tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-335161642024-03-14T05:01:31.446-06:00Woman with a Hatchet<p align="right">Where's the pause button on this thing?</p>Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.comBlogger1033125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-19838069300896713592012-12-24T23:44:00.000-07:002012-12-24T23:50:46.076-07:00Happy Holidays from my Clan to Yours!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBbBpgKZNXFDn-SyeV6Yj4ky50cV4eOeSq8sv_2b4R9XuPtNuBrlKZQ3tWR0oTtX2982W9cWRrq7shlQNIo-mX0nL4TU-RRnJVSl52CuMMZuQW4Io_6u6br7dA19DWX5dDtXcw/s1600/ChaoticChristmas-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBbBpgKZNXFDn-SyeV6Yj4ky50cV4eOeSq8sv_2b4R9XuPtNuBrlKZQ3tWR0oTtX2982W9cWRrq7shlQNIo-mX0nL4TU-RRnJVSl52CuMMZuQW4Io_6u6br7dA19DWX5dDtXcw/s320/ChaoticChristmas-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Click it! Click it!</i></div>
<br />
I can officially say that I got my card done ON TIME this year. Unless you live in a more eastern timezone than I do, in which case you're <i><b>way </b></i>too picky.<br />
<br />
Have an excellent year!Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-67641373328327706322012-11-29T16:01:00.000-07:002012-11-29T16:04:45.894-07:00DIY Photo Framing on a Wooden "Canvas"I know, it's been ages, and I do have lots of stories to tell you, but first a how to!<br />
<br />
I've been doing yet more painting around the house and as I stare at my newly painted walls, their sad lack of artwork has been getting to me. I've been trying to figure out how to get something cool on the walls without breaking the bank when Pinterest came to my aid.<br />
<br />
I found a little instruction on different kinds of mounting techniques and things related to engineering prints, but they don't seem to be as inexpensive where I live as the original posters have noted. Instead, whilst staring at a skinny blank section of wall, it struck me that there was a picture I wanted to put there and that the best way it would fit would be on a piece of scrap wood that was languishing in the garage.<br />
<br />
I pulled out the 9" x 24" piece of plywood, eyed the spot and the idea all came together. For you, my step by step plan, with photos.<br />
<br />
You will need:<br />
<ul>
<li>scrap wood</li>
<li>ModPodge or other glue for decoupage</li>
<li>paint</li>
<li>paint or foam brushes</li>
<li>scissors</li>
<li>photo</li>
<li>measuring tape</li>
<li>sanding block</li>
<li>rags</li>
<li>pencil</li>
<li>picture hangar and a nail</li>
<li>level</li>
<li>needle-nose pliers </li>
<li>hammer</li>
</ul>
<br />
The piece of plywood I chose wasn't quite true on one side, so I had Eric give it a tiny trim. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqv2iyuUJXFxynkoQPVuQ3E_IwN2bfD1RAmL9pMZuTMyh9vNQizJYIyqfGFHqPEHTGsSnwqPfT9WvYdeYRKP6nljPw0tJm_4ybERH9glX5NV3qqiFX5wFUmMZ4XUnTNopvdvV/s1600/trimming-plywood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqv2iyuUJXFxynkoQPVuQ3E_IwN2bfD1RAmL9pMZuTMyh9vNQizJYIyqfGFHqPEHTGsSnwqPfT9WvYdeYRKP6nljPw0tJm_4ybERH9glX5NV3qqiFX5wFUmMZ4XUnTNopvdvV/s320/trimming-plywood.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
After that, I sanded it down on the edges and the front side where I would be gluing the photograph. It doesn't have to be perfection, but splinter free is nice. You don't want anything poking you as you're smoothing your image down.<br />
<br />
I wiped down the board with a clean rag and painted the edges. You <i>could</i> paint the entire board, but since the photo is going to cover the entire front side and the back will never be visible once it's hung, that seemed like a waste of time and paint.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDuHSQGKZW4aXHmqRn7UL8VZpAhDCsjkt5z_GGbIL9GtgIXUraHlqAeayC9bb28f59TnSj6FLBARWhF054TKApaMYB7QwaR2nbMva-c2ObjmFWsHKM8brJGmzxYPYK2Mbter6/s1600/plywood-painted-edges.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDuHSQGKZW4aXHmqRn7UL8VZpAhDCsjkt5z_GGbIL9GtgIXUraHlqAeayC9bb28f59TnSj6FLBARWhF054TKApaMYB7QwaR2nbMva-c2ObjmFWsHKM8brJGmzxYPYK2Mbter6/s320/plywood-painted-edges.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
After the paint was dry, I unrolled my photo to check out how much trimming it would require. I had it printed as a 20" x 30" poster (<i>a standard size available at Costco</i>) and then cut it down to 9" x 24" (<i>a decidedly non-standard size</i>). I trimmed it on my cutting mat with a rotary cutter and then switched to scissors as I got closer to the image.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI1gGyU3Z8mbrxRSIHkY6YpiLyXavlorlL9WySxDeZk5_Cvpaqdtjfdiv5N-6JwbqSyDaiwlGkji2_iPaK0O5ncdiY8q-Ql7otg0tmS248Q_RLywiTnOTKnkvZc0wLceGvjffD/s1600/unrolled-image-needs-trimming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI1gGyU3Z8mbrxRSIHkY6YpiLyXavlorlL9WySxDeZk5_Cvpaqdtjfdiv5N-6JwbqSyDaiwlGkji2_iPaK0O5ncdiY8q-Ql7otg0tmS248Q_RLywiTnOTKnkvZc0wLceGvjffD/s320/unrolled-image-needs-trimming.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Once almost all of the white space was cut away, I pulled out the ModPodge and slapped a coat onto the plywood face that I had sanded down and a coat onto the <i>back</i> of the photograph. I carefully laid the photo down onto the wood and smoothed it out carefully, to ensure there were no bubbles under the photo.<br />
<br />
After I let that dry for about an hour, I used more ModPodge to coat the <i>front</i> of the photograph. I used all vertical strokes for the first layer. After that dried, a couple hours later I added a second layer of glue perpendicular to the first layer. The glue dries clear and forms a protective layer over your photo and will give it a matte look.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsDJPzLSZbkn0LgAlNaq7Vf_v_1zEEy4CiLYkuFvpxL9Hd9y7rmCL9UMM5lNCdBu7qtHIcjPq_3QKsHYPC1gze2AfsvMnjFvfcM6OrhAzVvl4yYfte7CgmFeyKL1ePmn6rzukI/s1600/finished-artwork.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsDJPzLSZbkn0LgAlNaq7Vf_v_1zEEy4CiLYkuFvpxL9Hd9y7rmCL9UMM5lNCdBu7qtHIcjPq_3QKsHYPC1gze2AfsvMnjFvfcM6OrhAzVvl4yYfte7CgmFeyKL1ePmn6rzukI/s320/finished-artwork.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The next day, I picked up a self leveling hangar and hammered it down. You may need a pair of needle-nose pliers to hold the tiny nail in place, unless you have skinny, tiny fingers. You can use any hanging device you'd like, but my board weighed just under 3lbs and since I didn't want it to slide off the wall, I went with a heavy duty hangar.<br />
<br />
Be sure to place something cushion-like under the photo when you go to hammer the hangar into place or you may nick your image. I grabbed Emma's blanket since it was <i>begging </i>to help.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_B3FgFpPfKfi-rCGAp4lEwlLb5rxTASUu3kZYV0HrWoCnp76kPH8UKLMNjpHl2g5yy-0x5DulWsGD7ZJkSKBFWjaPYdJ6yGlgScOsBu_C9m2QA-uu6Tlg0n71-oNsL1BvNHSP/s1600/hammering-time.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_B3FgFpPfKfi-rCGAp4lEwlLb5rxTASUu3kZYV0HrWoCnp76kPH8UKLMNjpHl2g5yy-0x5DulWsGD7ZJkSKBFWjaPYdJ6yGlgScOsBu_C9m2QA-uu6Tlg0n71-oNsL1BvNHSP/s320/hammering-time.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Then it was time to pound a nail into the wall and hang that bad boy up.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHVkAYICvBJvuquZRbWq9Q8qiZ0Ca6c2ZWZS_hWUKZEserkVOORypCQnf69Dv-Low0EZ_PaqMIO7TvxHJ5aAHdDaOP3cvuOgZoUnVCCNDjho2y2B-CXNG0zrXgUqnycy7490S/s1600/onthewall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMHVkAYICvBJvuquZRbWq9Q8qiZ0Ca6c2ZWZS_hWUKZEserkVOORypCQnf69Dv-Low0EZ_PaqMIO7TvxHJ5aAHdDaOP3cvuOgZoUnVCCNDjho2y2B-CXNG0zrXgUqnycy7490S/s320/onthewall.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<br />
I made sure to sign the back and wrote down that this image was of Igor Mitoraj’s “Tyndareus Cracked” from the <a href="http://www.digital-images.net/Gallery/Scenic/Florence/BoboliGrdn/boboligrdn.html#TyndareusCracked-Mitoraj" target="_blank">Boboli Gardens in Florence, Italy</a>, when Eric and I went for our 10th anniversary trip in May of 2006. It only took me <i><b>six years</b></i> to finally print it.<br />
<br />
Since that turned out so well, I know what I'll be doing with the big blank wall when you walk in the front door. I see a series of <i>large</i> black and white photos hanging there. Maybe six? I might even use the thinner 1/4" plywood so it will be even lighter and easier to hang.<br />
<br />
Total out of pocket cost? $11. The print was $9 (plus tax) and the hangar was a dollar and change. Everything else I already had on hand. I also learned that if you want to make your own ModPodge, all you need is equal parts Elmer's glue and water, shaken together in a jar. Clearly I'm going to need a lot once I start gearing up for 20" x 30" images!<br />
<br />
Now to find some more pictures to print!Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-64468940317426478112012-10-09T18:51:00.003-06:002012-10-09T18:53:17.647-06:00Staring at PronghornIn case you didn't know, it's pronghorn hunting season here in Colorado. It's only 9 days long, so it's possible that hunters who eagerly desire a pronghorn trophy might be willing to trespass onto private preserve land. And if you want to keep them off your land, you need to watch over your land and gently remind those eager hunters that there are signs posted all around the property clearly stating that No Hunting is allowed.<br />
<br />
If your best friend asked you to run off to Pritchett, CO to go stare at bison, pronghorn, hawks, prairie dogs, and hunters, you'd say "Yes!", wouldn't you?<br />
<br />
I did.<br />
<br />
But then, <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2012/05/adventures-on-colorado-prairie.html" target="_blank">we already knew that I'm a sucker</a>.<br />
<br />
And so, off we went, gallivanting across the countryside to protect property rights and migrating herds of pronghorn.<br />
<br />
On the way in to the Bison Ranch,<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW21OSYwZYzWqhxHxjNY84pZXkO1Kc0OY7G_ntD8-g02UJmhZnBbINJJ3A5Wqu1XRStQ6fBD6R1FjdstGR1EZwAqBH_IfP7NdbJpvfEwMx6AT2GDm4vRea-pZvIwKZpCTqIC97/s1600/BisonatDusk-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW21OSYwZYzWqhxHxjNY84pZXkO1Kc0OY7G_ntD8-g02UJmhZnBbINJJ3A5Wqu1XRStQ6fBD6R1FjdstGR1EZwAqBH_IfP7NdbJpvfEwMx6AT2GDm4vRea-pZvIwKZpCTqIC97/s320/BisonatDusk-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
we passed The Hut. I didn't take the time to photograph it last time, but made certain to this time around. Creepy, no?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0oVa4Opgr_5joyogXbDVjh_7PlVzOgC1Fq3TX2LPvzkdLjPTgQuUXFkJssKoieKHeRheXOYHhtK2Q7IOng_woIpzgSWsZS7LL8lHgEPcj8GV5mMpYQoicI_wS8ECX5UOElgT/s1600/ScaryHut-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0oVa4Opgr_5joyogXbDVjh_7PlVzOgC1Fq3TX2LPvzkdLjPTgQuUXFkJssKoieKHeRheXOYHhtK2Q7IOng_woIpzgSWsZS7LL8lHgEPcj8GV5mMpYQoicI_wS8ECX5UOElgT/s320/ScaryHut-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlRIUeHGzeN5V8gkK7DCD-keLHpOhRGp8ZIIVnTqUuqtavEwK1j9YabXQXRBgWv6U7fdDtmuiqhCLjS-jkoF25nY_A7dXWUfgdEYEkSNyTfeeS9pa1O5N9JSc8szZtGzKGNFUS/s1600/TheHut-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlRIUeHGzeN5V8gkK7DCD-keLHpOhRGp8ZIIVnTqUuqtavEwK1j9YabXQXRBgWv6U7fdDtmuiqhCLjS-jkoF25nY_A7dXWUfgdEYEkSNyTfeeS9pa1O5N9JSc8szZtGzKGNFUS/s320/TheHut-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Its decrepit nature will only continue to worsen as the vagaries of wind and weather attack it relentlessly over time. Nothing good ever happens here. Do Not Enter.<br />
<br />
After driving for hours and not seeing any pronghorn, we were starting to wonder if we would ever see a single one during our trip or if we were going to have to ask for a do-over. Pronghorn?! What pronghorn!<br />
<br />
Then, pounding away from us in the distance, we saw a small herd of about 11 - 12.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1nUTnicVE7CYKugbrYv5llvP6l3lFKojW74OcqMdso_agM3Tgv3GZ7E6YjhsHZoq_iiHzyqrLKmfBgSAUXMfU6Vo6xcw55XIcX6DcvKtWVedPp1PLxUNHuxKxHfeR1_0qKyq/s1600/Pronghorn-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1nUTnicVE7CYKugbrYv5llvP6l3lFKojW74OcqMdso_agM3Tgv3GZ7E6YjhsHZoq_iiHzyqrLKmfBgSAUXMfU6Vo6xcw55XIcX6DcvKtWVedPp1PLxUNHuxKxHfeR1_0qKyq/s320/Pronghorn-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Turns out that their brown/tan/cream coloration means they blend in <i>really well</i> with the dry grasses and scrub on the prairie. You don't really notice them until they start to move. At one point, Misty mistook an entire field of baled hay for a large herd as we were driving past. A very <i><b>still</b></i> herd.<br />
<br />
At the ranch, we hung out and chatted about pronghorns, wolves, and politics. Suddenly, Misty yelled at me to come outside and have a look at the sky.<br />
<br />
That night, at that moment, the sky looked like this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOc9EzpleOcXTQFhSnGNbKIomdwWCxwUFPA4EgTl4QofT5_QbLyorw-KNW0HFbGs01r94L66DzsYmbUUj6DNfLz9dL5tU-vH2v230T58bQzhYLKWvvEH8E0585An2t-QLCG1xb/s1600/Alt-nightsky-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOc9EzpleOcXTQFhSnGNbKIomdwWCxwUFPA4EgTl4QofT5_QbLyorw-KNW0HFbGs01r94L66DzsYmbUUj6DNfLz9dL5tU-vH2v230T58bQzhYLKWvvEH8E0585An2t-QLCG1xb/s320/Alt-nightsky-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6U0a3QGgtg3s02soHna1w0wZTj8ocBF1BWS7E9Y12CrvriVfOrsRL_KgM4es0GkYEpOkQ8mHjPkWHtZTtSRZr-UNerp7s9TLOOPWMH7ayhbDDm5TaG-S9Rrw1I2Bne1VlsMk/s1600/Alt-nightsky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6U0a3QGgtg3s02soHna1w0wZTj8ocBF1BWS7E9Y12CrvriVfOrsRL_KgM4es0GkYEpOkQ8mHjPkWHtZTtSRZr-UNerp7s9TLOOPWMH7ayhbDDm5TaG-S9Rrw1I2Bne1VlsMk/s320/Alt-nightsky.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Incredible. Awe inspiring. Fantastic.<br />
<br />
Freezing cold.<br />
<br />
It's an incredible experience that you just can't get down in the city. Even on top of Flagstaff Mountain outside of Boulder, you still have to deal with light pollution. Here, however, there are no lights and few houses, separated by miles of scrub and critter filled space. What I can't properly share with you in these photos is that behind the shivering photographer there came the sound of a pack of coyotes, howling into the distance. How <i>far</i> the distance was I don't know, but I was hoping they weren't making designs on <i>my</i> haunches.It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and reminded me why humans like caves, huts, and houses.<br />
<br />
Just as I felt that I was finally getting the hang of night sky shots, my frozen hands and numb fingers forced me to stop for awhile and warm up. By the time I returned, the sky was completely clouded over, just as if someone had pulled a big woolly blanket across the plains. It was impossible to see a single star at that point and made me <i>very</i> glad that I had taken as many pictures as I had before going inside. It also made me wonder why I didn't have a flashlight, because a night on the plains without a moon is very, <i>very, <b>very</b></i> dark.<br />
<br />
Instead of the cabin, which appeared to be overrun with mice, we decided to sleep in the pop-up camper that Nicole had brought. An unheated pop-up camper, in a two person sleeping bag, in long underwear,
PJs, two pairs of socks, a hat and a warm and fuzzy blanket. It was a
little chilly that night, you see. Fortunately for me, Misty was like a roaring
fire at my back and kept me toasty warm, in addition to all the other
layers I was wearing. After giggling and shivering in our double sleeping bag (<i>Misty is incredibly cuddly.</i>), we finally settled down and fell asleep to the sound of the wind ruffling the camper's canvas sides.<br />
<br />
In the morning, after waking up three hours later than planned, we got ready to go stare at the plains, wild animals, and watch for trespassing hunters. The plan was for Misty and I to take note of license plates of hunters in the wrong and phone them into the local Wildlife rangers. However, as it turned out, most of our time was spent sitting the in cold car and watching hunters drive around aimlessly looking for public lands to hunt on, miles and miles away from us. The preserves we were protecting are checker-boarded with private ranch land and public grazing grasslands, so it's easy to get confused as to where you can and cannot hunt. However, the pronghorn weren't abundant, so we'd see more trucks than ungulates. As far as calling it <i>hunting</i> goes, it didn't seem very sportsmanlike to <i><b>me</b></i>. Instead of having to trek into the woods, set up a base camp, create blinds or hide in trees and wait for your prey, pronghorn hunters get to drive around the vast grid that makes up the South Eastern portion of Colorado on dirt roads, stop when they finally see something and then shoot it. Even fishing has more of a mystery to it than <i>that</i>.<br />
<br />
I also discovered that you can hear gunshots from <i>very</i> far away on the prairie. There's nothing but gently rolling scrub and distance to muffle the sound. It's also incredibly <i><b>quiet</b></i> out there, except for the sound of the local wildlife. No engine noises, no people, no equipment. Just wind, birds, prairie dogs, and the occasional insect. It's very soothing. Very zen.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpGFvzH7Y5ZrE-3FWurKSvpU_84qN7bNDcmh_kqnLdHfMIRVqrSfVzvIQujaF0g03uDHRgwCkmyCx6IL6TVpSuivZID6b9CfMa5OWIvNkIqz9lmNVSjt3FjvEcTKvQVMgSG5KJ/s1600/HawkandCrowatPlay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpGFvzH7Y5ZrE-3FWurKSvpU_84qN7bNDcmh_kqnLdHfMIRVqrSfVzvIQujaF0g03uDHRgwCkmyCx6IL6TVpSuivZID6b9CfMa5OWIvNkIqz9lmNVSjt3FjvEcTKvQVMgSG5KJ/s320/HawkandCrowatPlay.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A hawk and crow appear to be playing together, circling in the air.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-VYmU35qEP1MGwXZ60w4FKtGyTsq2rA1czXCUGR_wYl8_gaTxpwSQXENV03y9Z5v1M8SlQ8VRKd-SNI2GihMXFkTEyEo0HqdvGcZvl4jQNPvWpU5UscgeB54EUQndXWCcHfv/s1600/HawkonWire-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY-VYmU35qEP1MGwXZ60w4FKtGyTsq2rA1czXCUGR_wYl8_gaTxpwSQXENV03y9Z5v1M8SlQ8VRKd-SNI2GihMXFkTEyEo0HqdvGcZvl4jQNPvWpU5UscgeB54EUQndXWCcHfv/s320/HawkonWire-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A hawk sits on a pole and contemplates its next meal of prairie dog.
</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoI1dKqmEe8kK7BWmfxXcPDJFJMdOc4wTcuy-ctysQ4UeoJT5yj_BZ9tRcBTo4PVneOGh5F4MeN_H-gs8JYeEoY8iKhBVJjBvm5PBCYfpgatr0yOJt2SGiMHSYlQo6Wd2Doz4Z/s1600/TheLonePrairie-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV_dZfgNZOfkzQg6tEKfAWxZO__bNGj1oUoZNVWxOrztdmcm1Juu7RLGdDiYaBkCOaBZTmMxMRP2igD4D5qn6M7HAr3ulMw3y2Nqsy1ft8BrEsDbUOjEKvmGIxc8HvzDt2cGK3/s1600/TheLonePrairie-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV_dZfgNZOfkzQg6tEKfAWxZO__bNGj1oUoZNVWxOrztdmcm1Juu7RLGdDiYaBkCOaBZTmMxMRP2igD4D5qn6M7HAr3ulMw3y2Nqsy1ft8BrEsDbUOjEKvmGIxc8HvzDt2cGK3/s320/TheLonePrairie-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The Lone Prairie
</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt0hSd_FZu4MMO496mGTq5hbaN-YOv73gS9cireASuauTYEC1OSasygYQ7zctLJJ8279DULg3Yw0VF4QzDv4yoncqr5yotzULx_eweDC2npuOZs_520hI342kg_GtLrV9ppRtv/s1600/DeadPrairieSunflowers-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt0hSd_FZu4MMO496mGTq5hbaN-YOv73gS9cireASuauTYEC1OSasygYQ7zctLJJ8279DULg3Yw0VF4QzDv4yoncqr5yotzULx_eweDC2npuOZs_520hI342kg_GtLrV9ppRtv/s320/DeadPrairieSunflowers-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Someone ate all of the sunflower seeds.
</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvdxAi1TyzPym7JeT0j-R90E9IMC3dtPFThU06QDFThBy-vSGVAvlmW6X4jc8VQj3DDwe-D3HamFhuEuq2e0HjNyzxwiVE0kMCjr0UkvhPdXcJsEw8lrc5B4Lcg8QcDLwoSsf/s1600/GreenBrownWhiteCreamTan-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvdxAi1TyzPym7JeT0j-R90E9IMC3dtPFThU06QDFThBy-vSGVAvlmW6X4jc8VQj3DDwe-D3HamFhuEuq2e0HjNyzxwiVE0kMCjr0UkvhPdXcJsEw8lrc5B4Lcg8QcDLwoSsf/s320/GreenBrownWhiteCreamTan-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The colors are beautiful and make me think in terms of paint chips. You could make a really nice room with lime green, chocolate brown, cream, and tan.
</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfoqWPX0k-zKT_bvRESXx6DA_2MNP1nmqyZOt4K4z66p0rhSu6BojJNeEF6mBQbOCcjk10HN221PwO5KK-9HuX0zoVioUp6WWy8xk40p7ZFPlXqbwO4MPuE756aorpU0qpFz1-/s1600/Bones-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfoqWPX0k-zKT_bvRESXx6DA_2MNP1nmqyZOt4K4z66p0rhSu6BojJNeEF6mBQbOCcjk10HN221PwO5KK-9HuX0zoVioUp6WWy8xk40p7ZFPlXqbwO4MPuE756aorpU0qpFz1-/s320/Bones-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Yes, something big clearly died here.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJn9fqN-IiQeBqaluRdO3jb2Tcy_Q3aPnWkDuGlyZtjgFpzycMf8znhLNiFOBVMBAIlis1JRw1EzhXedKmC7RZ3HX9Fr4B6-nbrfAACBJ48oKL6FcYjSh3EBr6UGTp29Sqfwxp/s1600/HunterMisty-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJn9fqN-IiQeBqaluRdO3jb2Tcy_Q3aPnWkDuGlyZtjgFpzycMf8znhLNiFOBVMBAIlis1JRw1EzhXedKmC7RZ3HX9Fr4B6-nbrfAACBJ48oKL6FcYjSh3EBr6UGTp29Sqfwxp/s320/HunterMisty-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>All of the most fashionable environmentalists are wearing Blaze Orange this year.
</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSu2xQm1WMlMueufq4dJHy61CMLqX-XmFeAjwRnNy2F9vU9GE6mdtYCB5kKN-n0lNmmSk4nGXVpZZ4MdXM48EWqygTbrmbs21z8KzTj6ndXSekyN8PUpQoZCmCDswjqR8Bbczo/s1600/Plants-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSu2xQm1WMlMueufq4dJHy61CMLqX-XmFeAjwRnNy2F9vU9GE6mdtYCB5kKN-n0lNmmSk4nGXVpZZ4MdXM48EWqygTbrmbs21z8KzTj6ndXSekyN8PUpQoZCmCDswjqR8Bbczo/s320/Plants-sm.jpg" width="252" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Plants are still blooming. </i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDGTslaz1uBulgtZ4R0gsfPZvj_3WRfjvpAfZ3s6F4PrSHBz_XXvYFOgT9u2OmxXCv30qv7bRwfuC53vFsOk0hq502PdhWGWaDycEwEm67JCTVAvKrfjpc7aeiHvB0JK-ywN5_/s1600/PrairieColony-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDGTslaz1uBulgtZ4R0gsfPZvj_3WRfjvpAfZ3s6F4PrSHBz_XXvYFOgT9u2OmxXCv30qv7bRwfuC53vFsOk0hq502PdhWGWaDycEwEm67JCTVAvKrfjpc7aeiHvB0JK-ywN5_/s320/PrairieColony-sm.jpg" width="317" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Prairie dog having a snack. </i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOosUT5RjALOELuwfHf91G0HViuinXjoz5g4k2t9jmw929nUHUwuWLaXx3tS2D4xUlXyDypxSFDgtqG_fa7VUQgymuoZvupb29wjd3Sd889WZLNpn8kPe__qL8NfapABO9zdMD/s1600/PrairieDogPeeking-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOosUT5RjALOELuwfHf91G0HViuinXjoz5g4k2t9jmw929nUHUwuWLaXx3tS2D4xUlXyDypxSFDgtqG_fa7VUQgymuoZvupb29wjd3Sd889WZLNpn8kPe__qL8NfapABO9zdMD/s320/PrairieDogPeeking-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This p-dog thinks we might want to eat it. Maybe if I were a little hungrier.... </i></div>
<br />
We were getting ready to head back home and were making our way back to the ranch when Misty stopped the car abruptly. There, on the left side of the road was a single pronghorn. (<i>Or perhaps it was married. I dunno, since I didn't ask.</i>)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHiulpCA3WJfT-QkhgxNBlFrpIqTeODuT_mvD10aJTayVQQ45NsUWyo6WDJJtHbI__JZitxypbMNO7ISqepJ6ockbxONt6sE9l_8JJbA-nKG84RTprEWZ936iY58C5Jc6huz6_/s1600/LongPronghorn-H-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHiulpCA3WJfT-QkhgxNBlFrpIqTeODuT_mvD10aJTayVQQ45NsUWyo6WDJJtHbI__JZitxypbMNO7ISqepJ6ockbxONt6sE9l_8JJbA-nKG84RTprEWZ936iY58C5Jc6huz6_/s320/LongPronghorn-H-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The Lone Pronghorn.
