tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32889452348786070802024-03-12T18:57:15.348-06:00O-Town RamblingsO-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-36998558626225030292020-04-08T10:25:00.000-06:002020-04-08T10:49:15.650-06:00The Kids Are Alright<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Today would be your 44th birthday Jules. Another year without you. I wonder, what would 44-year old you look like? My mind struggles to picture you a decade older than the last time I saw you. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Aunt Julie with her nieces and nephews</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Your birthday always makes me reflect on the passage of time and the changes in our family since you left us. I keep thinking about the kids, your nieces and nephews. The loves of your life you said in your last message to us. The one I never read, but others told me what you wrote. The kids are alright Jules. You would love the people they've become. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Aunt Julie, Gillian, Regan, Mason</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They miss you. We all do. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I think of you whenever one of them has a birthday or a big life milestone. I remember what a special aunt you were to each of them. You loved them so deeply. You were so much more than an aunt. You were a confidante and friend to them, loving each of them as the unique individuals they are. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I've tried to fill the hole you left in their lives by being a better aunt to each of them. It's a big hole and I'm not you. I'll never be able to take your place. I'm trying to give them enough love for both of us. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Aunt Keicha and Leon</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We have a new nephew that you've never met, little Leon. He's the sweetest little person. You would have adored him. It makes me sad that he'll never know his Aunt Julie except through pictures and stories. He's close to the age his big brother was when we spent a week together with him in Boston. I loved that trip and that time with you! </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2IVUPWZuLokvnJcX912uMN46OB97he1A0egFtbbp7TOEp7atmrQRXfM7MgN8eCowKusu2BxfAB6MBtfBZqFJeoA4nlOeCNu-xEBIyvYyGsX7t_DeV6THcDgaReErrpCSOi6NSd13CcFHO/s1600/Copy+of+Julie%252C+Atticus+%2526+Keicha+in+Cheers+bar+-+Thaniuel+Hall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1197" data-original-width="1600" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2IVUPWZuLokvnJcX912uMN46OB97he1A0egFtbbp7TOEp7atmrQRXfM7MgN8eCowKusu2BxfAB6MBtfBZqFJeoA4nlOeCNu-xEBIyvYyGsX7t_DeV6THcDgaReErrpCSOi6NSd13CcFHO/s400/Copy+of+Julie%252C+Atticus+%2526+Keicha+in+Cheers+bar+-+Thaniuel+Hall.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Julie, Atticus, Keicha at Cheers in Bosto<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">n</span></i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Julie, when you left I worried so much about the kids. How would your death affect the trajectory of their lives? They were all so young and impressionable, just a few years away from their turbulent, often confusing teenage years. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Nieces and nephews in Colorado the week of Aunt Julie's funeral - 2010</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They're grown up now. They're resilient, smart, talented and making their way in the world. They're survivors. We all are. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You're in all of our hearts Julie, forever. Today you'll be on all of our minds as we celebrate and remember your life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Happy birthday sis. I miss you. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Gillian and Aunt Julie</i></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Julie and Gillian at the zoo.</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Aunt Julie with nieces at Grandma French's 90th birthday</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Bridger, Atticus, Mason, Hannah, Gillian - 2016</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7qi2zi6PhANCVjkLO-2R-UtRbs2_aSXfvH7HiinnOhzMw2x4gvslCmTxpx8aXzHIxvP52pM3QyfalpRDT5IzXa30rN_-mr6PsEibFzVYhAyy9dBHIxRqUy-2PEWLWTB76UJSSxZLDrqo5/s1600/IMG_20191224_184125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7qi2zi6PhANCVjkLO-2R-UtRbs2_aSXfvH7HiinnOhzMw2x4gvslCmTxpx8aXzHIxvP52pM3QyfalpRDT5IzXa30rN_-mr6PsEibFzVYhAyy9dBHIxRqUy-2PEWLWTB76UJSSxZLDrqo5/s400/IMG_20191224_184125.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Parker, Regan, Gillian and Bridger</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimkcj8DpTnLKTMfXYz5f_BE5GUyEBpKiCnhN45hUfZ_uGTpzqK2UNsxaXDrHvec1Q-B2kH8RZPF5Y7aAxKCZSPohWi7xXqLLrcQ7EOfR2ZsEU0WeUWBjeukhxltLwrUS5i4Fb8cEMN3Pnt/s1600/IMG_20191105_142541+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1386" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimkcj8DpTnLKTMfXYz5f_BE5GUyEBpKiCnhN45hUfZ_uGTpzqK2UNsxaXDrHvec1Q-B2kH8RZPF5Y7aAxKCZSPohWi7xXqLLrcQ7EOfR2ZsEU0WeUWBjeukhxltLwrUS5i4Fb8cEMN3Pnt/s400/IMG_20191105_142541+%25281%2529.jpg" width="346" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Hannah and Mason with Aunt Keicha</i></span></td></tr>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-35436412142898758642020-04-03T16:19:00.003-06:002020-04-03T16:19:20.751-06:0010 Years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So much changes in a decade. Ten years ago today I woke up in my mom's house in Pueblo, Colorado. My daughter and I were spending Easter weekend there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a perfect, warm, sunny April day on that morning ten years ago and we were having a party! Before the party prep started, we enjoyed a lazy morning together around the kitchen table. Oh how I loved mornings at mom's table with my sisters.This photo shows Aunt Julie with her nieces and nephews. They were never far from her side. Her evil eye was probably directed at me for taking her photo when she wasn't ready for the day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While the party prep happened, Aunt Julie gave some driving lessons to Mason. I don't remember why anyone thought it was a good idea to let an 11-year old behind the wheel! I think he was backing the car out of the driveway for Julie. Of course we all assumed this would be the first of many driving lessons she would give him. We didn't know it would be the first and the last. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was lots to do to get ready. Soon there would be 12 grandkids swarming the house hungry for food, Easter treats and fun. Grandpa Jim had made sure there would be plenty of eggs full of candy for everyone. We hid 116 eggs in the backyard for our Easter egg hunt! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The kids went off for a walk with Grandpa and Julie while the rest of the adults hid eggs. This will forever be one of my favorite photos from that day. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeowcXvvtY7yPwQgMiKRpKP7iW6gRl4-7p2OYSm_68FIbSna4ztq0uXKilZ-W6iuudC5aVCCRL_MS0BlFO52RyFacxLbRXKnX1gf72OZWjU3IHksPKGZz1M_1MT3trRx8VA9tRpaJibQd/s1600/2010+04+03+017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzeowcXvvtY7yPwQgMiKRpKP7iW6gRl4-7p2OYSm_68FIbSna4ztq0uXKilZ-W6iuudC5aVCCRL_MS0BlFO52RyFacxLbRXKnX1gf72OZWjU3IHksPKGZz1M_1MT3trRx8VA9tRpaJibQd/s400/2010+04+03+017.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Happily, we were able to get all of the kids and the two dogs together for a photo before they headed off for their walk. </span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHl6SHPoYUbdII3oSfSGt4rjcZvFbaKjkdykywZkGR3G-4TYk0jwTqw5h-nYJmAQeDCm3XJRnOS_siOONrEE9OTEFN0iEpBTls23JeuUYPYM3LgsbadQUYsvK3aLRCxbgIza4lSxton7hm/s1600/2010+04+03+015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHl6SHPoYUbdII3oSfSGt4rjcZvFbaKjkdykywZkGR3G-4TYk0jwTqw5h-nYJmAQeDCm3XJRnOS_siOONrEE9OTEFN0iEpBTls23JeuUYPYM3LgsbadQUYsvK3aLRCxbgIza4lSxton7hm/s400/2010+04+03+015.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEh_trkYQ8r65JS90l_VCpKdtkav4xOGBwYuIx75DU6y7E37ivvs_db5SPeWkgw_Yo5RzjGFVcLUcVhLydtbDdgVMcrP_INPIlqGgibJ6JMZFxrBkrXxHcg3GKr5M3-5c_5ceMxXyx7BSB/s1600/2010+04+03+018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEh_trkYQ8r65JS90l_VCpKdtkav4xOGBwYuIx75DU6y7E37ivvs_db5SPeWkgw_Yo5RzjGFVcLUcVhLydtbDdgVMcrP_INPIlqGgibJ6JMZFxrBkrXxHcg3GKr5M3-5c_5ceMxXyx7BSB/s400/2010+04+03+018.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The kids made quick work of finding all the eggs we'd hidden for them. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir45f21hybRMTHVY6pnf1A8IDdarwAMLKsvsagk0E33QSUdlxwekLIBC0AwYUdVPwWfh0XJ-RkGts7juPRNLS1qwCEblsS-r9plkSMUNIRJlbVqL5ByoZR_9QUA5Zd_uuPtpV2e-NIsLxR/s1600/2010+04+03+020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir45f21hybRMTHVY6pnf1A8IDdarwAMLKsvsagk0E33QSUdlxwekLIBC0AwYUdVPwWfh0XJ-RkGts7juPRNLS1qwCEblsS-r9plkSMUNIRJlbVqL5ByoZR_9QUA5Zd_uuPtpV2e-NIsLxR/s400/2010+04+03+020.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here they are showing off their bounty. This photo is a reminder of how quickly time flies. It's shocking to realize the young adults I know now are the same children in this photo. Today, several of them are either in college or already college graduates, and more than a few are married.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4kJomslvBHeR0CppvIFatKubXMPNA59dh3UKlQvl3PZe1_xoLi4xM1TZst7DKz8FQu6cvYFK62lOV7_nKmgueXnK_EaE9Nec5nh3Vg4xlBb3_-FcvFPfqVNILANEl0nCwXv2_ot0FaK9m/s1600/2010+04+03+021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4kJomslvBHeR0CppvIFatKubXMPNA59dh3UKlQvl3PZe1_xoLi4xM1TZst7DKz8FQu6cvYFK62lOV7_nKmgueXnK_EaE9Nec5nh3Vg4xlBb3_-FcvFPfqVNILANEl0nCwXv2_ot0FaK9m/s400/2010+04+03+021.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandpa Jim made sure everyone had enough sugar that day! After we all ate grilled hamburgers and hot dogs he passed out dessert. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoz1YE03qyKq9TjRPWRIBDNI9YJT6D7v8gMH2pN6vPpHLpeTQixF4rsUACQkIhYn0GP7sKkWrZ6GUMKP_QECtE7vFxeTRRkJVBVO6WF4WGnd6zxYQ38gwfvsqTe4TM2HqTXVQvrjaE3sUi/s1600/DSCN1758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoz1YE03qyKq9TjRPWRIBDNI9YJT6D7v8gMH2pN6vPpHLpeTQixF4rsUACQkIhYn0GP7sKkWrZ6GUMKP_QECtE7vFxeTRRkJVBVO6WF4WGnd6zxYQ38gwfvsqTe4TM2HqTXVQvrjaE3sUi/s400/DSCN1758.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Then it was off to the trampoline to burn off some of the sugar energy. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6QCTLaE1IonKPZlHx0R-39YxmT7d4m99z56cRiCJv_1nCKKQG7nocdazzcFhra_3t0jIqaJ4Mu_CspQQKtF9U97xXvVOvf204433YUVmpH5-Xy4_rGSZak8BMHnd6fwBqN9Waa_71mzv/s1600/2010+04+03+012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6QCTLaE1IonKPZlHx0R-39YxmT7d4m99z56cRiCJv_1nCKKQG7nocdazzcFhra_3t0jIqaJ4Mu_CspQQKtF9U97xXvVOvf204433YUVmpH5-Xy4_rGSZak8BMHnd6fwBqN9Waa_71mzv/s400/2010+04+03+012.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">These three cousins, Hannah, Mason, and Gillian, took a break from the action to sample their Easter egg hunt bounty.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkCSRJcoduakFq0X8Myi06bJQz7La2WqwaZ0WvBSC4spDkHl3FFs3iWdY95btd9RSBoEGc6jjmSIuVuheyDL_C1dVNRrl31MWVbNltH0ZXzrS-GEE5KtLiaKyL7Iz5LGzHjhquQZmrvLE/s1600/DSCN1756.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJkCSRJcoduakFq0X8Myi06bJQz7La2WqwaZ0WvBSC4spDkHl3FFs3iWdY95btd9RSBoEGc6jjmSIuVuheyDL_C1dVNRrl31MWVbNltH0ZXzrS-GEE5KtLiaKyL7Iz5LGzHjhquQZmrvLE/s400/DSCN1756.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We also had a red velvet cake that day to celebrate our April birthday babies. Here are the birthday honorees together so the family could sing Happy Birthday to them. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjADeOV0N6RXAduzGSTtqTMbsYLMSOxKgd3Z7tnXKv6ApBMxX0SWyIyrwgt6dHh5PC-nNrVWT2rVOJCW24sqwDfdeMH3_K-E3-WIGfaDUo1Lbr_P9PkCbGZqo-qHjZlqkkVzTFsVZ6XJyBz/s1600/2010+04+03+025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjADeOV0N6RXAduzGSTtqTMbsYLMSOxKgd3Z7tnXKv6ApBMxX0SWyIyrwgt6dHh5PC-nNrVWT2rVOJCW24sqwDfdeMH3_K-E3-WIGfaDUo1Lbr_P9PkCbGZqo-qHjZlqkkVzTFsVZ6XJyBz/s400/2010+04+03+025.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The rest of the afternoon was spent enjoying the sunshine. Julie didn't like to have her picture taken, but she did let me snap a few photos of her that day. She's wearing my orange shirt. For some reason, whenever we were together she like to borrow my clothes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She was quiet that weekend. Present, but not. She seemed distracted and far away at times. I wish I'd asked her more questions about where her head was. I wish I'd known what signs to look for. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXaWMeg4AmBfYIQd4J20Hz7n0J6w6iKNAh9EKbyPP6z2-qD6sFaatazCta4jNHdFezMkqNv0uByFo_FkCcYT9dE2rIB0qwW8yzk0eDBuUD1KgGNMDTQ8-zhTMF2zPcxFt9LY1XFSi2_mf/s1600/2010+04+03+022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1450" data-original-width="1600" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXaWMeg4AmBfYIQd4J20Hz7n0J6w6iKNAh9EKbyPP6z2-qD6sFaatazCta4jNHdFezMkqNv0uByFo_FkCcYT9dE2rIB0qwW8yzk0eDBuUD1KgGNMDTQ8-zhTMF2zPcxFt9LY1XFSi2_mf/s400/2010+04+03+022.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Phoenix, her faithful Yellow Lab, was never far from her side.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXnb1qVhgB-B593Sn81WFkFqBtYualaB14NjuogNRNJ7yYhNdRKig9t7BFoc9MF6oEWsIJkeWrLepVHtw00WT2VXrfOvGOTe9AXrUrCIuIOx3VgwXTfaD150DmTidsLWzErbxKJ1mtckZM/s1600/DSCN1760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXnb1qVhgB-B593Sn81WFkFqBtYualaB14NjuogNRNJ7yYhNdRKig9t7BFoc9MF6oEWsIJkeWrLepVHtw00WT2VXrfOvGOTe9AXrUrCIuIOx3VgwXTfaD150DmTidsLWzErbxKJ1mtckZM/s400/DSCN1760.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLucuyQyz5_VzMK4Ly1cs85E14FfJI100mNLqYbP93h9enpOhf93lO9sqgUA-xZo0yd0C4mVzqfZYf-MfqGSW7F8-NoZg2r44zt3xQjYeWrTRX7QBQT-RLiVmJkilPWhYg5rwU_HNFotCV/s1600/fullsizeoutput_6d.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="443" data-original-width="579" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLucuyQyz5_VzMK4Ly1cs85E14FfJI100mNLqYbP93h9enpOhf93lO9sqgUA-xZo0yd0C4mVzqfZYf-MfqGSW7F8-NoZg2r44zt3xQjYeWrTRX7QBQT-RLiVmJkilPWhYg5rwU_HNFotCV/s400/fullsizeoutput_6d.jpeg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mom took these photos of Julie and I, and the three of us sisters. I remember my happiness that day.The sun was shining. Spring had arrived after the long, dark cold days of winter. We were laughing and enjoying each other. Life was good. </span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJl2dIxt2XtBez_-s6GdUBZ5OK4uNY1zw71RZVyScRcS3VeAd2FLPErs3cawS-5tx94TFcjIomfgRw46IHXLch5EGrDaQ_Jn1lJV-DLWC0L66pgZXsxEnLyRQwsnOzLrdW7goMRO7P7tpy/s1600/Julie_Keicha+in+backyard_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1270" data-original-width="1600" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJl2dIxt2XtBez_-s6GdUBZ5OK4uNY1zw71RZVyScRcS3VeAd2FLPErs3cawS-5tx94TFcjIomfgRw46IHXLch5EGrDaQ_Jn1lJV-DLWC0L66pgZXsxEnLyRQwsnOzLrdW7goMRO7P7tpy/s400/Julie_Keicha+in+backyard_edit.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUF3foxBOeHax51LduQIzzZhl6MnFpOd4vLPeGCd89RakJI55QUnrgVdZkSxhQ1MxVDrDyWI-K0pvGBvouBT-6bofOtSdEeqUa8cKXCJJEuPMwk9zBLIBBW2-KjzDGqR8sYcR9VpL4CGMG/s1600/Keicha_Julie_Amy+in+backyard_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="964" data-original-width="1552" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUF3foxBOeHax51LduQIzzZhl6MnFpOd4vLPeGCd89RakJI55QUnrgVdZkSxhQ1MxVDrDyWI-K0pvGBvouBT-6bofOtSdEeqUa8cKXCJJEuPMwk9zBLIBBW2-KjzDGqR8sYcR9VpL4CGMG/s400/Keicha_Julie_Amy+in+backyard_edit.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Julie playfully took my hat from me and put it on. Mom captured the moment right after. </span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM5lclpBznhD0IA3e4MPhCue7gIY2LGd73S65BhbL9CEfjLS9r98RG8OgCC97tTa0F_o-wqBwXvvse0urQRsrth80dAOvWi6PkHMqsdFYWEu579eSuWQOkfC61EwNRFKTwSoQ90kCWOpso/s1600/fullsizeoutput_352a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1122" data-original-width="1600" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM5lclpBznhD0IA3e4MPhCue7gIY2LGd73S65BhbL9CEfjLS9r98RG8OgCC97tTa0F_o-wqBwXvvse0urQRsrth80dAOvWi6PkHMqsdFYWEu579eSuWQOkfC61EwNRFKTwSoQ90kCWOpso/s400/fullsizeoutput_352a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That night Hannah, Mason and Gillian colored eggs while the rest of us relaxed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTOVBn7tgZUQeDCTvu_ZZNcMv5KpZMacnOXt-5cU1ffEvsOhJg7-tp3RcwrDQ5FrhXaVFaceg4d9638m3Wf-fb_iVTRL4vP8YINoVYuHzs10m3xCgIrZ6L7hr-JaGomsC1de26Fxf4-sH/s1600/DSCN1776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTOVBn7tgZUQeDCTvu_ZZNcMv5KpZMacnOXt-5cU1ffEvsOhJg7-tp3RcwrDQ5FrhXaVFaceg4d9638m3Wf-fb_iVTRL4vP8YINoVYuHzs10m3xCgIrZ6L7hr-JaGomsC1de26Fxf4-sH/s400/DSCN1776.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SEW-yOlba64VEAQ4R0CG4KJxsFbE_poT7MPjhrcUXnqJHHtkBBe1q_d-EkZiz9REWzS0qIl-z0TZ6oISCE3xa9QnsF2cZ1ZkE7kpZ5_40X0gfAlq1h6yIjh5p71wAzsTgkp4YNsT5clA/s1600/2010+04+03+029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3SEW-yOlba64VEAQ4R0CG4KJxsFbE_poT7MPjhrcUXnqJHHtkBBe1q_d-EkZiz9REWzS0qIl-z0TZ6oISCE3xa9QnsF2cZ1ZkE7kpZ5_40X0gfAlq1h6yIjh5p71wAzsTgkp4YNsT5clA/s400/2010+04+03+029.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next day was Easter. It was a leisurely morning. I was training for the Ogden Half Marathon later that spring and needed to get my Sunday long, easy run in. Julie joined me for my 6-miler. We ran through the streets of Pueblo, a place she'd moved to in high school, the new girl at a new school. She shared stories of her life from that time that I'd never heard before. I learned things about that period of her life I'd never known. The miles went quickly with her by my side. The memory of us stretching out together on the front lawn afterward is still so vivid for me. I miss her so much. I'd give anything to have her join me for a long Sunday run again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We all shared an early Easter dinner together before Amy, Julie, and the kids and I drove back to Erie, Colorado together. I loved my mom's cheery yellow kitchen in her house in Pueblo. It always felt like home to me, despite having never lived there. I never would have imagined it would be the last time we'd all share a meal together there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just six weeks later Julie was gone forever. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ten years. A decade without my sister. I don't know how many days add up to a decade. I do know I've missed Julie every day for the last 10 years. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm still amazed sometimes that I've survived. Losing her shattered me. It took away my hope. Since then I've had to rebuild myself one tiny step at a time. Luckily, there were so many people who lifted me up and helped me find the way. They helped me see there is light at the end of the darkest days. They showed me there is always hope. <br /><br />Easter will be full of memories and emotions for me this year, as it has been each Easter the last ten years. As the years go by, my memories of our last Easter together are beginning to fade. I'm thankful I can look back on photos of that day to help me remember. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I miss you Jules. Thanks for the memories. </span><br />
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-44995119008750553522020-01-06T21:11:00.001-07:002020-01-06T21:17:41.323-07:00A New Normal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<h2 class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Hope*writers
journey – Day 1</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span></b></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Writing
prompt: <i>New</i></span></b></span></h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNMDbhP9BmPJSFTGHKqPQQJnt68PRBPsIWtqKsYdXF84Fgo9Sd4XnsAsoo7bNLkJ_CPxVvIxfD4OAou1v3Lgp0zS3Lnvq-mmi462FoQnd7IkOC1hGjUmKV2ko1jKBClc8rPeNDcfVqrvZM/s1600/BD+brain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNMDbhP9BmPJSFTGHKqPQQJnt68PRBPsIWtqKsYdXF84Fgo9Sd4XnsAsoo7bNLkJ_CPxVvIxfD4OAou1v3Lgp0zS3Lnvq-mmi462FoQnd7IkOC1hGjUmKV2ko1jKBClc8rPeNDcfVqrvZM/s400/BD+brain.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I’m trying to
adjust to a new normal in my life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Just over a
month ago my daughter became unwell and was hospitalized. She was diagnosed
with a serious, chronic mental illness. Suddenly, we were thrust into a new,
unknown world. I was despondent after hearing her diagnosis and nearly
paralyzed with fear and worry about her and her future. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">How does a
mother accept hearing such news about their child? How do I learn to live with this
new normal? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">More
importantly, how can I best support her as she learns to accept and live with this
new diagnosis? My instinct is to protect and to take charge. I’m the mom and I’ll
make this better for her. But I can’t. This isn’t something I can control and take
charge of. I don’t like feeling so powerless. I feel cheated, sad, angry, and
guilty. So much guilt. It’s a disease with a genetic basis, after all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I’m in
mourning. For her. For me. For the life I hoped and imagined she might have. She’s
on a new, more complicated path in life now, and not one she chose. As scared as I am, she must be
even more so. My feelings of loss and fear are nothing compared to what hers
must be. My overwhelming emotions are nothing compared to what she is going
through. She is trying to learn how to live with a brain that isn’t always
going to function in ways that will make life easy for her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I do know this
is her journey and her path to walk, not mine. My job is to be there to hold
her hand when she needs support and guidance along the way. Supporting her will
require a level of wisdom and patience I don’t yet have. Those are new skills I
will need to acquire. I’ll also have to work on building my own strength and
emotional resiliency. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We both have
our work cut out for us. There will be some bumps and detours along the way, I’m
sure. There already have been. There are many new things to learn and absorb. I
know things will get better. It is a very treatable illness that can be managed
quite successfully with medication and therapy. My daughter is strong, smart,
creative and capable. I have confidence she will learn how to take this new, unasked
for gift (the word she prefers to use rather than disease) and manage it in a
way that allows her to continue on her path to a bright, fulfilling future. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">New, unexpected
things in life aren’t always asked for or well received. Surprises aren’t
always pleasant. Time, experience and perspective can bring acceptance.
