami to be with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I complain if he wanted to make
friends online?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, he was no longer
frequenting bars.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After a while, Emmett’s playing time decreased; the initial
obsession died down some. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He still would
play but it wasn’t an everyday activity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He had stopped going to bars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Playing online, satisfied his socializing needs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The benefits to us were great:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wasn’t spending money; I knew where he was
at all times; I didn’t have to wonder when he would come home; I didn’t have to
worry that some chick at a hole-in-the wall bar was trying to come on to him; I
didn’t have to worry that he would drink too much and then attempt to drive
home; he enjoyed what he was doing and didn’t feel that he was giving anything
up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a healthier lifestyle for us.
It was a win-win situation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I do the cost analysis with online gaming versus in bar
hopping, it is also clear that the gaming is financially beneficial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See below:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqOu5Y6eae1Lg4xDoRaKWMt9fv3n5R378SyQ56NpCa1sUBKgMBIBUp31WwQjHwonF1WdgCwQFoFnWv89lMQS3LX3GYe6iYctRWuvX-v85KQgLHuOqX8TDAcuPCELy3PrIbyEyVmgOM5BI/s1600/drinking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqOu5Y6eae1Lg4xDoRaKWMt9fv3n5R378SyQ56NpCa1sUBKgMBIBUp31WwQjHwonF1WdgCwQFoFnWv89lMQS3LX3GYe6iYctRWuvX-v85KQgLHuOqX8TDAcuPCELy3PrIbyEyVmgOM5BI/s200/drinking.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bar Hopping</span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Drink cost per outing = $40 x 3 outings per week = <span style="color: red;">$120</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">+</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tip of $15 per outing x estimated 3 outings per week = <span style="color: red;">$45</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">+</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><u>One afterhours breakfast at Leo’s per week = <span style="color: red;">$15</span></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Total cost per week</b><span style="color: red;"> = $180</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Total cost per month</b>
= <span style="color: red;">$780.00</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Total cost per year</b>
= <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;">$9,360</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The above does not include gas used driving to
establishments or factor in drinks bought for friends.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsC0tsi1nNGMVOKrJIseNaNvip9RVyja2GaDB_2_13HgXaVjh6fv-fqObmlcq9TEI1SL7DHhJKb71mxMgyIy4cRKzC95ixyK-jLXqkBzrwDOYfbcddhDX7eAWXnh3_qG5WMpvXzOg-BWs/s1600/Cod.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsC0tsi1nNGMVOKrJIseNaNvip9RVyja2GaDB_2_13HgXaVjh6fv-fqObmlcq9TEI1SL7DHhJKb71mxMgyIy4cRKzC95ixyK-jLXqkBzrwDOYfbcddhDX7eAWXnh3_qG5WMpvXzOg-BWs/s320/Cod.jpg" width="320" /></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><u>Online gaming</u></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Purchase of X-Box (lasts about four years) = <span style="color: red;">$400 </span>($100 per year, $8.33 per month, $1.92 per week)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
+<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Purchase of annual X-Box Gold membership = <span style="color: red;">$60 </span>($5.00 per month, $1.15 per week)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
+<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Purchase of head set (which lasts about three years) = <span style="color: red;">$150 </span>($50 per year, $4.16 per month, .96 cents per
week)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
+<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><u>Case of beer per week = <span style="color: red;">$20 </span>($1040
per year, $86.66 per month)</u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Total cost per week</b>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>($1.92 + $1.15 +.96 + $20.00) = <span style="color: red;">$24.03</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Total cost per month</b>:
($8.33+ $5.00 +$ 4.16 + $86.66) = <span style="color: red;">$104.15</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Total cost per year</b>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>($100.00 + $60.00 + $50 + $1040) = <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: red;">$1,250</span></b><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The above does not include electricity used to play games or
wear and tear on your best recliner.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I estimate that we save approximately <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">$8,110</b> per year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s
quite a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s definitely enough to
make a girl happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ultimately, when I
factor in how much more time my husband is home and how much we save, I cannot
complain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve had a few friends comment on Emmett’s gaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Generally, the consensus has been that they
personally would not put up with the gaming. It would be a deal breaker for
them. I respect their opinions, but I feel differently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my mind, if this is the worst offense that
my husband commits (his worst habit) then I feel that I’m quite a lucky
lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many acquaintances of mine have
had partners who have done things I consider far worse (cheating, hitting,
gambling, etc.).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In comparison, I feel
that gaming is fairly PG.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At Sodahead.com, a site that runs polls on a variety of
gaming issues, I found statistics which showed that 61% of people polled
thought that gaming could be positive for a relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surprisingly, 66% of the 61% who responded
positively were women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many people had
the same reasons I listed above and some others said that they too gamed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gaming was a shared interest in their
relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess they had the “if
you can’t beat them join them,” philosophy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My philosophy about gaming is that it is Emmett’s hobby and
unless it gets in the way of our lives (which it does not) then I’m glad he has
something that interests him so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do
I understand his fascination with gaming?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I learned a long
time ago, that I don’t have to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
grandparents, who were married for 66 years, made it work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgdDWMjuiFTmOiz8VFjt0K2kVEdjwYKVegcw7-yegxVie95XFZTYhFojSKkQwrGYFAvuELPuOyQ2yzcRPePMJ3YacUs4W8TQEDmGSvJyLqOYbaWZLxtcOIoWVxX461SEvJlN7iu0ozBc/s1600/Pro+wrestling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipgdDWMjuiFTmOiz8VFjt0K2kVEdjwYKVegcw7-yegxVie95XFZTYhFojSKkQwrGYFAvuELPuOyQ2yzcRPePMJ3YacUs4W8TQEDmGSvJyLqOYbaWZLxtcOIoWVxX461SEvJlN7iu0ozBc/s1600/Pro+wrestling.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My grandmother loved
to antique and my grandfather loved to watch professional wrestling on Saturday
afternoons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My grandmother would leave
my mild mannered grandfather alone in the den on Saturdays to watch his pro wrestling
while she did other things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all knew
not to disturb grandpa in his den.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we
did, he could not be accountable for what we would hear (generally a string of
curse words that would make a sailor blush) aimed at the wrestlers on TV.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a trade-off for his solo Saturdays, my
grandfather would take my grandmother antiquing on Sundays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They respected each other’s hobbies and were
happy to compromise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Online gaming is to
Emmett as Saturday pro wrestling was for my grandpa.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I list the pros and the cons for online gaming, the pro
side comes out longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been a
process to get that list longer, but isn’t our relationship worth it?<o:p></o:p></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-37222573328275574322012-03-31T12:05:00.001-07:002012-03-31T12:05:52.461-07:00Reflections on spending time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyw0Olpi91pO7J5WjPlqpNCNMAkZ72tyqWS1yXVddWAkSZ8X4p8asGclpx7Tc_He-z43mnz7LRQqOgfBmUd-SZVMDybP7H3qgmG546HoqV5Px5m_xJc3WBAwYS-zbPQEFz4Vf2JFSgeA4/s1600/bogswallop_the-king-of-clocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyw0Olpi91pO7J5WjPlqpNCNMAkZ72tyqWS1yXVddWAkSZ8X4p8asGclpx7Tc_He-z43mnz7LRQqOgfBmUd-SZVMDybP7H3qgmG546HoqV5Px5m_xJc3WBAwYS-zbPQEFz4Vf2JFSgeA4/s320/bogswallop_the-king-of-clocks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What would you do if you had an abundance of time?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know; it’s a ridiculous question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since when will any of us have more time on
our hands than we know what to do with?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time
has always been the most elusive and valuable asset for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No matter how much I tried to organize, I
would always come up short on time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was famously known, or maybe infamously known, by my friends and family for
double booking my schedule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I somehow thought
that if I tried hard enough, time would magically be created and I could “fit
it all in.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It never worked out that
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As William Penn once said, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #1f497d; mso-themecolor: text2;">“<span class="body1"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Time is what we want most, but what we use
worst.”</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we moved from Massachusetts to Alabama, we were pretty busy
the first few months setting up the house, spending time with Emmett’s
daughters, seeing/meeting Emmett’s old friends, visiting with family, finding
furniture, best places to shop, exploring the area, working part time jobs,
interviewing for full-time jobs and the usual household chores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our days were filled up quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was not as busy as I had once been, but I was
still fairly active on a daily basis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, the house is (for the most part) set up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All our boxes are unpacked and pictures
hung.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have most of the furniture we
need and the major repairs have been made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We have Kiera (Emmett’s oldest daughter) living with us full time and
Kylie (the younger daughter) visits on a regular basis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have established Sunday cookouts so that
family and friends can catch up with us as they like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett has found a full-time job as a GM for
Baumhower’s (an Alabama restaurant chain) and is currently in full-time
training so that he can take over his own store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My work schedule is only a handful of hours a
week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, I find myself with the long-desired abundance of
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me tell you there is only so
much Face Booking one can do without feeling like a creeper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I check my Yahoo inbox about 20 times a day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I go on job sites – rereading the same
postings time and time again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My house
is cleaner than I had ever thought possible (though honestly it will never be
impeccable – that’s just not me).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
planted a garden; learned to use a weed whacker (or is it a weed eater? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose there’s a difference but I don’t
really know what it is). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have even organized
my bills and created a system for saving our receipts; things I had always said
I would do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m eyeballing my photo albums
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There truly will be too much time
(if that is possible!) if ever I get to that looming project.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve never had this much availability.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that I’m complaining (or bragging) mind you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the circumstances of moving from one
state to another and setting up a whole new life, which has created all of this
free time. Think about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you were to
remove your full time job and 90% of your social/family obligations, wouldn’t you
have an abundance of time? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you had free time how would you spend it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you be creative and do things like
paint or write?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you be practical
and reorganize your bills?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you be
motivated and finally take that time to exercise and get fit? Would you dip
into that pile of unread books beside your bed? The great thing is that you
would have time to think of things to do with your time!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Over the last few years, due to the sluggish economy, many
people have found themselves laid off from work, thus creating a time void that
work once filled. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sure they are not
all sitting around watching TV and eating bonbons. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am hopeful that many of these people are
using this new found abundance of time to become entrepreneurial and finally
make their dreams a reality. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>History
shows that during times of economic hardship people become creative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Great Depression saw the inventions of
the electric razor, the car radio, the supermarket, the cotton tampon, the
chocolate chip cookie (invented at the Toll House Inn in Whitman,
Massachusetts!), the Laundromat (or the washateria, as it was originally
known), Monopoly and the first Xerox copier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is said that necessity is the mother of invention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would like to add that father time is the
other parent of invention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Personally, I
can’t wait to see what inventions are born from this combo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What I’ve learned about time is that you will always make
time for the things that are truly important to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you spend your time watching TV
and eating bonbons then, then that is your choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If that is what gives you pleasure, who am I
to judge?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you get out
there and light the world on fire with your innovations, then good for you. As
for me and how I spend my time, I have a blog to write, a family to look after,
a career to reinvent, friendships to maintain and adventures to begin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is what is important to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I leave you with the words of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">the
great innovator Steve Jobs who once said this about time:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: #1f497d; mso-themecolor: text2;">“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is
living with the results of other people’s thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions draw
out your own inner voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And most important,
have the courage to follow your heart and intuition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They somehow already know what you truly want
to become.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything else is secondary.”</span></i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqq79LO-TdQTwyR0JeI3f2uqlI0f_CkJxmOVssNm7ATVNYNSsnRgfXQUaP3GBS0gmIQcFdAotCsvzyTq2fR5S0PCuCuIaoLk24SWNN-EbCgkDQP1rvlWQtJj9IE7a0cIxDfUU7D4GZLuo/s1600/political-pictures-steve-jobs-world-app.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqq79LO-TdQTwyR0JeI3f2uqlI0f_CkJxmOVssNm7ATVNYNSsnRgfXQUaP3GBS0gmIQcFdAotCsvzyTq2fR5S0PCuCuIaoLk24SWNN-EbCgkDQP1rvlWQtJj9IE7a0cIxDfUU7D4GZLuo/s320/political-pictures-steve-jobs-world-app.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-16666804649958339762012-03-20T13:03:00.000-07:002012-03-23T07:27:14.918-07:00My Oldest Friend... the Ocean<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/AVvXsEgD-lL0F1DagMpx7nIT1nwsWdxjiFH1V2tsprVkn27B1Bcvrhn7q0s7ThP9-5P9vD2PWSgxB57H3kiM2IpbFJfUG5qmpD1ejVQRSW7n-hfol4cLxe9bKuCSHv6-t_LV6aBx9RtmGnO7UNI/s1600/Cape+Cod+Beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD-lL0F1DagMpx7nIT1nwsWdxjiFH1V2tsprVkn27B1Bcvrhn7q0s7ThP9-5P9vD2PWSgxB57H3kiM2IpbFJfUG5qmpD1ejVQRSW7n-hfol4cLxe9bKuCSHv6-t_LV6aBx9RtmGnO7UNI/s320/Cape+Cod+Beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A typical Cape Cod beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="color: #558ed5; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #558ED5; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: "lumm=60000 lumo=40000"; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: text2; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themetint: 153;"><em>“The Sea, once
it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.”</em> --Jacques Cousteau<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Lately, I have been
dreaming of the ocean nearly every night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My dreams are vivid. I see lighthouses and shining lights on the
shore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even dream of the briny scent
and can feel the wet sand squishing between my toes in my dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is physical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s as though I am visiting an old and dear
friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I awake, I am
simultaneously happy and sad; happy to have had such a glorious night of
dreaming and sad that the night didn’t last longer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #558ed5; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #558ED5; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: "lumm=60000 lumo=40000"; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: text2; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themetint: 153;">I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so
long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we're in each other's dreams,
we can play together all night.</span></i><span style="color: #558ed5; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #558ED5; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: "lumm=60000 lumo=40000"; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: text2; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themetint: 153;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>~Bill Watterson, Calvin & Hobbes<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grew up around the ocean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has always been a part of my life… the backdrop
for everything else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been the friend
that is always there, providing endless entertainment, bountiful meals and steadfast comfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I moved to Montgomery, I knew I would
miss my friends and family but I didn’t count on how much I would miss the sun
coming over the early morning horizon, the sound of the waves lapping at the shore,
the scent of the brine and the moon casting a golden path across the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a stark reality for me that this part
of my life is not so readily available to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A void has been created.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As a child, the beach was
my playground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the winter, my sisters
and I would sled down the snow covered bluffs, skidding to a stop on the sandy
beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would drag our sleds back up
the 100+ rickety wooden steps and breathlessly pile
back onto the sled (sometimes three of us at a time!) and fly back down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We usually did this until eventually Mrs.
