tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9631824220837206072024-02-19T11:01:44.358-06:00theMiddleBitBecause the middle bit is the juicy part, the part with the seeds of new things and sometimes is just the pits. Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.comBlogger238125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-53355621319652594452019-01-01T16:50:00.003-06:002019-01-01T17:13:30.062-06:00It's a New Year...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0U_-FBi4xtsIGpgMdxnbSK-YQa429uWv1Ryd_Rik7M9YatMqRuC8Q4ax-24b6fey81rPoKZKD_R-EF1dvdDrqJP32HK9QGZO1yxvs-mgVKkl6cMBB_gnt3Z3ygqCxbwyKJmOVt6yXDs83/s1600/IMG_0596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1280" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0U_-FBi4xtsIGpgMdxnbSK-YQa429uWv1Ryd_Rik7M9YatMqRuC8Q4ax-24b6fey81rPoKZKD_R-EF1dvdDrqJP32HK9QGZO1yxvs-mgVKkl6cMBB_gnt3Z3ygqCxbwyKJmOVt6yXDs83/s400/IMG_0596.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
...happy new year<br />
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The sentiment just whispered itself in my head when my eyes opened this morning feeling clear and well rested despite the fact that I didn't fall asleep until after 1am this morning. <br />
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I'm not really into New Year's Resolutions (I prefer to set the bar nice and low so I can celebrate every time I manage to clear it without falling on my face) but this morning I feel strangely resolved. I've started and stopped 3 Facebook posts and written a draft of a different blog post I'm going to save for another time because I'm overwhelmed with this need to tell you about something I discovered in the final 128 days of 2018.<br />
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Many of you know that I set myself to the challenge of completely abstaining from alcohol for 90 days with the goal of examining the role it was playing in my life. To be clear...it was never my goal to give up drinking forever (and the mere fact that I feel like I need to clarify that point probably needs further exploration) but rather to ask the questions, look carefully at the habits, and determine if alcohol was the fun loving companion I believed it to be.<br />
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I learned a lot about myself in those 90 days and the following weeks. I'm planning to share a whole lot of that with you as I get more comfortable with honesty and vulnerability. But that's not what this post is about.<br />
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This one is about the fact that there are hundreds...thousands of WOMEN out there that are quietly struggling. And I had no idea. <br />
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<i>No. </i><i>Fucking. </i><i>Idea.</i><br />
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I literally thought I was the only person who ever laid awake at 3am and Googled <i>How to tell if you have a drinking problem</i> and felt the overwhelming relief when my score came out barely on the low end of 'You might have a problem with alcohol'. I was isolated by the fact that I didn't have a problem (according to my very scientific research) and I was afraid to label myself so I floundered along. Alone. <br />
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I just want you to know you're not alone. And if you simply want to have a conversation about this stuff, there is a huge community out there that will open their arms and hold you up while you wrestle with hard stuff. No labels, no judgement, no counting days and no reset requirements. No need to place yourself on a spectrum, promise new life decisions or make resolutions that last all year. I have found some amazing resources that I'm happy to point you towards, but I'm also here. Reach out. I wish I had. I was alone in a room full of people for too long.<br />
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...happy new year<br />
<br />Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-39756791447651453502018-10-19T14:31:00.000-05:002018-10-19T14:31:34.616-05:00#shifthappens<div>
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You know that feeling you get...excitement, anxiety, anticipation....when someone is slowly turning the crank of a jack in the box? You know what's coming, but even though you're ready for it, you're not ready for it when it happens. When the top pops open and monkey/clown/princess jumps out. It startles you every time, but then you smile, and stuff it back in and the whole things starts over again. </div>
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Tinny music dink</div>
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dink </div>
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dink </div>
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dinks along... and you just know that on the next turn its coming and you're ready...you'll get the jump, and then....<i>fuck</i>...it happens again, but not at quite the spot you were preparing yourself for.</div>
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Well, that was today. That was 9:47 today. And I had prepared myself for sometime closer to 9:55. And I wasn't quite ready. <i>Fuck.</i></div>
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So let's rewind....</div>
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I've gone and done this thing that some people would call brave. I have resigned from my job. A job that I love. A job that I am good at. A job that has given me the rare privilege for the last 10 years to be in the same space with people who are discovering how amazing they can be when they believe in themselves and they do hard things and they learn to love themselves as they are, even as they pursue making themselves into something new. And it has been hard. Even though I know it's right and it's good and it's time. It has been really, really hard.</div>
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In a very controlled way, a little at a time I have been saying goodbye to colleagues and friends and members that have been attending my meetings for years. I've made the announcement many times in the last few weeks. Starting with my husband so many weeks ago with a teary, vulnerable phone call that felt like a mix between admitting defeat and declaring my independence and ending this morning with my final announcement, it was like that tiny, slow cranking of the jack in the box. I knew what was coming and it felt good to get it out, but it hit me in a different place each time. This morning, an unsuspecting woman in a pink t-shirt was talking about being stuck. She was thoughtfully explaining how fitting back into her 'skinny clothes' wasn't good enough. Not anymore. Good enough wasn't good enough anymore. And her words hit me when I wasn't ready.</div>
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<i>How I managed to hold it together for another 6 minutes until I could deliver my carefully thought out departure announcement I honestly do not know. But I did. And it was all of things things I hoped it would be when I saved this meeting for last.</i></div>
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Because that's just it, isn't it? That's the shift. That's what I'm realizing as I challenge myself to not be stuck with good enough. I <i>can</i> be happy and sad at the same time. Ready doesn't mean I'm entirely prepared and being fearless doesn't mean I'm not scared to death. Things can be hard and good at the same time. </div>
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Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-13299295338682124012018-02-15T00:04:00.000-06:002018-02-15T00:04:38.880-06:00What I know now....<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">After 19 married Valentine’s Days I know...</span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">February 14 is a date on the calendar. It doesn’t always mean an actual date. A romantic thing on March 27th or August 11th or December 9th can be just as meaningful. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Being vulnerable with your partner is harder than sleepless nights with a newborn, vacations with your in laws and tax preparation all rolled into one. But it’s worth it. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Negotiating life whilst considering the needs of a partner is hard. Being alone is hard. Choose your hard. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">If your laundry basket has a lid, the dirty socks will be piled on top of the lid. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">It’s important to have people in your life. Some you share. Some just for you. Be ok with that. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">If you ever hear someone remark about a dessert being better than sex...it’s because they’ve never had great sex. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">To be thrilled for your partner when they delight in what thrills them. Even if it doesn’t thrill you. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">The Eagles are great and all...but love will NOT keep you alive. You need oxygen. And vegetables. And exercise. And batteries in the smoke detectors. And good conversations about how to make those things happen. THAT will keep you alive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">If you’re lucky, in the pursuit of what you want, you wind up getting what you need. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Love languages are not bullshit. Be bilingual. Rosetta Stone that shit if you have to. But learn another language besides your own. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Be ready for the fact that the person you married will change and grow and become a new version of themselves. Be ready to adjust. You are equipped for this. You always have been. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Pickles, mustard and olives can be polarizing forces in a marriage. They are toppings. Don’t let them be foundations. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Balance isn’t about making things even. Balance is being able to lean way over to one side without falling over. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Show up for things. Literally. Figuratively. In the cold. In the heat. With a good attitude. With a bad attitude. Put your whole self in. </span></div>
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<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Always be ready with a speech when it’s time to toast your partner and never forget to say goodnight. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Find something to do together. Besides kids. In spite of kids. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Know that we are all are doing the best we can. With what we have. In the moment we have it. Our lives will be made up of moments. Some of them matter more than others. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Forgiveness is as much for you as it is for the one who receives it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">Life is a ride you didn’t ask to be on. Up. Down. Hard left and upside down. It’s better with someone in the seat next to you. </span></div>