Eventually, what was once new and unwelcome can become something familiar and appreciated, as well as a source of strength and happiness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-28985978411492541482019-11-04T09:53:00.000-07:002019-11-04T10:27:16.219-07:00Bridges<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My family gathered this past Saturday in Glenwood Springs, Colorado to celebrate and remember the life of my Aunt Suzanne Shumate, or as she'll always be to me, Aunt Suzy. The location, a train depot high in the mountains of Colorado - in a town visited by many for healing - was perfect. We heard from one of her "girly girl" friends, a group of six women whose friendship began 50 years ago at age 12, when they attended junior high together. Suzanne's grandchildren, Jayden, Nora, and Grace honored her, Jayden with his heartfelt words, and Nora and Grace with their beautiful voices, joined by Suzanne's daughter Sarah. Their three voices blended together perfectly as they sang "<i>It Is Well With My Soul"</i>, the words and their voices soothing our minds and hearts. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCg9u7-slnLVOpkrFS_1DN11eEZIFku4LnbR4ELQKbjXReYZuKEkH7_Oy7yeeRexoHB-GZXVfZxZmoqF8hyphenhyphenaM5OUQ4-JtEp3ZLiVLa2mnj8SiV126OLdI-OeSt5WsYuNfSXnhHCCQUnQJ_/s1600/IMG_20191103_075701+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1083" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCg9u7-slnLVOpkrFS_1DN11eEZIFku4LnbR4ELQKbjXReYZuKEkH7_Oy7yeeRexoHB-GZXVfZxZmoqF8hyphenhyphenaM5OUQ4-JtEp3ZLiVLa2mnj8SiV126OLdI-OeSt5WsYuNfSXnhHCCQUnQJ_/s320/IMG_20191103_075701+%25281%2529.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tributes were also shared by my cousins Tony, Michelle, and Adam (Suzanne's son), my mom, and Suzanne's husband John. Even the trains paid tribute, with one arriving at the station during her service, its mournful whistle carrying across the valley and into the hearts of our gathered family, the descendants of generations of railroaders. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Suzanne was the caboose in her family, born when her siblings were already pre-teens and teens. She was a bridge between the generations, closer in age to some of her nieces and nephews than to her older siblings. The five oldest grandchildren (Tony, Ryan, Michelle, Michael and I) born when Suzanne was still a child living at home, each shared an especially unique bond with our Aunt Suzy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As children, we all admired and tried to emulate her in a kind of hero worship way. She was cool and fun! She was stylish and beautiful with thick, waist-length brown hair, and a popular class officer and cheerleader. For me, she was exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up. To us cousins, she wasn't quite a peer, but also wasn't a "grown up" and authority figure in our lives like our parents. Our bonds with her were formed when we were babies and lasted throughout our lives. She made sure to stay connected to each of us as we grew up. We each have stories of her making time and space for us in her life and home at critical points in our pre-teen and teenage years during turbulent times in our lives. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHzoxXP-22tTlbArDbZHvbpER24yw8Xw6xKCK4MDGb0iCei5bMYQ3vtAwzJ-MPXCUH9UaxT458_5PQqnrkGtaeMHHh-W08giMBNLmocijURj6-zNzlSQeDTXW-hiYDiPtRoM6pfogmQspp/s1600/IMG_20191102_190956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1517" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHzoxXP-22tTlbArDbZHvbpER24yw8Xw6xKCK4MDGb0iCei5bMYQ3vtAwzJ-MPXCUH9UaxT458_5PQqnrkGtaeMHHh-W08giMBNLmocijURj6-zNzlSQeDTXW-hiYDiPtRoM6pfogmQspp/s400/IMG_20191102_190956.jpg" width="378" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Suzanne and my cousin Tony.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Suzanne and my cousin Michelle.</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Grandpa, my brother Ryan, grandma, and Suzanne on a visit to see newborn me.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As a pre-teen, I would spend weeks during the summers at her home in Colorado. There, for the first time in my life, I had my own room, a quiet space where I could read and just be alone. During the days, I would "nanny" for her while she worked, taking care of my niece and nephew and keeping things clean around the house. As she did with so many young women both in her family and her corporate career, she was quietly teaching me my worth in the world. She paid me a fair wage for my work, giving me my first taste of the freedom and independence earning my own money could bring. She gave me a great deal of responsibility, but also let me know she believed I could capably handle what she asked of me. She also gave me something I didn't realize then that I needed, which was time, space, and freedom from the responsibilities I had at home. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I hope she knew what a gift those times were for me.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Death, and the rituals of mourning, offer an opportunity to reflect on life. As we have so many times before, my family gathered under one roof and shared food, laughter and our hearts with one another. All of the cousins we there except one, together for one night. We looked at old family photos spread out on the table and hung on makeshift displays around the vacation rental home, reminiscing about the past. We marveled at the family resemblances passed down from one generation to the next, laughed at old hairstyles and clothes, and told stories. Mostly we talked, catching up on the happenings in each other's lives. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCgUUDjUUJmulUhVhbuvm9rUW5w9RMRpcnqKs2rmmY17D3F9NPcsRxHDxYhfaxRt2xWxMCxKfbApA94hWGesS_vfUa5zIbLqiQSGUsK9Y4eCLJNhsnXv873T_Oi9XmJhmptqPi6mY6AUup/s1600/IMG_20191102_155250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1165" data-original-width="1600" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCgUUDjUUJmulUhVhbuvm9rUW5w9RMRpcnqKs2rmmY17D3F9NPcsRxHDxYhfaxRt2xWxMCxKfbApA94hWGesS_vfUa5zIbLqiQSGUsK9Y4eCLJNhsnXv873T_Oi9XmJhmptqPi6mY6AUup/s400/IMG_20191102_155250.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Decorating Easter eggs in grandma's kitchen.</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">One thing I really love about my French cousins (the family surname, not because they're from France) is that we are unabashed about telling each other that we love and treasure our relationships with one another. We make sure to verbalize what we all feel. "I love you." "I'm here for you." "Thank you for coming to share this time together." We were together to mourn the loss of our Aunt Suzy, yet it was also a celebration of sorts. A celebration of family ties, love, and life. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: left;">We realize that our time together is precious and rare, and none of us take it for granted. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>French Cousins - November 2, 2019</i></span></td></tr>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-46589434416521572312019-10-06T09:37:00.001-06:002019-10-06T09:37:53.512-06:00Happy 21st Birthday To My Green-eyed Girl<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was 21 years ago today that Gillian Marie Chapman made her entry into the world. My memories of that moment are faint. It had been a long journey to that point, costly both financially and emotionally. It took three years of surgeries, treatments, and IVF attempts, then a 21-hour labor to finally bring Gillian into the world. I do remember her first intense gaze into my eyes and the instant recognition I felt. There she was, the daughter from my dreams.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Her dad and I had chosen not to find out her gender before she was born. I didn't need to. Somehow I just knew I would be having a girl. My certainty about this amused some people. They encouraged me to be prepared for a boy or a girl. I politely ignored them. I was having a girl. I'd seen her in my dreams. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Photo by Thomas Hardy</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So there I was, at long last holding my living, breathing infant in my arms. My dreams finally a reality. Gillian Marie. My green-eyed girl. I wondered, what kind of person would she be? What kind of mom would I be? Although at 28, I wasn't exactly young when she was born, I look back and marvel at my naïveté. I had been so focused on becoming a mom, that I hadn't given all that much thought to how to be a parent. Like most parents, I suppose, I had confidence that I would figure it out as I went along and do just fine. Now, 21 years into my parenting journey, I'm far more humble about my abilities and much more willing to admit that I need all the help and guidance I can get!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gillian's intelligence showed early. Her desire to express herself and be heard evident from a very young age. She talked early and would charm adults with her clearly spoken full sentences at 18 months. I was shocked that the "terrible two's" started when she was around 16 months, when our battle of wills started. She has always known her own mind and been determined to do things her own way. I quickly realized that raising her was going to challenge me in ways I'd never imagined. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One thing I hadn't dreamt of when newborn Gillian was laid in my arms was raising her as a divorced, single mom. Sadly, this became my reality when she was just four years old. Of the many disappointments in my life, this is one of the greatest. My failure to provide her with a loving, stable, secure, two-parent home left me guilt-ridden for years afterwards. Instead, my girl was handed a life split down the middle. She spent her childhood living in two households, moving every other week between her dad's house and mine. The image of tiny Gillian dragging her little pink Hello Kitty suitcase and her ever-present Hello Kitty blanket back and forth to her two homes is one that I can still hardly bear to think about. Did it help make her resilient? And adaptable? And strong? My guilty mother's heart hopes so. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gillian's childhood years of pigtails, dolls and playing dress-ups were over before I knew it. She showed many of her unique personality traits at a young age. She's always been an old soul, a quiet observer who prefers to watch and listen at social events rather than being the center of attention. What might be mistaken as quiet aloofness in her isn't that at all. Not much gets by her. She has a quick, dry wit that's informed by her astute observations of what's going on around her. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Although she no longer fits in my high heels, she hasn't outgrown her love of dressing up and wearing heels. She has a classy, elegant style. Her makeup skills have long been on point, something she definitely didn't get from me! I think it's because of her artistic talent and natural understanding of color and shading. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Her teenage years were marked by some turbulent times. I was terrified by some of the choices she was making, and worried for her future. I relied heavily on others during that time, calling on my village of friends and others to advise and guide me. Thankfully, we both made it through those stormy years. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I could write an entire book about the regrets I have as a parent. I know that Gillian suffered on many occasions because of my shortcomings. There are parts of her childhood that weren't at all what I hoped they would be, for either of us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The last few years of her youth passed in a flash. There's a saying about parenting that I love, "The days are long, but the years are short." That was definitely the case for me. Before I knew it, my little girl was driving, working, then graduated from high school and off to college. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Her turning 21 is the perfect occasion to celebrate the adult she's become. I'm so proud of her work ethic, curious mind and passion for her chosen fields of study in Political Science and Environmental Studies. Earlier this year Gillian moved into an apartment along with her boyfriend, Francisco. It's not like most young adult's first apartments, sparsely furnished haphazardly with cast-off furniture. True to her nature, she planned, saved and prepared for nearly a year before moving out. She's created a comfortable, stylish home, decorated with the things she loves, including lots of plants, and unique artwork from up-and-coming artists she finds, follows and supports. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My green-eyed girl, the daughter that I first knew in my dreams is an adult now. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm in awe of the talented, creative, strong, independent woman she's become. She's making a good life for herself. She cares deeply about the environment, the future of our country, social justice issues and human rights. Her quick mind is being fed by her professors and classes. She is finding her place in the world. I'm confident that not very far off in the future she will use her knowledge and her voice to challenge the status quo and make a positive impact on the world. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Happy 21st birthday Gillian! I love you. Make the most of your precious life and go out into the world and do great things. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Gillian on top of the Acropolis of Athens - September 2019</b></i></td></tr>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-32299466527179553482019-05-29T21:16:00.000-06:002019-05-29T22:43:23.608-06:00I Just Miss You<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had 34 years of Julie in my life - not nearly enough. We </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">spent more years living apart than we ever spent together. I was 13 and she was 7 when our family was split, with her and my two other younger siblings moving to Colorado to live with our mom. We saw each other during holidays and summer school breaks. When I was 19 and she was 13, I married. For much of her teenage and young adult years, I was caught up in building my own adult life. We still saw each other often, and kept in touch between visits with regular phone calls and irregular note cards and letters to each other. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Christiansen kids in the early 90's.</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Our abrupt, early family separation after our parent's divorce instilled in me a sense of importance about making time to see my family, especially my siblings, whenever the chance arose. Julie moved to Utah to attend college when she was 18 or 19. She lived in Salt Lake City, about 30 miles south of me. She changed apartments and roommates frequently during those years. I visited her in Salt Lake for lunches and dinners when I could, and she came up to Ogden frequently too. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Those years are a blur in my memories. The dates, incidents and time lines are all jumbled in my mind. Julie had her first serious mental breakdown and suicide attempt during that time. She moved to Ogden to live with our brother for a while so she could be with family and have more stability and support. I marvel now at how little we understood about how serious her condition was. My heart breaks at our naiveté back then. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We essentially thought our love could save her.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Julie eventually went back to Colorado. Life went on. We were in our twenties, each of us caught up in living our own lives. We always stayed connected, and I always adored her, but our day-to-day worlds were very different. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">By the time I was in my thirties, I'd come to appreciate and rely on both of my sisters much more. I was a mom, and a three-time divorceé. I had friends and a full life in Utah, but my sisters were my besties. Technology helped. Finally, the decades of physical distance between us mattered very little. Staying connected became so easy. We had mobile phones, email, instant messaging and texting. Julie and our sister Amy were almost always together. They even worked at the same small company for a time. We were part of each other's everyday lives, just like so many sisters everywhere. If there was a life moment to share or commiserate about - funny, frustrating, sad, challenging - they looped me in. We had constant group instant message chats, 3-way phone calls and text messages. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Those were such happy years. Somewhere in the mix of that time Julie had another suicide attempt. We were all alarmed and frightened. Mixed in with all the happy times was a growing awareness in the family that Julie was fighting some very dark demons. None of us took her struggles lightly. We knew she was sick. Each of us did whatever we could to help, love and support her. I realize now that much of what we did was well-intentioned, yet often woefully inadequate. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Maybe it was this awareness of the fragility of her mental health that drove my willingness to spend tine with Julie and my family whenever possible. Until I was 32, I'd never driven alone from my home in Utah to Colorado to visit my family. That changed in 2002 when I drove to Colorado for the birth of my niece Hannah. From then on, my road trips and flights there became more frequent. I said yes to visits much more than I said no. I wanted my daughter Gillian to grow up knowing her cousins, aunts and uncles like I had mine. Julie adored her nieces and nephews, and made equal efforts to visit Utah to see them whenever possible. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It wasn't always easy to travel so frequently to see Julie and other family members. I was a single mom without a lot of disposable income. Traveling required a fair amount of planning, sacrificing and saving. Much of my vacation time was spent visiting family - driving long hours across Wyoming, enduring summer hail and lightning storms, and often unexpected snow storms - rather than on warm, sunny beaches or in exotic locales. It was stressful to make long road trips with my young daughter. I did it anyway. Of course, I had no way of knowing then how fleeting those times were. I thought we had a lifetime of opportunities to be together</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm so grateful for the time we had. If there's one thing I could tell anyone about what I've learned from her loss, it's to make time. Make the effort. Make the sacrifices. Spend time with the ones you love. You never know which time will be the last time you see them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The feelings of loss and the void of no longer having Julie in my life will never go away. 34 years of her wasn't enough. I will always wish there had been more. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Earlier this year I read a wonderful book, </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Tragedy Plus Time, a Tragi - Comic Memoir</i></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">by another survivor of suicide loss, Adam Cayton-Holland. Very few books have been written about the experience of losing a sibling to suicide. He writes eloquently about his experiences in the first few years after his sister Lydia's suicide death. So much of what he wrote touched my heart. His closing words to his sister could have been from me to Julie. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>"I wish I could have had so many more years with you, but I'm grateful for every second that I had. So thank you. I love you. And I miss you so much. See you on the other side." </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I love you forever Jules. I'll miss you always. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5RuPwnYrj8XdS_68vKp4mmx9Kp5PLdkYzyV63HUKkFbDiAAtvs_VC9jNlFng2yBrfyt_ktzjPlfEnM4ltM4ciyB1GMv5EPsDpfo_o7fO-JyZRNv2oQECiWq_IKsT2Fj0YKhzK8zVgmPkV/s1600/Julie+on+trampoline+w+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1100" data-original-width="1600" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5RuPwnYrj8XdS_68vKp4mmx9Kp5PLdkYzyV63HUKkFbDiAAtvs_VC9jNlFng2yBrfyt_ktzjPlfEnM4ltM4ciyB1GMv5EPsDpfo_o7fO-JyZRNv2oQECiWq_IKsT2Fj0YKhzK8zVgmPkV/s400/Julie+on+trampoline+w+kids.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Aunt Julie jumping on the trampoline with her nieces and nephews.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb4Ehe0FvvzT9B-Maa53geWUwfPHdgeHktH6J4wKu-n_eY6Yx8sUNFazLhKixR_YsbkD456eiC5vSvZY_BcGDcp-pjIBrOWQeh6z2K3EqkN9t28Z9TCKJd79N2W5bFZ7nDE60ZEOeHdFVN/s400/Julie+and+Hannah+reading.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Hannah reading to Aunt Julie.</i></b> </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Gillian and her Aunt Julie on the 4th of July.</i></b> </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6WCQ14sf_GCrpMAawjnhC9h0CKg-mWnJotzZm5FugknxsSWkCh9uHK98qsRHENElnUA3JitVz5N5EDAKcywt5Y8BXHRLGgzqBbOt0KMtrtjOfIgfMKsQaKSV7rcaOxDa6hciZs9NNMjG/s1600/julie+nieces+swimming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Julie and her dog Phoenix at mom's house on Easter morning. </i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Julie rocking a bikini. </i></b></td></tr>