</i></div>
<br />
After taking a few shots (<i>with our <b>cameras</b>!</i>), we crept the car closer to it. My 70-200mm lens just isn't cutting it for wildlife photography. Clearly I should rent a big prime! The prongie decided it needed to hie itself home and trotted over to the other side of the road and ducked under the fence.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvsCm1wMMWBkeNT26lq1XNVH60FmnDc2VMYrF5MYjil8YLZEy4QrbWiTuZfq09ahPybns1vt8f0UbycXM-HhZa8DFXcrH18vlOstCZz80mgICAVHFL_8Hqewp29KG4LSZHh1Dx/s1600/PronghornsGoUnderFences-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvsCm1wMMWBkeNT26lq1XNVH60FmnDc2VMYrF5MYjil8YLZEy4QrbWiTuZfq09ahPybns1vt8f0UbycXM-HhZa8DFXcrH18vlOstCZz80mgICAVHFL_8Hqewp29KG4LSZHh1Dx/s320/PronghornsGoUnderFences-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Pronghorns go under fences, not over. Strange but True Tales from the Prairie. </i></div>
<br />
The fact that we got to see the pronghorn actually walking <i>under </i>a fence was great, because I was honestly having a hard time believing that these deer-like critters didn't just jump every fence they came across. Turns out they aren't as sproingy as deer and it's the best reason why the bottom wire on prairie fences should be smooth instead of barbed.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp_ve32uWZ-FNoryU2-mg3MaXP8VPEY0lDFTwNfclqH7yFqiw-uObUItqmUDum-mb0yzNeqgUogQ1rPcniS5VPAwCfi7hF1ZjJ0BaZ4bkhIVKECYL7jxQZKRmXmUZ0NeYvkWzl/s1600/CuriousPronghorn-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp_ve32uWZ-FNoryU2-mg3MaXP8VPEY0lDFTwNfclqH7yFqiw-uObUItqmUDum-mb0yzNeqgUogQ1rPcniS5VPAwCfi7hF1ZjJ0BaZ4bkhIVKECYL7jxQZKRmXmUZ0NeYvkWzl/s320/CuriousPronghorn-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Once it was on the other side, it turned back to us to watch us closely. Very curious was this ungulate. </i></div>
<br />
Having successfully survived this close encounter with humans, it took off at a trot to find some friends and maybe a mate.<br />
<br />
As I mentioned <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2012/05/adventures-on-colorado-prairie.html" target="_blank">last time</a>, Colorado is a fence OUT state, which means if you don't want cattle on your land, it's up to you to keep them off of your property by putting up fences all along your borders. It also means you're very likely to run into them on the road.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0zJYZvYTBOgTBuwRt7I9ZAP8R5qILDTsX42ZX99aUB03bjT0iJwV2NWc-h4LNUIf_W1n81o874clJmXo6kc4-DrquAi8bENGvGokRMbqQHqRzsC0PTyMwqs26PjHReu6jTabZ/s1600/Youwantsumthin-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0zJYZvYTBOgTBuwRt7I9ZAP8R5qILDTsX42ZX99aUB03bjT0iJwV2NWc-h4LNUIf_W1n81o874clJmXo6kc4-DrquAi8bENGvGokRMbqQHqRzsC0PTyMwqs26PjHReu6jTabZ/s320/Youwantsumthin-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Young cattle with winter coats look all soft and pettable. Also a bit daft.</i></div>
<br />
Just try not to do it <i>literally.</i> Cattle will seriously mess up your ride.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Bison</b></i>, on the other hand, will utterly <i><b>destroy</b></i> your ride and wreck your life, should you piss them off whilst trying to pass them in your suddenly completely inadequately safe vehicle. I highly recommend stopping and waiting for them to move. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4t7SD1n2Ma97NVLL_7BpkrePFkAQYvwurBcA4NpHCiyuXLkka4u0z2u5InR6k7rQBUg_uuEysWxqpMxedAa6JT9adAv-NALj-2odUHn9K-7wadYBE75VAPczyzTd5UHiLgmaD/s1600/YouShallNotPass-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4t7SD1n2Ma97NVLL_7BpkrePFkAQYvwurBcA4NpHCiyuXLkka4u0z2u5InR6k7rQBUg_uuEysWxqpMxedAa6JT9adAv-NALj-2odUHn9K-7wadYBE75VAPczyzTd5UHiLgmaD/s320/YouShallNotPass-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"You shall not pass...easily!"</i></div>
<br />
Or creeping up to them really really slowly and encouraging them to get out of the way.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHc2q-1fSlbKEeOqwLtFm8z3w6p1s2mNnCyJ-OkoIE41wkDEPtXIpa42WGkE8RUFrG4g1Q8rY22ts27wCHbGtJf8mJibNFjGfKH6_Hc8CwaXUXlAHMqOKWGDU7DNcHZCQpvEbK/s1600/ThreeBison-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHc2q-1fSlbKEeOqwLtFm8z3w6p1s2mNnCyJ-OkoIE41wkDEPtXIpa42WGkE8RUFrG4g1Q8rY22ts27wCHbGtJf8mJibNFjGfKH6_Hc8CwaXUXlAHMqOKWGDU7DNcHZCQpvEbK/s320/ThreeBison-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Where are <b>you</b> goin'?" </i></div>
<br />
Perhaps if you offered them a sacrificial hunk of gluten free zucchini bread they might be tempted to move out of the way faster.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU4m8qgpkfqJKccRjq1a8itIoFPqw4F4rvJAd_B-fa6Y7IWdz-omFhtUG1KuEiWqiUEeug1vNo3jrHWoe9EnoDakwNsXk6PBxqnvcZQhna2sc0QhFkmYym5a9OtQPfWYE4i5Os/s1600/Number45-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU4m8qgpkfqJKccRjq1a8itIoFPqw4F4rvJAd_B-fa6Y7IWdz-omFhtUG1KuEiWqiUEeug1vNo3jrHWoe9EnoDakwNsXk6PBxqnvcZQhna2sc0QhFkmYym5a9OtQPfWYE4i5Os/s320/Number45-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Staring contest winner: Number 45!</i></div>
<br />
No? Then you're going to have to do the best you can to get past them without somehow pissing them off.<br />
<br />
<b>Safety tip: </b>Do not enrage the bison.<br />
<br />
I also highly recommend that you don't forget your glasses on the bathroom sink, thus requiring you to drive through the herd of semi-unpredictable (<i>Prediction: They <b>will</b> get in the way. True! Prediction: They will get <b>out</b> of the way. Possibly!</i>) bison a total of <i><b>four times</b></i> instead of the two it would have taken originally. Although I was quite amused listening to Misty hyperventilate over just how BIG they were and how CLOSE they were and how utterly SURROUNDED we were by a dozen or more two ton animals. Well entertained, but you should know that I had my window rolled up tight. Bison kisses aren't on my Bucket List, you see.<br />
<br />
Then, not-so-suddenly, we were no longer surrounded by giant shaggy beasts and were on our way home.<br />
<br />
Gunshots heard: 5<br />
Interactions with hunters: limited entirely to waving in a friendly fashion.<br />
Trespassers evicted: Zero for Misty and I, Nicole snagged a few on her watch.<br />
Close encounters with bovine: Six<br />
Dogs acquired: Zero (<i>But it was a very close thing, because Misty is a sucker.</i>)<br />
Fun memories acquired: Tons!<br />
<br />
The six or seven hour drive out and back again was spent with almost non-stop talking, laughing, joking, and being completely inappropriate in ways I won't share. Misty has threatened to bring a recording device next time just so she has a record of how completely ridiculous I can get when cooped up in a car.<br />
<br />
Ruh-dick-uh-luss. I'm tellin' you!<br />
<br />
And just so you know: when you want to have an adventure, I <i><b>am</b></i> the friend you call. <br />
<br />Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-49024525337004866202012-09-07T04:34:00.000-06:002012-09-07T21:01:26.166-06:00Moving ForwardIn case you're wondering what I've been up to all summer, I was off taking a few pictures of hummingbirds,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqrpQAJbG_uU2mKLnPNPxamUnfxAwXdlmUjg0UY2p2b-iIjEP_5S8_dgAAN_d9_618W94fLugpng24sJwiHT1nnPneW3y32c2du_mlUpCBPG9EOGU7qWo20_Pl_9Vo6ylNe-8/s1600/male-broadtail-liftoff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPqrpQAJbG_uU2mKLnPNPxamUnfxAwXdlmUjg0UY2p2b-iIjEP_5S8_dgAAN_d9_618W94fLugpng24sJwiHT1nnPneW3y32c2du_mlUpCBPG9EOGU7qWo20_Pl_9Vo6ylNe-8/s320/male-broadtail-liftoff.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
families other than my own,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ulHz22MKcJcqjbgFxHQfVCi6EtJllbtkLIrbseaGlBYwIySTsfeDJEEBa9KeSVhzizWUcOKv8AoCpi2F1spRm2EVCbzq3rMxmGphnupCX2gOtW-7ANsq6O9o6ot5k5hUjCM3/s1600/1720-familyhands-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ulHz22MKcJcqjbgFxHQfVCi6EtJllbtkLIrbseaGlBYwIySTsfeDJEEBa9KeSVhzizWUcOKv8AoCpi2F1spRm2EVCbzq3rMxmGphnupCX2gOtW-7ANsq6O9o6ot5k5hUjCM3/s320/1720-familyhands-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
and those monkeys of mine.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8zWRoF42Ic1hlzsUwFfISUXmMrnxitAwFcCqT6tD88YG68OGVPoPTPYZ-ECdPNC3wkHUz5qeCKBzA5xLOz2Y1vsjAJC2Wx76wlpw3E5rtmjK4CE6VmBe_7ty4MDfJiCIsdkC/s1600/EmmaandtheFairy-72.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8zWRoF42Ic1hlzsUwFfISUXmMrnxitAwFcCqT6tD88YG68OGVPoPTPYZ-ECdPNC3wkHUz5qeCKBzA5xLOz2Y1vsjAJC2Wx76wlpw3E5rtmjK4CE6VmBe_7ty4MDfJiCIsdkC/s320/EmmaandtheFairy-72.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-PKUZpQvSahM4O3rVOW-LRNJlUs5VQRSer8ZOWDqDd5MrDlfg33auBtUq86JeevL4qoTsqG6x5okeBghakCAFnLpUETcRrOH6pY5SSRvw6EKWAbX14t1A2gISNOi8NphlIyx/s1600/Audience-72.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-PKUZpQvSahM4O3rVOW-LRNJlUs5VQRSer8ZOWDqDd5MrDlfg33auBtUq86JeevL4qoTsqG6x5okeBghakCAFnLpUETcRrOH6pY5SSRvw6EKWAbX14t1A2gISNOi8NphlIyx/s320/Audience-72.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjefxGCv2rXPVmAJ7YB9bKv9FMlutMYJ0WxkGfHzPWoWSExNMCxbIiYOgw3BQVVHc3v0MDBzUKs7GOppyc4CfQUKFinowNsfL20qkcNC_HPuoyl2d_hsBH63VQe-C87qBQ-ol6J/s1600/Caitlin-paintedface-72.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjefxGCv2rXPVmAJ7YB9bKv9FMlutMYJ0WxkGfHzPWoWSExNMCxbIiYOgw3BQVVHc3v0MDBzUKs7GOppyc4CfQUKFinowNsfL20qkcNC_HPuoyl2d_hsBH63VQe-C87qBQ-ol6J/s320/Caitlin-paintedface-72.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
And thinking.<br />
<br />
The twins are going to be in kindergarten this fall. Well, technically in <i><b>August</b></i> since we're in Colorado and we like sending our children into schools without air-conditioning when it's 106 degrees outside. (<i>No joke - it's been <b>incredibly</b> hot this summer, with very little rain and the schools don't have A/C. Here's hoping they won't roast!</i>) Clearly, I need to come up with a plan. What am I going to do with myself once the twins are in school <b>full time</b>? Other than run around, jump for joy and have a celebratory breakfast the day we drop them off?<br />
<br />
I think I've been stuck on hover-mode recently.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEr3qH0WnREi5RQXdcFHlKkyvyGJ5w7l5U03EgGw7Gb4k6YTEafzwE0YUBFXGXownbhoNQyl37ms1SWZP2cUxbWSLQNBowmUlHTyHFYxXnJmCnPV445TcmvEr35E-RcIL83fQy/s1600/female-broadtail-flight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEr3qH0WnREi5RQXdcFHlKkyvyGJ5w7l5U03EgGw7Gb4k6YTEafzwE0YUBFXGXownbhoNQyl37ms1SWZP2cUxbWSLQNBowmUlHTyHFYxXnJmCnPV445TcmvEr35E-RcIL83fQy/s320/female-broadtail-flight.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Neither moving forward, nor backward. Stuck somewhere in the middle. I am not certain if I should go back to school or just get some job somewhere or the other to just make some cash. School clothes don't buy themselves, after all. If I do go back to school, what am I going for? What do I want to do? The age old question of "What do I want to be when I grow up?" is stuck reverberating around in my head. Again.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
---- </div>
<br />
In the time it took me to get back to this post, all three children are well started into the school year. The twins are some of the youngest in their class, since they made the cut-off by three days this wasn't a big surprise to me. The fact that there are only 3 other kids right around their age <i>did</i> surprise me. Caitlin, our middle schooler, is having a great time. She now has to ride her bike ever-so-slightly downhill all the way to school and has done it willingly, compared to being completely unwilling to ride all the way <i>uphill</i> to elementary school. In her defense, it's a pretty hefty hill going up, but meh! She's OK now. Also, we're trying to turn her into Sporty Spice by signing her up for all manner of 4 and 6 week sports classes.<br />
<br />
It's pretty amazing, actually. She leaves just after 8 am and doesn't get home until 5 pm. So far she's tried out volleyball, but that ends this week and then next week it's tennis! We're going to keep on throwing different sport "opportunities" at her until one sticks, dang it! We're also looking at signing her back up in skating lessons, since she really seemed to like those. The twins have <i>also</i> expressed an interest in learning how to skate after watching Caitlin do a performance, so that will be something new this fall.<br />
<br />
All of this change is pretty exciting, actually.<br />
<br />
The twins have scooter bikes without pedals that they were kind of iffy about, but over the course of the summer they've really taken to them. Now that they're in school, we have them ride their bikes home every day. They're at the point where they're able to glide and balance, so it's just a matter of time (<i>Possibly even this weekend.</i>) before we try them out on pedal bikes! They are loving being in kindergarten, love their teacher and classmates and are really enjoying the whole going to school process. I love all of the quiet that comes after dropping them off. I feel like I am regaining braincells and can occasionally maintain an entire thought process for minutes at a time!<br />
<br />
I immediately started on a painting project in the basement that I then turned into a construction project for Eric. I'm awesome that way, you see. The Diderot Effect. I has it. It's just that after I had pulled all of the stuff out of the library/ex-plant nursery/out-of-sight-room-filled-with-crap and painted the walls, the giant purple paint stain on the 10 year old carpet was <i>really</i> bothersome. Since I'm turning it into a library/guestroom in an effort to lure friends and family members out to come see me, it only makes sense to replace the carpet with nice, new laminate flooring. Eric grudgingly agreed, so now we're at the demolition stage. How quickly I can go from a "quick" paint job to full on remodel I'll never quite understand, but apparently that's how I roll.<br />
<br />
After he's done and we've pulled the room back together again, I'll post some pictures. Unfortunately, I don't have <i>true</i> Before and After photos because I didn't take any pictures of just what it looked like before I had cleared it out prior to my friend Val's visit. Oh, it was an eyesore. Instead, I have pics of what it looked like before I painted and removed the 17 year old bookshelves out. It should be pretty spiff when I'm done. Also, the books will be alphabetized again. Pet peeve. Gah!<br />
<br />
Somewhere in here I'll start to seriously think about my future. Perhaps there's a book waiting inside me quietly trying to make its way out. Perhaps there are photos that need capturing. I <i>know</i> my garden needs serious attention after I ignored it all summer. Those 100+ degree days weren't my idea of gardening weather, so there's a lot of weedy neglect happening. Also, the front and back yards need a little more plant editing. As the summer finally cools off, I'll be out there again, ripping and shredding and revamping my beds.<br />
<br />
I just wish I had as clear a plan for my own future as I do for the assorted rooms in my house. Ah well. I guess I'll just wait for my brain and creativity to wake back up and then I'll see.<br />
<br />
Yup. I'll see.Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-67794523021200775872012-08-17T21:25:00.000-06:002012-08-18T09:49:29.471-06:00The Start of a New School Year - for EVERYONEIt just so happens that we start the school year early, here in Colorado. While Eastern states wait until after Labor Day, we like to get our chilluns back in the trenches in the middle of August.<br />
<br />
So when Monday of this week rolled around, we went school shopping and bought <i><b>three sets</b></i> of school supplies. On Tuesday, we took the <i><b>twins</b></i> up to meet their new <i><b>kindergarten teacher</b></i>. On Wednesday, we took Caitlin to her new <i><b>middle school</b> </i>(<i>Which she loves!</i>)<b>.</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRo6vEy08rTVeXBQptZHZGpP_aE94P2dqAPsT_0DvkIJzbo9tN6g3-qGTe1vNgjM6RopKoFKPMtaxHYurlSzoQnB0lAhnb8lX0h2ZElj18KHT3JE-wDwjGw4nW2WkHaaFbMKA-/s1600/Caitlingoestomiddleschool-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRo6vEy08rTVeXBQptZHZGpP_aE94P2dqAPsT_0DvkIJzbo9tN6g3-qGTe1vNgjM6RopKoFKPMtaxHYurlSzoQnB0lAhnb8lX0h2ZElj18KHT3JE-wDwjGw4nW2WkHaaFbMKA-/s320/Caitlingoestomiddleschool-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>She's so BIG!</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LT_6ygQ2KjDgSbHwhRjkx1TGvnTRk97qsRUHd6bOZ_8iBMxNYdLQ2_HG_1vcTTHJETolnE7VCfcbUei0q3X0rvyInF0HJUMsY2iYCX1pmtTlnZKIEWPtUdV20UycwpEAiYsc/s1600/middleschooler-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LT_6ygQ2KjDgSbHwhRjkx1TGvnTRk97qsRUHd6bOZ_8iBMxNYdLQ2_HG_1vcTTHJETolnE7VCfcbUei0q3X0rvyInF0HJUMsY2iYCX1pmtTlnZKIEWPtUdV20UycwpEAiYsc/s320/middleschooler-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And only <b>slightly</b> terrified.</i></div>
<br />
At the end of the day, we even picked her back up again. We're good parents that way.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrnSm-4QKEtrYM2EHMBUEpwtSBPr0tfGGz4tMn3yory1yn4SV5QhkHUiXdPps17JoYRrvlsztjlBkRY2oYOCDiJzR3nbMQoK-VUUS7CxkDpvi5-UpRxvup_XJ8AmfJK3WM61Pw/s1600/runtome-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrnSm-4QKEtrYM2EHMBUEpwtSBPr0tfGGz4tMn3yory1yn4SV5QhkHUiXdPps17JoYRrvlsztjlBkRY2oYOCDiJzR3nbMQoK-VUUS7CxkDpvi5-UpRxvup_XJ8AmfJK3WM61Pw/s320/runtome-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
And took the twins up for an assessment at their new elementary school, while Caitlin was being educated. On Thursday, Caitlin rode her bike to school on her own.<br />
<br />
And on Friday...<br />
<br />
I'm in love.*<br />
<br />
With kindergarten.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rN9KBktj492PycMXOzklfyKvdIZ9mSfuSxsH72WDyoB8S73JW6BnxatQr_CjPPdmZCfCcRysf6BmxwI2jbFa-h9-hfNYjENeZfpYJZx-iDqB2y7deq4BLASa9wmEUo2A4Ymy/s1600/TwinsFirstDayofSchool-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rN9KBktj492PycMXOzklfyKvdIZ9mSfuSxsH72WDyoB8S73JW6BnxatQr_CjPPdmZCfCcRysf6BmxwI2jbFa-h9-hfNYjENeZfpYJZx-iDqB2y7deq4BLASa9wmEUo2A4Ymy/s320/TwinsFirstDayofSchool-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
When you make the cut-off date for kindergarten by<span style="font-size: large;"><b> three whole days</b></span>, chances are really good that you're going to be the youngest and shortest kids in the class. That's OK, though, because they've got each other. As a matter of fact, they weren't even separated, as I had thought they would be. Maybe it's because they aren't identical?<br />
<br />
Caitlin came with us to see the twins off, since <i><b>middle school</b></i> (<i>I'm still not over the concept yet.</i>) doesn't start until later in the morning. It was pretty exciting to have us come full circle with Caitlin here, as the <b>big</b> sister, dropping off the twins on their very first day. When we<a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2006/08/caitlin-goes-to-kindergarden.html" target="_blank"> dropped <i>her</i> off in kindergarten</a>, we had <i><b>no idea</b></i> what was in store for us the very next year. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTj6c-kr05a1vS4n808USoGjjCoUm_q5Tydbuemi34Ysc3fv0Lc1nWCri-n48g8uK-zOSBimiLqqtN1lsxnILXEXkw9fBazJTFFXdeffnN-ojd87F_Q-6yYQqmMW4QABLtzVYX/s1600/EricandSchoolAgeKids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTj6c-kr05a1vS4n808USoGjjCoUm_q5Tydbuemi34Ysc3fv0Lc1nWCri-n48g8uK-zOSBimiLqqtN1lsxnILXEXkw9fBazJTFFXdeffnN-ojd87F_Q-6yYQqmMW4QABLtzVYX/s320/EricandSchoolAgeKids.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Logan blinked or made weird faces all through my shots. Sigh.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZPuic9kQIAKSRoBuc9gUz_9_agfAViE29Y3oe0NdbXy1zcIuQzzQT0iBlda8SdPvbcXOXHGL3eYqd_BR71cHH7ctX5KnmWnyAMLc5qjCERfN6Shyphenhyphen85kY8b3AuT7H3-7fGvRhi/s1600/Liningupforclass-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZPuic9kQIAKSRoBuc9gUz_9_agfAViE29Y3oe0NdbXy1zcIuQzzQT0iBlda8SdPvbcXOXHGL3eYqd_BR71cHH7ctX5KnmWnyAMLc5qjCERfN6Shyphenhyphen85kY8b3AuT7H3-7fGvRhi/s320/Liningupforclass-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Lining up to go inside, Logan turned back to me and told me he loved me in the one piece of sign language he knows. Yeah, that's mah boy.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj999vglixOcppN59RRifBfLgH8fxIp5P__YAc8bdl2__jGEnpOFaq0o8LOkyApYgnPR1H6sUi2qg4lKBTLyikF3MeFyUDiseY3G7_XDr1fZ0CMJfEycj0dUl6WIfwttFGWo1Uz/s1600/LoganLovesMe-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj999vglixOcppN59RRifBfLgH8fxIp5P__YAc8bdl2__jGEnpOFaq0o8LOkyApYgnPR1H6sUi2qg4lKBTLyikF3MeFyUDiseY3G7_XDr1fZ0CMJfEycj0dUl6WIfwttFGWo1Uz/s320/LoganLovesMe-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>No, I didn't cry, but I do admit to a heart clenching moment when he did this. Verklempt. So sweet!</i></div>
<br />
After they walked inside, we dropped Caitlin off at school<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbTN7Acs6FQVcygb9RkhCqPnkSiSNNyE2qsMKj4RfQu12iOA1_E9-NKg5iJEEJ4xbYCdhKF4ssvbs5_blHdX_4MkuZ6VB1kVA1FBv3p-pO56oLMDT4Y1phOvDDA5CRY8vs5v92/s1600/Caitlin-hat-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbTN7Acs6FQVcygb9RkhCqPnkSiSNNyE2qsMKj4RfQu12iOA1_E9-NKg5iJEEJ4xbYCdhKF4ssvbs5_blHdX_4MkuZ6VB1kVA1FBv3p-pO56oLMDT4Y1phOvDDA5CRY8vs5v92/s320/Caitlin-hat-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Apparently Fridays are "Crazy Hat Day". At least, that's what she <b>said</b>. </i></div>
<br />
and ran away for a triumphant celebratory breakfast with our friend, B.<br />
<br />
All.<br />
<br />
By.<br />
<br />
Ourselves.<br />
<br />
And it was good.<br />
<br />
I was reminded by a friend that I also needed to <i><b>pick them up</b></i> and that I didn't just get to leave them at school until another 6 years had passed. Since I figured that was <i>probably</i> true <strike><i>and that the phone calls would get annoying before the day was out</i></strike> we went to go pick them up by the end of the school day. <i><b>Six whole hours later.</b></i> <br />
<br />
Six years from now, I'm going to be amazed just how small they are right here, in this shot.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjItQIBIjY_wzPeDQnWqn_rJqyvgm8fAAOZHe7eZEIDjLkJ745IY1ff72CjEn3SuRAgS-jf9EUuGm2GqIuXR32XYG_v_84pjo_zuLQCWAM2i-bfVAD57-Dkds9p4fI1dfrO_H2r/s1600/Loganpointsmeout-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjItQIBIjY_wzPeDQnWqn_rJqyvgm8fAAOZHe7eZEIDjLkJ745IY1ff72CjEn3SuRAgS-jf9EUuGm2GqIuXR32XYG_v_84pjo_zuLQCWAM2i-bfVAD57-Dkds9p4fI1dfrO_H2r/s320/Loganpointsmeout-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Those ones! Over there! THEY DID THIS TO ME! Logan points out the Parental Units in a very accusatory way.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvXgNN5j5MUldRF4TmDqejfHdFOD3O6sPRRVvtQPcF8IlEzcsv-K2tvu66TUlewZRuC2OSIgYrpxQuwoqlwUGWQbxvVnChc8U5HIXz3FF87nKGDQS4nVbGESiTfdHncXWFi4_X/s1600/Daddyhugs-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvXgNN5j5MUldRF4TmDqejfHdFOD3O6sPRRVvtQPcF8IlEzcsv-K2tvu66TUlewZRuC2OSIgYrpxQuwoqlwUGWQbxvVnChc8U5HIXz3FF87nKGDQS4nVbGESiTfdHncXWFi4_X/s320/Daddyhugs-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Daddy gets First Hugs, whilst Mommy photographs The Moment.</i></div>
<br />
After Eric snagged all of the initial hugs, Logan ran over to me with intent eyes and gave me big hugs and squeezes and kisses. He's pretty darned cute, so I let him. Emma did too, but I can't shoot and hug and kiss all at the same time. I know, I need more arms.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi811H94Ulwdzvm3NMUhMM_aTv2NBTg5wDk2hgLQsKPFi3muymVeJz9kFO0B5dP52-3L4QUqGVU6WnAOPVm_nnXxNU2YvH35zh1DIhZHEZAgo6z8XJ8aYlRC7AKwh88TqQMBM_n/s1600/Loganreturns-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi811H94Ulwdzvm3NMUhMM_aTv2NBTg5wDk2hgLQsKPFi3muymVeJz9kFO0B5dP52-3L4QUqGVU6WnAOPVm_nnXxNU2YvH35zh1DIhZHEZAgo6z8XJ8aYlRC7AKwh88TqQMBM_n/s320/Loganreturns-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Cominagetcha!**</i></div>
<br />
Both of them were in a <i>great</i> mood and started telling us about their day while I tried to get a few more cute kindergartener pictures in. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNgPAI9ULmhNJOpw0lP3wqJHE0u7rvDmWDkigS3J8DL_P6U1_fdyeRO3AknfNDhuOJEkgVn9NVurOrKXO_Jh8AXMf7IIPz-CkzZxpIW9djCzSZbuQjhIH-DSxwdyiDAQX_ksGR/s1600/Emma-afterschool-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNgPAI9ULmhNJOpw0lP3wqJHE0u7rvDmWDkigS3J8DL_P6U1_fdyeRO3AknfNDhuOJEkgVn9NVurOrKXO_Jh8AXMf7IIPz-CkzZxpIW9djCzSZbuQjhIH-DSxwdyiDAQX_ksGR/s320/Emma-afterschool-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Emma.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDtdi-Hfs3uJBcxQ5sDappdq6cWScZIL_CZhIfZu1boTCrf47KLLhWXshAAwUpkJfkUqYKWWAWGo2ZsJxe8EMVmil2jwp86J1vBpluBKUaSfeo6EgkknwxnWSXJ8fHGvzVG3AL/s1600/Loganafterschool-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDtdi-Hfs3uJBcxQ5sDappdq6cWScZIL_CZhIfZu1boTCrf47KLLhWXshAAwUpkJfkUqYKWWAWGo2ZsJxe8EMVmil2jwp86J1vBpluBKUaSfeo6EgkknwxnWSXJ8fHGvzVG3AL/s320/Loganafterschool-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Logan.</i></div>
<br />
Yeah, I'm in love with Friday. <i><b>And</b></i> with all of these school age children!<br />
<br />
Wow! We survived! Um...now what do I do with all of this <i><b>free time</b></i>? Guess I'll have to write about it. On Monday. Or Tuesday, since Monday the twins don't have school, but they do on <b>Tuesday</b>! Squeeee!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
* <i>Yes, I'm a child of the 80's and here's the music video, because I know it's now stuck in your head, too.</i><br />
<br />
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/wa2nLEhUcZ0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