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Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-7534597864515183912018-01-30T17:55:00.000-06:002018-01-30T17:55:46.429-06:00Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her...<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm just going to jump right in here...if you need to catch up go <a href="http://themiddlebit.blogspot.com/2011/02/re-mission.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://themiddlebit.blogspot.com/2011/07/little-help-for-my-friend.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://themiddlebit.blogspot.com/2012/02/de-lurk-for-maria.html" target="_blank">here</a>...but if you already know about Maria, or you've ever lost a friend before it was time for them to go...then just keep going, you'll know just what I'm talking about.</div>
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<i>“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go” ~ Jamie Anderson</i></div>
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Maria used to call me when it was time to get angry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even before fucking cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When something ridiculous had happened with
our crazy boss and she needed to hear her sweary friend do justice to the injustice. Or when her patience was running thin with a toddler but yelling wasn't going to solve the problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then with the cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember once her explaining to me quite fiercely
that it was not “her illness” and I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i>
to call it that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was cancer, she
didn’t want it and it didn’t belong to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She wouldn’t have taken it if someone offered it to her, and she wanted
it gone as quickly as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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So when a test came back and results weren’t what she’d
hoped for or a treatment wasn’t going as planned, she’d call me and calmly
explain the situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d tell me, “Nancy,
I do not have room to be sad or angry or negative about this because I can’t
have that in me right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But somebody
needs to be mad, so I called you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d
spit and swear and get my heart rate up and then she’d thank me and tell me it
was going to be ok because she was going to live a long life and she’d be
calling me for decades to get angry about all kinds of things.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But she won't call me. We've just lost her. And I'm not angry. I'm very, very sad.</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I'm going to her town early this week so I can just sit in her spaces. I want to sit on Park Avenue at the Starbucks and just soak it in. I want to visit the Goodwill Boutique where we scored epic bargains many times. I'm going to sit in Grace's plastic lawn chair that's got a Maria shaped spot worn into the seat from so many hours of love and laughter. I don't know what it's going to be like to sit in those spaces.</span></div>
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I’m going to go to Maria’s church on Saturday. I’m going to sit with her family and her friends and they’re going to talk about her wonderful, light filled life. The pastor will likely have words about her journeying to the hereafter. Some people will be comforted. I <i>want</i> to be comforted. </div>
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Right now I’m overwhelmed with the loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m completely distracted by the idea that we
have to be here…after she is gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
have to be here without something we loved so much. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here in this place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here in this day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here in this life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">After</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This hereafter isn’t comforting to me.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It just doesn’t feel right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I don’t know what to do about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t know if there’s anything <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to</i>
do about it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grief is overwhelming. It’s heavy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of that love that I have to give to my
friend but cannot, fills up my arms and sits on my chest. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those words of love that I want to speak to her loudly with
laughter and softly into her ear, catch in my throat and can’t be swallowed
down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grief is love with no place to go.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what do I do with grief?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If it won’t go away and I can’t just push through it and there’s no end
in sight and things won’t ever be the same and the stages don’t seem to matter
and just when I think I’m beginning to collect myself, the pieces start to fall
apart again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grief is love with no place to go.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m sure I’ve just got to keep loving. Keep loving her
family. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep loving the wonderful women
friends she brought into my life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grief is love interrupted, but not stopped. I’m
going to rant, and ponder and be grateful and keep hating pink ribbons and text with her daughters and smile
when I choose coffee over tea and wear big, big hats and tell every woman in a Talbots cardigan how they make me think of my wonderful friend Maria.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grief goes on as long as love does.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>We'll never stop missing you dear lady...we'll never stop loving you.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2066JtrQWa1Vyoc82OgkTNL69sYFKokg1B162ZMmkVFURt4ABxRPqP0mxzJ633s_YpxJjOidFBxCQiTr72Zg8BA_5CDAuIikMPv_sYM5Yr7BXFwxR43EC1dRoyaZFsr-J9BiuVw3VYN0R/s1600/hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="786" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2066JtrQWa1Vyoc82OgkTNL69sYFKokg1B162ZMmkVFURt4ABxRPqP0mxzJ633s_YpxJjOidFBxCQiTr72Zg8BA_5CDAuIikMPv_sYM5Yr7BXFwxR43EC1dRoyaZFsr-J9BiuVw3VYN0R/s320/hat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-23331349409449922392017-10-03T12:32:00.000-05:002017-10-03T12:32:04.733-05:00She's Making a List...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxyCS8dTwLXR6imoSWAAFzUfpkJc99XN_k-SGFSXkPiUSiBBKipc9z0kZ0Qc313w2TTXFWXnpYDeLbpOU8ikMlQXU5PpVN20e-oqGKtm8XV-howIfFqTIygnIl5sMgD_HPkayysL4Y_Il_/s1600/Very_Angry_Emoji_7f7bb8df-d9dc-4cda-b79f-5453e764d4ea_grande.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxyCS8dTwLXR6imoSWAAFzUfpkJc99XN_k-SGFSXkPiUSiBBKipc9z0kZ0Qc313w2TTXFWXnpYDeLbpOU8ikMlQXU5PpVN20e-oqGKtm8XV-howIfFqTIygnIl5sMgD_HPkayysL4Y_Il_/s200/Very_Angry_Emoji_7f7bb8df-d9dc-4cda-b79f-5453e764d4ea_grande.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
So I've been sitting with anger lately and I'm discovering some things about it. Angry is my 'go-to' emotion because I excel at displaying it for people. I don't really have to work hard to look and act pissed off and it has the desired effect of quickly throwing up a 50 foot wall topped with barbed wire and making sure anyone who approaches me slowly backs away because there is no chance they are getting in and there's a decent chance they'd get injured in the effort. Angry is easy, angry is efficient at achieving my desired result...GET AWAY FROM ME!<br />
<br />
What I'm discovering is that when I <i>act</i> angry it's often because I need the wall, and I need it quickly. I want to hide behind it and not show people anything. But angry isn't always what I am. Sometimes I'm feeling weak or frustrated. Sometimes it's afraid or trapped. Sometimes it's guilt or rejection and I'll be damned if I'm going to let anyone see that. So angry builds the wall and I can safely hide behind it until the feeling passes.<br />
<br />
I can honestly say I have no idea what it would be like to show fear to people. To behave like I'm feeling victimized or weak. Or sad. It would probably take longer...sigh. What does trapped look like? Was does inadequate look like? I don't even know. Do I even want to know?<br />
<br />
I read somewhere that emotions are neither good nor bad, they just are. That emotions are temporary, they don't define us. They tell us <i>how</i> we are not <i>who</i> we are. Ugh, all of this makes me feel sick because it sounds so good and true and simple. I even speak it to people. I need someone to speak it to me.<br />
<br />
I think this is another preamble. I'm paying attention to my emotions. I'm keeping a list of what I <i>actually</i> am when I display angry. So we'll see how that goes.<br />
<br />
<br />Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-89128948737205578772017-08-15T12:15:00.002-05:002017-08-15T12:15:27.863-05:00This is not a triumphant return...<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">I’ve quietly let
myself in the backdoor with the key I left under the mat.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I feel like I
need to explain myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel like I
should explain myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should…that’s a
burden of a word/attitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
haven’t been here in a long while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
haven’t filled this space with anything new, anything at all. <strike>I have so many
good excuses</strike>. I don’t have any good excuses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I’m being honest with myself, I know that I put things down here
because it helps me to know what I think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The act of choosing words and forming sentences and gathering thoughts
gives me a chance to work through things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Meh…I think that
was the preamble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The disclaimer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think that was the part where I try and
make myself feel better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am angry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am sad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I moved to Texas
and I cannot seem to find my footing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
keep getting knocked down, slammed down, nudged aside, “Here hold this, fix
this, handle this, take this on, be okay with this…and do it fast, and don’t
plan on anyone helping you because you’re alone Sweetheart, you’ve started