MacGregor would come out of her house and yell at us that we were eroding the
bluff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were kids; what did we
know/care about erosion?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was just
pure, unadulterated fun for us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the summer, my mom
would send us out of the house in the mornings and tell us to stay outside
until dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sisters and I would
grab a towel, something cold to drink, and a book and “trudge” 100 yards to the
beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would spend all day swimming,
walking from one rocky point to another, looking for sea glass, shells,
starfish, sand dollars, driftwood… all forms of beach treasure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We loved to walk to Manomet Point looking for
the seals that sun themselves on the rocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We would stop along the way to dig up the red clay from the bluffs, spackling
ourselves from head to toe, all the while espousing the healing and beauty
qualities of the minerals in the clay, not caring one bit how wild we looked. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At dinner time, we would come back up to the
house, sandy from head to toe, sunburned, happy and hungry. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Each summer, for probably
seventy years, my family has traveled from all over the United States, Japan, and
England, to meet up in Woods Hole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some
come earlier in the season and some come later, but eventually, nearly everyone
makes it to the tiny seaside town. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
are fortunate enough that some relatives (way back when) obtained ocean front
property, including a small, stony but delightful private beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our summer days are spent lounging on the
wooden deck, we call the bandstand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
bandstand overlooks the bay, which provides a marvelous vignette.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some relatives lounge on their Adirondack
chairs and chit chat about all nature of subjects. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of us catch up on reading; some swim
from the dock to Toad Rock (this has become a traditional annual swim) or to
the wooden float that beckons some 50 feet off the end of the dock; some lay
towels at the end of the dock and sun quietly, soaking in the tranquility that
the ocean provides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every Sunday at 6:00 p.m.,
rain or shine, the clan gathers on my cousins’ large lawn (which overlooks the
ocean) and we cookout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes five
people show up and sometimes forty people show up, but someone always shows
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This family gathering requires no
invitations; the ocean is our gracious host and we are always all welcome. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzdOFj5zhxVy_W8PxnEBKb-rpC1t0CoNWLEM0-cHsslPg3ygL_-iLPcw18JL0TGVy_eBtBy5XcoGTHQ0j3BSvupRQe3khCugRbFz0iZqYR8VyiTIYJ_NKIBQM8cuFD7QZ_UdpEjpL6Ono/s1600/Duxbury+Beach+with+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzdOFj5zhxVy_W8PxnEBKb-rpC1t0CoNWLEM0-cHsslPg3ygL_-iLPcw18JL0TGVy_eBtBy5XcoGTHQ0j3BSvupRQe3khCugRbFz0iZqYR8VyiTIYJ_NKIBQM8cuFD7QZ_UdpEjpL6Ono/s320/Duxbury+Beach+with+girls.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friends and me on Duxbury Beach... a day of antics</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As an adult, my beach
days are different from those of when I was a kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sunny Saturdays are the best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of my girlfriends start to plan for the
coming weekend around Wednesday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any
hint of a rainy weekend will send us into a group depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, should it be a sunny weekend, it is
game on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all rise early in the
morning and pack our coolers full of ice, any manner of drinks and snacks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those of us without beach stickers (you would
only not have a beach sticker if you don’t have a four wheel drive vehicle!) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>coordinate with those who have beach stickers
and we drive out to Plymouth Beach or Duxbury Beach for a fantastic, relaxing
but social beach day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A day on the beach
beats any night in a bar hands down.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have always harvested
from the ocean, clamming with my friends and family, gathering succulent crabs,
picking mussels and periwinkles off of the seaweed covered rocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ocean was the best kind of garden; it is
self-sustaining, bountiful and full of surprises.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We never knew what we would find along the
shores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some days we would find a rock
covered with mussels, fighting with the barnacles for space; other days, we would
find crabs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if we couldn’t find
mussels or crabs, inevitably there were the tiny, but delicious, periwinkles we
could pluck up and bring home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Periwinkles
were our version of escargot… boil them up and serve them with garlic and
butter, pull them out of their shells with pins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tiny treats… what could be tastier?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Each year, for years now,
my sister Kalliope and/or my friend Laura have bought shellfish permits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a wonderful<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>joy to walk over the clamming flats in bare
feet, feeling for the tell-tale lumps beneath our toes and then digging like
mad for the delicious treasures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of my fondest
memories is clamming all day with Kalliope and my niece Olivia, then going back
to Kalliope’s house and cooking clams and linguine (with leeks, white wine and
butter).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The smell was outrageously
enticing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The flavor was pure Heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We laid a picnic blanket out on her sunny
deck and ate until we couldn’t move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was glorious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Laura and I have clammed
many a time… spending hours digging away side by side, walking and
talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How the time flies when you are
having fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would always bring the
clams back to her house, shuck them, squeeze a little lemon on them, add a dollop
of cocktail sauce and suck them back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is no match for the flavor of the sea… briny and crisp and fresh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have celebrated nearly every 4<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>
of July with a bonfire, friends and family on the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day of July 3<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">rd</span></sup>, most of the
abled bodies in our neighborhood, gather up armfuls of kindling at the top of
the 100+ steps leading down to the beach, walk carefully down the stairs and
pile the wood onto the growing mound that will eventually become a magnificent
bonfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Waiting for the sun to go down
and the fire to be lit, is always excruciating. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is like watching water boil… it seems to only
happen if you look away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally,
though, around 9:00 p.m., someone throws gasoline on to the giant wood pile,
lights a match and the bonfire flares up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is so large, that it looks as though the orange flames are licking at
the stars. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the neighbors gather
around, watching the bonfire, dodging sparks, hot ashes and smoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The annual bonfire is the only time of the
year, where everyone in the neighborhood reconnects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every year I have ended up speaking to
someone who I had not talked to for years before. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We may not have much in common but we do have
our love for the beach and fondness for the bonfire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
watch the fireworks exploding over the ocean, illuminating the night sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From one rocky point to another, there are bonfires
every several hundred feet that other neighborhoods have built.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a community tradition that brings everyone
together. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no party room or
setting that can compare to the beach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The ocean has always been
a haven for me as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been
times in my life when I have been sad or needed some solace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ocean has always been a place where I
could go to (my happy place if you will). It is a place where I could walk the shores or sit
on a rock and stare out at the horizon and let my mind soak in the beauty and
wonder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, my thoughts calm and
some perspective gained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether the
ocean is calm or turbulent, it has always been there, like a true friend,
helping me to get through those less-than-perfect moments in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ocean has been my nature's therapy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">
<span style="color: #558ed5; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #558ED5; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: "lumm=60000 lumo=40000"; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: text2; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themetint: 153;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>“The cure for
anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea.”</em> --Isak Dinesen<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the meantime, I search
in my new home state for a place where I can find my “ocean.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve taken to gardening in my backyard and
hosting our own Sunday cookouts for our friends and family here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think that these will ever take the
place of the ocean for me (nothing could) but they are joys for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are mountain people
and there are ocean people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
always known that no matter how beautiful and majestic the mountains are (and
they are!), the ocean holds a special place in my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like an old friend, I may be geographically
distant, but the ocean will always be there, waiting loyally for my return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until I can return, it is heartening to know
that each night there is another opportunity to dream.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-28824667428885285032012-03-10T21:34:00.000-08:002012-03-10T21:39:06.534-08:00Breaking up: From Talking to Tweeting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-QfxR0-cCl37ADsXlHycZTT4E93H7i8FapM-okyYBN3fTXtyqnC4tT6EtCFiE83f6ZDWYnWpQSm7H3Snq-2uqpN9EFuf1xgTc9fWU2plIs67eAS29nv0uUlYh2efnCFZPQXmPB3F9qXA/s1600/breakup+graph.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-QfxR0-cCl37ADsXlHycZTT4E93H7i8FapM-okyYBN3fTXtyqnC4tT6EtCFiE83f6ZDWYnWpQSm7H3Snq-2uqpN9EFuf1xgTc9fWU2plIs67eAS29nv0uUlYh2efnCFZPQXmPB3F9qXA/s200/breakup+graph.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The other day my friend "Jane"mentioned that a mutual friend "Don" (who she had been seeing) had broken off with her, via text, in favor of an old girlfriend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My first thoughts contained words that are really not fit for print (in
this venue anyway) but honestly, this is not the first time I’ve heard of this,
nor I am sure, will it be the last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
dismayed as I am by this heartless way of dismissing someone who has been at
least important enough to swap bodily fluids with, it did bring to my attention
the idea breaking ups and how the awkward (at best) situation has evolved in just
my lifetime.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My personal history of dating, the Age I refer to as YES
(young, experimental and single) lasted almost exactly twenty years. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had my fair share of breakup scenarios.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Below are just a few examples that come to
mind:</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In person is probably the oldest form of
breaking up with someone (unless cave people used drawings to signify their
intent).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In person, has always been the
classiest (in my opinion) way to breakup with someone but has recently become a
bit old fashioned what with all of the technology at our finger tips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why suffer the mortification, risking tears
and a public scene when merely sitting at your computer and sending off a
message might achieve the same goal?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How
someone might breakup in person varies, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are several ways I can think of:</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">a)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The productive conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most grown up and decent way to dump
someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The productive conversation
involves being realistic, not unkind and not leaving the door open with “we
should get together sometime.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>True
closure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This usually takes two mature
people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my experience, this is a
fairly uncommon practice<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">b)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The sprawling conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know the kind… a lot of rehashing history
and back peddling are involved… as are tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A common phrase used in this particular method is “its not you; It’s me.”
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is painful but closure can be
achieved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">c)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The screamfest which manifests when someone has done
something so egregious (i.e. catching the person cheating red handed) that
neither of the previously mentioned approaches are a consideration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I once threw a beer in the face of someone
(at a bar) who drunkenly admitted he cheated on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time, the bonus of this was that it
was February in Boston and he didn’t have a coat with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, of course, I know he probably deserved
it but wish I had just turned around and left, with him knowing I was the
classier of the two of us.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The “Dear John/Jane” Letter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before
the advent of electricity and all of the technology that now allows us to breakup
with someone via the click of a button, the Dear John/Jane letter was THE way
to dump someone – especially if your guy was unlucky enough to be at war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nowadays I imagine that this mode of breakup
has essentially gone out of style.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
may be primarily used by kids still in grade school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My personal Dear Artemis letter was in the
form of a note being passed hand to hand by classmates in my senior English
class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know that every kid along the
way read the note, adding humiliation to the mix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<br /></div>
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The disappearing act.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This particular maneuver has been achieved in
a number of ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">a)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The most common is when the guy never calls
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You think he will call; you have
no indication that he won’t and then he just doesn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back in the days before cell phones, it was
particularly difficult, because if you liked the guy, you were sort of made a
prisoner in your own home because God forbid you miss his call because you had
to run to the store for an emergency toilet paper run or something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These days, we have cell phones which make us
seem a little less desperate (if only to ourselves).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">b)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve also been <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">stood up</i> a few times… okay, maybe more than a few times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of us have experienced the humiliating
stand up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We agree to meet, spruce up
nicely, go to the predetermined location and then wait… and wait… and
wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They never show up and you are
forced to make some completely lame excuse to the bartender or waiter about how
you must have got the date or time wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve actually received a few pity drinks that way (and actually a date
as well!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">c)</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My favorite in the “disappearing act” category
is leaving the country without telling me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yes, it’s happened… at least twice (not at the same time!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both men were foreign; so in fairness, they
were returning to their mother countries, however, neither of them gave me any
indication that they would be leaving anytime soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This particular breakup stung a bit because
it seemed so premeditated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are a
lot of logistics to moving, never mind moving out of the country, and yet
neither "man" ever let on that they were relocating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Both just carried on as usual and then suddenly there were no calls and
some sorry roommate was answering their door telling me that Ian or Paddy had
moved “back home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The telephone call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Using the telephone to breakup with someone,
rather than face-to-face has, I’m guessing, been used since about ten minutes
after Alexander Graham Bell invented the phone… maybe even by him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Personally, I’ve been dumped via telephone
more than any other way.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The email.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I started using email regularly in 1994 while I worked at MIT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember shortly after learning how to use
it, I got my first breakup via email.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was outraged!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How dare the guy email me
instead of breakup with me in person or via telephone (the only two acceptable
forms of communicating such personal news as far as I was then concerned).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, two years later, it was me using
email to send the bad news to a guy I was seeing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now that I am married, the likelihood of me being broken
with via the disappearing act, the telephone call or the email, is highly
unlikely, although I suppose not impossible. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Supposedly Britney Spears broke up with Kevin
Federline via a text.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d like to give my husband Emmett more credit
than that though should we ever be unlucky enough to face a breakup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s more likely one of us would try the
“it’s not you, it me,” line in a productive conversation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Since getting married, I’ve heard dating nightmare stories
from friends and family about people casually<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>breaking up in the most callous and removed ways possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two such ways are:</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">6.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The text.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I imagine those who breakup via
text normally conduct their relationship primarily over text (i.e.
sexting).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know if that is true,
it just seems to make sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why else
would someone just text you a breakup message when you can email, write a
letter, disappear or call?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This seems
like a very emotionally removed (and immature) way to breakup with someone…. Write
a text and send the breakup message out into the universe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Problem solved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No conversation necessary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZK7LUANxVJ0M7iC15kFOtDW_WNxAXzvXSgrD49O62kSEuT8aVleMrB-oMb2W8TB2Zrs9Okjk5RM-HuNJPEETSpOZq56S4t7DZwsjHfiA3KEGPutQU_AKUyen7S2Le24m4MuD6gcY8Hk/s1600/break+up+text.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFZK7LUANxVJ0M7iC15kFOtDW_WNxAXzvXSgrD49O62kSEuT8aVleMrB-oMb2W8TB2Zrs9Okjk5RM-HuNJPEETSpOZq56S4t7DZwsjHfiA3KEGPutQU_AKUyen7S2Le24m4MuD6gcY8Hk/s320/break+up+text.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">7.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Facebook/Twitter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The meanest/most ruthless/most public way of
dumping someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This way of breaking up
has been written about ad-nauseam recently (Wired magazine has even published a
“how to” article on it!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People are
posting<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>breakup notices on Facebook or
alerting people to their intent by updating their profile to indicate that they
are no longer in a relationship with so and so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Facebook may be slightly less offensive than Twitter… but that would
depend on how efficiently someone used their 140 character limit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have to wonder with Facebook and Twitter becoming a more
common way to dump people, what will be next?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Will there be (or maybe there is already?) a smart phone application where
you just hit a button and the dumpee is notified via a pop up that they are
officially single once again?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Everyone knows that breaking up is hard to do; it is
unbelievably awkward (but sometimes necessary) to have to tell someone that
they are not welcome in your life any longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I do believe how you decide to breakup with someone is a testament to
how mature and unselfish you are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
are able to put your own discomfort aside and productively discuss the
situation, it speaks volumes to the kind of person you
are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you decide to Twitter
someone out of your life, well then that also speaks volumes (to everyone who
follows you!) about what kind of an insensitive jackass you are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The question is, when it comes to breakups
are you a talker or a Twitterer?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Postscript: Today that guy Don who broke up with my friend Jane told me that the relationship he had foresaken Jane for had fallen apart and he now felt bad about the way he had text-dumped her. Ironic, no?</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-34562746962997217302012-02-21T10:49:00.000-08:002012-02-21T10:49:42.143-08:00How Do You Fight?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD4CT13AMjxvAKBHvnN4atHNYeMmTlP6O7NC4cXDS4kbCUd1gp2DJ7g-5bKXS6eMDaFrWmPhEvwxG-diveQ2k0xBVE5Yn3A5CzH5n-uvkCHm56I_vxPI0mpBv3uTmhSLot9CibzVo5NFY/s1600/War+of+the+Roses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD4CT13AMjxvAKBHvnN4atHNYeMmTlP6O7NC4cXDS4kbCUd1gp2DJ7g-5bKXS6eMDaFrWmPhEvwxG-diveQ2k0xBVE5Yn3A5CzH5n-uvkCHm56I_vxPI0mpBv3uTmhSLot9CibzVo5NFY/s320/War+of+the+Roses.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kathleen Turner & Michael Douglas in War of the Roses</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently Emmett and I got into a fight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The details are not important; however, let’s
just say posting videos to Face Book when you’ve had a few drinks is not a good
idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I digress… The skirmish led me
to thinking about fights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do you
fight?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you a controlled fighter
(being very careful with your words, not raising your voice, letting the other
person talk) or are you an out-of-control fighter (screaming, hair pulling,
posting pissed off messages on Face Book)? And, most importantly, how do you
resolve your fights?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">First let me say that I believe fighting (not physical of
course) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">can</b> be healthy in a relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is an opportunity to really clear the
air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fighting, done right, can actually
strengthen a relationship because people believe so strongly what they are
saying that a lot of important issues can be handled. As anyone who has been in
a relationship knows, stewing about something or using the silent treatment
really isn’t helpful in resolving issues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Stewing causes resentments and when resentments build up, there can be a
volcanic eruption of emotion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That, most
definitely, is not good for a relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Those huge emotional eruptions can sometimes spin out of control and
uncontrolled fighting is the worst kind…think of that movie War of the Roses!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think most people can agree that fighting is just not
pleasant, whatever kind of fighting you might engage in; however, it is
sometimes it seems unavoidable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, if
you must clear the air, and an adult-level conversation seems out of the
question (because let’s face it, sometimes “talking” about it doesn’t seem to
get the message across), what kind of battle do you engage in?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m pretty sure that how you fight is often rooted in your
culture and how you were raised. Think about it. Some cultures are known for
their fiery temperaments and an impassioned throw down might be acceptable in
their households; whereas, an argument in a Yankee home might consist of the
silent treatment, or cutting someone out of your will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In some cultures a dispute might be resolved
by coming to fisticuffs while in other’s a good game of chess might settle the
matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Personally, my style of fighting depends on whether I’ve had
time to contemplate the situation or not. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I am taken by surprise, I attack back in a
very flustered way with a bunch of unorganized thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get red in the face and can feel my ears
burning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If, however, I’ve had time to
consider the situation and plan it out a bit, my style of fighting is decidedly
different; I am calm and rational. I do not yell, though I do raise my voice to
emphasize my displeasure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I usually have several points to make and I almost never
cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s almost eerie how I am able to
separate my feelings from the argument and remove the emotion when I’m
fighting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure that if I were to cry
during an argument with Emmett, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think he might just concede the fight to
stop me from crying. Hmmm… maybe I should try that tact.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Emmett’s style of fighting has changed a little of the
course of knowing him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we first
met, he would just plain shout if he was trying to drive home a point. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is how he had operated in past
relationships and it had just become a normal way of working through issues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I am not a shouter, I think that over
time, he began to engage more in a discussion should we disagree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are times when he reverts but generally
speaking, he has come over to my way of resolving disagreements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have both come to agree that yelling at
someone is the equivalent of attempting to dominate them with your point of view.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is clear that you are not engaged in
listening if you are too busy yelling.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAYu6XmAOGqNXLsQNlUpO0ELANP0LbxDtTbMTJ4Kx1YwLcqAm70vKns_NrGFijmiwpHENP0aPO4oW_H1nDRmu0DAADeGrJetaLZxuhEzeT7pAvPuiZLkINUOB6FwRp4NyEDiIHx4jPK6Y/s1600/rockpaperscissors.2010.comp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAYu6XmAOGqNXLsQNlUpO0ELANP0LbxDtTbMTJ4Kx1YwLcqAm70vKns_NrGFijmiwpHENP0aPO4oW_H1nDRmu0DAADeGrJetaLZxuhEzeT7pAvPuiZLkINUOB6FwRp4NyEDiIHx4jPK6Y/s200/rockpaperscissors.2010.comp.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An international paper-scissors-rock competition</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My sister Ellie (who lives in Japan) has been with her
husband Toshi for over ten years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
claims that they hardly ever fight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
are both so laid back that it is easy to believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She does admit that they have disagreements
from time to time. When they can’t agree on something, they use the old
paper-scissors-rock (also known as Jan-ken-pon in Japan) to resolve the issue.