<br /><br /><br />
** <i>Just in case you need a second song to get the first song out of your head.
</i><iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/xII8vQvSUkw" width="560"></iframe>Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-44926874566161761682012-07-12T13:25:00.000-06:002012-07-12T16:20:22.849-06:00So you say you want to get in shape...but you're not exactly sure how to start. You've tried before, but
failed and are currently convinced that your body is magic and just
won't lose the weight.<br />
<br />
I'm here to tell you, with some assistance from the internet, that you're wrong. <br />
<br />
Your
body is <b>NOT</b> magic. You <b>CAN</b> lose weight. You <b>WILL</b> lose weight. If you
<b>WANT</b> to do it and are willing to put in the time and effort to do so.<br />
<br />
The short version of this whole post is this (roughly in order, but that's up to you): <br />
<ul>
<li>Be honest with yourself.</li>
<li>Set reasonable goals.</li>
<li>Take pictures of yourself <i>right now</i>, in your skivvies and save it for later. You'll be glad you have that when you're setting up your "after" picture.</li>
<li>Measure yourself (<i>e.g. chest, waist, hip, thigh, upper arm</i>). Track how those numbers change over time.</li>
<li>Weigh yourself, but take what the scale says with a grain of salt and only <b>track</b> your weight weekly. </li>
<li>Count (and track!) your calories.</li>
<li>Weigh your food.</li>
<li>Drink lots of water. No, more than that, <i><b>lots</b></i> of water.</li>
<li>Sleep. </li>
<li>Layer in exercise after you've gotten the hang of tracking your food intake.</li>
<li>Give your body time to rest between workouts.</li>
<li>Weight training is <i><b>fantastic</b></i> for both men <i>and</i> women. (<i>Forget
terms like "tone".</i>) </li>
<li><i>Updated to add: </i>My friend S (<i>She of <a href="http://redflashlight.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Red Flashlight</a></i>) reminded me that it's also great to get support from your friends and family on your weight loss journey. More thoughts on that way down below.</li>
</ul>
<br />
Don't bother reading magazines that suggest you can get "bikini ready" in 6 weeks. Skip any
magazine that tells you that you can lose X pounds in Y time period, and
oh! here's the latest recipe for this great summer time dessert! All of
those folks just want to sell you crap. Mostly the concept that you
suck and that you need to be skinny and yet eat all of these yummy, well
photographed convenience foods.<br />
<br />
Weight
loss is about calories in vs. calories out. The hardest part is being
honest with yourself and properly tracking your food intake. Get
yourself a <b>kitchen scale</b> and sign up for <a href="http://myfitnesspal.com/">myfitnesspal.com</a> - a calorie
tracking website where you can log what you eat, track your measurements
and progress.<br />
<br />
"There is an inflexible law of physics —
energy taken in must exactly equal the number of calories leaving the
system when fat storage is unchanged. Calories leave the system when
food is used to fuel the body. To lower fat content — reduce obesity —
one must reduce calories taken in, or increase the output by increasing
activity, or both."<br />
-- <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/10/health/nutrition/q-and-a-are-high-protein-low-carb-diets-effective.html?_r=1">http://www.nytimes.com/2012/07/10/health/nutrition/q-and-a-are-high-protein-low-carb-diets-effective.html?_r=1</a><br />
<br />
<b>Weigh
your food.</b> Eyeballing whether that chicken breast is 4 oz or 6 oz is
not going to cut it. Start your diet by first tracking all the things
you are currently eating <i><b>this week</b></i>. Note that you are the only one
looking at this information and that if you lie to yourself about the
data, you are not going to have significant progress in weight loss. The
first step is to tell yourself the truth. After you've documented your <i><b>actual</b></i> intake for a week, I bet you can look right at the list of food
you're eating and immediately know which kinds of foods to cut out. <br />
<br />
Just in case you don't know, here are my suggestions:<br />
<ol>
<li>Any liquid calories other than water, coffee or tea (<i>I only leave those latter pair in because I know how hard it is to give up caffeine in our daily lives</i>).</li>
<li>Candy.</li>
<li>Snack size anything other than vegetables.</li>
<li>Fast food.</li>
<li>Food ridiculously high in sodium.</li>
<li>Daily desserts.</li>
<li>Any food you eat that you justify as you "deserve" to have it, you've "earned it" or "you only live once". No one is trying to take anything from you. Remember that <i>you</i> have made the decision to lose weight. Thoughts that keep you focussed on food you're weak towards will only drag you down. Also, keep in mind that dieting is meant to be temporary. What is meant to be permanent is your relationship to food and the knowledge that <i><b>you are what you eat</b></i> means the difference between being healthy or unhealthy.</li>
</ol>
<br />
Over 1/3rd of the American population is obese. Houston, we clearly have a problem here. -- <a href="http://www.cdc.gov/obesity/data/adult.html/">http://www.cdc.gov/obesity/data/adult.html/</a><br />
<br />
Once you've started tracking, cut out the "<a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/low-hanging+fruit">low hanging fruit</a>", it will be time to have a look at the rest of your diet. Is it primarily made up of convenience foods? Guess what? That kind of food, while fast to make, isn't good for you in the long run. Have a look at the ingredient list. Do you recognize those ingredients as food? It's time to <b>eat real food</b> again and it will take effort. It's up to you to decide how much effort you want to put into making food for your daily meals, but remember that you will pay for your choice with your health.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://michaelpollan.com/articles-archive/unhappy-meals/">http://michaelpollan.com/articles-archive/unhappy-meals/</a><br />
<br />
OK, so you've got your food under control, but you're desperate to lose weight so you're thinking you can lose 2 lbs or more a week if you starve yourself. Don't do it. My Fitness Pal will make suggestions, you get to choose how fast or slow you want to lose the weight and set your calories appropriately, but I'll tell you right now that if you're eating well in excess of 2500 or more calories per day, if you suddenly try to cut it all down to 1200 calories per day you're going to <i><b>hate</b></i> your life. And then you'll fail at weight loss <i>again</i>. Instead, consider trying to lose 1 lb a week. That's 3500 calories you would need to cut out of a week's worth of food - 500 calories a day. Want 2 lbs? OK, but that's 1000 calories, on average, every day. <b>Set a reasonable weight loss rate</b> as your goal that you can handle and stick to it. <br />
<br />
You didn't gain all this weight in a month, you surely won't <i>lose</i> it in a month. It may take you <i>years</i> to lose it, if you have a significant amount of weight to lose. That's OK, though, because you're in this for the long haul. This is the only body you get and the sooner you stop taking it for granted, the sooner you will get healthier.<br />
<br />
<b>Take pictures of yourself, right now, just as you are today.</b> Do it in your skivvies, or your bathing suit or your workout gear. That photo is the <i>truth</i> about what you currently weigh and what you currently look like. No matter what you may <i><b>think</b></i> you weigh, that picture is the actuality of it. You don't have to show it to anyone, but you do have to face up to it. It can be your motivation. It will be your "before" photo. Trust me, you'll appreciate it in a few months as you progress.<br />
<br />
<b>Take your measurements.</b> Get a tape measure and note your chest, waist, hip, thigh and upper arm measurements. As you progress in weight loss, you may reach a point where you think nothing is happening if the needle on the scale isn't budging. It's very likely, though, that you are going through a period of body recomposition and are losing <i>inches</i> but not pounds. This is much more important to pay attention to than your weight on the scale.<br />
<br />
<b>Weigh yourself.</b> Jot that starting number down. You can weigh yourself daily or weekly or monthly, but remember that your weight will fluctuate wildly depending on the amount of water you're currently retaining, what time of day you weigh yourself, whether you had a big meal late at night or any number of other reasons. I recommend weighing yourself first thing in the morning, but only tracking your weight once a week. Do not freak out when the number on the scale remains the same. That would be a great time to check your measurements again. Your body is an amazing instrument but all a scale can actually tell you is the effect of gravity upon your mass. That's it. It doesn't know the difference between the fat you or the more muscled you. Don't panic.<br />
<br />
Thoughts on the scale from MFP: <a href="http://www.myfitnesspal.com/blog/BruteSquad/view/the-scale-281137">http://www.myfitnesspal.com/blog/BruteSquad/view/the-scale-281137</a><br />
<br />
Paper towel theory of weight loss. A great analogy. <a href="http://www.healthyweightforum.org/eng/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=16540">http://www.healthyweightforum.org/eng/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=16540</a><br />
<br />
<b>Drink lots of water.</b> No, more like <i><b>lots</b></i> of water. Eight <i><b>or more</b></i> glasses per day. First off, it will help to stave off feelings of hunger and will <a href="http://www.webmd.com/diet/news/20100823/water-may-be-a-secret-weapon-in-weight-loss" target="_blank">assist in weight loss</a>. Often we don't drink as much as we should and it leads to snacking. It also helps to flush your bodies waste products. It's good for you and it's free. Squeeze a little lemon or lime in there if you want. Drink up!<br />
<br />
<b>Get some sleep.</b> If you're sleeping, you're not eating and your body has a chance to rebuild and repair your cells as well as <a href="http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2010/10/101004211637.htm" target="_blank">burn more fat</a>.<br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<b>Get active.</b> I left this for last since this is the section I could rant on and on about, but honestly, if you aren't controlling your diet you can exercise all you want but <a href="http://www.nerdfitness.com/blog/2009/07/15/you-cant-outrun-your-fork/" target="_blank">you can never outrun your fork</a>. Don't try to diet, run <i>and</i> lift weights all at the same time. You will get frustrated and quit. Layer in additional levels of exercise after you've gotten in the habit of putting down your fork and saying no to all of those tempting snack foods. There are a ton of sites out there that recommend doing this or that for losing weight. At the end of the day, it's all about controlling your intake and <i>then</i> getting a move on.<br />
<br />
Start by walking. It's free and you already know how to do it. Track your mileage, speed and route with <a href="http://runkeeper.com/" target="_blank">Runkeeper</a> or any similar running program. If you're a goofy geek like me, join <a href="http://www.fitocracy.com/" target="_blank">Fitocracy</a> and sync your Runkeeper to your fitocracy account and get points just like a character in a video game. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />
Fitocracy is the game you play to improve your fitness. Track your progress, compete
against your friends, and get real world results. It’s time to be fitter and look better naked.</blockquote>
<br />
Also, what could be more fun than leveling up, running fitness quests and making new friends online? Getting fit, that's what!<br />
<br />
If you're feeling like you want a challenge, get off the couch and start running. The <a href="http://www.c25k.com/" target="_blank">Couch to 5K</a> program may be just what you need to move your weight loss along. Also, cardio is the first rule of <a href="http://www.zombielandrules.com/all-zombieland-rules/" target="_blank">Zombieland</a>. It also helps you to keep up with your kids or pets or catch that bus. Very useful.<br />
<br />
<b>Weight training is awesome</b> and filled with win. I highly recommend <a href="http://startingstrength.wikia.com/wiki/Starting_Strength_Wiki" target="_blank">Starting Strength</a> and have heard good things about <a href="http://www.marklauren.com/20-minute-workouts.html" target="_blank">You Are Your Own Gym</a>, <a href="http://www.thenewrulesoflifting.com/nrol-for-women" target="_blank">The New Rules of Lifting for Women</a> and <a href="http://stronglifts.com/stronglifts-5x5-beginner-strength-training-program/" target="_blank">Strong Lifts</a>. You will not get "bulky" if you're a woman. That's just utter crap. Also, how many times in your life have you ever wished you were weaker? Here's a great <a href="http://gubernatrix.co.uk/2009/02/the-toning-problem-why-women-are-missing-out-when-it-comes-to-weight-training/" target="_blank">article on the myth of toning</a>. There are so many fantastic resources out there related to getting fit, I can't possibly list them all. There's also an even larger helping of crap and lies. For a really great overall site, with a fun writing style, have a look at <a href="http://www.nerdfitness.com/blog/" target="_blank">Nerd Fitness</a>. He's awesome and so is <a href="http://www.nerdfitness.com/blog/2011/07/21/meet-staci-your-new-powerlifting-super-hero/" target="_blank">Staci</a> who shows us how it's done.<br />
<br />
<b>Get support from friends and family members.</b> You know what else is great about losing weight? Doing it with someone else. Someone you can suffer with, share the highs and lows with, and with whom you can trade ideas or provide feedback on your weightloss journey. (<i>"Honey, that 170lb squat makes your <strike>ass</strike> legs look fan<b>tas</b>tic!</i>") It also makes it a <i>lot</i> easier to get into the gym if there's someone else who you, out of the goodness of your heart of course, have to ensure makes it to the gym. They <i>need</i> you to get them going. Sometimes it's easier if we play head games on ourselves, to keep going even when your motivation is low. <a href="http://www.healthywomen.org/content/article/get-motivated-workout-you-wont-cancel?context=ages-and-stages/5&context_title=&context_description=" target="_blank">Having someone else to depend on and who is depending on you is fantastic.</a><br />
<br />
That being said, there will be plenty of friends or family members that will <i>not</i> like you getting in shape. That, however, is a topic big enough for a whole other post. It's incredibly important for <i><b>you</b></i> to be self motivated when it comes to weight loss since <i><b>you</b></i> are the only one putting the fork in your mouth. It's also why you may note that <a href="http://fitocracy.com/">fitocracy.com</a> and <a href="http://myfitnesspal.com/">myfitnesspal.com</a> are both social sites. Take advantage of the tremendous number of people - currently strangers - that are willing to give you a fist bump or virtual highfive for any attempt or success you post. Those strangers can turn out to be great fitness friends if you let them!<br />
<br />
So you want to be in shape? Get up and get going. You can do it. Have a look at <a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/loseit" target="_blank">reddit's Lose It</a> to see thousands of ordinary people, just like you and me, who are losing weight and talking about it. There's no magic. No way around it but hard work and sticktoitiveness.<br />
<br />
<i><b>You can do it.</b></i>Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-83914913887551721232012-05-28T00:53:00.000-06:002012-05-28T01:03:56.831-06:00Adventures on the Colorado PrairieIn early May, my girlfriend Misty asked me to run away with her for the weekend, go camping, and fix barbed wire fences.<br />
<br />
Of course I <i><b>had</b></i> to say yes. Who would refuse such an invitation?! Run off to the middle of no where in South East Colorado? Volunteer to spend 2 1/2 days exposed to the sun, wind, stars and possibly rattlesnakes? Sleep on the ground, grungy and unwashed? Develop calluses and play tetanus tag?<br />
<br />
OMG! YES!<br />
<br />
She had volunteered to go fix fences for an organization she is a part of and suddenly thought of who else she knew that might be interested in going with her when she realized that I was the perfect <i><strike>sucker</strike></i> friend to ask. It took me all of 2 minutes to think it over and after verifying that Eric would be okay with being abandoned with the mini horde, I joyfully called her back and gushed, "<i>Yes!</i>"<br />
<br />
We began the trip on a bright and sunny Friday afternoon, went grocery shopping to ensure that we'd have the bare minimum of food in case the folks we'd be hanging out with were only supplying food filled with Misty-poison (<i>Gluten)</i>. After gathering supplies and many gallons of water, we headed East on our new adventure.<br />
<br />
Alone.<br />
<br />
Together.<br />
<br />
Without the <i>children</i>.<br />
<br />
Without the <i>husbands</i>.<br />
<br />
Without any need to be anywhere but exactly where we were: together and driving off into the distance, laughing and talking and talking and giggling and being terribly rude, crude and silly just as we pleased.<br />
<br />
Without <i>interruption</i>. For <i><b>six hours</b></i>.<br />
<br />
If you have children, you know how incredible that experience is - to be all alone and have uninterrupted conversation. To do it with your best friend? Fan-freakin'-tastic! The time just <i><b>flew</b></i>. Even with stopping at two different grocery stores (<i>And having been followed by a fellow shopper from one to the next...Creepy.</i>) and assorted gas stations, becoming temporarily displaced (<i>For the record we were never "lost", just temporarily displaced!</i>) and finally finding our destination, it really only seemed as if we were driving for an hour. Amazing.<br />
<br />
The place we were staying was a buffalo ranch in the middle of<i><b> no where</b></i>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqT7ezR_XBpft5BL6mtRzz5gvMlTGg0NxYMg5t-DshH-As-5qEb04UEwWlZPg06r82F-lnoDOnaFltQm_SKAotwbkhZw4PsASRVVuU53KY_s-P2UFqHIUFO6fsw3bEMdfIBEhD/s1600/Ontheroad-SEColorado-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqT7ezR_XBpft5BL6mtRzz5gvMlTGg0NxYMg5t-DshH-As-5qEb04UEwWlZPg06r82F-lnoDOnaFltQm_SKAotwbkhZw4PsASRVVuU53KY_s-P2UFqHIUFO6fsw3bEMdfIBEhD/s400/Ontheroad-SEColorado-sm.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The road to no where.</i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Click to enlarge the photos. You won't regret it!</i></div>
<br />
We drove down miles and miles of dirt roads that only had numbers and letters. The GPS unit had no idea where we were in the vastness of the Colorado plains. The landscape didn't <i>roll</i> so much as it <i>unfolded</i> before us as we drove mile after mile away from all we knew.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-y4pGg32lJCV0-183PaB7E6iKnevvGeKAGgtW23RkKuAxmxlbEiwHSXxyoRfJx1dSoq3X-X2_u2q8Fg_-yllmKV4V8fqcNSh-ANZ-DceCdw_zXCvYx2ZAGJ3tZenGyFx9KoI/s1600/BisonRanchsm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-y4pGg32lJCV0-183PaB7E6iKnevvGeKAGgtW23RkKuAxmxlbEiwHSXxyoRfJx1dSoq3X-X2_u2q8Fg_-yllmKV4V8fqcNSh-ANZ-DceCdw_zXCvYx2ZAGJ3tZenGyFx9KoI/s320/BisonRanchsm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
After fretting about whether we'd have access to running water and a coffee pot (<i>For Misty, of course. After all, I'm a tea person!</i>), it turned out that there was an entire <i>house </i>on the ranch. However, since we came prepared to camp, we set up our tent off to the side and thanked our lucky stars that we wouldn't have to pee behind a cactus. At night. With coyotes howling in the near distance. In case you're wondering, trees are few and far between out on the plains, while there are plenty of cactus and yucca. Colorado is basically a desert plain with those measly 14" of rain <i>per year</i>, thus no respectable amount of cover for covert urinating.<br />
<br />
You've been warned.<br />
<br />
After getting our sleeping arrangements worked out, we hung about and traded stories with the other weekend volunteers. Gardening stories were exchanged. Volunteering credentials were presented. (<i>"I'm here because of the blonde.</i>") That night, Misty and I stayed up way later than we should have, giggling and thinking about how much we resembled our own daughters at sleepovers. It was the first time <i>we'd</i> ever had one together! Eventually, after staring up into the infinite night sky that bloomed with stars and a radiant moon, we finally slept.<br />
<br />
Then, typical of an early Saturday morning, we woke to the roaring of a lawn mower.<br />
<br />
Outside our tent.<br />
<br />
What the bloody hell?!<br />
<br />
It was our host's way of waking us all up in a...<i>distinctive </i>manner. Well, we <i>did</i> need to wake up early to get the fence repairs done before it got too hot....<br />
<br />
After mental threats of unspecified violence, we organized ourselves, slathered on sunscreen and drove to an unremarkable stretch of land that sported sagging barbed wire fences. There we received fence repair and rattlesnake avoidance instructions.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yubafcuJI-TJMEvWlUa3-ZfPqVhl0_Y1U50GXDRI9erzHhQFm_yi5ZU13a6BNloqH6AOFs66q0OwxyVgm8A16RaPCq1Hvjjtwz2WtniLdwt04aASQn_6aLJXP1XVmIoihty8/s1600/R-fenceinstructions-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yubafcuJI-TJMEvWlUa3-ZfPqVhl0_Y1U50GXDRI9erzHhQFm_yi5ZU13a6BNloqH6AOFs66q0OwxyVgm8A16RaPCq1Hvjjtwz2WtniLdwt04aASQn_6aLJXP1XVmIoihty8/s320/R-fenceinstructions-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
That's right: <i>rattlesnakes</i>.<br />
<br />
For the record, I was utterly disappointed that there were no rattlesnake encounters the entire weekend. We <i>did</i> almost run over a bull snake, but they aren't deadly poisonous and thus are disappointing for near-death-seeking fence repair teams. OK, maybe that was just me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingFvfxG8exfa9MVfh7HXLpw0_zGheDohJMQMyW9aly99e8hUC71E7bLIn2fK1q7ihEhlcUsyAtlnYrdw5nAbr1C4-QyRS3FNlTaRm-CcCwUToEPk2uQnO_korpgCNFz5_wiEH/s1600/bullsnake-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingFvfxG8exfa9MVfh7HXLpw0_zGheDohJMQMyW9aly99e8hUC71E7bLIn2fK1q7ihEhlcUsyAtlnYrdw5nAbr1C4-QyRS3FNlTaRm-CcCwUToEPk2uQnO_korpgCNFz5_wiEH/s320/bullsnake-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>He blends nicely into the background, doesn't he? Watch your step!</i></div>
<br />
Then, tools in hand, our host set us loose on a half mile stretch of sagging fence that needed to be taken down so that it could be repaired, re-stretched and re-attached. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBiXX7UAoErrtQAvH-GFHo6Ok79d7k9iCSdLC3YlczeaIPL6DHKKMlq6GGo9LJq-VdD0aNzvVU9ueUu71CLPvrLpVIlKeG1BovoZ2zEIM3K0A08sFbVJWzK7vPVhu08l4BwnFx/s1600/barbedwire-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBiXX7UAoErrtQAvH-GFHo6Ok79d7k9iCSdLC3YlczeaIPL6DHKKMlq6GGo9LJq-VdD0aNzvVU9ueUu71CLPvrLpVIlKeG1BovoZ2zEIM3K0A08sFbVJWzK7vPVhu08l4BwnFx/s320/barbedwire-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Grab with pliers. Unwrap post clip from wire. Remove mangled clip. Drop wire. Repeat ad nauseum.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMThbCZssom1NZO257jQt_MiJdDBYrg8Li5rMZly0JUk04v5pyjO284YTKdB5uz0tkxzm9BTv6G5M81HFZfzYCpWH1hEdFVy9axxZcTya11o3plZZvsD49r08g_AhSH2cEQDLc/s1600/removingclips-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMThbCZssom1NZO257jQt_MiJdDBYrg8Li5rMZly0JUk04v5pyjO284YTKdB5uz0tkxzm9BTv6G5M81HFZfzYCpWH1hEdFVy9axxZcTya11o3plZZvsD49r08g_AhSH2cEQDLc/s320/removingclips-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Misty shows us how it's done.</i></div>
<br />
The work wasn't <i>hard...</i>repetitive tedious, yes, but made much more fun when chatting with Misty and the other volunteers as we leap-frogged one another down the fence line. Hours later, with hands beginning to cramp and considering blistering, I took advantage of Misty's recent concussion to declare we needed a shaded rest back at the ranch for lunch. It was hot and she was clearly fading, while turning bright red in the sun. The fact that I, too, wanted a break was <i>totally</i> beside the point! (<i>Wink!</i>)<br />
<br />
After lunch, a whole lotta water and a short nap, we returned to the blistering heat of the late afternoon sun and reclipped all the fence we'd unclipped after it was all re-stretched, repaired and ready to go.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBrUOhd4zAx85tE3fmh5sm5HK-k5D9z0c_Kh4E7wdS2hCaLAcd-Nn1ETR4Sz2iDf3HxrbAnKoaaBPkWwDrrAaD6VVNta5MwGLusHlnBfDGbKmfivx-uJv3_wBYwYNCnOp1LyZB/s1600/Misty-dustyroadRRG-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBrUOhd4zAx85tE3fmh5sm5HK-k5D9z0c_Kh4E7wdS2hCaLAcd-Nn1ETR4Sz2iDf3HxrbAnKoaaBPkWwDrrAaD6VVNta5MwGLusHlnBfDGbKmfivx-uJv3_wBYwYNCnOp1LyZB/s320/Misty-dustyroadRRG-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Yes, all of <b>that</b> fence.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
We had a little excitement in the form of cattle from the neighboring ranch that were interested in snacking on the greener grass across the way (<i>The grass really <b>was</b> greener since no grazing was allowed on the conservation land we were working on. It was long and luscious and apparently too tempting to miss for the bovine crowd that snuck in through an opening while we were off having lunch.</i>). Our fearless leader chased them off her land with cowboy-like prowess. That's when I learned that Colorado is what they call a "fence out" state: if you don't want cattle noshing on <i>your</i> land, you put up a fence or deal with the consequences.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimSfJaSIJ8ea__2NJu2I1XU9J6OdyZ8T6iCWTDIrqcKYboACI2TS0_6GurfZj8t1wxneSZODwL40PIpjKYuMPuFs5KeSZalKHfDApVaqNHWNDD4n5jdHXawwWUB_Hw7xonmVyG/s1600/closedsnackbar-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimSfJaSIJ8ea__2NJu2I1XU9J6OdyZ8T6iCWTDIrqcKYboACI2TS0_6GurfZj8t1wxneSZODwL40PIpjKYuMPuFs5KeSZalKHfDApVaqNHWNDD4n5jdHXawwWUB_Hw7xonmVyG/s320/closedsnackbar-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The snack bar is now closed!</i></div>
<br />
Most of the cattle easily crossed the road and hooked up with the rest of the herd, however there was a pair that were dumber than a pair of old boots that took off on their own down the road. Only after watching us repair the fence and then back the car up several hundred feet away from them, did they feel safe enough to come back down the road towards the herd. First, though, they needed to check to see if the snack bar was still open.<br />
<br />
Seriously! One of the two walked to where the opening <i>had</i> been and then looked over at the car in what appeared to be a bovine glare before they finally crossed back onto the neighbor's land and shuffled off to the rest of the buffalo.<br />
<br />
(<i>Sorry, I couldn't resist.</i>)<br />
<br />
That night, we had a full moon. The Super Moon, they said. Unfortunately, my photo doesn't do it justice at all. I blame my lack of previous nighttime photography experience.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqHEsUN7gCYSR7bjdnWQ4xfHnk_bBQxAtcSp4Gg05Zjg2ilhQ1JPdxjN7zIL2ymrHCZ7RrH04HGSuyMM46Blxd99t8dnvAn-21y8qrslkbjUaZntlwSRoWTWficyplTkHCf8WP/s1600/supermoon-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqHEsUN7gCYSR7bjdnWQ4xfHnk_bBQxAtcSp4Gg05Zjg2ilhQ1JPdxjN7zIL2ymrHCZ7RrH04HGSuyMM46Blxd99t8dnvAn-21y8qrslkbjUaZntlwSRoWTWficyplTkHCf8WP/s320/supermoon-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
I can attest to the fact that the night was incredibly <i>bright</i> in a way you can't experience within the city or suburb. Way out on the plains, where there aren't any other houses and light sources for miles and miles, it was huge, bright and stunning. The quiet of the evening wrapped around us; bugs hushed, birds made their last calls to one another, and the soft wind were the only sounds we heard aside from our own breathing.<br />
<br />
That night the clouds rolled in and the wind picked up.<br />
<br />
<i><b>A lot.</b></i><br />
<br />
So much so that it woke me up at 2 am to the sound of the tent flapping around us, and the tree above us creaking as the branches whipped back and forth. The light from the huge moon dispersed behind the thick clouds was so bright I could see everything clearly. I turned to Misty and suggested we might want to move indoors since sleeping under such conditions was impossible while also being somewhat dangerous should the weather get worse. She had to think about it for a bit and suggested that I could go in without her.<br />
<br />
I reminded her that we were in this adventure <i>together </i>and that if <i>she</i> wasn't going to go then <i>I</i> certainly wasn't going without her. After she cogitated a bit more we agreed that we could weigh the tent down with gear from the car and take ourselves in out of the windstorm. For those of you unfamiliar with Colorado, we easily get 100 mph winds <i>without</i> having actual tornadoes tiptoeing over our heads, but being out on the plains it could have easily turned <i>into</i> a tornado. Staying outside just to tough it out just wasn't feasible. Inside we were quietly welcomed by our fearless, cattle chasing, leader. Turns out that we were the last ones to take refuge indoors. Heh!<br />
<br />
The next day, after a few more hours of taking down and clipping back up barbed wire fences, we said our goodbyes and headed back home. This time, since we weren't in a rush to return to family, friends and all of those responsibilities we ran away from on Friday, we took our time and I took a few landscape shots.<br />
<br />
It's been a long time since I've shot anything that wasn't short and related to me or a plant I grew in my own yard. I was worried that I'd lost my mojo. My chops are rusty, it's true, but they still appear to be there.<br />
<br />