over, so buckle up.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, and it’s a big, fat, ugly, Texas cowboy buckle that doesn’t go with anything you know…so, fuck
you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>I need to reign
in that last rant or it may never stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">You know what I
do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pretend to be fine because NOT
being fine is inconvenient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
inefficient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I don’t want anyone to
see that happening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am not
fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it’s terribly inefficient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I know when I’m writing and thinking, that
I’m better. So here we go again....<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLhySLbuRquhV-6o7OKKHrdPCzTesBt93VFy77su72rnHNUrdavKd5Ph143Wez-ao__UVcxi5w2WrSqPazoKaP321Us-_tjBoUn_Byt1EhCLMbCU8WlhjZCUrrS1IkovW9-Zka0S4wy-9v/s1600/home-security-door-mat-key.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLhySLbuRquhV-6o7OKKHrdPCzTesBt93VFy77su72rnHNUrdavKd5Ph143Wez-ao__UVcxi5w2WrSqPazoKaP321Us-_tjBoUn_Byt1EhCLMbCU8WlhjZCUrrS1IkovW9-Zka0S4wy-9v/s400/home-security-door-mat-key.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-65281608140875409782016-02-14T14:04:00.004-06:002016-02-14T14:04:53.350-06:00Why Cleaning Toilets and Zombies Have Everything to do with Valentine’s Day<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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He emerges from the powder room,</div>
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toilet brush in hand, <o:p></o:p></div>
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smelling vaguely like
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He stops, turns
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comes back to give me
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and grins as he
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Happy Valentine’s Day Love.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fast forward several
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<br /></div>
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As he stands at the
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“Want to start the
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>so we can watch zombies when it’s over?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is my love
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I see your hearts and flowers </div>
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and I raise you FOUR clean toilets, </div>
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a heart shaped pizza and walking dead people!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Valentine's Day for the win.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlVL0ULTtsI8lUG-ek5UYpwoIQeyGGylVOrkOtaEEux2x6cjdTnZ-jFr7uTWpOcsiDY60IB3av3dnSEp-srHMFLHSpp_x8iZHQNN3xsh087H4JNkFklormN_CayXyc1RxPoD9LTt66k6Lb/s1600/IMG_3353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlVL0ULTtsI8lUG-ek5UYpwoIQeyGGylVOrkOtaEEux2x6cjdTnZ-jFr7uTWpOcsiDY60IB3av3dnSEp-srHMFLHSpp_x8iZHQNN3xsh087H4JNkFklormN_CayXyc1RxPoD9LTt66k6Lb/s320/IMG_3353.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_2118016169"></span><span id="goog_2118016170"></span><br /></div>
Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-42330169898348970342015-09-24T16:20:00.001-05:002015-09-24T16:20:39.382-05:00PiecesNot everyone understands that sometimes restarting is infinitely more difficult than beginning in the first place. Starting over, <strike>at something you know you love doing</strike> with writing publically, is equal parts excitement, anticipation, fear and dread for me. But they're equal parts.<br />
<br />
So here I am...<br />
<br />
The guru says, "The signs ARE out there. You just have to be watching for them." Well that's all fine and good when you <strike>have</strike> make time to look. I haven't been making time. It doesn't really matter why. We all have reasons. Honestly, I'm not even sure I <i>was</i> making time. But there was a sign. And I knew it was a sign because I couldn't stop thinking about it. And I stopped what I was doing and went back to take a picture, because I was thinking...when I write about this, I'm going to want a picture to go with the essay so my readers can see what I saw.<br />
<br />
BAM!<br />
<br />
Sign.<br />
<br />
Let me take you there....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsRaJSEd-FwRuQprY_PAmkAWnf4Gdz_AFNUcXNDZ72SZQwlRCCvUuQr52rPpWJbiIRMm_uQ0-2EVXGp5wIt5ARM3_mkN1eiLJc_PmhEif-1oqUaEpPNorH20hRIm-5tICaYhP8-LtB-oaP/s1600/IMG_5080.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsRaJSEd-FwRuQprY_PAmkAWnf4Gdz_AFNUcXNDZ72SZQwlRCCvUuQr52rPpWJbiIRMm_uQ0-2EVXGp5wIt5ARM3_mkN1eiLJc_PmhEif-1oqUaEpPNorH20hRIm-5tICaYhP8-LtB-oaP/s640/IMG_5080.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
Last week when I was on my run, there were hundreds of puzzle pieces strewn all over the sidewalk. The sprinkle of tiny cardboard shapes went on for 20 yards or so, they were on and off the grass and some had fallen into the street. I cannot explain why, but it made me so sad to see them discarded and littered all over my path. It was such a odd thing to see on the sidewalk and I immediately began to think about how they must have ended up there. My guess is that they had spilled out of somebody's trash. But as they lay there, in their perfect little shapes, they didn't look like trash. They weren't smelly or rotting or broken. But someone had decided that they <i>were</i> trash.<br />
<br />
Maybe they <i>were</i> broken. How do you decide that a puzzle is broken? How many pieces need to be missing before it's time to throw the puzzle away? One? Ten? Is it more about <i>which</i> pieces are missing? Maybe a puzzle is broken when a key piece is lost. Or an edge? A corner perhaps? Who decides when it's time? How do you know?<br />
<br />
My life feels a lot like a puzzle sometimes. So many pieces, perfectly formed in themselves, but infinitely more interesting when fitted right next to each other and assembled into the whole. Some pieces tend to hang together and others are tricky to find sometimes, but when they snap into place, they're a perfect fit. Some of my pieces are missing. It happens. Some of them go missing for long periods and never show up again. Some pieces get found and it's like a tiny miracle. Even though there are a few blank spaces here and there, and a few pieces with corners that have been bent and torn, the overall picture is still very clear. Still very Nancy.<br />
<br />
And yes, I realize that I am not a paperboard picture laser cut into tiny sections and sold for $7.99, but I've had a lot to handle lately. I've lost some pieces of my puzzle in the last few months and that's why I was sad to see the discarded puzzle. This puzzle had gotten to a point where somebody decided you could no longer see the bigger picture. There were enough pieces missing that it was trash.<br />
<br />
What's my point? I'm not sure yet, but it has something to do with fiercely guarding the intricately beautiful pieces of yourself. Repairing the damaged ones. Taking extra care when handling the broken ones. Finding a sturdy box to keep them in. And taking a hard look at those holes where the missing pieces used to fit, and figuring out what kind of colorful thing you could carefully slide underneath, that might not be quite the same as the original, but that will fill up the empty space, and complete the picture.Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-35044726872075161632014-07-10T16:53:00.001-05:002014-07-10T16:53:51.955-05:00The Things We Carry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHM3djrULe4jEH2Z1alYnd2AcWipe7Dek5QTB6cJbfjdG3mqP_97R2DrsJZ7WXN8RFBEPzgjUuPrIcxq4aRoKj3jY8dCztqj4HNNXecoNs1a6IlSEJkz6siJNFhMfOz03jbjEsRP2k-e7Y/s1600/steep-mountain-path.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHM3djrULe4jEH2Z1alYnd2AcWipe7Dek5QTB6cJbfjdG3mqP_97R2DrsJZ7WXN8RFBEPzgjUuPrIcxq4aRoKj3jY8dCztqj4HNNXecoNs1a6IlSEJkz6siJNFhMfOz03jbjEsRP2k-e7Y/s1600/steep-mountain-path.jpg" height="267" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So they set out to build a road. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A
road to pave the way. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
To pave the way to places that had never been
explored. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
They packed everything they could think of to help them on
their journey. It was going to be epic.<br /><br />They had no idea what
was out there. So much ground to cover. So many challenges to
encounter. Deserts that threatened to lay them bare. Jungles
that nearly swallowed them up. Trees to step around. Animals to run
from. Wide open spaces where it seemed like nothing could
possibly grow. Thick tangled messes where it seemed like
nothing could possibly pass.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And there were amazing treasures to
behold. Unobstructed sunsets unlike anything they had ever seen.
Glittering rivers that held more bounty than they could believe.
Amazing scenes that they could never forget.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So they made their way. To pave the
way. The lot of them with their baggage. They hauled their
equipment for making the way. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Day after day. And left a ribbon of
road stretching out behind them. That others could follow.<br /><br />Until
one day they came to a huge mountain. It loomed over them. An
immovable obstacle. And the captain of the group said, "This
is unlike anything we have seen before, but we must pave the way. We
must go forward. We must go over."<br /><br />So the men
strapped their equipment to their backs. They loaded their
heavy baggage and headed up the mountain to pave the way. But
they could not progress. They lightened their load. But they
still made no progress. It was one step forward and two steps back.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One of the crew said, "Captain, we are not equipped to
climb this mountain. We do not have the right tools. We
do not have the right experience."<br /><br />And the captain
proclaimed, "We cannot go over. But we cannot go back. We
must go around. Let us find a way around.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />So the group traveled east for days
and days. And the mountains got taller and taller. And
there did not seem to be a way around. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One of the men said to
the captain, "This cannot be the way. We must go back to
where we started and try the other way."<br /><br />So they retraced
their steps to the place where they had first met the mountain and
they tried the western route. They had traveled for many days
and nights when one of the men said, “Captain we have gone so far
and we have not made any progress. We have gone from east to
west and side to side. We have walked for days and days but we have
not gone forward. We have <i>not</i> paved the way.”<br /><br />The
captain was defeated. He said, “This mountain cannot be conquered.
