tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7364352910676957672024-02-19T07:54:38.009-05:00unapologetically meWhat started as a story of home renovation is now the story of a personal renovation. boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.comBlogger161125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-73863655148636480862018-04-13T23:23:00.000-04:002018-04-13T23:23:06.525-04:00Control of My Happy - Part Two<div dir="ltr">
I was feeling a bit meh off and on the last few days, wondering if men and relationships are really worth all the fuss. </div>
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Of course they are. I spent 21 years with Ghon didn't I? For those that knew him, that was work. </div>
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I've been talking to a couple (remember folks, couple means two), guys and I have really enjoyed getting to know both and creating new friendships. Friendships people, not relationships. But one, well, one sort of derailed unexpectedly recently and not knowing why eats at me. While I have a little hope that our friendship isn't over, I'm more fearful that it is. I've felt a little lost without our normal conversation and on some days, any conversation. I had a few days of something short of anger and hurt, followed by denial, then, I was OK, then I was back to feeling this stabbing pain in my chest. Or maybe it was my heart being ripped from my chest. Cause you see, even though we weren't in a relationship, we were pretty damn close friends, or at least I thought. We talked (as in texted) daily. Then to suddenly go to nothing? I can't help but wonder what I did wrong - even though I may not have done a thing wrong! And as much as I will miss our bantering, the walking away was his choice, and that's OK. But not knowing why it happened kills me. </div>
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I'm a woman that needs truth and clarity in my life. I'm in my <strong>early </strong>forties and have two kids, I don't have time or patience for games.</div>
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As for the other gentleman, things are great. We have even better conversations and this time, I mean we actually use our voice. Let me tell ya, there's a whole lot less room for misinterpretation when you can hear sarcasm, as I have yet to find a sarcasm font. I catch myself smiling when the phone rings, and smiling again after our conversation ends. I appreciate his work ethic, his dedication to family and culture, and have mad respect for his profession. This guy is solid. </div>
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I was on my way to pick up the kids, further bumming that I was going to miss Jonathan's first baseball game of the season but excited to attend Genevieve's chorus program, when I looked down and saw rainbows dancing on my hand. I saw my reminder to believe...in everything I choose. And I saw my little reminder that I'm a freaking wonder woman. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do ya see the little rainbow??</td></tr>
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My mind shift started at that moment. I had a little relapse a couple days later, got a little upset and had to hit up my Boo (thank you, Boo!!) for a little whine session, and am getting back on track. And Lord does the sunshine (FINALLY) help that too.</div>
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In that moment, seeing rainbows dance on tattoo reminders of who the hell I am and what drives me, my mind improved. As I always preach to my kids... you are allowed to feel every emotion, it's how you choose to respond that matters. I reminded myself that I am in <a href="https://eckleyfarmhouse.blogspot.com/2017/07/control-of-my-happy.html" target="_blank">charge of my happy</a>. I do what makes ME happy. I do not have to rely on others to make me happy. Likewise, others do not have the power to make me sad! Not only am I in charge of that happy, I have plenty of reasons to be happy.</div>
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I have so much to be grateful for and I know it. I start each day thanking God for my blessings. If I ever forget, like when I'm blah, once I come back to that simple task, being mindful and thankful, everything comes back into perspective. I'm thankful for a few other close friends who have let me have my "WTF? What just happened here? What did I do?" moment, then flip to the giddy "But things over here with this friend, yea, they are good!" (Insert that goofy smile.) I'm thankful that they, all being married women, are still willing to listen to my own mini version of the dating game. I'm a personal soap opera.</div>
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Earlier in that day, a friend shared with me that she'd been recently reading my blog and that it gave her new perspective on living her life. That is powerful! I am honored that my ramblings inspire others to live their best life and control their happy. </div>
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The next day, I was notified that the cost of the rest of my graduate certificate program would be paid for. (I don't think I mentioned that - yes, I'm insane and taking 6 grad courses this year!) In exchange for knowledge sharing and a promise not to run away and leave, my employer is paying for the entire program. I'm grateful, especially considering last month I finally paid off my college debt! HELL YES!</div>
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The other cool thing about my job? I like it. The work I do is appreciated and makes me want to do more, be more, do better. Yesterday, a team I worked with on a special project received an award from the FEMA Administrator. I'm amazed to be recognized for doing my job - and to be recognized with my co-workers and friends is even better. And then, well, I asked the Administrator if we could selfie. This guy is amazing.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXezSaeQeYkWIsEywPyEEMSnzNiIMRn14R5mOAxYknNATjAMDpuHwzTZie7UVyiWcC9v0myuujQNIO3Wcz_bnoJ2xKsJi2DzDtCHFCtm1y45qQX3JqZRfbVTF5URrcddU7egCocp2FG4/s1600/20180412_130756.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXezSaeQeYkWIsEywPyEEMSnzNiIMRn14R5mOAxYknNATjAMDpuHwzTZie7UVyiWcC9v0myuujQNIO3Wcz_bnoJ2xKsJi2DzDtCHFCtm1y45qQX3JqZRfbVTF5URrcddU7egCocp2FG4/s320/20180412_130756.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of our project team!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Administrator Long with some of my amazing coworkers</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtrhl2UxPxOFoHTxSOQkWPJ-9THFCdOPxWnEINe5gc8yi8jHRcgT6WhTzHqhok_qHbygt0zfevHLZvizIH5XfAY6bXo1we_FBapKxWoG5zBnSDUzzgIuq9stSi4xqLkTbHjK4mFTFI36Q/s1600/20180412_145230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtrhl2UxPxOFoHTxSOQkWPJ-9THFCdOPxWnEINe5gc8yi8jHRcgT6WhTzHqhok_qHbygt0zfevHLZvizIH5XfAY6bXo1we_FBapKxWoG5zBnSDUzzgIuq9stSi4xqLkTbHjK4mFTFI36Q/s320/20180412_145230.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsxVdDfZlU7uL9CM2JST_cBh0aNiQDq7XxZRZhDEw7mE-uSzI9Ax3FT8a_QsV7TWsHPpYBwLFeVakh2liPSbTz3sL8tndIb8ue-HYs4erKvFZLNBgadwHZTP2iVRgcHRRst4b8dyM0qyQ/s1600/20180412_182508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsxVdDfZlU7uL9CM2JST_cBh0aNiQDq7XxZRZhDEw7mE-uSzI9Ax3FT8a_QsV7TWsHPpYBwLFeVakh2liPSbTz3sL8tndIb8ue-HYs4erKvFZLNBgadwHZTP2iVRgcHRRst4b8dyM0qyQ/s320/20180412_182508.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Following the awards, I ate Georgetown cupcakes for the first time. That's a reason to be happy, right?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't eat all of these. I thought about it, but no, I didn't eat them all.</td></tr>
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After awards and after cupcakes, I was able to get a little Mom/Girl's night out with friends. Time to shake off some remaining blues and rejoice with friends and music. And nearly lose my voice from shouting over the music. I'm blessed. </div>
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Mind shift. Be grateful. Be thankful. Remember the good in life. You will receive in abundance. </div>
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Will every man be the right one for me? Nope. Does it matter if I'm not the right woman for every man I meet? Nope. (This is where I have to control myself and not list all of my perceived faults. I'm good, damn good, but I know I'm not perfect!) </div>
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Paths cross for a reason. Maybe each new friendship I make is for a particular reason, and we just have to ride it out to find that purpose. Some may last a short time, some may last a version of forever. Friendships in and of themselves are powerful and valuable.</div>
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While staying true to who I am, I allow myself room to grow and learn from these friendships or any experience for that matter. Each person I encounter, each friendship I engage in or relationship I consider, has taught me something. I've observed friends' new and old relationships and had moments where I thought, wow, that's what I want to feel. I've been able to identify traits or behaviors in men that I admire or appreciate and want to experience more of. I've seen chivalry along the spectrum, and now have an idea of how much I would like to see or experience someone I might want to be with. I've identified traits that <strong>might</strong> be tolerable in a friend but not in a partner. I've felt respect and mild levels of disrespect. I've felt appreciated. I've felt undervalued. One day perhaps, I'll feel loved again. </div>
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I wonder why each time I read those last three lines, I feel physical pain in my heart and a tear form in my eye. I'm such an emotional person sometimes. </div>
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My quote of the week at work: Forget the things that hurt you in the past, but don't forget what you learned. These lessons are priceless.</div>
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There will be a time when it all comes together. The right paths will cross, if they haven't already. The signs will light up, start pointing in an appropriate direction. Signs, like unanswered texts, might actually read "One Way" or "Dead End." Signs, like expressions of gratitude, may read "Proceed with Caution." Signs, like the days I can't wipe off the RBF, may read "Caution, Road Work Ahead" or possibly "Road May Flood." Signs, like explicit offers for casual sex from someone 18 years my junior, have me throw up my own sign that reads, "Road Closed." </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I see this one though, I better think quick as to who is hiding and who is getting hidden!</td></tr>
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Until that time comes, I'll live my life. I'll be happy, grateful, thankful, and remember all that I've worked for, all that I've earned and all I still have to give. I will cherish the friendships I have, open myself to new ones, and remember those that are no more. I'll probably continue to overshare my life, forget what a filter is, and wear my emotions on my sleeve. I already wear one on my shoulder.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bluebird of happiness on my shoulder!</td></tr>
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I challenge you to control your happy. Never let anyone or anything take that from you. Know what makes your face and your heart smile. Then tell me, what do your signs say?</div>
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boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-9206816481387714262018-04-01T23:16:00.000-04:002018-04-01T23:16:38.291-04:00Family TreeI've felt the need to write for a while now, but the topic has alluded me. All weekend, I should have been writing a paper for school or doing other homework. Instead, I've being cleaning around the house and a little in the yard since it was nice out. Spent some time with a friend, more time talking to another, playing with the kids, and cooking/dancing/singing around my kitchen. I did a little school work, but no writing. I have a paper due in two weeks. A little voice in the back of my mind kept saying "WRITE," but I knew it wasn't about acquisition and procurement policy. <br />
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Today is Easter. The kids woke, excited to find out what Mom stuffed in their baskets. I wanted to sleep, but Genevieve wasn't having it. I quickly gave in, we all rummaged our baskets (yes, I made myself one too), I made breakfast, then we were off to church. After worship, the kids participated in the annual egg hunt then I forced them to take pictures. Oh the horror of taking a picture!<br />
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Although still a little cool, temps in the upper 50s to low 60s feels pretty warm after being in the 30s and 40s. While I made a cake for dessert then prepped a ham for dinner, did my best kitchen karaoke (which may be getting better than car karaoke, but not as good as treadmill lip syncing), and cleaned up, the kids played outside. They wanted me to come play, and once I made it outside, I decided to take a walk, and they joined me.<br />
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Before I go any further, it was during kitchen karaoke that I knew I'd end up writing today. At the middle of the walk, I knew what it would be about. But after dinner, as the words started taking shape in my head, I realized I'd have to give a little backstory for any of this to make sense.<br />
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On December 7, 2017, the kids (and this includes the biggest, Eric) and I spread the majority of Ghon's cremains on our hill. On the hill, there is a chair that Ghon's Dad would sit in to hunt. Ghon had told me there were times after his father died, that he would just sit there and talk to his Dad. His place to get some quiet family time. He'd often leave a shotgun shell there in honor of his Dad. Not far behind this chair, was one of Ghon's tree stands. The last bow deer season, he'd left his bow in the tree, and it stays there now. I decided, with Eric's agreement, that this was the place Ghon should be. On his birthday, we climbed the hill and I carried Ghon up. I carried Ghon up the hill that he often joking called the widow maker because it was so steep. The widow maker. Hmmph.<br />
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I won't go into a ton of details, but for a scattering, it went OK. The four of us took turns, the kids climbed the tree stand and we watched the sun start to set. In typical Ghon fashion though, he was stubborn til the end. Perhaps there was a moisture issue, perhaps it's because we held onto the scattering tube for nearly 18 months, but Ghon got a little stuck. Yep, stuck in the tube. Eric and I kinda looked at each other and had to employ a few methods to get him unstuck. Last resort - I actually had to beat the tube against a tree. Yep, nothing like a somber occasion of spreading cremains to bring you back to the reality of the deceased's dogged determination and sense of humor like banging him against a tree. Once things broke loose, we headed back down the hill for what the kids have decided will be the traditional December 7th dinner, fried chicken.<br />
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Back to today. I hadn't really intended on going for a walk up the hill, but that's where I found myself. Kids in tow, we climbed the hill, finding fallen trees from our recent wind storms. I tried to quiet the kids down so they could hear the woodpecker that I heard. As we climbed Genevieve started asking where Daddy's tree was. Although we spread Ghon around the tree, the chair is the marker, and this they knew to look for. As we crest the first part of the hill and walked along, they spotted the chair and ran ahead. <br />
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Now we've had a little snow and a lot of rain in the last four months. I myself was wondering if we would actually see anything - knowing that in at least one spot, there was a considerable amount of cremains left. Sure enough, it was Genevieve that exclaimed - "there's Daddy!" and pointed down. Of course, she was right.<br />
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We investigated the tree and the holes that I assume had been bore by woodpeckers. One was considerably large, almost big enough that Genevieve could get her head into it. Fascination wore off quickly, and they ran off to argue about taking turns in the tree stand. <br />
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Earlier in the day, while they were playing and I was doing my thing in the kitchen, I had a wave of sorrow wash over me. Here it was, Easter, and it was just me and the kids. Another holiday, just the three of us. This time, it wasn't just that it was the three of us without Ghon, I started to think about how little family we have and how little we see those we have. I thought about how I knew they were going to gripe and complain about dinner and I wasn't sure why I was even bothering. I love to cook, but hate making a "decent" meal to have them complain and have a million leftovers that they won't eat. I thought briefly about my family traditions for Easter and how the kids won't have the same memories, or even similar. It's not to say they will have bad memories, they just won't have family memories. I felt my eyes welling up with tears, and stopped myself. No. We'd had a great day, even if it was just the three of us. A good weekend even, even if it was me fussing around the house and them playing, we were all here together and just being relaxed before baseball season kicks in and we get super busy again. No, I was not going to cry, because my memories were mine and while I'd love for the kids to have something similar, they are not living my life. They will have good memories, just not like mine. <br />
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I climbed that hill in shorts too short for me to be 100% comfortable in public, and an old hoodie that was Ghon's and often stole from him because it was big and comfy and I didn't mind if it got dirty, unlike MY hoodies. In other words, I climbed the hill in inappropriate clothing. I stood there and stared at what's left of Ghon. I squatted down, and stared. I almost dared myself - took a knee, and picked up a piece of what I'm pretty damn sure is Ghon, held it, and cried. I cried for the kids not having their Dad. I cried knowing this is the only way I was going to touch him again and wondering if I would ever experience love again. I cried as I thought again about how little family we had and how many of our friends were spending the day with their families; extended families. I thought about the book I am reading and the idea of a spirit tree, and it made me cry. I cried knowing that Ghon came here to seek counsel with his deceased father, and here I was, seeking some unknown counsel with him. I cried, because I've shed a few tears here and there for other reasons, but it had been a while since I'd cried related to Ghon and my family.<br />
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Jonathan could see me, still on one knee in front of the tree, from his vantage point in the tree stand. He yelled at me "What are ya doing Mom? Praying or something?" Yes, praying or something is right. Something between the two or both. My crying was not a big messy, wailing from the top of the mountain. It was just enough to make my vision a little blurry and make me act like a total lady and wipe my running nose on the sleeve of my hoodie because I don't care if it gets dirty. And as I sit here, still wearing the hoodie and feeling the emotions again, wipe my nose again because I have to get the words out and don't want to go find and a tissue. Judge me. Call me gross. I don't care, I've been called worse. I have a washing machine. <br />
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As I knelt there, seeking guidance, I dropped Ghon from my hand and looked at the tree. This is now the family tree. Ghon came here to be with his Dad. I came to be with Ghon for a moment and the kids - they know the spot and suspect will do the same. We have a big family in some ways; yet so small in others. We'll seek refuge in a tree - and a tree stand.<br />
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Eventually I stand, knowing the timer is probably going off in the house and it's time to finish making a dinner the kids won't want to eat. We head down the hill, and Genevieve takes off ahead of Jonathan and I. As we are walking, I happen to look down and see the most beautiful feather I've ever seen here. Even Jonathan was impressed. I told him that sometimes, people believe that feathers are placed in our path as a gift or sign from a loved one that has died to let us know they are with us. He says like Daddy? Of course! He continues, and mentions his grandfather and grandmother. From there, he starts a conversation about how he only has one grandfather, and he's never known any other grandparents, and never had a grandmother. <br />
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How does this work? Is this not in someway exactly what I was fretting about earlier today? That my kids are growing up with out that family history? My Dad lives five minutes away and we don't see him much. Ghon's father and stepmom died while I was pregnant with Genevieve and Jonathan was 18months old. My kids do not know what it's like to be spoiled by a grandma, or two sets of grandparents. I grew up with just one grandmother, so I know it's not a horrible thing, but I too wondered what it would be like to have more grandparents. Of course they would too. <br />
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I don't say anything to Jonathan about it, but part of me immediately thought, well, maybe if Mom gets married again one day, you'll have a grandma. My mind jumped straight to what it would be like to be part of a big family. Wait, a big mostly happy family. But these are not promises I can make to my kids, nor to myself. I don't know what the future holds in that respect. But wouldn't it be nice to be part of a family again, instead of just a family tree in the woods?<br />
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I spoke briefly to a friend about this after dinner. Ya know, the dinner I was right about, where the kids, mainly Jonathan gagged over the idea of eating. Family is family no matter what. Some, I'd rather not interact with on the regular. Some, I wish I could see more of. And it's not that I'm far from home that keeps me from family. My immediate family is small. My extended family by marriage - the kids' family - is spread far and wide. It's not like going "home" will bring me closer to family. Home, my family, is here. Three we be, except when the Viking and his wife are able to come by (love you guys). We have friends that are more family that family and for them, I am grateful.<br />
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But back to that feather for a moment. I carry it back to the house, and per Jonathan's suggestion, try looking it up in one of our bird books we keep by the kitchen window. I have no clue what it is, so I send pics to our friend Laurie, because I know she will know, and she does. Go figure. It's a woodpecker. Now I can't say it's the one I heard, or the one that's been drilling in that family tree, but how coincidental? I decide to walk the hill. I walk up the hill to the sound of a woodpecker. We see the evidence of a woodpecker going to town on that tree. I find a feather on my way down - which is the same way we went up - from a woodpecker that I've never seen before on the property. </div>
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Feathers apparently have a few meanings, and once again, I'm thankful for Laurie sharing <a href="http://www.whats-your-sign.com/symbol-meaning-of-feathers.html" target="_blank">a link</a> with me that had a few symbolic meanings such as: freedom, inspiration, giving thanks and appreciation, and fertility. </div>
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The same page offers the following:</div>
<h3>
Possible Meanings Of Finding Feathers</h3>
<ul>
<li>Get Grateful. Feathers are a reminder to count our blessings and be thankful for the good stuff going on in our lives.</li>
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<li>Get High. No, not like that. Feathers are a symbol of levity. When seen, they remind us ease up on all the seriousness. Take a breath, relax, enjoy. </li>
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<li>Get Listening. If feathers really are a communication tool to and from the gods, then their appearance is a reminder to listen to the bigger voice - as in a higher power. </li>
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<li>Get Love. Feathers often show up when there is someone or something that wants to reach out to us. Sometimes this might be a loved one who has passed into non-physical. A feather is a reminder you are loved by infinite people (both here on earth and otherwise).</li>
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Oh, I'm grateful alright. I start each morning with thanks and gratitude. <br />
Oh, I try to relax. Like this weekend. Or those pics with the kids. Forget asking them to smile. Just act goofy with them - that gets the best and most real pictures.<br />
Listening - I've been asking a lot of questions lately. I'm trying; I'm trying real hard to listen.<br />
Love - yea. I've been reminded a lot recently of how many people love me, love me and the kids. I continue to remind the kids how important it is to love and how I love them. I've joked recently how I love me some me - someone has to! And a few of the 'lot of questions' might be related to love. Maybe I should go back to listening. <br />
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It's late. I still haven't wrote anything for my paper. But because I love me and know I have to relax, I'll be going to bed soon and will reflect not on the moments of tears today, but on all the good things today. The things that went well. The happiness in my kids eyes, the laughter in their voice, their ability to argue and make up. The freaking sugar high they had. That we woke up, we rejoiced in the resurrection of our Lord, and spent time together. That we shared, that we loved, and that we will continue to give out the love we have to give. That we can visit the tree, and that it doesn't have to always bring sorrow, for we can be grateful for what we've had, hopeful for what's to come, and for the beauty of a feather - even if it's just a feather.</div>
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boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-15486769913528164182018-01-06T22:56:00.000-05:002018-01-06T22:56:03.578-05:00Be Ready To Learn<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could make this the shortest post ever and simply say, go see <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1485796/?ref_=ttfc_fc_tt" target="_blank">The Greatest Showman</a> and be ready to learn everything you can from it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But that's not me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Family Friday, we opted to go to the movies. Split decision between The Greatest Showman and Jumanji. Because Jumanji was sold out when we arrived, Showman it was. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The kids and I have seen quite a few movies in the last year, especially in the last two months. Many kid movies have a hidden lesson and sometimes the kids pick up on them, sometimes they don't. Sometimes I'm a good mom and try to talk about a theme if they don't and well, sometimes, I don't. Once and a while, it's good to let a movie be a movie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last week we saw Ferdinand, and at the last line of the movie, I started crying. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wasn't expecting to leave The Greatest Showman and feel the way I did.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I laughed and I cried.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm so damn emotional.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went to the movies expecting to learn a little via dramatization about PT Barnum, the circus life, and watch Hugh Jackman. Jonathan sat down, ordered his pizza and waited begrudgingly, as he wanted to see Jumanji. Genevieve was excited, but I don't think she really knew why. When we left, Jonathan was impressed and agreed it was a good movie. When I told him Barnum was Wolverine, his mind was blown. Genevieve kept asking if we could buy it, and when we could see it again. I literally couldn't wait to get home to buy the soundtrack; it was downloaded before we were on our street.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most of our way home we talked about what we could learn from the movie. We didn't discuss business practices or animal cruelty in depth. We discussed basic human rights and to love and respect all people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We talked about how sure, Barnum was in to earn a dollar because the circus performers were different, but in the end, they were a family. That their uniqueness made them special. That people came to see them and in the end, were entertained and appreciated them. That the kindness of a disfigured woman helped inspire Barnum to employ these people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We talked about how it is important to treat everyone we meet with respect. That it doesn't matter what size you are, what you look like, or how much money you have, what matters is how you treat other people. We talked about what it feels like to be treated differently and how it hurts. We honored the fact that sure, sometimes it may be hard not to stare at someone that looks different, but we should try not to - and just because they look different, doesn't mean we should be rude or disrespectful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We talked about how it is important to help all people. That being kind, friendly, and giving isn't just for holidays or when you have more than enough. That sharing and giving to people who need it more than you is important.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We talked about how family is important. Whether it be the family you create and are born into, or the family you choose, like the circus performers. That when you are kind and loving, you will always have support.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We talked about the protesters and why they weren't happy. How times were different then and in some ways not so different now. We talked about why Philip and Anne were hesitant at times with their relationship because of how people looked at them because of the difference in the color of their skin. I shared with them a recent example where one of our friends was concerned about the same scenario. The kids were shocked that it was even a concern and happy to hear that in the end, there was no issue. I told them how lucky we are that don't always have to be worried about what people think about us because of the color of our skin and they should never treat anyone different due to the color of theirs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We talked at length, as we often do, that it is important to be who you are and to do the right thing. That just because someone is being a bully or mean, you don't have to be to. Stand up for the person being put down. Be kind to everyone we met. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We talked about having dreams or goals and how with a little work and dedication you can achieve them. That when everything is handed to you and you don't have to work for things it is hard to appreciate what you have and that sometimes, you can't even find happiness. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think at one point I heard them reciting something close to their school pillars of character, so I added be ready to learn.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Be ready to learn. Learn who you are. Learn how to be a good person. Learn how to help others. Learn about other people so you don't have to be an ignorant fool. Embrace diversity and respect your peers. There is too much hate, darkness, and loneliness in this world. Be the light. Give others hope by being a decent human being to everyone. Is it really so hard?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We've been singing the songs all day. Songs about giving a chance on living life a different way, songs about being true to yourself, songs about dreams, and songs about love - a love that has no boundaries and is possible despite the odds - if given a chance. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So much of what I've learned in the last year about myself was summed up in this movie if you take a moment to reflect. Be good. Be yourself. Love others. If we all just took a moment to be quiet and listen and learn from those around us rather than be quick to judge, where would we be?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Take a moment. Think about how you could have treated someone with more respect. How could you have given more of yourself to someone that needed it? How could you have changed someone's life if you only listened before acting? Where would you be if you didn't give up?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Think about those moments. Learn from them. Grow from them. Smile at someone that may not expect it. Befriend someone that has none. Don't be afraid to love. Give, even when you don't think you have anything to offer. You will be rewarded. I promise you. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Go see The Greatest Showman, and be ready to learn everything you can from it. </span>boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-61317829182270143372018-01-01T15:33:00.002-05:002018-01-01T15:33:48.721-05:00Be More PatientA couple weeks ago, I was giving consideration to a year in review post, but I never sat down to do it. Then it occurred to me about a week ago that I haven't posted anything in while. As I thought about it, I realized that most of my posts happen when I'm in a particularly emotional spot, and it's not always a good one.<br />