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<b><i>Julie, Atticus and Keicha in the Cheers bar in Boston.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS1mLop0KKU5T6ilZJYzOPtxqsXqoWoOxnajTCvHzWsmGuTXVWX7goAR2AZrSvtFNNXetf2F3XmsoJ99sRUY-K1-ypc-xHb_nphe17smPLUDJciBhlpgz3tCW6bG3vLu2ah7SzRPLuB9X9/s1600/Keicha+%2526+Julie+in+North+End+%2528Boston%2529_edited-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="1182" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS1mLop0KKU5T6ilZJYzOPtxqsXqoWoOxnajTCvHzWsmGuTXVWX7goAR2AZrSvtFNNXetf2F3XmsoJ99sRUY-K1-ypc-xHb_nphe17smPLUDJciBhlpgz3tCW6bG3vLu2ah7SzRPLuB9X9/s400/Keicha+%2526+Julie+in+North+End+%2528Boston%2529_edited-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Sisters together in Boston's North End. </i></b></td></tr>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-35449694098688996962019-05-23T22:46:00.000-06:002019-05-25T08:45:42.169-06:00Dirty Dishes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By now I should know the memories will always be there, laying in wait for those unguarded moments in my mind. Tonight it happened while I was unloading the dishwasher. Such a simple act - who knew that it could bring back such powerful, painful memories? </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbano7LtM2dgIXKkPxAtW5Q1UVYUPMv5dAyHj50ZQNket2vq3OFuTa1BHLNZk3adyc-UKg0wGcaMoH3wlwlzMQFsXEpIO2GZ7R6R0HOpcopjWyGVvThdtlThdtUEo1poY5x9cHoW0d-NR/s1600/IMG_20190523_222501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1223" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbano7LtM2dgIXKkPxAtW5Q1UVYUPMv5dAyHj50ZQNket2vq3OFuTa1BHLNZk3adyc-UKg0wGcaMoH3wlwlzMQFsXEpIO2GZ7R6R0HOpcopjWyGVvThdtlThdtUEo1poY5x9cHoW0d-NR/s320/IMG_20190523_222501.jpg" width="244" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I think it was her dishes that took my mind to that place. I kept two of her serving bowls. One is hand-blown glass with a tinge of blue/green color. The other is white ceramic. It has a small chip on the edge. I use it anyway. Last night I had a small get together at my house and used the glass bowl. Tonight, as I unloaded it from the dishwasher and put it away, my mind suddenly went back to the day nine years ago when we cleaned out my sister Julie's apartment after her death. It's odd what I remember from that day. The details are few, but vivid. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I loved Julie's last apartment. She always created such cozy, eclectic, classy homes for herself regardless of the space she was living in. The apartment she died in was no different. I spent many happy, content hours there with her in the last 18 months of her life. I remember being so afraid to go inside it after her death. I had no idea what to expect, and I didn't want to taint the memories of the happy times I'd had there with her. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tonight my mind didn't care about the happy memories. Suddenly I had one persistent thought, a question I can't answer for myself. Were there dishes in her dishwasher that day? Were they clean or dirty? I don't remember. Why can't I remember? It seems important, like a clue to her possible state of mind. How much of what occurred that night was pre-meditated? Did she make sure there were no dirty dishes for us to deal with? If there were dirty dishes, did we run the dishwasher? I have no idea. It doesn't matter anyway. Yet, still my mind seeks an answer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Whenever I entered Julie's apartment it felt like arriving home. One of the first things I'd do whenever I visited her was look at the mementos displayed on her fridge. On it were notes, quotes, cards and other things that encapsulated her personality and her latest connections with loved ones and friends. There were always several funny magnets, holding in place the latest drawings and notes made for her by her nieces and nephews. One of her magnets is now on my fridge. On her stove she kept a set of green milk glass salt and pepper shakers that I envied. More than once she whipped up scrambled eggs with toast for my breakfast, seasoned perfectly using those shakers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Her serving bowls, salt and pepper shakers, a refrigerator magnet, and Kitchen Aid mixer all reside in my kitchen now. Most of the time they serve as touchstones to me, reminders of my sister and happy times spent together in her home. Other times, like tonight, they are painful reminders of my loss. They're powerful triggers for traumatic memories of a horrible Memorial Day weekend nine years ago. It was a weekend that changed me forever. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've mostly healed from the trauma from all I experienced during that time. Mostly. I've come a long way in nine years, but my journey of grief and healing continues. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Whether or not my sister left dirty dishes in her dishwasher doesn't matter. There are no answers there, no insight into her state of mind the night she died. I know this intellectually, yet my mind still seeks the answer. It tells me that my mind is still unsettled about her death. I want acceptance. I want peace. Tonight, my subconscious mind reminded me that </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">there is still work for me to do. </span><br />
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-2436767649077120812018-07-08T18:38:00.000-06:002018-07-09T07:47:59.691-06:00Colorado, Kansas and Back<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We're barely a week into July and it's already off to a jam-packed start. As is my habit most years, the 4th of July holiday was spent in Colorado. The plan was to be tourists in Denver. We had a charming apartment in an <a href="http://www.denvermetrolodging.com/" target="_blank">Airbnb</a> located in the historic Capitol Hill neighborhood in Denver. Although I've been to Denver many times over the years, I've actually never spent much time there exploring the city. Kelly and I were excited to play tourists there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The trip started with taking in a long-awaited concert featuring Old Dominion, Thomas Rhett and Kenny Chesney with my sister, her boyfriend, my niece and her boyfriend. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>The exterior of our Airbnb</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As it turned out, life threw us a curve ball with the death of Kelly's aunt the week before our trip. Our five days of relaxing and exploring the city turned into a bit of a whirlwind, with one night in Denver, a drive to Hays, Kansas for two nights to attend the funeral, then back to Denver for two more nights.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It wasn't the trip either of us planned, but there was still plenty of fun and lots of family time. It was my first visit to Kansas, and also the first time I met Kelly's family and cousins from his maternal side. Although I never met his Aunt Dora Lou, I felt as though I knew her a little from all the stories Kelly has told me about her and times spent with her family over the years. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Her </span><a href="https://www.haysmemorial.com/notices/DoraLou-Clark" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">obituary</a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> details some of her accomplishments, including earning her pilot's license at the age of 16!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hays, Kansas and Kelly's warm family captured a piece of my heart. I felt like I was in a bit of a cocoon while I was there. The slower pace of life, family meals, and sharing laughs and stories on the patio while the sun set and cicadas chirped was just what my frazzled nerves and anxious mind needed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We finished our trip with a quick visit to my sister's in Erie for a 4th of July celebration and a Rockies game on the 4th. We only sampled a little bit of what the Mile High City has to offer during our time there. There's still plenty there left to explore and experience. Denver, we'll be back!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Keicha, Evan, Hannah and Amy</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">T<b><i>ailgating with Jewett & Amy's friends before the concert</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Powering through after what had already been a 14+ hour day!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>The view from our seats.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>The Clark family</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Kelly's Uncle Russ and a long-time friend.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Dora Lou was married in the same church that </i></b></span><b style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><i>her funeral was held in. </i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Trying to keep things together to prevent my skirt from </i></b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Kelly outside Coors Field.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Our first Rockies game!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-48179384665166126452018-05-29T21:25:00.002-06:002018-05-29T21:41:55.213-06:00Regrets<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today marks eight years since my sister Julie died by suicide. It's not an anniversary I look forward to, and having it permanently connected to the Memorial Day holiday weekend makes it especially hard to navigate. The weekend is full of sad memories and emotional triggers. Things that I rarely feel or remember tend to get dredged up from the dark, protective places my mind has tucked them into. I've spent quite a bit of time in my head the last several days, replaying memories and revisiting that horrible day 8 years ago and the events leading up to it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've come so far from the broken, grieving, guilt-ridden person I was in the first few years following Julie's death. I truly feel healed and as at peace as I think someone can ever be with prematurely losing someone they deeply love and cherish. I've worked diligently to regain my equilibrium, mental strength and resilience. I forgave myself for not saving her. I've studied and learned about mental health, suicide and suicide prevention. I even changed careers in order to work in the field of mental health. I feel whole again. If there's one thing I still feel though, it's regret. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Merriam-Webster defines regret is as: </span><br />
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<span class="sb-0" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><span class="mw_t_bc" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">1 : </span>sorrow aroused by circumstances beyond one's control or power to repair</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="sb-0" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><span class="mw_t_bc" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">2 : </span>an expression of distressing emotion (such as sorrow)</i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Last night I dug out the police report and the coroner's summary report related to Julie's death. I'd only read them once before about a year after she died, then filed them away in my basement. After re-reading them I was struck by some of the details that I'd forgotten. Regret filled me as I read the timeline of events and summary of her phone and text communications in her last few hours of life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Surprisingly, I knew very little about mental illness and suicidal ideation before Julie died. Even though my sister had struggled with bipolar disorder most of her adult life, back then I was unbelievably naive and unaware about what that really meant for her. I'm shocked now at my ignorance. As the saying goes, hindsight is 20/20. Despite our closeness and sometimes near daily contact, we almost never talked about her illness or how she was, or wasn't, managing it. I didn't know how to have such a conversation, and I certainly had no idea how to effectively come to the aid of someone experiencing a mental health crisis. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today at work I was talking about all of this with one of my employees, who also happens to be an experienced mental health counselor. When she talks to patients and others about mental illness, depression, etc. she compares it to someone with diabetes. They are both diseases that if not properly managed are potentially fatal. The patient should know how to manage their disease, which includes having a good network of caregivers and supporters around them. Most importantly, their loved ones and supporters need to know how to best help them manage their disease, including how to help them if they're in crisis because of it. It's a simple, and I think very accurate, analogy. Sadly, although I think it's safe to assume Julie viewed me as one of her key supporters and helpers - especially that night - I had no idea how to come to the aid of my sister during her time of crisis. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's easy to think that knowing how to intervene when someone is suicidal or in another type of mental health distress isn't something you'll ever need to know. But what if you do? Just like medical First Aid and CPR, I believe everyone should be trained in Mental Health First Aid. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On that horrible night eight years ago, I was powerless to change the ultimate outcome because of my lack of knowledge and training. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I can't change what happened. What I can do is learn from it and share that knowledge with others. <span style="color: red;">Please take the time to learn how to potentially save a life</span>. Here are some resources:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.mentalhealthfirstaid.org/external/2018/05/eight-ways-to-help-a-friend-with-depression/">Eight Ways to Help a Friend with Depression</a> from Mental Health First Aid</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.mentalhealthfirstaid.org/take-a-course/what-you-learn/">Mental Health First Aid Info. </a> from Mental Health First Aid USA</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/how-we-can-all-prevent-suicide/">How We Can All Prevent Suicide </a> from the Suicide Prevention Lifeline</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://nuhopeutah.org/classes/">Utah Suicide Prevention Training & Classes</a> from NUHOPE Suicide Prevention Coalition</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Love you forever Jules</i></span></h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1nXmUVGRWU3-lG_7ecyICFw1OxrNF1OqUK2mDDXghqiw_wRj-m7elDscl8_BLZP5-SNMn634fIxS-yoh2fVCnKj3SIxDFsaDlUROgQMH4BmDc3Qp3_PyE4DlqStvoe7vfcnYBFBYe0NSq/s1600/DSC01436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1325" data-original-width="1600" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1nXmUVGRWU3-lG_7ecyICFw1OxrNF1OqUK2mDDXghqiw_wRj-m7elDscl8_BLZP5-SNMn634fIxS-yoh2fVCnKj3SIxDFsaDlUROgQMH4BmDc3Qp3_PyE4DlqStvoe7vfcnYBFBYe0NSq/s400/DSC01436.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>In her element</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_7WOxLnDo02LXFF1OOYSwZ02PQlRTMErEgg-sWIoyFsGO88MFilbltgjEf5jeTcUAOrGWqUD1KI-nhsLPWyleztPYIRWj9aUNMOaKdblqm_lC3k3ZB_lNhogTuYWsmtTlRc3IIP1aRtYD/s1600/Copy+of+Julie+in+the+waves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1507" data-original-width="1545" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_7WOxLnDo02LXFF1OOYSwZ02PQlRTMErEgg-sWIoyFsGO88MFilbltgjEf5jeTcUAOrGWqUD1KI-nhsLPWyleztPYIRWj9aUNMOaKdblqm_lC3k3ZB_lNhogTuYWsmtTlRc3IIP1aRtYD/s400/Copy+of+Julie+in+the+waves.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>In the waves at Cape Cod</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCV6NrReowG1uF57KxAZQNkmwsO7_LyELJs-enUIRwcquI055jd1QxUTp2uuTLZnof4lUX0RYEUWeNaANSIwWd-ymVNg54Qp5wNr9BClzcB7LmfWfO6ULp2tEWTElmtzQd_AIzyddGVBRF/s1600/Feb+7%252C+2003+074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCV6NrReowG1uF57KxAZQNkmwsO7_LyELJs-enUIRwcquI055jd1QxUTp2uuTLZnof4lUX0RYEUWeNaANSIwWd-ymVNg54Qp5wNr9BClzcB7LmfWfO6ULp2tEWTElmtzQd_AIzyddGVBRF/s400/Feb+7%252C+2003+074.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Besties - Amy & Julie</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaSRJcUdlemJZzn8ln690qItPlwhngaHwAiwWG3IsFdhHUzOIpRRyGIm3QxGsQ1pI15p4aF497FvA4x_25BOzyShyLuwzAQt6WI6L3kLK6LkiWZiKq-6pluqRJ9HrkfWSzFJ6dCrV9ooB/s1600/Julie+and+Hannah+reading.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaSRJcUdlemJZzn8ln690qItPlwhngaHwAiwWG3IsFdhHUzOIpRRyGIm3QxGsQ1pI15p4aF497FvA4x_25BOzyShyLuwzAQt6WI6L3kLK6LkiWZiKq-6pluqRJ9HrkfWSzFJ6dCrV9ooB/s400/Julie+and+Hannah+reading.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Hannah reading to Aunt Julie at grandma's house</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZhSs2oOmziTKAJ0FaaMwKLe_K42tWmc7pR2RzwJYAnlxExXO7z4D6GoGdWPt49hvFxFVAVx2EOGn5EWSNeEt3ARspHp1P0GJvrPH1tfkthSNOyFjFffijkm6ox26o14wye03zyP24hSq/s1600/Atticus+%2526+Julie+in+Old+North+Church%252C+Boston+MA_1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="976" data-original-width="1024" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZhSs2oOmziTKAJ0FaaMwKLe_K42tWmc7pR2RzwJYAnlxExXO7z4D6GoGdWPt49hvFxFVAVx2EOGn5EWSNeEt3ARspHp1P0GJvrPH1tfkthSNOyFjFffijkm6ox26o14wye03zyP24hSq/s400/Atticus+%2526+Julie+in+Old+North+Church%252C+Boston+MA_1024.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Inside the Old North Church with Atticus</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_lU8N-4JB9thf_-rSo0pDcTXjGRHdzXXXuVSaF0j4pLgIMxl8GFF5Qik-3lN6MbFHsRMDKkXkp2065nWywFp3lN2eJ-3KvzNmTfxE2YiZCY30VdjQ9aaL8-kgWr31wROEYKI9DDornuN/s1600/julie+grandma+keicha+083108_1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk_lU8N-4JB9thf_-rSo0pDcTXjGRHdzXXXuVSaF0j4pLgIMxl8GFF5Qik-3lN6MbFHsRMDKkXkp2065nWywFp3lN2eJ-3KvzNmTfxE2YiZCY30VdjQ9aaL8-kgWr31wROEYKI9DDornuN/s400/julie+grandma+keicha+083108_1024.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Julie, Grandma French, Keicha</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE0bTOJqXlR3eV24XuT7roiCsszfW-xLm2iXcYAL094T9JwHvy3B6jYtHNMmg6haGBhycrWXx5kchPOnaIi8Cwy5qmNhI8xGtXp2xn3QPxama9T52X2pZFqhZ0bH36jJQH5AMKaU3MFVKn/s1600/DSC00186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE0bTOJqXlR3eV24XuT7roiCsszfW-xLm2iXcYAL094T9JwHvy3B6jYtHNMmg6haGBhycrWXx5kchPOnaIi8Cwy5qmNhI8xGtXp2xn3QPxama9T52X2pZFqhZ0bH36jJQH5AMKaU3MFVKn/s400/DSC00186.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Julie and Jason</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH9IHtEZ6sNeLM4o7dqcl_4g4WfAWE0kM4pb657k3IKfBWx_9nLJHvQaFI7JrDMshgd64nmRxj_z7LixJqyCuymb503W1764uQ6VPS7oyfw1G1XPqGPrx4V1rkEGaCXIKP7TrtXNhqYbVX/s1600/DSCN1061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH9IHtEZ6sNeLM4o7dqcl_4g4WfAWE0kM4pb657k3IKfBWx_9nLJHvQaFI7JrDMshgd64nmRxj_z7LixJqyCuymb503W1764uQ6VPS7oyfw1G1XPqGPrx4V1rkEGaCXIKP7TrtXNhqYbVX/s400/DSCN1061.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Sisters</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUKtVvGhUg8zBzoe-iskK1rQi6np24D_ncdmzQgiJlJoFAkaZa08OzwFe1jClGzpO0g0PGfQbLnBkw3jSDGQeYuuCEB7qdll7QOLUaeY_5Zm53nDo3xQbcKayjYMxnbQ_4YnPoZDHbJCX/s1600/DSCN1433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUKtVvGhUg8zBzoe-iskK1rQi6np24D_ncdmzQgiJlJoFAkaZa08OzwFe1jClGzpO0g0PGfQbLnBkw3jSDGQeYuuCEB7qdll7QOLUaeY_5Zm53nDo3xQbcKayjYMxnbQ_4YnPoZDHbJCX/s400/DSCN1433.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Relaxing poolside after running the Georgetown<br /> to Idaho Springs 1/2 Marathon</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9hj1zIskxPa-na514iiOC4O8OZNj0yV52W11Y9TDXtw7-uVOY4hJxeJ4syrqfZtScXME2jjY3K9E3vZH5O5FgmXNBnP7MmrrPqyB2hjv5vmq2S8rI_16sdOFhvaDIj8EF4VWu1v1XD0em/s1600/IMG00051-20100514-0930.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9hj1zIskxPa-na514iiOC4O8OZNj0yV52W11Y9TDXtw7-uVOY4hJxeJ4syrqfZtScXME2jjY3K9E3vZH5O5FgmXNBnP7MmrrPqyB2hjv5vmq2S8rI_16sdOFhvaDIj8EF4VWu1v1XD0em/s400/IMG00051-20100514-0930.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Shopping for running shorts at the dollar store</i></b></span></td></tr>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-88763917572328274262018-03-03T16:27:00.001-07:002018-03-03T16:56:41.654-07:00Liberation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDN8uzjaQa01HPFzJGBmWogiepVZ8dqniVTtic8khhDsr0H8O_gddK07ECF8gWt-hV2RewxRTrTDrODJAmj6aGvsoyVFAYPz83XaMBUR2-iAo5QsF8Cg_DFMp8ZkXGMVI8AL7OPLIXzuVk/s1600/IMG_20180303_155911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="1600" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDN8uzjaQa01HPFzJGBmWogiepVZ8dqniVTtic8khhDsr0H8O_gddK07ECF8gWt-hV2RewxRTrTDrODJAmj6aGvsoyVFAYPz83XaMBUR2-iAo5QsF8Cg_DFMp8ZkXGMVI8AL7OPLIXzuVk/s400/IMG_20180303_155911.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The year I turned 40 I gave myself a new name. When I was born and for some time after, days or maybe a week or more, I didn't have a name. On my original birth certificate my name was recorded as Female Christiansen. Eventually, my parents decided on my name. A month after my birth, my name, Keicha Christiansen, was officially bestowed on me by my father in a Mormon religious ceremony known as a baby blessing. I wasn't given a middle name since my father decided they weren't necessary for girls, as we would eventually marry and have a third name anyway, or some such similar logic. In our family, the naming of the children was a decision mostly made by my father. Sure, my mom had some say, but the decision was ultimately his. In fact, my mom tells the story of her surprise at my younger sister Julie's baby blessing when my dad gave her the name of Julie Ann. For some reason his previous logic in regard to naming his daughters was thrown out when he named her. My mom found out about her youngest daughter's middle name, in church, with the rest of the congregation. Even now I shake my head in disbelief and wonder at my strong-willed mom's submissiveness to my father's authority during the years they were married. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the years that followed, my name changed several times due to marriage. I became Keicha Nielsen, followed by Keicha Chapman, and then Keicha Ballif. I changed my name without question each time I was married. It was just something women do, which is a weird tradition when you think about it, at least to me. A name is such a fundamental part of a person's identity. Now, I find it odd that so many women so casually discard their family's last name to take on the last name of their husband's family. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Changing my name at 40 to what I thought it should be, Keicha Marie Christiansen, was surprisingly liberating. I had always been referred to as Keicha Marie by many in my family, and had I been given a middle name that would have been it. So I assembled all of the necessary paperwork to change what my father had decided was sufficient for me 40 years before. When I called to ask him to sign the paperwork allowing for my name change, I was surprised at his attitude. He did it begrudgingly, and let it be known that in some way he considered what I was doing disrespectful to him and his authority. Looking back, I realize what a courageous thing that was for me to do. I've always feared my father's judgement and have spent much of my life trying to avoid making him angry at me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For the last year, I've avoided my father completely. The reasons are plentiful, and complicated. It's been more than a year since we've spoken. My sister and I often talk about our father and our complex feelings about him. We've both decided that for now, it's mentally and emotionally healthier and safer for us to not have any contact with him. It may always be that way. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My childhood, though often happy, was also fraught with conflict and abuse. The stories of the physical abuse I witnessed my father inflict on my mom are ones I will leave for her to share. The emotional scars I carry from being a witness to it, along with suffering from his emotional abuse, are mine to talk about. I've long resisted talking about this mostly hidden part of my history out of fear, but also due to shame, guilt and not wanting to hurt others in my family by speaking my truth. Even now, as I write this, my heart is racing and my palms are sweaty. There is a part of me that will probably always feel like an insecure young girl seeking her father's approval, constantly striving to avoid being the object of his wrath or disappointment. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today I finished reading a recently released book by Tara Westover called <i>Educated: A Memoir</i>. Her story and history is very different than mine, although there were enough similarities in some aspects of our upbringing that reading it left me feeling somewhat emotionally unsettled, but also filled with gratitude and respect for her. She is also estranged from her father. When I read this paragraph she wrote, I felt a shock of recognition. "<i>But what has come between me and my father is more than time or distance. It is a change in the self. I am not the child father raised, but he is the father who raised her."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've spent much of the last year trying to make peace with my history and my relationship with my father. There is much I love about him. His good side is delightful. He can be funny, charming and extremely interesting to talk to. During his life he's pursued many different hobbies including marathon running, backpacking, macrame, and photography. He is intelligent and well-read. He was an obedient, caring son, especially in the final years of both of his parent's lives. He has been extremely generous to me, and has been there for me many times when I needed help. Yet, he's also deeply hurt people I love, both physically and emotionally. I find his outward devotion to LDS religious principles disgusting and hypocritical given all that I know about him. His lifelong emotional abuse and manipulation of his children is so twisted that sometimes I've thought that physical abuse would be easier to heal from. His love and acceptance always came with a very steep price. Last year I finally decided I was no longer willing to pay that price. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I haven't written much here for a year or more for many reasons, a primary one being that my writing voice felt strangled and afraid to write about what I've been experiencing. I didn't want to hurt or offend others, or create ill will with my extended family. And, yes, I am also afraid of my father. I fear him reading this and his reaction. I was, and still am, deeply afraid of speaking my truth and sharing my journey. Today I've taken the first small steps away from my fear. </span></div>