Maybe this is the end of our journey. Maybe this is the place we
are supposed to be.”<br /><br />And there was a voice from the
back of the group that said, “Captain, there is another way.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What is this way? There does not
seem to be another way.” And a young man came forward with a box
that read TNT.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Captain. This box contains
something amazing that will let us go through the mountain.” said
the young man.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And the company laughed.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Boy, you have no experience!”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Ha! What do you know?”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You have been nowhere. Done
nothing! This cannot possibly be true.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Nobody goes through a mountain.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And the young man said, “I assure you
Captain. The contents of this box will allow us to go through the
mountain. I cannot imagine the perils that await us on the inside of
this obstacle, but if we are careful, and we learn as we go, we can
make our way through to the other side.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Captain said, “Boy! We have had
this box all long and you said nothing?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yessir. We did not need this box
the cross the river. We did not need this box to cross the
desert. The contents of this box would not have made the sunsets more
beautiful or helped us to gather the treasures along the way. We
have not needed it yet. But we have had it all along. Yes.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />So they began to go through the
mountain. It was slow. And it was treacherous. The men were
terrified and the way was dark. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But it was forward. And that felt
good, because they had not been moving forward for a long
time.<br /><br />Before they knew it the first cracks of light began to
show. And the cracks became beams of light and the beams became
spaces to gaze through. When they finally emerged from the
other side of the mountain they looked back on the immovable obstacle
that had stalled their progress for so long.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Captain proclaimed, “That is one
huge mountain.”<br /><br />And the young man said, “No sir, actually,
now it has become just one more thing we had to get through.”<br /><br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>It's a mountain my friend, but it's only a mountain.</i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>What have you carried with you all this
way that will make that mountain just one more thing you’ve got to
get through?</i></div>
Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-826214121451182762014-02-14T17:32:00.003-06:002014-02-14T17:32:24.440-06:00You + MeSometimes a blogger vanishes from the web-i-verse for months. <i>Things happen.</i> A disappearance of this nature might cause one to think things like, "Oh no! She has stopped blogging...how tragic for all of her readers!" Or something more perilous such as, "Good gracious! We haven't seen anything new on themiddlebit lately, I hope the blogger is not trapped under something heavy!"<br />
<br />
My Dears. All is well. I have been writing, just not here. I have spent the last year or so collecting essays and musings for another purpose...<i>more on this at a later date.</i><br />
<br />
As many of you know, even when I disappear for ages, you can count on me to resurface on Valentines Day and proclaim something publicly about the state of romance around this place. This year is no exception. Some of my past efforts to capture thoughts about love can be found <a href="http://www.themiddlebit.blogspot.com/2010/02/he-let-me-downagain.html" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="http://www.themiddlebit.blogspot.com/2011/02/im-not-in-love-with-you.html" target="_blank">here</a>, and <a href="http://www.themiddlebit.blogspot.com/2013/02/heres-your-card-my-love_14.html" target="_blank">here</a>. This year I was inspired to do something a little...<i>different.</i><br />
<br />
What you will find here today, on this holiest of romantic days, is a tiny smattering of words. They are not your typical love poetry and they don't rhyme. They are NSFW or young readers and I'm embarrassed as hell that my Dad might be reading them..<i>.but there it is.</i>..sorry Dad. They are inspired by nearly 20 years of loving and living with my Valentine and the best partner I could've ever imagined.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9JATBu5J9VboZKFkkjxmF8Igtw5P2Fyg8Nn2RZYfd1dHpTY0_3-SgmbOrelyWbGstQfYZyGiN1iXAlSav1mJiVTtDQQfCnL4MVu2gnnyKd-bEe2ui108Y9OuHjdFBOfqJVRzjfdksK6kS/s1600/Quantum_Calculations_by_throttledan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9JATBu5J9VboZKFkkjxmF8Igtw5P2Fyg8Nn2RZYfd1dHpTY0_3-SgmbOrelyWbGstQfYZyGiN1iXAlSav1mJiVTtDQQfCnL4MVu2gnnyKd-bEe2ui108Y9OuHjdFBOfqJVRzjfdksK6kS/s1600/Quantum_Calculations_by_throttledan.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Darling,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You appeal to me about as much as a math book.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
When I really take a good look, I think, "Oh Fuck."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-69881088934959349042013-02-14T14:46:00.001-06:002013-02-14T14:46:27.240-06:00Here's your card. My Love.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ExVOtdXFQ4dtpKO5bQ9jlDHpaKnc0wTYUKvGOKnpeQ91FWWoxVgFDOLf4FhWMr15fpvNPoXr8DiW4GWfz95WxhtbCS6GkQn4Y6hhsN_UfQDrZh2-k3QVKZ9M5c15GId7tJxplWqqV-Yt/s1600/IMG_2129.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ExVOtdXFQ4dtpKO5bQ9jlDHpaKnc0wTYUKvGOKnpeQ91FWWoxVgFDOLf4FhWMr15fpvNPoXr8DiW4GWfz95WxhtbCS6GkQn4Y6hhsN_UfQDrZh2-k3QVKZ9M5c15GId7tJxplWqqV-Yt/s400/IMG_2129.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>photo credit</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Susan King</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>2011 </i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Dear one,<br />
<br />
I went to the card store and I read them all. <i>Well, maybe not all of them.</i> I skipped a few with teddy bears on the front and passed over one with boobs. But I read a <i>lot</i> of them. <br />
<br />
<i>sigh...</i>Valentine's cards<i>...sigh...</i><br />
<br />
All the muck and the rhyming and the sexual innuendo. Here's what the crown store wanted me to say to you today...with a card purchased for $5.49. <br />
<br />
<i><b>Happiness always...</b></i><br />
Not likely. So don't set me up for that, please. I love Hollywood movies and Disney princess stories as much as the next girl, but even I know happiness is not<b> </b><i>always </i>possible. You are my Prince Phillip, <i>minus the leggings and the horse thank God</i>, but I don't expect us to be happy always. Just hug me tighter when we're not. And kiss me goodnight anyway. <br />
<br />
<b><i>All we need is love...</i></b><br />
And oxygen. And vegetables. And gas for the car. And respect for each other. And patience. And, and, and...Yes, we <i>need </i>love, but not because it's the only thing in our lives. We need love because it holds all the other things together. It's the glue that gathers up cooking together and dealing with house guests and parenting daughters while one of us is away and taking turns going to the gym and sticks them all together. There are lots of things we need in our life, and loving you holds it all together. <br />
<br />
<b><i>We have weathered the storm...</i></b><br />
Yes. We certainly have. Several times. And it was hard, but we came through it. The part that gets left out of the Valentine verse is how the current storm may be over, but there <i>will</i> be others. Storms <i>are</i> hard. And destructive. And oftentimes unexpected. And the bad news is they stay hard. But we have gotten so much better at dealing with them. Our relationship has seen some storms and some damage and then some repair and rebuilding. So we're stronger than we were before. And when the next one hits, we'll remember what we learned from the last one. <br />
<br />
<b><i>You're my everything...</i></b><br />
Well...no. You're not. But you're one of my favorite things. And I love what we've made. The life. The girls. The stories. And I love my life more because you're part of it. That's <i>my</i> everything. <br />
<br />
<b><i>You've never let me down...</i></b><br />
You are quite famous for <a href="http://themiddlebit.blogspot.com/2010/02/he-let-me-downagain.html">letting me down</a>, actually. You knew, all those years ago, I would always be prone to jumping, flying off the handle and living on the verge. You knew it was going to be a ride and that your arms would open up wide enough, to be my parachute, and let me down. Just when I needed you to. Over and over. <br />