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Welcome to today's post.<br />
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A year ago, I shared my thoughts on <a href="http://eckleyfarmhouse.blogspot.com/2016/12/death-in-2016.html" target="_blank">celebrity death</a> and how reactions to these deaths compared to my grief process as related to Ghon. It seemed to resonate with a lot of people, getting plenty of comments here and on my Facebook page. Today though, it wasn't so much my post alone, but that a friend of mine had shared the post last year and quoted the following line: <br />
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With every end, there is a new beginning. As with every death; an end - there is life; a beginning. </blockquote>
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With every end, there is a new beginning. How fitting for a post at the end of the year?<br />
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2017 brought an end to the year of "firsts" in respect to grief and ushered in the year of seconds. And seconds can be just as bad, if not worse than firsts. The support isn't the same. People don't ask how you are doing or are maybe afraid to ask. Anniversaries and holidays come - and go - that doesn't change. Some were a little easier, some things sucked just as much, if not more than year one.<br />
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This time of year is hard. In six weeks, I get to deal with Ghon's birthday, Christmas, New Year's and my birthday. It's hard because these are things I always liked and Ghon always hated. OK, maybe he didn't hate drinking on NYE but I wasn't something I was into. He hated fanfare of birthdays, and I liked making a big deal of them. He was a self proclaimed horrible shopper for my birthday, some years forgetting it completely. He hated Christmas, ever since the holiday changed for him after his mom's death as a child. Christmas was exciting for me, even more so with kids, and not just from a Santa perspective, because he doesn't do much here. It's about the birth of Jesus and giving for me, and that's what I teach the kids.<br />
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It may sound like Ghon's feelings would make getting through the birthdays and holidays easier. In some ways, it does; but in others, it's harder. There is still a void even if it's a void of a negative energy. I try to fill it with positive energy, but there are still moments I get down. Despite living in a fictional world where I am Wonder Woman, I am but a mere mortal with overwhelming emotions.<br />
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This holiday season, the kids and I did less, but in many ways did more. Our decorations were minimal, the number of holiday themed activities we did greatly decreased, and we has less visitors. These changes are largely OK; perhaps I crammed too much in last year so that we couldn't think about the Ghon's death. Jonathan and Genevieve have grown so much in the past year - I let them help make the decisions on what we did and when. I gave them the chance to think about the impact of their choices and letting them lead the way on when to relax and when to go out.<br />
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Yet, we did more. We spent a little more time together. We spent more time giving to others. We remembered that the holidays are not about what you get, but what you give, especially to those without or those without expectation. We made new traditions and carried out or modified old. Never in my life would I think I'd be at the movie theater on Christmas Day - but this year, I was.<br />
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Life is about taking chances and making memories. Take the trip, eat the cake. No Ragrets!<br />
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<b><br />
</b> <b>2017 In Review</b><br />
<ul>
<li>Secured a mortgage in my name</li>
<li>Drove to Connecticut so the kids could compete in a chili cook-off</li>
<li>Watched my step-son get married</li>
<li>Bought a car on my own</li>
<li>Vacationed with the kids in New York City and a quick trip into Boston - and a LONG ride home.</li>
<li>Had a one year memorial service for Ghon</li>
<li>Re-homed our goats</li>
<li>Saw more movies in the theater than probably the last 5 years combined</li>
<li>Became a pig landlord</li>
<li>Visited the White House for the Spring Garden Tour and two months later, toured the inside</li>
<li>Went to at least eight concerts; seeing NKOTB, Paula Abdul, Boyz II Men, Volbeat, Metallica, Avenged Sevenfold, Andy Grammer, The Perceptionists, Janet Jackson, Taylor Swift, The Chainsmokers, Liam Payne, Demi Lovato, Fall Out Boy, Sam Smith, Ed Sheeran, Nial Horan and so many more... some with the kids, some with friends, and some all on my own.</li>
<li>Got four new tattoos by 3 different artists in 3 states</li>
<li>Had my first month long work deployment experience</li>
<li>Made several new friends</li>
<li>Took the kids to Reno, NV to compete in the ICS World Championship Chili Cook-off</li>
<li>Did some serious Black Friday shopping for the first time in years</li>
<li>Broke my cell phone; and its replacement within a week</li>
<li>Shared my first ever bottle of wine with a friend</li>
<li>Pulled off a surprise of damn-near epic proportions, to me at least</li>
<li>Joined an exercise program I loved; left it to make schedule changes better for the kids, and joined a gym</li>
<li>Donated a ton of stuff - PURGE!</li>
<li>Watched fireworks in pure bliss</li>
<li>Saw Kinky Boots on Broadway</li>
<li>Crocheted again for the first time in years</li>
<li>Read a few books</li>
<li>Took a solo trip to NYC</li>
<li>Walked the Brooklyn Bridge</li>
<li>Hiked alone in Yosemite National Park</li>
<li>Drank and listened to music at the Bucket of Blood Saloon (Virginia City, NV)</li>
<li>Spread part of Ghon's ashes.</li>
<li>Realized how much I need sunlight and the energy of a city</li>
</ul>
and I cried. Sometimes more than I like to admit. Sometimes for what seems like ridiculous reasons. Sometimes for what ended up being for no good reason at all. Sometimes because I could feel someone else's pain. Sometimes a movie or line in a book hit a nerve I didn't realize was weak. Sometimes, I had no idea why. Sometimes in the shower, sometimes while exercising, sometimes in my cubicle at work, sometimes after I said goodbye, sometimes as I went to sleep at night. And a few times, they were tears of joy. I'm looking forward to more of those tears.<br />
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<i>With every end, there is a new beginning. </i></div>
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This post started two days ago when I was feeling alittle down. Now, it's New Year's Day and I'm feeling OK. Perhaps even hopeful? At a minimum, I'm not really feeling down. Just spending the day cleaning up around the house, relaxing, writing, listening to music, and letting the kids rot their minds with video games. At least they are working on sharing and taking turns. </div>
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I'm looking at possibly returning to school and am already working toward earning new certifications at work. I'm going to continue to do more of what makes me happy. My mantra has become if it doesn't hurt me, the kids, or my bank account, I'm doing it. I've started by buying tickets to 3 different concerts. I'd love to be able to see one show a month. I'll start planning summer vacation soon - it's going to be a big trip. I will color more. I will forgive myself more. I will make less excuses. I have to get comfortable with down time - I am on the go too much.</div>
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I will continue to be positive; the light when others are in darkness; and allow myself to experience the dark - but not dwell in it. </div>
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How fitting, that as I end this post, with the last image already chosen, I hear the following lyrics playing in the background...</div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: x-small;">If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: x-small;">Baby, just let it be</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: x-small;">If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: x-small;">Baby, just let it be</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: x-small;">So, won't you ride with me, ride with me?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: x-small;">See where this thing goes</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: x-small;">If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: x-small;">Baby, if it's meant to be</span></span></blockquote>
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Life will happen. The things that are meant to be, will be. I will live; I will learn; I will fail and I will succeed. I will be the light, I will feel the dark. But I won't get any of it if I I don't believe and be patient. As I shared with a friend recently, I know I was made for more; to do more, be more, give more. To be loved more. I just have to do some work, be me, and be more patient.<br />
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My beginning isn't defined by the year, but with every chance I take. And I'm looking forward to taking more chances this year. Anyone want to join me on the ride? Don't be afraid to find your beginning. Live your life, make your happy happen.<br />
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boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-87146467575684144682017-11-14T22:27:00.000-05:002017-11-14T22:27:21.035-05:00New Beginnings<div style="background-color: white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you are young, you make decisions without thinking about the future, that you hope you never regret, and that your parents advise against.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please tell me I'm not alone; that I'm not the only one. Not up for a confession? It's OK - I know you were there too.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you've read any of this blog in the past seventeen months, you know that this time frame has been a long, and often hard personal journey. I've shared pieces of it with you: <a href="http://eckleyfarmhouse.blogspot.com/2016/09/first-firsts-happy-anniversary.html" target="_blank">anniversaries</a>, <a href="http://eckleyfarmhouse.blogspot.com/2017/05/love-always-wins.html" target="_blank">special occasions</a>, being my own <a href="http://eckleyfarmhouse.blogspot.com/2016/09/mice-are-not-nice.html" target="_blank">pest control</a>, and dipping my toes and perhaps a foot into the <a href="http://eckleyfarmhouse.blogspot.com/2017/08/on-dating.html" target="_blank">dating world</a>. There are things I haven't shared, some posts in draft form, like crying in a bubble bath, and things that just sit in my head. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For eighteen months, I've been working on me. Yes, eighteen, as one of the last arguments I had with Ghon was about this topic. I had no idea who I was anymore. At 19 years old, I started dating Ghon. Ghon needed constant attention and I was willing to provide. My experiences dating prior were limited, and here, finally, was a guy who gave me attention back. I was hooked. It took him about a month to tell me he loved me. It took me two more to repeat it. From that point on, my world revolved around him. Until we had kids. At that point, my world was infinitely tied to Ghon and the kids. So much, that I could only be defined in ways that involved them. I had no idea who I was anymore. I mentioned much about this in a previous <a href="http://eckleyfarmhouse.blogspot.com/2017/06/losing-control-and-finding-me.html" target="_blank">post</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">I can't entirely remember what I liked to do or what I did before kids. That was nine years ago! I can't remember what Ghon and I did for fun when we dated. That was over twenty years ago! </span>At 19, I can hardly say I knew really who I was. Married at 23, I can barely say I knew who I was. I never really found out.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What I do remember, is that slowly, I adopted his plans, his dreams, supported his goals. I had few goals over the last 22 years. Some I did achieve, some I longed for and died off in pursuit of Ghon's goals, some, just fizzled off. I never really knew what I wanted out of life. As a psych major understanding Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, this is an issue! I will never reach self-actualization if I don't know what I want!</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ghon told me eons ago, that his plan was to retire in Rapid City, SD and he didn't care if I came along or not, that's where he was going to live. Well, I loved him, so I went along with it. That changed of course when we bought the farmhouse. Death in the Shenandoah Valley became the new plan. We'd argued about the house, I think he deep down knew that farm and country life is not what I wanted. I admitted that too - it was not. But being with him was what I wanted. Seeing him excited, made me happy, and that while yes, living in a big old farmhouse was never my dream, as I had few, it did become one to an extent. There were aspects of the house I loved and couldn't wait execute in the remodel and live with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While I've had 17 months to start working on me, the first 12 or so were mainly an adjustment to life as a widow and single parent. I made some small changes, but really, the work has really begun in the last 4-5 months. I've recognized that I've had some significant losses in my life, but the 3 biggest losses have had the biggest impact on <a href="http://eckleyfarmhouse.blogspot.com/2017/07/undefined.html" target="_blank">who I am</a> and who I am becoming. There is still work to do. But I've made amazing progress.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My first attempt at a relationship and developing a friendship during my work deployment have been two immensely helpful experiences in my growth. Both reminded me that it's OK to be comfortable and confident in who I am. That I need not follow the path I did at 19, and forget about who I am to suit the needs and desires of someone else. My opinions matter, my thoughts matter, and if they don't mesh with yours it's OK. I want to learn about the opinions, thoughts, hobbies, activities and well EVERYTHING about people not only because I am genuinely interested in a person, but it helps ME know what I like, don't like or might want to try. I had this same epiphany in the aforementioned post. I have nothing to prove to anyone at this point in my life. I am who I am and while much will stay the same, I will continue to evolve. As I reflect now, a month after my deployment, I'm pretty darn happy that I didn't compromise me at all. There were definitely times I pushed myself WAY out of my comfort zone so I could experience more, but that's where growth occurs, right? They were things I wanted to do, but was afraid to do. Six months or two years ago, they were things I never would have done out of fear, no matter how much I would have wanted to do them. Being true to yourself is the shit. <u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the long run, this philosophy of being me, having nothing to prove and being confident may help me earn the respect, trust, and love of a man who is confident enough with his own self to not be intimidated by me. Or, it could seal my fate and I'll be single forever. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear Lord, let there be a man out there strong enough to handle me and care for me. And let him not only exist, but let us find each other. And if we are found but to dense to know it or afraid to admit it - knock some sense into us? Amen!</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Deployment also made me realize just how much I long for the city. I made brief mention of this in a <a href="http://eckleyfarmhouse.blogspot.com/2016/12/death-in-2016.html" target="_blank">post</a> almost a year ago. Visiting Baltimore or DC energizes me. I was so excited this summer to tour New York City for the first time. I couldn’t wait to go back. I did for a day trip a week later, and want to go back again. I haven't had my fill. Walking around downtown Reno in casual conversation with a co-worker, with no real direction, looping block after block, taking in the city and enough time to get to know each other where we moved from coworkers to friends, was a perfect evening. Yet it was as sat in my room one night in my pajamas, feet propped up on the window, watching the cars on the interstate and lights of the neighboring casinos that I realized just how much I missed the city, or at least a good sized suburb. Another friend, hearing me talk about my time in Carson City, told me "You realized again that you were a city girl didn't you?" Well damn. I certainly did. And before I probably even put it together, the next message came. "It's not who you are [farm girl]. I think someone is finding herself."</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Reminds me of when I stayed at my sister-in-law's house. Since it is so quiet where I live in Winchester, she forewarned me of car noise at night, thinking it would keep me up. I slept like a log that night - the noise was the same I had outside my bedroom window growing up.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I've been reflecting on this, and drafting this post, I found it quite ironic that Facebook provided this memory.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrmtDetAOymM0bek8a3I68CC8idCBefKLRWFfyS0qMWDMhLedFLIvK2wPWDrR-j6XeIKoMJdeZ4jx6SJTyGNgV75O4JtIQhX7AYeHY_1FO7VdDz4V_k28MWHjb3TzJcOtjIirg62VJ7Q/s1600/Screenshot_20171108-120954.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1554" data-original-width="1029" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrmtDetAOymM0bek8a3I68CC8idCBefKLRWFfyS0qMWDMhLedFLIvK2wPWDrR-j6XeIKoMJdeZ4jx6SJTyGNgV75O4JtIQhX7AYeHY_1FO7VdDz4V_k28MWHjb3TzJcOtjIirg62VJ7Q/s320/Screenshot_20171108-120954.jpg" width="211" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No, the city never left me. I left it. Not to say it's all been bad, and I haven't learned a lot being in a less than urban environment. It's just not me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Also ironic as I've been trying slowly to convince the kids that we should rehome our chickens and turn the coop into a massive playhouse! What?! </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've also come to terms with another aspect of my life or should I say, death, as it relates to my location. Death in the Shenandoah Valley is not my plan. I do not want to live my entire life in Winchester nor will I be the third Mrs./Ms. Eckley to die in this farmhouse. Some of you may need to pick your chin up and recover from shock. Yes, there are things about this house that I will miss. But they are things. I have some memories, but the memories that were supposed to be made here were not mine alone. I like having space and privacy, I like hearing the creek and tree frogs, and I love the stars at night. But I'd love a place where the kids can play with friends outside, where playdates don't have to be scheduled and they can actually learn and be successful at riding a bike. As for the creek and frogs - I have an app to cover that. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me make it clear. Yes, I plan to leave the farmhouse.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So where am I going to go? Today, I have no idea. But I'm already working on figuring that out. While part of me says "ohhh New York City!", the rest of me, the majority of me knows I need someplace warmer. I'm always cold. I need a warmer climate. I need sunshine. Above even a trip into a city, the number 1 thing that brings me instant energy and makes me feel, well, whole, is the sun. When I go out to walk (something else I can't do at my house easily), I will often close my eyes and face the sun. Sounds a little weird perhaps, but I can feel the sun's energy and warmth travel through me, re-energizing me. I need warmth. It's not quite the same, but perhaps the same principle when talking energy transfer, that a good strong hug can give you. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a list of cities and states that are acceptable to me temperature wise, and have started some cross referencing to cost of living and crime rates. A little more work to do there, and I'll start factoring in likelihood of natural disasters (side effect of my job and desire to not be near any of it!). Then, the fun will begin as I plan trips to get a feeling for all the locations to narrow the list even more. I survived a move from Maryland to Virginia when I never thought I'd leave Maryland. I got this now. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now what does any of this have to do with decisions I made when I was young? Whether I knowingly did or not, I sacrificed who I was and what I thought I wanted to be for the approval, affection, and comfort of others. Beyond that, I at times, sacrificed my happiness for the happiness of others. Today, seeing people I care about be happy or contributing to that happiness continues to make me happy - but it is not going to replace the happy I'll get doing my own thing. And yes, quite often my own thing may be doing stuff to make other people happy. But there's a difference now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Want me to do something I don't want to so you can be happy - no, that won't make me happy. Remember, <a href="http://eckleyfarmhouse.blogspot.com/2017/07/control-of-my-happy.html" target="_blank">I control my happy</a>. You will not make me sad. You will not make me happy. It's my choice on how I respond to your actions. Sure, the things someone might do for me might "make me" happy - but it's because I chose to find joy in those things. [Note: next time I get sad about someone or something, can someone remind me about this happy choice? I'm still working on the sad thing. I'm much better about being happy. Thanks!]</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not like the life I led didn't work for me or that it was all bad. I really do try to learn from all of my experiences, at least now. But being my age and not really knowing what you want out of life and living "alone" for the first time in your adult life - that was and occasionally is a little scary. I'm not in my 20s, but in some ways, feel like I'm living part of those years over, the way they should have been. Well, except I have kids. I've seen myself approach new experiences with an almost child-like sense of wonder and amusement. I've had at least one person tell me that I'm like a kid, and I own it (I even mentioned it <a href="http://eckleyfarmhouse.blogspot.com/2017/07/undefined.html" target="_blank">once</a>!). There are parts of the world that I'm experiencing for the first time or the first time through my own eyes and open mind. It's been interesting and exhilarating to say the least. <u></u><u></u></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a bucket list. I have a start on a country life exit plan. I continue to control my happy. I am continuing to take care of myself, living the life I want, and learning every single day. I continue to raise my kids to be healthy in mind and body, kind and caring, and knowing how important it is to do what makes them happy, and not what anyone else, me included, tells them should make them happy. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With every end, there is a new beginning. As with every death; an end - there is life; a beginning. It's been a long time coming. As I died a wife, I was reborn a widow. Both will always be part of me. But I'm proud of my new beginning and am excited to see how far I continue to grow as Kim/Kimmy/Mom. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">[If you are super observant...you'll also notice a change here on the blog. kudos to you if you did notice. It's another new beginning, that I'll be tweaking a bit in the future.]</span></div>
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boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-59185091601267156182017-10-24T22:12:00.000-04:002017-10-24T22:12:31.233-04:00Deployment<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
When I applied for a position with FEMA in 2016, I had to acknowledge that at any time, I could be deployed to a different location to support the FEMA mission. Typically, this would be a disaster location, or an office location close to a disaster. Not a problem; Ghon was about to become a stay at home Dad, and if I ever had to go, I could. I would eventually interview for two different positions, and have an offer pending when Ghon died. A few weeks later, a counter off came. The next day, an offer came for the second position I interviewed for, just four days before his death.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Obviously, I accepted a position, but was pretty worried about needing to ever deploy. Although FEMA responds to many different types of events and disasters, hurricane season is typically the busiest time of year for my department, and heaviest in need of deployable assets. Assets meaning bodies. I had to leave the kids behind for two weeks (but home on the weekend) for orientation and it wasn’t until the end of the 2016 hurricane season that I’d joined. Extremely low deployment chance.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Likewise, with the work I do, the opportunity or need for me to deploy is small. I didn’t have a lot to worry about, and therefore, I didn’t.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Until Hurricane Harvey hit.<u></u><u></u></div>
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A very generic request was sent to likely everyone in FEMA – can you deploy for 30 days to assist with recovery efforts from Hurricane Harvey. Like a grade school love note, I had to choose yes, or no. After a quick chat with division leadership, I chose no. Some friends and coworkers said yes. Within a week, they were off to training then off to Houston.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Then Hurricane Irma hit. I was a wreck, worrying about friends and family living in Florida in her path. I volunteered to answer phone calls, taking registrations for assistance from disaster survivors. I worked close to sixty hours a week, supporting the recovery mission however I could. I supported those in my division working even longer hours by bringing in snacks – keeping everyone well fed and heavily carbed up!<u></u><u></u></div>
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I had been long prepping the kids that at some point, Mom may have to go help. It was my job, and just like we do with anyone, anywhere, we help people. We talked about the hurricanes and what survivors were dealing with and how we were lucky to have the things we did. We talked about what would happen if Mom had to leave.<u></u><u></u><br />
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Despite the initial feeling of NO, I can’t deploy, I slowly felt otherwise. I had to go. I felt called and compelled to go. When a request came for people with a certification I hold to volunteer to potentially deploy, I added my name to the list. I reached out to several people, looking for an opportunity to deploy. It’s hard to explain, but I knew I needed to go. I wanted a deployment experience and despite anxiety in leaving the kids behind, I just knew I needed to go help.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Friday, September 13, I received an email. It was time – could I complete a deployment in Carson City, Nevada. Say what? Things weren’t necessarily slowing down in Texas, but more people were going to or already in Florida. I thought for sure I was headed to the Sunshine State. But no, Nevada. I was going to help hurricane survivors from Nevada. I responded that I could go and a few hours later, a phone call confirmed my availability and scheduling. I was to get on a plane to Nevada on Sunday and report to my temporary duty station on Monday.<u></u><u></u></div>