I present to you the barren beauty of the plains.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipcLJRmLl6Zq6sbyZTCX-wNYgW5blQgvVlEoaU6-MaN3nIFdJhMEzvDfefGwzUR7LlmcH7Af9FWcm7eSN3tobLLankkp666ATGE9VFr8I1QJG8elIgMJ6cALoWhJCgU1ccJCn8/s1600/SouthEastColorado-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipcLJRmLl6Zq6sbyZTCX-wNYgW5blQgvVlEoaU6-MaN3nIFdJhMEzvDfefGwzUR7LlmcH7Af9FWcm7eSN3tobLLankkp666ATGE9VFr8I1QJG8elIgMJ6cALoWhJCgU1ccJCn8/s400/SouthEastColorado-sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Yes, it's flat. Still not as flat as Kansas.</i> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoVeox0Q6OdF48QlxyPRj7CJO9tsw7s6St3M2JJSaGGJn7AJ1iMrpVsnN6sv4UQ6kezLr46_bWr2p_pYUFU74fjHAU32KaazMqmkNx9pWZnX3YMZ-2L6k7T7svD1K9CkMfaxDi/s1600/Broken-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoVeox0Q6OdF48QlxyPRj7CJO9tsw7s6St3M2JJSaGGJn7AJ1iMrpVsnN6sv4UQ6kezLr46_bWr2p_pYUFU74fjHAU32KaazMqmkNx9pWZnX3YMZ-2L6k7T7svD1K9CkMfaxDi/s400/Broken-sm.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This is the effect that rock gardeners want.</i> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjpYM3p_otExXG5QmuKb0GH7aQ_KShtLkZQo1UpiqCgFcaZyVKYWqIPhDzclOWeUC-BvMnam8grwurYKqJqlsQAcdwlTzvVl49T34QNoHdxauAl4egopnKa4oamxtPuvSlknz2/s1600/FlatPrairieRift-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjpYM3p_otExXG5QmuKb0GH7aQ_KShtLkZQo1UpiqCgFcaZyVKYWqIPhDzclOWeUC-BvMnam8grwurYKqJqlsQAcdwlTzvVl49T34QNoHdxauAl4egopnKa4oamxtPuvSlknz2/s400/FlatPrairieRift-sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>So very flat and mostly featureless.</i> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA6RkuKSNAdDL3z5eKinxt8AkvAH4kaEVQjdGGSE6h4rYi9RQhh1ehnF1fhEyYkmcOHTeUvUAZgncrKFhWkgZ-zozI0jCuc98VO__vfkIPCsowXmyJzJsaLkA9Gpng26Qhh0RR/s1600/Cactus-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA6RkuKSNAdDL3z5eKinxt8AkvAH4kaEVQjdGGSE6h4rYi9RQhh1ehnF1fhEyYkmcOHTeUvUAZgncrKFhWkgZ-zozI0jCuc98VO__vfkIPCsowXmyJzJsaLkA9Gpng26Qhh0RR/s400/Cactus-sm.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Pointy devils. I don't plant cactus in my yard because I just <b>know </b>that I'll fall on it.</i> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij_AclT45Zjj9rMfPRQ_Yk_KAXLLBqZYaOFdRySHvTaAvz_k6VviBeEJWqjeR_SiWpxozLXjGqe1dgrWdHbvwhuKocgNezJvv3ueJUCuPGKVbNg50wFAPt0Jdvxj7W4kKI4dFJ/s1600/LoisLanesCar-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij_AclT45Zjj9rMfPRQ_Yk_KAXLLBqZYaOFdRySHvTaAvz_k6VviBeEJWqjeR_SiWpxozLXjGqe1dgrWdHbvwhuKocgNezJvv3ueJUCuPGKVbNg50wFAPt0Jdvxj7W4kKI4dFJ/s400/LoisLanesCar-sm.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I couldn't <b>not </b>photograph this after it immediately reminded me of Lois Lane's car in Superman. Now <b>you </b>know where it ended up.</i> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlN_cv1OmlB2mbj_xlwfG8zmUGC_m-MWWMY_iXOnC3CsZrPEQT6TW9kNWxuM0Yt-f56RXDfEBoUy0S2T2CaI798S4lCjyfPiRUsizGrLUto-HpGPVfdx54bcwKffIIliIzOEQm/s1600/Ridge-wide-H-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlN_cv1OmlB2mbj_xlwfG8zmUGC_m-MWWMY_iXOnC3CsZrPEQT6TW9kNWxuM0Yt-f56RXDfEBoUy0S2T2CaI798S4lCjyfPiRUsizGrLUto-HpGPVfdx54bcwKffIIliIzOEQm/s400/Ridge-wide-H-sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I love how big the sky is out here in Colorado.</i> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mUROCOOGj4XjhQatGhcBm7UmtOLTzjZBLQJmqvrE2sggwlyuz9xlpbsDp5AuKqBfiTWhRj_ya74NjSvQ73tjt8-aP05wheBRzSAc3DWYQUeaANThQfpLKKi5obmTtSvY62cA/s1600/Mesa-2-H-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mUROCOOGj4XjhQatGhcBm7UmtOLTzjZBLQJmqvrE2sggwlyuz9xlpbsDp5AuKqBfiTWhRj_ya74NjSvQ73tjt8-aP05wheBRzSAc3DWYQUeaANThQfpLKKi5obmTtSvY62cA/s400/Mesa-2-H-sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Mesas and yuccas.</i> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0OshQAjvxGaTI8XCTHnBrAvwgw_rIDZ0Xlu-K32n0J7xLnYQsnsfkuYJLJIdANQrFzjvTMl0h7SC7c2WNGJAbDflw9xKbCouHsi3LkCsAEVO4rd8gDkHMREKY8UJ6S_dubg8/s1600/MesaScrub-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0OshQAjvxGaTI8XCTHnBrAvwgw_rIDZ0Xlu-K32n0J7xLnYQsnsfkuYJLJIdANQrFzjvTMl0h7SC7c2WNGJAbDflw9xKbCouHsi3LkCsAEVO4rd8gDkHMREKY8UJ6S_dubg8/s400/MesaScrub-sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Scrub.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrB_42GvGwhsageqmPZWr_Eckec9WGDLlAcjL9foMcQKlcXCky2pFV-T9YddY0pif04i_EwmRJCxlfp5Mn-t_A6Gz6rPd6IseascFFiRfK1HQBLSWkXzBx6mPmMaSIVozLG1Ea/s1600/Misty-Me-FreshTracks-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrB_42GvGwhsageqmPZWr_Eckec9WGDLlAcjL9foMcQKlcXCky2pFV-T9YddY0pif04i_EwmRJCxlfp5Mn-t_A6Gz6rPd6IseascFFiRfK1HQBLSWkXzBx6mPmMaSIVozLG1Ea/s400/Misty-Me-FreshTracks-sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A quick picture of the intrepid explorers!</i> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgroK2Ea0JhA6jBWlrWd7XE6rolJMheZUk8ZjnP1ihNr7jxmhMaph1tJxOJni_EZ8m-t8up94Cn1BhS55OJzQ2FJPbgLi7bcj02O4ACXeEjRHdfpxay4BU29gIJNT6AWLBjl5/s1600/PrairieScrubTrees-H-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgroK2Ea0JhA6jBWlrWd7XE6rolJMheZUk8ZjnP1ihNr7jxmhMaph1tJxOJni_EZ8m-t8up94Cn1BhS55OJzQ2FJPbgLi7bcj02O4ACXeEjRHdfpxay4BU29gIJNT6AWLBjl5/s400/PrairieScrubTrees-H-sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Turns out that I like my prairie with more trees on it. Go figure.</i> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXd3xgpdQq50idgsPC8crVYwcSxRnkmwwbqaek176EsmQWjEy1s0F04GWYi4U0RTBjK8DWF-6fEy6tPNrxm0UiRmb-vxlsUR0QmzG0-ewGzAYWbM3twizMcg_BTwAIPoHhmwjA/s1600/YuccaFlowers-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXd3xgpdQq50idgsPC8crVYwcSxRnkmwwbqaek176EsmQWjEy1s0F04GWYi4U0RTBjK8DWF-6fEy6tPNrxm0UiRmb-vxlsUR0QmzG0-ewGzAYWbM3twizMcg_BTwAIPoHhmwjA/s400/YuccaFlowers-sm.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Turns out that cattle love yucca flowers like kids love ice cream.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho6iNCMrhTA-wcfzRhQcakLN_vhbMFyCk-wm6uNr2PKtZ8dckKjdal6quUxT3knZoQ1xI7Vs0pu4CRZd7xQKbW105xSEtobGbwx1gpwP_43Gzk6OaGAqELgeolaGWGqL8aI_mO/s1600/PrairieWildFlowers-FreshTracks-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho6iNCMrhTA-wcfzRhQcakLN_vhbMFyCk-wm6uNr2PKtZ8dckKjdal6quUxT3knZoQ1xI7Vs0pu4CRZd7xQKbW105xSEtobGbwx1gpwP_43Gzk6OaGAqELgeolaGWGqL8aI_mO/s400/PrairieWildFlowers-FreshTracks-sm.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Wild flowers on ungrazed land.</i> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdiJzSM1KvnvkPaUEGODqfsmdp9gAWzH89oUDug7s9fdgSNx1vmIdPN_WX3qWA_SJJnQjMLor95fmJPam1hhAvYi8ojDTEOULIZ9Nmn3x6XMnZgJvoRp_DxC4il40Wx6wuT-pd/s1600/RockyScrubwRoad-wide-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdiJzSM1KvnvkPaUEGODqfsmdp9gAWzH89oUDug7s9fdgSNx1vmIdPN_WX3qWA_SJJnQjMLor95fmJPam1hhAvYi8ojDTEOULIZ9Nmn3x6XMnZgJvoRp_DxC4il40Wx6wuT-pd/s400/RockyScrubwRoad-wide-sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>You know you're way out there when you can stand in the middle of the road without fear of cars coming by any time soon.</i> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHKBuP10XQstG7IvgQzqngOdt4YChmrjsUlCaCYpa91FRfJrjrRwFlbRtj6dZBPfC21tYn3H0_t-hoFXOkTiLGna0qcp4MKUDiewURLaTi4YxKrJJAxo0UlcvO8bWte1QjG8-/s1600/ShatteredRock-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBHKBuP10XQstG7IvgQzqngOdt4YChmrjsUlCaCYpa91FRfJrjrRwFlbRtj6dZBPfC21tYn3H0_t-hoFXOkTiLGna0qcp4MKUDiewURLaTi4YxKrJJAxo0UlcvO8bWte1QjG8-/s400/ShatteredRock-sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Giant hammer meets earth. How else did it get broken up that way?</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-aarS9KyqqyTLU7gosy-05_bJvR5vouPT5JpRR2AH9OZONcARf375-FmHOZM07orTTSb3YW8ZXCD9IvhOi-L7ZJ_O4ZNk6q3MWXfa4XC5bOAhSIzDbWWnm9FmLcoUSCo8yLLq/s1600/TreeRockSky-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-aarS9KyqqyTLU7gosy-05_bJvR5vouPT5JpRR2AH9OZONcARf375-FmHOZM07orTTSb3YW8ZXCD9IvhOi-L7ZJ_O4ZNk6q3MWXfa4XC5bOAhSIzDbWWnm9FmLcoUSCo8yLLq/s400/TreeRockSky-sm.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A tree grows alone.</i> </div>
<br />
As we drove home we declared our undying love for one another that we should repeat this adventure <i><b>every </b></i>year. While we won't necessarily repair fences every year, camping alone is definitely a must. Getting away from it all, even when you love all of "it" is a treat when you take one of your favorite people with you. Silly stories, new inside jokes, terrible food, good food, fabulous conversation, and uncertain outcomes are the stuff of a life well lived.<br />
<br />
Even when there aren't any rattlesnake encounters.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCo9XFGvTl-X4unze8AzbFgkvgbMVV4pbg_zSb1pRF3XQ2mJTF2Bo8Gp1MEn942BZx8oKY6s9RBmaolKCHu0-14mdsa-di0i_BQ-V1MTP1VnNsZBWv70eceZ6HVC8BqRM7Ek_/s1600/Misty-Me-GardenoftheGods-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCo9XFGvTl-X4unze8AzbFgkvgbMVV4pbg_zSb1pRF3XQ2mJTF2Bo8Gp1MEn942BZx8oKY6s9RBmaolKCHu0-14mdsa-di0i_BQ-V1MTP1VnNsZBWv70eceZ6HVC8BqRM7Ek_/s400/Misty-Me-GardenoftheGods-sm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/seZMOTGCDag" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
<br />Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-43199836389524312812012-05-25T21:30:00.001-06:002012-05-25T21:31:37.593-06:00Caitlin GraduatesAnother milestone has passed in Caitlin's childhood - she has graduated from elementary school.<br />
<br />
A funny thing about endings and me: apparently I'm a sucker for them. I was ecstatic sending her off to kindergarten 6 years ago and yet immediately ready to cry the day of her graduation.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzyX1T4UW9tj2irem9UzyWcuXPc_WuZ6Fa1gA56ODixgA5niAgfVNN9kN7T7xyM9yQpUMkS_pxhhkGMV6lEs8L7YsYLPO9QjnrwTA_naAwKHwm-NoYnPIVOY2DgHdEW4BgqfvF/s1600/Caitlin-1stday-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzyX1T4UW9tj2irem9UzyWcuXPc_WuZ6Fa1gA56ODixgA5niAgfVNN9kN7T7xyM9yQpUMkS_pxhhkGMV6lEs8L7YsYLPO9QjnrwTA_naAwKHwm-NoYnPIVOY2DgHdEW4BgqfvF/s320/Caitlin-1stday-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
I know that everyone says time flies, and truly it does as you get older, but the proof is startling when you are suddenly faced with key milestones. That 5 year old turned into a 10 year old while I was watching, slowly but surely.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXy0K6iC2bsixZDtegIfYutvPNkrNIrLbGbQcxHo0FBFj-7FjKlZi-Wt79WQbyYBDIlJtcnr4WmZsxDbbweepf62sSokLSO1HSuKjI6-75nJdQi2Ab0R0lj8LPHCm9GePCHJW/s1600/Caitlin-10-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXy0K6iC2bsixZDtegIfYutvPNkrNIrLbGbQcxHo0FBFj-7FjKlZi-Wt79WQbyYBDIlJtcnr4WmZsxDbbweepf62sSokLSO1HSuKjI6-75nJdQi2Ab0R0lj8LPHCm9GePCHJW/s320/Caitlin-10-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
She's the same girl and yet not.<br />
<br />
Tears started welling up in my eyes as soon as I read the opening poem in the program:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Congratulations! Today is your day. You're off to Great Places! You're off and away! You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. You are the guy who'll decide where to go!</i> --Dr. Seuss</blockquote>
It is true that she has brains in her head. I tried to get to them, but apparently I needed to work harder at it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-PwFcb5fPKotDdMDUXUikJTvVbCkqsnRnUx5jBqgWSoWbsLS9k8xKfs0DY6dA-KUzAOzoder6LoucnfGwrG_7GAc9Sl8U8WUryKEcukp6KR1du6y6NAObOMojRb7m8GP4qGvP/s1600/Caitlin-chewing-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-PwFcb5fPKotDdMDUXUikJTvVbCkqsnRnUx5jBqgWSoWbsLS9k8xKfs0DY6dA-KUzAOzoder6LoucnfGwrG_7GAc9Sl8U8WUryKEcukp6KR1du6y6NAObOMojRb7m8GP4qGvP/s320/Caitlin-chewing-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The song they sang after entering the hall, the words from their teachers, walking across the stage, all of it had me verklempt. The best and worst was yet to come, in the form of the video slide show that one of the mother's put together as a memento. Set to music, they had images from picture day from kindergarten morphing into the 5th grade photo. It was a very dramatic change from cherub-like cheeks and smiling eyes to longer faces and serious expressions. My mother-in-law noted that it's a lot harder to get Caitlin to really smile in photos these days, I know all about it. I think it comes from the embarrassment of ever having relatives that want to photograph you...<i><b>ever</b></i>. The happiest and most relaxed photos are when she's with one of her best friends.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRpgIYye_lLRHTX2eDn6ghrJwiWthOmUxYQr1Yh18ceLKzRFBysxf8NqHnIjtGHfQCqMAW03NBFXSbC_n3r2BqQBGOUiSXTp3tukw__JVvkxgT5vfyABTyLiNhSGpyCHS6NrEp/s1600/Balloons-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRpgIYye_lLRHTX2eDn6ghrJwiWthOmUxYQr1Yh18ceLKzRFBysxf8NqHnIjtGHfQCqMAW03NBFXSbC_n3r2BqQBGOUiSXTp3tukw__JVvkxgT5vfyABTyLiNhSGpyCHS6NrEp/s320/Balloons-sm.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80w6fOMtbbB36I9G2kFNrGkJ3osDgwqHJolEPQA4xiUaG-GMzVWRshbRnzXhDqOQqsHb0NPogUy_I_uG4bEoBXBke91XnW5YhznIY_-JJtF78iYbTAH8mAImqaX25zrLgRxhi/s1600/FistBump-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh80w6fOMtbbB36I9G2kFNrGkJ3osDgwqHJolEPQA4xiUaG-GMzVWRshbRnzXhDqOQqsHb0NPogUy_I_uG4bEoBXBke91XnW5YhznIY_-JJtF78iYbTAH8mAImqaX25zrLgRxhi/s320/FistBump-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8vcukdUsNs2LRGODyR4G6drWygY2z4biKNlj8JjNEcBzSpt5-ZuJnNFMRIASTZuFs3Mazc515wOnqMo__uVQxUCzRQ-JuQ026W20Pt8OKlvGVuGLTXkIqEYM5nxwYEWaC2Bf9/s1600/GirlGraduates-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8vcukdUsNs2LRGODyR4G6drWygY2z4biKNlj8JjNEcBzSpt5-ZuJnNFMRIASTZuFs3Mazc515wOnqMo__uVQxUCzRQ-JuQ026W20Pt8OKlvGVuGLTXkIqEYM5nxwYEWaC2Bf9/s320/GirlGraduates-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4I55cTc_AvjM7p1dydFZ_6BADthW6dyweToOr7jYoppakBS_02mNnGUWxnEtNOMvRtXuKgyZhUcwf7MesyHeBLSYBWlz8MH9OMyNjueLNW6FdPrlsVb4h1Ehah1LM8yq8gZE/s1600/GirlsonBarCloser-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4I55cTc_AvjM7p1dydFZ_6BADthW6dyweToOr7jYoppakBS_02mNnGUWxnEtNOMvRtXuKgyZhUcwf7MesyHeBLSYBWlz8MH9OMyNjueLNW6FdPrlsVb4h1Ehah1LM8yq8gZE/s320/GirlsonBarCloser-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Perhaps, like me, she has a height requirement for best friends? "You must be <i>this</i> tall to be my friend." It's not like <i>we're</i> short or anything. <i><b>They</b></i> are just tall! (<i>You girlfriends know who I'm talkin' about!</i>)<br />
<br />
After the ceremony was over and my newly minted graduate was returned to me I squished her hard. I can't keep her from growing up, but I'll try like hell to pay close attention as she does so.<br />
<br />Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-13218718032926876012012-05-11T14:42:00.004-06:002012-05-12T15:32:57.301-06:00In Bloom In the Garden - Early May EditionMy mother and I were talking on the phone yesterday and she told me that she missed my blog. Clearly, I needed to get back to editing photos and writing again if even my mother was concerned! So here I am again, months and months after my last post.<br />
<br />
I don't have a fantastic reason, or a million new stories to share, but I've finally had a couple of adventures and am editing the photos that go with them. Today, after reading a gardening magazine, I realized that I should probably go document what is currently blooming in my yard. I took pictures in April, but still haven't edited those. Perhaps this will get me started!<br />
<br />
I <i>have</i> been gardening fairly constantly since the temperatures warmed up to 70 degrees in mid-March. I ripped out the majority of the plants in the Bees Below Your Knees garden and replaced them with blue and orange flowering plants and a few Blue Fescue grasses. The crazy floppiness of the 'Blue Hills' sage and the rampant wildness of the Keys of Heaven were making me feel a little twitchy. Also, I had a burning desire to see the California fuchsia's bright orange blooming near some cool blue, and started thinking of what else I could put in that 21' L x 3' W space that would look coordinated and low maintenance.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLRiP1LElI0AVR8h8bQtZnm7mEd7KpnyNpp0VeYg6tiR4HxRQ0EC8azazsm8fzXLnBJhfobKnGHZfxr2NAmW4KhLmatKTKMMsuAIQSUuXjr4wrWjVIKmI1kPy2bgdsFWJ0cKe/s1600/BeesBelowYourKnees041312-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLRiP1LElI0AVR8h8bQtZnm7mEd7KpnyNpp0VeYg6tiR4HxRQ0EC8azazsm8fzXLnBJhfobKnGHZfxr2NAmW4KhLmatKTKMMsuAIQSUuXjr4wrWjVIKmI1kPy2bgdsFWJ0cKe/s320/BeesBelowYourKnees041312-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Bees Below Your Knees, now in orange, yellow, blue and purple (Not that you can tell from this picture...)! April 13th, 2012</i> </div>
<br />
If you click to enlarge, you'll see lavendar, knautia macedonia, California fuchsia, Johnny Jump Ups, Blue Fescue, Phlox subulata, 'Walker's Low' catmint, columbine, prairie tickseed, 'Rocky Mountain Blue' penstemon and a few leftover 'Johnson's Blue' geraniums. Considering that I just installed it in March and that the plants were all roughly pulled from locations all over my xeric garden, a good number of these plants are already blooming in May.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMy6wZMeW80ZxvZaOODpaHCrDFOTE_LQ6TjFPtnEt1GAbYwRbzvkXUZPvZEt6k3ayqjuzHytW3wFZJLpp4w-71GxNYtefwIj62FUxkiOSWFJpqAfd9-FTYg273gI-TWrb6lHZc/s1600/BeesBelowYourKnees-051212-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMy6wZMeW80ZxvZaOODpaHCrDFOTE_LQ6TjFPtnEt1GAbYwRbzvkXUZPvZEt6k3ayqjuzHytW3wFZJLpp4w-71GxNYtefwIj62FUxkiOSWFJpqAfd9-FTYg273gI-TWrb6lHZc/s320/BeesBelowYourKnees-051212-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Here is what it looks like a month later, May 12, 2012.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
I went to the Cactus and Succulent Society plant sale in late April and bought a pile of plants for my pots out front and for the deck.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTboSlqHYN_ipI88gaL2bgrusEogndQkg8mp0drfz2dexfA3oSgMsje1PGd4x6FZTaINsYMm1KAzxZW_04F6qI-aaUaOWdMSq3j4yn8VJBS_XgUg_dX4AZp_pC303BCKfJPHx5/s1600/SucculentPots-V-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTboSlqHYN_ipI88gaL2bgrusEogndQkg8mp0drfz2dexfA3oSgMsje1PGd4x6FZTaINsYMm1KAzxZW_04F6qI-aaUaOWdMSq3j4yn8VJBS_XgUg_dX4AZp_pC303BCKfJPHx5/s320/SucculentPots-V-sm.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Click to enlarge the above image</i></div>
<br />
I'm beginning to wonder if I need a Gardening Intervention. When I saw the huge range of succulents I really wanted one of almost every type. Instead I filled a flat and called it good.<br />
<br />
In the first image, the largest pot:<br />
<ol>
<li><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">Starting from the back right corner: the strappy plant is a Red Yucca. It's actually a perennial
that I will lift and put into the garden in the fall.</span></li>
<li><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">Middle right: Echeveria lauii.</span></li>
<li><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text">Rt corner front: red <span class="text_exposed_show">sempervivum.</span></span></li>
<li><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show">Middle front: echeveria 'Lilacina'</span></span><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></span></li>
<li><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show">Bottom left corner: Crassula volkensii</span></span><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></span></li>
<li><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show">Middle left: Graptoveria species</span></span></li>
<li><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show">Behind Graptoveria:</span></span><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show"> echeveria 'Black Knight'</span></span><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></span></li>
<li><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show">Behind and to the right of the 'Black Knight': Cotyledon orbiculata</span></span></li>
<li><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show">In the center of the pot: Senecio talinoides 'Blue Chalk Sticks'</span></span></li>
</ol>
<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show">
Squished in here and there are some random sedum that overwintered in a
pot. They should fill in over the summer and look all spiff.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show">The
next two pots have Red Yucca, 2 different forms of cobweb sempervivums
(Cebenese and Baronesse), a 'Blue Boy' and an 'Oddity' semper, along
with more sprigs of sedum that overwintered well. I love tough plants.</span></span><span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><span class="text_exposed_show"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Folip2-lWnpN7CZ-8Iro2DlXIQMQZfqtmS-0IY-BLkUr_gvmPP8efSG4x2Av0kjXx83y5UC-hqHN2HbRmgGtxEiKHpkmzBPSnjKtL72bVFD_OJFd_X2spesmCk9x3WkFQYnj/s1600/Sempervivum-bowl-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Folip2-lWnpN7CZ-8Iro2DlXIQMQZfqtmS-0IY-BLkUr_gvmPP8efSG4x2Av0kjXx83y5UC-hqHN2HbRmgGtxEiKHpkmzBPSnjKtL72bVFD_OJFd_X2spesmCk9x3WkFQYnj/s320/Sempervivum-bowl-sm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Sempervivum bowl 2012.</i></div>
<br />
This pot was filled and overflowing with Oddity, Blue Boy and a surviving 'October Daphne'. I pulled everything out and started over. Now it has 3x October Daphne, 4x Blue Boy, 3x Oddity, 3x Limelight, 5x Baronesse cobweb, and 1x red I-can't-remember-its-name sempervivum, plus 2x Angelonia sedum and a good looking flat rock from the garden. Did I take a picture before I ripped it apart? Of course not.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxuOiU3dxhFIjk4BUbrPG_DJWG3H-BWL__97hewMx1LYOpGkvs3uifLHsP7hwx3rgL9MCy2rt9ZT6tXdassueO5J5XDM0qHy3-v2SZQ9JnXpMhyphenhyphenasuIV7iF92qlCkPgKKgsPw/s1600/strawberrypot-semps-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxuOiU3dxhFIjk4BUbrPG_DJWG3H-BWL__97hewMx1LYOpGkvs3uifLHsP7hwx3rgL9MCy2rt9ZT6tXdassueO5J5XDM0qHy3-v2SZQ9JnXpMhyphenhyphenasuIV7iF92qlCkPgKKgsPw/s320/strawberrypot-semps-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
My strawberry pot of sedums and sempers got a tiny refresh as well. I'm continually surprised at just how often my plants survive despite me. Whew!<br />
<br />
Then there are the flowers going off right now. Here's a selection. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5yCJ91IPVpbN0otWtvMwHb9GrwoHFkV2uJEcmSGSe44EhZEPnVE_gVFp98TbXx0RzA506hCvXMgJGjUP_EgWWhx3sT1eUd1sTfdQ0bbUEbEh2Md8u0s2jzKo6swFie_gMkFrw/s1600/9-flowers-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5yCJ91IPVpbN0otWtvMwHb9GrwoHFkV2uJEcmSGSe44EhZEPnVE_gVFp98TbXx0RzA506hCvXMgJGjUP_EgWWhx3sT1eUd1sTfdQ0bbUEbEh2Md8u0s2jzKo6swFie_gMkFrw/s320/9-flowers-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Top: Johnny Jump Ups, Flax, Keys of Heaven</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Middle: Siberian catmint, Japanese honeysuckle, culinary sage</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Bottom: Columbine, 'Walker's Low' catmint, Bleeding hearts</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjm7rxwOuEGxK97pKail3ajV_1_CNZQBvo5U90w_j6m-5R0v_H4F2N5PjL0JKbjWyZNDgdxpKWje-6DvEdXmhw4Vu2nOcKgMtVpCWzyzO2LfcEv9-lZVUomJl40IqXfYP7xCkD/s1600/9more-flowers-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjm7rxwOuEGxK97pKail3ajV_1_CNZQBvo5U90w_j6m-5R0v_H4F2N5PjL0JKbjWyZNDgdxpKWje-6DvEdXmhw4Vu2nOcKgMtVpCWzyzO2LfcEv9-lZVUomJl40IqXfYP7xCkD/s320/9more-flowers-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Top: 'Johnson's Blue' geranium, phlox subulata, 'Bowl of Beauty' peony (closed since it was so overcast)</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Middle: Candytuft, Prairie smoke, Spiderwort</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Bottom: Knockout Rose in hot pink, Carolina Allspice, Halls' honeysuckle</i></div>
<br />
I've got tons more work to do editing the long shots of the garden, so I'll get to those. I also have a story about a trip out into Colorado's prairie where I helped to fix barbed wire fences with my girlfriend. I'll get to those in the next few days.<br />
<br />
I hope you've all been well, while I've been working away in the kitchen and the garden!<br />
<br />
<b><i>P.S. Hi mom!</i></b><br />
<br />Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-29360746680010171852012-01-05T17:43:00.003-07:002012-01-05T18:34:44.952-07:00I Love You...You Make Me CrazyThere are so many things to remember that I am fast forgetting, I wanted to jot them down before they fade.<br />
<br />
It's always amazing just how fast the kids grow up, isn't it? How
quickly their language changes from baby talk and morphs into that of
"real people".*<br />
<br />
Aminals = animals<br />
Yogan = Logan (<i>Actually, any word that starts with "L", Logan pronounces as a Yuh. Yehgs = legs.</i>)<br />
Muse-kick = music<br />
Lightning The Queen = Lightning McQueen<br />
Chockit = chocolate<br />
Peppah-oh-nee = pepperoni<br />
<br />
They sleep in the same room, share toys (<i>mostly</i>), food, and laughter. Occasionally you can find one has crawled into bed with the other, clutching their blankies and fast asleep. Other times you'll be woken up by Logan wailing that Emma has stolen his blanket and you'll see she must've grabbed it and rolled over on it. <i>Probably </i>not on purpose, either.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Vzz9_7Ugn0/TwY16U1W90I/AAAAAAAAGlg/fwZa1zbApDI/s1600/snoozingtwins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Vzz9_7Ugn0/TwY16U1W90I/AAAAAAAAGlg/fwZa1zbApDI/s320/snoozingtwins.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Emma can stay up later than Logan without melting down and then sleeps like a log. Logan starts whining and is willing to tell you he's ready for bed at 6pm, but will wake up in the middle of the night hollering about one thing or the other. Is it nightmares? Is he just a light sleeper? Who knows! He's the first one to wake up in the morning, demanding food and clothing. He's ready to go to school at the drop of a hat. Emma will wait for you to choose her clothes for her, but won't act like you've asked her to fight off demons if you ask her to put on her socks. Unlike <i><b>some</b></i> people. [<i>Insert hairy eyeball here.</i>]<br />
<br />
<br />
Logan whines more than Emma, but she's more likely to throw herself on the floor when melting down. He has worn a corner off of his blanket because that's his special sniffin' spot, but she holds it in the middle and sort of plucks at the raised fabric dots. She won't leave it at home when they leave for preschool, while he will. She likes milk, peanut butter and jam, while he won't eat nuts at all or drink milk that isn't in cereal or has chocolate mixed in. She speaks much more clearly than he does, but he'll correct you and say things like "Actually...[explanation]."<br />
<br />
They both use ridiculous high pitched voices when playing together with their toys. It cracks me up every single time.<br />
<br />
Logan will share food or toys with Emma at the drop of a hat. Emma will only share with Logan if she is done with something. Emma will snuggle you more readily than Logan will, he has to constantly remain in motion or the world comes to a firey end. They love to sneak into Caitlin's room and play with her things which drives Caitlin to distraction and me up a wall. I hate the sound of them fighting and when Caitlin** screams, "<i><b>Logan!</b></i>" in <i>That Voice</i>, I want to murder them all. They all love one another and hate one another. They play well together until they suddenly and ubruptly <i><b>don't</b></i>. I love the sound of laughing screams and chasing games until, suddenly, someone crashes or smashes another and all the laughter ends and the screeching begins. Then, it sounds like I live in the Monkey section at the zoo.<br />
<br />
Emma is crazy about her baby cousin Maddie and cousin Natasha, while Logan goes nuts over cousins Axl, Max, and Daniel. If we ever get all of them in one room at the same time, I suspect the twins might explode from sheer delight.<br />
<br />
<br />
Their faces keep changing, morphing into Who They Will Be from Who They Were.<br />
<br />
<b>Logan</b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 1 </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8PhYbgKHM0s/TwYzsEw965I/AAAAAAAAGjw/UOGSjdWJzms/s1600/logan-face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8PhYbgKHM0s/TwYzsEw965I/AAAAAAAAGjw/UOGSjdWJzms/s320/logan-face.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
6 Months </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-et1Awq9jzyg/TwYz5oIfrvI/AAAAAAAAGj4/z7p6CS3yEm0/s1600/logan-sit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-et1Awq9jzyg/TwYz5oIfrvI/AAAAAAAAGj4/z7p6CS3yEm0/s320/logan-sit.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Year 1
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gSCK_3M_E9U/TwY0Pt3N17I/AAAAAAAAGkQ/XG0pwUNHOCk/s1600/Logan-cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gSCK_3M_E9U/TwY0Pt3N17I/AAAAAAAAGkQ/XG0pwUNHOCk/s320/Logan-cake.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Year 2
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0HFzl9GbhNU/TwY0uoNY8vI/AAAAAAAAGkw/xKNpnyi6Sug/s1600/rippingpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0HFzl9GbhNU/TwY0uoNY8vI/AAAAAAAAGkw/xKNpnyi6Sug/s320/rippingpaper.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
2.5 Years
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BeiTouJMJus/TwY1Ey5KX5I/AAAAAAAAGlA/V9gFddlnGtA/s1600/L-urchin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BeiTouJMJus/TwY1Ey5KX5I/AAAAAAAAGlA/V9gFddlnGtA/s320/L-urchin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Year 3
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8jjTq2pzX4A/TwY1f5Cy5wI/AAAAAAAAGlQ/WsRo9q_yZtU/s1600/Logan-dumptruck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8jjTq2pzX4A/TwY1f5Cy5wI/AAAAAAAAGlQ/WsRo9q_yZtU/s320/Logan-dumptruck.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Year 4
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2H3E2b9N1AA/TwY2Fa1xBHI/AAAAAAAAGlw/A3CZ4nn4o2Y/s1600/Logan-cookie-muncher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2H3E2b9N1AA/TwY2Fa1xBHI/AAAAAAAAGlw/A3CZ4nn4o2Y/s320/Logan-cookie-muncher.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Today
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3hd2LTH52Ns/TwY5mTCO-fI/AAAAAAAAGl8/WVdS6NUwLlo/s1600/Dimples.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3hd2LTH52Ns/TwY5mTCO-fI/AAAAAAAAGl8/WVdS6NUwLlo/s320/Dimples.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Emma</b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 1</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Izmh7sw3zm0/TwY0Cm9vNGI/AAAAAAAAGkI/2mIY7OXtbpA/s1600/emma-burrito.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Izmh7sw3zm0/TwY0Cm9vNGI/AAAAAAAAGkI/2mIY7OXtbpA/s320/emma-burrito.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
6 Months</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uELQ2eAIb3A/TwYz-H8wn2I/AAAAAAAAGkA/pfG1ibA2M1A/s1600/drooly-smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uELQ2eAIb3A/TwYz-H8wn2I/AAAAAAAAGkA/pfG1ibA2M1A/s320/drooly-smile.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Year 1
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tMzhb20OP0w/TwY0QxilFdI/AAAAAAAAGkY/5Pbx04TWQpA/s1600/Emma-cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tMzhb20OP0w/TwY0QxilFdI/AAAAAAAAGkY/5Pbx04TWQpA/s320/Emma-cake.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Year 2
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kVSIUM8RM7U/TwY0uXgNULI/AAAAAAAAGko/Rj583k81bno/s1600/Emma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kVSIUM8RM7U/TwY0uXgNULI/AAAAAAAAGko/Rj583k81bno/s320/Emma.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
2.5 Years
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Vg_1VaLDPZY/TwY1EW5SMnI/AAAAAAAAGk4/h4eRgf8MPzI/s1600/E-grinfloor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Vg_1VaLDPZY/TwY1EW5SMnI/AAAAAAAAGk4/h4eRgf8MPzI/s320/E-grinfloor.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Year 3
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cbuXw251mYw/TwY1fTP3zmI/AAAAAAAAGlI/mXwsJa4YPCQ/s1600/Emma-brighteyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cbuXw251mYw/TwY1fTP3zmI/AAAAAAAAGlI/mXwsJa4YPCQ/s320/Emma-brighteyes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Year 4
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bhEpjlhQLxI/TwY2EwRqeWI/AAAAAAAAGlo/85NJcaeO3h4/s1600/Emmawithcookie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bhEpjlhQLxI/TwY2EwRqeWI/AAAAAAAAGlo/85NJcaeO3h4/s320/Emmawithcookie.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Today
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uZBLuyv66WM/TwY5mkl3GMI/AAAAAAAAGmE/l8lod445NkQ/s1600/SmilingEmma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uZBLuyv66WM/TwY5mkl3GMI/AAAAAAAAGmE/l8lod445NkQ/s320/SmilingEmma.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Some day, very soon, they'll be starting kindergarten and I'll be left wondering where my babies have gone. While we still <i>refer </i>to them as "the babies", they really aren't, but "the toddlers" doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, nor does it sound quite right. I guess we'll just have to start calling the twins plus Caitlin "the kids".<br />
<br />
Frankly, I think I'll continue referring to them as "the babies" until I just can't anymore. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
* <i>I'll add more words as I run across them. These are all of the ones I can think of at the moment.</i><br />