<br />
<b><i>I'll be in love with you forever...</i></b><br />
Well, My Love, <a href="http://themiddlebit.blogspot.com/2011/02/im-not-in-love-with-you.html">I'm not</a>. Not anymore. When I decided that it was forever, Love changed from this thing I was <i>in</i>, to this thing that I <i>do</i>. Loving. Loving you means I'm doing something. I'm <i>giving</i> back. <i>Shifting</i> to compensate. <i>Celebrating </i>the victories.<i> Towing </i>the line. <i>Taking</i> the time.<i> Telling</i> you. <i>Showing</i> you. <i>Needing </i>you. It's the <i>doing</i> that gives Love power. Makes it last. We've been at this for awhile, I don't <i>give</i> Love anymore. I can't be <i>in</i> Love. I have to <i>do</i> Love. <br />
<br />
My Valentine's prose doesn't rhyme, probably wouldn't look so good in a fancy script with sunset pictures in the background and wouldn't sell many cards. <br />
<br />
But it's truth. And I love you. And that's priceless.<br />
<br />
Happy Valentine's Day, <i>My Love.</i>Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-60328169100338744562012-06-15T10:03:00.002-05:002012-06-15T10:07:30.930-05:00Feeling Kinda Lucky<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheFNym6loBJylJJTNUpZbLwTjGCGboRpA7-GOJ_pyiy06cPZ-Cj8TXtZd6T5VDYaG024kNlp3K8YZfnvTgTsh4bRQuR1-xTJNmSbOpgnWRGJXjeiiOx-ID3TmfdYP0YTI1uio-q16FZyDA/s1600/DSCN0675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheFNym6loBJylJJTNUpZbLwTjGCGboRpA7-GOJ_pyiy06cPZ-Cj8TXtZd6T5VDYaG024kNlp3K8YZfnvTgTsh4bRQuR1-xTJNmSbOpgnWRGJXjeiiOx-ID3TmfdYP0YTI1uio-q16FZyDA/s400/DSCN0675.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
We had major rain in our little town yesterday. All day yesterday. It started with a spectacular shelf cloud that eclipsed the sky at around 10:45 am and never quit. All day. Estimates of total rainfall are exceeding 9 inches.<br />
<br />
For some people I know, it was quite an awful day. Rain in basements, new carpeting flooded, driveways washed out, water bubbling up from the bathtub drain. Not the kind of tragedy that devastates a town certainly, but also not what I would wish for anyone on a summer Thursday. Nobody was injured, the town rallied and put up sand bags and Service Master will meet their monthly quotas by pumping thousands of gallons of rain water out of our town this morning and in the coming days. Because it's not over yet. The river continues to rise.<br />
<br />
We came out ok. I described to a friend yesterday that it is both comforting and disturbing to hear the basement sump pump running almost constantly for hours at a time. But we were dry. We spent hours at the windows watching the washing machine of water
triple rinse tomato plants and try to drown cucumber vines that were
very happy to have a trellis to climb. At one point, the middle bit and I braved the elements to go bail out some of my herb pots with plastic cups, but that was more for fun than any real sense of botanical urgency. As a deep purple evening turned to night and the rain kept coming...we were still dry.<br />
<br />
This morning, about 8am, coffee in hand, dogs underfoot...I went out to assess the damage to my landscaping and my tender edibles. A quick survey of the front yard revealed very squishy sod and a jam of debris near the storm drain. <i>Not a big deal.</i> As I squished and waded my way around the side yard I was relieved to see my herb garden was no longer under inches of water and that no further bailing would be required. More splashing and wading through the low area of sod across the back yard made plain the next activity for today would be replacing some top soil in my tomato garden. <i>Not a big deal.</i><br />
<br />
Then I turned to peek at my peppers, just around one more corner in a raised bed at the rear of the yard...and I saw a baby sitting by my rain barrels. Yes. A baby. He was quietly parked on his very soggy bottom, in my grass, playing with wet stones. <i>I am not kidding. Nor am I losing my marbles. </i>I knew he was too young to speak to me as he crawled towards me on the soaking lawn, but I asked him anyway, "Well who are you?" I looked around to see who he could possibly be with...nobody. I called out, "Hello" to the general vicinity of my backyard neighbors...nothing. I crouched down to peek into yards and around the corner for the person who must be right behind him...nowhere.<br />
<br />
So I went over and picked up his sodden little self. He reached right up and came to me. I wiped off the grass bits from his drppy blond head and started out of the yard to stand by the street and look for whomever had certainly misplaced this towheaded tot.<br />
<br />
As we came up the hill from our low backyard we were spotted by a very grateful gramma who came rushing across the neighboring yards with her arms stretched out. "We have been looking for you!" Apparently the wee explorer had climbed out of his portable crib and let himself out of the house while the older siblings were enjoying a post rainstorm patio breakfast with gramma. I assured my friend and neighbor that her secret was safe with me. No harm done. He was a bit soggy, but just fine. It was lucky I had come out to check on my plants.<br />
<br />
Yes. It was lucky. Lucky that I wasn't bailing out a basement or dealing with a drywall restoration professional. Lucky that my carpets were dry and my yard was mostly intact. Lucky that our sump pump stayed on and that all I'll need is a tiny bit of topsoil to repair the damage from yesterday's torrent.<br />
<br />
It shouldn't take a mysterious baby appearing in my yard to remind me how lucky I am. But that's just what I got this morning.Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-24286448852627687442012-03-28T14:44:00.002-05:002012-03-28T14:44:39.614-05:0037 Days Later<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIcO9K8NocFvQbzyPq1O0aNh_BfF9weY0xqwnEyZuh7zfjwqcIaKy3AGiOf9pTHzL-kdJ3-ajlB4JucusWGZ6kf5s5znLSEMoGQHFzAvdXJwSohD3jhXQVF2SXsaZF5eOoPKHpCIyZupBs/s1600/antdraphoetreasurechest3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIcO9K8NocFvQbzyPq1O0aNh_BfF9weY0xqwnEyZuh7zfjwqcIaKy3AGiOf9pTHzL-kdJ3-ajlB4JucusWGZ6kf5s5znLSEMoGQHFzAvdXJwSohD3jhXQVF2SXsaZF5eOoPKHpCIyZupBs/s320/antdraphoetreasurechest3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">You may not know this about me, but I am a Professional <s>pain
in the ass</s> <s>sarcasm specialist</s> Organizer. I counsel people
about inhabiting their homes authentically. I help people go through their
stuff to take stock of what they already have, before going out to acquire more
things.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> I encourage
people to sort forgotten boxes and peek into seldom used drawers. We look
in unopened closets and unpack old baggage. I ask them to truly see what
is on their shelves and their walls instead of just living next to it and not
paying attention. <br />
<br style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.918); orphans: 2; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
That's what I've been doing for 37 days. That's why you haven't heard
from me. I needed to see what stuff I had in here, rattling around in my
own <s>space</s> head. I looked in hidden spots. I paid attention
to what was already there. I unpacked some baggage. And spent some
time deciding what to do with all of it. I found all this stuff in my
head. Some of it went directly to the manuscript draft. <i>That book that
may someday turn into something other than a giant Word document. </i> </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">And some of it’s going here. I’ll probably trot it out in
bits and pieces. But first…<br />
<br style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.918); orphans: 2; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
I'm really proud of what's going on over at <a href="http://awordbetweenus.blogspot.com/">A WordBetween Us</a>. There's
so much there that's growing. I had no idea what those seeds were going
to grow into when I planted them. It's kind of amazing. <i>Scary as
hell actually. </i> If you're reading it, you should know you are bearing
witness to a developing intimacy that most people don't get to see. We're doing it in public. And we've invited you to
watch. So amazing.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">And second…</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">A few months ago I wrote an essay and posted it anonymously on
another website because I was too chicken to put my name on it. Well…I
have decided that’s lame. If I think it, I should own it. And own
the consequences…<i>sigh. </i>So you can now read it <a href="http://themiddlebit.blogspot.com/p/what-we-keep.html">here</a>.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif";">I apologize for my long absence. I had some work to do.