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I’m a planner, and knowing that I could be deployed and was actively trying, I’d been doing lots of prep work. I had stocked the freezer full of food the kids would eat: chicken fingers and nuggets, fish sticks, waffles. I made 14 meals of tacos, taco soup, spaghetti, chicken alfredo and put them in the freezer. I loaded their meal accounts for school breakfasts and lunches. I secured a sitter and a host of friends to play support and back-up roles. I shared everyone’s phone numbers. I grabbed as much as I could for the kids’ joint birthday party with our friend that I was about to miss, and offered up my house as planned.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Sunday afternoon, I was on my way to the airport for my first deployment. Just two days after the phone call. That’s how it works – we are called and we go. Nearly twelve hours later, I was in my hotel in Lake Tahoe. Six hours later, I was at my job site.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Thirty days later, I have completed my deployment and am on the airplane home. (But by the time I'm publishing this...it's more like 38ish...)</div>
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I’m not going to tell you all about the work I did in Carson City. I will tell you that despite some challenges, not mine or mine alone, that there is some good coming about in Carson. A new call center was stood up with little notice, hiring done, training completed and there are now more people providing disaster survivors connections to the help they need. Whether it be taking registration calls for help, answering calls about cases, or completing reviews of cases, the team in Nevada is doing it. And I amazingly was a part of it.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Deployment for me was a wonderful experience. I know not everyone has the same experience had, nor are they all good. The work I was there to do and the location were much different than many people are accustomed to. You would never see me in any picture on the news about recovery efforts or the perceived lack thereof. I wanted a deployment so I could help and so I could learn. In the end, I do feel like I helped. It may have a few degrees of separation from my tasks to impact on a survivor, but I can find that connection. The things I learned and the contacts I made added so much to the experience.<u></u><u></u></div>
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In no particular order, these are the things that will stay with me after this deployment.<u></u><u></u></div>
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<u></u>1.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><u></u>I learned more about my function and use of my certification. I was able to put to use a certification that I spent many hours training for and haven’t been able to use day-to-day at my regular position. It was because of this certification that I was sent to Carson City, and although the need for that role requires a longer term assignment than I could give, I learned a bit about the functions and from people in similar positions. I was also blessed to have someone I could call a mentor that was not afraid to teach me things. Sandy was encouraging and supportive and I couldn’t have asked for a better Contracting Officer to learn from.<u></u><u></u></div>
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<u></u>2.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><u></u>What it feels like to be valued. My first few days, things were slow. Not for the center itself, but there was a bit of transition still, people needed to figure out who I was and why I was there and I needed to understand the requirements of my position. Once my section chief figured out my abilities and willingness to learn, I was given a variety of tasks. There were times I identified a problem and ran with it, making it my personal mission to help create a solution. And when I say run with it, I marched myself all around the office and requested meetings, set up agendas and plans to not just present an issue – but to suggest and get people talking about solutions and taking action. I was thanked often for the work I did, much above and beyond my position. It’s just what I do, but it was great to feel appreciated and respected.<u></u><u></u></div>
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<u></u>3.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><u></u>Always do the right thing. Of course, I knew this going in and try to always do the right thing anyway. But my commitment to doing the right thing helped co-workers know who they were dealing with. I stood up for those being mistreated. I didn’t tolerate disrespect, and when processes were not being followed that could ultimately impact me and my position, I let it be known that it was not going to happen that way. Sitting in a room full of men and telling them all that I was there for two more weeks and during my time they were going to things the right way, as I said, and they just had to deal with it – was empowering. Not just because I pushed an issue; but because they recognized that I was not a pushover, I knew what I was talking about, and I earned respect. But that moment also began a campaign to keep me longer than a standard 30 day deployment.<u></u><u></u></div>
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<u></u>4.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><u></u>I needed a break. Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids and I missed my kids. I talked to them almost every single day – I think we only missed 3 days. But being away was a mom-cation. I didn’t have to make my bed, I didn’t have to cook. I took short breaks during the work day just to walk around outside and feel the sun. I still made time to exercise, I explored new places on my day off or in an hour in the evening. I spent a majority of the first two weeks to myself. It was good for me to push myself out of my comfort zone in many ways and help continue to discover what I like to do, who I am, and what I want from life. If you know me well enough, you know I’m always on the go. This was a chance for me to slow down a tiny bit, despite the hectic and long days and still trying to do a lot while I was there. OK, maybe I didn’t slow down. The one night I didn’t have plans or anything to do I went stir crazy. But I otherwise filled my down time with things I wanted to do, with things I wanted to see, and people I wanted to be with. I listened to live music - from hip-hop to blues, saw fireworks, took hikes, danced, ate food I haven’t had in ages, tried many new foods, shopped for me and others, watched the sun rise and set, exercised, read, colored, shared a bottle of wine with a new friend, took my first Uber ride, lost a little and won a little money playing roulette, had a lesson in craps, got a tattoo, and stared at the city lights. In short, I had fun. Even when I was working, I had fun. A lot of fun. All of this also reinforced the fact that I miss city life.<u></u></div>
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<u></u>5.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><u></u>The people. The people I met and those I got to know will always stay with me. Many of the people I met there work deployments regularly. Some hadn’t been home in months, some for over a year. Some would be there a short time like me, some knew they’d be extended. Others were pulled from our location to go support new disaster locations. I now know a variety of people with different skill sets that came together from locations across the country to work toward a common goal. Some will certainly stick with me more than others. Saying goodbye was harder than I imagined it would be. I suppose I left an impression on them, and they on me. I did become close to one person there, something I never expected. We walked, we talked, we shared meals, drinks, stories of our past and hopes for our futures. I know I will miss him the most for sure, and already do. </div>
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I've heard a lot of stories about deployments. Some people love to deploy, others do not. Seems a bit like a rite of passage. Although my deployment was somewhat atypical, created a little havoc at home for the kids and may have made things a little crazy for those taking care of the kids, I am thankful for the experience. I learned a lot about FEMA and my position, the continued resiliency of my kids, the generosity of my friends for helping take care of the kids, how to have fun again, how to make new friends, and how to just be me. <br />
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Who would have thought? Hurricanes in Texas and Florida would put me in Nevada to further find myself. Was that what the calling I felt was for - momcation? Meeting new people and creating new relationships? Was it to fill that professional need? These are questions I can't answer. Whatever the reason, I am glad it happened.boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-63272539337664901512017-08-22T22:59:00.000-04:002017-10-13T19:38:33.867-04:00On Dating<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
…Until death do us part</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The vow we made almost 17 years before his death. As quick as the filing of the death certificate, I’m now single for the first time in 21 years.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">While married, we’d discussed remarriage in the event we ever split up, or more often, if one of us died. Are we the only ones that talked about these things?<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Ghon often said he’d never remarry. He’d been married once, twice, and if I were to leave or die, I couldn’t be replaced. He wouldn’t do it again. I argued that he would, and it’d be relatively quickly. He’d never been without a girlfriend/fiancé/wife for more than, well, maybe 36-48 hours since his first divorce. Even before his marriage, he jumped from one girl to another, sometimes admittedly, he had multiple girlfriends.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I always said I’d never remarry. My opinion was been there done that, especially if we’d ever divorce. Why go through that all over again? I could see myself being set in my ways. Ghon would of course tell me I would, and more importantly, should. He didn’t think I should be alone. He even named a mutual friend of ours that he would approve of me marrying!<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The first thing Jonathan asked me after I told him that yes, his Daddy died (Genevieve told him first!), was if I was going to get remarried. I remember thinking, “WHOAH!” I told him I really didn’t think so, but what did he think about it. His response was yes, because he didn’t have a dad. Then he quickly changed his mind, because he didn’t want my name to change.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">At my first primary care visit following Ghon’s death, about four months after, my doctor made the connection between the death of one of his patients (Ghon) and me. We talked for a few moments about what happened, then why I was there, then near the end of my exam, he asked if I was going to get remarried! Slow down, Doc! I couldn’t believe he’d ask that – then tell me I should. How about you let me process what’s happened? How about you let me get through this first year? How about you let me figure out who the hell I am without Ghon, however long that takes, before we talk dating, OK?<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After I got my memorial tattoo with Ghon’s ashes, and later a second tattoo that has many elements in memory of Ghon, including the pattern of his wedding band, I was told that the tattoos sealed the deal that I’d never remarry. I was taken aback and perhaps even offended. Certainly, I wasn’t entertaining the idea of dating. I’m not thinking about marriage. But I couldn’t fathom why having my relationship memorialized would prevent me from dating or marriage.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It wasn’t long after this conversation that Jonathan slammed me with it again, but this time, Genevieve was there to encourage him. He asked me again about dating, and told me I should because I need an adult to talk to.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Another primary care doctor visit and after checking in on any health concerns, he asks if I’m dating. When I said no, he told me I was a young attractive woman and I should go find a man. But not one in Winchester, look out toward Northern VA so I didn’t find a redneck. I guess he didn’t know Ghon that well, and that a well-visit really checks on all well-being.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">There have been iterations of this post, or at least parts of it, in the making for months. I have countless notes, half written posts, or short quips about interactions I've had with people since Ghon died about the potential for me to date. It’s interesting to see how time changes perspective.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">In the last few months, I've noticed something I'm not sure I ever thought would happen. Different times, different places, different situations and different tactics employed. If it has happened in the past, I can't say I've noticed until now. Men were paying attention and showing interest in me. Am I acting differently? Has the unspoken period of 'respect the widow' been lifted? <u></u></span>This is just, well, weird. And maybe a little exciting.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After a while, I did start to think about dating. Over the last 14 months there have been times the idea absolutely terrified me, nauseated me and overwhelmed me. Recently however, there have been times that I wish I did have a date once and a while. Someone to go out with me when I want to dress up or feel particularly pretty or confident.<u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I’ve had mixed reactions from friends regarding me and dating. They vary from "you are awesome, go date, find someone to love and appreciate you!" to "no one will want to date/marry you" (yes, really) to "oh, (insert dramatic pause) you aren't thinking about dating already are you?" Let me tell ya, I've had all those thoughts myself, but never at the same time I hear them from friends and acquaintances. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Yes, I am awesome, and I don't need a man to tell me that. But it's pretty nice to hear. It would be nice to have someone, an adult someone, to talk about my day with. To just kick back and relax with. Someone that appreciates me for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And yes, no one will want to date me because, well, I'm becoming more and more independent. I don't need a man to open jars or carry heavy things. No one will want to date me because my kids keep me so busy, I'm almost always unavailable. While I’m independent, I do also think I can be a touch needy, and who is going to want that? No one will want to date me because they won’t know I want to date because I don't go out to meet guys that need dates. (Go ahead and read that again if you need to.) I don't have single friends and I'm not going out alone. It's a vicious cycle and as an over-thinker, I will over think every scenario.<u></u><u></u></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Have I already started to think about dating? Yes. Yes I have. If you think I should spend the rest of my life alone purely because my husband died, well, you can stop reading my blog. Am I looking to replace him? Find someone like him? No. There is no replacement, there is no one just like him. How do I know I'm ready? I tested the water and felt no guilt.<u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Few people know that I have actually spent a lot of time talking to and occasionally hanging out with one person. The best part of our relationship is just what Jonathan said; it’s great to have an adult to talk to. (Maybe I should just take all my dating advice from him?) He encourages me to keep figuring out what I like, what I want, and basically who I am. He challenges my way of thinking, introduces me to new things, and isn’t afraid to hear my point of view. We share our experiences, fears, and maybe a few plans and dreams for the future. He compliments me, helps me (whether I admit I need help or not), and does little things that mean a lot. There is a lot we have in common; and many things we don’t. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Despite this, if you shook the magic 8 ball and asked about our future, it would probably come back with “try again later.” Most days, a romantic relationship doesn’t seem to be always be in the cards for us, timing often working against us, and that is OK. We gave dating in a more traditional sense a try for a very short time (I think it holds the record for my shortest relationship ever – talk about an ego killer at the time), but it just didn’t work. Regardless of any future potential for more, the main thing is that I still have an incredible friend in my life who isn’t afraid to hear me talk about Ghon, thinks I should date lots of guys until I find one as amazing as me, and vows to run off any losers I do try to date in the future. If we are both old and single, we have laid out some basic retirement plans together.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I can't really imagine him not being part of my world right now. I wouldn't trade his friendship in for anything. It was due to our friendship that I even began to see the possibility of loving someone else again. And because I know he reads my blog, and will understand this – 🌟🌞, I JUST love you. Thank you for being you and tolerating me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Now let me back up and note that I’m not soliciting marriage proposals here. I still don’t know if I ever actually want to be married again. I would however, like to find someone that I can share my limited free time with. The kids and myself will always come first. But sometimes, I just need adult interaction and well, I’d like it to be a guy</span>. This is also not a solicitation for sex. M’kay? Sometimes a girl just wants to be in a man’s company and maybe get some cuddles.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Now that I’ve cleared that up, as I’ve continued to learn more about who I am and what I want as a single parent, single woman, and though I don’t like to admit it, a middle-aged single woman, I want someone to do stuff with. Someone that shares some of the same interests as me. Someone that may not like what I want to do, but is still willing to go somewhere with me because I want to – and would ask me to go with them to someplace maybe I would not be regularly into. Why? Because we enjoy not just the company, but the company of each other. I’d like more of that encouragement, support, thought-provoking conversation, and someone to share my day with and in time, maybe someone to grow old with. I don’t want to be a third wheel, I don’t want to be a pity invite, and I don’t want to be a crazy old cat lady when I get older. I don’t need to be anyone’s top priority; but a priority would be nice. Balance. I crave balance.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I mentioned before the book about moving from we to me. It suggested I identify what I want in a future partner and after a few quick thoughts, I came to two conclusions. He either did not exist, or, he was going to have some other serious issues, like being a serial killer or something if he wasn’t already married. Back to the drawing board.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Qualifications for dating me:<u></u><u></u></span><br>
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<u></u><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">1.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><u></u><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">You must like kids. My kids are a little crazy, a lot of fun, and are my world. They had a dad; you don’t have to be him. You will never be him. But, that doesn’t mean you don’t have to be a role model, play Xbox, play catch, watch their sporting events, maybe watch them when they are sick, and support and guide them as they grow. If you’re in it for the long haul – you have to appreciate and respect them, as I’d expect them to do for you. Not only must you like my kids, you will need to respect my relationship with my biggest kid, my stepson. Our relationship did not die when his father did; if anything, we grew closer. If you thought your days of seeking a father’s approval for dating a girl were over, think again. He’s not my father, but I seek and respect his opinions. He is one of my trusted guides as I consider dating.<u></u><u></u></span><br>
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<u></u><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">2.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><u></u><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Honesty and respect are key for me. Do not lie to me. Do not lie by omission. If you do, there is no trust. No trust means no future. I’ve had my trust violated in the past, so bear with me as I learn to trust again. Respect me, my feelings, my opinions, and my decisions. Respect that I’ve been married and I will talk about my deceased husband. Respect my time. If you regularly can’t keep commitments, I am not likely the girl for you. I enjoy spontaneity, and can do some things on a whim, but life with kids means I schedule, a lot. If I’m making time for you, it’s more disruptive to cancel plans that it can be to make them.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<u></u><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">3.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><u></u><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Like music. Like live music. Go see shows with me, on any scale.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<u></u><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">4.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><u></u><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Have a life; but appreciate sharing it with me. If there is something I want to do different in a relationship, it’s being comfortable doing my own thing, having a partner that is comfortable doing their own thing, and doing many more things together. You are probably going to be close to my age – so I hope you have your own interests and hobbies. I don’t want to change you or them, nor do I want to change me or mine. I want my life to be enhanced, enriched, and more fulfilling as a result of a relationship.<u></u><u></u></span><br>
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<u></u><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">5.<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><u></u><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Make me laugh.<u></u><u></u></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I have several well-meaning friends tell me that I deserve someone great and fabulous, that I have so much to offer, I’m a great person, never settle. It makes me wonder then why haven’t I found someone to spend even a little of my time with.<u></u><u></u></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I also know that I’m at a disadvantage when it comes to meeting people.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I’m not into hanging out at bars, and certainly wouldn’t go alone. I’m not asking any of my married friends to go hang out at a bar on a <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1097831151" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Friday </span></span>night with me. One, it’s that third-wheel thing again, and two, I could care less about drinking. I think I’m approachable, but then again, maybe I’m not. Once I know you, I’ll talk your ear off. Until then, I’m not the best at starting conversations with strangers, even in a professional/networking environment. The whole idea makes me uncomfortable. I don’t go out much, because, again, I don’t have anyone to go out with.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And no, at least not at this point in time, am I not interested in any online dating sites.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I’ve come to realize unless a guy is a single parent with a kid in the same extracurricular activities as my kids or potentially at work; I’m never going to meet him. Unless I already have and just don’t know it. As much as I’d like to find someone to do stuff with, I also find the idea of dating a little exhausting. I’m not looking for potential blind dates out of this post, or a bunch of “hey you should meet my brother/cousin/friend” either. I’m a firm believer in when the timing is right, and the person is right, even if right for a period of time, our paths will cross. Until then, </span>I'll be working, mom-ing, and listening to my music. And maybe shopping for a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQlHpT_-IV4" target="_blank">red dress</a>. </div>
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boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-27911071693028703532017-07-18T10:34:00.001-04:002017-07-18T14:45:17.445-04:00Undefined<p dir="ltr">I am a woman;<br>
filled with childlike naivety,<br>
red, purple, blue and black. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I am a mother and caregiver;<br>
a protector,<br>
rarely a risk taker.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am a friend;<br>
shy and awkward at first,<br>
loud, loyal, and slightly obnoxious ‘til the end.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am a giver;<br>
a reluctant taker,<br>
providing what I can, when I can, when I want.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am a manager of things;<br>
a list maker,<br>
a planner planning more spontaneity. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I am a widow;<br>
an emotional person,<br>
searching for me in a world of we.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am a musicophile;<br>
listening on repeat,<br>
finding life, meaning, and purpose in someone else's words and a wicked beat.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am a loner;<br>
valuing time to myself, for myself,<br>
struggling with being alone.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am a fighter;<br>
standing up for what I believe in,<br>
defending those that deserve it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am a believer;<br>
in God, karma, attraction, the innate good in others,<br>
in myself.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am the sea goat;<br>
practical, responsible, independent,<br>
stubborn, and often fearful.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am not cookie cutter;<br>
uniquely defined,<br>
constantly evolving my shape.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I am strong;<br>
I am awesome;<br>
I am fierce;<br>
I am enough;<br>
I am me, undefined.</p>
boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-69954330262349648172017-07-10T19:41:00.000-04:002017-07-10T19:41:59.490-04:00Control of My Happy<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
The last two weeks have been pretty exciting, exhilarating, and exhausting.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Fretting over the possible sighting of a grey hair and a long faded home dye job, I contemplated coloring my hair. Coloring requires upkeep. Upkeep requires time and money. As with most people, when I have one, I don’t always have excess of the other.<u></u><u></u></div>
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The fun began with a sassy new demi-permanent dye job. Red, copper and a little purple. I wanted something different, something fun, but not entirely outrageous for work. I mean, I already push boundaries wearing leggings and black lipstick, I didn’t want to come in with unicorn hair. Since it is demi-permanent and already fading, I have my next appointment set <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1147853506" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">in five weeks</span></span>. We’ll see what direction the color goes; I leave a lot up to my stylist.<u></u><u></u><br />
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<span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1147853507" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Two days later</span></span>, I was off to the Total Package Tour that I mentioned in an earlier post. BoyzIIMen, Paula Abdul, NKOTB. What a great show with a great friend. Followed by the car adventure the next day.<u></u><u></u></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's me touching Donnie Wahlberg!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello, Jordan Knight!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NKOTB</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Four days after the concert, after nearly three months of searching, I bought a car! I did a lot of research and had a few friends also help with the research and provide advice. Test drove cars on two days, negotiated then purchased on the third. This is huge for me. Thanks to the employee pricing benefit Ghon had while working at Carmax, we did buy a couple vehicles that we didn’t necessarily need. Like my Yukon. At one point, we had 2 drivers in the house and 5 vehicles. His truck, his Le Mans, my Camry, my Yukon, and an old Corolla that he used to commute in while Linda was abroad at school. Otherwise, and thereafter, we ran cars to the ground. To go shopping for a car when my KIA was still in decent shape was not the norm for me. But, I’d already put a ton of miles on it the two years we owned it, it was worth less than I owed and the kids and I really did need something bigger. I traded it in, gave a hefty down payment, and am now the owner of a 2016 Honda CRV. It’s a little different for me to now have sole (well, joint considering banks) ownership of, or maybe sole indebtedness, of a car and a mortgage. Just me, myself, and I. Who’s a big kid now?</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meet Diana! (As in Diana Prince)</td></tr>
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I could have spent more time car shopping, but the next family adventure was at hand. Vacation! Road trip!!<u></u><u></u></div>