<i>** I will have a post about Caitlin, too. Never fear. </i>Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-7341783112116307312012-01-04T11:17:00.001-07:002012-01-04T23:25:35.449-07:00Catching Up: All of the things I didn't write about when I really should have written about themHey there! I know, my time for doing the 2011 Year in Review posting was <i>soooo</i> two weeks ago, yet here I am leaping onto the bandwagon. Or perhaps I'm just stumbling after it.<br />
<br />
Only time will tell.<br />
<br />
The children have all gone back to school today - Caitlin to her last semester in Elementary school and the twins to their last semester in Pre-school. Come fall I will have one child in middle school and a pair of kindergarteners! How crazy is <i>that</i>?<br />
<br />
Certifiable, <i>that's</i> how crazy!<br />
<br />
We went on a tour of Caitlin's <i><strike>Junior High</strike></i> Middle School last night, she and I, and I was markedly impressed. I am hereby remarking upon it. I'm hoping she loves it as much as I suspect she will. So many programs and clubs!<br />
<br />
Anyway, last year...was a whopper. There were a number of very good things about it and some seriously miserable things. If you've been following along, you'll know of what I speak. I'll try to focus on the good stuff instead of sniffling over my keyboard.<br />
<br />
Perhaps reverse order?<br />
<br />
Xmas 2011 was very close to being a wash. Turns out that <i>someone</i> around here needs to start taking her vitamin D pills starting in September so that it has a chance to build up in her system. You know, in case you want to avoid a serious case of the Bah, humbugs! by the time Christmas rolls around again. I didn't get cards done or mailed packages to family. Let's just say I take after Dad on this one. Who's up for Christmas in July?!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FBWI5eQ3-fU/TwSEAoQZ8II/AAAAAAAAGfs/EcVc56ZcgBk/s1600/Xmas-2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FBWI5eQ3-fU/TwSEAoQZ8II/AAAAAAAAGfs/EcVc56ZcgBk/s320/Xmas-2011.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
The family came through for us on Xmas. There were all kinds of things from the cousins, grandparents, aunts and such. I didn't feel bad that we didn't add to the insanity other than a book apiece and a single DVD. Well, if you don't include the stockings. Those were full of chocolate this year (<i>Plus the traditional apple and orange, although I subbed a Clementine for a regular orange. Must more kid friendly.</i>). Which everyone ate while I was still in bed, as you can tell from Little Miss Chocolate Face right here.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j4li0FfnwCU/TwSGHpPGurI/AAAAAAAAGgA/9IbNAOnQWu0/s1600/Emma-Caitlin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j4li0FfnwCU/TwSGHpPGurI/AAAAAAAAGgA/9IbNAOnQWu0/s320/Emma-Caitlin.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Logan gravitated to the largest box under the tree. Turns out it was a Lightning McQueen springy tent thingy. He loves it. He jumps on it. Love and mangling go hand in hand, don't they?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UT85Cr0rrnA/TwSGIOy4cEI/AAAAAAAAGgI/bIzs5mj0-Mg/s1600/Logan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UT85Cr0rrnA/TwSGIOy4cEI/AAAAAAAAGgI/bIzs5mj0-Mg/s320/Logan.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
I only asked for one thing this year. Well, other than no whining and fighting. Eric came through with a 50mm 1.4 lens! Woo! Here is a lovely shot of my test subject. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qe8rPY6fp8I/TwSEEVKxlvI/AAAAAAAAGf0/RmPorgaIqNo/s1600/Eric-superclose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qe8rPY6fp8I/TwSEEVKxlvI/AAAAAAAAGf0/RmPorgaIqNo/s320/Eric-superclose.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
I'll have to play with the lens more in the new year. I look forward to more sexy bokeh!<br />
<br />
This year's Spelling Bee fell on Eric's birthday, which doesn't actually explain why there are no photos of the tiny dinner party we had for him, but there it is. Caitlin didn't win the Bee this year, but came in 2nd place. She was undone by the word "laborious" by adding an extra "u". I was sad the Bee didn't go on longer because I really enjoy when you're down to the last two contestants and the words start flying back and forth, getting harder and increasingly esoteric. Ah well. She's got 3 more years of Bees, if she still wants to go for Nationals! We applied prescription levels of ice cream and all was right with the world.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0yeam9Nf1Mo/TwSKCsGUpiI/AAAAAAAAGgU/8PKqKTOfHBM/s1600/Spellingbee2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0yeam9Nf1Mo/TwSKCsGUpiI/AAAAAAAAGgU/8PKqKTOfHBM/s320/Spellingbee2011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
During the first weekend in December, I shot my friend Susan's baby boy's first birthday party. Tiny red heads are so cute!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RMSpVnthjOc/TwSLczHnVHI/AAAAAAAAGgs/y8LEkl9Mn00/s1600/1102-Jackwithpresent-Vcrop-72.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RMSpVnthjOc/TwSLczHnVHI/AAAAAAAAGgs/y8LEkl9Mn00/s320/1102-Jackwithpresent-Vcrop-72.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Perhaps I'll get back into the swing of photography again this year? At some point I'll have to determine what I want to do with myself once the twins are in school full time. I'm debating going back to school, the only question remains, for what?! That, however, is a discussion for another time. Deep, dark, soul-baring discussion. <br />
<br />
In seemingly typical me fashion, I have pictures of the bread I made for Thanksgiving, but no pictures <i><b>of</b></i> Thanksgiving festivities. I fail the acid test of diehard scrapbookers. Clearly I'm not a scrapper.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tre5mx4JAus/TwSM0KDCOKI/AAAAAAAAGg4/wd_OTXc6lFM/s1600/Challah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tre5mx4JAus/TwSM0KDCOKI/AAAAAAAAGg4/wd_OTXc6lFM/s320/Challah.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Three versions of braided bread. Left: 6 strand braid; middle: 3 strand braid; right: 2 strand braid.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
But...! But the bread was <i>really </i>good!<br />
<br />
In the middle of November, still on the bread theme, I was testing out the differences in retarding my sourdough overnight versus baking it off the same day it rose.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pupoUZ0l8LM/TwSOPGDygeI/AAAAAAAAGhE/ibd4joXOqxc/s1600/SD-comparison-top.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pupoUZ0l8LM/TwSOPGDygeI/AAAAAAAAGhE/ibd4joXOqxc/s320/SD-comparison-top.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Bread on the left retarded in the brotform overnight in the fridge. Maintained the shape better, but had less oven spring and grigne than the one on the right, which I baked the same day as final fermentation.</i></div>
<br />
Either way, it was delicious.<br />
<br />
In early November, we made a "surprise" trip to KS for Val's 40th birthday.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7L64xbwIKM/TwSP91tLziI/AAAAAAAAGhQ/RjX_rvo1V28/s1600/valandme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V7L64xbwIKM/TwSP91tLziI/AAAAAAAAGhQ/RjX_rvo1V28/s320/valandme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Except for one <i><b>small</b></i> problem: <i>she wasn't surprised</i>. Turns out her boyfriend can't keep a secret to save his life! I offered to pummel him, but he declined.<br />
<br />
On Halloween, we got dressed up and took the kids Trick or Treating, but then completely forgot to take pictures of them in their outfits! It it wasn't for Misty requesting photos of her ultra cool Raven costume, there wouldn't be one of either Eric or I in our Archer/Lana Kane outfits either. Whoops!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Jmhh_acXKXw/TwSRB8NZnzI/AAAAAAAAGhc/AdjaMp9NN8M/s1600/Archer-Chars-gleam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Jmhh_acXKXw/TwSRB8NZnzI/AAAAAAAAGhc/AdjaMp9NN8M/s320/Archer-Chars-gleam.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
In mid-October I finished the dining room painting and hung the floating shelves with Eric.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FH70EDv7Gpc/TwSRxyNxgeI/AAAAAAAAGho/CRcrcuo82d8/s1600/Artcabinetcorner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FH70EDv7Gpc/TwSRxyNxgeI/AAAAAAAAGho/CRcrcuo82d8/s320/Artcabinetcorner.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The finished art cabinet is in the corner. Keeper of all things paper, paint, and crayon related.</i></div>
<br />
My String of Pearls plant won't survive the winter outdoors. Turns out that it can't survive my care indoors, either. Sadly, most of the succulents pictured here are dead now. I'll have to some up with an alternate display!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S7SN_RwMU0c/TwSRyIWnq2I/AAAAAAAAGhs/MI42qIBzv8I/s1600/StringofPearls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S7SN_RwMU0c/TwSRyIWnq2I/AAAAAAAAGhs/MI42qIBzv8I/s320/StringofPearls.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Wall of succulents brought in before the weather got too cold. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JNqEkF17j7Y/TwSRyj087QI/AAAAAAAAGh4/zTDa554VCBM/s1600/WallofSucculents-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JNqEkF17j7Y/TwSRyj087QI/AAAAAAAAGh4/zTDa554VCBM/s320/WallofSucculents-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I'm so glad I finished painting the main floor. It makes a huge difference in how I feel about the house. In early spring I'll work on the rest of the painting. I need to be able to keep the windows open. Even low VOC paint has fumes that make my head spin in enclosed spaces.<br />
<br />
In late September, the twins turned 4 and we had a party. Not that <i>you</i> noticed, since I didn't post anything about it in Blogland. Nope, skipped over it entirely on the blog, but posted pics on Facebook for my mom to see.<br />
<br />
The big cousins, plus Marlena. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ho7wo50QOeA/TwSTrfpqrJI/AAAAAAAAGig/0TBu1Wm6APg/s1600/Bigkids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ho7wo50QOeA/TwSTrfpqrJI/AAAAAAAAGig/0TBu1Wm6APg/s320/Bigkids.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The cupcakes. This is as fancy as I got. Chocolate cupcakes with mint frosting, pink sprinkles for Emma with princess toothpicks and red sprinkles for Logan with Cars toothpicks. Tah-dah! Decorated! No balloons, no matching tableware and a whole lot less to throw away at the end of the party. Somewhere in Canada, my kid sister is stunned by how undecorated it all is. We have opposite birthday talents: she's <i><b>amazing</b></i> at decorating. I put all my energy into the food. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BaWJqLrRFoc/TwSTr6mWJyI/AAAAAAAAGio/PniDzNDsjrg/s1600/Cupcakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BaWJqLrRFoc/TwSTr6mWJyI/AAAAAAAAGio/PniDzNDsjrg/s320/Cupcakes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Emma shows off her princess cookie. Those were my goodies for the goodie bag: a single enormous sugar cookie with Royal frosting and pink or red sprinkles. Once again, "simple" and without a lot of trash or little plastic bits to get vacuumed up later.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f_AVMNs1lwE/TwSTsNW0PEI/AAAAAAAAGiw/MuW-w59232c/s1600/Emmawithcookie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f_AVMNs1lwE/TwSTsNW0PEI/AAAAAAAAGiw/MuW-w59232c/s320/Emmawithcookie.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
We had our very own in-house facepainter at the party! Grammy Linda has taken on a new career as a facepainter and was doing up adult and child guests alike. Jenni makes a lovely butterfly. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Laz83QEkfuE/TwSTslN5NhI/AAAAAAAAGi4/jyISjJezxx0/s1600/Jenni-finishedbutterfly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Laz83QEkfuE/TwSTslN5NhI/AAAAAAAAGi4/jyISjJezxx0/s320/Jenni-finishedbutterfly.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Emma and Logan made a new friend at preschool: Asher.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tfvZHz1A5lA/TwSTtFa86PI/AAAAAAAAGjA/g4b7iv7dx78/s1600/Logan-and-Asher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tfvZHz1A5lA/TwSTtFa86PI/AAAAAAAAGjA/g4b7iv7dx78/s320/Logan-and-Asher.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>King for a day!</i> </div>
<br />
Logan shows off his car cookie chomping skills. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yj30UO_46qo/TwSTtl1iuLI/AAAAAAAAGjI/d4wR5cA0rxs/s1600/Logan-cookie-muncher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yj30UO_46qo/TwSTtl1iuLI/AAAAAAAAGjI/d4wR5cA0rxs/s320/Logan-cookie-muncher.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The twins still love it when everyone sings. It's much more difficult to take pictures of them when they're no longer <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2008/09/and-then-they-were-one.html">held in place by highchairs</a>! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vTmKLv7cdgA/TwSTtydXtuI/AAAAAAAAGjQ/fhpatDNpDTg/s1600/Twins-cupcakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vTmKLv7cdgA/TwSTtydXtuI/AAAAAAAAGjQ/fhpatDNpDTg/s320/Twins-cupcakes.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
In between ferocious painting episodes, I stopped on occasion and enjoyed my hummingbirds.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7KKx3NN3zrM/TwSWMePhScI/AAAAAAAAGjg/R9RSwlk7Oaw/s1600/Hummer-silhouette.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7KKx3NN3zrM/TwSWMePhScI/AAAAAAAAGjg/R9RSwlk7Oaw/s320/Hummer-silhouette.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Other than losing weight (<i>Or, to be honest, just <b>temporarily misplacing</b> it since it seems to have found <b>me </b>again...</i>), gaining muscle and then falling off the horse again (<i>hard</i>), the rest of the year was all related to <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2011/07/final-farewell.html">Dad</a>. The <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2011/07/race-cross-country.html">big drive</a> cross country. <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2011/07/vigil-for-my-father.html">Family</a>. I still have yet more pictures from Canada to edit, which I'll get to this week.<br />
<br />
I know, it's <i><b>only been</b></i> 6 months! <br />
<br />
Whoops! Better go get the twins from pre-school! Ciao!Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-34135854128374729922011-11-20T12:01:00.001-07:002011-11-20T16:34:57.748-07:00The After PartyWe returned to the church basement for the reception (<i>Personally, I tend to see those as things you do after weddings, but I guess it <b>was</b> a reception, when you get right down to it.</i>) and the starving hordes dug into the food that was arrayed before us. There was talk, plans for the day, discussions of who was doing what currently, how they'd all been, and how big all of the children were getting.<br />
<br />
Time passed, pleasantly enough, and then the guests drifted away. As we wrapped up, we carted out loads of food, cards of condolences, and huge vases filled with flowers. Some were sent on to the nursing home in thanks, some went home with us. I carried an enormous vase overflowing with gorgeous flowers that were cut from someone's yard.<br />
<br />
I didn't take any pictures of the reception, but when we got back to mom's house with our arms full of flowers, children, and food, I pulled out my camera for just a moment.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhttJ7YM6BVwfOQPCd6e_0vrOaa4UIHSkQ5nt3V9RW_GEE6QQ6zIl-XoxvjuC1TcVFjAGlQk9FxN2Jz6W7Hvm5Fw0Mp07fTN3lhaUKgihpvXFfzNWFbEWnncGnj3bQbaK3c2CN1/s1600/EmmaandMaddie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhttJ7YM6BVwfOQPCd6e_0vrOaa4UIHSkQ5nt3V9RW_GEE6QQ6zIl-XoxvjuC1TcVFjAGlQk9FxN2Jz6W7Hvm5Fw0Mp07fTN3lhaUKgihpvXFfzNWFbEWnncGnj3bQbaK3c2CN1/s320/EmmaandMaddie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>They were just so quiet and happy to be together, I couldn't resist taking the shot.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxDq1mt9umSaaaLH1hI-5wnSZ6lMxKG93ZHuveWu05SbK9P7YGPMtzw5fWHV-TNqwYE-I2gCV8KJhlipNqjiDl6qdA6TlPNvQC70HvkANNiLQLbhZOha11e0nK-fiztdBlpNaY/s1600/DawnMaddieEmma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxDq1mt9umSaaaLH1hI-5wnSZ6lMxKG93ZHuveWu05SbK9P7YGPMtzw5fWHV-TNqwYE-I2gCV8KJhlipNqjiDl6qdA6TlPNvQC70HvkANNiLQLbhZOha11e0nK-fiztdBlpNaY/s320/DawnMaddieEmma.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Dawn, Maddie and Emma hang out in the kitchen.</i> </div>
<br />
We "adults" sat on the screened in porch and chatted. The "girls", as we refer to my cousins (<i>Doesn't matter how old any of them will ever be, we'll always refer to them as the girls. I feel certain that my siblings and I are referred to as "the kids".</i>), were chatting with mom about their mother when the subject of letters came up. Mom pulled out a bag filled with old letters from my paternal grandmother, Alice; letters from my father's older sister, Thelma; letters from my father to my mother.<br />
<br />
We laughed at how Nanny and Thelma were so thrifty that they'd use every possible inch on the front and back of any postcard or letter ever sent. Words would curl around the manufacturer's name and copyright date in a clockwise manner, the crabbed handwriting getting in as much news as possible in a very limited space. They are all fascinating glimpses of times long past: the cost of stamps, the images of vacation spots here and there, the prices of common goods mentioned fleetingly.<br />
<br />
The most amazing letters of all, though, were those from my father to my mother. Mom didn't realize that she'd handed us one of dad's letter until we started trying to read it aloud. The paper was so very thin, to keep the cost of airmail down, the paper so fragile. The script was lovely, although occasionally it was hard to decipher. Marilyn was reading the letter when she stopped abruptly. It was a private letter from my father to my mother in their year long separation from one another, after he left the island and returned to Canada at the end of his shift in Jamaica.<br />
<br />
I'm not allowed to talk about what was in that letter. I'm also not allowed to read all the <i>rest</i> of those letters until my mother passes away (<i>A million, billion years from now.</i>), and my kid sister suggested strenuously that I shouldn't even <i>want</i> to read them <i><b>then</b></i>. I, however, look at it very differently.<br />
<br />
This letter, the way it was written, the very formal wording used, the script displayed upon it, and the very carefully relayed feelings it talked of are the <i>very</i> reasons we <i>should</i> get to read them, way into the future. The paper was so amazingly thin, it's called onion skin. It felt almost like parchment, or a stiff tissue paper. I had never seen a sample of my father's script before. All my life I only remember his heavy printed handwriting. The letter never talked of love. It never mentioned that my father was missing my future mother. The language was so incredibly formal that it could have been in one of Jane Austen's books. It was impossibly <i>romantic</i> in way that I never expected. It opened my eyes to a piece of my family history that was never mentioned, never talked about. It felt beautiful, delicate, and mysterious. <i>My parents love story.</i><br />
<br />
We had heard the stories about how he serenaded my mother; how he referred to her as his wife brazenly in the bank waaaaaay before they were ever dating; how she thought he was a "stuffed shirt"; how he fell into the pool filled with icy mountain water at her house, but the time between his leaving Jamaica and sending her the engagement ring is still a mystery.<br />
<br />
Only my mother knows what happened and she's not telling. She promised we'd get to have the letters eventually, but not now. The mystery will have to wait. Piecing together their love story, and epic love story it certainly <i><b>was</b></i>, will wait. I only regret that by the time I find more pieces to the puzzle, I'll just come up with more questions and there will be no one left to answer them. (<i>Let's face it, I'm the defacto family storyteller. My curiosity trumps all others. Besides, I've learned how to continue typing while crying and that takes <b>skill</b>, baby!</i>)<i> </i><br />
<br />
Setting aside the 45 year old letter, I turned back to the folks on the porch. As they started making leaving noises, it struck me that many of my cousins were leaving that very day. I was about to miss my chance at any photos if I didn't hop to it. I shook off the sleepiness that was creeping up on me, there on the sun warmed porch, and grabbed my camera.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZ9co10OIuCd-c1w3GZvQvbORMqdg9mMmrMyE_t4p7uGBJcNxtKm7D18PFy4RniGzsOrWSNljYf7271iO9AGrLHKAUZuxE3oYDulX_TsYgzCFhzQ4TMYvsyaSC_XhW_EUnylr/s1600/LetterReading.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSZ9co10OIuCd-c1w3GZvQvbORMqdg9mMmrMyE_t4p7uGBJcNxtKm7D18PFy4RniGzsOrWSNljYf7271iO9AGrLHKAUZuxE3oYDulX_TsYgzCFhzQ4TMYvsyaSC_XhW_EUnylr/s320/LetterReading.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Nancy holds the letter in her hands. The paper was so thin that the script on one side interfered with reading the other side of the letter. We had to pore over it for quite awhile to make some of the words out. Everyone exclaimed over the beauty of it.</i></div>
<br />
Some of the girls pose for a picture before they take off.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC731yAO7kRv5pbAwR5mV3K4XGOfC8Krvm45Hol9lBWQdIKinGt49nbHi1ZDXqN1J9mPpYq4pC7r1FhJL7q9BW4OqoUEwJeVfYwrFyuGLa4Q1mwvIOkNDfTIN8fk5PnbiBV01F/s1600/CousinsandMyFam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC731yAO7kRv5pbAwR5mV3K4XGOfC8Krvm45Hol9lBWQdIKinGt49nbHi1ZDXqN1J9mPpYq4pC7r1FhJL7q9BW4OqoUEwJeVfYwrFyuGLa4Q1mwvIOkNDfTIN8fk5PnbiBV01F/s320/CousinsandMyFam.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Marilyn, Ruth, Dawn holding Maddie, Mom, Cindy and Nancy the Younger down in front.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIspMrsQFdrmOYLbibsG2jUKcD1rdbR47VFGK-LpJRiyLJdDYDktz6w-DJPC6bPg2K41a9A3emfWmTN_iumQxyj_FELTedqvRXdTcv8f2KKXm9MRnu0oPOBfbD2rNZl5H8XfsG/s1600/MarilynRuthandUs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIspMrsQFdrmOYLbibsG2jUKcD1rdbR47VFGK-LpJRiyLJdDYDktz6w-DJPC6bPg2K41a9A3emfWmTN_iumQxyj_FELTedqvRXdTcv8f2KKXm9MRnu0oPOBfbD2rNZl5H8XfsG/s320/MarilynRuthandUs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I got in on the act before my opportunity was gone.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4laKSN8U9srGotlmXfbqWfSdwgvMweAK4nXllXRb8gFaPiDTTeaBzbHej0EfB3lDOkYMDcY7QG3T4gYwapOMF-vpUnR2uVC6YTKPPTWfrtC37su8a6LT4pj2YoHhsIj6EYOqr/s1600/PatandGeorge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4laKSN8U9srGotlmXfbqWfSdwgvMweAK4nXllXRb8gFaPiDTTeaBzbHej0EfB3lDOkYMDcY7QG3T4gYwapOMF-vpUnR2uVC6YTKPPTWfrtC37su8a6LT4pj2YoHhsIj6EYOqr/s320/PatandGeorge.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Pat (on the left) and George (on the right).</i> </div>
<br />
Pat is the man that brought the engagement ring from my father in Canada to my mother in Jamaica. My dad just handed him a package in a completely unassuming manner, never revealing what was in it. Pat was stunned when my mother opened it up and found the ring tucked inside a folded piece of cardboard. He says he retroactively panicked over the fact that he hadn't taken any great care with it when carrying it, not realizing how important the contents were.<br />
<br />
My dad was such a stinker.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbPlYNoo0KPTY8REFTOsyqbO7S-W0444nREmEnXbha9cvwnTPL0aMGIQq09ozxz7XJTxvS7ML2XHn0y05RBahWEqdVE95tlExr06MIDDPy-2qRWjq-caIF37kV1XiDW202DHOW/s1600/Ron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbPlYNoo0KPTY8REFTOsyqbO7S-W0444nREmEnXbha9cvwnTPL0aMGIQq09ozxz7XJTxvS7ML2XHn0y05RBahWEqdVE95tlExr06MIDDPy-2qRWjq-caIF37kV1XiDW202DHOW/s320/Ron.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>My cousin Ron.</i></div>
<br />
More talking and reminiscing went on after the first wave of friends and family left. Naps were had by young and <strike>older</strike> <strike>not quite as young</strike> more mature alike. The day was emotionally draining, yet uplifting at the same time. I hardly ever get to see my cousins and the stories they told that day broke my heart, made me laugh, and helped me to know my father a little more. Each one has their favorite story about my father. Each one a different perspective, another facet, holding another piece of the puzzle. They talk about sneaking in to peek at my gorgeous, exotic mother napping on the sofa in their house, in the days before the wedding. How dad would light up their mother and their whole house when he walked into it. How he'd taken them fishing and hunting. How he'd bake for them, making a huge mess in their mother's kitchen.<br />
<br />
We wandered down into my mother's garden, filled with gorgeous blooms indifferent to the importance of the day. Peonies, roses, daylilies. Explosions of color and scent. Hummingbirds zipped along, sipping nectar.<br />
<br />
It was a beautiful day. A day filled with warmth and sunshine; the sky clear and blue; the air warm and still. It was the day we buried my father. It was a good day to be alive and to love one another, just a little more, just a little while longer.<br />
<br />
Life can't always be filled with pathos. Pain and suffering and illness eventually come to an end. Remember to sniff the roses. If not for yourself, then for those that have gone before.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjetJSkWikzK_4PaRwGgGL6pfjnm9V-e4cBAKQ_1NrVQlvMEpNBG7vyEijqFNJjDQkkcE4nRCMMx6a1Z4nqwK0xEEP5f_87DZTYhgGMHat5xf94-i-0P7U68t7kNY4LvdD3p8pX/s1600/salmonrose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjetJSkWikzK_4PaRwGgGL6pfjnm9V-e4cBAKQ_1NrVQlvMEpNBG7vyEijqFNJjDQkkcE4nRCMMx6a1Z4nqwK0xEEP5f_87DZTYhgGMHat5xf94-i-0P7U68t7kNY4LvdD3p8pX/s320/salmonrose.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
As ever, my love to you.<br />
<br />
<br />Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-80931663973971258262011-11-19T16:41:00.001-07:002011-11-20T16:34:57.756-07:00Into the EarthToday would have been my parents 45th wedding anniversary. My gift may be slightly macabre, but it's been rattling around in my head and freezing my hands for months. Here's what happened on July 6th, 2011.<br />
<br />
The day we buried my father finally dawned on us. It was sunny, clear, and warm. Considering it was early July the warmth shouldn't have been surprising, but since it had been relatively cool all of the days prior the warmth was unexpected.<br />
<br />
We got all dressed up in our fancy clothes and headed to the church. There we met up with my passel of cousins, young and not quite as young. As happy as we were to see each other, we were a little stilted and withdrawn. Do you perk up at the sight of someone you wouldn't even be seeing if your common relative hadn't died? I do, but it came and went in waves. I was pleased to see everyone, but it was hard to continue accepting condolences. Lining up, shaking hands. Who are these people? Church members, old friends, members of the choir all shuffle into the church and greet us using sad, tender voices.<br />
<br />
After we greet the crowd, we wait in a small room with my cousins until the witnesses? audience? attendees are all seated. I took a few pictures to keep from thinking too much. The brightest spot of the whole ordeal was right here:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNd9WOYfSTC4L4J38qgGKNZyiu7LECmfuFJIpkg11g6jNE6UvdDhKr0aI-Qqdc4QpTtbK8pwLdb8i0qKyae3673ulibOXzjNmvStxz6pBFI-KaKV5z_OjRJ6JjV6qjzQ6n_7pP/s1600/Maddie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNd9WOYfSTC4L4J38qgGKNZyiu7LECmfuFJIpkg11g6jNE6UvdDhKr0aI-Qqdc4QpTtbK8pwLdb8i0qKyae3673ulibOXzjNmvStxz6pBFI-KaKV5z_OjRJ6JjV6qjzQ6n_7pP/s320/Maddie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Maddie was as cute as a button.</i></div>
<br />
Emma was fascinated by the 7 month old Maddie and spent a lot of time holding her tiny hands and stroking her soft cheeks.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69jl7ZrqMA9e84IlXgAleIc0RFvha6xE0xnWCSkdWIKwHr6uVnSFlGporxJEvKIdfrWS2jtmsnIBxi-hSkjAO_fsHvvasHY5qxdJam-pcKRj4LNYzpQpA3GByD8_0kQo61wwq/s1600/EmmasmoochesMaddie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69jl7ZrqMA9e84IlXgAleIc0RFvha6xE0xnWCSkdWIKwHr6uVnSFlGporxJEvKIdfrWS2jtmsnIBxi-hSkjAO_fsHvvasHY5qxdJam-pcKRj4LNYzpQpA3GByD8_0kQo61wwq/s320/EmmasmoochesMaddie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Smooches for Maddie.</i></div>
<br />
One portion of my cousins. An initial serving, as it were. These are the children of my dad's eldest sister, Thelma. These are the cousins I grew up knowing and they knew all of the best stories about my dad.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJK07tD7JBfgaOVEwDm6CzEY6Ym2raSVRA4RoFyqK3XWFCxL7Jy0krDiJX-vlMhTFwIctWTemI1o4rMGNPFJMXBYrqSGowIRBd2buh8gNfaUGgtlA-ve8-CaxMLe8vwKDTvF3H/s1600/CousinsandKids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJK07tD7JBfgaOVEwDm6CzEY6Ym2raSVRA4RoFyqK3XWFCxL7Jy0krDiJX-vlMhTFwIctWTemI1o4rMGNPFJMXBYrqSGowIRBd2buh8gNfaUGgtlA-ve8-CaxMLe8vwKDTvF3H/s320/CousinsandKids.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Marilyn, holding Logan, Ron, my own dark self, Nancy standing next to/behind Eric, who is holding Emma and Caitlin.</i></div>
<br />
In the waiting room waited another serving of cousins, my brother and his sweetheart.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgML38P8hbyrNMNoVPHFaqQpnE1lfOkZMB4TJL50u96kl7tHmZFAvNwgyMrHx0AhBPahgjbohvarmZBfaQ6_seyvTJcw-JG1Wkh1jBWoBbmQ1bZ29PnIlPQcEyamfUsJ-XaqCTL/s1600/WaitingRoomofCousins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgML38P8hbyrNMNoVPHFaqQpnE1lfOkZMB4TJL50u96kl7tHmZFAvNwgyMrHx0AhBPahgjbohvarmZBfaQ6_seyvTJcw-JG1Wkh1jBWoBbmQ1bZ29PnIlPQcEyamfUsJ-XaqCTL/s320/WaitingRoomofCousins.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Ian, Deb, Maddie in the stroller, Ruth in the background, Nancy (the younger), and Marilyn again.</i></div>
<br />
The priest and the undertaker sorted out their business and stepped to the front of the procession. We fell into line behind them and solemnly walked in, all eyes on the stainless steel urn held by the man at the front of the line. We finally made it to the front row, where all of the family spread into a thin, dark line and seated ourselves.<br />
<br />
The formalities began.<br />
<br />
Here's the part where I will be honest with you: I really couldn't concentrate on the funeral. I wasn't crying. I'm not sure if anyone was. I felt disjointed and distant. It wasn't a mass, since dad wasn't Catholic, but it was filled with singing songs I didn't know and some readings I didn't recognize save for one. I felt twitchy, overly warm, and out of place. I don't know if it was the kind of service he would have chosen for himself if you'd asked him. It seemed way too formal, bound by odd church strictures and laws. It did, however, begin to tell me what kind of funeral that <i><b>I'd </b></i>like, when that day comes for me.<br />
<br />
Imagine a garden, my garden of the future, maybe. Perhaps a gorgeous park. Somehow I'm assuming I'll die when it's warm, but that may just be because of the current circumstances. A few concentric rings of chairs and a table with my urn on it in the center. I'd like to be flash frozen and shattered instead of cremated. I'd become instant compost. (<i>In fact, the process is called <a href="http://www.gizmag.com/resomation-corpse-composting-green-burial/15603/">corpse composting</a>. Eco unto death, that's me.</i>) The group of folks would then tell stories about me. No singing, unless someone really wanted to. No music, unless it would make the mourners feel better. Instead, a circle of friends and family, telling stories, laughing and crying. That's what I want. Outside the circles, food and drink, photos and the rare video of me. Maybe. When the party is over (<i>and it <b>is</b> intended to be a party</i>), my remaining family gets to take the package of my remains home. Put me up on the shelf with the ancient remains of my long dead cats. Put me out in the garden and let me feed a beloved tree. I don't know. I don't care. But don't bury me in a box, in a hole in the ground, and walk away from me. For some reason, that image makes me deeply sad. Plant a new tree, just for me, and bury me under it. Toss my dust out over a forest, but make use of me in some fashion that helps the Earth and the plants I love so well.<br />