</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-size: small; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span>Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-46368420491419358302012-02-19T20:05:00.000-06:002012-02-19T20:05:30.454-06:0037 from 37<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBu5g2l9T1KhLWBpPuBj7MnMzAypto5Uzfk-Kby9If5Gmlhla9JuNxoJlFQ36PzEd6G3gf0fTosJJNv0mjIf9-tIziVBrnQ34e-inGrjvMnhfxqAUl3Cze_5ZdkY2Kq7NOOdaiRGp_enGf/s1600/37-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBu5g2l9T1KhLWBpPuBj7MnMzAypto5Uzfk-Kby9If5Gmlhla9JuNxoJlFQ36PzEd6G3gf0fTosJJNv0mjIf9-tIziVBrnQ34e-inGrjvMnhfxqAUl3Cze_5ZdkY2Kq7NOOdaiRGp_enGf/s320/37-8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We inhabit ourselves without valuing ourselves, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
unable to see that here, now</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
this very moment is sacred;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but once it's gone-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
its value is incontestable.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>-Joyce Carol Oates</i></div>
<br />
I sat at the counter this morning, gripping my coffee, hunched over my iPad digesting the headlines, playing Words with my friends, reading the newest set of emails....<i>blah blah blah. </i> Out of nowhere I had the most amazing realization and had to <strike>jump up and run over to the calendar</strike> close up the celebrity newsfeed on my device and open up my Google calendar to double check my calculations.<br />
<br />
Today is 37 days from my 37th birthday! Yes. I noticed it in time. It would not have been nearly as cool to come to this realization tomorrow. 37 days from 37. <i> Nice.</i><br />
<br />
37 has become an important number for me recently. One of my favorite authors, <a href="http://www.37days.com/">Patti Digh</a> asks the question, "What would you do if you only had 37 days to live?" <br />
<br />
I have no intention of expiring in 37 days...but what if? Hard question. Would I pack up the girls and take them to see the world, with me? Would I lock myself in a room and try desperately to write down everything I'd ever hoped to tell them someday? Neither one of those feels much like me.<br />
<br />
Inhabit the life I already have. <i>Yes, that's it.</i> Fully inhabit the life I have already worked so hard to build. Not go live someone else's life. I am going to spend the next 37 days working on living fully in my life. <br />
<br />
37 days. I <i>can't </i>believe I noticed it today. Today.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-74775078890608215732012-02-05T16:48:00.000-06:002012-02-13T12:23:49.079-06:00De-Lurk for MariaHow often do the things we carry keep us from seeing where we are going?<br />
<br />
We all have loads to carry, but the trick is to figure out how to wrap your arms around all you have to bear and still move forward. One year ago this week, my dear friend Maria, added a <a href="http://themiddlebit.blogspot.com/2011/02/re-mission.html">cancer diagnosis</a> to all she had to carry. Added a disastrous illness to her already full arms. Gathered it up among her treasures and her burdens...and kept moving forward. <br />
<br />
So she'll mark a kind of anniversary on Saturday. Mark the day when the load changed, but not the direction. And so, because I love her, and so many of you have gotten to <a href="http://themiddlebit.blogspot.com/2011/07/little-help-for-my-friend.html">know her story</a>...<br />
<br />
I would like to propose a week of de-lurking for Maria. A lurker is a person who reads a blog regularly, quietly, anonymously...but never comments. Maybe nods knowingly at the computer screen while reading the post of the week. Laughs to themselves when something tickles them. But never leaves a comment. We <strike>bloggers</strike> writers know you're out there. Our stat counters tell us you're out there. But it's nice to hear from you all every once in awhile.<br />
<br />
If you've been lurking out there, reading but not commenting...this is your week. I would like to invite my lurkers to comment, to de-lurk. For every comment left here by someone who has <i>never</i> commented before, from now until next Saturday the 11th, I will make a small donation to the fund that has grown to more than $700 from the sales of my book and goes directly to Maria who, as long as she is alive, will be in theMiddleBit of a fight for her life.<br />
<br />
And, for those of you who have commented before, thank you. I really appreciate hearing your thoughts. I'd love to hear from you this week too. The name of every single person who leaves a comment this week will go into a drawing for a signed copy of my book, theMiddleBit. I will contact the winner after the drawing on Saturday and make arrangements to send it to you, from me, so you can carry it with you as you move forward.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRM-i5WzOh10NvWVksge5dbbWrKLCeliN21uWljIo8TTNb-Xo96nRJGTEpbdhcVmwo97CvwxBcdiQ7_6qXSnrqYDRnqA7cx09vSoDK2gFOq7XMZ3EZ2unY2L8ErjpAmtVSSd3UAVUByWxO/s1600/P1070633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRM-i5WzOh10NvWVksge5dbbWrKLCeliN21uWljIo8TTNb-Xo96nRJGTEpbdhcVmwo97CvwxBcdiQ7_6qXSnrqYDRnqA7cx09vSoDK2gFOq7XMZ3EZ2unY2L8ErjpAmtVSSd3UAVUByWxO/s320/P1070633.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
***UPDATE***<br />
Thank you all so much for de-lurking last week. I know my friend was checking in regularly to get a lift from your comments! I am so grateful. Another donation to the fund is on it's way to her this week. In other news...pastrylady, I am trying to contact you. You were the winner of the book last week. Send me an email through my blogger profile page and I can make arrangements to send it to you. Thanks! <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-89389422893621039032012-01-27T16:52:00.001-06:002012-01-27T16:52:21.934-06:00Bootlegger's BalladEvery night, the loving Father sings the same song to the middle bit and the little bit as he tucks them into bed. It is precious. And they love it.<br />
<br />
A few days ago, Minnie, our little bit, decided that there was a problem with the song choice. She explained to me that because it was a bedtime song, that was sung "at nighttime Mom, duh" that we should change the words. Confident that this was just a stalling tactic, I kissed her head, told her, "Yes Dear. I'm sure you're right. We'll figure it out tomorrow," and shut off the light.<br />
<br />
She apparently took some time to rethink the song's lyrics and this is her new version.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Oooooo.......</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-22259082898150510222012-01-21T19:12:00.001-06:002012-01-21T19:12:05.785-06:00Dear Lego,<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsbc4ciiwdoooUpaaC80dKFlX0C85Lf_Hf6HUQUCMAfMDaIXbpAjN4m636O_UkUG4ya0CJQoYTrsWar2Ya4kN8wegj2hEumTQGTWB2Da1NW7dsVMqF_E79Z_IzD6w1feZ4C5ox3LIZ6w2H/s1600/91FhWi9FkQL._AA1500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsbc4ciiwdoooUpaaC80dKFlX0C85Lf_Hf6HUQUCMAfMDaIXbpAjN4m636O_UkUG4ya0CJQoYTrsWar2Ya4kN8wegj2hEumTQGTWB2Da1NW7dsVMqF_E79Z_IzD6w1feZ4C5ox3LIZ6w2H/s320/91FhWi9FkQL._AA1500_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Much has been written in the last few weeks about your launch of a new line of Legos designed to appeal to girls. As a mother of daughters, I can appreciate the initial urge to answer their calls of, "More pink!" and "That's too boyish!" with a pastel colored mini figure that has boobs and carries flowers...<br />
<br />
No wait! I can't! That's completely stupid. Lego! You really messed this one up. Your new playsets promise minutes of fun while girls of all ages follow cookie cutter directions and assemble purple and teal scenes filled with puppies and pre-fab furniture. Lame. Sexist. Insulting. <br />
<br />
So I thought I would show you what my daughters and I did with our primary colored Legos. The bricks and bits handed down to them by their starship building father. Accessories like a working ceiling fan, a broom, a plunger (for when too many organic vegetable peels get put down the disposal), and a paper towel holder that <i>we</i> had to assemble using our imagination. Furniture <i>we</i> had to build because Daddy's old Star Wars sets didn't come with a 6 burner Viking range, a Sub-Zero refrigerator or a 36 bottle wine chiller.<br />
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<br />
Is it cliche that my girls and I built a kitchen? <i>Possibly. </i> But Lego, you <i>know</i> your new friends would <i>loooove</i> to be sitting on one of those barstools constructed out of rocket seats and red bricks having tapas and a glass of pinot with with my storm trooper right about now! <br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
<br />
Nancy, the mother of 3 awesome Lego loving GIRLS!<br />
<br />
<br />Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-10380690121485574862012-01-01T10:18:00.001-06:002012-01-01T10:18:14.090-06:00Launch<div style="text-align: center;">
A new partnership. A new journey. A new year.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Come see.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://awordbetweenus.blogspot.com/">AWordBetweenUs</a></div>Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-84523396173412707222011-12-27T19:33:00.000-06:002011-12-27T19:33:17.197-06:00If You're Only Going to Have One Glass...<div style="text-align: center;">
My friend knows I love a nice red.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My friend also knows I try to limit myself to one glass on a week night.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My friend found this glass and gave it to me for Christmas...because she loves me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This glass holds an entire bottle of wine.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The <i>entire</i> bottle.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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If you're only going to have one glass...then...duh...this is your glass.</div>
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I gleefully showed it to my husband and opened the accompanying bottle of Mad Housewife merlot...<i>then I had second thoughts.</i></div>
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"Honey, it seems irresponsible to drink this whole bottle all by myself."</div>
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He responded, "Don't worry love. We'll be here with you."</div>