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Saturday, July 1, the kids and I set off on our first vacation. Last summer, we did a 1 day, 2 night trip to Rehobeth Beach but otherwise, no vacation. I took them to Reno in October, so I guess that counts too, but when the kids think vacation, they think summer. We packed late <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1147853508" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Friday</span></span> and a little <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1147853509" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Saturday</span></span> morning. Typical for my packing, I over packed my clothes, just to be sure I had plenty of options. I packed the kids bag just right, allowing one extra “just in case” outfit. When I loaded the car <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1147853510" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Saturday</span></span> morning, I was somewhat impressed. One bag for me. One bag for both of them. One collapsible cooler bag for food and drinks for the ride. A tote with enough snacks to last the entire trip (and it did!). And another small bag for all my tablet, charging cords, and maps. Each kid had one small backpack of their car stuff. If I’d had the KIA still, the back would have been full. I had room to spare! Lots of room! Something was very different about this trip. Very different; and I’m not talking cargo space or Ghon.<u></u><u></u><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWrRX70B-IQeQu4wdtvelbRHcEkik-PNBc84MCp9_HmXMUgxwyAeybArE_YTzkYxrbBKACCEznv_VgaGu17Uus7cWcEgbiLBmwObFtIJzA6jdWwfrV_xH5ZAgheqT7AVoaY1oxHv8CH0/s1600/20170701_102324.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 12.8px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1221" data-original-width="1600" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWrRX70B-IQeQu4wdtvelbRHcEkik-PNBc84MCp9_HmXMUgxwyAeybArE_YTzkYxrbBKACCEznv_VgaGu17Uus7cWcEgbiLBmwObFtIJzA6jdWwfrV_xH5ZAgheqT7AVoaY1oxHv8CH0/s320/20170701_102324.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to go!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPASjEyuE8OqN4SBKNYLqZ1VinN8ntJyO46o8nqdNIDNR0ShsF2NqlndtYHlNAsEfxFM5tu86RQIPDTBPY5IDysVLOBOkeE085ppncm42FcZ4jBzvO0rjGEc2VlqINHmoQuMTu7haD3Wg/s1600/20170701_212108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPASjEyuE8OqN4SBKNYLqZ1VinN8ntJyO46o8nqdNIDNR0ShsF2NqlndtYHlNAsEfxFM5tu86RQIPDTBPY5IDysVLOBOkeE085ppncm42FcZ4jBzvO0rjGEc2VlqINHmoQuMTu7haD3Wg/s320/20170701_212108.jpg" width="240" /></a>I was taking the kids to New York City and Boston. I didn’t make a packing list. I didn’t have a hard itinerary, aside from our tickets to see the Statue of Liberty. I make lists. I plan. This time; I had mental notes, a transit app on my phone and goals. Goals that were not all met. To an extent, I gave up control again and tried to go with the flow. We left <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1147853511" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Saturday</span></span> morning, maybe half an hour later than I’d liked, but I had no steadfast plans for that evening that required specific timing. Get to the hotel, get into the city, go to Coney Island. Eat dinner at Nathan’s, walk the Brooklyn Bridge, ride the Wonder Wheel. Two of these things did not happen, and it was still a good night. We had a safe drive to our hotel. I fretted over getting into the city since we stayed in Secaucus, NJ. I looked at three transit maps, and couldn’t believe that once I made it to the Port Authority Bus terminal, it would take over 90 minutes to get to Coney Island. I felt fear creeping in over me about taking the NYC Subway. I can drive in Baltimore. I Metro through DC. Suddenly, I felt less like a city girl and more like a country bumpkin. Intimidated by the thought. Maybe it would be easier to just stay at the hotel that night. No. No, no, no. This was Coney Island night. Not a hard plan, but the best day to accomplish these wish list sights. We threw our sneakers on and left.<u></u><u></u></div>
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The bus ride was OK. We ate cupcakes from Carlos’ Bakery. I found the Subway. It took me FOREVER to get three subway passes. Found the right platform. Track work. Change trains. Nearly two hours after we left the hotel, we made it to Brooklyn. We ate our hot dogs. We did not walk the bridge, we did not ride the Wonder Wheel because it was closed. We did walk around the boardwalk and eat gelato. We did make it safely back to the hotel. It was a good evening.<u></u><u></u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikmXrOa2fPxJKEX8i2bIKLTdpYUJuo2ywcTqNSxFA5sX17k9UQelz-5PxPfYJ7jdwjkDIAEMldWYoKbqZg3uj5a4si_B4EHKzIIUQGmfkxK5AOaLUIx-IZqQ0NUfj5bxjUTfnqiuRKGz0/s1600/20170701_212052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikmXrOa2fPxJKEX8i2bIKLTdpYUJuo2ywcTqNSxFA5sX17k9UQelz-5PxPfYJ7jdwjkDIAEMldWYoKbqZg3uj5a4si_B4EHKzIIUQGmfkxK5AOaLUIx-IZqQ0NUfj5bxjUTfnqiuRKGz0/s320/20170701_212052.jpg" width="240" /></a>For the majority of our time in New York, we made use of one of the hop on – hop off tour buses. Again, for <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1147853512" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Sunday</span></span>, very little agenda. We hopped on and off, visited many locations, and to keep happy kids, worked in a pizza lunch – and eventually a pizza dinner, a trip to Dylan’s Candy Bar, M&Ms World, and we took a horse and carriage ride around part of Central Park. <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1147853513" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Monday</span></span>, we saw a few more sights from the bus, then visited the Statue of Liberty. I bought tickets in advance and we had access to the pedestal, which was pretty awesome. Quick stop at Ellis Island, back to the bus, to Manhattan, eat more pizza, to the hotel for our car and we were off to our friend’s house in New Hampshire!<u></u><u></u><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWM4YAO-Q4bOaFzcDr6m_QabE-FX9k6XJl9C2poaaiwjVwpV8H3LhpjEts6WV8BUqrzEtg5Ws7D1-fEOk6V3MQtkX6SuV76jPaqmKrNCMIb6tSaqvfiHSVh9WslS8hS2nOChyW2eOYcc/s1600/20170702_133543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWM4YAO-Q4bOaFzcDr6m_QabE-FX9k6XJl9C2poaaiwjVwpV8H3LhpjEts6WV8BUqrzEtg5Ws7D1-fEOk6V3MQtkX6SuV76jPaqmKrNCMIb6tSaqvfiHSVh9WslS8hS2nOChyW2eOYcc/s320/20170702_133543.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grant's Tomb</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeStZInnSu07ATLIMLfPSsF_ghoI8Uk_1Tu6c8P__oIxp1v9hsty_93l4EsI-RP3yRQdvtpvgL-Z2RuK86UPmdGhIbbinqHZ9zB563FS7byVrMzQyHvOHHJNIfh7T-0xnPW9KYxNJEjo/s1600/20170703_134736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQeStZInnSu07ATLIMLfPSsF_ghoI8Uk_1Tu6c8P__oIxp1v9hsty_93l4EsI-RP3yRQdvtpvgL-Z2RuK86UPmdGhIbbinqHZ9zB563FS7byVrMzQyHvOHHJNIfh7T-0xnPW9KYxNJEjo/s320/20170703_134736.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVliMdCN5VEyhnqNQVqjBohd59j1wOxY6PpLooxJycq_rjFuyIRl2qWFRS_ucBjZQcpLTRmI59Iqaf208-1uDFtXXxZOXZftuTfh3PWwXwkPeXFthoq3QkH1HiKMUvx17DCskFwe31Hg/s1600/20170703_132842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiVliMdCN5VEyhnqNQVqjBohd59j1wOxY6PpLooxJycq_rjFuyIRl2qWFRS_ucBjZQcpLTRmI59Iqaf208-1uDFtXXxZOXZftuTfh3PWwXwkPeXFthoq3QkH1HiKMUvx17DCskFwe31Hg/s320/20170703_132842.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFzx_k-BDXODKs7oHS9WQj7h5F1vdyA1ofw99PDxVV9WXuqJab5Uys4VTSRzC06-iQdq5MG7PVX54mhcVm5zvlFP7A-p8paTtb5TALCVzIqBh22iSM11MTlsxicHp9g7CHdETaVjGDiaM/s1600/20170703_181053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="412" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFzx_k-BDXODKs7oHS9WQj7h5F1vdyA1ofw99PDxVV9WXuqJab5Uys4VTSRzC06-iQdq5MG7PVX54mhcVm5zvlFP7A-p8paTtb5TALCVzIqBh22iSM11MTlsxicHp9g7CHdETaVjGDiaM/s640/20170703_181053.jpg" width="164" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWM4YAO-Q4bOaFzcDr6m_QabE-FX9k6XJl9C2poaaiwjVwpV8H3LhpjEts6WV8BUqrzEtg5Ws7D1-fEOk6V3MQtkX6SuV76jPaqmKrNCMIb6tSaqvfiHSVh9WslS8hS2nOChyW2eOYcc/s1600/20170702_133543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCdZdwDYpooJKmIH1r031qprdyOreu1jhZnQLwmyGQC8JY0kayz0F3vaGoSaOeqhtHIHOrcHYX0QbfTh9QeLdxZhmmJ8_hxmr7OY6I6hAIBeM0-jVLr0bkMUPiUgBMiPDNc8YL8mXaFw/s1600/20170704_110347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCdZdwDYpooJKmIH1r031qprdyOreu1jhZnQLwmyGQC8JY0kayz0F3vaGoSaOeqhtHIHOrcHYX0QbfTh9QeLdxZhmmJ8_hxmr7OY6I6hAIBeM0-jVLr0bkMUPiUgBMiPDNc8YL8mXaFw/s200/20170704_110347.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">July 4, we attended the Amherst, NH parade and watched our friends Hazel and John ride in the bicycle parade! After some down time at their house, moms and kids headed to Boston. Melissa and I both carried backpacks with us that day and once we attempted to enter the esplanade, found out that no backpacks were allowed! Next adventure – find a bag we could take in! We walked around the gardens, just missed a swan boat ride, bought some souvenir bags then ate at the bar/restaurant where the TV Show Cheers was filmed. Back to the esplanade and we worked our way in and watched the <a href="http://bostonpopsjuly4th.org/" target="_blank">Boston Pops</a>! Now this didn’t mean a ton to the kids, but for me, this was pretty cool. Especially when I found out there were additional live performances by Melissa Etheredge, Leslie Odom, Jr, and Andy Grammar! Very cool!! Following the show we switched spots and watched fireworks!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Melissa</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBcHZx21FW6Qefnirjzg8o5DXQNX_P49oscPOH51SnGw39w0ZNrXFua95x92gtlC5A8VvQ88m0yTGUmt_CaXx_LYpiXhTleBC2H-_nw4LWpm6e40PrNWdeCKgAR0cJk1J49SP5j9rXxgA/s1600/20170704_102328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBcHZx21FW6Qefnirjzg8o5DXQNX_P49oscPOH51SnGw39w0ZNrXFua95x92gtlC5A8VvQ88m0yTGUmt_CaXx_LYpiXhTleBC2H-_nw4LWpm6e40PrNWdeCKgAR0cJk1J49SP5j9rXxgA/s320/20170704_102328.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jonathan, Genevieve, Hazel and John</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOlKVDMXkVxAb0RJKR4Z1FqT4Lz7Lb7uKsx1nQEIRm_blazYugvBwFvOzCAQKYTK8pxbj3M1tmhyxQqDsyacD43_Jwcop6QFE9nGkm8flp_pdk5JqHCDrFsONczjiPBJeqF5QaVvttE5E/s1600/20170704_191641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 12.8px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOlKVDMXkVxAb0RJKR4Z1FqT4Lz7Lb7uKsx1nQEIRm_blazYugvBwFvOzCAQKYTK8pxbj3M1tmhyxQqDsyacD43_Jwcop6QFE9nGkm8flp_pdk5JqHCDrFsONczjiPBJeqF5QaVvttE5E/s320/20170704_191641.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The crew in Boston!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68OzCmFQWBUdjTXvXiI0TbiUMuzBaC4IlgdzruezUQVFkF2FITKecYdQm1ppXae3tgT55P_czmXLC3NdvZSDL79sXtpVg6QnzsqRa9ZuZT1HM0i6iaiDTycT7bDstLtVWJtF45cnpRmE/s1600/20170704_211203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68OzCmFQWBUdjTXvXiI0TbiUMuzBaC4IlgdzruezUQVFkF2FITKecYdQm1ppXae3tgT55P_czmXLC3NdvZSDL79sXtpVg6QnzsqRa9ZuZT1HM0i6iaiDTycT7bDstLtVWJtF45cnpRmE/s640/20170704_211203.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andy Grammer and the Boston Pops!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFJn1c7Lq2ZUgyZyMiiTJgI7kBP4hU707v0Fd2ONmYrriUz9UzUrjCMYfN6cfURTR7nhIXI_Dd9shgxxJVR3I8PoyR8dL7dV9sHxUfS8YDpYaB7Ebj1gCgtlHYiLjN7WFNMTY3dkxrv1w/s1600/20170704_224250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFJn1c7Lq2ZUgyZyMiiTJgI7kBP4hU707v0Fd2ONmYrriUz9UzUrjCMYfN6cfURTR7nhIXI_Dd9shgxxJVR3I8PoyR8dL7dV9sHxUfS8YDpYaB7Ebj1gCgtlHYiLjN7WFNMTY3dkxrv1w/s400/20170704_224250.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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My favorite things include chocolate, live music and fireworks. I was with friends, eating chocolate ice cream during a concert that was followed by fireworks. It was a great night.<u></u><u></u></div>
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July 5<sup>th</sup> was the long ride home. Quick stops for bathroom breaks and gas and we made great time. I did so well with the packing for this trip, despite no plan or list, that I had everything unloaded, put away, and laundry done in the first hour we were home! Not only that, I repacked the kids who were leaving the next morning to go camping with my dad for 4 days!<u></u><u></u></div>
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Insert a couple days of work and cleaning the house up, purging more stuff, a trip to a salt cave for a little relaxation, and a visit from a friend <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1147853514" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on Saturday</span></span> afternoon. That night, off to Baltimore to stay with my best friend Melissa. The next day, it was a girls trip back to New York with her daughter Rylee and my friend Amanda to see Kinky Boots on Broadway. Brendon Urie from Panic! At the Disco, one of my favorite bands, was starring in the show for a limited run, so we went to see the show while he was performing. The show was phenomenal! Following the show, we hung out by the stage door and was able to get autographs and photos of many of the cast members, including all the leads. THIS INCLUDES BRENDON URIE! (Insert ultimate fangirling here.) A great day with friends. Only downside, was not getting home til almost <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1147853515" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">2am</span></span>!!<u></u><u></u></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyEfZaXVYDTqpE0jrVEvV8j6fq54B5epfrE4l7mUOmqCq2y3ZEri3LHasIYYNU_17nDZSGyNwoisoy9mqCUKhIdyZNhjnsYTdr9jg1jWNgMv8QtBIDl4Hsj7cvaT6pL7qXtGuFyvjzPm0/s1600/20170709_125920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyEfZaXVYDTqpE0jrVEvV8j6fq54B5epfrE4l7mUOmqCq2y3ZEri3LHasIYYNU_17nDZSGyNwoisoy9mqCUKhIdyZNhjnsYTdr9jg1jWNgMv8QtBIDl4Hsj7cvaT6pL7qXtGuFyvjzPm0/s320/20170709_125920.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Melissa, Amanda</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_otfG2wCjMa8C8LOXe6yFQbdsBMPoeRDc3dgOKItgdrckwKRX3pEo4XwWlJ318mE8gcQFYFYQDjY7vhU_rVmtMwzeFwMyebE8Em8pZG3vIBCPXSI8PLjpTBg5c4y1OnuE4438-63llsc/s1600/20170709_132016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_otfG2wCjMa8C8LOXe6yFQbdsBMPoeRDc3dgOKItgdrckwKRX3pEo4XwWlJ318mE8gcQFYFYQDjY7vhU_rVmtMwzeFwMyebE8Em8pZG3vIBCPXSI8PLjpTBg5c4y1OnuE4438-63llsc/s320/20170709_132016.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiac5VEIgJw2RKK4WKNQxibfVR_s1K3zgO9rwHyLCF5EaBFd7Cb0oG0Zb8ge1JqpSDkITSwdMq5H6IUrS2eo28-inGSp9iwFllKPSTyWTr1CY5w-yVWsgPoovK6MbyIevEIt72ZqWmilwA/s1600/20170709_132035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiac5VEIgJw2RKK4WKNQxibfVR_s1K3zgO9rwHyLCF5EaBFd7Cb0oG0Zb8ge1JqpSDkITSwdMq5H6IUrS2eo28-inGSp9iwFllKPSTyWTr1CY5w-yVWsgPoovK6MbyIevEIt72ZqWmilwA/s320/20170709_132035.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If only....</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjY4HtsttvVhJBuTpi2kjl1_6t5eDQUDEcR-1Hg-X2kIZ6rsPM-VhYyioeKjA-aimmGBRKVD5gOgsHikoXl_ekvq4lEPOUUpKXedDXwmObsgGFfV7kCya-YS3nu0Fenej3envhkBe7gMw/s320/20170709_180904.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">J. Harrison Ghee - Lola</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjY4HtsttvVhJBuTpi2kjl1_6t5eDQUDEcR-1Hg-X2kIZ6rsPM-VhYyioeKjA-aimmGBRKVD5gOgsHikoXl_ekvq4lEPOUUpKXedDXwmObsgGFfV7kCya-YS3nu0Fenej3envhkBe7gMw/s1600/20170709_180904.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdQGaCJI5OEAA6Uz3OXqUscU71HFcfmmLCksyChF4UihBEaVs2EyUJZXLT5YO8WWyj666nU1mJmgV5TvrKMlWa8CtvoX7PDgAL06Z18HnvRI9QeDs5xvFPfSs9pjiKsDxNjQVGx_10-c/s1600/20170709_184427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1242" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdQGaCJI5OEAA6Uz3OXqUscU71HFcfmmLCksyChF4UihBEaVs2EyUJZXLT5YO8WWyj666nU1mJmgV5TvrKMlWa8CtvoX7PDgAL06Z18HnvRI9QeDs5xvFPfSs9pjiKsDxNjQVGx_10-c/s320/20170709_184427.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OMFG BRENDON URIE!!! - Charlie Price</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qrAetzvE2luwVTO09RP__C85MktudF4f2uQWl0LjFFg1CiSIw0J99eDIt_l_V1HuFgUhLJM_2U8yCdP5UJ72uWyYo-wdjY_FV-9DQZIYbr_K9_VYz_KBeWuB_WhCVUXxqAjexOA1uJU/s1600/20170709_184325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1qrAetzvE2luwVTO09RP__C85MktudF4f2uQWl0LjFFg1CiSIw0J99eDIt_l_V1HuFgUhLJM_2U8yCdP5UJ72uWyYo-wdjY_FV-9DQZIYbr_K9_VYz_KBeWuB_WhCVUXxqAjexOA1uJU/s320/20170709_184325.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self explanatory - See that B? BRENDON URIE!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7BU8joBAcRSvu8zDA_W8OFDdSi-7zU0oVK_Fe1P0ww4uEM67vkKWrKGabdVz99Wc6Od6BjcwNz2C7O_6muEABvkjD1iWAkPbojQoSRpqC_MieMUK-axLi3x-OH4mgRhJytnuYw4Yfx08/s1600/20170709_191323.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7BU8joBAcRSvu8zDA_W8OFDdSi-7zU0oVK_Fe1P0ww4uEM67vkKWrKGabdVz99Wc6Od6BjcwNz2C7O_6muEABvkjD1iWAkPbojQoSRpqC_MieMUK-axLi3x-OH4mgRhJytnuYw4Yfx08/s320/20170709_191323.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The euphoria of getting that close to BRENDON URIE and driving through the city with the top down. :)</td></tr>
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I thought briefly about this, and Facebook of course gave me a reminder, that this time last year, I was three weeks out from losing Ghon. Existing in complete fog. Barely functioning and not knowing how to accomplish much of anything. A year later, I feel like I’m living. New hair. New car. Two concerts with 7 different performers. A Broadway show. Two trips to New York City and a trip to Boston. All of this, much of it with two kids, in just barely over two weeks. Sure, I might be a little tired. But I’m having a great time.<u></u><u></u></div>
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There is one thing that is a guarantee in life: you will die. Yep. No denying it. You will not always know when it’s coming. You may have a long time. You may not. The people you love, whether by choice or death, may not be with you forever. You may be the one left behind. It’s that control thing again – you cannot always control when you die. Likewise, there is no timetable for when a grieving person should live again, or not be sad, or not be angry. By living my life, I AM moving on. It’s what you should do. You meaning everyone, not just those in a grief situation. Some people think that’s a bad thing. Hogwash. You are alive. Be alive. Insert a million ways to say it; eat dessert first! Live each day/moment like it’s your last. Make a bucket list and do it!<u></u><u></u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibY58QFPvq_yTU_kem-pZtY9v8_10qk2W4cft5rLAgs_o3aEijC7K-XJ7OEWunZxtuQ5GWiJatayLiUnT1JtNpUiQ9KY5FER3_KU4fBob0xcWcV4NiHgZsHIq4uZQtDBE9Z1hC8gcJizc/s1600/dessert.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="182" data-original-width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibY58QFPvq_yTU_kem-pZtY9v8_10qk2W4cft5rLAgs_o3aEijC7K-XJ7OEWunZxtuQ5GWiJatayLiUnT1JtNpUiQ9KY5FER3_KU4fBob0xcWcV4NiHgZsHIq4uZQtDBE9Z1hC8gcJizc/s1600/dessert.png" /></a></div>
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While we can’t control death, what you and I can control is our emotion and reaction. I navigate a world of emotions on a regular basis. I chose which ones I allow to take hold. Occasionally there are some I don’t care for some that breakthrough for a bit. I give them their moment, as they are here for a reason, acknowledge the feeling, and if it’s one I’m not comfortable with, I change it. During a conversation with Melissa (NY trip not Boston trip, LOL), when I was running through a myriad of emotions and confusion, her words to me were “I just want you to be happy.”<u></u><u></u></div>
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Happy. Yep. I deserve that. My kids deserve that. You, reader that is still here with me, you deserve to be happy. Happy isn’t forgetting my past or being specific, Ghon. Forgetting him would be the opposite. Happy, is acknowledging and remembering the good times we had. Happy is moving on and living my life as it exists now and as I chose to make it. Happy is thinking of all the things I want to see and do, and learn about myself and others and doing them. Happy is not letting negativity rule my world. Happy is saying F-off to naysayers and doing what I want to do for a change. I’m a big girl now. Happy is seeing my kids have experiences that I didn’t have or didn’t think they would have. Happy is getting a break once and a while from them; but not too long because my house gets too quiet and I get into weird non-happy emotional places and miss them. Happy is knowing that I like a noisier house. Happy is having friends stop by and help kick the silence out. Happy is having friends to chicken-sit for you so you can live outside the house. Happy is going to New York City. Happy is knowing I will be going back; happier would be knowing when! Happy is feeling the sun on my face. Happy is having friends that care, dark chocolate, live music and seeing fireworks. Happy will be getting more than 4 hours of sleep <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1147853516" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">tonight</span></span>.<u></u><u></u></div>
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While it’s fun and even necessary to give up a little control and learn to roll with the punches once and a while, like having no plans in the city or ditching your backpack so you can make Bostonians feel better, I will always maintain some control. Control over my happy.<u></u><u></u><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3AUhUrJzd9FPnuzc_Ee0MTCC4NmtKji9i7CwlADKDVDfYgL3e17G7MgEe0izn9qOraGHpxZhKYUZwlqF-iGdcB2bVA6-fYODhiJRdo5NqDz1_63UQWeMIHdfqd2RvlyZ5GMESv10Bk5A/s1600/Screenshot_20170708-182703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="567" data-original-width="678" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3AUhUrJzd9FPnuzc_Ee0MTCC4NmtKji9i7CwlADKDVDfYgL3e17G7MgEe0izn9qOraGHpxZhKYUZwlqF-iGdcB2bVA6-fYODhiJRdo5NqDz1_63UQWeMIHdfqd2RvlyZ5GMESv10Bk5A/s320/Screenshot_20170708-182703.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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With that, I leave you with a request and a question. If you are part of my happy or contribute to my happy, please keep it that way. And tell me, what makes you happy? I want you to be happy too. Comment below!!<br />
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BTW - Blog comments on the blog post also make me happy. So do it!</div>
boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-77087482082492762622017-06-28T09:12:00.001-04:002017-06-28T16:26:14.891-04:00Losing Control and Finding Me<p dir="ltr"><br>
I'm in the process of getting to know myself. I'm sure you've heard of this concept before. I’m trying to be comfortable in my own skin. Understand what makes me tick – and what ticks me off. I'm understanding how important it is for me to recognize who I am as a person and not as part of a couple. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I read a book on moving from “we” to “me” for people that were widowed or divorced. How do you transition from that couple status to an individual? How do you define yourself? If you become involved with another person, what qualities do you want that person to have? How do you maintain “you” for the future and potential relationships.  Some parts of the book I didn’t care for. Some, it made me think, so that’s a good thing. The book did confirm that I need to continue to know more about me before I can think of any potential “we”. I don’t want to lose me again.</p>
<p dir="ltr">After 21 years with Ghon, I realized that I wasn't so sure who I was. I attempted to start this process, of figuring me out, or at least deciding I needed to, right before Ghon died. I put Ghon, the kids, and my job so far ahead of myself that the definition of who I was focused on my roles of wife, mother, and project manager. The biggest project I needed to focus on, the most neglected, was me. After my weight loss, I became an entirely different person physically. Mentally, there is a slow mind shift.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Shock and grief put a hold on all this. I needed to go through the motions, at least those of mom and project manager before I could focus on me. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Ever see the movie Runaway Bride? I kinda feel like Maggie. I'm trying to decide if I really like my eggs scrambled, or if I like them scrambled because that's how Ghon ate them.</p>
<p dir="ltr">What are the things we did that I really enjoyed or would consider doing without him? Not too much. What did I like doing before him? I have no idea. I was 19 and in college. Before him I was, well, let’s just say I don’t want to be her either.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Signs of my own growth and development are sometimes slow. I am beginning to recognize that to an extent, I may be a control freak. As a parent, I've had to let that go and accept that there are things I can't control. That was easy. I do go with the flow a lot in that respect. One of the biggest things I teach the kids is control of our emotions. We are human and we are allowed to have feelings, any feeling we want. But it is our reaction, our response and behavior that we can control. That it's OK to be angry and hurt but it is not OK to throw or break things or use hurtful words. These reactions may give temporary relief but have lasting impact and not always a positive one.</p>
<p dir="ltr">On Monday, I had my own mini-epiphany along these lines. </p>
<p dir="ltr">If you know me, you know I am a huge New Kids On The Block fan. Just six hours before show time on Sunday, my friend Brandi agreed to go with me to their show that night in D.C.  I didn't have tickets. Totally impulsive. It was exhilarating to make such a decision, then buy tickets in the pit, and go!! I’m a planner. I don’t mind spontaneity, but it’s not always easy. This was exciting!</p>
<p dir="ltr">I'll spare the concert details, but it was amazing. Then as we tried to leave, we couldn't. We missed the last Metro train home. Quick thinking and a call to another friend who was also at the show, we made it back to Winchester. Now of course, I had to figure out how to get my car from the Metro on Monday.   </p>
<p dir="ltr">Fortunately, yet another friend agreed to drive me nearly an hour and a half to the train station to get my car on Monday. It was early in that ride that my epiphany began.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Ghon had a 68 Pontiac Le Mans convertible. Driving that car was therapeutic for him. For me, unless we were driving in a city, and even then there were episodes, riding in the car gave me anxiety. He loved to drive it fast. Top down of course. And it scared the shit out of me. Is he going to stop in time? If we were rear ended, would I fly out of the car? What if we rolled? Oh my are we really passing a tractor trailer it's fishtailing I think I’M GOING TO DIE!</p>
<p dir="ltr">I couldn't ride on any highway in the car. In general, I drove almost everywhere we went (but never the Le Mans) except on vacations. If I was a passenger, I felt out of control, and that often extended to other people driving. Ghon may have been driving the same speed I would have, but I felt so unsafe. It was better for both of us, to spare my anxiety or any arguments from me yelling at him to slow down or announcing the presence of every stop sign, to just do the driving.</p>
<p dir="ltr">What does this have to do with getting my car? I was about to ride, not drive, in a Jeep with an open top and virtually no doors on the interstate. I almost panicked, but realized I didn't really have reason to. OK, I did mention once how this ride had anxiety inducing potential, but I shut up after that. I had no control over the drive, only my reaction to it. Take a deep breath and settle down girl…</p>
<p dir="ltr">So what happened? First, I enjoyed the ride. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Second, I was able to view and appreciate the view around me. When I drive, I am too focused on the drive to appreciate the mountains, the valley, and thanks to an open roof this time, the sky and clouds. We live in a beautiful world. OK maybe at first I looked around and up to not look forward; but it was still refreshing.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Third, I realized what was happening. I was comfortable not having control of the vehicle. I was comfortable in the passenger seat, my hand not always in the vehicle  (don't tell the kids!), and just being present in the moment. I let go of control. I was content, relaxed, and combined with only 3 hours sleep the night before, I almost fell asleep.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I had no reason to be anxious or fearful. My previous reactions were likely a result to the fact I'd been in a car accident while Ghon was driving, and the continuing anxiety and need to find control while in a similar situation. I hadn't felt that, and when my brain tried to remind me that I was in an open vehicle on an open road and I needed to breakdown; I denied the fight or flight response. I controlled it. The reward was insurmountable. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Control. It’s power and influence over another person’s behavior. It sounds so heavy and negative. In my past, it was control of, well, almost everything. Schedules, meals, shopping, activities, laundry, finances, you name it, I ran and did it. Ghon and I didn’t always have a balanced at home life. Sure, he’d help here and there, but 90% of the time, it was me. I’m not so sure it was so much that I needed the control as much as it was that someone had to do it, and that someone was me. The one thing I had no control over was Ghon. Influence maybe, never control. And I wouldn’t have wanted it.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The first weeks of losing Ghon, I had no control. I just went where nudged. Did what I thought was right or was told was. Slowly, I attempted to regain control of my life, of the kid’s life. Attempt; as sometimes it still seems a little chaotic. Maybe this is why I have such a hard time asking for help. I’ve been wired to do it all with no help. I control the who, what, when, where and how. There are many days and situations where I wish I could give some of that control over to someone else. Not to a Stepford wife level of course.</p>
<p dir="ltr">For now, I will attempt to keep focusing on doing what makes me happy, outside of my kids and career. Is there anything I want to change or improve when it comes to who I am? Who do I want to spend my time with? What do I enjoy doing? I want to try new things so I can decide whether or not I like it or not. Knowing I’m not into something is just as important as knowing I am. To be open to learning from people that have lived different lives so I can see what life is like outside of the “we” I lived for so long. I know I like to help people. I know I like to do things for people. I like to take care of others. I like yoga, massage, acupuncture and exercise. I like the beach, but don’t like sand anywhere but on my feet. I love live music, chocolate, and the sun. I don’t like kale, snakes, and rodents. I don’t like little cars, negativity and scary movies.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And apparently, I can now appreciate and enjoy long rides in vehicles with no roofs and open doors.</p>
boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-13987475085066420472017-06-12T22:09:00.000-04:002017-06-12T22:09:14.763-04:00Rollercoaster of TearsIt hit me like a ton of bricks tonight.<br />
<br />
I really don't know what it was, or how it came about, but it hit. Hard.<br />
<br />
I had a wonderful weekend. Every last bit of it. A decent day at work. The kids are spending their first week of summer vacation with my sister, so I had no time commitments after work. I headed out to do a little shopping and start checking off more to do list items. Things to do in general, things to do while the kids aren't here, things to do before the mini-memorial next Sunday.<br />
<br />
Out of nowhere, the wind left my sails.<br />
<br />
I left the store I was in, got in the car, and cried. Not a lot, but a few tears. I drove to the next store, went in, got everything I needed and as I loaded the car, I felt all wrong again.<br />
<br />
I've never smoked anything, let me repeat, anything, in my life. Suddenly, it felt like a good time to smoke a cigarette.<br />
<br />
I got in the car.<br />
<br />
Maybe, tonight would be a good time to have a drink. And I don't mean water. No, no, that wouldn't be good either. Head to the next store. Grind my fresh peanut butter, check out, back to the car, what the hell is wrong with me? Change the song on the iPod.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>The rollercoaster ride's a lonely one<br /> I pay the ransom note to stop it from steaming<br /> Hey, what are you looking at?<br /> I was a teenage girl when he met me... </i>(slightly edited...)</blockquote>
I listen to Sour Girl the entire 35 minute ride home. I cry, the entire 35 minute ride home.<br />
<br />
I'm wailing along to the song, tears streaming down my face. I don't know why I'm crying so bad. I get goosebumps, completely up my arms.<br />
<br />
What the hell?<br />
<br />
Is it because tomorrow is the one year mark from Ghon's surgery?<br />
<br />
Is it because today when I went for a walk, I looked at that little meadow and wanted to sit down, right there in the middle of the sidewalk and reason with it? Tell it why it was special, why I loved the flowers and why I hated them?<br />