<br />
Finally, back in reality, the service is over and the majority of the family and my dad's closest friend Joan, pile into cars and head over to the grave site. Here's the plot that mom had purchased. An undistinguished section of grass with a small, rectangular hole cut into it. "Grass" carpeting covers the pile of soil next to the hole. Note that it's big enough for 6 cremains...apparently mom is planning on throwing an eternal party there in the ground. The undertaker pulls out a blue velvet bag, puts dad's cremains into it and lowers it into the hole. Then he pulls out a second bag that holds the purple cloisonne urn that contains all that remains of my maternal grandmother. Mom had her on the mantel at home and had been waiting to bury grandma with dad. There's room in this spacious plot for mom, one day far off into the future. She's planned ahead, my mother has.<br />
<br />
The priest says a few more things. I think the line ashes to ashes comes up, but I can't remember now.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, the first note of a bagpipe hangs in the air, and the funeral party turns, as one, in surprise to face him. I have no idea what song he's playing, but this might be a close match.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1QEoNL17bfc" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
And <i><b>damn!</b></i> but didn't every single one of us who hadn't cried in the church and had been toughing it out, we all started to cry. Me, my cousins, my sisters, all of us. My mom turned to Joan, and they hugged and laughed through the tears. It was Joan's idea to have a piper, just as she was the one who arranged for a piper at Cindy's wedding, years before. It was beautiful, haunting, sad and just <i>perfect</i>. One small thing. A man alone in a graveyard, playing a haunting tune.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvN8bPAQuN5gDjxH6u7SwH6P1_jZIaXfDOuLRTEK7myvyRoUCjO9UfQPUgb1hetfKCo4JiBPom3Rtr0ErVN1VzaSuvE9mg-tUVoAloeUvim9nuwcw6cGTNOuWj8g3aSKrm-slM/s1600/piper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvN8bPAQuN5gDjxH6u7SwH6P1_jZIaXfDOuLRTEK7myvyRoUCjO9UfQPUgb1hetfKCo4JiBPom3Rtr0ErVN1VzaSuvE9mg-tUVoAloeUvim9nuwcw6cGTNOuWj8g3aSKrm-slM/s320/piper.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
<br />
When it ended, we wiped our tears away and leaving my dad and grandma there in the plot meant for six, we drove off to the church.<br />
<br />
To the after party.<br />
<br />
Well, what else do you call the part where you get together with the other mourners and eat food at banquet tables in the basement of a church? <i>That</i>, my friends, is an after party.<br />
<br />
The funny thing is that there was an <i>after</i>, after party back at my mom's house afterwards, but I have to run. I'll finish this post and include those pictures tomorrow. I just didn't want to break my monthly posting "streak".<br />
<br />
My love to you.<br />
<br />Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-27959835089940351362011-10-19T20:12:00.001-06:002011-11-20T16:35:57.453-07:00One Month Later...The Completed Living Room and a few nice touchesIt took me a month to sand, prime, and paint the living room, dining room and kitchen. A month filled with going up and down ladders, getting coated in 5 different colors of paint, and discovering that when I obsess over something I have no room left for ordinary life.<br />
<br />
I haven't baked in a month. Or made yogurt. Or dinner. I've been a little preoccupied.<br />
<br />
It started here, with one wall.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh34TooXLrTucYO9ZClcjqQfsH_hBa2H3MX1BuvgBsyMZOrlO1Fo6xvzbIQv5WuXcltKuIJtJDkNj4TCTXfdaQSvtkOwfiDDwxV1ou57o5p1hoWtkBTV0FXiaS-CH9Vp4-U7ntF/s1600/ItAllStartswithOneWall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh34TooXLrTucYO9ZClcjqQfsH_hBa2H3MX1BuvgBsyMZOrlO1Fo6xvzbIQv5WuXcltKuIJtJDkNj4TCTXfdaQSvtkOwfiDDwxV1ou57o5p1hoWtkBTV0FXiaS-CH9Vp4-U7ntF/s320/ItAllStartswithOneWall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Considering that I had paid for samples, I just kind of dove right into painting and assumed the colors I had picked were just right. Fortunately for me, the research I'd put into picking them out turned out to be dead on.<br />
<br />
I don't have any straight "before" shots of the living room. You can just flip through random party photos and you're bound to see what the room <i>used</i> to look like*. I do, however, have a before shot of the new shelves we installed under the video screen, so that's a little something.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeWsk1IJ3zli5YC2O96P6ms48kru70l2l78VmOk5lguuoGCKYtg7pVm19nEz5tZnuO0H1OCRvj3GBHje0mkpu9KTCERjMXnv5ad2l88DbmcpAcyyX4xwHcbK26wwp9PXg27AEw/s1600/shelves-before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeWsk1IJ3zli5YC2O96P6ms48kru70l2l78VmOk5lguuoGCKYtg7pVm19nEz5tZnuO0H1OCRvj3GBHje0mkpu9KTCERjMXnv5ad2l88DbmcpAcyyX4xwHcbK26wwp9PXg27AEw/s320/shelves-before.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Original wall color: Ivory Tower.</i></div>
<br />
The speaker used to sit on a birch wood shelf, but I had Eric remove it when I had the idea for new shelving. The idea sprang directly from the Montessori school: everything should have its own separate place. This way the twins won't get so overwhelmed when you ask them to put their toys away and they'll be willing to do it, just like they do at school! Apparently tossing them all into a giant bin was short circuiting their brains.<br />
<br />
Here's that same wall after painting and installing the shelves and baskets.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJcVrFahkejk3Qv9YA0gLXL2d-HAo3A0E34Rzjsi2xyQAnuqNWmj-hOOqbskVucbjhWlLK-Z-DKSfDotTzBcO6_Rtq7C3Eqdjxn098IUlpqPAtUDa5DxXmIxYqO1GisBd45Nr/s1600/LivingRoomScreenShelvesAfter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJcVrFahkejk3Qv9YA0gLXL2d-HAo3A0E34Rzjsi2xyQAnuqNWmj-hOOqbskVucbjhWlLK-Z-DKSfDotTzBcO6_Rtq7C3Eqdjxn098IUlpqPAtUDa5DxXmIxYqO1GisBd45Nr/s320/LivingRoomScreenShelvesAfter.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>New wall color: Vanilla Brandy</i></div>
<br />
Much nicer! Watching the twins pick up after themselves at school and put their "work" away was a major motivator for me. I'm willing to spend a little money to buy baskets (<i>I haven't gotten around to putting little photo tags on them yet.</i>) to sort their toys into, if it will make my house appear slightly less chaotic.<br />
<br />
Here's the bay window wall.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcphHQ2e0CnFHU8esxSZK6MkL8AV0YLC9_iyOBWr4mlPPHFsWcmZcBVuM8k-1yrH_rzIH5NYFqZzcx2AKll7xCgQZfsL2gi1u1CualfUYeRmevjaxP7Nyo369mADMjM1SABQFm/s1600/LivingRoomAfter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcphHQ2e0CnFHU8esxSZK6MkL8AV0YLC9_iyOBWr4mlPPHFsWcmZcBVuM8k-1yrH_rzIH5NYFqZzcx2AKll7xCgQZfsL2gi1u1CualfUYeRmevjaxP7Nyo369mADMjM1SABQFm/s320/LivingRoomAfter.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>New ceiling color: Honey Beige</i></div>
<br />
Removing the A/V tower has made a <i>huge</i> difference in how this room feels. It seems a lot more <i>open</i> now and I like not having to look at that mess of wires anymore. The only sticking point is the fact that the projector is exactly at twin level. We have to keep them from touching the lens or they might a) burn their fingers or b) wreck the lens or c) both.<br />
<br />
Here's the before on my fireplace and 3/4 wall.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmd-vUQ6lytQ9PxNFXr2gwnyImeLdfk0mucLJzj89YG1FdcMHz7QjSA97b9OOAvgtAHVYa2i3nw_nVOftuyBJbKEcXBAv18jKNjfuYeLDmDJc44vR6P5RMdw33PNO3z8ahjWIk/s1600/fireplace-before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmd-vUQ6lytQ9PxNFXr2gwnyImeLdfk0mucLJzj89YG1FdcMHz7QjSA97b9OOAvgtAHVYa2i3nw_nVOftuyBJbKEcXBAv18jKNjfuYeLDmDJc44vR6P5RMdw33PNO3z8ahjWIk/s320/fireplace-before.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Three quarter wall color: Pacific Pines. Note the brass accents on the fireplace. So '90s!</i></div>
<br />
After.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE5bWQfDAI8nigEPYlB6kmuKX6DNFavAZ7QL8Ez7xe4mCeS9O8KfMYbK1e67d7O76YGZgIXShdgmKIEAhOMoKmpb5JXla-JvANWuUrXGRA8jhSqDLvuupgbXgGjyzSYINzxlv1/s1600/FireplaceAfter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE5bWQfDAI8nigEPYlB6kmuKX6DNFavAZ7QL8Ez7xe4mCeS9O8KfMYbK1e67d7O76YGZgIXShdgmKIEAhOMoKmpb5JXla-JvANWuUrXGRA8jhSqDLvuupgbXgGjyzSYINzxlv1/s320/FireplaceAfter.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>New 3/4 wall color: Burled Redwood. Inset accent color: Knight's Armor. Trim: Ultra White. Brass Accents: painted flat black with high heat paint. Ahhh!</i></div>
<br />
I still hate the tile, but I'm not prepared to rip the walls up to install spiffy new tile or paint the old tile. Yet.<br />
<br />
Closet.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSt-0jYIhHhGibqwUhll6EZYbcnakDkGR75nsPWfC-UmExCslvBmb9eNtsTrTyjPsIMJpe-ENN7Jq4i4_vvy9DsKvkHHXogkoKmr1QeQp7u6j6tRPNeC2gwlW3KKprROwg9hZ/s1600/Closetdoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJSt-0jYIhHhGibqwUhll6EZYbcnakDkGR75nsPWfC-UmExCslvBmb9eNtsTrTyjPsIMJpe-ENN7Jq4i4_vvy9DsKvkHHXogkoKmr1QeQp7u6j6tRPNeC2gwlW3KKprROwg9hZ/s320/Closetdoor.jpg" width="182" /></a></div>
<br />
I decided that all of that Burled Redwood needed a little relief and went with the white trim color for the door instead of using the Knight's Armor grey that I'd used on the <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2011/09/what-does-hatchet-do-with-those-extra.html">front and garage door</a>. I thought the grey would make this wall too dark.<br />
<br />
Up the stairs we needed to transition from the dark cinnamon color (<i>Don't you just love how all of my paint seems food related? Num!</i>) to the new wall color. I really didn't want my interior hallway to be miserably dark.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhce58w8zLI4ZY_B8YCKZtroec5g2YCyhy8OL0X8Nr7CD58LZTSvJRnNuXoXKhJ8zgbOZ1FurPPFTodVfJsjDITh_8i783mL3LE51VDmaL7nfKbEMLaQxL4hoS0uzm0pw9HQB6O/s1600/CinnamonWallBrandyWall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhce58w8zLI4ZY_B8YCKZtroec5g2YCyhy8OL0X8Nr7CD58LZTSvJRnNuXoXKhJ8zgbOZ1FurPPFTodVfJsjDITh_8i783mL3LE51VDmaL7nfKbEMLaQxL4hoS0uzm0pw9HQB6O/s320/CinnamonWallBrandyWall.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Note how dingy the almond colored thermostat cover looks? The doorbell cover above it used to look the same until I attacked it with fine sand paper and white satin spray paint. I'll get to the thermostat pretty soon. Details like that make you crazy the longer you have to stare at them. Or is that just me?</i></div>
<br />
I <a href="http://www.houseofhepworths.com/2011/01/11/what-everyone-should-know-about-painting-perfect-lines/">read about a neat trick for perfect painted lines</a> after I'd <i><b>finished</b></i>, but what I did worked well, too. I used a plumb line, snapped it to the wall to get the straight line I'd need for my tape. Placed the painter's tape right down the edge of the line and used a damp cloth to burnish the edge of the tape and "seal" it to the wall. Then I wiped away the chalk line, painted like normal, removed the tape after the 2nd coat had dried and repeated the procedure on the other side of the lovely sharp line of paint with the second color. After pulling the tape away, my edge was lovely and straight.<br />
<br />
The funny thing about spending all of your time up ladders, painting, is you have a lot of time to think. While I was in my zen painting mode, I came up with a whole slew of ways I wanted to decorate. You know, now that the twins are <strike>apparently</strike> <strike>theoretically</strike> <strike>possibly</strike> mostly out of their smashing phase. Those three photos were the first thing that leapt to mind as a great use of that space.<br />
<br />
Another idea was this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOn1d708jybzU5Ek1gTkobmCiBD0YYVXl03-B5xsni62hUNyy45GWu8549q-F_m0LbzX-UEIVS_OLS5VEbl9_VtEs7A8XVAX5dzEgE3iYss8vgxB34YZ6W1egb8xvUOcJYvPIU/s1600/Curlystems.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOn1d708jybzU5Ek1gTkobmCiBD0YYVXl03-B5xsni62hUNyy45GWu8549q-F_m0LbzX-UEIVS_OLS5VEbl9_VtEs7A8XVAX5dzEgE3iYss8vgxB34YZ6W1egb8xvUOcJYvPIU/s320/Curlystems.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Curly stems in a black and natural bamboo vase. Here's hoping the twins leave it alone!</i></div>
<br />
This is just to the right of the stairs pictured above. It's been empty and bugging me for a long time. This was just the ticket to fill the space and contrast my newly painted wall.<br />
<br />
I even painted inside the coat closet and made some perfectly sized storage boxes to hold our hats and gloves and keep them off the closet floor. You know, in an <i>organized</i> fashion!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXDL30uM7qnFB5CsY-vY1FOg9bjSgcLB4BQKoKfDc0N5eQIQ5NwmDr34jzYNiIiJ9_ttzzUkjo1jirFJwOlcC2L3_ekw4VT5mOZnGfaI-cLCyNllFq7JHSYRX614wsNoMLsElu/s1600/Closetwithstorageboxes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXDL30uM7qnFB5CsY-vY1FOg9bjSgcLB4BQKoKfDc0N5eQIQ5NwmDr34jzYNiIiJ9_ttzzUkjo1jirFJwOlcC2L3_ekw4VT5mOZnGfaI-cLCyNllFq7JHSYRX614wsNoMLsElu/s320/Closetwithstorageboxes.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Yes, I <i><b>did</b></i> just say that I <i><b>made</b></i> those boxes. I followed the tutorial listed <a href="http://www.makeit-loveit.com/2010/04/craft-room-part-1.html">here</a> and using boxes I already had, material left over from a dress made for my <i>wedding</i>, paper, a glue gun and spray adhesive, I didn't spend any money on these boxes at all. Unless you include the cost of storing all of those materials for all this time. : ) They definitely took awhile to make, but it was a good learning experience and next time I do it, I'll be faster. Heck if I'd known how to do it sooner, I wouldn't have bought baskets for the twins' toys!<br />
<br />
Anyway...even though I've also finished painting the dining room, since this has gotten pretty long, I think I'll end here. I know my mother is dying to see what all I've been doing (<i>Hints on Facebook aren't enough for her anymore.</i>), but I'll show you the dining room another day. I promise it won't be a month from now!<br />
<br />
Heck! I still have to tell you about the twins turning FOUR! and, you know, my father's funeral and stuff. There's so much going on, I keep on doing stuff, randomly photographing it and never actually write it up.<br />
<br />
Tunnel vision. <i>Crafting </i>tunnel vision.<br />
<br />
On the bright side, I now have some breathing room now that my painting fever has abated! I think I'll finish gilding the lily in the dining room (<i>Ooh! I need to recover the dining room chairs!</i>) before I most upstairs and address the horror that is my bedroom. I'll be sure to take you along for the ride!<br />
<br />
<br />
* <i>Apparently I was a little <b>too</b> good at cropping the vile tower of wires out! I can't find much. Wait - <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2010/01/wasnt-there-holiday-in-there-somewhere.html">here's a pretty good example</a>. See all of that stuff behind Eric? Tower of A/V equipment, wires, DVDs, CD tower even farther back and crap all over. Bleah!</i>Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-47886029107360415622011-09-19T22:07:00.000-06:002011-11-20T16:35:57.461-07:00What does Hatchet do with those "extra" three hours a day?Well!<br />
<br />
Here it is, almost a month later from our first day of school and I haven't said a <i>thing</i>, have I?<br />
<br />
Once I dropped the kids off to school, I did what comes naturally to me: immediately jumped into a gigantic project. Some women might have taken the opportunity preschool afforded them to <i>enjoy</i> their sudden freedom. You know, caught up on all of those books they'd put off; taken the time to pull a few weeds; signed up for a class; or done something decadent like eaten bon-bons while watching trashy TV. Or maybe even edited a few photos. No. Not me.<br />
<br />
I started <i><b>painting the living room</b></i>.<br />
<br />
Given three hours a day, I jumped into a project that would take up 6 or more hours a day, every day for weeks on end. The living room, you see, is the single largest room in my house. It has 14' high ceilings at the highest point, 12' high at the center of the room, a 3/4 wall, and is all of a piece with the kitchen and dining room which means that any changes you make in the living room you have to plan to make in the kitchen and dining room as well.<br />
<br />
It always starts innocently enough. After having <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2011/02/caitlins-room-remodel.html">remodeled Caitlin's room</a>, I knew that I wanted to do our master bedroom next, but I also knew that as soon as spring hit I'd have no interest in painting until the fall. I was right, of course, but the room I decided to work on first turned into the living room instead of my own. Why? Well...let me show you.<br />
<br />
I'm warning you ahead of time, these are seriously embarrassing shots.<br />
<br />
Here's what you would see upon entering my humble abode. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkohikTzCOeut5c-CXAyirmpDyNWNQMyiPwyEA4A0SC-np-I-SR3Nm213sHOEFhCAd2l2jKA4gcgIiVf5usky0prfrg0sRLUHwxiZcQG3WW-dT12pPByHHvMjFOMken8XkOOZI/s1600/stairway-entrance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkohikTzCOeut5c-CXAyirmpDyNWNQMyiPwyEA4A0SC-np-I-SR3Nm213sHOEFhCAd2l2jKA4gcgIiVf5usky0prfrg0sRLUHwxiZcQG3WW-dT12pPByHHvMjFOMken8XkOOZI/s320/stairway-entrance.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
This wreck is my front entry way. Welcoming, isn't it? It says, "Welcome to chaos!" and possibly whips a shoe at your head. Watch your step!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQqh6O6t-D-dm3qsWuYhD_NdKmZvpDG4aaBuIWN9UqSZgANL6ryDkGQM9FMiwQe91BH7QEV4QVbmnm1xx54wKCkRGJ83U1JtAYp0BoOgB-DJK07omN1lntMLbi3RCyWLa6-u7/s1600/garagedoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQqh6O6t-D-dm3qsWuYhD_NdKmZvpDG4aaBuIWN9UqSZgANL6ryDkGQM9FMiwQe91BH7QEV4QVbmnm1xx54wKCkRGJ83U1JtAYp0BoOgB-DJK07omN1lntMLbi3RCyWLa6-u7/s320/garagedoor.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Above is the door that leads to the garage. We deposit our keys and things on the hooks, so we don't lose them randomly around the house. This was one of the smarter things we set up in the entrance. However, with the introduction of 3 other people into our household, it just wasn't enough organization.<br />
<br />
Here is the view looking down the stairs at the shoerack and front door. The rack was forever loaded with shoes that <i>no one ever wore</i>.
Why is that, anyway? And papers. And bills. And hats. Large boxes that
need to be recycled are regularly tossed down the stairs to wait for
some kind soul to drag them out to the can. How long do you suppose <i>that</i> took, normally? [<i>Shudder!</i>]<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsnLzq0nSg3h3HctIioegO7Xi9m5zcnveQYxC_Lt8hys3t8XmLyIaGM51o-lMPIXpKpRvcWDrKBjGv4Y7MerpTa20QU0Xxhn8Q1Oj3dtpLQG_Fw8p6gWO-QTTGhtQrYh2V0xDz/s1600/frontdoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsnLzq0nSg3h3HctIioegO7Xi9m5zcnveQYxC_Lt8hys3t8XmLyIaGM51o-lMPIXpKpRvcWDrKBjGv4Y7MerpTa20QU0Xxhn8Q1Oj3dtpLQG_Fw8p6gWO-QTTGhtQrYh2V0xDz/s320/frontdoor.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Why yes, that <b>is</b> a piece of wire you see at the top of my door. It's a hack job for a wreath hanger because my <b>actual</b> wreath hanger went on walkabout. Can you blame it? </i></div>
<br />
Starting in early August, I changed the front entrance to this.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjP-DMpBf4n302AR0FAkU81xHCkrVvJ-ggyUHk_TFLrGieLSXoLZWmmlIUIhvX2kmsA9Fb2OGJrCc_pX91bwJnygPiLJunLBV_2PG9500oUJ6ousvZbHRcdIblRBcnfhbfiz7Y/s1600/Front-080611-before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjP-DMpBf4n302AR0FAkU81xHCkrVvJ-ggyUHk_TFLrGieLSXoLZWmmlIUIhvX2kmsA9Fb2OGJrCc_pX91bwJnygPiLJunLBV_2PG9500oUJ6ousvZbHRcdIblRBcnfhbfiz7Y/s320/Front-080611-before.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Suddenly, life was looking up! A storage chest for the shoes. Now they're all in there and <i><b>you can't see them</b></i>! Three hooks - one, two, three! - for the three children. A small ledge (<i>from IKEA, because I had to see what all of the hoopla was all about</i>) for bits and bobs and sunglasses. On the wall to the left is a metal file folder for mail. Ahhh!<br />
<br />
Once the twins started school, all of this would change. My inner decorator was fired up and raring to go!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0J_G7sRV9CZtuSbrqZ8mdAKqsEhQ1PrZkeqs87J2p_S92q5-QW8zB7EACbpbDFq1VPWl940NwY1pjHJE-yg2LOf0K8xD5PUBfjmTEVsjltTUfcu9oD4srkiUJ_i_sPvBEM-y/s1600/hooks-091911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0J_G7sRV9CZtuSbrqZ8mdAKqsEhQ1PrZkeqs87J2p_S92q5-QW8zB7EACbpbDFq1VPWl940NwY1pjHJE-yg2LOf0K8xD5PUBfjmTEVsjltTUfcu9oD4srkiUJ_i_sPvBEM-y/s320/hooks-091911.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Note that I left all of the bits on the hooks so you'd <b>see </b>those bags. In those bags are items for several crafty projects that I <strike>can't</strike> shouldn't start until the painting is done! One birthday wreath for the twins (Unless I don't get my act together in time, in which case it will suddenly be a Halloween wreath.); the almond contact paper is to darken the window over the sofa to enhance the movie viewing experience; there are pillow forms in there that will become throw pillows for the sofa made with fabric leftover from the dining room chair re-upholster I have planned; a paint pen and clear contact paper to change out the need for mini blinds on the sidelight and yet retain privacy; high heat paint to black out the brass detail on the fireplace and metallic spray paint to change out all of the door hardware from brass to brushed nickel. My god, people! I've gone and bought a <b>glue gun!</b></i></div>
<br />
Fresh paint!* Painted trim! Accent colors! More hooks! A mirror! Woo!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqGG3T3x8UBMMTnXkCUD3HFinhqOpBD8nSfzTKOzPnxpd3oL00DZAnVjK-_JWqCRjjXwPY-gE1AGlvZWtSSW4GENgL7tg4lYtR33KJs3R7ycKkr96dl0ePCSMrmG9F3BY817a/s1600/garagedoor-091911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqGG3T3x8UBMMTnXkCUD3HFinhqOpBD8nSfzTKOzPnxpd3oL00DZAnVjK-_JWqCRjjXwPY-gE1AGlvZWtSSW4GENgL7tg4lYtR33KJs3R7ycKkr96dl0ePCSMrmG9F3BY817a/s320/garagedoor-091911.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
This image doesn't do the accent wall justice. The color is called "Burled Redwood" and it's a lovely, deep, cinnamon-y red. The door is "Knight's Armor" grey, the walls are "Vanilla Brandy" and the ceiling is "Honey Beige" (<i>Are you hungry now? I am!</i>). Lots of earthy tones. I'm letting my inner druid drive my inner decorator's color choices.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4luoQbISnjaLxsnYNWHlwmuleT4d2I6wH_Fx51yoLBZSZEanvB6AGI20TkW1mvplwi9accDL2rTGEGIm6WOj3E5qKbo8n-Xt1RTMgGZQMgKFEW6N67mbUV8rfbyWMvPpVsa4t/s1600/Frontdoor-091911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4luoQbISnjaLxsnYNWHlwmuleT4d2I6wH_Fx51yoLBZSZEanvB6AGI20TkW1mvplwi9accDL2rTGEGIm6WOj3E5qKbo8n-Xt1RTMgGZQMgKFEW6N67mbUV8rfbyWMvPpVsa4t/s320/Frontdoor-091911.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
It's a whole lot easier to keep it neat, now that there's some place for most things that come in the front door. I'm still working on getting everyone to actually <i><b>put</b></i> their shoes into the storage chest automatically, but it happens more often than not.<br />
<br />
I've also been painting the <i>rest</i> of the living room, building a storage space for all of the toys that wander our house and making plans to <i>finally</i> decorate my house. You know, like grown-ups apparently do. I've only been <i>living </i>here for 16 years!<br />
<br />
I've got to be honest with you: painting just this entrance way was <i><b>terrifying</b></i>. Imagine being 14' up in the air, with the ladder blocking the doors and looking down the flight of stairs to the basement below. Not only do you get the thrill of potentially falling down 14 feet, you'd get the extra 6' to the basement should you misstep. It was a total cardio workout, going up and down the ladder in that corner! Gaaaah! <br />
<br />
Today I finally finished** the part of the 3/4 wall that faces the living room, updated the last bits of trim (<i>Except for the stair risers and railings, which make me exhausted just looking at them. The mere <b>thought </b>of having to remove them, sand them, prime them once or twice, paint them and seal them with polyurethane just makes me want to weep with frustration, so I'm leaving them for the very last thing I do. They may wait until after the bedroom is finished, depending on just how much looking at them bugs me on a daily basis!</i>), painted inside the coat closet and started refinishing the handrail that leads upstairs. Once I have the closet door back in place I'm calling the living room finished!<br />
<br />
Of course, in order to do <i>that</i>, I have to wash, sand, prime, paint and seal the door knobs and hinges....<br />
<br />
I'm insane.<br />
<br />
But by gosh! By golly! By gum! This room is going to look <i>ab-so-fricken-lutely smashing</i> when I'm done!<br />
<br />
You're gonna love it! I already do.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>* Why, yes, I <b>have</b> already threatened the Destructo Twins with death when they looked like they were about to start writing on the walls. Thanks for asking!</i><br />
<br />
<i>** When I say "I" painted, I really mean it. Eric has been replacing switches and outlets and their covers from almond fixtures (soooo 1990s!) to white, handling the children and moving heavy ladders for me. Him no paint. Him cook and do laundry.</i>Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-59295402059499801592011-08-22T20:35:00.002-06:002011-08-22T20:49:43.576-06:00The Beginning of a New EraOn Friday, August 12th we found out a single piece of information that would change the course of our family's future.<br />
<br />
The twins will meet the cutoff for kindergarten next year by <i><b>three days</b></i>.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, we leaped into overdrive getting them set up in a half day preschool program that would run five days a week. Eric called up several different local schools and we went and visited about four of them. By the time we hit the last school on our list, a Montessori, we knew we had struck gold.<br />
<br />
<ul><li>They had not one, but <i><b>two</b></i> openings. This is key when you have twins, you see.</li>
<li>School started on Monday, August 15th.</li>
<li>The twins <i><b>loved</b></i> the school.</li>
<li>During our visit, one of the teachers sat down with the twins and started an I-Spy game of letters and toy fruits and veggies, while we talked to the administrator.</li>
</ul><br />
Eric promised that we'd get back to them once we had a chance to think it over. <i><b>I</b></i> thought it over on the trip to the car. "Call her back as soon as we get home! They're closing in 5 minutes! It's <i><b>Friday</b></i>!" And so he called the administrator right back and told her that we'd bring them in first thing on Monday morning.<br />
<br />
The same day we dropped Caitlin off at school for her very first day as a Fifth Grader.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgES-GPjt8i-5Nc-eiVHXJZ7V8f62PH-c82QSbpDmpS6DMle5ko0llAKkp7Q4HLI-XOPYGI5Bqi-k_Vg8ia0f1kjCeOiJrHPcwq3uOUOvZKSMATOTtCuXGDSzkm1uROJYARcsKQ/s1600/readytoroll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgES-GPjt8i-5Nc-eiVHXJZ7V8f62PH-c82QSbpDmpS6DMle5ko0llAKkp7Q4HLI-XOPYGI5Bqi-k_Vg8ia0f1kjCeOiJrHPcwq3uOUOvZKSMATOTtCuXGDSzkm1uROJYARcsKQ/s320/readytoroll.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Who's ready for school? I asked as I shot the above photo. As you can see, the response was overwhelmingly positive.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfy862WHufcJnBVU2JHfGOFpdSBnBXAA51TsDH7QNK8VNJecSg8PoB3tDd3kix8AIjdb8Vr46gfca033onFXBKLva4cyRTujNQkSGQr9I2pQdxwUn02lIlwUZcOSbICcrN9Toh/s1600/Emma-readyforpreschool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfy862WHufcJnBVU2JHfGOFpdSBnBXAA51TsDH7QNK8VNJecSg8PoB3tDd3kix8AIjdb8Vr46gfca033onFXBKLva4cyRTujNQkSGQr9I2pQdxwUn02lIlwUZcOSbICcrN9Toh/s320/Emma-readyforpreschool.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <i>Emma is ready!</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVudO0F7cgFT2bZV4sP_crA_aFSSnaqpXGZv2l2vuSrem8DspSebxYdQjyfkNvbKcUaiOOJi6r-RT5ZGKGGZhnATdcgwoXU1XrDE7gdg0fOh0dKLjp4XfXfAVDARcGJoSURh3/s1600/Logan-readyforpreschoool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVudO0F7cgFT2bZV4sP_crA_aFSSnaqpXGZv2l2vuSrem8DspSebxYdQjyfkNvbKcUaiOOJi6r-RT5ZGKGGZhnATdcgwoXU1XrDE7gdg0fOh0dKLjp4XfXfAVDARcGJoSURh3/s320/Logan-readyforpreschoool.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Logan is ready! And very excited about his new Lightning McQueen t-shirt.</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQkKDiKdmPCdYRpvhLKCzwxMng13U8Wm_k0e092kgxWmeZq0Ynq_-kpOoN5hcp3CXWlLpeAC7-VnpNh7KpaQCbMQ2i5xXTrkw4RiW0cWzTGihIfvQjhqqiyFDZo40wTap-CfI/s1600/Caitlin-5thgrader.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQkKDiKdmPCdYRpvhLKCzwxMng13U8Wm_k0e092kgxWmeZq0Ynq_-kpOoN5hcp3CXWlLpeAC7-VnpNh7KpaQCbMQ2i5xXTrkw4RiW0cWzTGihIfvQjhqqiyFDZo40wTap-CfI/s320/Caitlin-5thgrader.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Caitlin was ready to take on the world as a senior in elementary school.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYiCVTKe0wS6OgW930E4n5gDpmlOUhTmMQvrFMVLM2ZNq6o0ZAgjwl6khtkreFECbyA8VDthyujQ8Vka-vfIRqoRBOdL1aTUE4HvggKl2tlTDB8Rs-V2fy5OAFcUbA_JxJVQ4c/s1600/Caitlin-bye-kisses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYiCVTKe0wS6OgW930E4n5gDpmlOUhTmMQvrFMVLM2ZNq6o0ZAgjwl6khtkreFECbyA8VDthyujQ8Vka-vfIRqoRBOdL1aTUE4HvggKl2tlTDB8Rs-V2fy5OAFcUbA_JxJVQ4c/s320/Caitlin-bye-kisses.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>I feel a little bad, we sort of short changed her at drop off. We whisked in with her bags of supplies and walked her to her line. After hugs and kisses goodbye, we took off, rather than wait for the grades to walk inside.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tEIWVFE7FTFfIXUuTqIr2v0Rg44KPXvcmL6l3V7d6cuPmqWxMpp1japKk8yBBmF57hUKdq0YSa9KrwsUgf4if4a-yjHMCEpMi75zVbqcFZml6Zt9TYAojyHzDFOOpjt7Sowy/s1600/Daddy-Caitlin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tEIWVFE7FTFfIXUuTqIr2v0Rg44KPXvcmL6l3V7d6cuPmqWxMpp1japKk8yBBmF57hUKdq0YSa9KrwsUgf4if4a-yjHMCEpMi75zVbqcFZml6Zt9TYAojyHzDFOOpjt7Sowy/s320/Daddy-Caitlin.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>I think she was pretty OK with it, though, since she wasn't paying any attention to us at all. She was too busy greeting all of those other kids who would soon roam the halls with her.<br />
<br />
Then we drove off, with the twins, to their <i><b>very first day of preschool</b></i>.<br />
<br />