O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-20910446404169516682017-12-31T15:57:00.002-07:002017-12-31T16:00:42.553-07:00Goodbye 2017!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As I look back on 2017 the first thought that comes to my mind is how quickly the year flew by. I know for many, including myself, it was a painful year due to the political climate. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Excluding politics though, it was a great year marked by several milestone events, including birthdays, graduations, job changes, saying goodbye to dearly loved family members and joyfully welcoming new ones. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Here's a recap of the year's highlights in photos. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We welcomed 2017 with style, celebrating with our friends the Knightons at the beautiful <a href="https://www.victoriaclub.com/">Victoria Club</a> in Riverside, CA. It was a great start to the new year! From there we traveled on to our happy place, San Diego, for some much needed R&R. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our beachside condo in Imperial Beach, CA.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The new year was also marked by sadness as I said goodbye to my grandpa, Charles Christiansen, who died on December 28, 2016. On January 5, 2017 he was laid to rest with full military honors next to his sweetheart, Gloria. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My uncle Clayton Christiansen, a Vietnam War vet, was presented with grandpa's flag. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The cold days of February were broken up by fun nights out in O-town and our traditional Valentine cookie making extravaganza. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbtA__yN2r_gxpCCUR-35R-lTe2nKxGn1JBZQ_Xz8S61RfwQiJiv4e6oW95Q6p8idYD_7Ic2Gns7AeeuXG5JM47YzX2K2b5XJt6RcswcqJnT853Jx0s2eFry1-Ec9xB5UtpJBqCTbwVBm/s1600/16602046_339653466434541_277152891375981912_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbtA__yN2r_gxpCCUR-35R-lTe2nKxGn1JBZQ_Xz8S61RfwQiJiv4e6oW95Q6p8idYD_7Ic2Gns7AeeuXG5JM47YzX2K2b5XJt6RcswcqJnT853Jx0s2eFry1-Ec9xB5UtpJBqCTbwVBm/s320/16602046_339653466434541_277152891375981912_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kelly and I at a pre-Valentine's Day party at Ogden's Union Grill. </span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxv6wMW0VCM5l3HUNJ8K-AeyVhZ_D0fC99mzCeUQga8bRFi-Kd_gWh9C9SgQ_5LPgLe35BVqRw8fO5RYt7UKcBhMtb_OLMYZCBFzwuerGXA4FOygXnNubDWPmjn0dv5_PknPvuifEXFCB/s1600/IMG_5527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxv6wMW0VCM5l3HUNJ8K-AeyVhZ_D0fC99mzCeUQga8bRFi-Kd_gWh9C9SgQ_5LPgLe35BVqRw8fO5RYt7UKcBhMtb_OLMYZCBFzwuerGXA4FOygXnNubDWPmjn0dv5_PknPvuifEXFCB/s320/IMG_5527.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gillian joined the ranks of political protesters and marched with me in downtown Ogden to protest the president's proposed immigrant ban. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">March was mostly uneventful, other than one of our favorite events each year, the Eccles Art Auction. It's always a fun opportunity to get glam and spend an evening enjoying hundreds of pieces of great local artwork and socializing with friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">April brought sunshine and glimpses of summer along with more social events. We spent Easter in Dallas, TX with Kelly's oldest daughter and her then boyfriend, Simon. Kelly was thrilled when during our visit Simon asked him for permission to marry Cammi. The entire family is looking forward to their wedding next fall. The highlight of the month (actually the highlight of the year) was welcoming the newest member of our family, Leon Roberts Christiansen. My brother Jon and sister-in-law Sam surprised the family in January with news of his impending arrival. He joined big brother Atticus and immediately captured the hearts of family and friends across the country. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tessa and Keicha at the Junior League of Ogden Gala</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Brady, Keicha and Kelly at the JLO Gala</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">May brought a whirlwind of activity. I spent hours happily digging in the dirt preparing my yard for summer. My heart was full of happiness and pride when I watched Gillian graduate from Ogden High School with an Honors Diploma on May 24. Three days later we were in Colorado to watch my nephew, Mason Hopfenspirger, graduate from Erie High. It was a fun-filled weekend full of family, laughter, love, and a few tears. On Memorial Day, May 29, I joined 50,000 others and my sister Amy to run (okay, I mostly walked) the Bolder Boulder for the second time. It was the perfect way to mark the 7th anniversary of the loss of our sister Julie. Kelly ran it too, but since he's in much better shape than me he left us in the dust shortly after we started. Amy's boyfriend Jewett was a good sport, joining us for his first ever Bolder Boulder. We had so much fun together on the race course that day!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kelly riding in the Sunrise Canyon Bike Ride down Ogden Canyon<br />May 20, 2017</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mother's Day selfie with my girl</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Summer was in full swing by June. My Easy Does It rose bush, planted in memory of Julie rewarded me this year with an abundance of beautiful blooms, as did my peony plants. I spent many moments of gratitude this year enjoying the golden light in the evenings and relaxing on my back patio. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kelly marked a birthday milestone in June, which we celebrated in style with a big shrimp boil bash in his backyard. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The rest of the summer was filled with outdoor concerts, Raptors baseball games and another trip to Colorado in July to finally meet baby Leon. He didn't disappoint! </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">July also marked the end of my 30-year career at the credit union. I enjoyed three weeks of vacation time and made the most of it relaxing in Kelly's pool as often as possible. On July 31 I started working as the executive director of Family Counseling Service of Northern Utah, a non-profit mental health clinic. It's been challenging, busy, exhausting and </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">exhilarating so far. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Family fun at the penny arcade at Manitou Springs, CO</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kelly was excited to find his favorite game at the arcade.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gillian and her newest cousin, Leon.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYwZElF2h3wOulD4H6guewWX5nXSDfL7cE4TXn4jrSpniDieRvQbFDEw1FOP1oZWRG4MWIbI-kfta53DBIjJF6bFqUbqFCmtN6bnB2xIdNyl_7FfwmEXwm5WQRaKO4bAEt6nXuEK3ofBJY/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1404" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYwZElF2h3wOulD4H6guewWX5nXSDfL7cE4TXn4jrSpniDieRvQbFDEw1FOP1oZWRG4MWIbI-kfta53DBIjJF6bFqUbqFCmtN6bnB2xIdNyl_7FfwmEXwm5WQRaKO4bAEt6nXuEK3ofBJY/s320/image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5zdusBGYqVDCYYm9fH2NSDds6QsNaAUuLWkooRxFHSy00xe0hrlKA1TyQSVwdvmoTQL92ouz-C136Wlv5I-Rd5YmRznsBBbv7YBI9HjwEcgcfSSgDz8XbUDQ1QNSMCBUjtn_exBnWVPbz/s1600/IMG_20170722_154606.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5zdusBGYqVDCYYm9fH2NSDds6QsNaAUuLWkooRxFHSy00xe0hrlKA1TyQSVwdvmoTQL92ouz-C136Wlv5I-Rd5YmRznsBBbv7YBI9HjwEcgcfSSgDz8XbUDQ1QNSMCBUjtn_exBnWVPbz/s320/IMG_20170722_154606.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnsMnhJIBcxzey5J1a_OJGTL6j3OJD07RKdGg4royIeZYd_xajv2oB_2V7NQQzX2RjQ2H3VvDvXUxEPwfdbPLisdZgHUqSuWWc9if4P3LXEAR1p7MQZC-3RVc_ta8k8aV-2J8zu9ys-Hr/s1600/IMG_5765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="971" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnsMnhJIBcxzey5J1a_OJGTL6j3OJD07RKdGg4royIeZYd_xajv2oB_2V7NQQzX2RjQ2H3VvDvXUxEPwfdbPLisdZgHUqSuWWc9if4P3LXEAR1p7MQZC-3RVc_ta8k8aV-2J8zu9ys-Hr/s320/IMG_5765.JPG" width="316" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Shins concert with 7,000 other people!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUbyT5XJtVrsxkjfS_Jo9X5Y7qivZhKUespbXaTeM-_8fGrQ_iNMjKmT4U4I9GV5p3c2iV4QKVxWCG6Jq4VHhLq-D_tv6_euDzN0G9xMrqXwC4uamakOw52vnZWkEfWGLu3VVH1EqmHXrI/s1600/IMG_5768.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="1079" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUbyT5XJtVrsxkjfS_Jo9X5Y7qivZhKUespbXaTeM-_8fGrQ_iNMjKmT4U4I9GV5p3c2iV4QKVxWCG6Jq4VHhLq-D_tv6_euDzN0G9xMrqXwC4uamakOw52vnZWkEfWGLu3VVH1EqmHXrI/s320/IMG_5768.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Santana concert at Red Butte. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Rye84_V9cwqJh5Y6JF4PPb_ZuixogHF9BZM4eldgmGpOO1IDQPmpsFee8Y1GaHozVX3NFuaIGVFPY6ljnPLf6cpzxwlMHEpx6ohAAJ8iY8by2q819krq4xhEYaub26x5LHV6xFUbeX9m/s1600/IMG_20170903_190331.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1015" data-original-width="1600" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Rye84_V9cwqJh5Y6JF4PPb_ZuixogHF9BZM4eldgmGpOO1IDQPmpsFee8Y1GaHozVX3NFuaIGVFPY6ljnPLf6cpzxwlMHEpx6ohAAJ8iY8by2q819krq4xhEYaub26x5LHV6xFUbeX9m/s320/IMG_20170903_190331.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Blues, Brews and BBQ at Snow Basin</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNZa20h2I_AjeiIEEAL5j1sJrswo2yA7Lbm9AtQVuIkgoenB22zKPi3OjefkdERoditZ9800OIcpRvYHkCp5VfzjL43wF5wunhxANOKKHTwbuvdJ_pp5Hgrszs5utakyleVQKgav5LkYt/s1600/IMG_20170903_193651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNZa20h2I_AjeiIEEAL5j1sJrswo2yA7Lbm9AtQVuIkgoenB22zKPi3OjefkdERoditZ9800OIcpRvYHkCp5VfzjL43wF5wunhxANOKKHTwbuvdJ_pp5Hgrszs5utakyleVQKgav5LkYt/s320/IMG_20170903_193651.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hope loves the Snow Basin concerts too.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDH9r3WB0yM1J9cDVWdt8dXUnKFkpnqNeHRn0QulGnMTQpdYgZ2fNF05JykKZswDwnSdaruyyoCKAIWSV-Wz5_k-c7fs5GzhrKIErDWv5yQivEG6ki0_p8bYpNms3GfMzOUGrD8miJ9chs/s1600/IMG_20170914_193838.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1034" data-original-width="1600" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDH9r3WB0yM1J9cDVWdt8dXUnKFkpnqNeHRn0QulGnMTQpdYgZ2fNF05JykKZswDwnSdaruyyoCKAIWSV-Wz5_k-c7fs5GzhrKIErDWv5yQivEG6ki0_p8bYpNms3GfMzOUGrD8miJ9chs/s320/IMG_20170914_193838.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of my favorite views in Ogden - Lindquist Stadium </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The arrival of fall meant Utah Utes tailgate parties and football games, Kelly's annual Sigma Brothers golf tournament fundraiser, the Martini Bash, and Gillian's 19th birthday on October 6. We hosted our third Halloween party, which is always a fun-filled night! We celebrated Thanksgiving this year with friends and were happy to have Kelly's youngest daughter join us. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh91QaNmJCw-DHhPJceKvLUNI14mixusAxc0DEbHodejL62UOclxpRWLz03BMHfRyl40XvsPHvXKmKd4y0riCG9wsJvUsRqjzn7oHneEh69If6aERj4pdCeUcqn0J1ZJhYnvqxpqsT49F21/s1600/IMG_20170916_195739.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1022" data-original-width="1600" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh91QaNmJCw-DHhPJceKvLUNI14mixusAxc0DEbHodejL62UOclxpRWLz03BMHfRyl40XvsPHvXKmKd4y0riCG9wsJvUsRqjzn7oHneEh69If6aERj4pdCeUcqn0J1ZJhYnvqxpqsT49F21/s320/IMG_20170916_195739.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKR28C7l-BrPJSm27oR7IWT_7BkWRCABxsjtgTO5EJXKk5lR27co_x7Cw8qrmSj-f3VVxVeslwZgCV5-D-siR9W3rsMntXSXJw3K-dWwe4rC1AtOTvY0y_PWAj4Ad3VE5_HFaWU5Pq1pKq/s1600/IMG_20170922_185444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1141" data-original-width="1600" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKR28C7l-BrPJSm27oR7IWT_7BkWRCABxsjtgTO5EJXKk5lR27co_x7Cw8qrmSj-f3VVxVeslwZgCV5-D-siR9W3rsMntXSXJw3K-dWwe4rC1AtOTvY0y_PWAj4Ad3VE5_HFaWU5Pq1pKq/s320/IMG_20170922_185444.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kelly and Kenzie at the Sigma Brothers Golf Tournament.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6cgQc-9syjfRSwUBtqWPDoptOnfBL2erfjKA6maFVn8nUgPzSeJnSTva8XzU-2xEerdU_IzjYcveF2jrFcB4aJBYAIfxp0YjqhAZYZH6mXP6PoWACcPaMrowkFwRela6ot1RckLKf2-2e/s1600/21728757_10155203801004263_1589387068768916016_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6cgQc-9syjfRSwUBtqWPDoptOnfBL2erfjKA6maFVn8nUgPzSeJnSTva8XzU-2xEerdU_IzjYcveF2jrFcB4aJBYAIfxp0YjqhAZYZH6mXP6PoWACcPaMrowkFwRela6ot1RckLKf2-2e/s320/21728757_10155203801004263_1589387068768916016_o.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizgwV0NDsVvnGX_zw5j6QZYa4sQhGegYEfdbYIIwTktv-CUD8wiDAlxtA0S0-d5ggjtgGEbW5HREviDIUgg9MkfUjs6KlIZi2lmbQpH76ek6DuV0K8K8fV1X2CysxcRMYEBtZPMQW2WIZo/s1600/IMG_20171006_221031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1232" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizgwV0NDsVvnGX_zw5j6QZYa4sQhGegYEfdbYIIwTktv-CUD8wiDAlxtA0S0-d5ggjtgGEbW5HREviDIUgg9MkfUjs6KlIZi2lmbQpH76ek6DuV0K8K8fV1X2CysxcRMYEBtZPMQW2WIZo/s320/IMG_20171006_221031.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gillian's 19th Birthday.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbJekhgwTTCiMaFjqYlvC2ni1ZQWkKx3A442AK_K7qymzGRdfu7pVl8bLNHB-X4bn6MZ72j4NM-cs5eye55-c4HeYeyRHqIh6g4euLJ0ml3c2TksVLunC9zQ6s4aQxvbFVH_M9npt5RQ3/s1600/IMG_20171015_174234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbJekhgwTTCiMaFjqYlvC2ni1ZQWkKx3A442AK_K7qymzGRdfu7pVl8bLNHB-X4bn6MZ72j4NM-cs5eye55-c4HeYeyRHqIh6g4euLJ0ml3c2TksVLunC9zQ6s4aQxvbFVH_M9npt5RQ3/s320/IMG_20171015_174234.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's been a busy, eventful year with lots of happy memories made. Christmas was spent in Ogden with our daughters and Kelly's soon to be son-in-law. We'll bid farewell to 2017 and ring in 2018 in sunny Mesquite, Nevada away from Utah's polluted air and cold weather. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kelly, December 31, 2017</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As I look forward to 2018 I'm reminded of this saying from a friend's Christmas card this year. This is my wish for myself and everyone I love and cherish. I hope 2018 is a year of peace for all of us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Peace: Not the absence of noise, trouble or hard work, but to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart. </i></span></div>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-70949943490023034892017-11-08T19:19:00.000-07:002017-11-08T21:45:13.896-07:00Ashes to Ashes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My sister called today. She's been moving into a new house and making frequent calls to me to discuss the challenges of combining two households of stuff into one. It's been a sometimes difficult undertaking for her as she's also been letting go of lots of baggage, both physical and emotional, during the process. Today's call started much the same as previous conversations. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sis: "It's so hard figuring out where to put everything, especially when we're combining two houses worth of stuff."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Me: "That's why you should just get rid of everything and buy new." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That's why she calls me. I'm full of good advice like that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sis: "Yeah, I know. We've gotten rid of so many things already. But I don't know what to do with Julie."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Me (silence, followed by outrageous laughter): "Oh my god. Where is she now?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sis: "Well, you know I have that box of her ashes that's always been in the junk basket on top of the fridge. And I have the small decorative urn that I keep out."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Me: "You still have those? Are you going to keep them or scatter them somewhere some day? Are they in some kind of decorative box? I can't remember."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sis (deadpan): "They're in a cardboard box. But I guess I could decorate it."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Me: "Oh my hell. Julie would be so mad at us right now!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was followed by more ridiculous laughter from both of us, followed by tears. Seven and half years later, this is how we deal with our grief. She didn't call because she needed to know what to do with our sister's ashes. She called because she knew I would understand. We didn't need to say how much we both miss Julie and long to have her present in our daily lives, laughing and joking with us again on a 3-way phone call like we used to do. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Some may find joking about the cremains of our sister morbid, sick and wrong. I know many people find the thought of keeping ashes of a loved one around creepy. I find it comforting. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The urn of Julie's ashes I keep in my bedroom.</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After Julie died, the four of us remaining siblings each kept a small amount of her ashes. How and where we each choose to keep her in our homes is as different and unique as all of our personalities and the relationship we each had with Julie. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Amy's home was Julie's second home. At different times in her life she even lived at Amy's. When I would visit Colorado, the three of us most often gathered at Amy's house. There were countless family meals together there over the years. We often celebrated holidays together in her house, sometimes with the entire family, more often with just us sisters along with mine and Amy's kids. Many a late night was spent around her kitchen table, just the three of us sisters talking and laughing together late into the night. After Julie died, all of us siblings and our respective families - 15 people total - took refuge there together for a week. Her kitchen was where we would gather bleary-eyed and grief-stricken in the mornings, each day hoping we were all awakening from a bad dream. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When Amy brought home her box of Julie's ashes, putting them in the junk basket on top of her fridge was an unlikely, yet perfect spot. It kept her close in a place that was a frequent family gathering spot and in the heart of Amy's home like she'd always been. She's remained there through two subsequent moves for Amy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I know ashes, or cremains, are just bits of organic matter. They aren't my sister. For me they're a symbol of her - a tangible reminder of how much I loved having her in my presence. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Amy decided that for now Julie is going in her pantry. Yes, several inappropriate, morbid jokes ensued after that decision was made. I get it though. I think it's a perfect place for now. It keeps her close to the kitchen and the daily rhythms of Amy's family life. Julie's memory is omnipresent in the minds of so many that loved and were loved by her. I love knowing that at Amy's house, her ashes are behind the pantry door, out of sight, yet like her cherished presence in our lives, never, ever forgotten. </span></div>