Most times it works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked Ellie where
she got that cool idea from and she told me that some businessmen in Japan use
Jan-ken-pon to resolve disputes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now
that is interesting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<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/AVvXsEjSbr_q2xM1Ru7qbZNdLh6SaziJC1d5cb7VKKcp387nqZ6cq3LTsSSQpelXdXj7pcGqdJ9cQnnss-koPqMLWSk0lGCwFqfVo3qfoVMq_ssEmjSCwPiLOtK9Xwx8f2XmjtxbvKXy7XaJyH4/s1600/cezanne.pic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSbr_q2xM1Ru7qbZNdLh6SaziJC1d5cb7VKKcp387nqZ6cq3LTsSSQpelXdXj7pcGqdJ9cQnnss-koPqMLWSk0lGCwFqfVo3qfoVMq_ssEmjSCwPiLOtK9Xwx8f2XmjtxbvKXy7XaJyH4/s200/cezanne.pic" width="161" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Large Trees Under the Jas de Bouffan</em><br />
<em>by </em>Cézanne</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Years ago, a very successful Japanese businessman named Takashi
Hashiyama wanted to auction off an extensive collection of artwork featuring
artists such as <span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Cézanne</span>, Picasso and van Gough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mr. Hashiyama asked both Christie’s and Sotheby’s to submit a proposal
to him of how they would manage the auction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Both auction houses submitted in-depth proposals but in Mr. Hashiyama’s
opinion, they were both equally good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
asked them both to participate in a match of paper-scissors-rock to resolve the
situation <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">explaining
</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"it probably looks strange to others, but I believe this is the best
way to decide between two things which areequally good". <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Christie’s consulted the eleven year old twin daughters of their
international director of impressionists Nicholas Maclean who instructed
Christie’s to pick scissors because everyone expects you to pick rock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sotheby’s said it was a game of chance and
didn’t go with a strategy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They selected
paper. Christie’s won the match and earned millions of dollars in commission.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Emmett and I don’t fight very often, but when we do, it is
often over the most trivial nonsense such as “how to hold a fork when using a
knife to cut your meat,” or “is ain’t a real word?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We do not use the paper-scissors-rock method
but we often use the internet to resolve our disagreements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Google has been a real marriage saver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are usually both so adamant that we are
correct, that we need a non-partisan, objective, way to get the right
answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nine times out of ten, we are
both correct to some degree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the case
of the proper way to use a fork and knife, there is both a European way and an
American way, both perfectly acceptable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In the case of the word ain’t, it’s a newer word added to the dictionary
because it was so commonly used. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
improper but is now a “real” word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Although I still think ain’t sounds ignorant, at best, it is not
improper to use it apparently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In a perfect world there would be no fighting. Everyone
would agree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There would be no wars and
we would live in Utopia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, this
is the real world and disagreements are bound to happen every once in a
while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since fighting does seem to be a
way of life, isn’t it a good idea to examine how it is you fight? Are you
effective in your style of fighting?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is
fighting an exercise in futility or do you gain something positive from an
entirely unpleasant discourse?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one is saying that
paper-scissors-rock resolves all issues, but maybe there are other ways such as
rolling dice, Googling, coin flipping, drawing straws or, maybe even good-old
fashioned talking it out. The argument Emmett and I had this weekend was
resolved by talking it out (and a little yelling on my part to be honest) but
maybe next time we’ll do ten paces at dawn (just kidding!) or tic-tac-toe or
some other way to figure out how to live in peace with each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end though, I guess it isn’t how we
resolve the issues so much as the fact that when we do (because we always do),
the making up is always the best part.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqGYiCu2RTSHy3oH37smhemf8Spo7zO0fgSgcC5kfhlWUguqup1liVvAxGsBFW9MKYVHhGC-C3gS4S8SNlz7fWDiuizDfjMVLpzUd_jGYMo3xG__nN5enZ05ZGWizJaWbv8aU7AUo71Hc/s1600/In+South+Beach.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqGYiCu2RTSHy3oH37smhemf8Spo7zO0fgSgcC5kfhlWUguqup1liVvAxGsBFW9MKYVHhGC-C3gS4S8SNlz7fWDiuizDfjMVLpzUd_jGYMo3xG__nN5enZ05ZGWizJaWbv8aU7AUo71Hc/s320/In+South+Beach.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emmett and me in South Beach, 2006</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-22008301558859006652012-02-11T13:14:00.000-08:002012-02-11T13:14:25.148-08:00Does Your Job Define Who You Are?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpFJG0NLmO4NIOpIiVUgsHDuW0MTf76SQI7xq0oXpHHIc_5jWo-eHRQr_6TamUxah2-7jJMHG8bch6_AS8rODSzIN3kqM08hEG-ymohfg-VL0YdEhjzWoPZxcUWqcI3u7htJjRPez_aY/s1600/jobs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpFJG0NLmO4NIOpIiVUgsHDuW0MTf76SQI7xq0oXpHHIc_5jWo-eHRQr_6TamUxah2-7jJMHG8bch6_AS8rODSzIN3kqM08hEG-ymohfg-VL0YdEhjzWoPZxcUWqcI3u7htJjRPez_aY/s200/jobs.jpg" width="134" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jobs, and what role they play in defining who we are, are on
my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started thinking about the significance
of jobs the other day when my step-daughter Kiera landed her first job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is about to start working part-time as a
hostess in the same restaurant that Emmett and I work at.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today will be the first day of her work life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She will, hopefully, be continuously employed
until she is 65 years old (70 if our government has its way)… so she has
another 49 years of work (give or take) ahead of her, starting today. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t help but hope that those are good,
fulfilled years and not just time spent “making rent.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<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/AVvXsEjI8fH4cuNblipcpX6O9k4PWS9P_tzJMycGV-hmGeJhMkiOTlycQ6fgfWiMl39Bs2JUfYZa2XeFGUdes5YGcPQFNf_YuSSYzzZ9xszGZDslMr3Y3tg7zbplEu6h32z_m0UwxoJHUn0RkjU/s1600/Kiera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8fH4cuNblipcpX6O9k4PWS9P_tzJMycGV-hmGeJhMkiOTlycQ6fgfWiMl39Bs2JUfYZa2XeFGUdes5YGcPQFNf_YuSSYzzZ9xszGZDslMr3Y3tg7zbplEu6h32z_m0UwxoJHUn0RkjU/s200/Kiera.jpg" width="120" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kiera at her Sweet 16</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Statistics state that the average American has seven jobs
(not counting summer jobs and such) in a lifetime. Apparently, I’m above
average.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I count the jobs I’ve had (not
counting babysitting, passing out flyers and house cleaning) since the age of
14, I’ve held 23 jobs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of those, ten
were full time and the remaining were part time jobs that I held while I was a
student or as a second job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s an
impressive amount of jobs that I’ve held.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The scary part is that I’m not done working yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Supposedly, I have another 20 years of work
remaining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a little over halfway
through my work life (unless I hit the lottery).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m exhausted thinking about it! <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now, I am officially unemployed (save for my part time job)
and it’s a strange feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since 1987
when I started working full time, a job has almost always been part of my
identity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you’re introduced to someone outside of
a work setting, one of the first questions someone might ask is: “what is it
you do?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the past I’ve had an answer
for them: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a secretary, I’m an
assistant, I’m a grant manager, I’m an event manager, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a safe question and it gives people a
sense of where on the social scale you belong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Are you worth pursuing a conversation with?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you do something for them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you educated or not?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know it sounds ruthless, but in truth, it
is the way many of us assess others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, what if you don’t have a job?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you still valuable?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you still interesting?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you still a contributing member of
society?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I maintain that the answers
are:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>yes, yes, and yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I submit my mother as the best example I
have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Many years ago, through a series of events, my mother found
herself single with four young girls (ages ranging 1 month to 7 years old).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because she did not have family nearby and no
real support system, she was forced to collect welfare. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother made it her business to ensure we
were raised well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was dedicated to
making sure that we ate an all-natural diet, walking long distances and
hitchhiking (she didn’t have a car) to ensure that she purchased the most
healthy food available for her four girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She made sure that those of us in school went daily and did our assignments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She monitored our TV habits, what music we
listened to, what we wore (she made our clothes herself) and how we
talked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She read us bedtime stories
nightly and discussed the plot lines with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She was unbelievably involved and dedicated.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsMl9FIGQuzhVRPCcs6AO_TqX6sVfx3QEQk1vx21LuIb-Fn0rTQE1NqS5WbugAN2fqBXJlhqxCq4sT3sK5gh3RupHpgXp2Vr90qXBdbjxNPAC0h1thLbKTqkm0oB-dBxCFksBNkAlGyg/s1600/Mom+and+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsMl9FIGQuzhVRPCcs6AO_TqX6sVfx3QEQk1vx21LuIb-Fn0rTQE1NqS5WbugAN2fqBXJlhqxCq4sT3sK5gh3RupHpgXp2Vr90qXBdbjxNPAC0h1thLbKTqkm0oB-dBxCFksBNkAlGyg/s200/Mom+and+girls.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and the four girls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">She has told us many times that she knew it was her job to
raise her four girls so that we would contribute to society.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She knew that if she took a job, that we
would not have the benefit of her 24/7 care and could not be sure that we would
be raised in such a way that she knew would make us well-balanced adults.<o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">While my mom was collecting welfare, she was also busy
figuring out how to improve her life… not wallowing in her poverty. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She hated collecting welfare, coming from a
bunch of blue collar union workers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
decided to look at welfare as a government grant to help her get through these
hard times and feed and clothe her children. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She attended Al-anon meetings, along with other
women who had alcoholic partners, and discovered that in order to really move
on, she needed to get a divorce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mom
couldn’t afford a lawyer (or a car) so she hitchhiked to the Plymouth Library
and to the courthouse to research how to get a divorce without a lawyer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She filed for a divorce (and got one) without
the aid/cost of a lawyer and then assisted other women she knew to do the
same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, my mother helped so many
women, that a Boston news station did a segment on my mother and what she was doing
to help other poor women. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although she
didn’t have a job (per se) she was contributing to society.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When my youngest sister was six months old, my mother met my
step-father (who is eight years younger than her) and she was so interesting,
that he just couldn’t help himself. He fell in love with this unemployed but
very interesting, valuable, and contributing woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He found her fascinating. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wonder, if he had formulated his first impression of her
based on her occupation (or lack thereof), would they have had a
relationship?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, he was not one to
be influenced by occupations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
mattered to him, were the same things that mattered to her: family, love, and a
shared vision for the future.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My mom and dad, through over thirty years of marriage and
many years of hard work (years of owning a health food store, going to school
at nights for acupuncture and herbs, etc.), have created a very successful
Chinese herb distribution business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
mother’s life style is light years away from what it was when we were small
children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has everything that she
used to tell us that she would have some day, and then some.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She and my dad have worked very hard for all
of it (making sacrifices that no one can imagine) and yet, if you were to ask
my mom to describe herself, I’m pretty sure her work and business would come
after:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>wife, mother and artist.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I believe that your
job defines you if you let it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are
the architect of your own image.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
want to be known as a doctor, lawyer or Indian chief (or whatever it is you
are) then that is your choice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
want to be known as a wife, a mother, or an artist or a combination of things,
then that is your choice too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
question is: Does Your Job Define Who You Are?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is my hope that Kiera will have a happy work life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope that she develops a great work ethic
and that she finds a profession that is fulfilling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also hope, for her, that it is not her work
that will ultimately define who she is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I hope that she has a clear vision of who she is outside of the work
setting and that she fully develops interests in other areas of her life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope that she enjoys her work but that it does not consume her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
it consumes her, then those next 49 years might not be as wonderful and
fulfilling as they could be otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-40204009906826117552012-02-03T08:02:00.000-08:002012-02-03T08:14:07.649-08:00Holy Guacamole!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFo-17nrY_BykQLWQIS27Vujwv6bRfa5RDhOqLuMwV6mPDnk2utQEyVEBrCXrUSuNY5N-4m7-2hsFncb1yotR2lg8muECWIpRxRqOJz6cqJReqJYAkW_4h-kldvOon-QD5M3ZsRTzxmg8/s1600/guacamole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFo-17nrY_BykQLWQIS27Vujwv6bRfa5RDhOqLuMwV6mPDnk2utQEyVEBrCXrUSuNY5N-4m7-2hsFncb1yotR2lg8muECWIpRxRqOJz6cqJReqJYAkW_4h-kldvOon-QD5M3ZsRTzxmg8/s200/guacamole.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is Super Bowl weekend and I know my Massachusetts friends
will be fully engaged in massive Super Bowl parties (cheering on the Patriots,
of course).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Food will be plentiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After Thanksgiving dinner, Super Bowl is the
biggest food day of the year for Americans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Chicken wings are at the top of the food chain at Super Bowl parties… in
fact, Americans will be consuming over a billion chicken wings this Sunday!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In an effort to save some of those poor
little chickens, I will humanely release my guacamole recipe (plus some guac
tips to keep the dip fresh).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For years, whenever
there was a party, my friends would ask me if I could bring my guacamole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to admit, it is a really good recipe
(which I learned from a family friend when I was 19 years old).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People have asked me for the recipe
throughout the years and I have obliged (a little begrudgingly because I want
to be known as the one who makes the best guacamole). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, since I am no longer in-State, and
there are big parties planned for Sunday, I feel the time is right to happily reveal
all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Tips:</strong> </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 20.25pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Buy Hass avocados only.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are the best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The large green avocados have too much water
content and do not have the same creaminess that the smaller avocados possess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 20.25pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Shop in advance just in case you can’t find ripe
avocados.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been known to go to
three different stores in a fruitless search for ripe avocados.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you can’t find any ripe avocados (they
should been dark in color and have a little give), then put them in a paper bag
in the pantry with a banana or an apple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They should ripen up within a day
or two as the apples and bananas release gasses that ripen avocados.</span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 20.25pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Don’t prepare your guacamole too far in advance
as it will brown and also, I’ve noticed, flavor can be lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 20.25pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 20.25pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">4. </span>Putting a pit in your guacamole does not
prevent it from turning brown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To keep
your guacamole from turning brown make sure to include lime juice in your
recipe and also put plastic wrap directly on the top of the finished guacamole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will prevent air from discoloring the dip.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 20.25pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The beauty of guacamole is that it is very
flexible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can add or remove
ingredients to suit your own pallet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t use cilantro any longer because my husband doesn’t like cilantro – others
may love cilantro and want to add double the recommended amount. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When my sister Ellie comes to visit, I don’t
add in onions as she hates onions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
you have fresh ingredients and, most importantly, ripe avocados, you really
cannot go wrong.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ingredients (dip will
serve six):</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">3 ripe Hass avocados (mashed… leave a few little lumps)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">1 lime (juiced – about two table spoons of lime juice)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">½ cup of cilantro (roughly chopped)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">2 cloves of garlic (finely diced)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">½ a jalapeno (finely diced)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">½ a red onion (finely diced)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">½ a green pepper (diced)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">2 plum tomatoes (remove seeds and dice)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">1 tablespoon of extra virgin olive </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">½ tablespoon of Kosher salt (adjust to taste)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">½ tablespoon of ground pepper (adjust to taste)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">1 tablespoon of ground cumin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And now for the big reveal!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The secret ingredient that I believe has had life-long haters of guacamole convert
is:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">½
cup of sour cream (lite or full fat).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b>It
just adds that extra umph to the recipe and makes it even creamier.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Take all of the ingredients (the day of the party) and mix
them together very well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will want
to chill the dip ahead of time and serve it with <strong>Tostitos Scoops</strong> (best chips I’ve
yet found for this dip).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Happy game day everyone!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And, remember, don’t forget to cheer for the Pats!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-88592187243284522142012-01-25T13:29:00.000-08:002012-01-25T13:37:38.068-08:00My Secret Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqwxkwzV6VfX3JR72aRgO1Xa7KXO9492VzsGUSE0RVEp4wjW5TMrV02XVDU06CV1C2dmLK0FX0owBx5DYe8F86C6lTf_IZRtUX8IhiByC3j6uAtlA6GG9UvmE0s-93EBBhSI3uQNhz8M/s1600/TrueLies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqwxkwzV6VfX3JR72aRgO1Xa7KXO9492VzsGUSE0RVEp4wjW5TMrV02XVDU06CV1C2dmLK0FX0owBx5DYe8F86C6lTf_IZRtUX8IhiByC3j6uAtlA6GG9UvmE0s-93EBBhSI3uQNhz8M/s200/TrueLies.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">PREFACE:</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For those who know me well, it is no secret that
I tend to write non-fiction. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tend to write
about what has happened to me or to people I know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find that if I write what I know is true
then I don’t have to do too much laborious research, plus the “voice” just
comes off more genuine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back when I was
attending college writing classes, often I was assigned to write fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was always a challenge (as I don’t really
see myself as an imaginative person) but I did find it amusing and sometimes interesting
writing resulted.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The story below, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My
Secret Life,</i> was the result of an assignment to </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“write </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">about something
secret or hidden.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started off
thinking about </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">the movie “True Lies” with Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jamie Lee
Curtis and how he was a computer salesman by day and a government agent by night,
hiding the truth from his wife all the while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The thought of that double-life scenario tickled my imagination a
bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I used the double-life premise
as I started my story, not knowing quite where it would end.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the time I was staying with my mom and dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As often happens, I passed the beginnings of
my story by my mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As always happens,
she contributed to the story (the epiphany, if you will) in such a way that for
a moment, even I thought that I might be able to write fiction… but only for a
moment.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">MY SECRET LIFE<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tonight I come home from work and my wife questions me
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I called the office and they
said you were out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where were you?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She means to sound concerned; I know that
after 20-odd years of marriage, but to my ears it rings of distrust.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Edwards, that bastard, insisted I go with him to see a
dissatisfied client.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like there is
anything I can do at this point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Damage
control he calls it but really, after he botched things up there is nothing I can
do to save his butt.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I take off my
jacket and carefully hang it in the closet hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m always very mindful to take care of my
personal belongings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t need my
wife discovering anything accidentally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Before I close the closet door, I go through my jacket pockets, just to
be sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My fingers touch on something
square and flat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know instantly what
it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A match book… with a motel name
printed on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grasp it between my
thumb and palm and slide it inconspicuously into my front pants pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d get rid of it later.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Really, Laura, we were lucky that Stemco didn’t throw us
out…,” and I go on to continue talking the boring office talk that Laura was
used to and by second minute would listen with half an ear and by the fifth
minute of my yammering if she wasn’t sound asleep, it would be a miracle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had the routine down to a science.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spread sheets, computer crashes, client
complaints, an inadequate staff and the list went on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anything I could think of that I knew would
bore the holy bejesus out of her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get
her mind off of me and what I do with my time.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I go into the living room and clicked the tube on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strategically, I sit by the phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it rings I want to be the one to
answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Laura is always trying to answer
before I can and at this point, it was almost a contest of would could answer
quicker.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The routine is to watch the news after a heavy day at the
office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same stuff night after
night; trucks turning over on highways, kidnappings, murders, police chases,