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Wink. Wink.</div>Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-17747079007589984732011-12-20T09:50:00.000-06:002011-12-20T09:50:23.488-06:00Georgia's on my Mind<div style="text-align: center;">
Yesterday <strike>was not a good day</strike> sucked. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
From the minute I opened my eyes and realized what day it was, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
everything that happened was yuck </div>
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because I knew what was coming and everything I did all day </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
was only getting me closer to the point of the day that I was dreading.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Yesterday I put my dog to sleep. </div>
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And we were all very sad. </div>
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But we wanted you to know. </div>
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So. Yesterday is now over. </div>
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And today is today. And I'm still sad, but I'm supposed to be sad. </div>
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It was a sad thing. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I don't like the term <i>getting over it</i>. </div>
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Like a hurdle or something you have to clear </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and then put behind you only to look back on.</div>
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The term seems to imply that you'll know when it's coming </div>
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and exactly when you've moved past it. </div>
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</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I rather prefer <i>roll with it.</i> Because then you get to take it with you. </div>
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You still have to figure out to how to roll. </div>
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Figure out how to move forward smoothly.</div>
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With your new shape.</div>
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So we're not over the loss of our dear girl here in The Middle.</div>
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But we're rolling with it.</div>
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<br /></div>Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-91764914275039350212011-12-08T14:54:00.000-06:002011-12-08T14:54:24.286-06:00A Bit of a BlurThe last 10 days have been, <i>to put it mildly</i>, a bit of a blur. No great wisdom here today folks, just a recap. A look back. A chance to see the events of the last days through a lens of "I made it!" versus, "Buckle up!" And then, a bit of an announcement. <br />
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30 pounds of turkey. Including an appropriately sized feast of thanks.<br />
<br />
250 ornaments.<br />
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19 Christmas trees...<i>what, didn't you realize I have a thing for trees?</i><br />
<br />
6 lit trees in the yard...<i>at one point the middle one was only half lit, but it was early in the evening, and I often find myself only half lit at the start of a holiday evening...winkwink...it all worked out just fine.</i><br />
<br />
5 rehearsals for the Father.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOp5TTX9xqfRd-9-AVP7fbCwMsgpBXAbLyisA-W8-ta6ab1imjaGek3q26qGqpMWhnUy1qEfvWOHiAgMCKeCDqrKbEYd4N17nuljl8pNdhdbmvCLmptE9LhKcLOSWaQa3rwcyq4dtXmmLZ/s1600/DSCN0167.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOp5TTX9xqfRd-9-AVP7fbCwMsgpBXAbLyisA-W8-ta6ab1imjaGek3q26qGqpMWhnUy1qEfvWOHiAgMCKeCDqrKbEYd4N17nuljl8pNdhdbmvCLmptE9LhKcLOSWaQa3rwcyq4dtXmmLZ/s320/DSCN0167.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
1 new friend, a lovely lunch and 2 hours of calm before the storm...<i>thank you friend. </i><br />
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4 concerts, <i>which you can tune into on your local PBS station closer to Christmas if you are so inclined...just sayin'...</i><br />
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3 cocktail parties hosted in our home after the concerts...maybe 75 people...or so...<br />
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100 pieces of stemware filled and washed, and refilled and rewashed...not sure how many bottles of champagne...lost count at 12.<br />
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2 unauthorized animals in the stable and 1 kitty in the manger. <br />
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1 snow storm.<br />
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13 days of house guests. <br />
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So many blessed people. So many.<br />
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<br />
And this is just the beginning of our holiday numbers. It's only the 8th of December! <br />
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<br />
<br />
What am I sure of? That it's not the number of things you cram in that matters at all. It's the quality of each single thing. If each one isn't important to someone, then it should be skipped. Yes, that was a big turkey, but it fed us. For several days. Yes, I have a lot of trees, but I love every one of them and they make me smile every time I turn them on. Yes, it made me crazy that there was one tree with two dark strings of bulbs, but I had a contingency plan. Yes, it seemed counter productive to take a 2 hour lunch with a new friend just hours before hosting a party for 30 in my own home, but what the naysayers didn't realize was that I was getting <i>myself</i> ready to be the hostess. Filling up my cup before I filled up everyone else's champagne flute. Yes, 3 parties in 3 days is a lot, but I love it. That's my contribution to the holiday concerts. He makes the music, I make the merry. We're a good team. Yes, snow makes every bitter cold day more magical, and chills the champagne beautifully.<br />
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And yes, 7 gingersnaps and a glass of pinot grigio makes a perfect dinner when you're trying to clean out the fridge. <br />
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<br />
We have lots of days left in December and you will find me here, in theMiddleBit, regularly for the rest of this year. But in the new year, I am going to focus on two new projects. The first, a team effort with my sister, is a blog called The Shortest Distance, and you
should look for me there. I will be in the MiddleBit from time to time,
but my weekly post will be there. More about that exciting venture
will be revealed as we get closer to our launch.<br />
<br />
And the second? A book. Here's a tiny excerpt...<br />
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<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Introduction or Who the Hell Do I Think I am?</i></span></div>
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<![endif]--><span style="font-size: small;"><i>A
memoir of parenting.<span> </span>A motherhood
memoir.<span> </span>How can you write one when
you’re not finished parenting yet?<span> </span>Don’t
you have to wait until you’re finished?<span>
</span>Until you can look back on all the experiences of your children and your
mothering?<span> </span>Until your daughters are
women and you can sum it all up and assess what went well and what failed?<span> </span></i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="font-family: inherit;">
</i></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Well I
think that’s kind of like waiting until you know the football game is over and
turning on the TV just in time to check the final score.<span> </span>Who does that?<span> </span>Not me, that’s for sure.<span> </span>There’s a whole lot of awesome stuff to watch
in the first half of the game that has a huge impact on that final score.<span> </span>I am a fan of the game.<span> </span>I want to watch to see who puts the first
points on the board and who heads into the half down by 14.<span></span> And I'm a fan of mothers. Mothers who are in the game. I’m
still in the first half of this game of motherhood.<span> </span>There’s a whole lot of time left on the clock
and I have no previous second half record that I can fall back on. </i></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="font-family: inherit;"><span></span>
</i></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>This is
the BFT era of my mothering.<span> </span>Before
Female Teenagers.<span> </span>All of my friends that
have grown daughters tell me there is no real way to be prepared for that, so
I’m not going to worry about it yet.<span> </span>A good coach will tell you not to focus on the final score when you
are still in the first half…this is the mentality that drives a girl who has no
special parenting training and already more to do that she can keep up with, to
write a book on mothering.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Stay tuned...exciting things are happening here in The Middle. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-51833636147335919722011-12-04T15:22:00.000-06:002011-12-04T15:22:52.259-06:00Lead. Or be led.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAknjEljiC_DWQtGD4RnxQgTlcVq1H3z-tB5yMYqbE_G9dYAcs1FM-px2DcoYduNDnygt2ZnI031-ZscH3msAYkqfGb1ekOzuVmyQncfKaHgsmfXDUR8PeSBa5jKLhzgQt40Yv-mjdXY5q/s1600/_DSC3101bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAknjEljiC_DWQtGD4RnxQgTlcVq1H3z-tB5yMYqbE_G9dYAcs1FM-px2DcoYduNDnygt2ZnI031-ZscH3msAYkqfGb1ekOzuVmyQncfKaHgsmfXDUR8PeSBa5jKLhzgQt40Yv-mjdXY5q/s320/_DSC3101bw.jpg" width="286" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Any minute now my husband will be simulcast to over 300 movie theaters across this nation. In just seconds the live radio broadcast will begin. The thousands that are there to see it live are taking their seats as my fingers fly across these keys. </span>And it's got me thinking about leading. And following.<br />
<br />
He's a conductor...but not the train kind. He is a maker of music. A shaper of sound. A maestro. Heh...it's kind of amazing actually. He stands up in front of nearly 500 people who are all making their own joyful noise and helps them to make it even better. <br />
<br />
Ah. To make a joyful noise. Raise your voice. Toot your horn. To remember that this horn we have been given can blow more than one note. And to have a capable director, standing in front of us, reminding us when to come in. <br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Because we do <i>know</i>.