O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-75011618066821393272017-10-03T18:28:00.003-06:002017-10-04T08:40:06.863-06:00Self-care in a Sea of Heartbreak<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Artwork by Gillian Chapman</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today I'm sad for so many reasons. Along with the rest of the country I awoke yesterday to the devastating news of the shooting in Las Vegas and the senseless murder of 59 innocent victims. I'm sad that these kind of mass shootings keep happening and that our national response and lack of meaningful action has become so predictable. I'm sad that our country can't seem to have a bipartisan discussion about common sense gun control laws. I'm angry, frustrated and sad that our government leaders won't actually lead on this issue. I'm heartbroken knowing that the lives of so many were completely upended yesterday by the murder of their loved ones. The repercussions and trauma of their deaths will continue on in waves, impacting countless lives for decades to come. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm also sad that Tom Petty died, which seems kind of silly and small in the scope of yesterday's tragedy. Still, Tom Petty has always been one of my go-to favorite music artists. I logged countless hours of running with his music as my only companion. After my sister died I kept the CD's of playlists that she'd created of her favorite music. When I'm especially missing her I listen to them. One in particular has several Tom Petty songs on it. I often fast forward to his songs. There's something about singing along to his music and remembering our shared love for many of his songs that makes me feel connected to her. Julie's gone, and now he's gone, and that's just incredibly sad to me. I'm also sad that I didn't throw caution to the wind this past May and pay the exorbitant ticket price to see him in concert at Red Rocks with my sister Amy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've cried several times over the last 24 hours. This afternoon I cried again while listening to an old interview with Tom Petty when the interviewer played the song "Sea of Heartbreak" by Johnny Cash with lyrics by Tom Petty and his band The Heartbreakers playing backup. Everything felt like too much in that moment - the song, my sadness, my memories, my 7-year old grief that was suddenly right back on the surface of my emotions - the call I took today at work to advise a father on where to take his suicidal 14-year old daughter. It all came coalescing together right then in a giant wave of sadness. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That's when I realized it was time for me to practice some self-care. Traumatic events such as the Las Vegas shooting always affect me deeply. Maybe it's a form of PTSD. Seeing pictures of sobbing, broken, devastated people, along with seeing and hearing too much news about such events triggers visceral reactions in me. My body and mind are reminded of the day 7 years ago my life was shattered by an unexpected death. The emotions make me feel physically ill. Thankfully, over the years I've learned what I need to minimize the impact on me. So I'm focusing today and for the next several days on taking care of my mental and emotional health. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The American Psychological Association has this list of simple things we can all do after traumatic events to take care of our selves: <a href="http://www.apa.org/helpcenter/mass-shooting.aspx?utm_content=1506951022&utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter#">Self-care tips</a>. Over the years I've found several of them very useful. Here are some of my favorites. </span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Strive for balance</b>: I remind myself of things that I'm grateful for and that make me happy. This Friday is my daughter's 19th birthday. That alone is a huge bright spot for me to focus on. I also am making sure to look around outside and enjoy the golden light that I love this time of year along with the gorgeous fall leaves. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Turn it off and take a break</b>: I'm very intentionally limiting my news intake this week. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Honor my feelings</b>: I'm letting myself feel sad, recognizing and sitting with my sadness and examining the reasons behind it. The simple of act of acknowledging why I'm sad and allowing myself "all the feels" makes it easier for me to move beyond my sadness. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Take care of myself</b>: I'm taking time for me. I know that nesting at home, reading, taking hot baths, and writing make me feel better. I'm also focusing on making sure I eat well and get some exercise in this week. </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today on the radio a woman was talking about taking the time to look at photos and learn a little about the people killed in the shooting. Yes, it's painful and sad. Yet, the sadness is a good reminder that we're alive, and able to feel the entire spectrum of human emotions. It reminded me of a favorite quote.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain." </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">~ Kahil Gibran</span></div>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-10835384226365553252017-07-26T22:32:00.003-06:002017-07-26T22:34:08.359-06:00Mile High Fun<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of my favorite summer traditions is going to Colorado to visit family. When I was young we would always make an extended summertime visit to see my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Later, after my mom and younger siblings moved to Colorado I would spend several weeks each summer living at my mom's house. Colorado is my second home, and in many ways it's my emotional home - the place where my heart feels most content.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My most recent visit was more eagerly anticipated than most, as my brother Jon and sister-in-law Sam were going to be there from Pennsylvania along with my two nephews, including 12-week old Leon. I was thrilled at becoming an aunt again after a 14-year hiatus and couldn't wait to finally see baby Leon in person! </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kelly was also along for the adventure, and I was excited to share with him the Colorado Springs stomping grounds of my younger days. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Rest stop in Ft. Collins on our way to Colorado Springs</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After a 10-hour drive across Wyoming, we made it to our hotel tired, road-weary and longing for a good night's sleep. We both quickly fell into very deep sleep. At 5 a.m. we were abruptly jolted awake by the sound of the hotel smoke alarms! Because we had somehow been put in an handicap accessible room, in addition to the overwhelmingly loud alarm there were also bright white strobe lights going off in the room. We stumbled outside in our pajamas to the front of the hotel, disoriented and still barely awake along with all of the other guests. Luckily, there wasn't a fire. Apparently an employee had overcooked the morning's breakfast buffet hash browns and the smoke set off the alarms. We waited outside for over 20 minutes for the fire department to arrive and turn off the alarm. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: left;"><b><i>An unexpected bonus of being up early... </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: left;"><b><i>seeing </i></b></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: left;"><b><i>the </i></b></span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><i>gorgeous sunrise.</i></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6cxEQVe-XNqlyZmw05GFeV4miUu5q8J0SZP8PFlwZOjNwwKmq1Y-2gVaVCAZzr5vlwJeSQRu82MN-bL60LDMI5iv5GvdEG4tvsFBwqK5M9YbSm7XxFN5ILNY0owiNUWbZh9LMybYfRkOT/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1404" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6cxEQVe-XNqlyZmw05GFeV4miUu5q8J0SZP8PFlwZOjNwwKmq1Y-2gVaVCAZzr5vlwJeSQRu82MN-bL60LDMI5iv5GvdEG4tvsFBwqK5M9YbSm7XxFN5ILNY0owiNUWbZh9LMybYfRkOT/s400/image.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After going back to bed to catch a couple more hours of rest, we got up and ready to meet the family for breakfast. We were all happy to see each other, but baby Leon was definitely the man of the hour! Can you tell how thrilled his aunties were to be able to love on him at last?</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3-JtwNoMTbOwf0Uss4iwysnTy_7slA7Mtxojmr-VoILWNcgLPvPZVW8m__rs8W_U70MSaRyf1Ny-Xg91hFnnKDNBcS6lC2OavTFvdkp5GgTUfn9V57Nqn_TUycXJ8xPpa7G5hAdaZaGyw/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3-JtwNoMTbOwf0Uss4iwysnTy_7slA7Mtxojmr-VoILWNcgLPvPZVW8m__rs8W_U70MSaRyf1Ny-Xg91hFnnKDNBcS6lC2OavTFvdkp5GgTUfn9V57Nqn_TUycXJ8xPpa7G5hAdaZaGyw/s400/image.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCOCkT78ZwJJ7rBag_ulU2lhOsYiE5_6N02mmD_3Ee7CZS15VF5fIE9DVwHdGLL4zAVVUfZICiSdhKWY3qcPah3pVjviAEV_XX3fw0H3uTD1eNmr-ee3duveovCLVuIRJe4OPLnJ7eFN8Z/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1250" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCOCkT78ZwJJ7rBag_ulU2lhOsYiE5_6N02mmD_3Ee7CZS15VF5fIE9DVwHdGLL4zAVVUfZICiSdhKWY3qcPah3pVjviAEV_XX3fw0H3uTD1eNmr-ee3duveovCLVuIRJe4OPLnJ7eFN8Z/s400/image.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then it was off to Manitou and the penny arcade. Everyone quickly found their favorite classic arcade game and in a matter of minutes we were all playing like a bunch of kids!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrO4FE4TmfzsMIBXP6GLK25yk9Q3q0IV6RFs43fQgbSYPTEycVuA3L3NSDja72B1TbWdxZzlLhGZbcppKnqd5l5kCxb4Rv-bFylD3QSJUXkXNWjrwfZleZi7qjI2RfX8vsAI1wNyl5ME5/s1600/IMG_20170722_150821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1239" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrO4FE4TmfzsMIBXP6GLK25yk9Q3q0IV6RFs43fQgbSYPTEycVuA3L3NSDja72B1TbWdxZzlLhGZbcppKnqd5l5kCxb4Rv-bFylD3QSJUXkXNWjrwfZleZi7qjI2RfX8vsAI1wNyl5ME5/s400/IMG_20170722_150821.jpg" width="308" /></a></div>
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<h3 style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPckyd45YQwaGSm44YPUDx6xGOpOGuxKimzHAm1E9OCUTuoeIlF9A54gT-l1hbvUR2wdY88kz3wkgHiwYwCAGZJ4f8U-SOKgS1RT8SY520xlst_nTJkxZE01W6F8oIDcoeUItsc0JhrBCE/s1600/IMG_20170722_152402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPckyd45YQwaGSm44YPUDx6xGOpOGuxKimzHAm1E9OCUTuoeIlF9A54gT-l1hbvUR2wdY88kz3wkgHiwYwCAGZJ4f8U-SOKgS1RT8SY520xlst_nTJkxZE01W6F8oIDcoeUItsc0JhrBCE/s400/IMG_20170722_152402.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Kelly was happy to discover Galaga, an old favorite.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0MKV1-s5OBSixWPxYKCa5o0tGycOHRQyVCGqDIXWONxNmkUUiKWq2HqZ_Cwx4STirvj7ECYoE_e1lk_C_7R8WAIAfxZjrGboZrr-Kr0EXR1dNT8QKCa_0OzWUeRiQpMSIe5E9tZ1h2trk/s1600/IMG_20170722_152547.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1162" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0MKV1-s5OBSixWPxYKCa5o0tGycOHRQyVCGqDIXWONxNmkUUiKWq2HqZ_Cwx4STirvj7ECYoE_e1lk_C_7R8WAIAfxZjrGboZrr-Kr0EXR1dNT8QKCa_0OzWUeRiQpMSIe5E9tZ1h2trk/s400/IMG_20170722_152547.jpg" width="290" /></a><br />
<b><i>Pinball Wizard</i></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5REhXkHZA_-8T8-H6cdw9NrZtbsglxwA9a9u0eDdwOYo_nzLcjAYy7afuh1bImsTLIuVsWLZa5EoaqAw4RLZvCzF7zkcshxbrCszWsMEp-7i1TJyLOvHaqHQhpYP4JjzMURGGIrB_vIj9/s1600/IMG_20170722_152604.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5REhXkHZA_-8T8-H6cdw9NrZtbsglxwA9a9u0eDdwOYo_nzLcjAYy7afuh1bImsTLIuVsWLZa5EoaqAw4RLZvCzF7zkcshxbrCszWsMEp-7i1TJyLOvHaqHQhpYP4JjzMURGGIrB_vIj9/s400/IMG_20170722_152604.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexIvgdCmBukxJk-CNi3t_RvPTi-1itTMuGiS0re7jKBAYoFmg-bBzALY7doos7y1gMgQMldns-oAJybmtd8ccVQrTFEASkdMmCQRGHRnD9yHMXxWy3fbwruLu2fonipBRoBLRRwebXdLK/s1600/IMG_20170722_153604.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexIvgdCmBukxJk-CNi3t_RvPTi-1itTMuGiS0re7jKBAYoFmg-bBzALY7doos7y1gMgQMldns-oAJybmtd8ccVQrTFEASkdMmCQRGHRnD9yHMXxWy3fbwruLu2fonipBRoBLRRwebXdLK/s400/IMG_20170722_153604.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Jewett was shocked to win 750 tickets!</i></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzSxsdHq_brgO3Lf2bzxBmMMxX7pJdk-szgD3GdGuY1-CLaP5f3cgZBqwHK73xo0fEzYH22MUcNPkXrCfpeliyl27PihNk0JwtnszY7miGpSp55rjhnX6ZLcAgUtpAtI7QncoA9PuOIXCH/s1600/IMG_20170722_154552.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="1600" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzSxsdHq_brgO3Lf2bzxBmMMxX7pJdk-szgD3GdGuY1-CLaP5f3cgZBqwHK73xo0fEzYH22MUcNPkXrCfpeliyl27PihNk0JwtnszY7miGpSp55rjhnX6ZLcAgUtpAtI7QncoA9PuOIXCH/s400/IMG_20170722_154552.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: small;">Jon - the undefeated air hockey champion.</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDNMkMRnI13SljBjRrJriBCUBQsBN4Xj-VOG4pOcRZ66qI9FPo6-Xj4Lyiau2T4r5a-olJ2CLv8DJAf-q0GbMxG1dD02_dXcXeyKuMNiXp0xk0PYht37QGWcs_o653wq8Ss6_8-yqY17v/s1600/IMG_20170722_154606.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDNMkMRnI13SljBjRrJriBCUBQsBN4Xj-VOG4pOcRZ66qI9FPo6-Xj4Lyiau2T4r5a-olJ2CLv8DJAf-q0GbMxG1dD02_dXcXeyKuMNiXp0xk0PYht37QGWcs_o653wq8Ss6_8-yqY17v/s400/IMG_20170722_154606.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlHpTOAkPnkSkzMwYhIj3l0_Kpm0a5SnpZ8jyCZ6r22Gs9IgCaByagobmE6hsNj4rllqBuVJsJ-ZKwrkie98-_qS5FhaNgeoQNB5vjg3Pf55j23L3HD2Gm9FzCyu53nvBamIspumcvR_sV/s1600/IMG_20170722_160029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1010" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlHpTOAkPnkSkzMwYhIj3l0_Kpm0a5SnpZ8jyCZ6r22Gs9IgCaByagobmE6hsNj4rllqBuVJsJ-ZKwrkie98-_qS5FhaNgeoQNB5vjg3Pf55j23L3HD2Gm9FzCyu53nvBamIspumcvR_sV/s400/IMG_20170722_160029.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: small;">Jewett's big win bought Amy a stuffed<br /> animal, a candy bar and a soda.</span></i></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVjvT1T0NtTcFfrQUk6ofNf7Hwonxo7jlDbHT5aupqarysHzR_fX_450kEf090Jj_s1AHMKDw2wQjjHF5LYTw1fgIYtvce-lspLdd3-iDBiUd-fu0Fj49HTSNDC9fOdoqnto89GgZdJ8DU/s1600/Fam+at+Manitou.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukGjJTUBeFGFBlj4Mle6MMuNW1q4gWnQ9UpCqiqm9Xsza-hGNn8ZeujiAO_pDXRCWMnPB6NZqHid1PFQvwToWqJ8I8cY-9XqsmLzwQhL9lLU2ysV9uaXztpnMUu4JQkh5bsRHB5dM_1si/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukGjJTUBeFGFBlj4Mle6MMuNW1q4gWnQ9UpCqiqm9Xsza-hGNn8ZeujiAO_pDXRCWMnPB6NZqHid1PFQvwToWqJ8I8cY-9XqsmLzwQhL9lLU2ysV9uaXztpnMUu4JQkh5bsRHB5dM_1si/s400/image.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: small;">A morning hike to Pulpit Rock.</span></i></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKkt6c3SzJB6iAYz00VvX1P4P0G4KBRjJbBP1ZbKU5hOlhVkGqf1LaJmQ3_yV09Awv34jYM1eDRZTqq_0dudUGZO8iDoYalOERvKsU3IPOvOV4plMtZWmSgRtjIzf6oFDZh8EFl1n4UdR/s1600/IMG_20170723_161317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="999" data-original-width="1600" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKkt6c3SzJB6iAYz00VvX1P4P0G4KBRjJbBP1ZbKU5hOlhVkGqf1LaJmQ3_yV09Awv34jYM1eDRZTqq_0dudUGZO8iDoYalOERvKsU3IPOvOV4plMtZWmSgRtjIzf6oFDZh8EFl1n4UdR/s400/IMG_20170723_161317.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<b><i><span style="font-size: small;">Gillian and Francisco marking Ogden on the map </span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: small;">at Helen Hunt Falls.</span></i></b></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95POHeVa_3NCca-ym-dzk9DQ48OUxOyjSNzJwazS7_p4yA6_Lwc9S5giMXM0znb0oIUL1TgJt5cD95JlnnoAM9K9WMXfJshWSfcffUBCECA1GTjepMwYPGrX_e9CWwjKolPEWG3-NpZgw/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="250" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi95POHeVa_3NCca-ym-dzk9DQ48OUxOyjSNzJwazS7_p4yA6_Lwc9S5giMXM0znb0oIUL1TgJt5cD95JlnnoAM9K9WMXfJshWSfcffUBCECA1GTjepMwYPGrX_e9CWwjKolPEWG3-NpZgw/s400/image.jpg" width="338" /></a><br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: small;">I wasn't prepared for hiking, but I made it to<br /> the top of Helen Hunt Falls anyway!</span></i></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXL7AaL7PNlQA1zCTUYaAIT6F3wvBkkCa9H1PaO21rt2FvwKyQoKu_6DkfPoyhSvkjj8p8KrqmLBMn-Z8xvBSl6qsQ9GPLJ03Xati7hAP3RNXCObDj8wy11kwqHhPZDuvX-GLwN9NrkY5M/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="477" data-original-width="580" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXL7AaL7PNlQA1zCTUYaAIT6F3wvBkkCa9H1PaO21rt2FvwKyQoKu_6DkfPoyhSvkjj8p8KrqmLBMn-Z8xvBSl6qsQ9GPLJ03Xati7hAP3RNXCObDj8wy11kwqHhPZDuvX-GLwN9NrkY5M/s400/image.jpg" width="400" /></a><b><i><br /><span style="font-size: small;">At the top of Helen Hunt Falls.</span></i></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8q-xhy3MbS0Xohz-wBJN7qxAopH4DJnReRsGBK2wnBfCrx00SbpZen-l9kks8A-JZ4hdh8cSbEDRUsWJpUuFGbqFe_EYudwcbC32X7RwKB3x6f2D90FNszwDeyyxAshvom4NR4siULjHc/s1600/KandG+at+Helen+Hunt+Falls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8q-xhy3MbS0Xohz-wBJN7qxAopH4DJnReRsGBK2wnBfCrx00SbpZen-l9kks8A-JZ4hdh8cSbEDRUsWJpUuFGbqFe_EYudwcbC32X7RwKB3x6f2D90FNszwDeyyxAshvom4NR4siULjHc/s400/KandG+at+Helen+Hunt+Falls.jpg" width="400" /></a><b><i><br /></i></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfPKsaLYNxg4ptsR3IY1XkfFRW5ft2e3_MZiNpWI7EbHruQJd09kh7i1ggfwownconRfbvbT4SQba_j31Q7lOZtXJMrrM6NK0GOrbrDcPnisRxjqp3hgFSQDNcX7C1mkNpmQJz6QMMxXy/s1600/IMG_20170725_081910.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfPKsaLYNxg4ptsR3IY1XkfFRW5ft2e3_MZiNpWI7EbHruQJd09kh7i1ggfwownconRfbvbT4SQba_j31Q7lOZtXJMrrM6NK0GOrbrDcPnisRxjqp3hgFSQDNcX7C1mkNpmQJz6QMMxXy/s400/IMG_20170725_081910.jpg" width="400" /></a><b><i><br /><span style="font-size: small;">With Kelly outside the Air Force Academy Chapel.</span></i></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVjvT1T0NtTcFfrQUk6ofNf7Hwonxo7jlDbHT5aupqarysHzR_fX_450kEf090Jj_s1AHMKDw2wQjjHF5LYTw1fgIYtvce-lspLdd3-iDBiUd-fu0Fj49HTSNDC9fOdoqnto89GgZdJ8DU/s1600/Fam+at+Manitou.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1157" data-original-width="1600" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVjvT1T0NtTcFfrQUk6ofNf7Hwonxo7jlDbHT5aupqarysHzR_fX_450kEf090Jj_s1AHMKDw2wQjjHF5LYTw1fgIYtvce-lspLdd3-iDBiUd-fu0Fj49HTSNDC9fOdoqnto89GgZdJ8DU/s400/Fam+at+Manitou.jpg" width="400" /></a><b><i><span style="font-size: small;"><br />With the ones I love in a place filled with happy memories. <br />Another Colorado family vacation in the books!</span></i></b></td></tr>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-14534466433832504552017-07-06T21:36:00.007-06:002017-07-06T22:44:38.421-06:0030 Years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On July 8, 1987 I reported for my first day of work at my first real job. Although I'd pursued a job there with single-minded determination, refusing to even apply elsewhere (much to the frustration of my dad!), I didn't imagine I was beginning a 30-year career there. Tomorrow I'll walk out the doors there for the last time. Sadly, I won't be officially retiring, although I do have the gift of a pension coming my way on my 65th birthday! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In this day and age, it's a rare thing for someone to work at the same place for so long. Longevity and loyalty is good. Being too comfortable isn't. I do my best work when I'm challenged and learning new things. After three decades I decided it was time for a major change and new challenges. I needed to shake myself out of my comfort zone and move on. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm excited, nervous, intimidated and honored to have been selected as the Executive Director of a local non-profit, Family Counseling Service of Northern Utah. After serving on their board of trustees for 3 1/2 years, I've come to know the organization and their work well. I'm thrilled about taking on a role that allows me to combine my professional and volunteer experience with my personal passion and commitment to access to affordable mental health services and mental health awareness. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Looking back on the last 30 years I mostly marvel at how quickly the years have flown by. You know the Kenny </span>Chesney<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> song "Don't Blink"? It's true. One day you're a shy, quiet 17-year old. Then, you blink and you're 47-years old and leaving your job of 30 years. Mixed in with all those hours, days, weeks and years spent working, I graduated from high school, then college, got married, divorced (more than once!), had a child, volunteered on countless boards and committees, laughed, cried, loved, lost, struggled, triumphed, </span>learned<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> to juggle working full-time and single parenthood, and raised an amazing daughter! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It feels a bit like I'm jumping from the nest. Several weeks ago I was talking to a friend about my apprehension over making the leap from comfort and security to risky and unknown. He gave me some good advice. "Go ahead and let go of the edge of the cliff and drop the inch you're going fall." He was right. I let go. The fall wasn't bad at all.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> A Career (and hairstyle) Retrospective</span></h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQcszJf-hJM8uu6vh5jpNBlqfgWA7d90AAfb1DosnSW9HqK-MU2fz1aXIwi4zmAE1XeCdsatBw3PlRN_UWFY8QLMNWZXhraydYvBNwEPg0QCYF_xygO9vRUkzYGyF3AXOABoYnuOpGRtWm/s1600/IMG_1828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1212" data-original-width="1255" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQcszJf-hJM8uu6vh5jpNBlqfgWA7d90AAfb1DosnSW9HqK-MU2fz1aXIwi4zmAE1XeCdsatBw3PlRN_UWFY8QLMNWZXhraydYvBNwEPg0QCYF_xygO9vRUkzYGyF3AXOABoYnuOpGRtWm/s400/IMG_1828.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>1st Day of Work</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjylAkPvOUw8p1OMv0lmAjvM5GQc-6KWUauSgjNRzc5FS-YZWvWIrbhwHmicI16UuWzrjKpHe5IXsjsfpKFB1fYFog9osxL1YJ01K9KF9ikg7_wYaRq8QHbCror2eOBYdez0ia2U3wSL8kJ/s1600/Keicha+1996.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="873" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjylAkPvOUw8p1OMv0lmAjvM5GQc-6KWUauSgjNRzc5FS-YZWvWIrbhwHmicI16UuWzrjKpHe5IXsjsfpKFB1fYFog9osxL1YJ01K9KF9ikg7_wYaRq8QHbCror2eOBYdez0ia2U3wSL8kJ/s400/Keicha+1996.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My Project Coordinator days</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhs2k5M4DraBnJFDPW_brbwdFWV5DtKpyNo83clyvhE7qRfy7n39dR7SDitps1qOb2Re1MsGK4zCc1F0kcIjXvUB2U_ww8b4pnRTeFlJ9qtHcMNPptkz3Q_ZgfaqzfV8nYyyf-UZ05GeE-/s1600/Keicha+1989.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="485" data-original-width="603" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhs2k5M4DraBnJFDPW_brbwdFWV5DtKpyNo83clyvhE7qRfy7n39dR7SDitps1qOb2Re1MsGK4zCc1F0kcIjXvUB2U_ww8b4pnRTeFlJ9qtHcMNPptkz3Q_ZgfaqzfV8nYyyf-UZ05GeE-/s400/Keicha+1989.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IhQnYrY70cUud4uJeYNFv3k20xxEFXPlHMWcWYj2Yv-f_2JpeEGSn062jidCFE9wxfZRRjDXFvcz625k0IT-WzZD3vSrpcxcp6X_4kPDsgwNVweJ6FtN2vS0RmKvR1YUD390tEJkE1gG/s1600/Scan+Jul+6%252C+2017%252C+7.05+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1136" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5IhQnYrY70cUud4uJeYNFv3k20xxEFXPlHMWcWYj2Yv-f_2JpeEGSn062jidCFE9wxfZRRjDXFvcz625k0IT-WzZD3vSrpcxcp6X_4kPDsgwNVweJ6FtN2vS0RmKvR1YUD390tEJkE1gG/s400/Scan+Jul+6%252C+2017%252C+7.05+PM.jpg" width="281" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1993</span></i></b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfOw6ykbwNwGwRonxN3n1gmAFYa7bAmRbx0cxu1HktH_R-ALv_tutRxBXfSulpwvltAnexBi0xIQs9BeDh2eFtWP7InSkyNzIuTCLiOaUc6Icie_ue8QrSfQ1CMmYaShEBzwO_3AHDnhq/s1600/Keicha+1993.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="543" data-original-width="779" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfOw6ykbwNwGwRonxN3n1gmAFYa7bAmRbx0cxu1HktH_R-ALv_tutRxBXfSulpwvltAnexBi0xIQs9BeDh2eFtWP7InSkyNzIuTCLiOaUc6Icie_ue8QrSfQ1CMmYaShEBzwO_3AHDnhq/s400/Keicha+1993.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqtstaNbtlHsQsX61ofHgFOmylCBWIORl5lpq12HtmI0WhoauZS2QClvJnzHNDh25bkXL7FGlRPri3aHpPGkGMBAAI4U8flwyVMhrCguKXMAyC-xASAWcOtRJ0j_aIhiT9FRsFFHxEKGw/s1600/Keicha+1999+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="885" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqtstaNbtlHsQsX61ofHgFOmylCBWIORl5lpq12HtmI0WhoauZS2QClvJnzHNDh25bkXL7FGlRPri3aHpPGkGMBAAI4U8flwyVMhrCguKXMAyC-xASAWcOtRJ0j_aIhiT9FRsFFHxEKGw/s400/Keicha+1999+1.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Riverdale City flood clean-up</i></b></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpqP656jHqWp7MEyKiqFG0DFYDWRbZopZ-YZWri6BYOpA_04oaiOToXI5K6geKQrxZm1BIHNv1IPNpGKO8duaJMfYm8OJC-UyGphFeolJcHlSCN0r726jAJ_aVUAM4vjumvz1ZOG-U5s3V/s1600/Keicha+1999.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="843" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpqP656jHqWp7MEyKiqFG0DFYDWRbZopZ-YZWri6BYOpA_04oaiOToXI5K6geKQrxZm1BIHNv1IPNpGKO8duaJMfYm8OJC-UyGphFeolJcHlSCN0r726jAJ_aVUAM4vjumvz1ZOG-U5s3V/s400/Keicha+1999.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiikjGZXQLFnubLCOoVaKIpeZBAmCky9u9hCukkRu7TT3IYgG8pll2kX4vuww22g_-9jm-dJ7LvMoVAdZsZIZOHbygjvS1LOZxAYywAc0zfLsniafzs2oz3-averjRAFrkGdhYIWm8GwUqJ/s1600/Keicha+1994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="517" data-original-width="499" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiikjGZXQLFnubLCOoVaKIpeZBAmCky9u9hCukkRu7TT3IYgG8pll2kX4vuww22g_-9jm-dJ7LvMoVAdZsZIZOHbygjvS1LOZxAYywAc0zfLsniafzs2oz3-averjRAFrkGdhYIWm8GwUqJ/s400/Keicha+1994.jpg" width="385" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioOBCnWoI-9HMlJYVJngS0aBY8M5vkEYPVItFGZUJ6pfXA3nVN7rnpR1KzZEq0Zjaphyphenhyphen0eZD_S8ofKyhMM8aYPjflJah7roQPXalJIh2nfAujwF3oewtkkbRNX82bL965RJABRyOv4jcfT/s1600/Keicha+1997.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="568" data-original-width="879" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioOBCnWoI-9HMlJYVJngS0aBY8M5vkEYPVItFGZUJ6pfXA3nVN7rnpR1KzZEq0Zjaphyphenhyphen0eZD_S8ofKyhMM8aYPjflJah7roQPXalJIh2nfAujwF3oewtkkbRNX82bL965RJABRyOv4jcfT/s400/Keicha+1997.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>New branch ribbon cutting </i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnf4UIciK4-Fgc2nDWIo-HVeT0yuUITv9Q6tfgpCGPmikl5_S98qXU-CRjemdplv2qlAqpuKctzipqeUDmHDdDB_vzEIdWeo-qOuDLjpQGYLXXHmDzRpEfetY65Z0kxcp9fw7kDwX2ZTMw/s1600/Keicha+1996+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="574" data-original-width="894" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnf4UIciK4-Fgc2nDWIo-HVeT0yuUITv9Q6tfgpCGPmikl5_S98qXU-CRjemdplv2qlAqpuKctzipqeUDmHDdDB_vzEIdWeo-qOuDLjpQGYLXXHmDzRpEfetY65Z0kxcp9fw7kDwX2ZTMw/s400/Keicha+1996+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Holiday Buffet</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ84E-fXBb9no0ReL15y_vPsseKD5eaOu7-VCdK9U8_JbkS1JjWhcxRpeU9nM3Qo4wh9gClmo4s9I9GUhaRknyiZZ2iyU-jZQxKPR-Kpan6gWWkgB1PH0uG8bvF3xeQLhURTixx7cPVlqz/s1600/Keicha+1998.