<i> </i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>The girl got reasons, they all got reasons</i> </blockquote>
Damn if I know what the reason is. Hell, I don't even know if I care what the reason is. I just know, that tonight I cried the hardest and the longest I have in weeks.<br />
<br />
I wanted to come home and get something accomplished. I debated in my head the merits of doing as much as possible, sleep be damned, stay up all night versus crawling into bed and not doing anything. Let sleep win, or lay there and wait, and wait, and wait for sleep to take over.<br />
<br />
By the time I got home, unloaded the car, washed the makeup off my black teared face, and changed, it was really to late to do anything. I washed today's lunch dishes, prepared tomorrow's breakfast. As I debated, I could hear the words of the this post taking shape.<br />
<br />
No, I won't start drinking or smoking. I will write. Writing is cathartic, at least when you can see the screen through the tears.<br />
<br />
I think it's the loneliness. It just hit me - at the weirdest time. Just like on Mother's Day. Now if you know me well, and where I live, this isn't an open invitation to come rushing over here. Yes, I know, there are some of you I can call. But in the middle of lonely, I don't want company. Lonely has it's purpose. Lonely makes me feel whether I want to or not. Lonely doesn't hide.<br />
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<br />
Or maybe, it's when I'm lonely, that I'm reminded that I'm not really alone. Because it's then that I think even more about Ghon, and eventually, I'm OK. Perhaps those goosebumps, were my reminder of his presence. I'm reminded that there are people I can call if I really need it. But yea, you know I won't.<br />
<br />
I knew there would be some whacked up emotions leading up to the first anniversary. Today, was the first nosedive. Hopefully, I can keep it together a little better the next few days. My to-do list isn't getting any shorter. boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-82949694050251664182017-06-05T22:04:00.001-04:002017-06-05T22:04:33.676-04:00Getting BetterI'm back to squishy feely, at least for tonight.<br />
<br />
Today, I reminded the world (AKA Facebook) that my mood swings the next two weeks may induce whiplash. While I apologize for that, it was also a reminder for friends to not only understand what I'm going through, but for me to remember what I'm going through.<br />
<br />
In just 13 days, 365 days will have past since I last held Ghon's hand. Since I last laid beside him. Since I last kissed his lips. Since I last tried to make him better, like I'd always done. But this time, I couldn't.<br />
<br />
If I can't make him better, there's only one person left to make better. That person can be strong-willed, temperamental, needy, determined, weak, driven, and may operate without focus. She can build walls of protection as fast as she can tear them down. She often doesn't know what she's protecting herself from or why. Most days, she doesn't even know who she is.<br />
<br />
But I know her. She's fragile. She's lost and afraid of being found. She's confused, she's tired. She will fight for what is hers, for those she loves, and for what she believes in - when she knows what that is. She is loyal; she is fierce. And stubborn. I can't forget stubborn.<br />
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There are days I'd like to throat punch those responsible for putting me on this journey. Not so much for my sake, but for me kids. They are doing OK, but grief rears it's ugly head from time to time, as expected and it's hard. I want to run and hide from every Father's Day advertisement, corny t-shirt or coffee mug, and father-son matching clothing. I don't want to insulate the kids and never give them opportunity to feel and remember. I want them to do it on their terms. Their grief is their love for their dad.<br />
<br />
Any advice for when your child says they don't really want to look at a chicken leg bone, because it reminds them of how Daddy used to chew off all the extra pieces they left behind?<br />
<br />
I didn't think so.<br />
<br />
This mind dump though isn't supposed to be so angry sounding. Insert that whiplash warning again here.<br />
<br />
Because grief is a journey, it is a process; I know we (myself, the kids, and those of you reading that knew Ghon) will be traveling this road for a long time. But I've felt change coming. Despite the anxiety brewing over making it through the anniversary, things really are getting better.<br />
<br />
Let me pause and reflect on the mess of emotions one feels when saying that things are getting better.<br />
<br />
Better doesn't mean I don't still love Ghon. Better doesn't mean I don't miss him. Better doesn't mean there are days that absolutely hurt.<br />
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Better means I'm surviving. It means I am working on saving that girl. Trying hard to figure out who I am instead of who we are. Better means most days, I manage my chaos than I used to. Better, means knowing that I have, and will, continue to live my life as I choose to define it.<br />
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<br />
This house. This massive house would have been filled by Ghon's laughter, by his anger, by his passion. His energy is still here. But it's not stealing pies from the kitchen window like he'd planned. The kids are begging me to either shoot, or let them shoot the groundhogs in the yard through my bedroom window with Dad's .22, just like he used to do.<br />
<br />
Getting better and living my life - it's part of the process. I can't do the things Ghon planned. I can't do the things we planned. I have to make my own plans and do those. They may be originals or adaptations from our plans - but they are mine going forward.<br />
<br />
Getting better is feeling slightly more confident in who I am. <br />
<br />
Getting better is acknowledging that I may need help - and getting it.<br />
<br />
Getting better is understanding that distraction and lack of focus is a coping mechanism and it too shall pass. <br />
<br />
Getting better is remembering Ghon, telling his stories, and not breaking down in tears every single time.<br />
<br />
Getting better is taking care of me for a change.<br />
<br />
<br />
Getting better is tearing down walls so I can see who is on the inside waiting to come out. Tearing down walls that keep me living in the past. <br />
<br />
Getting better is still making lunch on a Sunday afternoon, eating on the porch, and not freaking out that your husband isn't beside you - according to plan.<br />
<br />
Getting better is taking selfies in the mirrors at Wal-mart again, because you know you looked that good today. (Seriously, she is vain some days.)<br />
<br />
Getting better is looking at the field where you last took pictures, and it isn't as pretty as you thought it was.<br />
<br />
Getting better is taking off the rose colored glasses.<br />
<br />
For tonight, I'll feel, well, better. As for tomorrow, I just have to wait and see. Live with minimal expectations. Let the life that is to be, with the memories I'll always have, carry me forward. Can't promise I won't kick and scream or cry some days, but I'll keep moving forward.<br />
<br />
This girl is too stubborn; too fierce; not to.<br />
<br />boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-4301691345793799502017-05-22T21:56:00.000-04:002017-05-22T21:56:35.543-04:00Nineteen Chickens and CountingWhen I first sat down to write this post, I thought I was going to finally deliver a story that didn't deal with death. But no, this one does too. Death 19 times to be exact. This time however, it was intentional. It was planned. And it should be tasty.<br />
<br />
In the past, Ghon had tried to raise chickens for meat, not just egg laying. Tried meaning limited success not at any fault really of his, but of the constant predator threat. Well, not just threat, but the dang critters would kill our birds before we could raise them for slaughter. He was successful one round and we were able to to put 6 or 7 fryers in the freezer.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure why I felt compelled to do it this year myself. Maybe it was to see if I could. To try some farm "thing" in his spirit and honor. Or, we like chicken and it felt like the right thing to do.<br />
<br />
When Ghon did process the chickens, it was part of a learning experience. He met a couple online via a Facebook farming group. Sharon and Greg were nice enough to let Ghon come out and show him how they handled the slaughter. Ghon was even more energized by the idea of raising chickens as a protein source for profit. He'd made plans to buy the plucker, talked about where to do the deed itself. He hadn't gotten that far, and in one way, that left me at a disadvantage if I was going to raise and slaughter our own chickens.<br />
<br />
Fortunately I was able find Sharon on Facebook, sent a friend request and started messaging. I'd asked if Greg would be willing to help me process if I raised my own hens. As we discussed options, she offered a few of their large order from the hatchery so I didn't have to order my own.<br />
<br />
A few weeks later, the kids and I headed to their farm to purchase fifteen chicks. The hatchery they use also threw in some "bonus birds" which were all roosters. We took five of those too.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What little girl doesn't love a chick?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEC7tbFvBC4ZMjVnRlycVS1CSIEQsLGWWmWazdCglziJ2j5IaBOyA0EqSJgOiISBEowLBdLFOq0iFzXp76X6XzCYGHCheiRislYJwRNilLVxZhrIu4Qus9vciASlJI-EPQf5zxnFuYhg/s1600/20170401_094235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEC7tbFvBC4ZMjVnRlycVS1CSIEQsLGWWmWazdCglziJ2j5IaBOyA0EqSJgOiISBEowLBdLFOq0iFzXp76X6XzCYGHCheiRislYJwRNilLVxZhrIu4Qus9vciASlJI-EPQf5zxnFuYhg/s400/20170401_094235.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Transferring the chicks to our box.</td></tr>
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We brought the chicks home where the had a short stay in my utility sink. Much happy peeping kept the cats interested and my nerves slightly frazzled. At this point, it's still to cold to put the chicks outside and I didn't have good space set up for them inside. Fortunately, our friends Jason and Rachel agreed to raise them at their house for a few weeks. Again, what kid doesn't love chicks, and with three at their house, it was a fun adventure for them to have around.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Makeshift coop until the transition!</td></tr>
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A few weeks pass and it was time to move the birds back to the farm. Six years ago, Ghon had built a 12x12 chicken coop and later, sectioned off a space that we could finish raising chicks in and keep them safe from the older, larger birds. I put my boots on, my big girl farm panties, grabbed a screw gun and put the plywood walls back up so I could use the pen. I AM FARMGIRL HEAR ME ROAR!<br />
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OK, hear me, but don't give me too much credit. I had a problem getting the screw in on one post, but it was secure enough that I rolled with it. Baby steps farm girl, baby steps.<br />
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Jason delivered the the chicks and got them settled in their new home. They spent a few more weeks inside until I felt the old flight pen was secure from predators and the weather nice enough. The flight pen has a wire roof, but nothing to protect the birds from rain. We had an old piece of plywood close by, so I was able to repurpose it as a roof. Yep, got a little She-Ra action on to lift it over my head and up onto the pen roof. The grass in the pen was at least a foot high, but I knew that wasn't likely to last!<br />
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Since we'd had such issues with predators in the past, I was really nervous that I'd lose some or all the birds. Every morning, I'd look out my bedroom window and see a little white flock pecking around in the pen and felt happy to know that they'd made it another night!<br />
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Seven weeks into the adventure, it was time to slaughter. Technically, the roosters, being a different variety as well, should have been held off a few more weeks. Not knowing how I'd handle this whole processing business, I figured I'd better get it done all at one time, and they could be my little single serve almost cornish hens.<br />
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Fortunately from the get-go, Jonathan and Genevieve understood that these were not egg laying hens and would not be staying at the farm. That these birds did not get names other than tender, baked, fried, pot pie, soup, and grilled. Their sole purpose was to eat and be eaten!!<br />
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Since they were accepting of this idea, they had no issues helping me load them into a cage so I could take them off to Greg and Sharon's farm. Can't say I blame them for not wanting to be there for the slaughter.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjdA99FyAMz5wGmBTs_LXuzFIkpIP_5CbcQpGDa_n9pPy8iLRbGWz7Qfkb4siVH1MxCWB1rS8tuxf6GT-qhLQy8heyTY3tqcWc-P8ImUyXs0FpbdP5AaGRz83gmvj3EMTYnqeQQOdCD7M/s1600/20170521_185348.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjdA99FyAMz5wGmBTs_LXuzFIkpIP_5CbcQpGDa_n9pPy8iLRbGWz7Qfkb4siVH1MxCWB1rS8tuxf6GT-qhLQy8heyTY3tqcWc-P8ImUyXs0FpbdP5AaGRz83gmvj3EMTYnqeQQOdCD7M/s400/20170521_185348.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bucket of chicken!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad came to watch the kids while I was gone, so he manned the cage door for us.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4eUfoyWUGXljQUIT6oC-6l2B8v8JpspXbAbk8nHXxbrI5lsEc1TVxl_1XqRFQfe2SnlbtjWWeKKVdG5B8ZdLx39SO91ZwdWmO7ohribqwBQdnOAtA2DDVZ3MPej7HigHNqjNjMBRSPI/s1600/20170521_131206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4eUfoyWUGXljQUIT6oC-6l2B8v8JpspXbAbk8nHXxbrI5lsEc1TVxl_1XqRFQfe2SnlbtjWWeKKVdG5B8ZdLx39SO91ZwdWmO7ohribqwBQdnOAtA2DDVZ3MPej7HigHNqjNjMBRSPI/s400/20170521_131206.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squeezing through</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfz2sqta9Z-o9WwZ_UdmYO_ItB9OAnHASD5fxrk218yn6qIUYsYYWE2Dz1KyMblhVxjkx4umunlqJYyVeqdMYPKSemZedHI6ule5j33qizqv2ytpO26rBmPKF68TxOU3z2l_3BG9fuXj8/s1600/20170521_185248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfz2sqta9Z-o9WwZ_UdmYO_ItB9OAnHASD5fxrk218yn6qIUYsYYWE2Dz1KyMblhVxjkx4umunlqJYyVeqdMYPKSemZedHI6ule5j33qizqv2ytpO26rBmPKF68TxOU3z2l_3BG9fuXj8/s400/20170521_185248.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can still remember the first night she caught a chicken!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4pave_XjutzxM6jNPCVa7puOm9isEMMLPoaqL9IGfjLahaMeFywEMeSAuH4zYHaSq3U7WLXT7JAzn01THFBxUcoL4m82girW-c7sI0_whtx3CAuRsz1aBh6mC6539ntygQUbzwcpJlV0/s1600/20170521_185231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4pave_XjutzxM6jNPCVa7puOm9isEMMLPoaqL9IGfjLahaMeFywEMeSAuH4zYHaSq3U7WLXT7JAzn01THFBxUcoL4m82girW-c7sI0_whtx3CAuRsz1aBh6mC6539ntygQUbzwcpJlV0/s400/20170521_185231.jpg" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excited about the prospect of fried chicken</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSSzhAUhDqY1YX0OinYpXMcEz7gSX1WHuSDD3hwRB2HJE_KIDHiE8ciPln0PVu1kSfKrEPyJsuNHw728aminy-Qp2BeffrnqeQME6TxpiENZ_aYqM0K99tHBiPT2AHgQoD-YOj_YP6B9g/s1600/20170521_185208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSSzhAUhDqY1YX0OinYpXMcEz7gSX1WHuSDD3hwRB2HJE_KIDHiE8ciPln0PVu1kSfKrEPyJsuNHw728aminy-Qp2BeffrnqeQME6TxpiENZ_aYqM0K99tHBiPT2AHgQoD-YOj_YP6B9g/s400/20170521_185208.jpg" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bye bye roo-boy!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqrj4axGL8OCZRq1fVIFI6LH074Q99KNOjEubLTbL3vku5RWnFpqq0oRgKq1s86v-26I7s8bCuID_YMlFMPFwet3jL4kx1MciEGlRXULO_a-6-n89hMGTXPEKlGOw61ccyZzwZbQ5jSC4/s1600/20170521_131613.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqrj4axGL8OCZRq1fVIFI6LH074Q99KNOjEubLTbL3vku5RWnFpqq0oRgKq1s86v-26I7s8bCuID_YMlFMPFwet3jL4kx1MciEGlRXULO_a-6-n89hMGTXPEKlGOw61ccyZzwZbQ5jSC4/s400/20170521_131613.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How Momma does it! Bam!</td></tr>
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/02Ram1iKrms/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/02Ram1iKrms?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last three to load in. Jonathan can't wait for a fried chicken leg, again.<br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXShjxMS8aPsUCADG5gzdG61qyIA6OZ1-3DFkKO2wkKGuGP1EldeEDfq8hnMpRrFWsXEAUKY-0MolOtKXfQiW9oxHcZ_weYkliXcqqGy37O97lHqzBeOMEzZR0luXOsO79bon6LcLvKug/s1600/20170521_135806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXShjxMS8aPsUCADG5gzdG61qyIA6OZ1-3DFkKO2wkKGuGP1EldeEDfq8hnMpRrFWsXEAUKY-0MolOtKXfQiW9oxHcZ_weYkliXcqqGy37O97lHqzBeOMEzZR0luXOsO79bon6LcLvKug/s400/20170521_135806.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chickens loaded, cooler and ice loaded - off we go!</td></tr>
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About this time last year, we took our VA tags off the truck and put farm tags on it. This restricted our ability to drive the truck, but with over 285k miles on it, it needed a ton of work to pass inspection. I haven't driven it much since Ghon died. This was the longest drive - and appropriate farm use.<br />
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As part of the deal for Greg to process the chickens, there were a few expectations set for me. I was asked to watch, learn and help, or at least provide entertainment. I assured Sharon I would watch what I could and whatever I couldn't - well, that in of it's self would be the entertainment.<br />
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Once I arrived, I recognized all the equipment from when Ghon shared his experience with me. Now for those of you that are squeamish or wondering if I have pictures of dead or dying chickens, the partial answer is yes. But not to worry, the dead chickens look no different here than they do at your grocery store. If your curious to the process, keep reading.<br />
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To get started, Greg already had a pot of soapy water starting to boil. This is to scald the birds, which helps get the feathers off. But, before you can do that, the first step is the actual slaughter.<br />
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We loaded six birds into the yellow cage seen above. One at a time (up to three), Greg would put the chicken in the cone, head first, get it snug, hold tight, and very quickly, cut the head off. Before the first, he was kind enough to ask if I was going to be OK with this part. I gave the honest answer - that I had no idea, but felt I needed to see at least one and then we'd go from there. Fortunately, I did just fine. I didn't watch intently every single time, but I also didn't get squeamish or running off crying.<br />
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After the birds rest a few minutes, the next step is scalding. The water has to be a a magic number and holding the bird by the legs, Greg dunked, dunked, and dunked the bird to help pull out oils from the feathers and make them easier to pluck. Then, enter the wizbang plucker. A contraption Ghon thought about getting many times before.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPlWd7jVRTvYZ7PS0032N8m7B1zl2MsqbsttU9tLJHHEhYGd3Rgu-nd5U0CazYxwUE8e5duLq2zX8tyDkR8n2wsZgAbLw_3qbGyzqqmExxKhTQDv1QpR9Ljj98iuzO0odb3Jt0rj2qgpk/s1600/20170521_135818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPlWd7jVRTvYZ7PS0032N8m7B1zl2MsqbsttU9tLJHHEhYGd3Rgu-nd5U0CazYxwUE8e5duLq2zX8tyDkR8n2wsZgAbLw_3qbGyzqqmExxKhTQDv1QpR9Ljj98iuzO0odb3Jt0rj2qgpk/s320/20170521_135818.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making quick work of plucking feathers!</td></tr>
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<br />The bird is dropped into the blue barrel. At the bottom is a metal plate that spins around. The chicken bounces around and the black rubber fingers pull the feathers off. A little water is added from the top. Quite an interesting little machine and it did an amazing job.<div>
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Once all 6 birds were slaughtered, it was off the butchering table. Once again, Greg did a great job teaching me about the process, the steps he takes to clean out and do the final prep on the bird. My job was to perform quality control. I checked over the birds and pulled any feathers left behind and rinsed the inside cavities out, pulling out anything that didn't look like it belonged. Once that was done, it was off to the ice bath to chill. We repeated the process until all 19 birds I brought were complete.<br /><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITQSSVgPs335Owqo6vm5faXS961WsF4GxfGJ30SalvPGukYuHaKjAFERPiaLoH9j4RMUbArCiMIXj2cXfW74bNAFe7FhUuUHe2VqqH7aBGOgSysiPzLSK1NskDiVz-Z2MsBC_Igd0ygw/s1600/20170521_171748.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITQSSVgPs335Owqo6vm5faXS961WsF4GxfGJ30SalvPGukYuHaKjAFERPiaLoH9j4RMUbArCiMIXj2cXfW74bNAFe7FhUuUHe2VqqH7aBGOgSysiPzLSK1NskDiVz-Z2MsBC_Igd0ygw/s400/20170521_171748.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">19 birdies all ready to go!</td></tr>
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If you're a math person, you probably realize we are one bird short from our pickup. One hen did die as a chick before making it back to the farm. It happens.<br />
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Once we were done, I helped clean up the butchering area and anything else I could figure out. Greg was super patient with me, taught me a lot, and may be able to help me out with some other farm needs - or need nots. I'm thankful and grateful for his time, talent and the conversation we had Sunday. <br />
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As I drove away, with a now flat crate and a full cooler, I asked Ghon what he thought of that. Even I was a bit stunned at what happened. It was truly a team effort and I had a lot of support along the way - but I had just raised chickens for the family, took and sorta helped with the processing, and was carrying them around like it was nothing. Not to bad for a city girl from Baltimore.<br />
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The next step is to vacuum pack the 16 birds and toss them in the freezer. Yes, math folks, I dropped three more. One of the cool things I get to do as a pseudo-farmer is barter. I gave my dad a hen for watching the kids. Our neighbor and friend Daniel helped me get air in the truck tires so I could actually drive it to a shop to get new tires put on - I gave him dinner and a jar of honey. My friend and co-worker Joey gave me the tires that I needed to get on the truck so I could take this little adventure - and he got 2 chickens in return. And they've already been turned into soup! Barter all the things, all the time!! <br />
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So there it is - finally, a farming story. A farming story that required the death of 19 chickens, but gave so much more. I did a farm thing. (yes, that's technical farmspeak). I did a farm thing almost on my own; something Ghon would have loved to have done and I imagine is proud of me for doing. It's something he wanted to do more of and sell. And while I don't think I'm going commercial, it is pretty neat to say I will be cooking and eating chickens I raised. A farming story that proved once again there are a lot of good people out there, good people willing to lend a hand when needed with just about anything (thank you friends!!). Hopefully, I can be just as good and helpful when someone else needs a hand. Or a chicken. Or eggs.<br />
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If you've made it this far - a hint was dropped in this post about another farming adventure Ghon started and I'm completing. Hopefully, I'll have that one written soon. In the meantime, anyone have any good chicken recipes? And Eric - slop does not count.</div>
boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-14866059136965045282017-05-15T21:35:00.000-04:002017-05-15T21:35:14.616-04:00Hallelujah: Closing in on one year<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I think I’ve figured it out.</span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #292929;">Then the time for being sad is over</span></span></i></div>
<i style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #292929;">And you miss 'em like you miss no other</span></span></i><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"</span>Hallelujah<span style="font-family: inherit;">" Panic! at the Disco</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">OK, so this song is technically about a guy who finally decides to stop his cheating ways after being caught. Regardless, those lines make sense for me from a grief perspective.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The first year. The first year is supposed to be hard. Moving through the twelve months following a death, you live those first holidays or milestones without your loved one. Your life doesn’t stop. You have to keep moving; or at least I, I have to keep moving. Anniversaries, birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, more birthdays, weddings, chili cookoffs, Easter and even Mother’s Day. They’ve all come and gone. We are facing our second Father’s Day. Another year of school complete. More chili cookoffs. Another wedding. Jonathan’s Tae Kwon Do black belt testing. Genevieve’s dance recital. Some of these events will keep coming, year after year. Year after year, Ghon will not be there.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I think I’ve made it clear that I do believe Ghon is here. His spirit was to big to just fade away when his body stopped working. Last week, the kids (the lot of them, Jonathan, Genevieve, Eric and his wife Caryn) and I all went to a concert together. The kids first real concert and it went down stadium style. Ghon knew the concert lineup last year. Volbeat, Avenged Sevenfold, and Metallica. He was so excited to go and for me to see Metallica for the first time. The kids (littles at least) love Volbeat, and we’d long wanted to take them to a show. In my typical fashion, I made it happen. After Metallica took the stage, I could feel Ghon’s presence. Genevieve sat on my lap and I just closed my eyes. I could see, clearer than anything, Ghon rocking out and singing along. How else can I explain knowing lyrics to old songs that I never cared to listen to or tried to ignore if he played them? The show was amazing and I know he’s probably delighted that the kids are now Metallica fans. It was a bittersweet evening. I can’t imagine how much better it would have been with him there; yet it was almost perfect as is.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But back to that year of firsts. Year two is approaching. I’ve read, I’ve been told, and I suspect there are parts of year two that are going to be even harder than year one. The hardest work is supposed to be over. Congratulations widow, you’ve made it to year two! You’ve got this! Been there done that! Hardly. In the first weeks, months, support is strong. Everyone wants to help you through. Checks on you. Then, it starts to slow. I’ve covered how hardheaded I can be about asking for help. That I don’t want to burden others when I need a hug, a break from the kids, company in general or an ear to listen. When people start asking less and less if you need them – you ask for help less and less. Then suddenly, it’s year two. You couldn’t possibly still need help. It’s time to face those milestones and events all on your own. Year two, just might suck.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But, I’m ready. I got this. I went to a Hospice counseling session two weeks ago. The kids and I are all going next week. Time for an outlet and a little grounding. I’m enrolling them in a grief camp in September. We got this. We have family coming to support them on their big testing and recital day. All together, we got this.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So you’re probably reading this and wondering, what then? What did you figure out? What has you in this weird emotional state now?<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I took a walk today during work and it hit me. I’m reliving his last weeks. It’s not just that the anniversary is coming; I’m reliving his last everything. Sure, I could have labored over all of these things with each passing holiday, but it’s not the same as his last days. I looked over at the field by my office and realized I’d been waiting for a couple weeks for all the wildflowers to show up. When they did last year, I suggested it would be great to take pictures at. Eventually, as in two days before he died, he took pictures of me there. I keep waiting for them. I almost cried last summer when the field was mowed and “our” flowers were cut and an ugly field was left behind. All winter, I saw brownish green weeds and plenty of trash. It was sad. Today, the flowers are starting to bloom.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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I look at the pictures on his Facebook account. The last pictures – are now a year and almost a year old. His last pictures.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At the chili cook-off the kids and I went to last week, a friend mentioned how she was cooking at a different event, and how she thought about Ghon. It was at the same event last year that she saw him last. As we get closer to those series of lasts…the last of everything, I think that is what is making it all harder. His last cook-off was the first weekend of June. That on June 17, he had breakfast with the kids at Bojangles after taking me to work; that was his last breakfast. His last meal was linguine fra diavlo at a little Italian joint in Strasburg that we’d never been to before and I will never go to again. Our last picture together was the day of his surgery, June 13. The last time he drove, he tossed his keys on the kitchen counter. I moved them the day after he died – and haven’t seen them since.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The lasts are becoming a countdown to the anniversary. Knowing now that they were the last makes them harder to remember than knowing he isn’t going to be here for Christmas. If you knew going into a day or event, or were taking a step for the last time, would you do it differently?</span><br />
<i><span lang="EN" style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span lang="EN" style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then the time for being sad is over</span></span></i><br />
<i><span lang="EN" style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And you miss 'em like you miss no other</span></span></i><br />