school boards up in arms, poisonings of some sort, dog bites, floods, water
shortages, plagues and famines – then a humanitarian story thrown in at the
last minute to save us all from taking our lives out of despair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh good, a fireman saved some babies from a
burning orphanage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are some worthy
people in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll put of the
suicide thing a bit longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s my
cynical way of thinking and speaking.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I notice sometime into the news program that dinner is
sitting on the coffee table in front of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Funny, I didn’t see my wife put it there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not very observant for someone who has to
watch their every step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chicken, baked
without the skin, salad with the dressing on the side, boiled rice and sparking
water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Puzzlement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Laura, I think you got our dinners mixed up,
Hun.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hear her shuffling around in the
kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shutters between the
kitchen and living room fly open and she sticks her head through it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looks agitated.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Len, Hun, that is your dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eat it. It’s good for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doctor said you needed to watch your
cholesterol.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It did look pretty tasty, aside
from the salad, but I wasn’t ready to give up the point.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Are you dieting again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Damn it Laura, every time you diet, I lose weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t need to lose any more weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m already a bag of bones.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“If you don’t eat it, you won’t get dessert.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She scowls at me in that funny way of hers
that makes her two eyebrows come together to make one hairy line and her mouth
screw up tight like she’s sucking a lemon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She slams the shutters closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
shrug and dig in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rice is surprisingly garlicky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She knows what I like.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The phone rings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Damn
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It always rings right in the middle
of dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I snatch the phone up before
she can, yelling almost frantically, “I got it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I got it!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yah,” I say into the
phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I identify the caller, I am
particularly glad my wife didn’t answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mostly because I know how a hang-up can ruin a perfectly good evening
for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it ruins it for her, then it
ruins it for me.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I listen to the caller for a minute, yupping and yeahing in
my blasé way but inside I was jazzed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was going to have fun tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
caller had promised as much… but if I wanted to have fun, I had to hurry to the
prearranged destination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a shabby
motel on Route 44 by the name of Red Oaks where last spring some clever high
school kids had rearranged the sign letters to read dORks Motel.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I get up from my quickly chilling dinner and tell a
bold-faced lie to my wife – real sweet and apologetic-like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Gee Hunny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That was Edwards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wouldn’t you
know it… Stemco has had a change of heart and would like to hash things out.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was looking at my suspiciously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wasn’t as dumb as she should be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The only thing is, they don’t want to wait
until tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They want to meet over
dinner tonight.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At least I was quick on
my feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She brightens up at the thought
of dinner out.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Great, Len.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just let
me wrap up the food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can have it
tomorrow… maybe in a casserole or something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ll put on my new green dress and, if you can spare another couple of
minutes, I’ll just touch up this haystack,” she said tousling her short blond hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swallow hard and stop her tracks from the
kitchen to the bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lay a gentle
hand on her shoulder, which noticeably stiffens when I explain the situation.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Sorry Hun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This really
is a sensitive issue and there is a lot of top secret stuff we are going to be
discussing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh Laura-babe, don’t look at
me like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one’s wives are
going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Edwards said so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’d be bored silly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, I shouldn’t be all that late.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured I could make excuses if she caught
me coming in a 3:00 a.m. but hopefully, she would be out cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She jerked away from me, mumbling that she
had better things to do that evening anyway, and kept her tracks to the bedroom,
slamming the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a moment I
wondered what she meant by her remark but I figured she was probably just being
sour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt kind of sorry for her, but
it couldn’t be helped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in a hurry.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My discomfort for deceiving Laura lingered only a
moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought distastefully about
the fact that what sleep I might actually get tonight would likely be on the
living room sofa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, my mind was full
of the promised excitement that the next several hours held and my guilt
faded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a wonder I didn’t crash driving
to the motel, I was so charged up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
could almost taste the testosterone flowing.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I pull into the dirt lot that served as the motel’s
parking lot and momentarily glanced at the establishment’s sign. They had fixed
the “dORks Motel” back to “Red Oaks Motel.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I saw a light shining from Room 2; the usual room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw a face peering out with expectation
written all over it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took a quick look
at myself in the rear view mirror; not much to the surface, but beneath I knew
what I was capable of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went around to
the trunk and took out the black gym bag that I kept there in anticipation of
these nights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bag was heavy and
bulged with the tools of my deception to my wife.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While I stuff my car keys into my pocket, I thought that I
felt like Superman. I was mild-mannered on the outside, but with a secret life;
able to leap tall buildings in a single bound – well not really, but it
sometimes felt like it… particularly on these special nights.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I approached Room 2, the door opened with
expectation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The evening had begun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Len, what took you so long?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I explained that I had to make excuses to the
wife and there had been a minor traffic accident and rubberneckers had slowed
me down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stepped into the room and sat
of the edge of the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Same ugly
patched up job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The curtains didn’t even
match.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A drink was handed to me – scotch
and soda.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You know what I like.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I smiled appreciatively.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“That’s why I called you here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought I might be able to put some
excitement into your otherwise mundane existence.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tattered old shade was pulled and the
light from the bedside table reflected crazily about the room.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Yeah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t go through with it this
afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just knew I’d get caught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wife’s all over me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She doesn’t miss a trick.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took a large gulf of my drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It went down smooth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As excited I as I was about the whole
prospect of the night, I was nervous as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It had been a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hoped
I would be satisfied.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Just remember…it’s like riding a bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You never forget it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Edwards laughed and slid something long and
hard into my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you think you can
handle it?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked me a gleam in his
eye.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“It’s been a long time Eddy… a real long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might just choke.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t have to look down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could feel the taught skin covering a
package which promised delight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
naughty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t say no to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was addicted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mind was going wild with the expectation
of the pleasure of my vice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just hoped
that my wife wouldn’t find me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her
skin would crawl if she knew what I was up to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’d never let me forget my filthy behavior and lack of respect for
myself, my body and her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, she would
never find me out because I intended on taking a shower to wash away my sins –
plus gargle and brush my teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank
goodness I had remembered my trusty gym bag.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I laid back and raised the Havana to my
expectant lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boy, did it taste
great!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took a long drag and blew a
lazy blue smoke ring while contemplating how my wife would never understand.
She had promised the doctor I would quit smoking, and as far as she knew, I had.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-3377042408454433422012-01-19T07:51:00.000-08:002012-01-19T07:51:37.832-08:00The One That Got Away<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDEdNV5NRf-ZGMJSNyW0NYvK8jnC6ILxlf3_H-CrIYIRJ2rMjDg00JL6Tck3ePmit7wZ0gwFFrPOY_JlRsE0loNe2FBw52oQp8dv6EKH0Rq3z_ogQzRtMKqPU2InVpcp2tyosvupv1b5c/s1600/tootsie-pop-owl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDEdNV5NRf-ZGMJSNyW0NYvK8jnC6ILxlf3_H-CrIYIRJ2rMjDg00JL6Tck3ePmit7wZ0gwFFrPOY_JlRsE0loNe2FBw52oQp8dv6EKH0Rq3z_ogQzRtMKqPU2InVpcp2tyosvupv1b5c/s200/tootsie-pop-owl.jpg" width="179" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you have ever dated, and especially if you have dated as
prolifically as I have, you may have experienced “the one that got away.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For all of those who do not know, “the one
that got away” is that special someone you dated who, for some reason, never seemed to work out…no matter how hard you tried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was always some obstacle; be it
distance, age, work schedules, or that universal reason of “not being the
right time.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sigh.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Over dinner last night, I polled my husband and my in-laws
(Tom and Judy) about whether they had “one that got away.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, I admit it, my polling system is
intrinsically flawed but I thought that the wine and beer had lubricated
their jaws enough that they would fess up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No such luck. Everyone claimed that they were with the one they were
meant to be with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A huge sigh of relief
from me, being that one of them was my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
Is that true</span>? Do they really believe they are with the one that was meant to be?</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">They all said, and I’m combining their
statements to paraphrase, that<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>when things
are going well, of course there isn’t the “one that got away.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When things are less than perfect, there is a
possibility of an ex or two coming to mind... however, when it came down to brass tacks, they were all happy and there was no "one that got away."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I, of course, am ridiculously honest, especially when I
drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tortured poor Emmett by blurting out
that I had “one that got away,” and wondered if he could guess who it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He guessed wrong twice!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeez!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Shows how much he pays attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was not “my first love” (that deserves a blog posting all of its
own).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was not the gorgeous personal
trainer (he ruined any possibility of being "the one that got away" when he gave me exercise equipment for
Valentine’s Day).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a colleague of
mine who worked in Chicago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why was he
“the one that got away?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 273.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is a good question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was not very attentive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was far away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was older than me by nine years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was divorced with three teenagers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was absolutely unavailable and that, was
the reason it didn’t work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, he
was gorgeous (in a Marlborough man kind of way); made a good living; was
brilliant, funny and charming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that
was the reason I tried to make it work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think, if I were to guess (which I am) why he garnered the status of "the one that got away,"
it comes down to a lethal cocktail of him not being available
(emotionally or physically) and me not having closure with the situation (we
never did talk about our break up… he just moved to California).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those elements combined made him “the one
that got away.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 273.75pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You can’t make sense of “the one
that got away.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The one that got away,”
holds a special crazy spot in your heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am completely in love with my husband – 100% in love, and yet, when
I heard from Mr. Chicago last year, via an email, my heart skipped a beat… for
about the next three hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wasn’t
trying to seduce me (he is married now as well); he was just touching base to
see how I was doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, I had to
wonder, was I the “one that got away” for him too?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, if so, how is it that two people who
have that “one that got away" feeling were not able to work it out?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like Mr. Owl in the Tootsie Pop
commercial: ‘“one, two, three… (crunch)”… the world may never know.’</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am happy knowing that things
worked out the way they were meant to be. I am confident that all of those barriers that
were in place during the relationship with Mr. Chicago, would be even larger
now had we progressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am happy with
Emmett. Bizarrely enough, we overcame of those same barriers I had faced with Mr. Chicago. Emmett lived
in Florida, was divorced and had two daughters and was younger than me by
six years; and yet we are together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do
you know why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because, we both wanted to
be with each other and distance, age and ex relationship baggage didn’t matter enough to keep us apart. The reason that
“the one that got away" exists, is that someone didn’t want the relationship
badly enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-80363944646101838852012-01-14T11:15:00.000-08:002012-01-15T21:10:56.032-08:00Who Are You For?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgbXPis1WVMq6zBPfNcXD6_izZ_A104DSqUaxtXmZbDWMNS7AeY1B5B8CUpVOx0yLXvajB_Ua1tjRoJNBFRYb8KrsCZ3kgkDI6qL2oFUoE7RKMMQBeucvdIeTk0WE3mouC334Lr9IQdg/s1600/alabama_2011_national_champs_car_flag_66747big.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgbXPis1WVMq6zBPfNcXD6_izZ_A104DSqUaxtXmZbDWMNS7AeY1B5B8CUpVOx0yLXvajB_Ua1tjRoJNBFRYb8KrsCZ3kgkDI6qL2oFUoE7RKMMQBeucvdIeTk0WE3mouC334Lr9IQdg/s200/alabama_2011_national_champs_car_flag_66747big.jpg" width="185" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In Montgomery people will often decide whether or not you
are socially acceptable to hang out with based on the answer to one question. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first question many locals will ask is
not “what is your family name,” nor is it “what do you do”; it is “who are you
for?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alabama is ALL about college
football, specifically the University of Alabama (Roll Tide!) or Auburn
University (War Eagle!) teams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People
will literally, and I do mean literally, decide if they want to be your friend
based on which team you are “for.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve
even heard of instances where someone will turn around and walk away without
another word if the wrong team name is uttered during introductions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess even southern hospitality has its
limits.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is commonplace to see cars with all sorts of bumper
stickers, tags and flags (often all on one car) declaring everlasting love for
one of the local college teams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People
will actually choose the color of their car based on their college team colors
(crimson for UA and orange for AU).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There seem to be an unusually high ratio of crimson and orange cars in
Alabama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many houses sport flags and
door mats declaring their team of choice. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t seen a crimson or orange house yet
but am braced for it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On occasion, you will
hear the term a “house divided” which refers to a household where the wife is
“for” one team while the husband is “for” another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a flag for that too! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People joke about the fact, that it is more
contentious to be in a relationship of “a house divided” than it is to be of
different political parties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s how
serious the locals take their college football. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_PyxCxPhlMOr1JEIW_iLGthNsBUGhu5j3m767R8PdHHNoLw0Sni_wWAC551dzIc8_ioVpkQgL7XJt8Kfk9f9LCho5WBGeg0HBUeEX7cycpzKDNExqlszYQaIn61fB_0rVUyoFatEVNQ/s1600/house_divided_flag_alabama_vs__auburn_65551big.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid_PyxCxPhlMOr1JEIW_iLGthNsBUGhu5j3m767R8PdHHNoLw0Sni_wWAC551dzIc8_ioVpkQgL7XJt8Kfk9f9LCho5WBGeg0HBUeEX7cycpzKDNExqlszYQaIn61fB_0rVUyoFatEVNQ/s200/house_divided_flag_alabama_vs__auburn_65551big.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Boston sports fans are known for being some of the most
supportive (if not fanatic), however, after observing the local sports fervor
in Montgomery, I contend that Boston sports fans come in a close second.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Having lived in Massachusetts for most of my life (with a
brief stint in NYC), I know all about sporting rivalries… Red Sox vs. Yankees,
Patriots vs. Jets, Bruins vs. Rangers, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, all of those teams are separated by geography.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the case of UA and AU, there is no such
differentiation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both teams are in the
state of Alabama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I still have not completely figured out how people decide
who they are for but I suspect it comes down to who your family traditionally
routed for and/or whether someone attended one of the schools.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It could be that people decide who they are
“for” based on something completely random.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I submit my husband Emmett as a prime example.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Emmett, back when he was single and 18, decided he was for
Alabama after he met a pretty girl at a party and she was a huge Alabama
fan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time, he had no idea about
the rivalry of UA and AU.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He just wanted
to date the girl; lucky for him he said “Alabama.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once he had declared who he was for, that was
it; he never looked back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is now the
biggest Alabama fan there is. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would
rather go to regular season Alabama game than the Super Bowl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think he actually shed a tear when they
lost to LSU earlier this year and I’m pretty sure he shed tears of happiness
when they won the BCS Championship last week. It’s like I said, completely
random.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When asked, who am I for?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I respond “Alabama of course!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Roll Tide!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s become a knee
jerk reaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am an Alabama fan by
marriage/default; it is for the preservation of my marriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not 100% sure that Emmett could accept
it if I decided to switch teams and declare my love for Auburn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s not in the market for a "house divided”
flag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As an aside: Kudos to both teams!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alabama was the 2009 BCS Champions; Auburn
was the 2010 BCS Champions and Alabama is the 2011 BCS Champions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three years running the BCS Champions have
been state of Alabama teams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a
lot to be proud of.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, if you happen to visit us, and someone asks you who are
you “for,” it may be just polite conversation, or it may be someone is
determining whether or not you are worthy to befriend.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0F8O5K7danqDAvVhl03F9iEmpveknXIg3olcziEm5mjRBnKafUptE9Jw1QJl-TzuFjfyvLg6lk5-vl-o13HjD9JNSs1Hr6wHxGY5UbVm5uVUSIYQVci48hBGqcNFFusyj-PUz8NZnLK0/s1600/auburn_2010_football_champs_banner_flag_60507big.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0F8O5K7danqDAvVhl03F9iEmpveknXIg3olcziEm5mjRBnKafUptE9Jw1QJl-TzuFjfyvLg6lk5-vl-o13HjD9JNSs1Hr6wHxGY5UbVm5uVUSIYQVci48hBGqcNFFusyj-PUz8NZnLK0/s200/auburn_2010_football_champs_banner_flag_60507big.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-40287795835997113462012-01-07T13:12:00.000-08:002012-01-07T13:21:27.296-08:00Rapunzel and the Hot Air Balloon<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Rapunzel and the Hot Air Balloon by Olivia Rose on Christmas 2002</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This past week, I wrote about the power of choice and I
noted that I’m not sure I ever realized until this year how much choice really
played a part of change – that’s not entirely true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been moments of self-empowerment
throughout my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been
times when my inner fire has been sparked by something or someone who inspired
me to make the choice to change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes the inspiration came from my bathroom scale; usually that’s
when I would join Weight Watchers and drop twenty pounds or so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes it was Oprah reminding me (and all
of America) that just because you were born into a situation doesn’t mean you
can’t change it. “You go girl!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The most
unlikely, and powerful inspiration came on Christmas Day 2002.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a personal Christmas miracle, if you
will.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To set the scene: My family was gathered around my parents’
Christmas tree in the early morning of December 25, 2002.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents, my sisters Tanya and Kalliope , her
three year old daughter Olivia and I were happily listening to Christmas music
piping over the radio airwaves, eating delicious cinnamon rolls, lounging in
our pajamas and unwrapping gifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had
just talked to Ellie who was had moved to Japan and couldn’t be with us for
Christmas that year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents’ little
Norwich terrier Flirt (or Flirty boy as we liked to call him) was just nosing
around on the floor for cinnamon flavored crumbs; he sported a big green bow on
his head that someone had removed from their gift and attached to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In our family, we like to take turns, usually youngest to
oldest, selecting a gift from below the Christmas tree and handing it to the
person for whom the gift is intended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