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="567" data-original-width="1019" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ84E-fXBb9no0ReL15y_vPsseKD5eaOu7-VCdK9U8_JbkS1JjWhcxRpeU9nM3Qo4wh9gClmo4s9I9GUhaRknyiZZ2iyU-jZQxKPR-Kpan6gWWkgB1PH0uG8bvF3xeQLhURTixx7cPVlqz/s400/Keicha+1998.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>2 weeks before giving birth!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6q4GwaRwlWaa89XKjyAH0kEcbjoE1h0uMGlJLfAr0TjPrlwHou3vALMo5phjmlj9Oqj4vu3y3ZDXvoR-Hesqo6V5hBuJC0ohqQKvLNfLBOf72pl8dwoc15LbXcBtDFZ_UIVQUORX3DAb4/s1600/Scan+Jul+6%252C+2017%252C+6.55+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="1600" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6q4GwaRwlWaa89XKjyAH0kEcbjoE1h0uMGlJLfAr0TjPrlwHou3vALMo5phjmlj9Oqj4vu3y3ZDXvoR-Hesqo6V5hBuJC0ohqQKvLNfLBOf72pl8dwoc15LbXcBtDFZ_UIVQUORX3DAb4/s400/Scan+Jul+6%252C+2017%252C+6.55+PM.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Management Seminar 60's Night fun.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZabkAw31L4zIaukVE-5kRkpUaWM-rQvYHwKUgqSYKgMDQN-kiDxcN8ZWKwVNC3t_vkwtwf4e5-PrulQoSPQ35Xw91C__ilieuJaDl-dGoItNYTy2ilwqWRQg4S44odWJ9tvV7N9yBsvV/s1600/Scan+Jul+6%252C+2017%252C+6.53+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1136" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZabkAw31L4zIaukVE-5kRkpUaWM-rQvYHwKUgqSYKgMDQN-kiDxcN8ZWKwVNC3t_vkwtwf4e5-PrulQoSPQ35Xw91C__ilieuJaDl-dGoItNYTy2ilwqWRQg4S44odWJ9tvV7N9yBsvV/s400/Scan+Jul+6%252C+2017%252C+6.53+PM.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>1999ish</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim2KoHqqU5t9Aj-SZq-7-R2nG83akvZxft4BCGJv8xQPaV88NYl0AVnmWNsLZLLZEbhiPhxK7iR3BdyqK9nAsZI9KfJ0JcWoIFryP-gYtLBug2I5OR2onlHMXy3lko3pOIDqd78629k0Ns/s1600/Scan+Jul+6%252C+2017%252C+6.57+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="1600" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim2KoHqqU5t9Aj-SZq-7-R2nG83akvZxft4BCGJv8xQPaV88NYl0AVnmWNsLZLLZEbhiPhxK7iR3BdyqK9nAsZI9KfJ0JcWoIFryP-gYtLBug2I5OR2onlHMXy3lko3pOIDqd78629k0Ns/s400/Scan+Jul+6%252C+2017%252C+6.57+PM.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Hangin' with Donny Osmond, Orrin Hatch and Michael<br />Bolton. Umm...weird.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRmrSvzlejMTb41yMCNg10SzMa70UZ0q-Es-ettD1VsKjDFAeq6ZfYYaE2mtA5t1IFZygZvxbdVTDk7MfyafiYsOFBNR_IzKQc05DLhvS6Lr1R4eol25Ffg5QgMbvzaUH-8At0b42l-YM/s1600/287622_2292668122668_3598572_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="674" data-original-width="1024" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitRmrSvzlejMTb41yMCNg10SzMa70UZ0q-Es-ettD1VsKjDFAeq6ZfYYaE2mtA5t1IFZygZvxbdVTDk7MfyafiYsOFBNR_IzKQc05DLhvS6Lr1R4eol25Ffg5QgMbvzaUH-8At0b42l-YM/s400/287622_2292668122668_3598572_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>USU Ladies Football Clinic </i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDwE5DTAWfkArevwYiOVf4AYw-kF_I7W0lLEB9X9sn2M3dwYrLsve_a7BcA8Q7P1ZC4e25W5KA4GT1Q2kUee_nBLKJM03gHT1Dn60BReRGvaUhtEUiXtcHwgZbLbU_gHCIWScu9bf6QZd/s1600/Keicha+and+Brooke+2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="517" data-original-width="839" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDDwE5DTAWfkArevwYiOVf4AYw-kF_I7W0lLEB9X9sn2M3dwYrLsve_a7BcA8Q7P1ZC4e25W5KA4GT1Q2kUee_nBLKJM03gHT1Dn60BReRGvaUhtEUiXtcHwgZbLbU_gHCIWScu9bf6QZd/s400/Keicha+and+Brooke+2012.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>I was paid to attend hundreds of banquets and eat <br />lots of food over my 30 year career!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-2XkSBwV8iiVy2HgV22J4ycWlwfkBmeHWfMtDLP4gQJBFq7aV6z3_MHx5p1zpfn8lZXczkq7UMHOCiXU4JZJs6wo_SzJ-GZPt1NJQFX8p0TW0ilaTllgKPRxbSD7hs8ji7B37I5hhFKLj/s1600/Scan+Jul+6%252C+2017%252C+6.58+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="1600" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-2XkSBwV8iiVy2HgV22J4ycWlwfkBmeHWfMtDLP4gQJBFq7aV6z3_MHx5p1zpfn8lZXczkq7UMHOCiXU4JZJs6wo_SzJ-GZPt1NJQFX8p0TW0ilaTllgKPRxbSD7hs8ji7B37I5hhFKLj/s400/Scan+Jul+6%252C+2017%252C+6.58+PM.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>John Walsh, my bestie, Dennis Haysbert and me!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgi8PgUFPmZJXG7G9Ctm2eNWdLMLqnMuwksu15zhRBoIuBAQb-iHfvCRjTIo_A9iS40ggZKPvbuaTeQSv7YRz_IHc0BskL8pTgJTn0vm6V9C61TG8jcaobkJfm3gjFS6ht7u3mvBa13Df/s1600/887508_10208280816644566_4151865723767227816_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPgi8PgUFPmZJXG7G9Ctm2eNWdLMLqnMuwksu15zhRBoIuBAQb-iHfvCRjTIo_A9iS40ggZKPvbuaTeQSv7YRz_IHc0BskL8pTgJTn0vm6V9C61TG8jcaobkJfm3gjFS6ht7u3mvBa13Df/s400/887508_10208280816644566_4151865723767227816_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Annual Food Drive</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqUvjOzCA_tb4P5SRnmYKg5WllXH750W3kG1TT2svmA8mTL44KFCEkbBmolHivO9gd_HWHlKr1dNKiRbnxItuF5A1e4DW-tJ1e7kpEAd5VzpciNpLbF4Y5kzh9DsYcVWvZVqRcnGfGUCx/s1600/IMG_3729.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqUvjOzCA_tb4P5SRnmYKg5WllXH750W3kG1TT2svmA8mTL44KFCEkbBmolHivO9gd_HWHlKr1dNKiRbnxItuF5A1e4DW-tJ1e7kpEAd5VzpciNpLbF4Y5kzh9DsYcVWvZVqRcnGfGUCx/s400/IMG_3729.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Another year, another Ladies Football Clinic</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsR-mXRogqZ_nngOv24VADnOBzGIf5zkjbf-W-bwptAy_h3w8CO-822znsoRwB3bmj7wctb4RML3mc_ttgG3Xq34asHDfzrP_qRoJnKHJUHdVmGi-VQclZQKTFhLm-EHA1WIGyK6o-3xJZ/s1600/IMG_3700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsR-mXRogqZ_nngOv24VADnOBzGIf5zkjbf-W-bwptAy_h3w8CO-822znsoRwB3bmj7wctb4RML3mc_ttgG3Xq34asHDfzrP_qRoJnKHJUHdVmGi-VQclZQKTFhLm-EHA1WIGyK6o-3xJZ/s400/IMG_3700.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Only one of us could kick a field goal like a <br />champ, and it wasn't me!</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxDvnxUuWXN9pYaZMvylVTzW35qc5P_6cyUe-q2BqiFSV42wy_lnPm-5flPMdlCT7y7SmWXaE0cL2vFsstz-OpU0YXsZR2YIGMw3ZgcdFkBKOwvEp-TYzYQEWsjQk34058rL0Sw0I4zxHt/s1600/15403825_10211914218277336_6091274111505062696_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1048" data-original-width="1080" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxDvnxUuWXN9pYaZMvylVTzW35qc5P_6cyUe-q2BqiFSV42wy_lnPm-5flPMdlCT7y7SmWXaE0cL2vFsstz-OpU0YXsZR2YIGMw3ZgcdFkBKOwvEp-TYzYQEWsjQk34058rL0Sw0I4zxHt/s400/15403825_10211914218277336_6091274111505062696_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Lakeview Elementary Warm the Soles party</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKvGbHNhyphenhyphenUucQv7GPTYh19b5vn11KGSqPKx6JRKfwWLFUMz5H83TGO7pH6OlLEkyA4kyQO9QG0tTw_kWFKyuJK2i7W8Db-ORBbA4l143EEiPh53vhxuE4s1LuoqKNOxN2uW1yPc9hgb5U2/s1600/12314394_10208474253440365_5713494563716788180_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKvGbHNhyphenhyphenUucQv7GPTYh19b5vn11KGSqPKx6JRKfwWLFUMz5H83TGO7pH6OlLEkyA4kyQO9QG0tTw_kWFKyuJK2i7W8Db-ORBbA4l143EEiPh53vhxuE4s1LuoqKNOxN2uW1yPc9hgb5U2/s400/12314394_10208474253440365_5713494563716788180_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Warm the Soles</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkplwwREqjDGcAfpIyF8egdHFn8MVipfJRI8FeY9hAM0ihCifOJu8Fb4LzcSB2ZjXW9sDtHpHnzlTZbMvXF0ApXschKMNUu3qn1_r5EhfBsA7WQeShAuihWUBB7em8H8lBksOES94UEoW/s1600/13220655_10209930367202299_6254041528352295797_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="704" data-original-width="1055" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNkplwwREqjDGcAfpIyF8egdHFn8MVipfJRI8FeY9hAM0ihCifOJu8Fb4LzcSB2ZjXW9sDtHpHnzlTZbMvXF0ApXschKMNUu3qn1_r5EhfBsA7WQeShAuihWUBB7em8H8lBksOES94UEoW/s400/13220655_10209930367202299_6254041528352295797_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Just another day at work.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPZlMLMtOfIe4qfTktOM-DyutyG2RbNluR1Doda2ETJ3w1eyBw8nW_lQzSM8K0OPLMfk-1IrcpZdk8QFPb8vM7mVnG_L7yAOPh80F9YtgbF7ru8m1rR8Ea6H-THpSoQ7I9JtdhPyaWAyj/s1600/14939605_10211499737235569_4579893230623357393_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPZlMLMtOfIe4qfTktOM-DyutyG2RbNluR1Doda2ETJ3w1eyBw8nW_lQzSM8K0OPLMfk-1IrcpZdk8QFPb8vM7mVnG_L7yAOPh80F9YtgbF7ru8m1rR8Ea6H-THpSoQ7I9JtdhPyaWAyj/s400/14939605_10211499737235569_4579893230623357393_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Halloween 2016, which is the ONLY time I ever <br />wore a Halloween costume to work.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhipUzKdsOuozC1rzQqBR4052F-GuskQzqB9_jmy96Li5gA2u-it6Rk5teKDn4fqonz1wyYbw1pimH89c6qIfgoJ0K467xscEaph_qZc6dLciq_AsT5XADPGbz6vlBeJsmC0U2oy1aNzAQf/s1600/IMG_4993.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i><img border="0" data-original-height="1244" data-original-width="1600" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhipUzKdsOuozC1rzQqBR4052F-GuskQzqB9_jmy96Li5gA2u-it6Rk5teKDn4fqonz1wyYbw1pimH89c6qIfgoJ0K467xscEaph_qZc6dLciq_AsT5XADPGbz6vlBeJsmC0U2oy1aNzAQf/s400/IMG_4993.jpg" width="400" /></i></b></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><i>Dropping off Backpack Bonanza donations <br />to Catholic Community Services.</i></b></span></td></tr>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-68530825942301200172017-05-03T22:29:00.002-06:002017-05-03T23:33:29.070-06:00Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">14 years ago this week I happily signed a thick stack of paperwork making me the proud owner of my current home. I remember clearly the first time I saw my house. After months of looking, two offers that had fallen through, and the end of a 6-month lease looming on the horizon, I was discouraged and worried about finding a place that met my criteria and timeline. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">6 1/2 months earlier I'd finally found the courage to walk out on an unhealthy, unhappy marriage. Soon after, I signed a 6-month lease on a small apartment in the basement of a house. Wracked with guilt about the major upheaval and turmoil I was causing in my 4-year old daughter's life, I was determined to find a new home for us to live in by the time my lease was up. My criteria was pretty narrow. I had a limited price range and needed to remain close to my former home and ex-husband, as we would be sharing joint physical custody of Gillian. My ever-patient realtor spent months looking at houses with me. He always took my calls when I would bother him with a request to see yet another house on the market. He would sometimes tell me "You don't want that house. It isn't what you're looking for." Still, he would show it to me. And then I would agree with him and the search would continue. I'm not sure how he tolerated me as a client! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Time was running out and I was feeling a little desperate. One Sunday I was driving around the neighborhood where I wanted to live and turned onto a street I didn't remember going down before. I spotted a For Sale sign and stopped to grab a flyer. This was my house! Everything about it was perfect. Except the price. I couldn't afford it. I remember driving away wanting so much to live on that street - in that house - and feeling so sad that it was just out of my reach. Several weeks later my realtor called. He said he'd found the perfect house for me and the price was about to drop. A lot--down into the upper end of my price range. He'd set up an appointment for me to see it and said I should be ready to make an offer if I wanted it. Then he sent me the listing information for it. It was my house! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yes. The house <i>was </i>perfect. It was just what I wanted. Somehow, every little thing worked out. There were plenty of bumps in the road, and yet, in the end, here I am. To this day I marvel at how it all somehow worked out so perfectly. Six months after doing the unimaginable, I'd managed to find and purchase a home for me and my daughter. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Finding a home for the two of us mattered so much to me. I wanted a permanent place for her, not an apartment or a series of rental homes. I wanted to give her roots, and hopefully, some sense of security. I don't know if I succeeded. I hope in some small way I did. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Gillian, back in the days when she would put on impromptu <br />concerts while unloading the dishwasher.</i></b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOuQxll_AeSmZcVXdygKycPUlYhm9NK7trux1-DpCWwF0270Ozvlu8mdqSiySwrZBB33jM6VQTBnAh1xe4uQDmDNMSfQMObY8mFrJ4aJ3xtghQfPuR_K2JqAmVn-OmzO7H-RaOb55NDhrd/s1600/IMG_5667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOuQxll_AeSmZcVXdygKycPUlYhm9NK7trux1-DpCWwF0270Ozvlu8mdqSiySwrZBB33jM6VQTBnAh1xe4uQDmDNMSfQMObY8mFrJ4aJ3xtghQfPuR_K2JqAmVn-OmzO7H-RaOb55NDhrd/s400/IMG_5667.JPG" width="305" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I was first handed the keys to my home I had no idea what the next 14 years would bring. Things haven't turned out even close to the way I imagined they might back then. There have been plenty of sad, unhappy moments under this roof. Mostly though, this has been a place of happiness, healing and peace for me. I moved into this home as a newly divorced single mom, more than a little scared about taking on such a big responsibility alone. I've grown up in this house, and discovered that I'm stronger and more capable than I ever imagined I was back then. Many happy memories and cherished moments with loved ones have happened here. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There was a time when I couldn't imagine my future anywhere but here. My world has opened up now. I doubt that I'll grow old living in this house. Right now, I have no idea where I'll be living or what I'll be doing in 14 years, which is just fine. For now, I'm content knowing long, sunny summer days and warm nights are on the horizon. I'm happy here and now and looking forward to what the future may bring. Whenever I sit on my back patio gazing east at the mountains that are so close they seem like part of my back yard, I say a silent little thank you to the universe for making my long ago dream come true. </span></div>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-17871971254517249332017-04-08T09:25:00.002-06:002017-04-08T09:33:31.369-06:00Julie, Do You Love Me?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There's an old song from 1970 called "Julie, Do You Love Me." I've found myself humming it a lot this week, singing the words from the chorus to myself. "J<i>ulie, Julie, Julie, do ya love me? Julie, Julie, Julie do ya care?</i>" I remember singing those words to Julie throughout her life, usually in a teasing way as I tried to coax a laugh or a smile out of her when she was in one of her moods. I probably picked it up from my mom, as I can remember her singing the same song to Julie when we were young. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's not that any of us doubted if Julie loved us. She was so good at showing her love for people. It was her pain, hopelessness and despair that she had a hard time letting others see. Those of us who loved her knew it was there, of course. We just didn't realize how big and overwhelming it had become for her. Now we know. We'll never forget. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She's been gone seven years now. Today is her birthday and my heart hurts. I miss her horribly. I'll call my mom, and my sister Amy, and we'll laugh and cry and reminisce. I'll think about all the moments we shared together and wish there had been more time with her. That song will keep playing on auto-repeat in my head. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"</span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Julie, </i><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Julie, Julie do ya love me? Julie, Julie, Julie, do ya care?"</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After she died there was a time when I wondered how she could ever be so cruel to those of us she loved. I took it so personally when she chose to leave us. I questioned her love for me. I don't doubt her love anymore. I'll never know exactly why Julie chose to end her life. What I do know is that it wasn't an intentional act of cruelty towards those of us she loved. I know she loved me just as much as I loved her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I basked in the light of my sister's love for me. She brought a kind of joy, love, silliness and laughter into my life that made me long to be near her when too much time away from her had passed. I'll carry that longing to have her near me again forever. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Happy birthday sis. I love you. </span><br />
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-89047415578308775042017-01-15T11:57:00.002-07:002017-01-15T12:09:53.126-07:00Saying Goodbye to Grandpa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This started out as light-hearted post filled with details about how I said farewell to 2016 and ushered in the first weeks of 2017. That's what my mind intended to write about, however, my heart had other ideas. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Photo credit: Barry Christiansen</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Both my mind and heart are still trying to sort through my emotions around the recent death of my grandpa, Charles Christiansen. He died on December 28 at age 92. I was fortunate to be able to spend several hours with him during the last four days of his life. As I sat next to grandpa as he slept in his recliner, and then the hospital bed that was brought into his living room, I reflected back on the memories of time spent in that house with him and my grandma. For all of my 46 years grandpa has been a constant in my life, always just a short drive away from wherever I've lived. When I was born my parents lived in a basement apartment just a block from my grandparent's house. For the last 19 years I've lived a quick five minute drive away from grandma and grandpa's house. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Me and my brother Ryan on grandma and grandpa's laps.</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Life without Grandpa Chris, the name he was affectionately called by all of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, is going to be different. His presence, along with his home, has always been a touchstone in my life. Both grandma and grandpa Chris represented comfort, acceptance and security in my life. Their home was my safe haven, a peaceful place I always knew was there for me to take shelter in when the storms of life overwhelmed me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On many of the Sundays during my childhood my family would visit grandma and grandpa. Their backyard, always beautiful and perfectly cared for by grandpa, was where we would often gather for family parties, birthday celebrations or just to eat a bowl of grandpa's homemade ice cream on hot summer nights. I remember rolling down the slightly sloped hill in the yard with my brother and cousins, racing each other to the bottom. During the years grandpa and his sons ran their river guide business, Mountain River Guides, we would spend hours in the backyard jumping on the big pontoon boats like a trampoline while all of the river trip supplies were being inventoried and loaded. There were countless Easter egg hunts held in that yard. I was even married to my first husband there. It was rare to visit grandpa without taking a stroll with him outside to see his garden and to pick a supply of whatever was growing at the time to take him and enjoy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Grandpa wasn't an overly affectionate man, yet I never once doubted his complete, unconditional love for me. He took his responsibility as a grandparent seriously, and always made sure his grandchildren were taken care of. After my parents divorced, grandpa was there to help in any way he could. One summer he drove all five of us kids from Utah to our mom's home in Colorado. He bravely made the nearly 600-mile journey with five rambunctious children and a camp trailer in tow, stopping along the way to visit my maternal grandma in Grand Junction, CO to spend the night. I vividly remember stopping at the Continental Divide on I-70 and grandpa taking a picture of all of us in front of the sign marking the location. Grandpa was always interesting to talk to, and even on that trip as a teenager I remember being entertained by his running commentary about the places and landmarks we passed through.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Grandpa had an inquisitive mind and was always curious about how things worked. Even two days before he died, with a mind foggy from pain and heavy medication, he was asking questions, curious to know what the SMS indicator on his iPhone meant. I didn't know and had to look it up! The next day I told him that it meant Single Message Service. He looked at me blankly and I knew my answer didn't satisfy him. So I explained that it was an abbreviation for a type of communication service. I compared it to Morse Code language, explaining SMS was just another type of communication language. That answer seemed to satisfy his mind. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He loved action and things that flew. As a young man just out of the Navy after WWII, he obtained his private pilot license. He never lost his fascination for things that flew. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Grandpa on his 90th birthday, playing with his remote control plane.</i></b></td></tr>
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After grandpa died many of my friends left me messages of love and sympathy on Facebook. One friend said it best, commenting that grandparents are like soul food. That's a good description of what Grandpa Chris was for me. His presence in my life was soul-soothing. I loved knowing that he was always there with an easy smile and his joyful laugh that remained youthful until the very end of his life. Three days before he died he laughingly teased me about serving him a slightly burnt piece of toast with his favorite raspberry jam. </div>