<i><span lang="EN" style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And being blue is better than being over it (over it)</span></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There’s no good use for being sad. After yesterday’s funk, I had a really good morning until sitting at a traffic light, a totally different song lyric hit me differently and I started crying in the car. Chillin’ at the traffic light, singing along with tears running down my face. Thank God for waterproof mascara.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He was a royal pain in the ass. He was less than perfect. But he was also adorable, funny, giving, talented, driven, and mine. I miss him like I miss no other.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dealing with a blue day here and there, well, it is being better than being over it. I don’t know if I can ever be truly over it. How do you get over your only true love? Someone you spent over half your life with? I don’t know if I ever will be over it, and frankly don’t care if I ever am over it. I’ll take my blue days and deal with them. Does it mean I’ll never love someone again? Probably not, but the love will not be the same. This love was ours.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I could end this with some cheery message like, “live life to the fullest!” or “live each day like it’s your last!” But why? Does that make any sense? Live your life. It shouldn’t matter if it’s the first or last day.<u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #292929;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just over a month to go. Just over a month and I’ll be moving on to year two and beyond the first year of last memories. I got this. We got this. Just keep a tissue handy for me though OK? I have a feeling the next month is going to be hard. No way to avoid it – I just have to get through it.</span><span style="font-family: proxnov-reg; font-size: 12.8px;"><u></u><u></u></span></span></div>
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boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-30765992468731786422017-05-14T19:58:00.001-04:002017-05-14T19:58:52.677-04:00Love Always WinsHang tight folks, I have no real good idea where this is going. I generally have a good idea what I need to say or what the point is. This time, I have a lot in my head so I'm not so sure where this will end. I just know that I got this feeling earlier and decided that I had to write.<br />
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The problem is, that feeling wasn't such a good one. It also wasn't such a bad one. And that; that is what has me so conflicted right now.</div>
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I don't know if I've ever felt so loved and so alone at the exact same time before. </div>
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I was able to sleep in a little bit today. I woke up before my alarm, watched the sunrise through my bedroom window and may have just laid there for an hour before actually getting out of bed. OK, I didn't just lay there, I shopped on Amazon. But that's beside the point. It was a relaxing morning. As I got a shower, the lights went off. The kids were now up.</div>
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Last night, Genevieve wanted to make breakfast for me, I told her I'd compromise since she'd never made eggs at home alone. She could do the work and I'd supervise, just like at a chili cook-off. She agreed, yet when it was time to make it this morning, she said no. She wasn't interested. Off I went to make breakfast for everyone.<br />
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We almost made it to church on time. Almost.</div>
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Today is Mother's Day. It's hard to say why, but I seem to be bothered by it this year. My mom has been gone for 13 years. I certainly think about her, but we weren't extremely close, so I don't think it's that. Ghon never really did anything for me for Mother's Day. He was usually too busy working or missing his own Mom to be bothered by the Hallmark holiday. I did get a hat a couple years ago...</div>
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Thanks to my wonderful friend Laurie, the kids were excited on Wednesday when our mail came and they could declare that they pranked me. Laurie bought them each a card, had them sign in while we were in Connecticut without me knowing, and dropped them in the mail. They thought it was hilarious. I found it incredibly touching and thoughtful. Thank you, Laurie.<br />
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The rest of the week through today at church, more homemade cards and notes arrived. Jonathan called me a star and asked to sit in our hammocks, Genevieve said I was the niceist in the world and could I please take them to Texas Roadhouse for dinner. Two roses from our church. Paper plate signs made while I cleaned the porch and they continually avoided cleaning their rooms. A message from Eric. Things don't mean anything - I don't need more things. I'm constantly giving away things. The notes, the messages, the drawings, the words from their little heads - those are priceless.<br />
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My friend Heather and I met as a result of our widowhood. Following the sudden loss of her husband in January, I reached out to her offering my support. Strength in numbers. Months before, she lost her mom. I checked in on her Saturday, knowing today might be a double whammy hard day. In the end, she saved me. As we do, she wanted to make sure I was OK today too.<br />
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Facebook bothered me today. It was full of love and happiness for sure, but, it just made me feel lost. I don't have a lot of pictures in general of my Mom and I, and those I have aren't handy. My kids aren't posting. I almost felt like I was watching everyone else live their happy memories through a window. On the wrong side of a door where I didn't belong.<br />
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After days of rain, the sun felt amazing today. Once I finished the porch, I decided to just sit. Sit on my porch, listen to the birds, watch the cars, and be still. I thought about how lucky I was to have great friends and wonderful kids. That I may feel alone, but I never truly was. And no sooner then I had these thoughts, a car slowed down, and turned into my driveway.<br />
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Carrying a card and flowers, two beautiful young ladies and their beautiful and amazing Mom came to say hello, Happy Mother's Day, and check on me. To make sure I knew that I was loved. I don't think I knew how much I needed that. And Heather, you don't know how much that meant to me. Your friendship is such a blessing; a wonderful light that shines through the darkest times. I love you and your girls!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFUyZ7kLhv4lk_hyphenhyphenGQN5MPrnLPMTMYfSFFX7dfDy2HQgxjYsMtXjlYmUcJ9TwOFQFZtUmdSOfHN2V7FYTIyX-wvefUEAzrcmYr8xcEqUpP6aRLvWiMz7yLP9e-ka4OUwlBk2ho5Zpf0w/s1600/20170514_185305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFUyZ7kLhv4lk_hyphenhyphenGQN5MPrnLPMTMYfSFFX7dfDy2HQgxjYsMtXjlYmUcJ9TwOFQFZtUmdSOfHN2V7FYTIyX-wvefUEAzrcmYr8xcEqUpP6aRLvWiMz7yLP9e-ka4OUwlBk2ho5Zpf0w/s640/20170514_185305.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My wonderful Mother's Day cards, flowers and...paper plate signs.</td></tr>
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After our quick visit and relocation of our chickens, our friends left and the kids went back inside to continue to pretend to clean their rooms. I settled down on our stone walkway, determined to pull as many weeds and grass from it as possible.<br />
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And as I sat, I suddenly felt so alone. I know I have a few people that truly mean it when they say they will listen when I need to talk. That really will be there when I need them. But today, it just doesn't seem like the day to call and say, I'm lonely. That I'm nearly in tears while pulling weeds. I just felt alone. Yet at the same time, I know how loved I am. I have wonderful kids that love me. I have some amazing friends, as witnessed above, that have gone out of their way to show me that I am loved. I know it, I feel it, I believe it. But I couldn't shake the feeling of being so alone.<br />
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Normally, I'd have music pumping into my ears as I worked. But today, I worked in silence. Scratch that. I worked to the sound of road noise, chickens and a guinea hen, and the wild birds. I'm writing this after dinner, back on the porch to the same sounds, plus the sound of a steady current from the creek beside me, full from all the recent rain. I hear the crickets; an owl in the distance. The hummingbird feeders are out. A cardinal flies by. Jonathan comes out to give me a status report on his room and tries to pee off the front porch. This, this is my life.<br />
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My life is incredibly full. I stay positive, I work hard, and I try not to burden others with my struggles. I give thanks and I pray. Yet there are moments that are harder than others. Times I feel more alone than others. Perhaps it's because of Mother's Day. Perhaps it's because I am days away from the 11-month anniversary of Ghon's death and am planning a one year memorial service at request of the kids. Perhaps it's because this morning, I asked our friend to help clear the lower road on our mountain and show me the spot I know of but do not know well. The spot that will become the resting ground for the majority of Ghon's cremains. Perhaps, it's because I opened the door to his truck and decided it was time to clean out the junk.<br />
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Right now, all I know is I'm still on the verge of tears. That moments like this, when I can't control my own emotion, my patience wears thin. My hands ache from digging in rocks and pulling weeds without gloves, but I was determined to finish. I start too much without finishing, a behavior of Ghon's that drove me crazy. I filled several bags of trash and moved bigger items to my trash pile. I pile I will later pay someone else to haul for me. I feel accomplished and content with what I was able to get done at the house. Heck, I even cleaned the mudroom floor! Yet I can't quite shake the empty feeling.<br />
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Despite this odd, conflicted feeling, it really was a great day. How can you complain when you can sleep in, watch the sunrise, receive flowers and a wonderful message at worship, get the sweetest gifts from your kids, a couple nice text messages, surprise visits from friends, a promise to visit from another, and the chance to be outside all day - and get stuff done? I know I can't. I'm so looking forward to the rest of the sunshine this week. The warm air. So many exciting things coming up for us this week. Just like any other time, this feeling will work it's way out. My chin is up. My heart is open. Love always wins.<br />
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boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-26860178922049933722017-05-08T21:26:00.000-04:002017-05-08T21:27:41.865-04:00NERCC 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Flying to Reno, NV with multiple connecting flights with two children is one thing.</span></div>
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Riding in a car for over eight hours is another. But, there is a first time for everything and our mission was accomplished. <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_859717351" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Friday</span></span>, we set out for a weekend trip to Connecticut so the kids could compete in the New England Regional Chili Cook-off (NERCC).<u></u><u></u></div>
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In typical Eckley chili cooking fashion, we had to have some drama before we could go. Without fail, if Ghon and I were planning to overnight an event we’d have an issue. Heck, most cook-offs that we competed in, we had some kind of issue. Busted car windows, stoves catching fire, dogs eating freshly cut cubed meat, missing spices, missing recipes, staying up too late in general, or anything else that could cause a big argument. After years of dealing with this phenomenon with Ghon, I was ready for it with the kids.<u></u><u></u></div>
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A week beforehand, I bought their canned goods. Three days before, I checked and packed their chili gear. Thankfully, a table was being provided for us and our friends George and Laurie were bringing us a canopy. Two days before, I checked the weather and packed clothes. Enter obstacle #1 – Jonathan presented dirty clothes. The specific pants he wanted were dirty. He didn’t want to wear pants on the ride home. So I was given dirty laundry to pack. Sorry child, but I know I don’t fold your clean clothes with one leg inside out and I certainly recognize the second pair as being on your body yesterday. Now, I had to wash a load of laundry before I could finish packing. No big deal, right? Nope, got it done, no problem.<u></u><u></u></div>
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I wanted to leave <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_859717352" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Friday</span></span> morning by 730, which means I would have been happy with <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_859717353" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">8:00</span></span>. Yet, this was not meant to be. It was raining. Hard. And while that shouldn’t stop me, it made everyone drag their feet in getting ready. Please get out of bed, please go brush your teeth and give me your toothbrush. Why didn’t you pack your in-car-entertainment bag last night when you were supposed to? Yes, you need to bring your charger. No, I am not downloading a new movie right now. All this while I’m trying to get the cooler bag packed and assemble a snack bag for them and one for me, which shouldn’t be hard considering everything was already put together in the refrigerator.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Finally, I feel like I’m in a position to load the car. Donning Ghon’s raincoat, which is huge on me, I run out to back the car up closer to the shed so maybe I don’t get too wet. I stop and there is a horrendous noise from the brakes. Seriously? I had the car inspected last week. It made no noises last night. And now, as I’m hoping to leave <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_859717354" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">in 15 minutes</span></span> I get brake noises. I thought for a few moments that perhaps I just wasn’t supposed to go. I don’t have a second vehicle. Do I rent one? A friend offered to loan me one. But no, these are not truly realistic options. Maybe the noise will go away if I back up and down the drive way and keep braking. Tried that for a minute or two with no success. Next option: phone a friend who is also a neighbor and mechanic. It’s close to <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_859717355" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">8am</span></span> and he can check it out at <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_859717356" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">9:30</span></span>. I hem, I haw, I can’t decide what to do then just say yes. Better safe than to have an accident. The kids are getting restless and we haven’t even left. I shoo them off to watch a movie and decide that I now have time for breakfast, and finish loading the car. I surrender. My lists (because I have at least 2, maybe 3 related to this trip) appear complete. Perhaps there is some reason I’m not supposed to leave now, and I have to leave and arrive later. I remind myself that if I forgot something it can probably be borrowed or bought while I’m there. I take a few deep breaths and it’s time to go.<u></u><u></u></div>
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The brakes scream at me at the end of my driveway. They give a little yell as I pull into my friend Jamie’s. Then, as I stop outside his shop bay door, there is nothing. No noise. The man is magic. He still throws the car on the lift for me and take a look. No bad brakes or rotors, no rocks stuck in inappropriate places. I have the all clear and we are off, finally, at <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_859717357" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">10am</span></span>.<u></u><u></u></div>
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To survive the ride, we each have our own allotment of snacks and drinks. Call me mean, but I did limit the kid’s drinks. If not, I’d be stopping every 30 minutes for Genevieve to go to the bathroom. They each had books, a Nintendo DS, their tablets loaded with movies and headphones. I had my iPod and headphones. Headphones are key. No arguments about her movie being too loud or his game being annoying or heaven forbid if I just played music, that to have it anywhere near a volume I could appreciate would ultimately be too loud for them to hear over their noise pumping into their ears. So while we did do a little noise sharing, we each had our own. And to help with communication, I let them know that if they ever needed me and I didn’t answer right away – to wave. I’d catch it in the rearview mirror. There’s your parenting tip for this blog. Plug your ears and wait for the wave.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Roughly two-thirds of the way there and two stops in, it hit me. Jonathan didn’t have any pants. That’s just how my mind works. BAM random thought. Yep, we washed an entire load of laundry and never went back to get the pants he wanted to pack. No big deal. We’d just have to buy some there. Along with shoes. Because the day before at school, the sole of his left shoe ripped off the shoe and was taped together by the school nurse. His back up sneakers were donated to a shoe drive at school the week before. So now, we just have to buy shoes and pants. No problem. We keep motoring.<u></u><u></u></div>
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The state motto of Connecticut is “he who is transplanted still sustains.” However, we have given it a new motto. It is now, “Connecticut, the state that squeezes farts out.” Not every moment of our drive was consumed by electronics and this was an interesting conversation. We hit traffic in Connecticut and trying to explain that we STILL had two hours to go despite me saying that 30 minutes ago is a little challenging. Yes, it’s been 30 minutes but we barely moved; there are new backups ahead of us, yes we will get there <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_859717358" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">tonight</span></span>… And somewhere in the beginning of the back- Jonathan, then Genevieve got a little gassy. Being the observant ones they are, they wondered why it wasn’t until they were in Connecticut that it happened. We’d been through West Virginia, Maryland, hours of Pennsylvania, a clip of New Jersey and New York, and now, in Connecticut, they start getting gassy. When they weren’t so sure of my explanation that perhaps it was the banana and honey bun that made them gassy, since sometimes too many carbs can do that, I changed the reasoning. It was Connecticut. It just squeezed them out. And just like that, giggles replace the moans about traffic and when will we be there. For at least 15 minutes. And until they decide to tell everyone the next day that this state pushes their farts out. Proud momma moment.<u></u><u></u></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We survived the ride! Hotel at last!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chili Bitch!</td></tr>
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<span class="aBn" data-term="goog_859717359" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Saturday</span></span>: time to cook. This is Jonathan’s 5<sup>th</sup> competition and Genevieve’s 2<sup>nd</sup>. Just like his Daddy, Jonathan asked me a few days prior if I knew of any weaknesses he had going into the event. He was a little concerned by his competition, knowing that winners of previous years and other events he’d cooked in would be there. We all had a quick reminder discussion on a topic we’d reviewed on the drive: it’s just a cook-off. Have fun. Don’t get upset if you don’t win. Be humble if you do. Always congratulate the winner if it isn’t you. We were ready.<u></u><u></u></div>
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The other concept I’d covered with them is one of family. Our chili friends are our chili family. We help each other. We are always there for each other. When Ghon died, it’s hard to put into words the support we were given from our chili family. Go back a few posts and you can read about some of it yourself. As an example though, we knew our friend and event Chairman, “Mad” Mike Freedman would provide a table and chairs for us. Our friend Laurie had the canopy. We never would have fit these things in our little car. We were asked in advance if we needed stoves, pots, pans or anything else to lighten our load. We take care of each other - despite it being a competition. Most of the cooks we hadn’t seen since Reno. Some, I hadn’t seen in a year, others, a few years. Cook-offs are the best family reunions. We swap stories. We make plans for the future. We teach each other new tricks. We don’t always share recipes. Some things are sacred. I love seeing cooks that didn’t always do well in their early competitions succeed. I get so proud of them! It’s amazing to me that I started competing at age 15, and now, I’m helping my two kids at 8 and 6 compete. Watching the kids all play together before cook time, during little breaks, after turn in and after awards – it makes my heart happy. That at the end of the event, they are friends, they are family, and it doesn’t matter who won or what they won; they are in it together.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Of course, going to cook-offs without Ghon is still odd and at times, a little difficult. Still not a year out, we haven’t gone through a full chili calendar of events where he would have been. Some friends were afraid to make me cry; some, I made cry. Many were concerned about how I was doing. Others needed to share a story or how they felt about him not being here. And it was all just right. Of course I threw a little loop in for everyone. Ghon had a lucky shirt that he wore every cook-off for probably close to 10 years. Just two days before the cook-off, my daughter in law found the same saying but different print on a shirt. I bought 3 and the kids wore them to cook in, and I put mine on later in the day. A little emotional for a few folks when they saw the kids in Dad's shirt. Of course, I had the lucky chicken, although it doesn't sound quite the same when I say I have a cock that hangs below my knee. However, those in the know knew why I was wearing it.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We don't give a rat's ass!</td></tr>
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I brought several bottles from Ghon’s bourbon collection with me. One to our friend and Chief Judge Dave, for continuing to step in and help where we may have been running events and because I knew he’d appreciate the bottle and would need it after a long day. A bottle to our friend Matt, who has assumed a role as my financial advisor, and from whom Ghon won the bottle from in a bet. It was fitting for it to return to his purchaser, and ironically, presented moments after he commented he had done at the event! And the final bottles to our friend Scott, whom Ghon shared a bottle with many times in the past and considered a great friend, who built our beehives and helped me shop for the other supplies we needed, who video chatted Ghon through introducing bees to the hive, and who was just a phone call away for me through a few incredibly difficult nights for me last year, and gives some of the best hugs when we are lucky enough to see each other. I know Ghon is happy with the choices I’m making in the great bourbon cleanout. A few more bottles to go…<u></u><u></u></div>
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Speaking of hugs, I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank Nathan for being another awesome hug provider. I’m not sure how or why I decided they needed to have my legs wrapped around you, but thank you for bearing with me – and teaching me another meaning to lick it and stick it – to fix Jonathan’s stove. Just tell me to get down in July when I go for it again. Side note; I’m really proud of you too.<u></u></div>
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Through the cooking period, I admit, I was a little edgy. I had to manage two kids with fire, hot pans, a close call with fire and a pot holder, and fight the urge to help them a little more than allowed. They both made their own recipes; not mine, not Ghon’s, not one new one. They had their own. They mixed and prepped them on their own. The end result – was amazing. Their chili turned out so good (unbiased mom opinion). I was so proud of them and told them a million times and a million more after announcements. There were eleven youth competitors and Genevieve came in 4<sup>th</sup>! I saw a few signs of Jonathan getting upset, and again, true to his dad’s fashion, he wanted to see his scores and comments. Once we determined he had finished in a tie for 6<sup>th</sup> and had a first place vote and great comments, he was happy as a lark. No whining, no crying and no “I’m not cooking ever again.” It was perfect. Even more perfect, yet slightly odd, they denied the chance to eat out. We went back to the hotel and they ate their own chili, straight from the judging cup, for dinner. I even saw them take a taste of each other’s chili. Incredible.<u></u><u></u></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Youth Cooks Meeting with Judge Jerry Buma</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Listening attentively!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Signing for their cups</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cooking time</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Impatient's turn to cook</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Filling their judging cups</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The line of youth, headed to turn-in</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The nervous and the proud parents, guard the kids and take photos of the turn-in parade. We also yell at spectators to make room so none of them have to dodge people or trip and spill their entries.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Handing out samples</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They drive me crazy - but I love them so much!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting - together. Isn't that perfect??</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Youth Cooks</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My 4th place finisher!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With our buddy Connor.</td></tr>
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The first way to make my kids happy while staying at a hotel is to go swimming. After a chili dinner in our room, we were off to the pool and hot tub, then the pool and hot tub again. The second is letting them eat just about whatever they want off the continental breakfast line. </div>
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Sunday morning comes and we meet several of our friends at breakfast. Mad Mike joins us and gives the kiddos a stove to share! How amazingly cool? They were excited for sure, but also excited that mom let them take a mini donut and some cereal in a cup for snacks on the ride. Kids and their priorities.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">G and her banana phone, which is a direct line to Mad Mike.</td></tr>
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<u></u> We drive, we drive, and we drive some more. One missed turn because I saw it too late while jamming to my music, 3 bathroom stops, a lunch break and a stop to see Eric's new house - and we made it home. Quickly unpack and throw the kids in bed. What a whirlwind trip. <u></u></div>
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Trips like these - they are priceless. They teach us patience. Resilience. Flexibility. Sportsmanship. Friendship. The time it takes to get there and the time it takes to get home seems like forever. But the memories created, lessons learned in that blink of time spent with fr-amily makes it totally worth it. I'm so thankful that over 26 years ago, I was introduced to this crazy world of competitive chili cooking. I'm thankful that it forced my parents to get to know Ghon, since a 10x10 space doesn't leave much room to avoid someone. I'm thankful for the friendships we made together as adults. I'm thankful for those that help me and the kids remember their Daddy. I'm thankful for those that help create these experiences for the kids, as they are the future of this crazy hobby. I'm thankful for the other parents that bring their kids to compete and help look after all the kids as if they were their own (Lisa, you are a real MVP!). </div>
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I'm thankful for Cindy and Laurie sharing some amazing photos with me too.</div>
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Until the next cookoff; I know something you don't know.</div>
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boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-33467609186125503442017-04-26T22:36:00.001-04:002017-04-26T22:36:59.162-04:00I Chose Hard - Guest BloggingAbout two weeks ago, I was asked to be a guest blogger. Me? A guest blogger? What an honor.<br />
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I've been working out during the day at HIIT Like a Girl. One of those things that I had to take a chance on, fretted about, hated spending money on myself, but finally did it. And I love it. The owners, Zara and Carley, heard about my story and Carley had seen some of my other social media activity. She asked if I'd like to share a little about my story for one of their upcoming blog posts, and I was happy to oblige.<br />
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If you'd like to take a look, you can find it here on the <a href="https://www.hiitlag.com/single-post/2017/04/16/I-Chose-Hard" target="_blank">HIIT Like a Girl</a> website.<br />
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The support I received from members has been amazing. Further drives home the reason I keep going back for more torture.<br />
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Isn't that the truth?<br />
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<br />boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-61858191482700100792017-01-23T21:00:00.000-05:002017-01-23T21:09:04.819-05:00Normal<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
Dec 16, 2016<br />
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“Are things getting back to normal?”<u></u><u></u></div>
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No. No, they are not back to normal.<u></u><u></u></div>
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I usually refer to things as a new normal. We have to learn how to live without Ghon and how to do things on our own. That’s not normal for us. But there is no way forward without dealing with the change, and along the way, accepting the change. Normal for my kids is having their father around.<u></u><u></u><br />