this way, everyone has a chance to admire all of the gifts and not just rip through
them unceremoniously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It takes a bit
longer than everyone just rushing in and grabbing their own gifts but,
personally, I don’t like to rush Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It only comes once a year, after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was Olivia’s turn to select a gift and hand it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the first year that she really got the
concept of taking turns and she was super excited every time her turn came
around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time, she selected a flat,
rectangle shaped gift and handed it to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I looked at the tag and it was from her – but I knew that anyway; her
big smile gave it away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The gift was wrapped beautifully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mom (or Nona as the grandkids call her)
had helped Olivia wrap the gift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Carefully, I opened the gift, wondering what treasure my niece had given
to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so enamored of Olivia, she
honestly could have given me anything and I would have been delighted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a white plastic-framed blue
painting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked closely and saw that
there were white clouds and green pine trees and large round purple object in
the middle with a little purple square below it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There seemed to be a little person painted
just below the square and the person had very long dark hair flowing down to
the ground (as though the person had two black pony tails).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t exactly sure what the painting
depicted but I knew that Olivia had painted (that was pretty clear).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mom had been teaching her how to paint on
canvas for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s beautiful
Olivia!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I exclaimed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is it?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I should probably have known. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Auntie, it is Rapunzel and the Hot Air Balloon.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was puzzled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“O, why is Rapunzel in a hot air
balloon?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew there had to be a story
behind the painting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Olivia put her
little hands on her tiny hips and said, almost indignantly, “Because Auntie…
she was tired of waiting for the prince to save her and she decided to save
herself.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My eyebrows shot up (they
would have gone through the ceiling if that had been possible).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the mouth of babes came the statement that
coursed through my entire body as though it were intravenously injected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“She was tired of waiting for the prince to
save her and she decided to save herself,” I repeated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was such an amazing statement and from such a small
child. How could she know what I had failed to realize for over thirty
years?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had always thought of myself as
being an independent woman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was proud
of the fact that I never depended on a guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In fact, I had been told by many a friend that maybe that was why I was
still single… I never let a guy know I needed him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could fix most things around my house and
if I couldn’t, I could pay a professional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, the truth was that I had held out a little on the
self-declaration of independence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had always wanted
to own a home but thought that I would have to wait until I met the right guy
to do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought I would need his
income, his support and his help around the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had thought “what if I bought a house and
then met a guy that had a house?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
would I do then?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had all of these
imaginary scenarios bumping around in my head as though they had any basis in
reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reality was that I was 35,
single and had no prince charming in sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If I wanted to own a home (which at that point was probably my number
one desire), then I was going to have to do it myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Waiting around for my prince to come to the
“rescue” was no longer an option.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
would rescue myself and assert the last piece of my independence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That January, under the steam of the inspiration from a
three year old sage and through a generous gift from my parents, I was able to
purchase a beautiful townhouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the
end of February, I was moved into the house that I would live in for eight
years – four of which would be with my future husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first thing I hung in my new home, was
the painting “Rapunzel and the Hot Air Balloon.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throughout the years, the painting has served
as a visual reminder of the power of choice and true independence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Nine years after that personal Christmas
miracle, I am in my new home, in a new state with my husband Emmett.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday, as I attempted to organize my
writing room, I knew I needed a little inspiration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reached for my own hot air balloon and hung
it on my wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inspiration is now but a
glance away.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Emmett, Olivia and me on Christmas Eve 2009</span></div>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-79330648229164503742012-01-05T11:26:00.000-08:002012-01-05T16:35:50.364-08:002011 - The Year of the Power of Choices<span style="font-family: Calibri;">2012 has dawned and as most people look forward to the new
year, I would like to take a few moments to look back and review the year of
amazing changes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can safely say that
2011 was the most eventful year of my life… more changes occurred in 2011 than
I thought were even possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I
think of all that has happened, I wonder how it was possible?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How is it that so much can get accomplished
in one little year?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As Emmett and I were driving to work yesterday (we both
work at a local restaurant called Roux), we were talking about how surreal it
still is that we are living in Alabama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We’ve only been here just over a month, so I suppose it’s not that odd
that we should still be scratching our heads and asking what the heck
happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How is it that we ended up in
Montgomery, Alabama (of all places) from Plymouth, Massachusetts (or
Master-two-shits as they call it down here)?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I can safely say that one year ago, or even six months ago, Montgomery,
AL was not on our radar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So what
happened?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What follows reads a bit like
one of those Christmas letters that families send out… better that than a fruit
cake I guess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">January 2011:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
a new year and Emmett and I had made a resolution that we were going to make a
much needed change in our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were
living at White Cliffs in a nice two-bedroom townhouse but were paying an exorbitant
$800+ a month for club and condo fees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
did not include our mortgage payment. We were hemorrhaging money with no end in
sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had been trying to sell the
property for over two years with little to no interest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only way out was to give the townhouse
back to the bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We just weren’t sure
what the time line would be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It almost didn’t matter though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were resolved to make a change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We decided we would look for a new place to
live and let the bank deal with their time line in their own time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">February 2011:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
heard from the bank that held our mortgage and they agreed to a deed in lieu
and notified us that we would have to move at some point soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It could be eight weeks or it could be six
months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t have a move date for
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett and I had been looking for
suitable rentals and we finally found one that we could both agree on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was smaller than we really liked (with no
storage space at all), but it was closer to the train station for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was commuting a total of four hours a
day, even twenty minutes a day closer made all the difference in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">March 2011:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We moved
into our new home (rental).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was quite
the effort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had lived in my townhouse
for eight years so there was a lot of “stuff” to either move or divest myself of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett and I had a lot of help from his
friends Brian and Thanh and from my friend Laura.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were virtual pack mules for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They got us moved into our new home, set up
with a wood stove, unpacked and set up in no time at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">During this time, my work situation was unraveling
quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had told my boss back in
December that I would be looking for a new job as I could sense that the
Department had changed and there really wasn’t a position for me there any
longer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was now three months later
and my boss was anxiously awaiting my announcement that I would be moving
on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t happening as soon as
either of us would like and she was beginning to apply pressure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">April 2011: Emmett came home one day and announced to Kylie
and me that we would be getting a kitten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He had wanted one for a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We already had Pussen but Emmett felt that she needed a playmate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had tried to introduce full grown cats to
Pussen before but with very little success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just picture the Tasmanian Devil x 2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I worried for the
safety of a kitten but Emmett assured me it would be fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In mid-April he brought Koko home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was just eight weeks old and cute as
could be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little brindle (black, red,
blonde, white) with huge eyes and a propensity for “trilling.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right away we took to Koko.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was great with her litter box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She liked to sleep on my chest at night and
she had the loudest purr any of us had ever heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was happy and so were we.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kylie loved her and it made her happy
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a week and half of Pussen
hissing and swatting at Koko (and Koko swatting back at Pussen), we came into
the living room one day to see the two of them cuddled up together
sleeping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett was right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be fine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
BFF's</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">May 2011:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In early May Emmett took a trip to Montgomery
for a Texas Steak House reunion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Years
ago he had worked at the local (now defunct) restaurant and made a ton of
friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back in the day, they were all
a bunch of young kids, partying and having a crazy time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now they were full grown adults,
reconnecting, partying and having a crazy time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was a great trip for Emmett has reconnected with a lot of old
friends and started networking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Directly
after returning from Montgomery, Emmett started a new job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a service and operations manager for
EMG Surgical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a good job as it
paid well and was a Monday – Friday, 8:00 – 5:00 job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett had craved a job with normal hours for
a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were both really
grateful for the timing of this job.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">June 2011:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While Emmett
was busy settling into his job, my boss was busy figuring out ways to make me
want to quit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been hired as a
grant manager back in 2007 but was suddenly being made to clean out offices,
dust file cabinets, move a library of books around and pretty much do what no
one else wanted to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clearly I was
being pressured to quit on my own. There was no cause to fire me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My reviews had always been above
average.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My attendance was great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turned out there was just a personality
conflict.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My boss asked to meet with me
and offered me my same job but at a $10K salary cut and a one year (unprotected)
contract.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously, I declined her “deal.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that point, my boss told me that I would
be laid off then as of September.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
was great news for me because I was not interested in continuing to work with
my boss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Harvard offers an amazing
layoff package and helps to find their laid off employees new jobs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was thrilled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was also thrilled to learn that the deed
in lieu had gone through earlier that month and that I was no longer a home
owner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">July 2011:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kiera
(Emmett’s oldest daughter) had arrived at the end of June and was settling into
hanging out with us for the summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
was really sad as she had left her boyfriend of two years behind in Indiana and
her mom was now moving to Montgomery, Alabama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She tried really hard to keep her chin up but she was clearly bummed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even trips to the beach didn’t help
much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kylie was missing her mom who she
had only seen once during the past year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I could feel that change needed to happen again but I didn’t know
exactly what that meant for us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took a little
weekend trip away (with eleven girlfriends) to Martha’s Vineyard for Shark
Weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The weekend was meant to help
me relax and get away from “real life.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All I could think about that weekend though was how unhappy the girls
seemed and how I wanted to help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the
way back from Martha’s Vineyard, as I stood on the bow of the ferry talking to
my friend Lisa, I suddenly had a revelation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What if Emmett and I moved to Montgomery?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as I had the thought, I knew 100%
that we would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just made sense. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My job was ending; most of Emmett’s relatives
lived in Montgomery; most of the girls’ relatives lived in Montgomery too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we moved to Montgomery, the girls would
have both of their parents nearby for the first time since they were small
children. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett spoke to his ex-wife
who agreed that if we moved to Montgomery, she would be agreeable to a 50/50
custody agreement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That sweetened the
pot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">August 2011:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a
plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We knew that sometime in either
December or January we would be moving to Montgomery, Alabama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn’t know all of the details but we
would work them out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We always did, didn’t
we?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A fly in the ointment popped up. In
mid-August my boss called me into her office to tell me that she was not going
to lay me off and then proceeded to give me a warning for some imagined
infraction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was clear to me that she
was now going to try and fire me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If she
fired me, I would not be able to use Harvard as a reference and I would have no
support from them at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a bit
panicked to be truthful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This could
really mess with our plans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called my
union representative and explained what was going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I contacted Human Resources and got them
involved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know what, if
anything could be done to help me but I was not going to sit by and just be unceremoniously
fired because someone didn’t like me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">September 2011:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Started with my 45<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> birthday party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So many friends and family came by the house
to wish me well. We grilled and cooked and drank and partied. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We listened to great music and danced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By this point everyone knew our plans to
move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of our friends were really
supportive and some were vocal in the fact that they thought we were making a
mistake. Isn’t it always like that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
want 100% support from everyone but there’s always someone who thinks they know
what’s best for you (and it doesn’t seem to be what you have planned).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
mid-September, my work situation cleared itself up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would be leaving Harvard (after over six
years) in mid-October and it was on my own volition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had worked it out so that I would be able
to move to Montgomery in late November without hardship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The move plans were on!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">October 2011:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett
gave his notice to EMG Surgical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave
my notice to Sushi Joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I finished up my
job at Harvard and left peacefully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was a weird feeling to walk out of the building I had been in for so long and
know that I was not going to return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
I drove out of Boston on my last day of work, I opened my car window and shouted
“Woo Hoo!” at the top of my lungs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
commuting days were over!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dealing with
an unhappy boss was over!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really was
starting a new life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of
October, Emmett and I took a long weekend trip to Montgomery to house
hunt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We thought we might want to rent something
in East Montgomery as that’s where the girls lived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During that weekend, we viewed about seven
homes in East Montgomery and nothing was right for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I liked it, Emmett hated it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If Emmett liked it, I hated it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We knew we had to have a house that we both
liked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had transitioned from thinking
we might rent to thinking that if the right situation came along, we would
probably do an owner finance situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On Monday, just hours before we were going to board the
plane and go back to Massachusetts, my sister-in-law Judy suggested we look at
two houses on the street behind her house (which is in the Old Cloverdale part
of town).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both houses were for sale and
one was also available for rent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
was no mention of owner finance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett
and I resolved that if we had to rent, because owner finance was not available,
then we probably would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took a look
at the first house which on the outside was beautiful but was a hot mess on the
inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The price was amazing --
$60K!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We could buy it without owner
finance but it would take us years to get the house into any kind of suitable living
condition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we looked at the house
next to it – the house that was also for rent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as I stepped
over the threshold, I knew in my heart of hearts that this was THE place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a yellow shingled Cape style house and
made me feel as though I were at home in Massachusetts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The house had hardwood floors, plantation
shutters, granite counter tops, huge bedrooms for everyone and even a writing
room for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did what no one should
ever do in front of a real estate agent; I ran around the house screaming about
everything I loved about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best
part though was that the house backed up to Tom and Judy’s backyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What were the chances?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s as though it were meant to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only question remained though, could we
afford it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We asked about renting the
house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be $1,250 a month; the
same as what we paid for the much smaller house in Massachusetts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The real estate agent asked if we were
interested in buying the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were
but our credit was shot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We filled out
the rental application and headed back to Massachusetts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We really hoped that we would be able to at
least rent this property.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
beautiful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we got off the
plane in Boston, Emmett’s phone rang, it was the real estate agent and he let
us know that the owners were willing to finance us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The house was ours if we wanted it and for a
total of $950 a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We could not
believe how well things were coming together. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">November 2011:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
month flew by like crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett
finished up his job at EMG Surgical and I finished up my job at Sushi Joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was officially unemployed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basically I had worked non-stop since I had
been 14 years old and it just felt weird to no longer have to report to
someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were so busy packing though
that there was not a moment to relax.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At
the same time, as though I was not busy enough, I had decided that I would
start on my life- long ambition to write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I started this blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then one
day, the movers came and our house was empty. All of our belongings (other than
two suitcases full of clothes and our cats) were on their way to
Montgomery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We cleaned up our rental and
drove to our friend Laura’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
would host us for our final week in Massachusetts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Laura and her children were amazing. They never acted as
though we were putting them out at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We were treated like royalty in her home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was the best week ever spending all of that time with her and the
kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it was possible, we grew even
closer that week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that when the
day came for me to board that plane (with a one way ticket), it would be really
hard on my friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was hard on
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Laura is even more nostalgic than I
am, so I knew it would be hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I
can say about this is that it was one of my top two hardest goodbyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both shed a bucket of tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our friend Joe showed up at 6:00 a.m., as
requested, loaded Emmett, me and our cats into his truck and drove us to the
airport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so grateful for his
helpfulness and cheerful attitude that morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t think I could have stood it if he had been a crabby morning
person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A small note about traveling