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On the night I said my final goodbye to grandpa I left his home filled with sadness, but also a deep sense of gratitude. I had the privilege of being able to help care for grandpa during his final hours. I was in some small way able to give back to him the kind of pure love and caring he had always shown me. My goodbye to him was said with no regrets. I knew that he knew I loved him and how much he meant to me. His love for me was just as certain, and is something I will always cherish and carry close to my heart for the rest of my life. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_pgCX2vmoF4SGBQWQnUITnilD5TY-rcN3bkHzSAePuPwKf7rs5oIe0D4Mvf_mrbpaEGb_vz71P31h1xZCRCBfYDNMzfACTMiILfTbwBqlepnPGOD0tUTcHRiGe2K43pnhdrXIMdwg_-E/s1600/fullsizeoutput_2e1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_pgCX2vmoF4SGBQWQnUITnilD5TY-rcN3bkHzSAePuPwKf7rs5oIe0D4Mvf_mrbpaEGb_vz71P31h1xZCRCBfYDNMzfACTMiILfTbwBqlepnPGOD0tUTcHRiGe2K43pnhdrXIMdwg_-E/s400/fullsizeoutput_2e1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Grandma and Grandpa on their front steps with great-grandkids.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0HH9oC6X0xjV_uMb5aa_ox1WP8x98omjN0avnuiDipG_TtNc9LxNmmkfs5iN55ROjsF2-Y0slCYDU0FEVZk-EkKtMhnyQDCDOr6qOKLa0hzdezydBkSB0v31SQRsUUbMsXPhie_bNwlP/s1600/fullsizeoutput_52b.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0HH9oC6X0xjV_uMb5aa_ox1WP8x98omjN0avnuiDipG_TtNc9LxNmmkfs5iN55ROjsF2-Y0slCYDU0FEVZk-EkKtMhnyQDCDOr6qOKLa0hzdezydBkSB0v31SQRsUUbMsXPhie_bNwlP/s400/fullsizeoutput_52b.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Grandpa with great-grandchildren Kash and Gillian.</i></b></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWu7SshRApkIH23hVasCRLxKV3mI0hx7vpyH6kxKbLzmHkEXrlfr-di0DBGugBJ8JIQ_6mDRCYgp4oVXZN6cvrrZWKkIjcP8ypfYrcwI_6KzOqf8vYuyrrCprL-Awwli3plfP9ehyB9VEv/s1600/fullsizeoutput_60e.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="357" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWu7SshRApkIH23hVasCRLxKV3mI0hx7vpyH6kxKbLzmHkEXrlfr-di0DBGugBJ8JIQ_6mDRCYgp4oVXZN6cvrrZWKkIjcP8ypfYrcwI_6KzOqf8vYuyrrCprL-Awwli3plfP9ehyB9VEv/s400/fullsizeoutput_60e.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Grandpa reading the Christmas story to the family on Christmas Eve.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAcVvtWlbqaT4lyyvALp5-fY215rc3oFrQLHWNpJZJjegr5NR4_FzMQgDhJ311mm0srAv0IJRIHC7Fwa6-OuqPzK7QyoJaCRpfDiGVuMfwduErXXVMX3s1WIb-uyuC_TDZVeEzPwXNdZH/s1600/Grandpa+C%2527s+80th+_Aug+2004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAcVvtWlbqaT4lyyvALp5-fY215rc3oFrQLHWNpJZJjegr5NR4_FzMQgDhJ311mm0srAv0IJRIHC7Fwa6-OuqPzK7QyoJaCRpfDiGVuMfwduErXXVMX3s1WIb-uyuC_TDZVeEzPwXNdZH/s400/Grandpa+C%2527s+80th+_Aug+2004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Grandpa on his 80th birthday with his great-grandchildren.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBvzUIKlZovGnG3dKBrg6RXW0MV9e8xEdERmmH_6fCv90DjdQECkCzJ4R33dxNsIz1aUwImpJ5bvQT10ykGSlGky35jUSz8Aiq_yayJH9x_P2iN3-9SDLho09H2LOibxiUZdoZmW-y_lnd/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3a8a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBvzUIKlZovGnG3dKBrg6RXW0MV9e8xEdERmmH_6fCv90DjdQECkCzJ4R33dxNsIz1aUwImpJ5bvQT10ykGSlGky35jUSz8Aiq_yayJH9x_P2iN3-9SDLho09H2LOibxiUZdoZmW-y_lnd/s400/fullsizeoutput_3a8a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Gillian and her great grandpa.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9lNM77WKKKneGhWtQUcTIINzCX9BPFQDZKMbqxVHE10cGOOh4p_9iYwfDeOtwVPfPhRrPcoaJZKH0n1w2Mf6sCFtQFtDZSchicNRdYSEbWcDaUFift5BDdpAgD0LkjB3p8WEBISrSVhmx/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3a87.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9lNM77WKKKneGhWtQUcTIINzCX9BPFQDZKMbqxVHE10cGOOh4p_9iYwfDeOtwVPfPhRrPcoaJZKH0n1w2Mf6sCFtQFtDZSchicNRdYSEbWcDaUFift5BDdpAgD0LkjB3p8WEBISrSVhmx/s400/fullsizeoutput_3a87.jpeg" width="358" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Gillian trick-or-treating at great grandpa's.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98uDlnZYZPS_Al_bj09z_o619aXQXLpp7AjVoa_SBgwCXiFC7gsHbXo8EzxV8FpUuy9sE3Z_NjGwfzZqmygVJDY8bMCJ1ulEVQsISardoLn3W5BknJ9hWKe1NQypTT6nTPfAp8h6YIJ-G/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3a98.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98uDlnZYZPS_Al_bj09z_o619aXQXLpp7AjVoa_SBgwCXiFC7gsHbXo8EzxV8FpUuy9sE3Z_NjGwfzZqmygVJDY8bMCJ1ulEVQsISardoLn3W5BknJ9hWKe1NQypTT6nTPfAp8h6YIJ-G/s400/fullsizeoutput_3a98.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Me with my grandparents.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUdoTtB6pBQ4M55X8havQ00h0Jm4IGrC_YJjKibm4PgYYRV1MplJkYBUeMjQ7rikqtDk9wCeEYnn-ofqgP8BCM9KNjTLwABjGcOTRFDa2SLtFg2pRU-2aRFgYcLAA74Gx9PI8dF7Ecn9kO/s1600/fullsizeoutput_503.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUdoTtB6pBQ4M55X8havQ00h0Jm4IGrC_YJjKibm4PgYYRV1MplJkYBUeMjQ7rikqtDk9wCeEYnn-ofqgP8BCM9KNjTLwABjGcOTRFDa2SLtFg2pRU-2aRFgYcLAA74Gx9PI8dF7Ecn9kO/s400/fullsizeoutput_503.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Grandpa and Grandpa with great-grandson Atticus.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1oN84Vr6w48uYIJmv_5zuOwWfk1Gav1EicT0b3HUJmJRwy8p_Hga-bBXWeZX-YBqv8Et-fR4u2YrZH8-ecumIk6iw4d2mS-tXz1g02RZ_3xkNnwa1oolGcEbvLj-xrirBHmPTibZlNyWL/s1600/fullsizeoutput_589.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1oN84Vr6w48uYIJmv_5zuOwWfk1Gav1EicT0b3HUJmJRwy8p_Hga-bBXWeZX-YBqv8Et-fR4u2YrZH8-ecumIk6iw4d2mS-tXz1g02RZ_3xkNnwa1oolGcEbvLj-xrirBHmPTibZlNyWL/s400/fullsizeoutput_589.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Grandma and Grandpa with my brother Jon.</i></b></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitBmAwhH2Gwx0ig0bwTqbLvRS-pDvMb2k3L5cT_GVsPNWmvUx8_YHtdbk0isEn1BOJ_eeY8M4CCozuntq5cl33-aCrm8YIbdj7FXEtnRmyqski6NWkaMp8NhMEC1mzZ1VEHQfjZGusa7ki/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3537.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitBmAwhH2Gwx0ig0bwTqbLvRS-pDvMb2k3L5cT_GVsPNWmvUx8_YHtdbk0isEn1BOJ_eeY8M4CCozuntq5cl33-aCrm8YIbdj7FXEtnRmyqski6NWkaMp8NhMEC1mzZ1VEHQfjZGusa7ki/s400/fullsizeoutput_3537.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Grandpa visiting the traveling WWII memorial. <br />Photo credit: Barry Christiansen</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZJCNeXV_aXtu0HI84QORcoSvjOhvl3hWtabfTIXI8-I2SysiGogsRQ7BzNg7yIC64JrQ543BHgfgd1PqqjBJ1IBwsRKEJshn4c8rYTZXoJmINx7dKKpa_c748jGc2ErqfXooZOOUi993/s1600/IMG_3411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZJCNeXV_aXtu0HI84QORcoSvjOhvl3hWtabfTIXI8-I2SysiGogsRQ7BzNg7yIC64JrQ543BHgfgd1PqqjBJ1IBwsRKEJshn4c8rYTZXoJmINx7dKKpa_c748jGc2ErqfXooZOOUi993/s400/IMG_3411.JPG" width="328" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Treasured time with grandpa - June 2015</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVw3PvyYLlIlj-kdEXSinJ4Tq4m9WyDtslzqHebm9UhDhkbVHmaZst_MG0gfJMW7TsYJF1fI4g4A1Ttk3EJsklZyDToJoSRxXcSml3jAQ_IGGVSeKlt6e4s4E44U-3Qz8bfucINHXLWJ2y/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3ad3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVw3PvyYLlIlj-kdEXSinJ4Tq4m9WyDtslzqHebm9UhDhkbVHmaZst_MG0gfJMW7TsYJF1fI4g4A1Ttk3EJsklZyDToJoSRxXcSml3jAQ_IGGVSeKlt6e4s4E44U-3Qz8bfucINHXLWJ2y/s400/fullsizeoutput_3ad3.jpeg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Military honors for grandpa from the local V.F.W. Post<br />Photo credit: Gillian Chapman </i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAdXBM-PXbMdmRYSRMnunYSplZ-Uknhz8ieW2_TI-my-vIYFX1xFU2KTxlDcvwPx_Je5Zv5H-UFWetzQrb4Dpy_d8J99R_U68HpFBMr705cVB_dxFwMdRQJ_PrjZU1FPsN8FUoheIO_XLn/s1600/IMG_5449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAdXBM-PXbMdmRYSRMnunYSplZ-Uknhz8ieW2_TI-my-vIYFX1xFU2KTxlDcvwPx_Je5Zv5H-UFWetzQrb4Dpy_d8J99R_U68HpFBMr705cVB_dxFwMdRQJ_PrjZU1FPsN8FUoheIO_XLn/s400/IMG_5449.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Photo credit: Gillian Chapman</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlLMlFNazZipmtcVHJfz7UiZ8GFAm2xpxk4XUad0QPQBju-81bIYOwe7Y_X05rseI26zVqEQgeUNdNCq2rpTacHxEfG93jWAXqz0XFHTbyuHiN4sfjsBZBZb0RM2U7uxxKbp5jJ3Jzag94/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3ae6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlLMlFNazZipmtcVHJfz7UiZ8GFAm2xpxk4XUad0QPQBju-81bIYOwe7Y_X05rseI26zVqEQgeUNdNCq2rpTacHxEfG93jWAXqz0XFHTbyuHiN4sfjsBZBZb0RM2U7uxxKbp5jJ3Jzag94/s400/fullsizeoutput_3ae6.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Charles William Christiansen<br />August 27, 1924 - December 28, 2016<br />Photo credit: Gillian Chapman</i></b></td></tr>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-60271049937675223312016-12-24T13:53:00.004-07:002016-12-24T14:40:01.573-07:00Memories of 2016<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyG7nuYKWwObu59ZwsZlqCgBC2sL24dsFf-NBhZPQP4hq6Tcr8RKLifFU5d9DW6AVrD2LCdtOjT7y3ikE4eZkQVdTNQs84PrM3Xc9hwpF688KxCpuLFV-ekNZI96Ly778mGGZwGKdxD92/s1600/fullsizeoutput_419.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyG7nuYKWwObu59ZwsZlqCgBC2sL24dsFf-NBhZPQP4hq6Tcr8RKLifFU5d9DW6AVrD2LCdtOjT7y3ikE4eZkQVdTNQs84PrM3Xc9hwpF688KxCpuLFV-ekNZI96Ly778mGGZwGKdxD92/s400/fullsizeoutput_419.jpeg" title="" width="400" /></a></h2>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This year I didn't get Christmas cards sent out and I've never been one to send Christmas letters. I've also severely neglected blogging this year, not because I've had nothing to write about, just because I spent the year enjoying life and trying as much as possible to live in the moment. Here's a look back at 2016 and some of its memorable moments. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxydsMq_hcyA7gLvh4z6eUs45sCPjSF83rkl5gSiQKTfm0w7mhrcc0mOv0LoWKUtD4a90Fm2RWscecuLFghiw64gXvZHwrpfyXnFtNgZvjaV9gydKZQUckaiBy03Buq_IoEWaID-xAob3v/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3767.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxydsMq_hcyA7gLvh4z6eUs45sCPjSF83rkl5gSiQKTfm0w7mhrcc0mOv0LoWKUtD4a90Fm2RWscecuLFghiw64gXvZHwrpfyXnFtNgZvjaV9gydKZQUckaiBy03Buq_IoEWaID-xAob3v/s400/fullsizeoutput_3767.jpeg" width="377" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b><i>2016 was full of celebrating many milestones with family, starting with </i></b><br />
<b><i>my niece Regan's 18th birthday. </i></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0wTmV6MbXNB8ctP-szmx6Kgv-99N2gk0LmNLQypfG0u3KuvPFNOKjUjesusD6HikmFojiwW6PhSuCmQgA8_S7Z1adbjpV2eIStb8wJ3SysK6Il81pmCLH6BJeK7YVhrVFxb5EqCeIHGCu/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3771.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0wTmV6MbXNB8ctP-szmx6Kgv-99N2gk0LmNLQypfG0u3KuvPFNOKjUjesusD6HikmFojiwW6PhSuCmQgA8_S7Z1adbjpV2eIStb8wJ3SysK6Il81pmCLH6BJeK7YVhrVFxb5EqCeIHGCu/s400/fullsizeoutput_3771.jpeg" width="362" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b><i>Gillian and I continued our tradition of making Valentine cookies together.</i></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxjywcLG6zd0OYJEh2mPHAftL05Qfq87FeK1MCA_h9QcWo4vZqrkSEMcjigNcum7KnDZEQNos2gXAm0Sqs3fWFQVlWP3k41S7lP8aLsFJ_EyZElGrAMkqVovk8RPrKCW-cuT9SOWcdHFJ/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3777.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxjywcLG6zd0OYJEh2mPHAftL05Qfq87FeK1MCA_h9QcWo4vZqrkSEMcjigNcum7KnDZEQNos2gXAm0Sqs3fWFQVlWP3k41S7lP8aLsFJ_EyZElGrAMkqVovk8RPrKCW-cuT9SOWcdHFJ/s400/fullsizeoutput_3777.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b><i>Gillian attended and voted in her first presidential election caucus.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZZNafdLvPcc2VrmxSdwTrF2tcqkzIm_fJaspG5vtLfWElwDOWNm0_txrq4zSIrzcXGtvwwei2fF3_rQtyZM4woUhvsZg2r5-JUe5NgEMKxHXSsmgG-lGmnYZzBIhJDvbzOODoxc3u9uU/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3972.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeZZNafdLvPcc2VrmxSdwTrF2tcqkzIm_fJaspG5vtLfWElwDOWNm0_txrq4zSIrzcXGtvwwei2fF3_rQtyZM4woUhvsZg2r5-JUe5NgEMKxHXSsmgG-lGmnYZzBIhJDvbzOODoxc3u9uU/s400/fullsizeoutput_3972.jpeg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b><i>Later in the year she proudly supported the first female presidential candidate <br />when voting for the first time. </i></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD4cThTPfD_s6rR9f08r2W-_IQokXBCnv4ZueNRW3hQeNXULuhJBA0S_hto93QrYsqe1fhUq0ya5VR2FcN7eIUw4sBgjBFj2PIsdNushyphenhyphenaT9eVY9qhOFv8NacqlWYxdbOGuulMKEq6rqIm/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3783.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD4cThTPfD_s6rR9f08r2W-_IQokXBCnv4ZueNRW3hQeNXULuhJBA0S_hto93QrYsqe1fhUq0ya5VR2FcN7eIUw4sBgjBFj2PIsdNushyphenhyphenaT9eVY9qhOFv8NacqlWYxdbOGuulMKEq6rqIm/s400/fullsizeoutput_3783.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b><i>In May, Gillian survived her 1st (and hopefully only) car </i></b><br />
<b><i>accident, totaling her car. Luckily she wasn't hurt. </i></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnK1Dlzo9u-ufDJp1BrBmKNzeenFdQnBBkfqnRbGleLYezV8Wubi4s7-IWsbhdqAT_1K0BC2lkiiye3RxbuQmbhWChrgAXJT2bB6QJaUQviFJ2EnyeUjGqNU9zZVrlOWohK67eHp-dp3mf/s1600/IMG_4393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnK1Dlzo9u-ufDJp1BrBmKNzeenFdQnBBkfqnRbGleLYezV8Wubi4s7-IWsbhdqAT_1K0BC2lkiiye3RxbuQmbhWChrgAXJT2bB6QJaUQviFJ2EnyeUjGqNU9zZVrlOWohK67eHp-dp3mf/s400/IMG_4393.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i style="font-weight: bold;">Gillian's Senior Prom</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk3ohIj8WCYSlPfo0oOMgLBQoYlb4YV_mHdOy3FXE9f1_kFQpRpM3_N1iGFc_QlITtiaeRJKc4b6fX1qwRF9m41yi8IvvPV3IqgXhrkVGkYpKPece1hRD9xRmDBhqCL1abMa_rqXOg84LR/s1600/IMG_4718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk3ohIj8WCYSlPfo0oOMgLBQoYlb4YV_mHdOy3FXE9f1_kFQpRpM3_N1iGFc_QlITtiaeRJKc4b6fX1qwRF9m41yi8IvvPV3IqgXhrkVGkYpKPece1hRD9xRmDBhqCL1abMa_rqXOg84LR/s400/IMG_4718.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><i><b>With my mom and grandma, Alberta French, on her 100th birthday.</b></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAn-9Cm7Zi0CSVSjydmmxJc9Nx1sJYdNohStb7IjwXLdE1kUEMOnsxHlmvp7g2VWuVJdVfj2c7tV0ldcjP9eycJ7n8YQSyuMEbJUJ4pwxbBVvg_Q-Oh9Oaq3dda_YuBZHxYb_rXpZPrlR/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3283.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAn-9Cm7Zi0CSVSjydmmxJc9Nx1sJYdNohStb7IjwXLdE1kUEMOnsxHlmvp7g2VWuVJdVfj2c7tV0ldcjP9eycJ7n8YQSyuMEbJUJ4pwxbBVvg_Q-Oh9Oaq3dda_YuBZHxYb_rXpZPrlR/s400/fullsizeoutput_3283.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Three generations of my family dance around the large globe willow tree in my grandma's backyard <br />as the sun set on the evening of her 100th birthday party. What a gift it was to be able to gather <br />once again under that tree, the place where countless family pictures have been taken,<br />and where so many happy moments have been shared. </i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFEqnjcwQCr2bLPQEXRpvVGwTLiRjs62VOg78enxLF73ehYS0reBerAt2GnrHoKEWWdTcfkS1V9K3a5qmC64TSLxy7TL0NXFXK3_J1hkjQ-7-7zd7Ow5_haIuJ8uPzEGgTbmOKRWZK_UF/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3231.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFEqnjcwQCr2bLPQEXRpvVGwTLiRjs62VOg78enxLF73ehYS0reBerAt2GnrHoKEWWdTcfkS1V9K3a5qmC64TSLxy7TL0NXFXK3_J1hkjQ-7-7zd7Ow5_haIuJ8uPzEGgTbmOKRWZK_UF/s400/fullsizeoutput_3231.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Grandma's 100th birthday bash in her backyard </i></b><br />
<b><i>was a weekend full of family, </i></b><b style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i>f</i></b><b style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i>un, memories and celebration. </i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBI8UWMQmqaYGcO5IUYOQKw_YbiAAy3FafC5OSVYYKfm31_bd5aFGz81JAhvq5-ztYnGKLTPi3SDLzeyhVOkWxnhS1RHX_nCv_kY00xc18s5TrDhQBzQUURgzO1kbC7qWyX2fWfiCFAplc/s1600/fullsizeoutput_3785.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBI8UWMQmqaYGcO5IUYOQKw_YbiAAy3FafC5OSVYYKfm31_bd5aFGz81JAhvq5-ztYnGKLTPi3SDLzeyhVOkWxnhS1RHX_nCv_kY00xc18s5TrDhQBzQUURgzO1kbC7qWyX2fWfiCFAplc/s400/fullsizeoutput_3785.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>These cousins live in three different states and don't see each other much. <br />They loved their time together in Colorado to celebrate their great-grandma's birthday.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLQJhcNT1oickEcLN_PJr60IfBOzPM419EQjFiTVwZJ3sxXdfDPdyd_GIeFU_2WYWcxD-Dn8LAz8LEm2viW-HFxR1P6dLU23ziE9T7g3rfxGPRyrteCe2ngQ1WS9-oREnDmztipX2M_qs/s1600/KandK+on+boat+PV72516.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLQJhcNT1oickEcLN_PJr60IfBOzPM419EQjFiTVwZJ3sxXdfDPdyd_GIeFU_2WYWcxD-Dn8LAz8LEm2viW-HFxR1P6dLU23ziE9T7g3rfxGPRyrteCe2ngQ1WS9-oREnDmztipX2M_qs/s400/KandK+on+boat+PV72516.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Kelly and I celebrated one year together while enjoying a relaxing <br />week with friends in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. </i></b><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbPbEeG3wrjvtA7G32Z7dzL1y-B8kWr6pibjYpPYW1r5GnDRgDR6xCYn-gwc1zugAMXFS8BDK3AzreECtXB4YfuqdZaJsr-zkFSjoWNMoaOhYyqF3zd7IshHamdzQZUdgpdh-nKrofMuSf/s1600/fullsizeoutput_335c.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbPbEeG3wrjvtA7G32Z7dzL1y-B8kWr6pibjYpPYW1r5GnDRgDR6xCYn-gwc1zugAMXFS8BDK3AzreECtXB4YfuqdZaJsr-zkFSjoWNMoaOhYyqF3zd7IshHamdzQZUdgpdh-nKrofMuSf/s400/fullsizeoutput_335c.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b><i>Utes tailgate parties and football games are always a good time. </i></b><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5hZFYyq7WeQKQXWLeIs2deds-CNgFcUHfNEowFINp5ulLUYJ1Eq4sInVS6OevCrrSGZK_PNJVzTKFqa5T-Mj0a4qVJnpT7ZzhxGMipnlsdlM7FBpfroZzzi9_6EtovpmCTaQDjAvhNtrC/s1600/fullsizeoutput_37a4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5hZFYyq7WeQKQXWLeIs2deds-CNgFcUHfNEowFINp5ulLUYJ1Eq4sInVS6OevCrrSGZK_PNJVzTKFqa5T-Mj0a4qVJnpT7ZzhxGMipnlsdlM7FBpfroZzzi9_6EtovpmCTaQDjAvhNtrC/s400/fullsizeoutput_37a4.jpeg" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i><b>Gillian started her senior year of high school. </b></i><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1i2Ou-a0wi3qxO2P0NBNYDOIjFQ2Le3ptbp0kX2qPKSkB9du_OLvnn6BIPhnlYCznloxaKT4nYrzl3oFjEZeLKyNDwfxWlahyphenhyphenlF-okSWJlwF0od4FBdiccIYQE8GsK5gC1NpE9aYowb0X/s1600/IMG_5279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1i2Ou-a0wi3qxO2P0NBNYDOIjFQ2Le3ptbp0kX2qPKSkB9du_OLvnn6BIPhnlYCznloxaKT4nYrzl3oFjEZeLKyNDwfxWlahyphenhyphenlF-okSWJlwF0od4FBdiccIYQE8GsK5gC1NpE9aYowb0X/s400/IMG_5279.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b><i>Gillian and her boyfriend at the Ogden High vs. Ben Lomond Iron Horse football game.</i></b><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigugd2u6UMNQJ1922j1v0bDTWZRdoDAW3tkegCsIsPSFlHCtUcLxi2LR8bZaG73FJRmmhYiiNWpj8B4cvW4iylnqNRWKkfCZjjxGDsMOIeF2DkKIIXlIpLt0MlKGOGdWpFhv8jPFjIBaip/s1600/IMG_0088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigugd2u6UMNQJ1922j1v0bDTWZRdoDAW3tkegCsIsPSFlHCtUcLxi2LR8bZaG73FJRmmhYiiNWpj8B4cvW4iylnqNRWKkfCZjjxGDsMOIeF2DkKIIXlIpLt0MlKGOGdWpFhv8jPFjIBaip/s400/IMG_0088.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b><i>Gillian turned 18 in October. I'm not sure where the time goes. I've cherished our</i></b><br />
<b><i> time together </i></b><b style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i>t</i></b><b style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i>his year, and am enjoying watching her </i></b><b style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i>grow into </i></b><b style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i>a talented, mature, </i></b><br />
<b style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i>hard-working, smart, independent young woman.</i></b><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUg3yNtlRQsjg_JnQwDlWlMjHi0HAvuLi3r_OUc4NmErvOL0hAjrsITi4ebs1yvXfpFv4L6P2fhIGyY6mb9XL1r0By_IBQRYfsWksJhyi9lhkC71829Tnzr6W93Z8Nj0_LlhdTSAXBJ298/s1600/IMG_5095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUg3yNtlRQsjg_JnQwDlWlMjHi0HAvuLi3r_OUc4NmErvOL0hAjrsITi4ebs1yvXfpFv4L6P2fhIGyY6mb9XL1r0By_IBQRYfsWksJhyi9lhkC71829Tnzr6W93Z8Nj0_LlhdTSAXBJ298/s400/IMG_5095.JPG" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i><b>It's been a year filled with treasured family time. This is me with<br />my nephew Bridger and my 92-year old grandpa in September.</b></i><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UfuZbhoDlJyhkx875QgoGsY9FrulWAqa9j0tiLmCZbKqnvngAPuNixbUR8YnpTpjp187net2SffU0GKSCSh38adz3FtB8hcwtnEcXTVEqz63wI_-s1Ntf_pGaORexm5OwKxvdn-o03M9/s1600/IMG_0093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UfuZbhoDlJyhkx875QgoGsY9FrulWAqa9j0tiLmCZbKqnvngAPuNixbUR8YnpTpjp187net2SffU0GKSCSh38adz3FtB8hcwtnEcXTVEqz63wI_-s1Ntf_pGaORexm5OwKxvdn-o03M9/s400/IMG_0093.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i><b>Me, back in a bike saddle after a 10+ year hiatus, enjoying a gorgeous <br />fall weekend with Kelly in Sun Valley, Idaho.</b></i><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixNoQlEyBPSpXl15MDJ5xklC36gvu2vIeyPdwMFhJe-dni8xLbq_whipKL6JC-HzS_e2_tR2TJPkOMwssvyOhaLCsex-MwrFtYL7L1X74gPLGTer-wSY0qqL8ZVJ94N_1Ukn78hHqFwCgC/s1600/DSC_0078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixNoQlEyBPSpXl15MDJ5xklC36gvu2vIeyPdwMFhJe-dni8xLbq_whipKL6JC-HzS_e2_tR2TJPkOMwssvyOhaLCsex-MwrFtYL7L1X74gPLGTer-wSY0qqL8ZVJ94N_1Ukn78hHqFwCgC/s400/DSC_0078.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><i><b>Thanksgiving with my mom and sister in Utah, a rare occasion.<br />Our last Thanksgiving together in Utah was over 2 decades ago.</b></i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">This year was filled with many treasured moments and memories. Thank you to all of my friends and family who were there to share those moments with me and helped make them special. I'm sending much love and happy holiday wishes to each of you.</span><br />
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-82641887668970314532016-11-14T22:01:00.003-07:002016-11-14T22:01:17.217-07:00Oligodontia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When Gillian was very young we discovered she was missing many of her teeth. The medical term for this condition is Oligodontia, which means a person is missing more than 6 teeth, excluding wisdom teeth. My first clue should have been when she was a baby and started getting her teeth, which ironically enough, she did at a relatively young age. I proudly recorded each new tooth in her baby book. Before too long the teeth coming in didn't at all match the neat, orderly tooth diagram in the baby book. I didn't give this much thought, instead chalking it up to me being confused about which teeth were coming in. Oh, to be that naive again! </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Gillian - age 8, before getting her 1st braces on.</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not too many years later I knew there was a problem, although I still didn't fully understand the magnitude of it. At eight years old Gillian had her first set of braces put on. Over the next 10 years she would be in and out of braces three times and undergo some very painful dental procedures. The ten years of orthodontics were in preparation for a time in what used to seem like the distant future when she would be able to have permanent tooth implants put in. Nothing permanent could be done until she was completely done growing, which we guessed would be around age 18. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She's been patient and brave through it all. It hasn't been easy for her. Young kids don't like to be different from their peers. Having to wear retainers with false teeth glued onto them for all of her childhood was a difficult thing for her to endure. Today, after years of consultations, waiting, prep, adjustments, and some difficult decisions, she was finally able to start the process of getting permanent teeth placed in her mouth. From there we went directly to the oral surgeon's office. It was an emotional day for both of us. For her there was the anxiety and fear of the unknown. For me, it was the anxiety I'm sure every parent feels when leaving their child in the hands of a doctor, however skilled, to administer anaesthesia and operate on their child. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm happy to report the surgery went well. She had seven titanium posts placed in her jawbone. As of today she has 16 teeth. Most adults have 32 permanent teeth, including their wisdom teeth. If all goes according to plan, in three months she'll have permanent crowns put in place by her dentist, bringing her total number of teeth to 23. As I waited with her in the recovery room one of the nurses handed me the five baby teeth that were removed today. I wonder if I'm supposed to make sure the tooth fairy pays a visit tonight, even if the teeth she lost should have fallen out 12 years ago?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gillian has come so far in the last ten years. The happy, smiling little girl in the picture above is now an independent young woman. She's gone from being completely dependent on me to manage her care to taking a primary role in making decisions with her team of providers. She's learned to be an informed patient who asks intelligent questions and advocates for herself. Her case isn't a simple one. It's required years of communication and coordination between her dentist, orthodontist and oral surgeon (all of whom have shown an amazing level of care and dedication to her treatment over the years). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I snapped this picture after Gillian was home and resting with Lucy making sure she wasn't left alone. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today it was nice to have simply be my little girl again, and I relished every moment of being able to take care of her. </span><br />