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Normal was Ghon getting the kids ready for school. He made breakfast for them every day but Friday. I packed lunches the night before, often making cute little bento-style boxes of food for them. Now, I try to convince myself that it’s OK they eat breakfast at school 5 days a week because at least they are eating breakfast. They help pack their own lunches, with my guidance of course. I haven’t made a sandwich all year. Not that they liked much more than PBJ anyway, but still. Last loaf of bread I bought sat and started to get moldy before I even opened it.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Normal was Ghon making dinner 1-2 times a week. Meal plans and intense grocery shopping by me every Saturday morning. Now, I shop for what we need when we need. Buy stuff that sometimes gets wasted and more often thrown in the freezer before it can. I try to remember what it was like to come home from work and Jonathan’s taekwondo classes and make dinner. What did I make? What did the kids do while I made dinner? What time did we eat? I long to cook more in my amazing kitchen. But we eat out too much. It’s faster. It’s easier. No dishes, no later meals, the kids eat rather than pick and complain about the food on their plate. I think about the things I’d love to make and know they won’t eat it – so what’s the point?<u></u><u></u></div>
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Normal was turning up the thermostat when I was cold. Worrying about getting more wood off the pile and to the house is not normal. The kids and I are doing OK, really, and wood isn’t our primary heat source, but it does take the edge off of our colder living room. I will ask for help from some people. Sometimes it pans out, others, it doesn’t. Sometimes, I just won’t ask. I’m a big girl and can do this. I stand on the wood pile, tossing logs into the wheelbarrow and proclaim how strong I am. I tell Ghon, “see, I can do this. You didn’t think I’d be able to figure this out. I got it!” Then choke back the tears.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Normal was Ghon often not doing family trips with us. His retail work schedule and occasional anxiety didn’t afford him the same opportunities to go places on the weekends. And if he did have the time off, he preferred to do things that were relaxing to him. Which involved farm work, taking pictures of other people, being outside, or, resting. His ankles or back often hurt. Now, let me clarify that this didn’t mean he didn’t like to be with me and the kids, but our ideas of fun were different. And yes, I would get angry when he spent his time with other people; helping someone with their issues or doing a photoshoot with a model that was going to be free, but ended up costing, or would last an hour and I knew that meant I wouldn’t see him all day – it always lasted longer. I was jealous, and it hurt. I felt like we mattered less, and hated that these people got more time with Ghon than the kids and I did. I tried to look at it from the perspective of how he was so helpful and cared about others – but for me, it was at my expense, and it hurt. So when the kids and I do things now, like going to see Ice! At the National Harbor in Maryland, it really wasn’t a big deal for me that he wasn’t there. Normal would have been me doing it by myself anyway. But what wasn’t normal, was me coming home and not showing him all the pictures I’d taken. Driving home, I thought, “oh, I can’t wait to show Ghon the lightshow and tell him they had a Brian Setzer song in the show.” Then, I realize, the only sharing I’m doing is on Facebook. That, is not normal.<u></u><u></u><br />
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Normal for me is routine. And yes, we have a schedule. Taekwondo 3 nights a week, dance class, Girl Scouts, basketball and cheerleading, Sunday school and church. But getting to that place where we have a little time, that place where I don’t get distracted and stay up at night, that place where I don’t always feeling like I’m forgetting something – or that something is missing – that place is a lot harder to find. Sure, we could do less – but the kids ask to do these things, not me, and only ball and cheer is new. I’m not intentionally cramming more onto their plates either. Every time I feel like I get something right, something going, I realize something else suffers. Fortunately, it is just things, and not our well-being.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—<u></u><u></u></div>
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I took the one less traveled by,<span style="color: #000020; font-size: 12pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></div>
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And that has made all the difference.<span style="color: #000020; font-size: 12pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></div>
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Yes, Mr. Frost, I’m taking a less traveled road. And it makes a difference. Sometimes it’s OK. Sometimes, it just sucks. But I didn’t choose this path. I was thrown on it. Road blocks, hazard lights and spike strips kept me off the path I was on. But for me, for the kids, we’ll navigate it. As I told Jonathan one night, when I think he just wasn’t sure of the words, it’s not fair. It’s just not fair. I can’t define what is though. Is it ever fair to lose someone you love? No matter what age you are or how many years you’ve been together? I can’t think of a time when death is fair. Except that we all will die. In that way, it is fair. We just wish that it wasn’t us left behind.<u></u><u></u></div>
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I’m tired. Perhaps more exhausted than normal. But I can’t just curl up in a ball and do nothing. There are days I want to - but that’s just not normal for me. So I’ll push on. I’ll keep the kids active and encourage them to express their feelings. I will continue to talk about Ghon and tell them stories. I will not let him die in their memory.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">For us, a life without him is just not normal. </span></div>
boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-60549029016189530422016-12-31T21:48:00.001-05:002016-12-31T21:48:25.007-05:00New Year's Eve Traditions<div dir="ltr" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
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Do good, and good will be done to you.<br />
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It had become somewhat of a tradition. I'm sure we missed a few years here and there, but otherwise, New Year's Eve Ghon and I went to Carrabas for dinner. He often joked that an hour wait, spent at the bar with a bourbon, in 2007 resulted in Jonathan in September 2008.</div>
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He must have been onto something. More bourbon at Carrabas in 2009 resulted in Genevieve in September 2010.</div>
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It all started because of Christmas gift cards from our friends Scott and Jen Thompson. And our love for the appetizer called "Scott Thompson." I think Ghon laughed a little every time we ordered it, even when it was no longer on the menu.</div>
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We still had a gift card when Ghon died. While moving and packing it up months ago, I decided that no matter what, I was going to Carrabas on NYE and I was going to buy someone dinner. Another couple, and spread the love. I didn't initially plan on taking the kids, but decided today that they too should go and help me on our secret mission.</div>
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I wanted the kids to experience how nice it can be to do things for others. How awesome it would be to surprise someone with a free meal. And that the recipient, now not having to pay for dinner, may give their waitstaff extra. As a result of our gift, we would feel awesome, the recipient would feel amazing and possibly, the waitstaff, and maybe, just maybe, the recipient would then pay it forward and more people would benefit.</div>
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Off we went. Call ahead seating, 5 minute wait. Genevieve in her normal fashion needed to go to the bathroom as soon as we arrived, so Jonathan and I started looking for recipients of our secret gift as we walked through and waited. Another trip halfway through dinner and I felt like I found my couple.</div>
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I originally thought it would be just a couple. Perhaps someone that reminded me of how we would be. Dressed up but not to fancy. Talking. Obviously a couple. But, I saw a couple there with their young child. So many times it was hard for us to go out without kids. I remember going out and having that messy spaghetti face beside me. I know that I will always be dining out with my kids. I suggested them to the kids, and they agreed.</div>
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Now, not the norm for a secret or random act like this, but before we went out, I wrote a note. I don't know what I wrote word for word, but basically it went something like this:</div>
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It was a tradition for many years for my husband and I to have dinner at Carrabas on New Year's Eve. This year, he couldn't make it as he died unexpectedly this summer. Live each day to the fullest. Love each other completely and faithfully. Your meal is on me. Take care of your waitstaff. Be kind to others. God bless you and Happy New Year.</blockquote>
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I went to the hostess stand, and asked for their help. Deliver the note anonymously and give me the check. A few minutes later, their waiter brought me their bill, and verified it was me who wanted it. A manager came by on his way around to ask if I should stay anonymous as they wanted to know who paid for their bill. I asked to please stay anonymous. I paid the bill, and decided to be safe, and still left a little something for the waiter. </div>
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The kids just giggled at the secret we were keeping.</div>
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My waitress comes and was going to take the bill. I said mentioned it was for another table, and that we hadn't received ours yet, but were ready. Her reply?</div>
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"Someone has already taken care of your bill."</blockquote>
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I was so shocked I couldn't speak. When she came back by, I tried to find out who. Turns out it was a table near us, but they were already gone. Not knowing if they covered gratuity, I estimated our bill and gave a tip to our waitress, and we left with full bellies and fuller hearts.</div>
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The kids think it's quite silly that we paid for a stranger's dinner and a stranger paid for ours. I'd love to know if somehow, it kept going. Or will continue another day.</div>
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Perhaps, we will go back and do dinner or lunch again. Since my dinner was paid for, I still have that gift card I walked in with.</div>
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Thanks Ghon, for going to Carrabas with me all these years. I think I'll keep going. </div>
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Happy New Year friends. Be the good in the world; the world needs it.</div>
boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-63521424663925111592016-12-28T22:40:00.000-05:002016-12-28T22:40:56.550-05:00Death in 2016<div style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;">
2016 has been a year of tremendous loss when it comes to musicians and actors. I remember David Bowie dying, then Prince. I'm not sure why, but I was shocked. I recall taking to Ghon about Prince. Nothing too specific, more about not knowing who he was since he was so private or what songs he wrote that I never realized. I listened to tributes and dedicated stations on the radio.<u></u><u></u></div>
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And then, Ghon died.<u></u><u></u></div>
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I had some people to talk to. Memories to share. A celebration of his life. And while I continue on, and some people still let me know they are around, or still grieve for him, many others have moved on.<u></u><u></u></div>
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When I found out that George Michael died a few days ago, on Christmas day, I was shocked. My first reaction was WHAT? NO! My second, was “I wonder if Ghon knows…I need to tell him….” I'm sure he'd have something snarky to say; he was far from a Wham! or George Michael fan and often poked fun at me, probably because he liked to see me get all worked up and angry and defensive over my choice in music preferences. <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1670919041" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Two days later</span></span>, there’s another celebrity death. And another. Social media explodes again. Quotes, memes and stories about how these celebrities impacted their lives flood the internet. Just like I did when Ghon died.<u></u><u></u></div>
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People quip how 2016 sucks, and how they can’t wait for the year to be over, all in response to the number of celebrities that lost their lives this year. I can’t help but to feel a little hurt when I see this. Yea, it sucks. These people will never make a movie, or cause tabloid headlines, or more importantly to me, create amazing music. I’m going to try not to belittle anyone’s loss, or how the death of these celebrities impacts them. I have listened to Wham! or George Michael all day, and will likely have him on heavy rotation the next few days. It’s my way of remembering him, yet, not really far from norm for me. He's always in my rotation.<u></u></div>
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Yet, when I see people cringing over the prospect of any more loss in 2016, or the hope for better luck in 2017 for celebrity health, there is part of me that wants to scream. My friend lost her father this year. Two others lost their mother. My children and stepchildren lost their father. I lost my husband. <u>My husband</u>. Despite the sometimes rocky relationship we had, the man I spent more than half of my life with. The man I committed myself to and lived with. ‘Til death do us part. I don’t have my best friend. My companion, my rock. My kids do not have their father. Their beacon of strength and safety. For this, I can’t stand hearing how the death of celebrities makes this such a horrible year.<u></u><u></u></div>
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News flash people, we all die. We will all meet the same fate. In the end, regardless if it is an accident, intentional, or negligence in our own self-care, we will die. Just because these people entertained us and became famous doesn’t make their death any more important than anyone else’s death. True, more people will feel the impact. More people will mourn. We won’t be entertained in the same way. These things don’t make their death more important or less important than Ghon’s. Sure, we won’t know what movies they won’t appear in. We likely won’t know what song won’t be recorded – yet, there are dead musicians having albums released, so we may still get more music. But Ghon’s kids – they won’t have him at their weddings. He won’t be at their graduations. He wasn’t able to be a grandfather. He can’t teach them to shoot, to hunt, to drive, to appreciate the outdoors. He can’t teach Jonathan how to shave. He can’t intimidate Genevieve’s first boyfriends. These are things that we KNOW won’t happen. I lost my biggest cheerleader. My #1 supporter. Just a little different from living with the death of a celebrity. If you were related to or a close friend of a deceased celebrity – you get a pass. You’re not dealing with the death of a celebrity – but of a friend or relative.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Experiences make us grow if we let them. Not just death, but make-ups, break-ups, births of our children, marriage, divorce, friendships made, friendships lost, change in jobs, you name, it – you live it – if you let it – every experience can make or break you. Ghon’s death won’t break me. I have two little people that depend on me now more than ever. I’m not sure if it will make me – but it has, and will continue to make me different from who I was. I’m simply not the same person, and struggle some days with my new identity. Just one example for you. Think about your basic survey forms. Chose one please.<u></u><u></u></div>
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<u></u><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><u></u>Single<u></u><u></u></div>
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<u></u><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><u></u>Married<u></u><u></u></div>
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<u></u><span style="font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><u></u>Divorced<u></u><u></u></div>
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Well, hells bells. When I woke up June 18, 2016, I was married. I went to bed a widow. Not a standard option. What do you choose? If widowed happens to be there, it’s easy. When it’s not, I have think about the purpose of the form and then choose. I still wear my wedding band, but legally, or for taxation purposes, this chick is single. After 21 years, that is so hard to say.<u></u><u></u></div>
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George is pumping through my ears right now. I’m thankful to have had the opportunity to see him live. I love music and seeing live shows. Seriously, I have music notes tattooed behind my ear, not because I play, but because I love to listen. To sing in the car at the top of my lungs. (Because my sister ruined singing in the shower for me when I was a kid, but that’s a different story). Music moves me. I have my go to songs for invoking joy, those that wake me, those that make me want to run (and I’m not a runner), songs that will make me cry, songs that are relaxing and those that are great for background noise. Music creates memories.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Thanks to our experiences, at different points in our lives, lyrics may take on new meaning. They may have never meant to me what they meant to their author – and that’s OK. Music is about expression. Songs that may have made me smile before may now make me cry. I sometimes feel lyrics differently.<u></u><u></u></div>
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This George Michael song, <i><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v%3D3VVyakAPCPM&source=gmail&ust=1483066640060000&usg=AFQjCNEcH7foOzjNo4gcQa3TIhlE7PTFZg" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3VVyakAPCPM" target="_blank">Waiting for That Day</a></i>, was always a favorite of mine. It’s from the Listen Without Prejudice Vol 1 album. Released in 1991, I was oh, about 14 years old. Oh to lament about break-ups…such a great song. And while I still see it as a breakup song, there are lines, bolded below, that bring me to instant tears today. I’d listened to it a few weeks ago, or maybe a couple months ago, and it had the same impact. I've had to wipe my tears before getting out of my car, dab them away in my cube and dash to the bathroom to check my face. Emotion. Emotion is real and necessary.<u></u></div>
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(Go ahead and click on that link and listen along...let me know if you don't cry while remembering a loved one - whether they be gone by choice or by death.)</div>
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<b>So every day I see you in some other face<br />They crack a smile, talk a while<br />Try to take your place<br />My memory serves me far too well<u></u><u></u></b></div>
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I just sit here on this mountain thinking to myself<br />You're a fool boy<br />Why don't you go down<br />Find somebody<br />Find somebody else<br />My memory serves me far too well<u></u><u></u></div>
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<b>It's not as though we just broke up<br />It's not as though it was yesterday<br />But something I just can't explain<br />Something in me needs this pain<br />I know I'll never see your face again<u></u><u></u></b></div>
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<b>C'mon now<br />I've got to be strong now<u></u><u></u></b></div>
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Now everybody's talking about this new decade<br />Like you say the magic numbers<br />Then just say goodbye to<br />The stupid mistakes you made<br />Oh my memory serves me far too well<u></u><u></u></div>
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<b>Don't you know that<br />The years will come and go<br />Some of us will change our lives<br />Some of us still have nothing to show<br />Nothing baby<br />But memories<u></u><u></u></b></div>
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<b>And if these wounds<br />They are self-inflicted<br />I don't really know<br />How my poor heart could have protected me</b><br />But if I have to carry this pain<br />If you will not share the blame<br /><b>I deserve to see your face again<u></u><u></u></b></div>
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C'mon now<br />You don't have to be so strong now</div>
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<br />Come back<u></u><u></u></div>
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Come back to me darling<br />I will make it worth your while<br />Come back to your baby<br /><b>I miss your kiss<br />I miss your smile</b></div>
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<b><br />Seems to me the peace I search to find<br />Ain't going to be mine until you say you will<br />Don't you keep me waiting for that day<br />I know, I know, I know<br />You hear these words that I say<u></u><u></u></b></div>
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<b>You can't always get what you want.<u></u><u></u></b></div>
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I miss Ghon terribly. I ‘survived’ his birthday. I ‘survived’ the 6 month anniversary. I ‘survived’ Christmas. Of course I survived. But the pain – the pain is real. I know I have friends that tell me I can talk to them at any time. But sometimes, I just don’t want to talk. I think I moved through so much early as a result of shock. I need to feel the pain now. And there are times that I do talk about Ghon, but the times I hurt – I’m not sure there is anything to say. It’s just like the times where Jonathan just looks at me and says, “I miss Daddy”, and all I can do is respond with “me too.” What is there to talk about? I know despite him not being here physically, he is here in Spirit. I will see him again one day. I’m not trying to rush that time at all, but if I could get what I wanted, he’d be here now. And I can’t get what I want.<u></u><u></u></div>
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Yes, 2016 has sucked if you were an aging celebrity. It seems to suck even more since so many "idols" are, well, older. Madonna and Betty White need to watch their backs for the next three days. </div>
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But 2016 also sucks when you are suddenly a single mom of two living in a farmhouse made for 4+ in a country town when you are city girl and have a fear of snakes, mice, bad guys and no clue about septic systems, creaky noises and are cold at night. </div>
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But 2016, well, 2016 has also been a good year. I am now living in a farmhouse with my kids that my husband and I worked so hard on for so long. I've sent mice to mouse heaven, found septic companies and bought down blankets and long underwear. I have friends help me prescreen the attic for snakes. My kids are learning to face fears, to live, love and remember, and to be thankful. We've seen an outpouring of love and support, made new friends and strengthened other relationships. I got a new job and my very own mortgage (who, other than me, celebrates stuff like that?). Ghon was battling a long seeded depression and was getting help. He was enjoying his photography and making plans to transition into full-time farming. He was getting his health issues fixed - until unknown and unexpected complications from that fix took his life. </div>
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But with his death, he found freedom. Freedom from the physical pain he suffered since I'd known him. From the mental anguish - never feeling like he was good enough. He is reunited with his parents and grandparents, who meant the world to him. He's free - from all the stress he felt or created here. He's finally free. And with his freedom, he's given me freedom. I've lived for so long with my identity defined by the kids and Ghon that I have no clue who I am. He's given me the chance, even in death, to figure how who I am. And doing that without him - as twisted as that sounds - is so hard. I just don't know where to begin.</div>
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So 2016; you've been a very weird year and well, for the most part, I am glad to see you end and am ready for 2017.</div>
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With every end, there is a new beginning. As with every death; an end - there is life; a beginning. </div>
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Peace and love to all of you that finished reading this rambling. May you find hope in the beginning each end brings to you. </div>
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boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-33831531237160556082016-11-14T22:20:00.000-05:002016-11-14T22:20:09.581-05:00I Miss You the Most<div dir="ltr">
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I Miss You the Most</div>
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I miss you the most when I’m bored.<br />
I can’t just call you or text you for my amusement.</div>
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I miss you the most in the morning.<br />
I’m still not a morning person, and my night owl tendencies are coming back – and without benefit. I’m still struggling with kids in the morning.</div>
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I miss you the most when I’m driving.<br />
I can’t call you to help pass the time and catch up on my day.</div>
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I miss you the most at dinner time.<br />
I working on figuring out cast iron. The gas stove still confounds me. You made the best fried chicken, panko chops, BBQ. I’ll never have paella again. The kids aren’t adventurous; meals aren’t the same.</div>
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I miss you the most when I’m home.<br />
You were never able to sleep here, to see it complete, or help me make final decisions.</div>
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I miss you the most when I’m traveling.<br />
You loved seeing new places, revisiting places we’d been. You typically plan the big trips. I’ve done it twice, but now I have to plan the trip out west with the kids by myself. And take it without you. It’s not fair. <br />
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I miss you the most when I’m trying on clothes.<br />
I need your reassurance that I look OK; I’m still not comfortable with me.</div>
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I miss you the most when I need help with something I know you can do.<br />
Or could do. Little things like redirecting the vents in the ductwork, installing shelves, or building shelves. Big things like getting firewood off the hill and ready for the winter.<br />
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I miss you the most when I say something you used to say.<br />
I’m vertical – and you’re not.<br />
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I miss you the most when I brush my teeth.<br />
Your toothbrush is there. So is the 2nd sink that’s not used.</div>
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I miss you the most when I can’t answer the kid’s questions.<br />
Some things, you just know more about than me. It’s true.</div>
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I miss you the most when I realize that so many things I worry about, I wouldn’t be worrying about if you were here.</div>
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I miss you, then I get angry, then I get sad, grateful for those around me, guilty for being angry, and then, I miss you.<br />
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I miss you the most when I write about you.<br />
You are always on my mind.<br />
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I miss you the most when I have to adult.<br />
I don’t always want to make decisions for me by myself. Let alone for the house and the kids.</div>
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I miss you the most when I finally go to bed.<br />Hugging a pillow isn’t the same as holding you. </div>
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I miss you the most when other people miss you.<br />
Because not only do I feel their pain, I feel mine.</div>
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I don’t miss you alone.<br />
But I miss you the most.</div>
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boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-60925357604228202822016-10-28T23:04:00.000-04:002016-10-28T23:07:29.681-04:00Visitation - Share your experiences!I've received signs that let me know Ghon's around. I've been wanting to write them down, but haven't. Recently, more people are sharing stories of signs they've received from him, or new stories of how Ghon impacted them - and how his death impacts them today.<br />
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Please share with me. Let me see how Ghon continues to be with you. His personality and life was way too big to just vanish. How does he live on in your life? <br />
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Use the form below (scroll within the form) to share your story. Feel free to submit multiple forms if you want to submit experiences separately, or have more than one. All responses are sent to me and not made public.<br />
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Thank you!<br />
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<iframe src="https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfX4sWO9i4w5fup0Gs7hNX4m4FYDQn4FBCeq9Gz1IkVH7t8ZQ/viewform?embedded=true" width="760" height="500" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0">Loading...</iframe>boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-35993640748073225482016-10-27T00:55:00.001-04:002016-10-27T00:55:57.223-04:00WCCC 2016<div class="MsoNormal">
In October 2004, Ghon and I attended our first World Chili Championship Cookoff (WCCC). We’d been cooking chili for years of course, me since 1990 as a junior cook and him since 1996, but only recently had started cooking more events sanctioned by the International Chili Society (ICS). <o:p></o:p></div>
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In mid-September, we competed in the Chesapeake Regional Chili Cookoff. I came in second place to a not so great pot of chili. Really. Sure, some cooks will boast about their pot and sometimes feel they were wronged by the judges when the tasted the winning bowl. But this bowl; it wasn’t chili. BBQ perhaps, but not chili. Some of our friends tasted the winning chili before we did, and told me I was robbed. The scorekeeper told me they calculated scores twice. I lost. I was robbed!</div>