with cats:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ours were as good as could be expected
(thanks to kitty Xanax) and they survived the trip but it is super stressful on
both the owner and the cat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The poor
things were put into one storage container and didn’t see the light of day
(other than being pulled out by TSA to ensure that we had not packed a cat bomb
or something) for seven hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope we never have to do it again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I admit that when the plane
took off from Boston and I saw the beautiful, shining city disappear through the
clouds, I did shed a few tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
thought that I had formulated on the ferry on the warm July day had come to
fruition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was Alabama bound.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">December 2011:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett’s girls were thrilled that their dad
was now living in Alabama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They came
over the house to see what their new rooms looked like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rooms were perfect for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kiera’s had loads of closet space and Kylie’s
had an attic playroom attached (a life-long wish of hers).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The movers had not yet arrived and so the
house was empty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our cars had not even
left Massachusetts as there had been a hiccup in the transportation plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The household belongings would arrive in five
days and the cars a few days later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
the meantime, we bought a King sized bed and put it in our empty bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tom and Judy lent us a few chairs and some
other household items so that we could at least stay in our house – albeit camping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within the first two weeks of arriving in
Montgomery, we had our household basically set up and our cars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We even managed to land part time jobs
waiting tables at a local restaurant called Roux.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow we even managed to find a Christmas
tree farm and buy a gorgeous tree and decorate that as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We hosted Christmas in our new
home for most of Emmett’s family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
a beautiful day and everyone was super excited that we were there with
them. I tried to implement touches of my mother's Christmas (big tree, delicious food all day long, stockings, and taking turns picking out gifts to hand out).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of the weekend, several
of Emmett’s family members had exclaimed that it was the best Christmas that
they had in years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Kiera and Kylie were glowing from happiness. </span>It was really great
to know that we had not only changed our lives for the better but our family’s
as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had hoped that we had made
the right choices throughout the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was becoming more and more clear that our instincts were right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one year we: moved twice, got a kitten,
got jobs, lost jobs, got jobs again, lost a house,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>bought a house, figured out the custody of
children and moved out of state… in no particular order.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: right 6.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Here we are, one year after making our resolution to change. </span>We are settling in nicely in our new
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett is actively seeking a full
time position in the restaurant management world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am also looking for a new employment
opportunity but will be very selective in what it is I choose to do and who it
is I work for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have come so far in this
past year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have come to realize that I
do not want to have a four hour crazy commute (my commute now is less than five
minutes each way); I do not want to live in a house that I am paying out of my
eyes for and that has no storage space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I know now that I have choices and that the choices I make can really
change my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure that I knew
the power of choices before this year. This year has shown that if you
really want to change, it is your choice whether you make it happen or
not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot wait to see what this next
year brings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One thing I do know is that
it can’t possibly be as chalk full of changes as this year has been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just not possible… or is it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-2bYDYus4nHF_kp5rw0meO_gv3KELviwjY4_oyxih5FjYbX5ZKfEmYb82qKdrsUat34xkGTlkRVjqHZ6JE6t9C8Jcg0s3yzOJTuPwwLnaAmEG8Sn4OQb4A2Sbzvhyv8ToRFg9INXCdo/s1600/378986_2567934129401_1585632912_2333840_2109145222_n%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9-2bYDYus4nHF_kp5rw0meO_gv3KELviwjY4_oyxih5FjYbX5ZKfEmYb82qKdrsUat34xkGTlkRVjqHZ6JE6t9C8Jcg0s3yzOJTuPwwLnaAmEG8Sn4OQb4A2Sbzvhyv8ToRFg9INXCdo/s320/378986_2567934129401_1585632912_2333840_2109145222_n%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Our new home!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-44755156258146439372011-12-31T13:09:00.000-08:002011-12-31T13:15:03.812-08:00The Story of How We Met<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Q6AGFj6apIjL2aA8H9dBXloA23KyjBB7BCWWDPm0yAxc96Tb5dT1l4GlXZqfJWbI1E_nlAUsXuWodIxBSqrOxhwVDLVqQpdcTq3sdY8Ok8mlxpmXiG5B02kgu0RpEoT7z7ExUOxLrIE/s1600/Our+first+kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_Q6AGFj6apIjL2aA8H9dBXloA23KyjBB7BCWWDPm0yAxc96Tb5dT1l4GlXZqfJWbI1E_nlAUsXuWodIxBSqrOxhwVDLVqQpdcTq3sdY8Ok8mlxpmXiG5B02kgu0RpEoT7z7ExUOxLrIE/s1600/Our+first+kiss.jpg" /></a></div>
Photo taken the first night Emmett and I met. Its our first kiss. Sam is to my right.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Throughout the many (and I do mean many) years of dating,
one desire always prevailed… I wanted an interesting story of “how we met.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously, everyone thinks their “how we met”
story is interesting because it so personal to them; I just wanted our story to
be a fascinating one… different from all of the others. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a story teller so it was frightening for
me to think that I might not have a story to tell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it turns out, I had nothing to worry
about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The story of how Emmett and I met
has regaled many… all I have ever needed to say is “I married my bellman.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In October 2005, a group of girlfriends and I had decided to
do a “girly girl” weekend in Miami for Columbus Day Weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The group consisted of Laura, Jessica, Sophia
and me – four women with a mission to forget all of our responsibilities and
just have a wonderful time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of us
had a thought about meeting anyone in South Beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For those who do not know, South Beach is
akin to San Francisco or Provincetown in terms of the male gay population.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all figured we would have a great time and
maybe hang out with some <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fabulous</i> new
friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once we arrived in Miami, we checked into the Miami Loews
Hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sits right on the main stretch of the
beach and is about as glamorous a hotel as you would comfortably want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has a huge private pool (overlooking the
ocean) where guests can cool off and lounge showing off their designer bathing
suits and new post op bodies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The lobby
of the hotel is done in all granite (or is it marble… I never do know the
difference) and everything gleams, including the staff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is impressive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We valeted our car and at once a tall, nice looking bellman
approached and asked us if he could assist us with our bags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure he realized what he was getting
into offering to assist four women with their weekend luggage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Believe me when I tell you that the number of
bags went into the double digits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still,
our bellman (who sported the name tag “Emmett”) was cheerful as could be and
before we knew it our bags were up in our room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>During this time, I had received a call from my bank as I was working out
a car loan with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was otherwise
diverted and did not notice that Emmett was spending an extraordinary amount of
time showing the other girls around the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Later Emmett would say that he literally spent 45 minutes showing Laura,
Jessica and Sophia all the amenities the room had to offer and explaining in
great detail the night life of South Beach – all the time hoping that I would
get off of the phone and he could meet me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After Emmett had shown the girls where all of the electrical
outlets were, and I still had not got off the phone, he realized he had to go
back to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sophia had noticed that
Emmett had been glancing over at me in an interested way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being the matchmaker that she is, she
wondered if he might be interested in joining us out that night – maybe he
could show us around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett immediately
agreed and he gave Sophia his phone number. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At dinner that night, we all got to talking about our
lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two of the women (Laura and
Sophia) were divorced, Jessica was married and I was still single.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of us discussed the difficulties of our
current<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>relationships or lack
thereof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stated that I thought mine
was the hardest because they had all been married and had children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had not had the opportunity for either and
didn’t know if I ever would at this point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was 39.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It hadn’t
happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would it ever I wondered?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sophia set her salad fork down on her plate and looked at me
with all earnestness and said “you have not learned to let your walls
down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once you do, you will meet
someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you let your walls down for
this weekend?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought about what she
said and declared I would give it a shot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“I just want to say though, it’s not like I don’t look for someone to
meet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m 39 folks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I do is look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I’m in the shower alone, I look.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It never occurred to me that I had already
met my future husband and I hadn’t even noticed him in particular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No wonder I was still single!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We never did meet up with Emmett that first night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turns out we had copied down the wrong
number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning, Sophia and
Laura saw Emmett in the lobby and rushed over to him telling him that they had
the wrong number and still wanted him to come out with us. They corrected the
number situation and that night, when we were at Sky Bar, Sophia called Emmett
and handed me her phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But I don’t
even know him,” I objected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate
talking to people I don’t know on the phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“That’s the point,” she explained. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fifteen minutes later, Emmett and his brother Sam were at
Sky Bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I noticed them right away but
was busy hanging out with my friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Emmett and his brother were not rushing over to talk to us either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had found a group of bachelorettes and
were busy entertaining the lovely and drunk ladies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At some point, I believe I saw Sam with a
bridal tiara propped up on his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eventually Emmett and Sam made their way over to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett sidled up next to me, draped his long
arm around me and asked in his soft Southern accent “now why is it that itty
bitty girls like you always like big tall guys like myself?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a little shocked at his cockiness but
also I thought he was gay to honest – this was South Beach wasn’t it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guys here are supposed to be gay (or else big
time Rappers).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I didn’t know I was,” I
declared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett looked me straight in
the eye and said “If you aren’t now darlin’, you will be.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think either of us had any idea how
right he was going to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">After the entertainment value of Sky Bar died down for the
group, Emmett offered to take us to “the Back Door.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t until later, that I realized he
meant that he was bringing us in the back door of Mansion (the hottest, most
in-your-face club on the beach).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
thought “the Back Door” was the name of a gay club – again being South Beach
and all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mansion was insane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The music was thumping as loud as city ordinances (if there were any)
would allow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People were in various
states of dress and undress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone
was dancing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The club was dark save the
laser light show that was zipping all about the club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett got us all complimentary drinks and
then stuck by my side like glue as we made our way around Mansion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we started talking, Emmett kept trying to hold my
hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was resistant at first – not because
I still thought he was gay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had
abandoned that thought earlier when I had caught him staring at the front (or
lack thereof, of what is now referred to as my “lucky shirt”).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was resistant because I was on vacation;
because he was six years younger than me; because I am not what I would
consider a “cougar”; because, because, because…. Because my walls were up, I
suddenly realized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let them down, if
only for the evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let Emmett hold
my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let Emmett accompany me to
the ladies room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I let him come in the
ladies room and I let him kiss me in the lobby of ladies room for a good half
hour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lost track of my friends and
just had fun with this tall, good looking, funny guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before we knew it, four o’clock rolled around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took a quick tour of the club and when I
couldn’t find my friends, let Emmett walk me back to the Loews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he worked at the hotel, he was not allowed
to be in there with a guest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sat on a
bench close to the hotel and talked for another hour or so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During this time, he picked up my hand,
looked into my eyes and said “I’ve looked my whole life over for a girl like
you… now that I’ve found you, I’m never letting you go.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To be honest, it was both delightful and
frightening to hear such a statement… not to mention that my bullshit meter
went off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many times, had I heard
empty declarations from guys?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever
their reasons were (drunk, lonely, a little of both); it had never worked
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no illusions that this would
be any different and told him so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Emmett
just smiled and said “I’m from Missouri – the Show Me state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can show you better than I can tell you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, I don’t think either of us really knew
how right he would turn out to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Emmett and I ended up dating long distance from October until
the end of May that next year when he moved up to Massachusetts to join
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few months earlier I had tried to
break it off with him (as much as it hurt) because “I can do long distance but
I can’t do long term long distance.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
surprised me and told me (without any hesitation) that he would move to
Massachusetts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had never had anyone
make such a grand gesture of love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
so used to breaking up with guys because they were “too busy” or “confused
about old relationships” or “moving to another country. “ The reasons were
endless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had never had one person
offer to go out of their way to stay with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was floored; I was scared but I was happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On my fortieth birthday, just eleven months after Emmett and
I met, during a gianormous birthday bash that my family and friends threw for
me, Emmett asked me to marry him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
really happy for so many reasons but a huge secret reason was now I knew I
would have a really interesting “story of how we met.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GSd1NzaLbHPsHxBesitt7svchYs7TYXBNXBb8uPPRn2g20DV801_TxI4puykPwMGsTxJ5QNqQV0TGewxPdJHYUadTvVd0UVmivHjHhTaGrMmSHwfoR_Vt7QW1wXQ_IpbwHkLTCkFXZE/s1600/205757_1021799196994_1585632912_53027_2219_n%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3GSd1NzaLbHPsHxBesitt7svchYs7TYXBNXBb8uPPRn2g20DV801_TxI4puykPwMGsTxJ5QNqQV0TGewxPdJHYUadTvVd0UVmivHjHhTaGrMmSHwfoR_Vt7QW1wXQ_IpbwHkLTCkFXZE/s320/205757_1021799196994_1585632912_53027_2219_n%255B1%255D.jpg" width="295" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Jessica, me, Laura and Sophia on our "girly girl" weekend away on South Beach</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvSRrtju8XLgoefWjkTyAxDlV0uVxkGpqFu2y5saFez06QUK4ODpRmismjrGu-g_TsBFh-EWZF71dcJJq_SAzNNvfjisPc_e32KBC-9tm8KOt4_PSfD-DO-usB5kEK0Dt7HAeiMEA6tI/s1600/205093_1021760836035_1585632912_52928_2544_n%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvSRrtju8XLgoefWjkTyAxDlV0uVxkGpqFu2y5saFez06QUK4ODpRmismjrGu-g_TsBFh-EWZF71dcJJq_SAzNNvfjisPc_e32KBC-9tm8KOt4_PSfD-DO-usB5kEK0Dt7HAeiMEA6tI/s320/205093_1021760836035_1585632912_52928_2544_n%255B1%255D.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Emmett and me on our wedding day (June 24, 2007)</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-45088069528766670822011-12-27T20:51:00.000-08:002011-12-27T21:00:28.800-08:00Duct Tape + Glue Gun = Red Neck Martha Stewart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jeQ3dF5prUxAAXuTD1KiZ5QS3-Nq9Go0s2Mpp9D-i7RFH17uOxeNitDEaRyRw12fgKe6oC9s2wP0bZBbZardt6Z0w0uqrx2tjsZvObucydB7M40E3bMO_Tc9_jrsPwbcUDUn0GdtcXw/s1600/Judy+Moore.12.27.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jeQ3dF5prUxAAXuTD1KiZ5QS3-Nq9Go0s2Mpp9D-i7RFH17uOxeNitDEaRyRw12fgKe6oC9s2wP0bZBbZardt6Z0w0uqrx2tjsZvObucydB7M40E3bMO_Tc9_jrsPwbcUDUn0GdtcXw/s200/Judy+Moore.12.27.11.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Judy and Ollie (with Judy's handy dandy pink tool bag next to her)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know it seems impossible to think of the term “Red Neck” and the name Martha Stewart in the same sentence… you would have to meet my sister-in-law Judy to know that it actually can make perfect sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Emmett and I were married for four and half years when we moved from Plymouth, MA to Montgomery, AL.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the benefits of moving down south, other than the more temperate weather, was that we would be closer to the rest of Emmett’s family too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was almost a miracle when we managed to buy a house with a backyard that backed right up to my brother-and-sister-in-law’s backyard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What were the chances?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How convenient was this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would definitely get to know Tom and Judy a lot better; that was for sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was particularly interested in getting to know Judy as I had left most of my girlfriends and my sisters behind in Massachusetts and was in dire need of girly time.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had heard all about Judy (or Judy Love as everyone loved to refer to her) since meeting Emmett.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had heard how handy she was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had heard that she could fix anything with duct tape and a glue gun… a red neck Martha Stewart if you will. Everyone in the family deeply respected Judy’s ability to make something from nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Judy and I met briefly during my wedding week but hardly got to know each other as I was otherwise diverted <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(and on Xanax to prevent the dreaded bridezilla from rearing her ugly head) and she was drinking red wine (which I have since learned is what often gets her creative juices flowing).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I liked her and found her interesting but didn’t get to see her in action… until I moved to Alabama.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I first got a sense of what people were talking about when we were unpacking (have I ever said how much I hate unpacking?).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The morning after the moving van dropped off all of our belongings, Judy came over to help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She propped a ladder up on the fence between our two yards and hopped over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no idea where to start, as it was completely overwhelming, however, Judy knew just where to start: “The kitchen girl!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You gotta eat.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Judy has a way of referring to any woman she likes as “girl.” It’s very endearing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within a few hours my kitchen was completely organized and I was operational.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She worked harder setting up my kitchen than either Emmett or I did. She was a virtual whirling dervish.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Emmett and I often go to Tom and Judy’s and inevitably she has a project going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recently, she was cracking pecans she had gathered from her back yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked what she was doing with the pecans and she told me that she was candying them to put into a little decorative jar to give to someone for a Dirty Santa gift (what Northerners refer to as a Yankee Swap – guess they don’t like the word Yankee down here).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She made her gift rather than buying it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She spent an afternoon cracking pecans and roasting them, in order to make a special, one-of-a-kind gift, rather than just go to Walmart and buy a $15 doodad that would be run-of-the-mill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few days before Christmas, Judy asked me if she could use some of my wax paper for a project.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had no idea what she was doing but found out sure enough on Christmas morning when Emmett opened up his gift from her. She had traced a photo of Emmett’s father (he passed away when Emmett was 16) and made beautiful portrait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone was oohing and aahing over the present – the boys and their mom were tearing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was really special.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I noticed that Judy was retrieving the cloth that the portrait had come wrapped in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She held it up to me proudly for display “it’s one of my chair covers,” she announced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had taken a dining room chair cover, wrapped the portrait carefully in it and tied a few Christmas tree balls for flourish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How clever!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one would have ever known if she hadn’t point it out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I commended her for her ingenuity, she just laughed and proudly pointed out that when she ran out of wrapping paper and tape, she used butcher paper and staples to wrap the rest of the gifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She definitely is not someone who has been consumed with keeping up with the Jones’.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Getting to know Judy, I have come to learn that she is able to make something from seemingly nothing; how she has no shame in recycling items around her house to make gifts (and in fact takes pride in it); how she seems to be able to fix anything (she carries a mini tape measure in her purse) and will go to great lengths, and some pain (she drove a screw driver through her finger fixing a frame for me) in order to “get the job done.” The term “jury rig” should really be “Judy rig.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The answer lies in her background.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Judy was raised in an orphanage in northern Alabama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She literally had nothing unless she created it for herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They say that necessity is the mother of invention and I believe that Judy is living proof of that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If there was an outfit she wanted, she couldn’t buy it, so she would figure out a way to make it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She knew to never throw anything of any possible value out because she would inevitably need it later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her husband sometimes questions why she saves scraps of cloth, mismatched beads, half melted candles or a broken coffee pot but inevitably he comes to realize that her savvy hoarding and willingness to learn new skills has saved them money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As proof, he hasn’t had a professional hair cut in eight years as Judy can do the job just fine.