Oh the excitement!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKwoXW5Sonl3yw2jqa6VR7IncxyAk6KGfX7cNFXfhtE_VTBo3C73nz5ioESlP0nmYqpSbOBF0Y1odIPSArHNzAI7WZ3Zmh1us6wRfjVuFCpNCX-WImf_MGh5QYGZxay02hPNP/s1600/E-atschool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMKwoXW5Sonl3yw2jqa6VR7IncxyAk6KGfX7cNFXfhtE_VTBo3C73nz5ioESlP0nmYqpSbOBF0Y1odIPSArHNzAI7WZ3Zmh1us6wRfjVuFCpNCX-WImf_MGh5QYGZxay02hPNP/s320/E-atschool.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <i>Emma at check-in, snuggles with her blanket.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuf8PK-tpAXChv7ZMWf9qEqDCpQthlhmPDrpxDA6baowjLVQYs0_Tp1FOIExlkepcnn8_VmXXaLtmaMTeqTshYNrt5Zw0WzHUAAJI-Nn4l4K71iPyHPBNaUmQPZcILAjCfxCvV/s1600/L-atschool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuf8PK-tpAXChv7ZMWf9qEqDCpQthlhmPDrpxDA6baowjLVQYs0_Tp1FOIExlkepcnn8_VmXXaLtmaMTeqTshYNrt5Zw0WzHUAAJI-Nn4l4K71iPyHPBNaUmQPZcILAjCfxCvV/s320/L-atschool.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Logan can hardly wait to run off to his classroom and play with all the new toys!</i></div><br />
The additional benefit of this preschool was the fact that they were able to put Emma and Logan into different classrooms. This would be the very first time they had ever been separated for any real length of time. All day, every day, 5 days a week for three hours*: solo. They would finally have a chance to make friends and see what life is like solo.<br />
<br />
They never for a moment showed fear or insecurity. They didn't even say goodbye when we brought them to the play area to leave them. Instead, they raced off and left us standing on the sidelines.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioAXgzTrQK3eSjB3-g5R-NL3gfaNJCU8_lbKcKTGsJLsfz8RUd-UL4f8PgNMXDnoWbnkCsIxItzSouHAjiarFA-XR17lgNaGOaht3DD58MZnyfD10gjn3GrZ8N2-Zyw7a51HNe/s1600/EandL-raceaway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioAXgzTrQK3eSjB3-g5R-NL3gfaNJCU8_lbKcKTGsJLsfz8RUd-UL4f8PgNMXDnoWbnkCsIxItzSouHAjiarFA-XR17lgNaGOaht3DD58MZnyfD10gjn3GrZ8N2-Zyw7a51HNe/s320/EandL-raceaway.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We marched over, demanded kisses and <i>made</i> them say goodbye to us sad sacks! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6YK5JYWKSCX8TW_huGpLaV72_IgdQEfIMjDHQ1IaEuWKZ5IWkeWdMOIq5xG_Ux8L-Qc9028prVUCLxoFj-wl-PPbjKtOZoKzD3ce53Nglhcd2oUUNkRXnxZYPkJp_PZsXe48g/s1600/E-wavesbye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6YK5JYWKSCX8TW_huGpLaV72_IgdQEfIMjDHQ1IaEuWKZ5IWkeWdMOIq5xG_Ux8L-Qc9028prVUCLxoFj-wl-PPbjKtOZoKzD3ce53Nglhcd2oUUNkRXnxZYPkJp_PZsXe48g/s320/E-wavesbye.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <i>Buh-bye! Don't let the door hit you in the back on your way out, mom!</i></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjat38rwiTuPGst3nFH48iOGx7s_6M9pSp5t_eGGNCcowpkLCLxcVRqyHq-dhP4xABpECQFkZW3vt6iRe-d9lkquNktwtU4I0gAv6gKzI88JG129Qbz47oUqEssHNdJP4Yf9Owq/s1600/L-wavesbye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjat38rwiTuPGst3nFH48iOGx7s_6M9pSp5t_eGGNCcowpkLCLxcVRqyHq-dhP4xABpECQFkZW3vt6iRe-d9lkquNktwtU4I0gAv6gKzI88JG129Qbz47oUqEssHNdJP4Yf9Owq/s320/L-wavesbye.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Who are you again? You know I'm busy playin', right?</i></div><br />
So we left them. All alone. Together.<br />
<br />
And ran away giggling into the early morning light.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><i><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Preschool acquired! </span></b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Freeeeeeedommmmm!</span></b></i></div><br />
<br />
Later, they looked like <i>this</i> after school:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHmeC6ORshs3R_drglfpTYmWXuKF3fVN9WHONAUm4PdanBiaXv0iYAMn44VWlLtOg8GkSrCDAAVbNPTvD5U52H7FT_xnEIq5iQ08hkKqw7KzLY2DgZ2BsY8pmnQu5VL8PTIK4/s1600/E-afterpreschool-081511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHmeC6ORshs3R_drglfpTYmWXuKF3fVN9WHONAUm4PdanBiaXv0iYAMn44VWlLtOg8GkSrCDAAVbNPTvD5U52H7FT_xnEIq5iQ08hkKqw7KzLY2DgZ2BsY8pmnQu5VL8PTIK4/s320/E-afterpreschool-081511.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Emma was exhausted after all that learnin' and stuff.</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB24U_4Tz-4GBoH2udB2PIFXywqZeCV4YxK7536_qjohyphenhyphennHNLxLJNA7NwkDdSFSg8WH0uoO6rKX4qK1-mi3yDVlwP5DcnH-O0MDSYY3zsgWWIPvq4duAZHLvOXDxi1MybuCtCO/s1600/L-afterpreschool-081511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB24U_4Tz-4GBoH2udB2PIFXywqZeCV4YxK7536_qjohyphenhyphennHNLxLJNA7NwkDdSFSg8WH0uoO6rKX4qK1-mi3yDVlwP5DcnH-O0MDSYY3zsgWWIPvq4duAZHLvOXDxi1MybuCtCO/s320/L-afterpreschool-081511.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Logan was still pumped from all the educatin'.</i><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwnkHf6yFdTJRgwetSIZ1uEyT4vc5_yHITtf21dosIqrxb7wfe-rvU1njLG346pRqGLFcQrxxznKYjafFR46e1vywO1XUWqWXNAI-0xTT54VW_t7Xhwt-g0xlJqEYXWRTLCYg/s1600/C-firstdayfifthgrade081511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwnkHf6yFdTJRgwetSIZ1uEyT4vc5_yHITtf21dosIqrxb7wfe-rvU1njLG346pRqGLFcQrxxznKYjafFR46e1vywO1XUWqWXNAI-0xTT54VW_t7Xhwt-g0xlJqEYXWRTLCYg/s320/C-firstdayfifthgrade081511.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Caitlin was psyched.</i></div><br />
* <i>The list of things I want to get done in those three hours is just beginning to unfurl in my head! Weeding! Photography! Painting the house! Decorating! Writing! Decluttering! Grocery shopping without short people! OMG! Squeee!</i>Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-65440005015750741632011-07-28T07:31:00.000-06:002011-11-20T16:29:26.207-07:00A Vigil for My Father[I'm now back in Colorado, and after a week of getting the house and garden in order, I'm ready to finish the tale.]<br />
<br />
On Monday, July 4th, Dad was cremated.<br />
<br />
I can honestly say I don't remember what all we must've done on Monday, but I know that one fact for certain. On Tuesday we held Visitation Hours at the funeral home for dad.<br />
<br />
Considering that I really had no idea why we "needed" visitation hours, it turns out that the second session was the <i>absolute best </i>part of the whole death ritual. Even better than the funeral itself, for me at the very least.<br />
<br />
We walked into the oddly hushed room, where the walls were lined with ancient sofas from a time long gone. Just as uncomfortable now as they were when originally purchased, no one had ever sat on them for comfort or had time to get the seat to conform to their shape. I walked in with Eric, Cindy and Jason, but without the children. We had hired a sitter to keep them from lighting the house on fire and from expiring from utter boredom at such a decidedly child-unfriendly event. Random people populated the room, random photographs were strewn across a coffee table. In the back of the room, flowers were on display; huge bouquets of flowers from friends and family members, the bank where dad worked and friends from church. The displays were lovely.<br />
<br />
Flanked on either side by the flowers was a console table and two photos of my father.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-k27mH2zB1uZiaXq7P4uoAWzKQsJCOihOJihAgQ9sHUXN4JdSEzw0WwbGgu7krPYojbrPRElB_E5bmgtgi3IF5X7Mh3TW8s5jg0yT-rqKW3eRQ9iaB5B9fd_eEt3zHq3j6fMw/s1600/ondisplay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-k27mH2zB1uZiaXq7P4uoAWzKQsJCOihOJihAgQ9sHUXN4JdSEzw0WwbGgu7krPYojbrPRElB_E5bmgtgi3IF5X7Mh3TW8s5jg0yT-rqKW3eRQ9iaB5B9fd_eEt3zHq3j6fMw/s320/ondisplay.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
One was from his early banking days, he was probably just 30 and looked as if he'd just stepped out of a scene from Mad Men; stiff white shirt, dark tie, sharp black suit and glasses that brooked no nonsense.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbKl3Auy6jD1tE3WG9fhwrQzZfYHiAH4yHBgBI98eSezqhTb8o9bjI-ZgJo9C9rV2_9QYenDvEnvnklTlP9jxPIj3K3cMyv1v6mhyphenhyphenBf0tJGTkomkCIXKuxL2mcwfk2a51W68x8/s1600/1963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbKl3Auy6jD1tE3WG9fhwrQzZfYHiAH4yHBgBI98eSezqhTb8o9bjI-ZgJo9C9rV2_9QYenDvEnvnklTlP9jxPIj3K3cMyv1v6mhyphenhyphenBf0tJGTkomkCIXKuxL2mcwfk2a51W68x8/s320/1963.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
The other was from just a year ago; 77 years old and wearing one of his ubiquitous sweaters and wool driving caps.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGAisimM0wBeQsWrKBmMsuT5ZH9FrenxosxrAONcEKRqPw_jzaHij1wudKGWFmfA5kd0RCPWg3TRXcSwJaiYypaKvOdHxhZj5uyrB4pN9hYj0n9GKem9UjfvV5iW86L8vByssD/s1600/2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGAisimM0wBeQsWrKBmMsuT5ZH9FrenxosxrAONcEKRqPw_jzaHij1wudKGWFmfA5kd0RCPWg3TRXcSwJaiYypaKvOdHxhZj5uyrB4pN9hYj0n9GKem9UjfvV5iW86L8vByssD/s320/2010.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
The two photos encompassed about 47 years of his life, but couldn't even begin to express all the living that occurred between one and the next. Yet somehow they managed to capture a little <i>something </i>about dad. Was it the twinkle in his eye? A bit of a smirk where another might've grinned? It's hard to say just what you saw when perusing these pictures, but you definitely <i>understood </i>that it was my father, your uncle/cousin/friend/husband. <br />
<br />
In the center of the console table was the urn.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1InLw3A-mwUL_51mnOSCJmLlmbwfRVxZVLkdCHEKlteQXO9XAlT0DJp2kBx14J1ExW4XQkLqMhHd9WVbvOyDpgcpi55BPXslM6LM8C_R8QFGcE-6giW1DDyzAH2GxTaum-gQh/s1600/urn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1InLw3A-mwUL_51mnOSCJmLlmbwfRVxZVLkdCHEKlteQXO9XAlT0DJp2kBx14J1ExW4XQkLqMhHd9WVbvOyDpgcpi55BPXslM6LM8C_R8QFGcE-6giW1DDyzAH2GxTaum-gQh/s320/urn.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
It was pretty, sitting there, lit with a quiet understatement and yet a heavy presence. <i>Here lie the ashes of a man...</i> It suddenly struck me that all that remained of my father was in that itty bitty steel vessel and it stunned me that <i>all of him</i> could fit in there. A lump formed suddenly in my throat and tears leapt to my eyes. The reality of the moment settled heavily on my shoulders, reinforced by the abnormal hush, the somewhat dusty scent, the ancient sofas and striped wall hangings.<br />
<br />
It took me a moment to collect myself, catch my breath and find my words once more. Quiet greetings murmured to people I didn't know, people I should have known and cousins I'd never known about. We took a break for dinner (<i>and yet more doughnuts</i>) and then returned for the final set of visiting hours and the eulogy. In the second hour, the folks I recognized began to appear. They trickled into the room in groups of two or three; cousins, old friends from dad's Jamaica days, his school friends, his nieces and nephew. My family. My parent's community. The characters that all held memories of dad that differed from mine, slices of his past, pieces of his personality.<br />
<br />
My kid sister (<i>fun to still call her that, at 32 and a mother of 2 children</i>) took to the floor and read the eulogy that she had prepared and had printed out in 18 point font. It took up three pages, not because it was just that <i>long</i>, but because the font size was that <i>large</i> just in case it became a tad difficult to see. Smart girl, that one.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUU15iYw3w7AjT3kazGH-uKTnhAS9F1nzfw6ROFNCA-A_Cn63jvCGeq6I6Wb7jA88FTQeuQc6CtSQhsmxZoGXFRJmkByNMX9DrB5ZuHAu1uYkpdbIaD11L-shi5T2ijM-541Vk/s1600/Cindy-xmasstory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUU15iYw3w7AjT3kazGH-uKTnhAS9F1nzfw6ROFNCA-A_Cn63jvCGeq6I6Wb7jA88FTQeuQc6CtSQhsmxZoGXFRJmkByNMX9DrB5ZuHAu1uYkpdbIaD11L-shi5T2ijM-541Vk/s320/Cindy-xmasstory.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
She told us of early morning piggyback rides down the stairs and coffee shared with a 5 year old; Christmas stockings that were never large enough and overflow candy ending up in size 13 shoe boxes beneath the stockings. She asked us to remember him as he was, not as he became and not as a victim of Alzheimer's, because dad would've wanted it that way.<br />
<br />
When she finished, she looked me in the eye and wanted me to take the floor. I wasn't ready yet, so I had Dawn (<i>my older sister</i>) go up instead.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5W8D16nMhpM-9Wmnaohi0lR460v-4MnsUW7h8J9ohAt41KMzghzUEpzZSS48l25pf_8JsbCcOkNGmm5D-dU_8uXH5FB2rgYtIZVSdevbF9GcFhlaltyNvZwi8e0DXpgAk32X/s1600/Dawn-runningstory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5W8D16nMhpM-9Wmnaohi0lR460v-4MnsUW7h8J9ohAt41KMzghzUEpzZSS48l25pf_8JsbCcOkNGmm5D-dU_8uXH5FB2rgYtIZVSdevbF9GcFhlaltyNvZwi8e0DXpgAk32X/s320/Dawn-runningstory.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Dawn spoke of dad's years as a track star and how he could still beat her in a race back when she was in high school. How he spoke of practice and working hard at your goals. Next it was my turn.<br />
<br />
Being me, I didn't want to regale the crowd with my memory of dad whilst standing up. It was rather like being on a stage, minus the trappings of an auditorium and the comfortable seats. Instead, I pulled up a bench, since I wasn't certain if I could stand and speak or if the formality of it would bring me to tears.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyRxlU-Uz3imBsBYHzjJ6C5oKpgvSCw9dN-bCxyDylpDp0L6IQepbmAn7bdGNHdlDtkzTaxZPT8DioknYPTat2mouyRhMQtIHygIUg6OBJKbRW6Hpz-Hkm_-OGSo9yicEAbS15/s1600/Loonstory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyRxlU-Uz3imBsBYHzjJ6C5oKpgvSCw9dN-bCxyDylpDp0L6IQepbmAn7bdGNHdlDtkzTaxZPT8DioknYPTat2mouyRhMQtIHygIUg6OBJKbRW6Hpz-Hkm_-OGSo9yicEAbS15/s320/Loonstory.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
In my memory, we were somewhere in Canada on a family camping trip, deep in the woods, roughly 27 years ago. Dad and I had gone for a walk away from the family and tent, down towards a distant lake. As we walked along through the forest, we kept quiet and listened to the jays calling overhead; the sound of leaves and small branches crunching damply underfoot; smelled that rich aroma of pine and decay and fresh air that permeates a forest; felt the breeze on our cheeks and we just were <i>there</i>, together. Just us. Quiet. Peaceful. Serene. At the lake was a single loon, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kiXjCifQn0w">calling</a>. I called back and it responded as it swam. We called back and forth for awhile as my father watched me, quietly amused at my antics. As the loon swam out of sight, dad took my hand and we turned to go. Just a father and a daughter. Quietly together, far from home.<br />
<br />
As I finished and stood up, I turned to my brother whose turn had come to speak. He had chosen to speak last for reasons of his own.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3Q5vj28n9RI1bsIwPCxJVk3EsXH0d5RqTElxeU5Sg7xgRJS8fd5B6SfPATngrgtqzVBjXd47IbHf_Q2ljZ0L__KDxvBSukoqcEFrzQTM7ziMwI-NEN37qX_kqbmfG7qpAPe_/s1600/IanDebCindy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3Q5vj28n9RI1bsIwPCxJVk3EsXH0d5RqTElxeU5Sg7xgRJS8fd5B6SfPATngrgtqzVBjXd47IbHf_Q2ljZ0L__KDxvBSukoqcEFrzQTM7ziMwI-NEN37qX_kqbmfG7qpAPe_/s320/IanDebCindy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
He started off well enough and then the tears overtook him. Seeing him struggle, I was overwhelmed with empathy and grabbed a handful of tissues for him, then stood beside him as he collected himself and carried on. I figured he <i>needed</i> to say whatever it was he wanted to tell this room full of folks who had come to pay their respects. So I stood there, with my arms around my not-so-little little brother who towered over me at 6' tall and supported him as he spoke. We may have our issues, he and I, but in that moment, he needed someone and I stepped up. I don't remember what he said, exactly, but I remember he was glad when he was done and shuddered in relief.<br />
<br />
After we 4 kids were through, a small trickle of cousins and friends stepped up to share their stories.<br />
<br />
One of my dad's nieces, Nancy, told us a story about how dad would visit and turn their entire house upside down.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4To7njAt8w5rvikLfiEDfNiibu6O3LnRxSWPDB-Gkxhq5MCtK3KgE8ACvTvt1Cc_3lr2tbihjzrULc4r7scYI7m58Rfam5k9nJ6K6yNjSmjgVEtqFuKtgoa34jZ5fAjEouGca/s1600/Momandcompany.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4To7njAt8w5rvikLfiEDfNiibu6O3LnRxSWPDB-Gkxhq5MCtK3KgE8ACvTvt1Cc_3lr2tbihjzrULc4r7scYI7m58Rfam5k9nJ6K6yNjSmjgVEtqFuKtgoa34jZ5fAjEouGca/s320/Momandcompany.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>That's Nancy, standing behind Mom and Joan.</i></div>
<br />
He'd bring laughter and joy with him when he came to see his eldest sister and her brood. He baked a pineapple upside-down cake, doubling the batch which spilled out of the pan in its enthusiasm and then woke the kids to come have a slice, in the middle of the night. He made them laugh. He took them camping. He had them stay with us in NY while they were visiting or in school, or just passing through. I love their memories of him, so filled with life.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgre77rnXnG62D0Hh6LzR6w1pNCS3yJL7iFy5Nw0_Lx3m0N1min2-gbDF-TkAC-5A9pUiiusQzZ1lQDPiO4d_XSHRGaVk2g9niqKUEoC1-d1H6aQ0Jbw00LvQR3h1AywFM-Abl4/s1600/TheGirls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgre77rnXnG62D0Hh6LzR6w1pNCS3yJL7iFy5Nw0_Lx3m0N1min2-gbDF-TkAC-5A9pUiiusQzZ1lQDPiO4d_XSHRGaVk2g9niqKUEoC1-d1H6aQ0Jbw00LvQR3h1AywFM-Abl4/s320/TheGirls.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The stories continued from one person to the next. Words wrapped us up together in comfort; laughter burst forth sporadically and we passed the time together, if not <i>happily</i> at least meaningfully and joyfully.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFqIIBziy9pEtvbgqD7E-4jwp2IMiqIas943gVUtPqEOuYCl6zE01RkfDQ9_QaiK4W7vWm7RDhxmQp3kyFj0Qsu9QV58uF8f9OPDIvKtvcE74pKYwUJDuu6J6nQbBfmPfsz9kq/s1600/Pat-ringstory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFqIIBziy9pEtvbgqD7E-4jwp2IMiqIas943gVUtPqEOuYCl6zE01RkfDQ9_QaiK4W7vWm7RDhxmQp3kyFj0Qsu9QV58uF8f9OPDIvKtvcE74pKYwUJDuu6J6nQbBfmPfsz9kq/s320/Pat-ringstory.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Pat tells the <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2011/11/after-party.html">story of the engagement ring</a>.</i></div>
<br />
Dad's oldest friend, Joan, was the last person to speak.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisckdaB6ZFomDIrjitG4PNcn9BTK8nC_dOk6MWfpzXu8_iHhdAaRyXHI44DR1OkBts4kOemjBmTHUkEf4dEe-9H1SbcPrDA0PNXmd9qbuuRnGMSXrNQDlpwoqDmIN6F32c6qwF/s1600/Joan-notdadsgf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisckdaB6ZFomDIrjitG4PNcn9BTK8nC_dOk6MWfpzXu8_iHhdAaRyXHI44DR1OkBts4kOemjBmTHUkEf4dEe-9H1SbcPrDA0PNXmd9qbuuRnGMSXrNQDlpwoqDmIN6F32c6qwF/s320/Joan-notdadsgf.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
She told us of a terribly mischievous boy, forever hounding her and leaving her bruised, who somehow turned into a perfectly bidding boy at the call of his mother. She also explained, once and for all, that she was <i><b>not</b></i>, nor had she <i><b>ever been</b></i>, his girlfriend. The room rocked with laughter and mom, who had been sitting next to Joan the whole time, laughed long and loud and tightened her grip on Joan's hand.<br />
<br />
Mom knew all the stories. She'd heard them all again and again.Over the years, mom had turned into my father's external memory deposit. She kept all of the strands of his past together in her head, since he couldn't anymore. And while she didn't say a word or share any of her memories of dad that day, she thanked each person that spoke in turn and warmed herself with their words.Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-39606951625247326882011-07-11T05:14:00.001-06:002011-07-11T20:50:36.692-06:00Death RitualsEventually, after a few more tears were shed, the whole family walked out into the garden to start dealing with the matter at hand. Phone calls to friends and family members were made. Discussion about our desire to donate dad's brain and how to do it were addressed. The funeral home was contacted and the nurses were thanked for all of their hard work.<br />
<br />
I flipped my Dark Humor setting to <b>On</b>. Tired of crying, I decided to try a different tactic.<br />
<br />
My brother asked if we knew what kind of a funeral we wanted for dad and then suggested a Jamaican one. I couldn't let that slide and exclaimed, "What?! You want rum and fist fights? Awesome! Let's do that!"<br />
<br />
Cindy then eagerly suggested a bagpiper, then Dawn suggested a trumpeter and I declared that we should do <i><b>both</b></i> for the thrill of it. Mom listened to us riffing back and forth and looked a little...perturbed. She was trying not to laugh, but she was also red eyed and trembling on the edge of crying again. I figured she needed a good laugh and kept being ridiculous. Pretty soon, I latched onto the phrase "Dad would've want it that way." and used it to support almost any idea we ran across.<br />
<br />
Doughnuts? Dad would've wanted doughnuts. Story time at the funeral home? You betcha. Rum? Absolutely. Pie? Dad <i>really</i> would've wanted us to have pie. (<i>To date, we <b>still</b> haven't had pie. We need to work on that.</i>) And so we passed the time. Outgoing calls, incoming calls, a short round of discussion over whether the local University could have his body or not (<i>By the way, did you know there are <a href="http://aging.med.nyu.edu/get-involved/alzheimers-disease-center-brain-donation-program">brain banks</a>? If you, or someone you know, has a disease like Alzheimer's and wants to donate their brain to help continue research and eventually find a cure, you can donate <b>just</b> your brain. Or, if you'd like to help further medical research as a whole, you can <a href="http://www.biogift.org/">donate your whole body</a>.</i>), we voted not to give them his body if they weren't going to use it for Alzheimer's research. After numerous phone calls my older sister, the nurse, found the right person to get dad's brain to and that bit was done.<i> </i><br />
<br />
The question about whether we'd have an open casket funeral followed by cremation was stomped flat. <i><b>No one</b></i> within our family or among dad's friends needed to see dad like that. It was a situation where my silly little phrase was completely useful. Dad <i>never</i> would've wanted that. Instead we opted for immediate cremation. When the van came to take dad's body away, the nursing home staff lined up in the corridor like an honor guard. He'd only been there a few months, but they got to know him pretty well and <i>everyone</i> loved my mom who was there every single day he was in there. We thanked them, said goodbye, and then trooped down to the funeral home to make the last of the arrangements.<br />
<br />
Never having lost anyone close to me before, fortunately, I was all at sea when it came to local funeral rituals. What are "visitation hours" used for? Who goes to those? Can't we just skip to the funeral and interment? Why are those are done separately? What about all of those scenes in the movies where herds of mourners are at the grave sites and the famous Dust to Dust speech is given? Clearly I had a lot to learn. <br />
<br />
Oh, and in case you were wondering? Funeral homes are kinda creepy. Yeah, you <i>say</i>, you're not surprised, but when you come face to face with an ancient print of Little Bo Peep on the wall that screams <i>horror movie ghost girl</i> at you, you'll know what I mean. Antique furniture that you just <i>know</i> was bought when it was new in the 1800s, depressingly serious wall colors, quietly consoling artwork and the casket room added to the Creep Factor. It wasn't <i>scary</i>, per se, but kinda spooky. Sounds seemed oddly muffled.<br />
<br />
As I mentioned earlier, <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/search/label/Alzheimers">my dad had been dying for a long time</a> and yet mom never got around to choosing an urn. So when the director asked if we wanted to pick it out, we said yes and three of us trooped after him. Up a rickety set of stairs into what would be the attic, with its oppressive slanted roof, where several caskets were on display up on lucite Xs. It's important to note that when not in use, clear lucite Xs should be stored flat along a wall unless you want a 6' tall man, distracted by a room full of coffins, to put his foot right through one.<br />
<br />
Oh, yes. Oh, yes he did indeed.<br />
<br />
We stifled some laughter at my brother's expense and turned our attention to the shelf full of urns and a rotating display case full of...coffin bling.<br />
<br />
I kid you not.<br />
<br />
There, on a rotating rack in front of the shelf full of urns, was a selection of what was clearly meant to be coffin or urn adornments. There was an open mouthed bass; a plaque with trees and a lake enscribed with the word Dad; a flowered disc and other items that I can't recall since I was too busy trying not to giggle. Once Cindy made ooh-ing noises about the fish, all I could focus on was how to redirect her interest in case she got serious about it. Veto plans firmly in place, I turned my gaze to what would be the final resting place for my dad's ashes.<br />
<br />
Turns out there are all kinds of urns available in all kinds of shapes, colors and sizes. On the way up the stairs, I had threatened my brother with a pink flowered box for dad's ashes and sure enough, there was one waiting. Instead, we all chose the simple stainless urn inscribed with a Greek Key. Dad would have approved. Another bonus: you couldn't attach any bling to it. Fish crisis averted! Decision made, we trooped <i>carefully</i> back down the stairs. My gaze traveled across caskets with pink interiors, fluffy cream colored pillows, engraved brass plaques that declared this to be Dad's Final Resting Place and lids carved with images of trees and deer. I was suddenly glad that we were skipping right to cremation. You can spend an awful lot of money on a tricked out box!<br />
<br />
I'm pretty certain dad would've wanted us to save the money for rum and pie.<br />
<br />
In the office once again, we finalized the text for the obituary (<i>Those things can get pretty long!</i>) that Cindy had been working on; arranged for cremation on Monday, visitation hours on Tuesday afternoon and the funeral and interment on Wednesday morning. As it turns out, there's a lot of Red Light, Green Light when it comes to funeral planning. Religious funeral? Church. Catholic? Funeral with eulogy. Not Catholic? Eulogy during visitation instead. Mass with service or without? Would the children do readings during the visitation service or the funeral? Readings needed to be on the approved list. I really had no idea.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Updated to add:</b></i> Cindy reminded me about the Ashes Issue. As we were wrapping up, Cindy remembered to ask for some of dad's ashes to be set aside for scattering, per his wishes.<br />
<br />
Cindy suddenly remembered that dad had wanted his ashes sprinkled over the Hammond River and asked the funeral director to save some. "Not a lot!" she added, hurriedly, in case he got the wrong idea. "Just some. A little." I looked at her oddly, a light dancing in my eyes and barely restrained myself. "What?" Clearly I was being a pain.<br />
<br />
"You're worried you're going to get a big old bag of ashes to haul around, aren't you? A one pound bag of <i>Dad</i>." Horrified, Cindy began gesturing emphatically and attempted to explain. I laughed at the image of a gallon sized baggie of <i>Dad</i> being thumped down in front of her for scattering, but the director assured us that he understood completely. Second crisis averted! We were <i>totally</i> getting the hang of this!<br />
<br />
Decisions made and one burning personal question answered (<i>What happens in cremation if you have a metal hip? What do they do with it? Could you get it back if you wanted it?</i>) for my brother,* we went home to mom's house. We all declared it was time for Rum.<br />
<br />
Fisticuffs optional.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>*No pun intended. Seriously. I even said it that way while we were <b>in the office</b>. Let's just call it a Freudian slip and move on, shall we?</i>Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-87913376920921330152011-07-09T11:18:00.000-06:002011-07-09T11:18:03.992-06:00The Final FarewellAfter a fast shower and a leisurely brushing of teeth (<i>mine had grown a bit hairy during the long drive</i>), we left Eric behind with the children and drove off to see dad at the nursing home. We were assured he was still alive at this point and responding to others when they spoke to him.<br />
<br />
Now, the thing to keep in mind about where we are in the Maritime region is that <i>everything</i> is about an hour away from wherever you happen to be at the moment. Want to go to mom's house from Cindy's house? An hour's drive. Want to go shopping? An hour's drive. Want to run out to the store and grab some milk? An hour's drive. So, going to the nursing home from Cindy's house was going to be...an hour's drive. After I'd spent three days driving with a sense of urgency, you would think that another hour would be easy enough to bear, but that drive wasn't leaving me just yet. Not until I had a chance to see him would I know whether I could step down from Red Alert or not.<br />
<br />
As we drove, Cindy and I caught up. We talked about dad, mom, and the miracle of getting my brother Ian to fly in. He would be arriving later that evening with his sweetheart, Deb. Mom was thrilled that he'd be there. We three sisters were convinced that <i>this</i> is what dad was waiting for before he could let go of this existence. The weather was lovely, so many degrees cooler than Colorado, and so much more moisture in the air that it was just a bit like swimming. We drove, reminisced and wondered if we'd make it in time.<br />
<br />
As it turned out, we did. We pulled into the Centre and walked in through the security doors. Since some Alzheimer's patients tend to go on walkabout when not supervised they have a keypad lock on the door and large, serious signs about making sure the door was shut <i>all the way</i> and that no patients were lurking about, waiting to make a break for it. The building was surrounded by lovely gardens, maintained by a team of volunteers. I appreciated the lush beauty of it just as I appreciated how <i>very</i> different it was from the depressing look of the hospital in January.<br />
<br />
We opened the door to the <a href="https://secure.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/wiki/Palliative_care">Palliative Care Room</a> and walked inside. There, on the hospital bed was my father. Cindy had warned me, but there's really nothing you can do to prepare someone for what a loved one looks like at the very end of their days. He was a husk, a mummy, the bare essence of my father. His eyes were still the same, if unfocused and rheumy. He was so very thin, as if all his life had burned up while trying to hang on, just a little longer. Long bones exposed, his hands curled into stiffened claws, his cheekbones sunken in. I held back tears, because I <i>wouldn't</i> lose it just as I walked in the door. I could be strong, at least for a little bit longer.<br />
<br />
I walked around the side of the bed to where he could see me and said, "Hi dad!" He worked to focus on my face; his eyes found mine. Did he know who I was at the very end? He did recognize my voice, somewhere deep inside? Did he think I was mom or Cindy or some long remembered relative? I don't know and it doesn't really matter. I remembered him and I had made it in time to say goodbye. Again.<br />
<br />
I don't remember what I nattered about for a couple of minutes, but I do remember telling him that we'd had a <i>very</i> long drive. I then joked that I wish I could tell him that we'd flown in and "boy, were my arms tired!". At that old joke, he smiled. He <i>smiled</i>. He was still in there. He'd heard me and <i>smiled</i> at my stupid joke. At that point my ability to tough it out failed and I excused myself and walked out into the garden just outside his door. My face crumpled up and the tears came. Cindy hugged me, hard, as I cried. Dawn came up and wrapped her arms around us both. It was so <i><b>awful</b></i> to see him left as just a shadow of his old self; that huge, bluff, <i>loud</i> man we knew as our father. I cried for myself, for my father, for my siblings and our children; for all that we had lost, all that we'd had and all that he'd never been able to do. All of those things he'd kept on putting off until "tomorrow". A tomorrow that never came as all of his yesterdays were erased bit by bit.<br />