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Two weeks later, we were competing in the DC State Cookoff for the first time. During announcements, I was named the highest placing rookie, defined as the cook who placed the highest as a first time participant of the event. Winners were announced starting at 10<sup>th</sup> place. Somewhere along the way, perhaps around 5<sup>th</sup>, 6<sup>th</sup> or 7<sup>th</sup>, it’s really unimportant; Ghon was called. Now we knew I was higher than that. The closer we got the more I worried. I was so nervous. I remember muttering “please don’t call my name, please don’t call my name” over and over. Third place, and it’s still not me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A chili bridesmaid is a cook that places second. And second. And sometimes second again. Always the runner up, and never the winner. I didn’t want to be a bridesmaid.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s time to announce 2<sup>nd</sup> place. I’m so nervous, I’m practically crying. “Please don’t say my name, please don’t say my name.” The Chief Judge, Fred Bell, listened, and didn’t say my name. I’m damn near hysterics at this point. I bury my face into Ghon’s chest and change my tune. “Please say my name, please say my name,” it total fear that perhaps that rookie thing was a fluke and I wasn’t the highest placing rookie and someone else’s name would be called. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Kim Eckerly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yes, Eckley, but with an R stuck in there. But dang it, it was me. I qualified for the World Championships that were less than a week away, in Las Vegas, Nevada. I’ll never forget the amazing experience at WCCC. Nor the moment I was called to the finals table for red chili. I was one of the first of our close chili friends to ever make finals. And being relatively new to ICS, and our first Worlds, I remembered the quiet in the crowd when my name was called. My few friends there cheered, but you could almost hear everyone else asking, “Kim, who?” The applause and cheers for "regulars" was loud. When my name was called, well, there were some polite claps. Finding out I was 7<sup>th</sup> place – absolutely amazing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fast forward a few years. We continued to compete. We had kids and I cooked a lot less. Ghon went to Vegas again in 2008, with me left at home, fresh out of a Cesarean birth and a with a week old Jonathan. Jonathan went to his first ICS event in Kingston, NY at about 2, maybe 3 weeks old. I started cooking a lot less, as it wasn’t easy to manage an infant and a pot of red. Or at least not for us. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We took the kids to a few Worlds cook-offs. Jonathan was just over a year at his first WCCC in Charleston, WV. The kids traveled with us to WCCC in Manchester, NH, another in Charleston. Chili is family, and they were being well introduced to it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The last few years, we did a lot less chili cooking and a lot more chili judging, with Ghon serving as the Chief Judge, and I the Scorekeeper. With his retail work schedule, getting weekends off wasn’t easy. The weekends he could get time off were for judging, not cooking. He really missed the competition. If you didn’t know, Ghon was extremely competitive, and cooking was a good way for him to do so.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Since he'd left his retail job in pursuit of life, farming. photography and happiness, Ghon was determined to cook more this year. Jonathan was playing baseball still, so Ghon made a one day trip to New York City to compete by himself. The following weekend, he'd planned to do a back to back event in New England, but a few days before, the Sunday event was cancelled. Plans changed, and he went to Wheeling WV on June 4 to compete. Jonathan and I spent the day together, going to his last came of the season, end of season party, a birthday party and something else thrown in there too. Genevieve went with Ghon, who came home a winner in the Chili Verde competition. He was once again headed to WCCC! </div>
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That week, he booked our airfare. Ghon was determined to get time for just us and felt it would be best to route us through Vegas, and for a week long trip. </div>
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June 4; he won.</div>
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June 13; he had surgery.</div>
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June 18; he died. </div>
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Just two short weeks later, after being so excited to compete - and win - again, he was gone. I'd had to decide whether or not to attend the PA State Cookoff on Labor Day weekend, which the kids and I did. I wasn't so sure about going to WCCC. Really, I didn't think there was an option, it was just plain obvious to me, it was a no go.<br />
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But then, a youth division was announced, and I mentioned it to Jonathan. Despite a hard loss (for him) in PA, he wanted to go to the World's, wear Dad's shirt, and compete. A quick check to the school calendar, and seeing the travel dates would coincide with Fall Break, I booked us airfare to Reno, NV for the 50th Anniversary ICS World's Championship Chili Cookoff. </div>
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I must be crazy.</div>
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Carol Hancock, the CEO of the ICS called me after Ghon's death to offer her condolences and ask if there was anything she could do for us. At that time, I couldn't think of a thing. A few days later, I knew what I needed. Each cook that qualifies earns an apron with their name and qualifying event on it as well as a participant medal. I asked Carol for Ghon's, even though he wouldn't be there, as this last qualification meant a lot. She graciously obliged. When I was given his apron at WCCC, I felt (and I mean NO disrespect by this) like I was being handed the flag that covered a fallen soldier's coffin. It was handed to me with two hands. I took it, with tears welling in my eyes, and just hugged it. When I went to get his medal, the same familiar tears came back to my eyes.<br />
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I can't tell you how many people said, "don't make me cry." I can't tell you how many tears were still shed, whether it be in front or behind me.</div>
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Getting ready for WCCC, Jonathan made his own recipe. I guided him on the basics, I helped him with hot pots, but he sat at his table in Reno and cooked his own pot of chili. He wore his dad's shirt, carried Dad's lucky chicken, and sported a picture pin - of him and Ghon at the first cookoff he competed in.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPv2r_cj8eUqpfpzhPRlaAz6i5gPCnZh9ALr8x48OdgU9jg3dMQyGbzKYqPqxftfnO8cYOSiXaft5TopcYpeDMyNwSfWRuJSSsMmSYorNzkYR3CntZRWbd3udZxuvryp5dHDtCjCp3Yc/s1600/IMG_5237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPv2r_cj8eUqpfpzhPRlaAz6i5gPCnZh9ALr8x48OdgU9jg3dMQyGbzKYqPqxftfnO8cYOSiXaft5TopcYpeDMyNwSfWRuJSSsMmSYorNzkYR3CntZRWbd3udZxuvryp5dHDtCjCp3Yc/s320/IMG_5237.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Jonathan and Genevieve with ICS CEO, Carol Hancock</span></td></tr>
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There is one thing neither Jonathan or I did for the cookoff though, and that was cut his meat. Because Ghon planned to do two cookoffs the weekend of the 4th, he had two batches of meat prepared. Jonathan used the last batch of meat Ghon cut.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxmG4TaKZaWY1JbcNUt9DM-dluV7OwBaCLZiiwMKuIv0fEmo61y2WPtu9rtSUsLUKlAgNnDiwHTnY-sDk3UGIRYDk686NCdmdcd5DzRM03huIi47fh7a9mBMQRe6z4zvWp0IJZ8QCd7gI/s1600/IMG_9227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxmG4TaKZaWY1JbcNUt9DM-dluV7OwBaCLZiiwMKuIv0fEmo61y2WPtu9rtSUsLUKlAgNnDiwHTnY-sDk3UGIRYDk686NCdmdcd5DzRM03huIi47fh7a9mBMQRe6z4zvWp0IJZ8QCd7gI/s400/IMG_9227.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chili turn in</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Announcements came, and Jonathan was called in 6th place, Honorable Mention. He was happy to hear his name, which most cooks say, but really mean, "I want to hear my name in first place." But he was genuinely happy. He never once complained, he never once said he should have one, and he told everyone how we was 6th, and was damn proud. Which makes me damn proud as well.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Waiting for announcements.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZDI1k_Xn7OK5aYZeP68K02astcwTF1Oc78VOYHnUpID9ZHd_cZVwe3ciPmz8k5ojVPZZA-oXSF2kR4_DrvZFOQWZogcqW2akg2dx4uUm3bXccpzKPl0LemqJMMuCszUfCT8N8n9da7A/s1600/IMG_9396.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZDI1k_Xn7OK5aYZeP68K02astcwTF1Oc78VOYHnUpID9ZHd_cZVwe3ciPmz8k5ojVPZZA-oXSF2kR4_DrvZFOQWZogcqW2akg2dx4uUm3bXccpzKPl0LemqJMMuCszUfCT8N8n9da7A/s320/IMG_9396.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hearing his name!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVDLTI3bgwUCW5VnfgL2Y2Wg17eXy0yCESBSHe7eSxFMrfzBt8Bg7KMjLvlhDGALgxLd7GGdBQ6k8VuVIWPRaBrAZE0IJP_908bZF7Q-O2lwfOiOruhSYU5BT13KpnnsCbTLauvjVyu0/s1600/IMG_9442.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVDLTI3bgwUCW5VnfgL2Y2Wg17eXy0yCESBSHe7eSxFMrfzBt8Bg7KMjLvlhDGALgxLd7GGdBQ6k8VuVIWPRaBrAZE0IJP_908bZF7Q-O2lwfOiOruhSYU5BT13KpnnsCbTLauvjVyu0/s640/IMG_9442.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Youth Division Winners!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Come Sunday, it was time for announcements, and I received a huge shock. Along side other great ICS cooks, chairman, and judges, I was presented an All Star award, with Ghon and my name on it. When Carol presented the award, she started crying. I started crying when she did; and kept crying. To be recognized for our volunteer work, which is work, but so much fun, was incredible. I know Ghon would have been shocked. Without a doubt. He lived wondering what his legacy would be, what his purpose was, and yearning for some type of recognition he felt he never had. And here, it was, and least for this part of his life. Recognition for something we did because we could, because we enjoyed it, and because it was the right thing to do. To be honored along side those that showed us some ropes; an honor indeed.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPW3XXguWzWFdRLksYJ5s3hsyrAwxgcrfzZSzJONWnAyz6uuH12T-8XD5S2q8_wKsBeXBFDsMB7F9NpPS5WYYncsML4G8fjf1J-9Av3rH4pgWXX8jd4SHzVW3KAE8J47YyXtlSs3ns0wQ/s1600/20161023_193214.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPW3XXguWzWFdRLksYJ5s3hsyrAwxgcrfzZSzJONWnAyz6uuH12T-8XD5S2q8_wKsBeXBFDsMB7F9NpPS5WYYncsML4G8fjf1J-9Av3rH4pgWXX8jd4SHzVW3KAE8J47YyXtlSs3ns0wQ/s320/20161023_193214.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xA8XV3ulHcowxh-nf4rOw7bmY-BmaUseUeu_ktCVHbsAtOtXRZVkSw-Rjbxlhoz4p9ILyST2mNh28uwAupbDYKCi2FEZB1GN7BMDzSB9Rr6bwHrNNEFVraoVPNUYla46JpEfzEUCQAE/s1600/68408111-IMG_9776.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xA8XV3ulHcowxh-nf4rOw7bmY-BmaUseUeu_ktCVHbsAtOtXRZVkSw-Rjbxlhoz4p9ILyST2mNh28uwAupbDYKCi2FEZB1GN7BMDzSB9Rr6bwHrNNEFVraoVPNUYla46JpEfzEUCQAE/s640/68408111-IMG_9776.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2016 All Stars</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I held that award all evening.<br />
<br />
It still brings tears to my eyes when I look at it.<br />
<br />
I took two kids, by myself, on an airplane, well, several, to Reno NV and back for a 4 day trip. Two of those days, were mainly on planes. But why? Why in the world would I do that?<br />
<br />
I've said it before, chili cooks are family. They are the cousins you love to hang out with, the aunts and uncles you think are a little odd, but turn out to be the coolest people you know, the aunt or uncle that gives you the ebbie jeebies and makes you want to run and hide. Visits are a few hours a weekend through the year, and then, the big reunion comes in the fall. You meet the new family members, those that are newer to ICS or make the trip to WCCC for the first time.When you get to the reunion, you are introduced to your long lost cousins, put names and faces together and just party. And because we are a family, we know that kids are the future. They belong, are encouraged to participate and are part of the future of the family legacy.<br />
<br />
It's been said that friends are the family you choose. And I'll continue to choose these folks over and over. They've sent their love, their prayers, their support to me and the kids. They were there for Ghon, and I know they will be there for us.<br />
<br />
The kids had an amazing weekend. We did many other things besides cook chili; but that was a highlight for sure. Genevieve now has 2 new BFFs. Jonathan bonded more with other junior cooks. They are laying a foundation for the future of love and support, even if it is now just another chili cookoff.<br />
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Seriously, doesn't this look like a great family photo, with our friend (and Daddy shirt maker) Dave?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6cW9q7bvlzelKiqozSUwD_mNOu29HgrL5m22wq9FWla8eNdmDQvydgEkjKax-Az2ZqyykRTwqjqlF-ONJqfDd1c9m6wafEUEdtPfQA-utQ2IHCG7sVYIMh7WXdxkFCkUdZUr-CafSmo/s1600/shirts2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6cW9q7bvlzelKiqozSUwD_mNOu29HgrL5m22wq9FWla8eNdmDQvydgEkjKax-Az2ZqyykRTwqjqlF-ONJqfDd1c9m6wafEUEdtPfQA-utQ2IHCG7sVYIMh7WXdxkFCkUdZUr-CafSmo/s320/shirts2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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To my chili friends reading this, thank you for making WCCC 2016 so special, despite the huge void. I tried to visit many of you, yet, I know at times, I probably kept some distance. Jonathan has very few memories of his last WCCC, but I'm sure they will both remember this trip, this cookoff.<br />
<br />
There are so many of you I could thank for your love and support that goes above and beyond - but I'm afraid I'll leave someone out. I appreciate you all. You know who you are, I know who you are, and God knows who you are. Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
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I love comments. Have something to say? Drop a message below!</div>
boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-91678049248807103632016-10-03T20:30:00.000-04:002016-10-03T20:30:17.455-04:00Thank you<div class="MsoNormal">
I was driving to Southern States for chicken food, to be
followed by a stop at the hospital to visit Ghon. The kids were with me, and
had added “Get well soon” to the wrapping paper on their Father’s Day gifts
they were bringing to the hospital. I received a call from a number I didn’t
know, and went ahead and answered. I instantly knew that this was a call I
needed to pull over and take. Ghon was in cardiac arrest, being actively worked
on. I called my Dad. My mind raced, and immediately, I knew I should try
calling our friend Brandi to see if she could come take the kids for me. I’m
not sure I ever actually called her before. We texted a few times, messaged
quite a bit via Facebook, but that old fashioned phone call? Not sure it had
ever been done.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was barely to the front of the hospital when I realized
Brandi was already there and helping get the kids into her van. She stayed with me, and
off her husband Mike went with the kids for the night. Brandi stayed with me
until I was able to see Ghon. She navigated the hospital maze to get me a
sandwich from Subway for dinner and drove my car home so she could bring my
kids home the next day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Before I could blink, Brandi set up a Meal Train page, and
my little family had meals prepared for two weeks. She asked if it would be ok,
and again, before I knew it, there was a <a href="https://www.gofundme.com/2acb2x8" target="_blank">Go Fund Me</a> page out there to
financially assist my family. Not only was I then sitting in shock from losing
Ghon, but I was shocked that people were donating to the Fund Me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We had our first visitors the day after Ghon’s death. They
came armed with a gift for the kids, juice boxes, multiple Lunchables, and the
finest china – paper plates, plastic cups and plasticware. And what became my
right hand – a notebook to track various gifts and visits.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The gifts kept pouring in. And gifts weren’t always
tangible. Gifts may be prayers, positive thoughts, a sharing of our story or
their own, offering of time and labor at the farmhouse, taking the kids for a few hours to play, cards, or simply letting me
know they were there – and they cared. Friends took me to a sing-a-long less than a week after Ghon died where at the end I began crying on Laura's shoulder and a group hug commenced. Surrounded by love.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I've tried to keep up with thank you notes, but have fallen way behind. I’m still working on getting them out. Yet, there are so many people I'm not able to send thank you's to. There are quite a few generous people that donated to the Go Fund Me that I don't even know! Some, I barely know, or were Ghon's friends and co-workers, so I don't have addresses. Please know, your gift means the world to us.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Ghon did not have life insurance. We did not have any savings. He'd recently cashed in his 401K to pay off a few bills and prepare for farming. I had enough to cover his cremation expenses, but that was it. I've always been one to be accountable for monetary gifts. I've taught the kids to send thank you notes to family that send monetary gifts for birthdays and Christmas - or at least - a phone call to say exactly what you chose with the money. I wanted to let people know some of the things we've been able to accomplish with your gifts:<br />
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<li>Supplies to sand and protect all of the hardwood floors in the farmhouse. Our friend Jeff Smoke volunteered his TIME, a TON of it, to complete the floors and floor joists in the living room ceiling. (let me know if you need work done so I can send you his contact info!!)</li>
<li>The final build-out of Jonathan's room and the kids playroom/office area. Materials and labor.</li>
<li>Repayment of a loan we had to paint the house exterior.</li>
<li>Handyman services that built our back steps, material and installation of our dining room and living room ceilings, rails and installation of the barn doors in my bedroom, creation of the stone walkway from the driveway, tree trimming and removal, stacking wood, and most importantly, a MASSIVE cleanup effort of the yard from 2 years worth of construction debris. Oh, and moved the heaviest furniture I have to the farmhouse.</li>
<li>Various odds and ends to finish the house from trim board to curtains.</li>
<li>Stone to fill in our driveway and parking spot.</li>
<li>A shed. Ghon was going to build one with the stash of pallets he collected. This was desperately needed.</li>
<li>Create a savings - for future emergencies and for the kids.</li>
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We'd thought (as in Ghon and I) we'd be able to get a lot of that done ourselves. Especially the trash. But there is NO WAY I would have been able to do it alone. I had a ton of help, then still hired people to finish. I had friends and coworkers come help clean, paint, install window screens, make trash runs, move stuff - you name it, they helped. None of this would have been possible to do without the love and support of our friends and family. I am humbled, and thankful every single day for each of you.<br />
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You call me strong - you make me that way.</div>
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Thanks to your gifts - including the lovely housewarming gifts of birdbaths, chimes, candles, plates, flowers, and figurines, you have helped do what this blog was all about - making a house a home. Giving of yourself to help remember Ghon, honor him, and help us start our lives without his physical presence but surrounded by his spirit and your love.</div>
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As I reflect, I know my life drastically changed with two phone calls. One coming in from the hospital, and one going out to Brandi. </div>
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I think I'm a friendly person, but I can't say I make friends easily; I'm a bit introverted and awkward in new settings or places where I don't know people. Years ago, I thought to myself, we should really get to know them (the Cowdens) better. I bet we could be friends. Unlike kids, I didn't know how to say "hey, ya wanna be friends?" Life took it's course. It's unfortunate that it took Ghon's death to propel it forward, but I will forever be grateful for the love and friendship the Cowden family has given mine. </div>
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At some point, I promise I'll stop thanking you. Just know I so appreciate you all - and you never need to hesitate to call us for anything. I'll need support and rescuing again for sure. The kids will continue to reach out to Miss Brandi because she knows everything (I think you are in competition with Google now though), and Mr. Mike to support all their crazy ideas that Mom would say no to (like multiple packs of powdered donuts and cake face smashing). There's not too much painting to do. There's no more Ikea furniture to build.<br />
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Through a gazillion (or close to 20) birthday parties and our tragedy, we've become family. Little adopted Lockhart/Mason/Eisert/Cowden/Goodmans. HA! You can't get rid of us now.<br />
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Despite your poor choice in football teams, we <b>love</b> you all. Thank you, thank you, thank you.<br />
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boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-736435291067695767.post-32087093603535841302016-09-20T22:58:00.000-04:002016-09-20T22:58:50.442-04:00Mice are not NiceI have about 2/3 of a lovely little blog post written. But what just went down pretty much preempts the former topic for a night.<br />
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For a few moments, I'm going to step away from the more frequent grief topics I've been talking about lately and cover some different emotions.<br />
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Disgust.<br />
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Gross.<br />
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Loathing.<br />
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Pride.<br />
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OK, now it sounds like an episode of Sesame Street. Sing with me now... "One of these things is not like the other..."<br />
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I hate mice. Maybe not quite as much as I hate snakes, but this is really a tough one to measure. I will completely freak if I ever see a snake in the house. If they are outside, I can run, and they will eventually go away. </div>
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But a mouse in the house? Awww, no. When I've seen "evidence" (that's the polite word for mouse turds) in the house, it would creep me out to no end. Spot an actual mouse, dude, I'm doing something quite similar to my snake dance while whimpering out my own tune. </div>
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This spring, Ghon told me I have to get used to dealing with them.</div>
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No.</div>
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Alas, I figured out how to set traps and put about 8 of them around the house. I believe we caught about 4. And who emptied those traps? ME. Yep, that's right, I did. I put on rubber gloves, opened the trap, and dumped the bodies. To prove to myself that I could do it. And because Ghon had said, "What if I'm not here to do it? You need to learn."</div>
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Well damn. He was right again.</div>
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However, those were dead mice. We did come across 3 one day that appeared to be young and well, alive. Nope, nada, not dealing with those suckers, and thankfully, he was with the kids and I and did deal with them. One tossed outside with a broken leg but alive, and two more to a friend to potentially save. Because even the mouse hater I am, felt a tiny soft spot for these 2 little babies.</div>
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Not anymore. I'm living here. My kids are living here and damn it, I have two cats. Cats that Ghon and I got over two years ago when we thought we might actually move in. Cats, specifically to be mousers.</div>
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And still, I have mice. WTH?</div>
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We live on a farm, in the mountains, Ghon would say. There are going to be mice. No, there doesn't have to be. Seal it up. Lock it down. No mice required. No vacancy.</div>
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A few nights ago, I sat on the stairs, and thought I saw something scurry across the mudroom. But it was so quick, I wasn't sure. I didn't want to believe it. I finally gathered enough nerve to look around - and nothing.</div>
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Today, I come home with the kids, and Jonathan starts yelling "Mom! I hear a mouse! I hear something squeaking!" </div>
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No, can't be.</div>
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Yes, yes it can be. In his room.</div>
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I start yelling - get the cats! Close the door! Don't lose sight of it!</div>
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Cupcake had it cornered, but just stared at it. Kinda pawed at it a bit. Mouse rolls over on it's back and plays dead. Yet, no, no it's not dead. It squeaks and tries to scurry off again.</div>
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I'd thrown away most of the traps. Hadn't seen any mice, why keep them? They don't bring me joy, so away they went. But I knew where two were... So I grabbed a trap, load it with peanut butter and calmly return to Jonathan's room. Lefty, wants nothing to do with the mouse or the commotion. Cupcake is interested, but not out for the kill. Genevieve and Jonathan are cheering the cat on like they were at a cheerleaders at a football game. I'm wondering if I have the right shoes on, cause if it touches my foot, I'm a goner.</div>
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Attempt one, behind the bedroom door. Mouse escapes. M1 - K0</div>
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Attempt two, corner of wall and Jonathan's loft. M2 - K0</div>
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Attempt three, cornered between a wall and Jonathan's toy shelf. Slide trap in. Nudge it with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle sword. M2 - Kim Wins.</div>
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Now, I've caught the rodent, but, only caught it, not killed in. If you feel sorry for the filthy rodent - stop reading now. </div>
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Why are you still reading?</div>
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Into a plastic bag went the trap, into another bag went that bag, and into the trash can it goes.</div>
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I remind both kids that this is why we do NOT take food upstairs and that we must keep our rooms neat and clean. Then, whip out the clorox wipes. Genevieve decides to dust mop the dining room floor. She's not down there long, when I hear "MOM! I HEAR SQUEAKING!"<br />
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Aw, hell no. Not again!<br />
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Yes. Again.<br />
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She told me she spotted it. Then, I spot it.<br />
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"Go get Lefty and Cupcake!"<br />
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They attempt to find the cats, who are now hiding. They better start earning their keep.<br />
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I set another trap. The varmint went into a closet, so I set the trap inside and close the door.<br />
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Two. Two freaking mice in one day.<br />
<br />
Yeah, disgust. Completely grossed out. Loathing. But pride? That took a minute to process. I didn't lose my cool. Which is helpful for both me and the kids. I got on the floor and trapped it. Well, let's back up and start with staying in the room. Near it. Trapped it. Picked up the trap with a live mouse in it. Disposal.<br />
<br />
Not one tear shed.<br />
<br />
Not one scream.<br />
<br />
Not a one.<br />
<br />
Proud. Yep, pretty proud of myself. And the kids. The cats - well, not so much. And the trap, it's still empty.<br />
<br />
I need an exterminator. Stat.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>As I finished this post from my bedroom, I hear a noise, then a squeak. I kid you not. Am I really sitting here writing about the freaking mice and hear one? I cautiously get up and go toward the hall and hear it again. I definitely can't scream now. The kids are sleeping in the next room. Oh dear Lord, what if it goes in their room?? </i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Fortunately, Cupcake is trying to earn her keep. She's watching it. Pounces on it. I arm myself with a box, hoping to trap it. I look at my feet again. Flip flops. Please don't touch my feet. Lefty kinda watches, but lets Cupcake handle things. I look down, mouse is on it's back and not moving. Way to go, Cake!! I grab a huge wad of paper towels and a bag so I can pick it up. When I come back, it's gone.</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Huh. I didn't no mice played possum. It's still alive. Cupcake is tossing it around. Chases it. Pounce. Toss. Chase. I'm now her biggest cheerleader. Down the hall; into the side hall, into the bathroom. I close the bathroom door. Look at my feet again. Me, mouse, Cupcake. Lefty scratches, so I let her in. Let Cake have some more fun. It flips, stops. I muster up what little courage I have, lay the bag down, and use the end of a closet rod that was cut to flick the mouse into the bag. Shake it down. Tie it. Go downstairs and stick it in another bag. Toss it outside just in case mice can chew through all that plastic. Which I think might be possible.</i></blockquote>
I need to finish this post. Seriously. But I think I'm going to be up for a while. As I finished the section above, I heard a noise downstairs. Then a cat running. And more freaking squeaking. She's got another one. I paused from drafting this and go in for the assist. Cupcake is on fire. She throws a right, she throws a left. Pounce, toss. It still scurries. Got behind a box; a box full of books. A big heavy box. My turn. A few kicks to the box, and I emerge, victorious.<br />
<br />
Three down, and I'm scared to go to sleep.<br />
<br />
I need an exterminator and lots of expansion foam. Stat.<br />
<br />
<br />
boomerkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08042555198046121789noreply@blogger.com0