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Knowing Judy has been a great learning experience (and pleasure).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has a PhD in street smarts with a minor in ingenuity and is happy to share her knowledge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result, I have become more conscious of what I am throwing away and what I am keeping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turns out that the Dollar Store is a virtual treasure trove for cleaning supplies and small hardware items.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am learning how to save money by not spending it thoughtlessly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look forward to my future lessons and hope to someday show the professor something new myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I first came to really know Judy, I referred to her as a Red Neck Martha Stewart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most women I know would have been insulted to have the word red neck used in reference to them; however, Judy just laughed gleefully and said “you got that right girl!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my opinion, there ought to be a lot more of this variety.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It could only make the world a better place.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xS-Bsk5ExAfh1tobqhb8jdtzumEEGUZ_PuYB9vcbMUAkBNpdJkIwXpqyaYAyR3fMz-bKz2kwdYW1o0YVNSwCmbPmOHKMCT4M9sWXfgE-azw9eYNA5bIJEPrVk05ok5eftEkyieKqh-8/s1600/Dad+pic+by+Judy+Moore.12.25.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xS-Bsk5ExAfh1tobqhb8jdtzumEEGUZ_PuYB9vcbMUAkBNpdJkIwXpqyaYAyR3fMz-bKz2kwdYW1o0YVNSwCmbPmOHKMCT4M9sWXfgE-azw9eYNA5bIJEPrVk05ok5eftEkyieKqh-8/s320/Dad+pic+by+Judy+Moore.12.25.11.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Portrait of James (Sonny) Moore done by Judy for Emmett and presented to him on Christmas 2011</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-25478299919539355122011-12-17T09:48:00.000-08:002011-12-17T09:48:55.370-08:00Mr. Red Flag-Dead Flag<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Years ago, when I was waiting tables at the Charthouse in Boston, I met a good looking guy named Ron.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ron was in his mid-thirties, with thick dark hair and deep (dreamy) brown eyes. Ron was also waiting tables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I knew virtually nothing personally about Ron, I knew pretty much off the bat that I wanted to go on a date with him and I set about making sure that my flirting would not be ignored. Soon enough Ron fell into my sweet flirt trap and he asked me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Over drinks Ron told me about himself (and what a sorry story it turned out to be).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was an ex-Green Beret who had been a member of the Delta Force involved in the Black Hawk Down situation. His unit had been ambushed when they had tried to capture a Somali war lord. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ron had been hospitalized for quite a while because of shrapnel being lodged into his head, back and butt. While he was in recovery, his 30 year old wife died of pneumonia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I sat across from Ron, listening to him tell this horror story, I wondered how he was able to tell me this story without breaking down crying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What he’d been through would break most people and yet he held it together… or so I thought.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few weeks after we started seeing each other, I invited Ron over to my apartment in Milton.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loved my little, two-bedroom apartment and was proud of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I gave Ron the two minute tour, which would, of course, end in my bedroom, I noticed that he was acting peculiar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was opening up all of my doors, including closet doors to see what was inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, when he opened my closet door, he was immediately rained down upon with dirty laundry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had “cleaned” in a hurry and shoved my dirty laundry up on a high shelf in the closet never imagining that my date would be inspecting my closet. Ron actually went into my bathroom and peered behind the shower curtain and walked the perimeter of the house as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he was done with his thorough inspection, I asked him what the hell he was doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To his credit, he hung his head and told me that after the Somali ambush, he couldn’t help himself; he had to locate all exits and make sure that no enemies lurked. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was suffering from some serious Post Traumatic Syndrome. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although his behavior should have been a huge red flag, I felt bad for him and let it go; after all, I wasn’t so perfect myself (i.e. dirty laundry in the closet).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few days later, Ron felt comfortable enough with me to ask me to come to his house for dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He lived in a little town north of Boston in a little cottage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a lovely dinner together without incident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All was going well, or so I thought, until I asked him if he had photos of his past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now in my experience, when you ask people to share photos of their past, they like it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They usually pull out their family photo album and tell you stories of their family as they flip through the pages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a great way to get to know someone. You find out about their family and friends; you find out how they tell stories or if they even tell stories at all.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When Ron pulled out his album, I didn’t know what to expect but it most certainly was not an album full of dead people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ron had taken pictures throughout his time as a Green Beret of dead people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether he had killed them himself of whether a colleague had killed the person, it didn’t matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pictures weren’t just of dead people lying on the ground; the soldiers had propped up the bodies into different positions and had posed them for the camera with cigarettes in their mouths or holding a gun or sitting in a vehicle with a flag of Somalia waiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pictures were so horrifying to me that I honestly can’t even remember most of them. I was too busy trying to figure out how to escape this house and this man without seeming like I was freaking out and running away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was definitely a red flag that I could not ignore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t matter how cute the guy was; this was just over the top. Somehow, I managed to make my excuses and slip away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ron must have realized things had gone horribly wrong because he quit the Charthouse right after the date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was relieved and resolved to put my sweet flirty trap on suspension for a while as clearly my crazy man radar was off kilter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Years later, I look back on my time with Ron and am thankful for the lesson he taught me: you might ignore a red flag or two with a man, but not when he shows you pictures of dead people holding flags.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-78650612286779968032011-12-11T12:20:00.000-08:002011-12-11T15:17:24.143-08:00Separate checks please!<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Often, a great meal with friends is spoiled because of the check splitting issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many a time, in my younger years (and recently as well, as a matter of fact), I have gone to dinner with a bunch of friends (even though I probably could not really afford it) and ordered a salad and a soda while someone else ordered a filet mignon and a bottle of wine only to have the steak eater suggest an even split of the check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I have money, I’m not too worried about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heck, if I hit the lottery, I’d just pick up the whole check every time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, normally it's just annoying because I’m put into the position of either seeming cheap (“I just ordered a salad and soda… “), or shutting up, paying up, and eating Ramen noodles until my next paycheck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has caused some moments of resentment and left a bad taste in my mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Montgomery, Alabama they have solved the problem of post-dinner check resentment.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last night was my first night working at Roux (a wonderful, upscale Cajun style restaurant).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I noticed that Mathew (my trainer) was entering orders by seat number on each check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I assumed it was so that other people who were running the food might know who ordered what instead of auctioning off the plates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turns out that the real reason is that in Montgomery, Alabama, most diners prefer their own check.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first I thought that it must be such a pain for the server to give everyone a separate check but then I realized that the guests expected separate checks and that separate checks are part of the service automatically offered by the restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No calculators needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No embarrassing admissions (Um, I only have $30…).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No reviewing the check and asking “who had the steak?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, no one is leaving feeling like they paid more than their fair share.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Genius! <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A table of five young women came in and everyone ordered dinner and drinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the women ordered a bit more extravagantly and some ordered a little more carefully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of the meal, Mathew printed out five checks and delivered them to each of the women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no one pulling out calculators or explaining that they didn’t have the money to pay for food that wasn’t theirs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was not a cross face at the table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone left feeling satisfied that they paid for what they ordered and not a penny more or less.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Another table ordered appetizers and a bottle of wine to share. “Who to charge it to then” I wondered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Whoever orders,” Mathew explained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was that simple. Separate checks did not elicit an eye roll from him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did not act as if the guests were asking him to perform advanced math skills. It was a service he was happy to provide automatically.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I propose that we Northerners take another look at the way we dine out together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why enjoy a wonderful meal only to spoil it with someone feeling as though they were taken advantage of?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For what we all spend for meals out, dining should be an altogether stress-free and enjoyable experience. If restaurants are not automatically offering this service then request a separate check at the beginning of the meal and leave the bad taste behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_Halm4aJ-Y9xk4uGa74FI1U-fyNJIX4CcoS6KmM0ZzeJwu2dvWWQghmzjT7fqLNlIHYoIWPmNfaBOeAHBzOPQGpLj-XlMsPz5o_Uz4WCZj2Uz-kZNm282imOYMxjpDCRjz1_A9gaidg/s1600/eating+out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_Halm4aJ-Y9xk4uGa74FI1U-fyNJIX4CcoS6KmM0ZzeJwu2dvWWQghmzjT7fqLNlIHYoIWPmNfaBOeAHBzOPQGpLj-XlMsPz5o_Uz4WCZj2Uz-kZNm282imOYMxjpDCRjz1_A9gaidg/s1600/eating+out.jpg" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-5235361847409192072011-11-27T11:36:00.000-08:002011-11-27T12:11:20.792-08:00Does This Fig Leaf Make My Butt Look Big?<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m convinced that since the beginning of time women have had self-image issues and have worried needlessly about the way they look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I envision that the moment Eve slipped on her first fig leaf, she turned to Adam and said “Hun, does this fig leaf make my butt look big?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, it was probably the first time a guy ever lied.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few weeks ago, in an effort to find our own personal style, my sisters, my mom, my niece and I spent an afternoon with an image consultant who promised to give us all a Supreme Makeover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were all looking forward to finding out ways we could improve our look, after all, what woman doesn’t want to learn a few tricks of the trade and bring her sexy back?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn’t really know what made the makeover “supreme” though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our image consultant, Catrina Welch (</span><a href="mailto:catrina@catrinawelch.com"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">catrina@catrinawelch.com</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">) explained the concept in her book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Know Who You Are,</i> that: “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A makeover accentuates your beauty for the day; a Supreme Makeover reveals the beauty you were designed for and sets you free to walk in the confidence of knowing who you are.” </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Catrina uses scripture to teach people to understand and feel comfortable with their inner beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Genesis 3:1 The temptation was not a delicious apple, but ‘Do you know who you are?’ A poor self-image reflects a poor image of God.”</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My family and I, if you don’t already know, are spiritual people but not religious per se. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all believe in God (ladies correct me if I am wrong) but we don’t live by the word of the Bible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would say that we follow the Golden Rule and the other rules too for the most part.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think any of us ever thought of makeovers in terms of religion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all know the axiom that “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” but there’s not a saying that I know of that says “Thou shalt apply a second coat of mascara.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Although I enjoyed Catrina’s personality and knowledge, the session itself felt awkward because her approach to a makeover was through <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">allowing the Creator to bring out the beauty.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was very adamant that loving God is “the plan.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since we are not really very observant, but did want to get the most out of the makeover, my sister Kalliope asked if she (Catrina) had a Plan B?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Catrina did not. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In her opinion God was the only way to true beauty.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Religion and outer beauty are not two subjects that I would think of that go together naturally. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can think of no religious group that focuses on personal outer beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, they seem to strive for the opposite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think of monks with their odd bowl haircuts; Hassidic Jews with their bushy beards, devout Muslims who ask their women to wear burkas to hide their beauty.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I do agree that to be truly beautiful, you must feel beautiful inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have met many a stunning man or woman who I thought at first was the epitome of what I thought of as beautiful only to find that their vanity, their cockiness, their entitled behavior made them some of the ugliest people I’d ever met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, I’d also met some people who were not all that attractive at first glance but after getting to speak with them and know them a little, they became some of the most beautiful people I’d ever met.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">True beauty comes from the inside, regardless of religious beliefs, and cannot be hidden… however bad a haircut, however bulky a burka, or however ill-fitting a fig leaf.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXAwqa7WL13xQA_x4FpZn1wNtsNTtv1a1mDilBk6Qrn5pr_CwJdDYSwEk9ASZT2YZRJPqPMZ2Yi1EZ6ChLwvE-suZ__ibA41iMDnccYK_qffKWxo_KVmp2x2MUKaP-poH_1gVDxYjVJzc/s1600/Adam_and_Eve_Lucas_Cranach_Elder1528_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXAwqa7WL13xQA_x4FpZn1wNtsNTtv1a1mDilBk6Qrn5pr_CwJdDYSwEk9ASZT2YZRJPqPMZ2Yi1EZ6ChLwvE-suZ__ibA41iMDnccYK_qffKWxo_KVmp2x2MUKaP-poH_1gVDxYjVJzc/s1600/Adam_and_Eve_Lucas_Cranach_Elder1528_small.jpg" /></a></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-30479484658004386762011-11-20T18:06:00.000-08:002011-11-20T18:06:02.998-08:00Home-Style Green Bean Casserole (Light)<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 9pt; mso-outline-level: 4;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #330033; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My sister Kalliope asked me to make a green bean dish for Thanksgiving this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I am moving (and don’t have a kitchen to call my own), I found it difficult and instead volunteered to bring any and all appetizers... However, it did get me to thinking that if I were to make a green bean dish, what would I make?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m trying to keep my diet somewhat light and considering I am moving to the land of pork back and Crisco, it will for sure be an uphill battle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, being a life-long Weight Watcher, I do know that substitutions can always be made and that you should always try and figure out a new way to make an old standby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Green Bean Casserole is one of those new dishes that have become a tradition at many of our tables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Below is <a href="http://www.southernliving.com/food/healthy-light/healthy-southern-recipes-00417000069405/"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Southern Living’s</span></a> light version.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 9pt; mso-outline-level: 4;"><b><span lang="EN" style="color: #330033; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Home-Style Green Bean Casserole</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 9pt; mso-outline-level: 4;"><b><span lang="EN" style="color: #330033; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Ingredients</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1 1/2 pounds fresh green beans, trimmed </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2 tablespoons butter </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1/4 cup all-purpose flour </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1 1/2 cups 2% reduced-fat milk </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1/2 cup nonfat buttermilk </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1 tablespoon Ranch dressing mix </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1/4 teaspoon salt </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1/4 teaspoon pepper </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1 teaspoon butter </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1 (8-oz.) package sliced fresh mushrooms </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Vegetable cooking spray </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1 cup French fried onions, crushed </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1/2 cup panko (Japanese breadcrumbs) </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2 plum tomatoes, seeded and chopped <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 9pt; mso-outline-level: 4;"><b><span lang="EN" style="color: #330033; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Preparation</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1. Preheat oven to 350°. Cook green beans in boiling salted water to cover in a Dutch oven 4 to 6 minutes or to desired degree of doneness; drain. Plunge into ice water to stop the cooking process; drain and pat dry.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2. Melt 2 Tbsp. butter in Dutch oven over medium heat; whisk in flour until smooth. Cook, whisking constantly, 1 minute. Gradually whisk in 1 1/2 cups milk; cook, whisking constantly, 3 to 4 minutes or until sauce is thickened and bubbly. Remove from heat, and whisk in buttermilk and next 4 ingredients.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3. Melt 1 tsp. butter in a medium skillet over medium-high heat; add mushrooms, and sauté 6 to 8 minutes or until lightly browned. Remove from heat; let stand 5 minutes. Gently toss mushrooms and green beans in buttermilk sauce. Place in a 13- x 9-inch or 3-qt. baking dish coated with cooking spray.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4. Combine French fried onions and next 2 ingredients; sprinkle over green bean mixture.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5. Bake at 350° for 25 to 30 minutes or until golden brown and bubbly. Serve immediately.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="http://www.southernliving.com/"><b><i><span style="color: #cc0000; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Southern Living</span></i></b></a><br />
NOVEMBER 2011<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2alcGMKBR1pBgk0wLzhdL-aQyMiQuju6VfJulzNICq0Dd6c-a7M7_nzQMyQMVTeSFYYjfguko5UnT91A2eyYjX_fIFz9KQ7EO1nll04s7n13-NYgoFp0ZimA_UCdcZvzzhEVSrCQZ54o/s1600/green-bean-casserole-light.11.20.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2alcGMKBR1pBgk0wLzhdL-aQyMiQuju6VfJulzNICq0Dd6c-a7M7_nzQMyQMVTeSFYYjfguko5UnT91A2eyYjX_fIFz9KQ7EO1nll04s7n13-NYgoFp0ZimA_UCdcZvzzhEVSrCQZ54o/s320/green-bean-casserole-light.11.20.11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="border-color: currentColor currentColor windowtext; border-style: none none solid; border-width: medium medium 1pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;"><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="border: currentColor; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Top of For</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-outline-level: 4;"><b><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Find out which ingredients are </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; vertical-align: middle;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Find Stores<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; display: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-hide: all;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Grand Union<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; display: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-hide: all;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Hannaford<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; display: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-hide: all;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Omni Foods<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; display: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-hide: all;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Price Chopper<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; display: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-hide: all;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Roche Bros.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; display: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l6 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-hide: all;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Save-A-Lot<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; display: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l6 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-hide: all;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Shaw's<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; display: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l6 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-hide: all;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Stop & Shop<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; display: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-hide: all;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Target<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; display: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-hide: all;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Trucchis<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; display: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-hide: all;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Walmart Supercenter<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; display: none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 3.75pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in; vertical-align: top;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol; mso-hide: all;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: #434343; display: none; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hide: all;">Whole Foods<o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-47122150805002378892011-11-19T05:04:00.000-08:002011-11-20T21:24:41.859-08:00Story: Karma's an Itch<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Years ago, when internet dating was still considered the realm of the “creepy and desperate,” I myself was desperate enough to join </span><a href="http://www.match.com/"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">Match.com</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was before most people knew how to upload photos and before most people knew to ask for photos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were only a handful of sites and Match.com was the most well-known, thus this was the site I selected for my trial run with internet dating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hoped to find a date but what I found was more like a karmic lesson.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was very excited to try internet dating. What possibilities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was unlimited window shopping without commitment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could literally look at hundreds of profiles and read all about people who could possibly be “the one.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How cool was this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, knowing how difficult it is to write an interesting profile, I loved to logon and see how these guys wrote under pressure.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One profile in particular did catch my eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although “Steve” did not have a picture (which I now know was for a good reason), he seemed really interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was an engineer, well-traveled, liked to ride motorcycles and seemed pretty laid back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked him for a picture and when he told me his scanner was down, I was naïve enough to believe him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Steve and I agreed to meet at a Pizzeria Uno’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I sat at the bar watching the customers file in, I wondered if I would like him and what he looked like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got momentarily excited when I saw a gorgeous, young guy walk through the door and toward me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He noticed me too, looking me up and down before walking right past me to a table where he was greeted by a young woman with a baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so busy watching the hot guy, that I didn’t notice Steve until he was upon me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I heard his breathing before I saw him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is never a good sign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned my head toward the heavy breathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man with a full beard, not unlike a Taliban beard, short and heavy, not only in his breathing but in his stature, stood beside me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Great; I should have asked for a picture.