<br />
Cindy congratulated me for making it that long without crying. Then we walked it off a bit by wandering around the garden and admiring the plants, so lovely, lush and exuberantly <i>alive</i>. Peonies bursting open like slow motion fireworks, hostas with leaves the size of platters. Mom came out, traded off with Cindy and walked with me. She was all choked up.<br />
<br />
The thing you need to know about my mother is that she hardly ever cried when we were kids. Apparently these days, tears were never far from the surface. All of those years of being calm and cool had dissolved as her husband of 44 years faded away. I always figured that since he was 12 years older than mom that he'd pass away first, but I never imagined it would be like this. Mom cried a little as we walked and talked. She felt guilty for all the things she <i>should've</i> done. That she should've spent more time just sitting with him when he asked her to. I told her that I often felt the same way about the twins and Caitlin, but that <i>someone</i> has to wash the dishes, do the laundry, sweep the floor. She'd done a fantastic job taking care of dad, all by herself, for all of those long years. She had no need to feel guilt for what else she might've done.<br />
<br />
<i><b>No one</b></i> could have done a better job of taking care of dad than mom. The doctor expressed his surprise and deepest admiration for all of her work. That he'd never seen anyone as advanced in Alzheimer's in such excellent shape when dad was checked into the hospital in January. He was still ambulatory, he could still speak and eat on his own. I reminded her of all this and told her how strong she was, how proud I was, how heroic she was for taking care of everything. She amazed me.<br />
<br />
Now we waited for my brother to arrive; we expected Ian and Deb to arrive at 11:30 pm that night. Dawn, Cindy and I were convinced that dad was hanging in there for mom who was holding him through sheer willpower. Making him <i>wait</i>, just a little longer, until Ian arrived. A steady stream of mom's choir friends came by with cookies, bars, sandwiches and fruit. Time slid by, slowly and steadily, as dad went in and out of a fitful sleep. His labored breath sounded as if he was scuba diving; bubbly and thick. His final bout with pneumonia would be his last.<br />
<br />
Finally, Cindy and I drove off to pick up my brother. We warned him that it wasn't pretty. We told him it was going to be hard. I may have used the term "mummy", my black humor was the only thing between me and constant tears. Even with that preparation, he was aghast at what he saw. The last time he'd seen dad was for the <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2010/09/twins-turned-three.html">twins' 3rd birthday party</a>. That man was long gone. He cried. We cried to see him cry. Mom cried from happiness that he'd finally made it. Dad woke up a bit for mom who asked him to say hi to Ian. He got agitated, although we don't really know why. Was he in pain? Was he tired of listening to all of our voices?<br />
<br />
We walked out into the garden to give dad space and told Ian how glad we all were that he'd made it in time. That he showed up.<br />
<br />
Sometimes that all it takes. Just show up. Be there for the people that need you.<br />
<br />
After awhile, we went back to Cindy's house to sleep. I had had 2 hours of sleep in the last 40 hours. As we drove, I tried to stay awake for Cindy, who was driving. Tried to keep <i>her</i> awake so that we didn't get into any untoward meetings with deer upon the road. I blinked in and out of consciousness as we drove. I passed out entirely when we crossed over the river on the ferry. I felt drugged, heavy and uncoordinated as we climbed up the stairs and into bed. How much longer did dad have? Would mom call us if he passed away in the middle of the night? During our drive home? Early in the morning?<br />
<br />
First thing in the morning, Cindy called to check in and dad was still hanging in there. Around 2 pm, mom called. Dad's breathing had changed to <a href="https://secure.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/wiki/Agonal_breathing"><i>agonal breathing</i></a>. The end was <i>very </i>near. We needed to get there ASAP. We flew out the door and broke every speed limit between <i>here</i> and <i>there</i>. When we arrived, I recognized that sound. Those final breaths. We talked to dad for just a bit. We each said goodbye. Strangely enough, he seemed to be mouthing something. Was he trying to say something to <i>us?</i> What was he trying to say? Cindy swears it looked like he was saying, <i>"Mom. Mom. Mom."</i> over and over again. I couldn't disagree. Was it possible he saw his mother? He tried to reach out, but was too weak. His hand fell back into his lap again.<br />
<br />
Mom, Ian and Deb weren't there. Mom had run home for a quick shower; Ian was off washing the car as mom had asked and getting lunch. Was washing the car the funereal equivalent to tearing bedsheets and boiling water?<br />
<br />
Cindy was concerned that dad may have been in pain and called one of the nurses in. A pair came in to help readjust him to ease his breathing and give him another shot of morphine to keep him comfortable. As they left the room, one poked her head out the garden door and told us that if we needed anything at all, to call for them. I think she knew, right at that moment that the game was up. We went back inside and stood beside the bed. I recognized that he was fading away at last and that he wasn't waiting for mom and Ian to return. My eyes filled up with tears and a lump formed in my throat.<br />
<br />
Dawn stood across from me and held dad's hand. She told him it was OK and that we'd take care of mom for him. That it was time to go. That it was OK to go. Cindy stood next to Dawn and couldn't believe it. I was nodding that <i>yes</i> he was going, then he had one last breath and I shook my head <i>no</i>, but then there was that long, last, slow exhalation and nothing more. After a moment of stunned silence, we held each other tightly and cried. Our tears fell freely at that point.<br />
<br />
Gone. All gone. So quietly. Peacefully, even.<br />
<br />
We pulled ourselves together just a bit and I asked what time it was. Roughly 4:05 pm. Dawn called mom who was terribly upset that she wasn't there. We figured dad was waiting for her to leave so he could go. Sneaky, stubborn dad. There was a problem, because Ian wasn't back yet. We didn't know where he'd gotten off to, so Cindy jumped into the car to go collect mom and bring her to the nursing Centre. As we waited, the nurse came in to verify my father's death, to check his vitals, and to set the funereal gears into motion. Just a few minutes later, my mother and brother walked in (<i>My mother's house, fortunately, was <b>not</b> an hour away from the nursing home.</i>) and cried. My mother kissed my dad goodbye.<br />
<br />
My brother kissed my father on the forehead when he thought no one was watching and whispered something to him.<br />
<br />
It was over at long last and we had all made it. We were <i>exactly</i> where we needed to be.Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-77050244388895234992011-07-07T11:57:00.000-06:002011-07-07T11:57:50.765-06:00The Race Cross CountryMy sister Cindy called me at 6 am on Monday morning, June 27th, and told me my dad was dying.<br />
<br />
Since he was in the final stages of Alzheimer's, he'd been dying for a long, long time, but this was <i>it.</i> She had called a month ago and said we were getting close to the end, but this was the final curtain call.<br />
<br />
We had planned on going out mid-July, but I had made it very clear to both my mother and Cindy that if anything changed that we'd drop everything and come out earlier. A month ago, they said we should just continue with our current plan. Monday morning, everything changed. Dad had had four bouts of double pneumonia since January. Four times he was dosed with antibiotics and three times he bounced back. <br />
<br />
Not this time.<br />
<br />
I answered the phone, voice rough with sleep, to hear Cindy's voice choked with tears. "You need to get here. Soon."<br />
<br />
Suddenly, our leisurely search for a house/plant/cat sitter plunged into full gear. Mountains of laundry were washed; e-mails mailed; plans made; friends contacted.<br />
<br />
All of the plants that I'd grown from seed that were still on the back deck needed to be dealt with before we left. Tomatoes, bell peppers, basil, and parsley needed to be rescued. I couldn't just run off and let them die. At some point I would be back and would regret it if I didn't take a few hours to pot them all up. It was also something to focus on instead of freaking out while all of the laundry whirred in the washing machine and dryer. Something to keep busy with instead of sorting through memories of my father. I asked Eric to buy me 3 large bags of potting soil, two more <i>very</i> large pots and set to work. <i>Later, I'll be glad I did it</i>, I assured myself.<br />
<br />
Finally, at 1:30 pm on Tuesday, we were ready to go. I'm sad to admit that a great deal of yelling occurred as we rushed the kids into the car. One of the main reasons we bought the minivan, in all of its hugeness, was to make this very trip. Trying to fly was prohibitively costly: well over $6000 for all five of us and there was <i>no way</i> I was going to go alone. I knew I'd need my support system. I also knew my mom would want to see everyone. So we yelled. We hollered. We packed. I baked 2 dozen muffins for the trip and finished writing up my Taking Care of Hatchetville note to leave for my friends who were watching the house.<br />
<br />
Then we hit the road.<br />
<br />
We drove for 12-14 hours the first day and slept in a hotel somewhere in Nebraska. We repeated that long day of driving and slept somewhere in Pennsylvania. On Thursday, we hit the road around 10 am local time and drove forever. Eric was beginning to flag after about 12 hours, but my urgent need to <i>be there</i> kept me awake and sharp. I drove through the night. Through upstate NY, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and finally saw the sun rise while flying through Maine.<br />
<br />
Just before the border into Canada, I stopped and let Eric take over. It was 5:30 am and I had just driven us to the edge of my ability. Now we only had an hour and a half to go to get to Cindy's house. I had slept for a total of 2 hours in the last "day".<br />
<br />
At 7:30 am we pulled into Cindy's driveway and knocked on her bedroom window. "What does it take for a girl to use the bathroom around here?!" I called to my befuddled younger sister. She was amazed we'd made it there that early. We checked in with mom and my older sister and dad was still hanging in there.<br />
<br />
Waiting for us.<br />
<br />
Waiting to say goodbye.Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-57543177950802186002011-06-19T20:53:00.000-06:002011-06-19T20:53:24.437-06:00I spoke to my father todayand the conversation went like this:<br />
<br />
Me: [<i>Cheerful</i>] Hi dad! [<i>In the background, I can hear mom explaining who I am to dad.</i>]<br />
Dad: [<i>Breathing</i>]<br />
Me: [<i>Still cheerful</i>] I just called to say happy Father's Day!<br />
Dad: [<i>Breathing</i>]<br />
Me: [<i>Beginning to crumble a little</i>] I love you, dad. I'll talk to you again later.<br />
Dad: [<i>Breathing</i>] OK.<br />
Mom: [<i>Takes back the phone</i>] <br />
<br />
Now, my younger sister had given me a heads up as far as what to expect from dad so I wasn't surprised. Also, his conversation skills on the phone had been limited to about 30 seconds to one minute this last year or so, but this was clearly the next phase in his Alzheimer's progression.<br />
<br />
As sad as this was, I took the fact that he responded to my "I love you" with "OK" as a <i><b>win</b></i>. Normally (<i>and by "normally" I mean back when he used to know who I was</i>) his response to "I love you." was "Same here."<br />
<br />
He's only ever told me "I love you" about three or four times my whole life, so that "OK", that acknowledgement of my existence on the phone, was good enough for me. I'll take it. How far have we come that listening to my father breathe at me on the phone and say OK is all I need from him? To know, logically, that this is the normal progression for Alzheimer's victims, and to accept it are two very different things.<br />
<br />
I can't help but hope that if there is a heaven, that dad will get all of his memories back when he dies, and can remember that we loved him. So very much.<br />
<br />
Happy Father's Day, dad.Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-37520692066600275742011-05-06T13:57:00.000-06:002011-05-06T13:57:16.059-06:00Recipe: Triple Coconut Cupcakes (When Double Coconut Cupcakes just aren't enough for your coconut needs.)What is it about coconut that you either love it or hate it? Some of the folks I know can't <i>stand</i> this nut, while my family and I are all for it.<br />
<br />
I suspect my Jamaican heritage is at play here, as well as in my rabid love of all things mango.<br />
<br />
To whit, when I took a pastry class, lo these many years ago, one of the recipes was for coconut cake. Mind you, this isn't just a recipe for white cake with a marshmallow-like frosting that has toasted coconut sprinkled on top. <i>This</i> is coconut cream and coconut extract, coconut buttercream frosting and toasted coconut. Or you could try to mix it up with a coconut <i>cream cheese</i> frosting.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuL0ulICvBobQYGfg8Fx5jk6aK94BCYXS_PGm9ma8KeCHXbxbB48NGofVtPZAJ0hV1OjY8VPXXcQK1RiruSMrHZymWk0joZMowcPjMqAvxrdFKR36oh7yrRfT6aqeJDGi1goG-/s1600/coconut-cupcake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuL0ulICvBobQYGfg8Fx5jk6aK94BCYXS_PGm9ma8KeCHXbxbB48NGofVtPZAJ0hV1OjY8VPXXcQK1RiruSMrHZymWk0joZMowcPjMqAvxrdFKR36oh7yrRfT6aqeJDGi1goG-/s320/coconut-cupcake.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<b>Triple Coconut Cake with Mods for Cupcakes</b><br />
<i>Adapted from Cooks Illustrated by the Cooking School of the Rockies and again by moi.</i><br />
<i>Cake recipe with Mile high elevation changes listed in parentheses. </i><br />
<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix"><div><br />
5 lg egg whites @ room temp<br />
3/4 c cream of coconut<br />
1/4 c water<br />
1 lg egg, room temp<br />
1 tsp coconut extract<br />
1 tsp vanilla extract<br />
2 1/4 c cake flour (<i>Add 1/4 c extra flour for mile high elevation for a total of 9.8 oz cake flour</i>)<br />
1 c sugar (<i>Less 1/4 cup sugar for elevation</i>)<br />
1 tbsp (<i>Only 2 tsp in CO</i>) baking powder<br />
3/4 tsp salt<br />
12 tbsp unsalted butter, cut into 12 pieces and softened (<i>I've used salted butter and just dropped the amount of salt added by 1/4 tsp, works fine.</i>)<br />
<br />
1. Set oven to 325°F (<i>340</i>°F <i> for elevation</i>) with rack set to middle position. Lightly coat 2 9" round cake pans w/ veg oil spray and then line bottoms w/ parchment paper circles.<br />
2. Whisk egg whites, cream of coconut, water, whole egg and extracts together in lg bowl and set aside.<br />
3. Whisk flour, sugar, baking powder and salt together in a large bowl. Beat in the butter, one piece at a time, with an electric mixer on low speed until the mix resembles coarse crumbs, about 2-5 min.<br />
4. Add 1 c of egg mixture, increase speed to med-high and beat until light and fluffy, about 45 sec. Add the remaining egg mix in a steady stream and continue to beat until batter is combined, about 30 sec, scraping down the bowl as needed. Batter will be very thick.<br />
5. Divide batter evenly between pans and smooth tops. Bake approx 30-35 min, rotating pans half way through baking time.<br />
6. Cool cake in pans 10 min on wire racks. Run a small knife around cake edge to loosen and then invert onto racks. Remove parchment paper, let cool completely before frosting, 1-2 hrs.<br />
<br />
<b>Mods for Cupcakes</b>:<br />
1. Set oven to 340°F. Oil muffin tins or use cupcake liners.<br />
2. If you don't have cake flour, you can use 7/8 c AP flour + 2 tbsp cornstarch for every cup called for in the recipe. Total weight again is 9.8 oz. The cupcakes were no longer dished in the center when I did it this way.<br />
3. Stick with 3/4 c of sugar for high elevation as called for in recipe.<br />
4. Baking time will be less than 30 min. Check with toothpick after 15-20 min, being sure to rotate after 15 min.<br />
5. Makes approximately 21 cupcakes when I used an ice cream scoop to ladle out identical amounts in each muffin tin. I highly recommend the ice cream scoop method of batter portioning. That way, they're all the same size and should bake at the same rate. Also, fewer arguments about <i>this one</i> getting a bigger/smaller cupcake than <i>that one</i>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexp4fLAPYdnZJy9lXKp_UTgtqXXem926fyHR8zUR54eYr5IZiwV5Tbppc91e25W-C12YG7VX5eOom-a59mJ1-xjeAI4-7xP2Ca8S6_-yq-Ypjm-U2OQkVJg9PIvC3jfJPbDw4/s1600/coconut-cream-cheese-frosting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexp4fLAPYdnZJy9lXKp_UTgtqXXem926fyHR8zUR54eYr5IZiwV5Tbppc91e25W-C12YG7VX5eOom-a59mJ1-xjeAI4-7xP2Ca8S6_-yq-Ypjm-U2OQkVJg9PIvC3jfJPbDw4/s320/coconut-cream-cheese-frosting.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<b>Coconut Buttercream Frosting</b><br />
2 tbsp heavy cream<br />
1 tsp coconut extract<br />
1 tsp vanilla extract<br />
pinch salt<br />
16 tbsp unsalted butter, softened (<i>If your butter is salted, don't bother with the pinch of salt. You may notice the frosting being salty, or it may just cut down the sweetness a little. Try it, if that's all you have on hand, and see if you like it that way. I do.</i>)<br />
1/4 c cream of coconut<br />
3 c confectioners sugar, sifted<br />
2 c toasted sweetened, shredded coconut<br />
<br />
Stir cream, extracts and salt together until salt dissolves. Beat butter and cream of coconut in a lg bowl w/electric mixer at med-high speed until smooth, about 20 sec. Reduce speed to med-low, slowly add confectioners sugar, and beat until smooth, 2-5 min. Beat in the cream mixture. Increase speed to med-high and beat until the mixture is light and fluffy, about 4-8 minutes. Assemble cake and press toasted coconut onto sides and sprinkle across top. For cupcakes, you can either slather it on with a palette knife or use an icing bag and a large tip like the Wilton 1M. Pretty!<br />
<br />
<b>Coconut Cream Cheese Frostin</b>g<br />
8oz cream cheese, room temperature<br />
1/4 c butter, room temperature <br />
1/4 c cream of coconut<br />
1 tsp vanilla extract<br />
1 tsp coconut extract<br />
3-4 c confectioner's sugar, sifted</div></div><br />
Mix cream cheese and butter together until creamy. Add cream of coconut and extracts until combined. Add confectioner's sugar 1 cup at a time until frosting is thick and smooth. Top with toasted coconut. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0HJCbJqcKRB5oZU7uMbm5oJZjwpY6euA5pUhUff3fkScNrcHDepFNmGs2CwpQ0XBde2Qt59mwhbIE8ZBl047K2BLS8YrVRZnG3nH3BdKh_ZB28VforWSy_6oEtzM-BcFRiirN/s1600/coconut-flake-cupcake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0HJCbJqcKRB5oZU7uMbm5oJZjwpY6euA5pUhUff3fkScNrcHDepFNmGs2CwpQ0XBde2Qt59mwhbIE8ZBl047K2BLS8YrVRZnG3nH3BdKh_ZB28VforWSy_6oEtzM-BcFRiirN/s320/coconut-flake-cupcake.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Now, be careful! These things are addictive.<br />
<br />
Seriously.<br />
<br />
If you need help, call me and I'll throw myself on a batch for you. Ayup.<br />
<br />
Hatchet: keeping the world safe from unwanted cupcake consumption.Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-78080495138635858692011-05-03T23:12:00.000-06:002011-05-03T23:12:43.438-06:00The Answer to Life, the Universe and Everythingjust happens to <i>also</i> be my age. The age that I turned back in March.<br />
<br />
For my birthday, there was no cake and no party and no hullaballoo. I went to dinner with Eric and we made a quiet evening of it. A day later, however, we went to a fancy party for the <a href="http://www.ourcolorado.org/">Colorado Environmental Coalition</a> and I was able to spend the evening with like-minded eco-conscious folks. A dinner where I get to talk about backyard chickens, composting and gardening? And no one looks at me like I'm crazy? Sign me up! We ate seriously delicious food and we even got a chance to dress up.<br />
<br />
Since I have few dresses these days (<i>Being a SAHM means your fancy clothes wardrobe is generally limited to the "nice" jeans and the "clean" shirt.</i>), I begged my friend Misty to go dress shopping with me.<br />
<br />
This may have been a mistake.<br />
<br />
She convinced me to buy not <i>one, </i>not <i>two, </i>but <i>four </i>dresses because they were far too cute to leave behind. I fell for the dresses and wandered out of the store a little poorer, but with a greater selection of fun dresses to wear on fancy occasions. Here's the blue dress.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgglia6Xv3Qwpi7ZX5VLKu4yEbWcE488Q7t0v4-33A9IdiIHzDW2YhSzKMXRUEMunrBGma2mIAMryj7rw6gfQFHndpvR6qIRc6ST5m5fIuEWx8FcVAlTtXyBuyvVYGnlq_TwHKi/s1600/me-smiley-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgglia6Xv3Qwpi7ZX5VLKu4yEbWcE488Q7t0v4-33A9IdiIHzDW2YhSzKMXRUEMunrBGma2mIAMryj7rw6gfQFHndpvR6qIRc6ST5m5fIuEWx8FcVAlTtXyBuyvVYGnlq_TwHKi/s320/me-smiley-sm.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Hatchet at 42</i></div><br />
I tell you this to give you fair warning that I'll probably post a picture of the crazy, fancy, red dress that I bought since I have <i>another</i> dinner with the CEC later this month. I <i>needed</i> a red dress, you see. I think every woman does. Long, swishy, sexy. I had to have it.<br />
<br />
Related to the dresses and getting older and all that jazz, Eric and I have taken up weight lifting again to attempt to get into better shape. We tried going to the gym back in November, but Logan put the kibosh on that thought by screaming like a Banshee being attacked with a buzzsaw. It wasn't a pretty sight. Or sound. Apparently all of those kids were too much for his tiny brain.<br />
<br />
A few months <i>later</i>, though, and everything is OK. He and Emma are excited to go visit the gym and be dropped off in daycare. Suddenly, we get to go workout <i>and</i> have a short break from the kids! It's like a mini-vacation where you get to tote heavy bales <i>voluntarily! </i>Golly!<br />
<br />
Now if only I could make myself <i>stop</i> making cupcakes! I bet I could actually <i>lose</i> weight if I did that. The draw of the cupcakes is too strong, though. At least, so far. I blame Stef at <a href="http://www.cupcakeproject.com/">The Cupcake Project </a>blog for all of her fantastic recipes and photos. Oh and the recipe for <a href="http://simplyrecipes.com/recipes/double_vanilla_cupcakes/">Double Vanilla Cupcakes by Simply Recipes</a> which is where the sudden interest in cupcakes started. I had all of these leftover vanilla beans and wanted to make something with them. I settled on vanilla extract, vanilla sugar and the vanilla cupcakes. To say they were <i>good</i> is a massive understatement. They were <i><b>damned good</b></i>.<br />
<br />
Yes, I'll post some recipes. because you, too, deserve to <strike>gain weight right along with me</strike> eat scrumptious cupcakes. Cupcakes from scratch <i><b>rock!</b></i><br />
<br />
Anyway, fair warning: I'll be bouncing around on subject matter and going back and forth in time to bring you up to speed on family, gardening, baking and other strange things I get involved in. (<i>I've even been fiddling around with making my own personal care products....You know you want to know how to make underarm deodorant!</i>)<br />
<br />
Clearly, I have too many interests and not enough time.<br />
<br />
Ciao!Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-13318937493882551292011-05-02T22:56:00.000-06:002011-05-02T22:56:05.732-06:00Oh! Hello there!So...how <i><b>you</b></i> doin'?<br />
<br />
What?! Do I really think I can just waltz right back in here just as easily as that without an explanation? Do I? <i><b>DO I?!</b></i><br />
<br />
Um...I've been, you know...busy!<br />
<br />
There have been plants<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6z-tK4sKkzKDc3zETH7SGavzrh6TwUOnUJmHwCYZj834ZtDDW_1IrXsZoeGAy_zDE1I1YKW0CsWLAZ0r0WWmq9wUa43NCNalfHpfHFpEgmebulCQY88_I94hyphenhyphen7VPFRJ83Tc4P/s1600/prairie-smoke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6z-tK4sKkzKDc3zETH7SGavzrh6TwUOnUJmHwCYZj834ZtDDW_1IrXsZoeGAy_zDE1I1YKW0CsWLAZ0r0WWmq9wUa43NCNalfHpfHFpEgmebulCQY88_I94hyphenhyphen7VPFRJ83Tc4P/s320/prairie-smoke.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Prairie smoke in the front yard.</i></div><br />
and Easter egg hunts;<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHfyUJaPt58DfUX7OEVoIsMtBscOqnhDQe42PGgvTSSNmEzJVrsCw_OCrQlr3IxM0qX4gKEC21hWOVSqVWVAEwAHUlm8FVucSqY56_tEvRG8QOGRIc1mtbC32QY4WGpGj7vAo/s1600/L-looks-for-eggs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHfyUJaPt58DfUX7OEVoIsMtBscOqnhDQe42PGgvTSSNmEzJVrsCw_OCrQlr3IxM0qX4gKEC21hWOVSqVWVAEwAHUlm8FVucSqY56_tEvRG8QOGRIc1mtbC32QY4WGpGj7vAo/s320/L-looks-for-eggs.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <i>Logan searches high and low. Well...OK. Just low.</i></div><br />
cleaning up the garden and growing tiny plants from seed;<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA2TjvrVEZv-2zamD_RB6P55YmQ-UIIkq0n8wTe35uYqBVW2rpIM5GbrO0ni1YadDngtRO3Q0O80T4A3ObTn1PcWJsYpwZuymInc8CX42pzTCwR9abylrQKx9Dt7BKpZnVNz_Y/s1600/chamomile-flat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA2TjvrVEZv-2zamD_RB6P55YmQ-UIIkq0n8wTe35uYqBVW2rpIM5GbrO0ni1YadDngtRO3Q0O80T4A3ObTn1PcWJsYpwZuymInc8CX42pzTCwR9abylrQKx9Dt7BKpZnVNz_Y/s320/chamomile-flat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Chamomile, calendula, TX sage, cardinal climber, parsley, and zinnias.</i> </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5pk-oMviDHRvAM1BOaKPI-25lMth5KBRzLQ0irlLKWqz_RrzGlj07nlIaXdTIkTy0QrID8gZOPm4lDR2eujFcf18DBdrFTHlvn__XgwY3Z9jL7ChZhSMWFUkJZWLlD2-YS5uz/s1600/tomato-flat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5pk-oMviDHRvAM1BOaKPI-25lMth5KBRzLQ0irlLKWqz_RrzGlj07nlIaXdTIkTy0QrID8gZOPm4lDR2eujFcf18DBdrFTHlvn__XgwY3Z9jL7ChZhSMWFUkJZWLlD2-YS5uz/s320/tomato-flat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Tomatoes, bell peppers, cucumbers, basil, thyme and an itsy bitsy heliotrope.</i></div><br />
getting my house painted,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9lyK05gMfN0EbqZTBNr8Aru82yEJ3vOz46UsgpxJ9hY88heY4eAGkmmInu3vv7AJjsRytGmax12Z6vJjZWrm2vRGU0IqacDJm8_JY7raQALIRthT0ntUxgrDjTYOon7QwfiJ4/s1600/luxeblue-dignified-house-050111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9lyK05gMfN0EbqZTBNr8Aru82yEJ3vOz46UsgpxJ9hY88heY4eAGkmmInu3vv7AJjsRytGmax12Z6vJjZWrm2vRGU0IqacDJm8_JY7raQALIRthT0ntUxgrDjTYOon7QwfiJ4/s320/luxeblue-dignified-house-050111.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <i>Blue!</i></div><br />
and buying a new car and selling off my old one.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Fywth5ctiElanyukvUnsWjAgO_6yHiRlH6n2FQdSrQlSxYGm2V2T4Bqjm6G_joHHH_-sLC8TG2UgnLBIx3D00hlRaR6I-7nTWtedlzwXbBPQRdqjDO1SqBUwVdhh2Qb3sMJx/s1600/2011HondaOdyssey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Fywth5ctiElanyukvUnsWjAgO_6yHiRlH6n2FQdSrQlSxYGm2V2T4Bqjm6G_joHHH_-sLC8TG2UgnLBIx3D00hlRaR6I-7nTWtedlzwXbBPQRdqjDO1SqBUwVdhh2Qb3sMJx/s320/2011HondaOdyssey.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Well, OK, that's a minivan, but kind of a cool one. Caitlin now has her very own <i>row</i> and the twins can no longer punch her in the face. Ahhh! The soothing sounds of a little less whining!<br />
<br />
There have also been cupcakes,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidSLoEyzJ6wyV5WmauvSDtHqAPv9Tkid2cuLXgiBx0jisWbMqpKflL5f5vdOYoPV_UylgrqU_EuKf94NeYIm5VIybIRxBHbruvD4KDZg2jLM2gbPo5iDH6OgUichDM0wtNZ4WO/s1600/coconut-flake-cupcake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidSLoEyzJ6wyV5WmauvSDtHqAPv9Tkid2cuLXgiBx0jisWbMqpKflL5f5vdOYoPV_UylgrqU_EuKf94NeYIm5VIybIRxBHbruvD4KDZg2jLM2gbPo5iDH6OgUichDM0wtNZ4WO/s320/coconut-flake-cupcake.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <i>Coconut cupcake with coconut cream cheese frosting and toasted coconut flakes. Is it good? Ohhhhh yeahhhhh!</i></div><br />
because anniversaries and birthdays are coming up and I need to test out some recipes!<br />
<br />
I've also been thinking about all of the photos I haven't edited and all of the stories I haven't written. I'll get to them. It's been tough. Being busy with the short people and thinking about my dad; visiting with my mom and sisters; watching the weather and waiting for a chance to do some planting. I even gained a year and didn't mention it back in March. Heh!<br />
<br />
You know...life. It just keeps on rolling.<br />
<br />
I'm still here, though and that's a good thing!Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33516164.post-68206953498497988382011-04-07T13:47:00.000-06:002011-04-07T13:47:51.488-06:00Looking for Advice: Boys and Potty Training<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: red;">WARNING!</span></b></span></div><br />
This entry will be filled with poop, not unlike Logan's underwear, so if you're easily offended you may want to read something else. Maybe about <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/">kitties</a>?<br />
<br />
I know they're 3 1/2 years old and <i>you</i> know they're 3 1/2 years old, but Logan has decided he's completely uninterested in pooping on the potty. As in, we know he <i><b>can</b></i> but he <i><b>won't</b></i>. We've asked, we've begged and pleaded, we've offered bribes of the chocolate variety and of the toy car variety, we've threatened, we've taken away toys. No dice.<br />
<br />
That boy has no interest in pooping in or on the potty. He pees in one like a champ, unless he's playing outside in the yard. Somehow neither Logan nor Emma can remember that there are toilets <i>inside</i> the house if they are <i>outside</i> the house. Too distracted throwing sand around, I guess. Neither one of them wakes up dry, either, so they're still wearing the <a href="http://womanwithahatchet.blogspot.com/2008/07/easter-egg-bums.html">Bum Genius diapers</a> at night*. Emma started to, but I think she backslid after watching Logan get away with peeing everywhere like a puppy.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'm wrong, but there has <i>got</i> to be a way to get him to poop in the potty! Please help me! I'm really tired of having to wash soiled Pixar undies and have him freak out when he's all out of Lightning McQueen underwear. You know, because they are filled with poop.<br />
<br />
What can I do? <br />
<br />
<br />
* <i>Yes, they really <b>have</b> been wearing the same reusable diapers for two years and nine months. How awesome is that? Freakin' incredibly awesome, that's how much! The velcro closures have taken a beating, but I've just been using a strip of velcro over top to hold them on. The diapers still look good and work great. Except that Logan pees like a racehorse, so he's always soggy in the morning. I'm starting to wonder if his bladder grows larger as he sleeps and sucks in the moisture from the air.</i>Woman with a Hatchethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16539793554273012568noreply@blogger.com3