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-83476599402439253422016-10-18T22:40:00.000-06:002016-10-18T22:40:13.747-06:00October Fun in the Sun<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i style="text-align: center;">"I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. It would be terrible if we just skipped from September to November, wouldn't it?" ~ Anne of Green Gables, L.M. Montgomery </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My baby turned 18 this year! I can hardly believe how quickly the years flew by. She requested a low-key celebration instead of a party. Kelly and I joined Gillian and her boyfriend, and her dad and step-mom for dinner together. She was showered with lots of love and presents to celebrate her special day, including a dragonfly charm necklace, her first piece of jewelry from Tiffany and Co. Her dad and I wanted to give her a special keepsake for this milestone birthday. Several years ago Gillian gave me a dragonfly necklace as a souvenir gift from a trip she took to Alaska. I hope she'll treasure her necklace as much as I do mine. The Japanese believe dragonflies are symbols of success, victory, happiness, strength and courage. As Gillian enters adulthood, I hope she creates a life for herself that will have plenty of all of those things.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The birthday girl cutting her cake.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>A special gift for a special girl.</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Over the Columbus Day holiday weekend, Kelly and I were able to get away to Sun Valley, Idaho. Even though it's a short 250 miles from Ogden, I'd never been there before. Have I ever been missing out! It was gorgeous! I think we picked the perfect weekend to be there. The aspens were still full of golden leaves and the weather was warm, clear and sunny. Even though there were lots of people in nearby Ketchum for the annual <a href="http://www.trailingofthesheep.org/" target="_blank">Trailing of the Sheep Festival</a>, it was still a very relaxing, calm and quiet weekend. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On our first full day there we headed out for an 18-mile bike ride. It was my first time riding any distance longer than a mile or two in over a decade! It was fun to be back in the saddle and riding again. The next day we watched the Trailing of the Sheep parade down Main Street in Ketchum as 1,500 sheep were moved to their winter pastures. After that we did a short hike. On Monday we did another bike ride. I was still pretty sore from our earlier ride, so we took a short route into Ketchum and then back to our condo with a detour through the Sun Valley resort property. Our evenings were spent at the historic <a href="https://www.pioneersaloon.com/history.php" target="_blank">Pioneer Saloon</a>. Kelly has been going to Sun Valley for most of his adult life, and even spent a short time living there. I now know why he loves it there. I loved being able to share one of his favorite places with him while we soaked up some of the last warm, sunny days of fall. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just like Anne of Green Gables, I'm so glad we live in a world where there are Octobers. As the days grow shorter and the cold air of winter starts moving in, I'm holding onto the memories of those relaxing days spent enjoying the beautiful outdoors in the warm fall sunshine. </span><br />
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-66543503739266588402016-08-31T09:00:00.000-06:002016-08-31T15:38:13.795-06:00Mexico Memories<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The signs of summer drawing to a close are everywhere. School is back in session, my tan is fading, Labor Day is less than a week away, and it's already been a month since my summer vacation! It's never too late to share some vacation photos and memories though, is it? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kelly and I spent the last week of July in <a href="http://www.rivieranayarit.com/nuevo_vallarta_nayarit" target="_blank">Nuevo Vallarta, Mexico</a>, which is a beach resort town north of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. It was a much-needed getaway for both of us and the perfect vacation, full of lots of R&R and long, lazy days spent poolside in the sun.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />When we departed I had only a vague idea about where exactly we'd be staying and almost no details about our accommodations. Early summer is very busy for me at work, so in the weeks and months leading up to our trip I was too focused on my numerous looming deadlines to even ask for details about our plans. These three things pretty well sum up most of what I knew: </span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Vacation </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mexico </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">House by the beach </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was more than pleasantly surprised when we arrived! This is where we spent a week together with three other couples we know. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikX_pz1bNoDMbpHXB9iVul1tRdtDX-MtWx-Fh6wKZaSp6xIq3415b97BqfdyJ4rcC5iskhmeMIFp6UeuPLncDL79LzaG4LLJBJgwlgK1WNF95zYdYAWyNz60ZsFExBIgeZIcfKkAJUPJIY/s1600/IMG_4917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikX_pz1bNoDMbpHXB9iVul1tRdtDX-MtWx-Fh6wKZaSp6xIq3415b97BqfdyJ4rcC5iskhmeMIFp6UeuPLncDL79LzaG4LLJBJgwlgK1WNF95zYdYAWyNz60ZsFExBIgeZIcfKkAJUPJIY/s400/IMG_4917.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The back of the house.</i></b><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Poolside - not a bad view!</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The first half of this year was busy, stressful and oftentimes overwhelming for both of us, and June was an extremely full and intense month. We were both in serious need of some time away to relax and recharge. As soon as we arrived and walked outside to look at the ocean, I felt all of the stress and pressure of the previous 7 months slip away. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5Q2IqvFr4uFwe3oPtrq-u_zdKPC40n-VhPhrspZWWHR6K8QE4dSkfxu_l2glejayZE9vT7rqHxGlpb72qsSMwUMBZ8sZ4jt7V91CPAqPCIH3BiPh23n7M3xXTFzUt6FO6lQl07uhlbCN/s1600/IMG_4925.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp5Q2IqvFr4uFwe3oPtrq-u_zdKPC40n-VhPhrspZWWHR6K8QE4dSkfxu_l2glejayZE9vT7rqHxGlpb72qsSMwUMBZ8sZ4jt7V91CPAqPCIH3BiPh23n7M3xXTFzUt6FO6lQl07uhlbCN/s400/IMG_4925.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Yes, this was as serene and relaxing as it looks.<br />The perfect spot for reading, relaxing or napping.</i></b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitOSKeQ0UWA7Bmpoa2_bRPcKQvuA_iVPCOWOyFrnUB3j5IqEUGFL5fheuUxIhdIRUB1L-8_hFm2UM6wU4PM2DRFjGsMqbJ0-nhtA9YzPbuprq5_3xpIUmzQ0ss7-1Qq_2GzEv_OqULfxyj/s1600/IMG_4946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitOSKeQ0UWA7Bmpoa2_bRPcKQvuA_iVPCOWOyFrnUB3j5IqEUGFL5fheuUxIhdIRUB1L-8_hFm2UM6wU4PM2DRFjGsMqbJ0-nhtA9YzPbuprq5_3xpIUmzQ0ss7-1Qq_2GzEv_OqULfxyj/s320/IMG_4946.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We spent most of our days doing a whole lot of nothing, which was great. Mornings consisted mostly of drinking coffee, reading, walks on the beach, swimming, lounging by the pool and watching the ocean, surfers, and others enjoying the beach and water. The resident caretakers made us delicious fresh ceviche, salsa, and guacamole that we snacked on every day. Most afternoons brought rain and thunderstorms, which we liked to watch roll in over the ocean and listen to from the open doors and windows as we took shelter inside. Although, one day we did get caught in a major tropical downpour riding bikes back from an outing for gelato. I consumed lots of gelato on the trip, but at least we rode bikes to and from the gelato shop to help burn off some of the calories! And, of course there was plenty of cold Pacifico on hand, which I consider a beachside vacation necessity! </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>A favorite spot for morning coffee and evening sunset watching. </i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnL9eZFx9mAQk89qg53joHlp2OYHS0HuqZKYr3dCFa_Nw8FuCFYDMBGGbaydSj9JmVv-rBJ-h9BO-ETx8ZwbD9ms24wb_uGrzWSx6W3a_S81mYyjkLOaURgKbA9hpoul8N0pieURf5wO_F/s1600/IMG_4935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnL9eZFx9mAQk89qg53joHlp2OYHS0HuqZKYr3dCFa_Nw8FuCFYDMBGGbaydSj9JmVv-rBJ-h9BO-ETx8ZwbD9ms24wb_uGrzWSx6W3a_S81mYyjkLOaURgKbA9hpoul8N0pieURf5wO_F/s400/IMG_4935.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Sunset view from poolside.</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All in all, it was a perfect vacation. We were able to relax and enjoy each other and our time together with very few interruptions or distractions. Wi-fi reception at the house was spotty, which made me think about how much of an intrusion being constantly connected to and focused on electronics can be to really connecting with those we love. It was a good reminder to make a conscious effort to unplug and focus on being more fully present in my daily life back home. I think that's what vacations are best for - disconnecting from daily distractions and reconnecting with ourselves, our lives, and the people and things that fill up our hearts and make us happy and content. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-YwftsubewkSUj1SI4aDPtM8BLONqLUFgKZsvyOAAhE7F9VAc6ON1OzErOBIkMkvggjYCUqh_FXTSlw-3GX-SaKmNdPk6MydasJFo7TOEcO0leaapHb1cKStlWdm8b_ggwDbJak68PKc/s1600/KandK+on+boat+PV72516.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><i><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-YwftsubewkSUj1SI4aDPtM8BLONqLUFgKZsvyOAAhE7F9VAc6ON1OzErOBIkMkvggjYCUqh_FXTSlw-3GX-SaKmNdPk6MydasJFo7TOEcO0leaapHb1cKStlWdm8b_ggwDbJak68PKc/s400/KandK+on+boat+PV72516.jpg" width="267" /></i></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Taken on July 25, 2016, a year from the day we first met.</i></b></td></tr>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-61577080840697276352016-06-12T11:51:00.002-06:002016-06-12T23:14:36.942-06:00Life Celebrations<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There's a quote about parenting that says, "<i>The days are long but the years are short. Enjoy every moment."</i> I think it applies to life in general, not just to parenting. The past two weeks have reminded me of the truth of the statement and how quickly life flies by. A week ago Saturday, life was cruising along with its many obligations and occasional misunderstandings and complications. One moment the most important thing in my world was making it to a music festival I look forward to attending every year. Seconds later, after a phone call from Kelly telling me his sister was in the ER, everything else fell away and became unimportant. Sadly, his sister died that night. The week was filled with the many decisions and tasks that come with a death, culminating Friday evening with a celebration of her life. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NQV73MAq3UuYa71i0omW6n6yYQ_Q26yrkyVi2YnW7vyIGGCDAof-mUufRbU9zFTzqC9khyphenhyphenqeZalNmyOExq0EkQ1WmiyWwf2htn434MpSoz_OlcYHub6xztHSKnDD1bn0Jlp7v0jFlqnn/s1600/IMG_4721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NQV73MAq3UuYa71i0omW6n6yYQ_Q26yrkyVi2YnW7vyIGGCDAof-mUufRbU9zFTzqC9khyphenhyphenqeZalNmyOExq0EkQ1WmiyWwf2htn434MpSoz_OlcYHub6xztHSKnDD1bn0Jlp7v0jFlqnn/s320/IMG_4721.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>My grandma, Alberta French, at church on her 100th birthday.</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just two weeks ago, Kelly and I were in Grand Junction, Colorado celebrating my grandma's 100th birthday. Two life celebrations two weeks apart for completely different reasons. One life over at 60 years of age, another still going at 100 years. I was struck by how brief 60 years of life seems. Even 100 years, as incredible as it is to make it to that age, seems like just a blink of an eye in many ways. At 46 years old, I feel a little panicked at how much of my life is already gone and how much I still have left that I want to accomplish. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Having both things happen so closely together has me thinking a lot about how truly fleeting life is and how important it is to live life to the fullest at every opportunity. It's also been a good reminder to me of how important relationships and family connections are. In the later years of life those are the connections we long for and reminisce about, and seek out for comfort when lives end. All of the material things we spend so much energy working for and accumulating are all but meaningless in the end. Sometimes making the time to connect with friends and family is challenging. People are scattered across the country and everyone's live are busy. But the energy and expense is worth it for me. I am once again reminded of the importance of making those connections happen. My time in Colorado with my family celebrating with my grandma was good for my soul. I love and cherish my relationships with all of my family, and am especially grateful for the lifelong friendships I have with my cousins. In a couple more weeks all of us will gather in Colorado for the official 100th birthday celebration for my grandma. I can't wait to see everyone! In the meantime, here are a few pictures and memories from her birthday on May 29, 2016.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDLBsoM-nv9Enm7jPNNchGknn1vDpFjuMTY0Gc5Mti5Kx6XHZsGge-WsLTTEaFyU0xdN4xQDhMylDOUb-AofZbAz55RgebVUzw5NlYaPO8nJqcjuAjHFAhQ7mAiiCMHnAtyzYivcAZzln3/s1600/DSC_0157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDLBsoM-nv9Enm7jPNNchGknn1vDpFjuMTY0Gc5Mti5Kx6XHZsGge-WsLTTEaFyU0xdN4xQDhMylDOUb-AofZbAz55RgebVUzw5NlYaPO8nJqcjuAjHFAhQ7mAiiCMHnAtyzYivcAZzln3/s400/DSC_0157.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Me and my cousin Michelle. She always makes me laugh.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Toasting the birthday queen.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Grandma with her two oldest granddaughters.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Being silly with the cousins.</i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Grandma with her grandkids that were there for her birthday.</i></b><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Three generations. Me with my grandma and mom. </i></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>The family after lunch with grandma.</i></b></td></tr>
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-2545693221298546552016-04-08T08:04:00.000-06:002016-04-08T08:23:55.593-06:00Sunny Days Seem To Hurt the Most<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBxl5zNY7nQJn3YVBpksJMF-t3SFhzLlJVedmsoJE2fIacuBfh_F-b-8NMLh9mZj3cLkb2JuRfyVK5kzcQWSckH_8lpQRyO1lR4lM_-D9H2zCWPuhiaDOJP7BbtzJnzAzyYSlhPu5rl3oA/s1600/Julie+in+daffodils.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBxl5zNY7nQJn3YVBpksJMF-t3SFhzLlJVedmsoJE2fIacuBfh_F-b-8NMLh9mZj3cLkb2JuRfyVK5kzcQWSckH_8lpQRyO1lR4lM_-D9H2zCWPuhiaDOJP7BbtzJnzAzyYSlhPu5rl3oA/s320/Julie+in+daffodils.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Jules,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today would be your 40th birthday. You've been on my mind so much the last several days. You always are in April when the daffodils are in bloom. Reminders of you are everywhere in these early days of spring. It's weird, but I seem to miss you the most during the beautiful, sunny, warm days of early spring. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The other day I heard Kenny Chesney's song <i>Who You'd Be Today. </i></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just as the songs says, I wonder so much about the person you'd be today. It's hard to imagine you at 40. You died so young with so many of your dreams unrealized. What would you be like today? </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Would you have chased your dreams and then settled down with a family? Remember how we used to talk about your future? What</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> would you have named your babies? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I remember the year I turned 40 and how happy I was to celebrate with you. We were both so young and carefree then, or at least it seemed that way. You must have been struggling much more than I realized. But still, you showed up to make my birthday special. That was so like you, always hiding your own pain while you made others smile. We made so many plans together during the early days of my 40th year - plans to grow old together. Remember how we promised each other we would never be alone because we would be two crotchety old ladies living together in our golden years? When we made that promise did you know you wouldn't make it to 40? </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP9sriK5ZJy9Mg-9I2Ie68CUPwTviudhin51VcIRgZPM78iybfLDiC9UWzg8M5V7duoDp4Cd3UQ5Tzlw7PZ4Rti8YhBmnXU8Xi2Wk_JEhyJqAez4GHfp9ksJkoBgLiWNkP3zuJIlAaz4Vm/s1600/DSCN1142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP9sriK5ZJy9Mg-9I2Ie68CUPwTviudhin51VcIRgZPM78iybfLDiC9UWzg8M5V7duoDp4Cd3UQ5Tzlw7PZ4Rti8YhBmnXU8Xi2Wk_JEhyJqAez4GHfp9ksJkoBgLiWNkP3zuJIlAaz4Vm/s320/DSCN1142.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Why is it that sunny days make me miss you so much? I feel so alive and happy on those days, especially the sun-filled days of early spring when the flowers are beginning to bloom. It's when I feel most alive that my heart fills with sadness and longing for you. Life is full of so many simple, beautiful pleasures, like the warm sun on your face after months of cold, dark winter days. You lost sight of all the good things that life could offer you. Your mind played tricks on you, focusing only on the dark, hopeless thoughts in your head. I wish I could have helped you through that last dark night of your life. If only I could have been there to remind you of the light and hope that morning and a new day would bring. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I miss you. I wish you were here to celebrate your 40th birthday together with me. The sun is going to be shining and the daffodils are blooming in my yard. I'm having a party to celebrate your day, because even though you're gone your life still deserves to be celebrated. I love you forever Jules. Happy Birthday. </span><br />
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3288945234878607080.post-40173258786198326302016-03-20T12:10:00.003-06:002016-03-20T13:13:07.450-06:00Asparagus and Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgny_0EW1DHjLxzk57yHoi46qRaeZnPUNKMs_ZVjukUzQj5ws1yE6RkUwfsvOhmHOjFHzro_2m_x-oLGfhwwG82dgiuZ8tisPI20Q1m52uK4SRTDPa1Ow2slB78WPY85VQlcrAjcARsenUL/s1600/Why-Asparagus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgny_0EW1DHjLxzk57yHoi46qRaeZnPUNKMs_ZVjukUzQj5ws1yE6RkUwfsvOhmHOjFHzro_2m_x-oLGfhwwG82dgiuZ8tisPI20Q1m52uK4SRTDPa1Ow2slB78WPY85VQlcrAjcARsenUL/s320/Why-Asparagus.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The other night I had asparagus for dinner. As I stood at the sink rinsing and snapping the stalks before steaming them, my mind flashed back to an Easter dinner long ago and memories of my Grandpa French. Asparagus always reminds me of grandpa. He's been gone 14 years this month and I sure do miss him! Anyone who knew my grandpa </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">knows what a gruff, abrupt manner he had. He could be very intimidating and was definitely someone who demanded and received respect from everyone. Lurking underneath that gruff exterior however, was a loving, generous man. Grandpa adored his kids and grand kids and was always willing to go to extraordinary lengths for those he loved. Which is where the asparagus comes in. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2oG2z80nhR8lxKhmr11Ql_gQBW3lvfEhIoYTAKj7AN6SQrGz1T_TdJSfJZVsrGAmXQaI1QAdkhGKclnhRFCO1g0Z9Iliqx0rzPRzIDU3nJOGKHl6x2t8hE_L_mLwJzAujHJVlryEKFhfD/s1600/Easter+with+cousins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2oG2z80nhR8lxKhmr11Ql_gQBW3lvfEhIoYTAKj7AN6SQrGz1T_TdJSfJZVsrGAmXQaI1QAdkhGKclnhRFCO1g0Z9Iliqx0rzPRzIDU3nJOGKHl6x2t8hE_L_mLwJzAujHJVlryEKFhfD/s400/Easter+with+cousins.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>A long ago Easter with my cousins in Grand Junction</i></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For much of my childhood and even into my young adult years, my family would spend Easter with my grandparents at their home in Grand Junction, Colorado. I loved being there for Easter! I can still picture grandma's beautifully set dining table complete with a lace tablecloth, her best china and silver and her delicious potato salad. My mouth waters just thinking about it. Grandpa always sat at the head of the table and would bark out a quick order to quiet down when it was time to eat. First though, we all joined hands around the table while he said grace. It's been too many years since I've sat around that table and joined hands with my family. It's amazing how such a simple act can be so powerfully full of love and connection. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway, back to the year of the asparagus. I was in my early twenties and gathered at grandma and grandpa's with my husband, mom and assorted siblings. Early in the day grandpa was headed to the grocery store for a few things and asked me what vegetable I wanted for dinner. Without giving it much thought I said asparagus. Grandpa left and we continued with our morning. Much later grandpa returned home. He'd been gone quite a long time! He came into the kitchen and dropped a huge bunch of asparagus on the counter. Apparently, it was still a little early in the season for asparagus and he'd gone to several stores searching for it. He eventually ended up driving into Fruita, the next town over, to find some. Because it was early in the season it was also expensive. He paid some outrageous amount per pound for it. When I asked for asparagus I did it without even thinking about its availability that time of year. I just thought it sounded good! I failed to realize that fulfilling my simple request was an act of love for grandpa. He was willing to drive however far was necessary and pay whatever price was asked in order to find what I had asked for. I remember feeling humbled and a little awed by the power of this one simple act. Grandpa wasn't one who was overly affectionate or expressive with his emotions. Mostly, he showed his love through actions. I realized then how enormous his love was for me and for all of his family. If needed, he would go to the ends of the earth to help his family. </span><span style="font-family: "\22 arial\22 " , "\22 helvetica\22 " , sans-serif;">His was not a love to be taken lightly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was out of the country when grandpa died and didn't get to say goodbye to him. It remains one of my life's great regrets. I wish I could have been there to once again tell him thank you for the asparagus and for the many other ways he loved me throughout his life. Thankfully, I have many treasured reminders of his love for me. Grandpa was a great letter writer and I kept most of the letters he wrote me over the years. On my desk I keep a notepad of Denver & Rio Grand Railroad stationary. His business card hangs on my bulletin board next to my sister Julie's, daily reminders of two beloved people that I've lost. And I also have asparagus, one of my favorite springtime meals. I like to eat it lightly steamed, topped with butter, pepper and a whole lot of love and happy memories! </span><br />
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O-town Ramblingshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12462693501650732288noreply@blogger.com3