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I mentally shook off the fact that this guy was not all that I dreamed of and just hoped he would not be a nightmare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I smiled welcomingly and invited him to sit on the stool beside me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He hopped up on to the stool to my right, leaning his cane (which I just then noticed) up against the bar next to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Steve smiled big and said, “I hope you don’t mind that I’m sitting on this side of you but my left ear is my good one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My right ear is only operating at 30%.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I raised my eyebrows. “Really?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What happened?” I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Gulf War,” he responded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“In fact,” he told me, “my right hand has only 60% use, my right knee cap was shattered in a motorcycle accident and I have Gulf War Syndrome.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was, of course, horrified for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The poor guy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, I couldn’t help but think that this is what I deserved for not being more discerning in my on-line interview process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was also very curious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What exactly is Gulf War Syndrome? I mean what are the effects?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was nice enough to answer even though he must have known that the answer would seal the fate on this ill-fated date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I get uncontrollably itchy as though bugs are crawling all over my skin.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gross.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought, “the poor guy.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the end of the date, we walked out to the cars and said our goodbyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thanked him for an interesting time and wished him well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really thought that this man (who in my mind was relegated to “Mr. Itchy Scratchy”) would never cross my mind again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How wrong I was.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Flash to a year later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am in Geneva, Switzerland and have just had the week of my life and probably one of the best dates of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s just say it involved Thai food and breaking into a private beach club at midnight to reenact the pivotal scene from “From Here to Eternity.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lake Geneva was fantastic but unfortunately, I developed a raging ear infection from the lake water.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I went to the local hospital where they prescribed amoxicillin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently neither the doctor nor I realized that I was allergic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went through the full course without incident only to find myself waking up, the day after I had stopped taking the drug, scratching my chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now I was in London visiting my friend Fiona.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In response to my single state, she had set me up on a blind date with the most eligible man she knew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His name was Hugh and he was a Scottish Olympic downhill skier. Fiona promised me that although he wasn’t very tall, he was drop dead gorgeous. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fiona was going through a divorce at the time and was living her life vicariously through me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She hoped I was going to have a really scandalous date – in the best way possible of course.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The morning of the blind date I woke up at Fiona’s house, scratching my chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got up went to the bathroom only to observe that I had a rash that was not only on my chest but it was creeping up my neck and down to my belly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Immediately I went to Fiona and showed her my rash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well obviously we’ll have to cancel on Hugh” I told her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We can’t,” she said, “I don’t have his number…besides it really isn’t that bad and the bar will be dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’ll never see the rash.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sighed in resignation and hoped that she was right.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the day wore on, so did the rash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It got to such a bad state that we went to a local pharmacy and asked the pharmacist what cream would help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My dear,” he said, “There is no rash cream that is going to help you with that.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a last ditch effort to hide the rash, we bought a lovely neck scarf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That might have been okay normally but it was June and looked a bit ridiculous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, Fiona insisted that I go on the date.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her sister Wendy assured me that red wine is a natural antioxidant and that if I drank enough of it, the rash would go away.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I got to Tiger Tiger bar early to scout out a dark place to sit, drink some red wine and wait for Hugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I noticed when Hugh arrived and Fiona was right; he was really good looking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hugh took a turn around the bar and did not see me… probably because I was sitting in the dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, when he looked in my direction, I waved a hello to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He raised his eyebrows in surprise and came over to meet me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The date with Hugh was not very memorable for the most part. He was “nice.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was seemingly understanding of my raging rash and was even gallant enough to invite me to a Wimbledon party he was attending that evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew he wasn’t interested though as he made me pay for all of my drinks and flirted with other women in front of me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meanwhile, my rash was getting worse by the moment, creeping up to my face and down my legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not helping matters much, I was getting increasingly drunk on red wine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When were those antioxidants going to kick in?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so uncomfortable and drunk that I found myself rubbing up against anything and anyone to scratch my itch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I hadn’t been drunk, it would have been embarrassing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally though, I conceded that I’d had enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed to get to a hospital.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I found Hugh and alerted him to the fact that I would be leaving and going to the hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why?” He asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s wrong?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know he was a blind date but he couldn’t be that blind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I normally don’t look like this Hugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normally I’m rash free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’m allergic to something and I need to be treated.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the hospital, I waited in the triage line with great trepidation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had heard about socialized medicine and I wondered how long it would be until I was treated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A patient in front of me asked the triage nurse how long the wait was and she told him that it would be “forty five hours.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Forty five hours!” I exclaimed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You must be kidding!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nurse looked confused, “No dear… that would be four to five hours.” That was much better.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I checked in and sat amongst the other Tuesday night ER denizens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The guy next to me had a nail through his foot and a guy across from me had a slash across his forehead (he told us his girlfriend had stabbed him).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt fortunate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Itchy but fortunate.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because I had an allergy, I was fast tracked and was admitted in less than two hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself laid out on a gurney with a Benadryl IV attached to my right arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nurse wheeled me to a curtained area where I lay waiting to see a doctor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I laid there listening to some poor guy getting resuscitated in the room next to me, I had moment of clarity and started to laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really deserved this. I had judged some poor guy on the fact that he had an itch condition, and here I was a year later, on a first date (again) and I was the one who was uncontrollably itchy and being passed over for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was the deserving victim of the karma from Mr. Itchy Scratchy and boy was karma an itch.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3Kc1wq80EtEdXv6MnOUi0ROFYXau1YkWaoXI_LUUjJD4khTNkWSSAOAlAXzqp7O-RQX7YlhBwqhfaUyJ2dregxq6AIVAd7224uF8bJ19EWJhF_T17q6zKZIcwR2Qr9Tr8B1OHTqSspg/s1600/Artemis+in+Switzerland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs3Kc1wq80EtEdXv6MnOUi0ROFYXau1YkWaoXI_LUUjJD4khTNkWSSAOAlAXzqp7O-RQX7YlhBwqhfaUyJ2dregxq6AIVAd7224uF8bJ19EWJhF_T17q6zKZIcwR2Qr9Tr8B1OHTqSspg/s320/Artemis+in+Switzerland.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">Me in Switzerland that summer</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-85636517627203141342011-11-17T08:23:00.000-08:002011-11-17T09:44:16.163-08:00A Goodbye Dilemma<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the things I realized early on in the moving process was that there is a heck of a lot of goodbyes to say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In every facet of my life, there are people who I’ve built relationships with who I now have to say goodbye to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of the goodbyes are temporary ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are people who I will not see as often but I will see them again (parents, sisters and good friends).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the goodbyes may be for forever goodbyes – one such goodbye has really stuck with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do you say goodbye to your therapist?</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few weeks ago, I went to my last session with my therapist Connie, and told her that I would be leaving for Alabama within the month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For once it was Connie who looked distraught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This can’t be our last session.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t ready for it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Connie’s reaction got me thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With all of my other “service” relationships in my life I either will see these people again when I come to town (I am so making an appointment with my esthetician and hairdresser whenever I come back to Plymouth) or else they were not very consequential in my life so it’s not that big of a deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My relationship with her is very unique though.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve been with Connie for nearly twelve years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is longer than many of my friendships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I first came to her in early 2000 after a series of breakups with a series of boyfriends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had started to come to the conclusion that maybe it wasn’t “them” as much as it was me that was the issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The constant in all of the breakups was me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, being the perfectionist Virgo that I am, I decided that therapy would be a great idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When our first session was over – after I had gone into great detail about exactly why I was there, feeling slightly embarrassed about the number of boyfriends and scenarios I had just rattled off to her – I asked her with great trepidation, “Am I crazy?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bless her heart; she said “you are about the least crazy person I think I know.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Phew. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I suppose I could have just taken that as I sign that all was well and that I didn’t need therapy after all (just better judgment when it came to men), but here’s the thing… I really liked my new therapist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enjoyed our session.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked forward to future sessions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I continued to see her for almost twelve years, calling it my mental hygiene.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For nearly twelve years I have poured my heart out to this wonderful listener.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been able to tell her my heart's desires, my sorrows, my fears, my joys, my everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, I have to walk away and possibly never see her again. I know that there is a professional line between a therapist and a client that must never be crossed; that they must not become friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, what if I was no longer her client?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could I ask her to stay in touch with me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would it be weird? Is it inappropriate? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s such an awkward conversation to bring up to my therapist.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Suppose we did stay in touch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our relationship has been based on one-sided conversations (essentially) for nearly twelve years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you change the nature of a friendship?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of these questions have been swirling around in my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It occurs to me that now I will need a therapist to help me get over my therapist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How ironic is that?<o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-20591512767919064112011-11-15T19:02:00.000-08:002011-11-15T19:24:23.112-08:00At home with Plymouth’s two best coffee shops<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I've always thought that i</span>f we could take the good coffee from Dunkin Donuts and combine it with the cool atmosphere of Starbucks, we would have the perfect coffee shop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Recently, I have discovered the charm of the independent coffee shops and they really do eclipse any coffee chain I know of. The best</span> coffee shops must have fantastic coffee, a cool environment and will always make you feel as if you are right at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Plymouth happens to be blessed with two independent coffee shops that meet the above criteria.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One is </span><a href="http://www.kiskadeecoffee.com/index.html"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">Kiskadee</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">, which is very “funky” and artsy and guys seem to favor the establishment (mostly, I think, because it feels like you are in a living room hanging out with friends). There are couches and comfortable chairs to lounge in, art on the walls and cool “jazzy” music playing (either live or recorded). They have hip baristas who have made an art of serving up the perfect latte (see the picture below).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You always feel at least 50% cooler hanging out in Kiskadee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The other shop is </span><a href="http://www.blueblindsbakery.com/Blue_Blinds_Bakery/Welcome.html"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">Blue Blinds</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> (referred to by locals as Cult Coffee).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blue Blinds is a small coffee shop/bakery that makes you feel at home the moment you walk through the door. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have small tables and chairs, outdoor porch seating and murals of historic Plymouth on the walls. It is incredibly cozy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shop’s baristas are members of “the community.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The community is a group of people (men with beards and women who dress like they are extras on Little House on the Prairie) and who live together in one big house following the same philosophies and religion. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve asked around, and no seems to know too much about “the community.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some people have said they seem Amish and some people think they are Jews who believe in Jesus. A little research revealed they are members of </span><a href="http://www.twelvetribes.com/"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">Twelve Tribe</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regardless what religion they are, everyone can agree they make the best jalapeno cheddar bread on this planet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The folks at Blue Blinds are unfailingly sweet and helpful and you always feel as though you’ve taken a short trip back in time when visiting their coffee shop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a very unique experience; very different to Kiskadee and yet just as cool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last week I took a coffee break, from my packing procrastination, and went to Kiskadee Coffee to visit my favorite barista, Jaresiah, and to spend some quality time with my friend Laura.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I sat there and looked around, I realized that I only had a few more weeks to enjoy Plymouth’s coffee shop gems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could only hope that Montgomery will have at least one coffee shop that will make me feel just as at home as these two do.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie-II_7y1SsGGaU0A7Aqpc0g1vA7hcQ0Id0WB5vNDhEu7q46nF9mr9oY7tL2mWwPqtj82IFQfgQ3sxBYeqwnT2CjaCnwmaMT4hYEXMZKNDb5E8llVrcY-8svSY_ZfZIu-V3DKYaQK_vus/s1600/Jaresiah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie-II_7y1SsGGaU0A7Aqpc0g1vA7hcQ0Id0WB5vNDhEu7q46nF9mr9oY7tL2mWwPqtj82IFQfgQ3sxBYeqwnT2CjaCnwmaMT4hYEXMZKNDb5E8llVrcY-8svSY_ZfZIu-V3DKYaQK_vus/s320/Jaresiah.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">My favorite barista of all time -- Jaresiah. See his cool latte art!</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-81596436006301308172011-11-14T07:25:00.000-08:002011-11-14T07:25:46.532-08:00Mundane Monday's Silly Poll:<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you were stranded on a deserted tropical isle and could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would you choose?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is, of course, a ludicrous question; I mean really, think about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You survive a boat or a plane wreck only to find yourself on a deserted island and suddenly a life time supply of pizza or filet mignon or sushi appears?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not likely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m pretty sure you would be stuck with whatever you could find… like an impossible to open coconut (and that’s if you were lucky enough to be on a tropical island).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, let’s pretend for a moment and interrupt mundane Monday with<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a “silly poll.” What would you eat if you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I would love to hear what people have to say. Respond to the poll on the right or leave a comment if you have some other choice of cuisine you would choose.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikINKqWP_Jwgsq5rFBoXjhV3bt83CXk0TTvo2y0xrrm4ts643Qbs5WkbPJgW1U8qonDI4bUwNqxCwWsa4tI87JimlwRagYF9kgzAUdGDyryA3dXxEwAxfbmrQ4F07hXVNlTIQxIVhFBBk/s1600/tropical+island+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikINKqWP_Jwgsq5rFBoXjhV3bt83CXk0TTvo2y0xrrm4ts643Qbs5WkbPJgW1U8qonDI4bUwNqxCwWsa4tI87JimlwRagYF9kgzAUdGDyryA3dXxEwAxfbmrQ4F07hXVNlTIQxIVhFBBk/s1600/tropical+island+pic.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06976469976623355337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9105843037186572972.post-53224058051771048432011-11-13T19:57:00.000-08:002011-11-13T20:04:05.686-08:00Eggplant Parmesan Recipe (Light!)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7ivXe-3Eyp0j1DTeOmzldsNY1u8RgOVgWG-dajXyVQ4uiEvoBm-6Shsi-zXgDUj_1jS6MnKYPiehVhq5xi_AjLGe9JclU5kxdyn2rbEQM46mAMjojLmoNyYGbZUMWLzg8IDNebagZvE/s1600/eggplant+parm+pix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm7ivXe-3Eyp0j1DTeOmzldsNY1u8RgOVgWG-dajXyVQ4uiEvoBm-6Shsi-zXgDUj_1jS6MnKYPiehVhq5xi_AjLGe9JclU5kxdyn2rbEQM46mAMjojLmoNyYGbZUMWLzg8IDNebagZvE/s320/eggplant+parm+pix.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Happy Birthday Eggplant Parmesan</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-effects-shadow-align: none; mso-effects-shadow-alpha: 65.0%; mso-effects-shadow-angledirection: 5400000; mso-effects-shadow-anglekx: 0; mso-effects-shadow-angleky: 0; mso-effects-shadow-color: black; mso-effects-shadow-dpidistance: 3.4pt; mso-effects-shadow-dpiradius: 5.5pt; mso-effects-shadow-pctsx: 0%; mso-effects-shadow-pctsy: 0%; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-align: center; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-compound: simple; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-dash: solid; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-dpiwidth: .075pt; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-join: round; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-linecap: flat; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-pctmiterlimit: 0%; mso-style-textoutline-type: none;">In honor of my dear friend Laura’s birthday, I am making one of her favorite dishes: eggplant parmesan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In honor of my waist line, I am making it light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eggplant parmesan done light and done right (right being the operative word – you must use whole wheat panko as other breadcrumbs become soggy), can be absolutely delicious – you won’t even miss all of those pesky calories. I found this recipe at:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <a href="http://www.myrecipes.com/">www.myrecipes.com</a></span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-effects-shadow-align: none; mso-effects-shadow-alpha: 65.0%; mso-effects-shadow-angledirection: 5400000; mso-effects-shadow-anglekx: 0; mso-effects-shadow-angleky: 0; mso-effects-shadow-color: black; mso-effects-shadow-dpidistance: 3.4pt; mso-effects-shadow-dpiradius: 5.5pt; mso-effects-shadow-pctsx: 0%; mso-effects-shadow-pctsy: 0%; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-align: center; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-compound: simple; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-dash: solid; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-dpiwidth: .075pt; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-join: round; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-linecap: flat; mso-style-textoutline-outlinestyle-pctmiterlimit: 0%; mso-style-textoutline-type: none;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: lime;">Eggplant</span> <span style="background-color: #f3f3f3; color: red;">Parmesan</span> (done light!)</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">Serves 10 people</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong>Ingredients:</strong><br />
<strong>Eggplant preparation:</strong><br />
<ul><li>2 large eggs, lightly beaten</li>
<li>1 tablespoon water</li>
<li>2 cups whole-wheat panko (Japanese breadcrumbs)</li>
<li>1/4 cup (1 ounce) grated fresh Parmigiano cheese</li>
<li>2 (1 lb) eggplants, peeled and cut crosswise into 1/2-inch-thick slices</li>
<li>Cooking spray</li>
</ul><strong>Filling:</strong><br />
<ul><li>1/2 cup torn fresh basil</li>
<li>1/4 cup (1 ounce) grated fresh Parmigiano cheese</li>
<li>1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper</li>
<li>1 1/2 teaspoon minced garlic</li>
<li>1/4 teaspoon salt</li>
<li>1 (16 ounce) container part-skim ricotta cheese</li>
<li>1 large egg, lightly beaten</li>
</ul><strong>Remaining ingredients:</strong><br />
<ul><li>1 (24 ounce) jar premium pasta sauce</li>
<li>1/4 teaspoon salt</li>
<li>8 ounces thinly sliced mozzarella cheese</li>
<li>3/4 cup (3 ounces) finely grated fontina cheese</li>
</ul><strong>Preparation:</strong><br />
<ol><li><strong></strong>Preheat oven to 375</li>
<li>To make eggplant, combine 2 eggs and 1 tablespoon water in a shallow dish. Combine panko and 1/4 of the Parmigiano cheese in a second shallow dish. Dip eggplant in egg mixture; dredge in panko mixture pressing gently to adhere and shaking off excess. Place eggplant 1 inch apart on baking sheets coated with cooking spray. Bake at 375 for 30 minutes or until golden turning once and rotating baking sheets after fifteen minutes.</li>
<li>To make filling, combine basil and next 6 ingredients (through egg).</li>
<li>To assemble, spoon 1/2 cup pasta sauce in bottom of a 13 x 9-inch glass baking dish coated with cooking spray.</li>
<li>Layer half of eggplant splices over pasta sauce. Sprinkle eggplant with 1/8 teaspoon of salt. toop with about 3/4 cup of pasta sauce; spread ricotta mixture over sauce and top with a third of the mozzarella and 1/4 cup of the fontina. Repeat layer (but without ricotta) ending with about 1 cup of pasta sauce. Cover tightly with alumina foil coated in cooking spray. Bake at 375 for 35 minutes. Remove foil; top with remaining third of mozzarella and 1/4 cup of fontina. Bake at 375 for 10 minutes more or until sauce in bubbly and cheese melts; cool 10 minutes.</li>
</ol><strong>Nutritional Information:</strong><br />
Amount per serving<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Calories: 318</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Fat: 15.1g</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Saturated fat: 8.2g</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Monounsaturated fat: 2.7g</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Polyunsaturated fat. 0.6g</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Protein: 19.2g</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Carbohydrate: 26.8g</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Fiber: 4.8g</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Cholesterol: 99mg</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Iron: 1.6mg</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sodium: 655mg</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Calcium: 365mg</span><br />
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