We've practiced it hundreds of times.
But sometimes we need to be reminded when to sing out. Or speak up.
Or toot our own horn.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The Dalai Lama says, "Appreciate how rare and
full of potential your situation is in this world, then take joy in it, and use
it to your best advantage."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Use <i>your</i> voice.
Use it the best way you can. And
appreciate the potential of your contribution.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Lead. Or be
led. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But don't just go.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: xx-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-25269358027567262002011-11-23T14:06:00.000-06:002011-11-23T14:06:42.252-06:00Status Check<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdYoSPLeL-kCKqBTnMQUZ5yl1QJnjcbKLK-bRZM2skEb9MKv8b4SGqIStDRjPgXz3DEUqphHEDeydKHPb_IC5CH_xHH-5MyPd2IM0nl1EvVnrcp10MxlmpMzsJIHJGPWr02HdOHQmrbPL/s1600/DSCN0088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdYoSPLeL-kCKqBTnMQUZ5yl1QJnjcbKLK-bRZM2skEb9MKv8b4SGqIStDRjPgXz3DEUqphHEDeydKHPb_IC5CH_xHH-5MyPd2IM0nl1EvVnrcp10MxlmpMzsJIHJGPWr02HdOHQmrbPL/s320/DSCN0088.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
The status check. Before the big day. The main event.<br />
<br />
How are you doing?<br />
<br />
I'm here. In the moment. And it makes such a difference. Monday I was ticked because my brand new car had to spend a day in the shop and I lost hours waiting for them to decide how to handle it. As I sat in that dealership with my little ones, who had been playing for nearly two hours with some broken crayons and a puzzle that was missing a bunch of pieces, I was thinking about all of the things I wasn't able to do in preparation for my company, my Thanksgiving, my to-do list for that day. In other words, my head was not really there and my anger was building. And this nice little old lady rounded the corner and snapped me right back. Right back to the moment. "My your little girls are being so patient. This is a long wait for them. Nice job ladies. Good work Mom." Whoa. Thanks. You're right. Here isn't so bad when you see the success of now instead of the potential failures of later. <br />
<br />
So we jumped into our teeny rental and sped off down the road. The afternoon deteriorated after that. Destroyed completely by stuff that's really not worth mentioning, I found myself with three girls squished into the back of this wee little vehicle on the way to dancing school. I cried all the way there because I was rehashing the failed events of the previous 40 minutes. And then, my absolute favorite Christmas song came onto the radio and snapped me right back. Right back to the moment. The girls sang along in their tiny voices and I noticed that traffic lights are very Christmassy and look especially sparkly through wet eyes. Whoa. Fun. It's going to be alright. Here isn't so bad when you see the success of now instead of the failures of the past hour.<br />
<br />
Fast forward a couple of days. I'm rocking on the to-do list. The Father and the girls are packed off, headed to the airport to pick up the company, buy some back up gravy at Trader Joe's (<i>just in case</i>), get the knives sharpened. And I, am going to the salon to get polished for the season, to have some calm before the storm, maybe a glass of pinot at noon and the phone rings. Canceled. F*&K! <i>We'll get you in this weekend. I'm so sorry.</i> Things happen. I get it. And you know what else I get? My two hours back that I lost on Monday. And some time to myself to turn the music up too loud while I play in the kitchen...and that glass of pinot at noon.<br />
<br />
It's not supposed to be easy. And once you get that,<i> really get that</i>, it gets easier. Events have effects and behaviors have consequences and this is not a lecture about what <i>you</i> are supposed to be doing. Or thinking. It's just <i>my </i>status check. <br />
<br />
When I spend too much time just trying to get through it, it's gone and I've missed it. When it's awful, I just want it to be over and when it's good I want it to last forever. But you don't always get to pick which kind of moment you're in. You have to commit to being in all of them. I'm trying to do that. So I won't miss all the stuff that's here. The crap stuff I can learn from and try not to repeat...<i>and</i> the patient children and the red and green traffic lights and taking the time to make pie.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Status check? Good. Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-27308574692704171652011-11-21T16:16:00.001-06:002011-11-21T16:17:06.908-06:00I'm a Dork!Word for word. This is how the conversation went. I could not make this stuff up...it's just this good. Says the 4 year old this afternoon,<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Mom! Look! I'm a dork!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>What makes you say that Sweetie?</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Look at me. I'm one of Santa's dorks!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Oh, Love. I think you mean dwarf. Right?</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Yeah! Dwarf! I'm one of Santa's dwarfs.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>And, Love. Santa has elves. Snow White has the dwarfs.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Oh. Right! I'm Santa's elk! Yay! I'm an elk!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>sigh...no, actually...I think you were right the first time. </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>You're a dork.</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4tsFuT2ADgPlbB2r1g2cNivbvT6jrZGKaLJCCIj3zAO4yhPuHhk5Ttb-rwvUaKQ2KzablHtkTv4tbIb2p8xp6KZEiwVqKvfyFiFisn98GC4qMwM_ueJyhBBSoB4VkPYK4kq7EZPtdofgC/s1600/DSCN0070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4tsFuT2ADgPlbB2r1g2cNivbvT6jrZGKaLJCCIj3zAO4yhPuHhk5Ttb-rwvUaKQ2KzablHtkTv4tbIb2p8xp6KZEiwVqKvfyFiFisn98GC4qMwM_ueJyhBBSoB4VkPYK4kq7EZPtdofgC/s400/DSCN0070.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-963182422083720607.post-69850811891645274802011-11-10T09:00:00.000-06:002011-11-10T09:00:01.240-06:00Power<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrrSMFAzDCrFyb-br5cH7AJcSLTfiodhJKKfDtprNETF1qBPMcWXvAeRsmXMi34Fsi1HNfBLITzr6RTFAtAg-PzpbfH6WshMZXKIG4WkGgsMqlR_v1zG58WemyvVmIYvXr5f287lAx7AlE/s1600/Power+lines+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrrSMFAzDCrFyb-br5cH7AJcSLTfiodhJKKfDtprNETF1qBPMcWXvAeRsmXMi34Fsi1HNfBLITzr6RTFAtAg-PzpbfH6WshMZXKIG4WkGgsMqlR_v1zG58WemyvVmIYvXr5f287lAx7AlE/s320/Power+lines+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The utility company called this week and told me they were conducting routine maintenance in my area. There would be an interruption in my service for approximately 2 hours on Thursday afternoon. They apologized for any inconvenience this might cause me, but I should plan for a loss of power and make sure I could continue my afternoon's activities with that in mind. <i>Simple stuff. Not a big deal.</i><br />
<br />
But what if someone really did call you one day and tell you they were going to turn off your power. Your <i>own</i> power. Hm. It makes you rethink power.<br />
<br />
Power doesn't always beam and sparkle. Sometimes power lets you stay in the dark. Shields you from knowing. <br />
<br />
Power doesn't always push. Or pull. Power doesn't always make things move. Sometimes power holds you very still. Sometimes power holds your tongue.<br />
<br />
Power doesn't always grip tightly. Sometimes power lets go.<br />
<br />
Power doesn't always heat it up, or keep it cold. Sometimes power just lets it be.<br />
<br />Nancyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04340949435638137938noreply@blogger.com0