tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2894729172161565852024-02-19T04:55:29.429-08:00Parentis Incompetuseugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.comBlogger140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-47720543897539158522013-10-28T09:17:00.004-07:002013-10-28T09:20:15.696-07:00The Grass Isn't Always GreenerThis blog is rapidly becoming a catch-all for my rapidly
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">bourgeoning, multi-faceted life. It may be that I am the only one reading this but that's ok. The purpose the blog will serve today (and maybe in the upcoming weeks and months) is a place where I can process my thoughts concerning something that happened almost a month ago. Here it is:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I live directly east of a city park that has been well-loved by my family for all the 13+ years we have lived here. The city takes exceptional care in maintaining the grounds and facilities which directly enhances the quality of our neighborhood. Three weeks ago, however, I was outside in my back yard on a windy day and noticed a crew from TruGreen lawn care (a company the city contracts?) begin to spray the park lawn with some kind of liquid chemical. The wind caught it and blew it over into my yard, into my face, onto my skin, in my eyes and throat all which immediately started to burn. I ran inside and washed my face and rinsed out my eyes but my throat burned for the rest of the day. I called the city right away to complain and got a phone call the following week from Joel Evans who works for the Parks and Rec department. He told me that the crew should have posted signs advising the neighbors of the application (they didn't), were not supposed to be spraying on a windy day (they were) and should have posted signs afterward to warn people to keep off the grass until the application had dried. They did. Here is what their signs looked like:</span><br />
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What? You don't see them? Look hard in the bottom right hand corner. There's a small white speck near the white street signs. Don't feel bad if you didn't notice—none of the kids walking home from school that day did either. Nor did any of the neighbors' dogs and cats and the rest of the wildlife that make their home there. Oh wait, they don't read. I guess the groundwater doesn't either, for that matter. Nor my strawberry patch, my herb and vegetable garden nor my chickens. </div>
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Up close, here is what the sign looks like:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XlOY0uEf33LWe8QMBCgRNZAx1fwop3CfOb-auzG7eAc3J62AESoU6wCPA0SgYfEvnE-gnmwdAv8vAhZXjccHh0MjmqXBsvZALDAzonxT7k8fD9AVpWbRlhNUXByGJHmeYs1SYdx2dJM/s1600/tru_green1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XlOY0uEf33LWe8QMBCgRNZAx1fwop3CfOb-auzG7eAc3J62AESoU6wCPA0SgYfEvnE-gnmwdAv8vAhZXjccHh0MjmqXBsvZALDAzonxT7k8fD9AVpWbRlhNUXByGJHmeYs1SYdx2dJM/s320/tru_green1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Again, in case you can't see it, the fine print says, "<b>Please stay off the grass until dry</b>." And, on the chance that I see the sign, how am I supposed to test for dryness? By touching it? I love how it says "lawn care application" instead of "toxic and carcinogenic chemical application". Seeing how that's the case, they should have posted signs on my body and all over my property as well to indicate chemical application. How about I put up a huge sign the next time they roll into the neighborhood that says, "Please stay off until you can prove you are no longer toxic".<br />
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I generally don't like resorting to sarcasm but I'm doing it here to make a point.This experience is raising all sorts of questions for me surrounding my personal right to maintain and guard my good health.</div>
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I contacted TruGreen the same day to get copies of the Material Safety Data Sheets (MSDS) for the products they use and was told to google it. Joel called them personally and asked them to send me the information. I was called immediately by a rep who left a message. I called him back and am still waiting for him to return my call.</div>
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In the meantime, today I called my district representative Scott Cowdell (for whom the park has been recently named) and who also lives in this neighborhood. Scott has a long history of civic service and has been personally invested in our neighborhood for decades and so I anticipate a productive conversation with him. In the very least, I expect he will be able to tell me what the next level of taking my concern is.</div>
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eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-443831294036564302013-08-17T16:12:00.003-07:002013-08-28T05:00:25.362-07:00Salt City BodyworksI've opened my own massage therapy practice at 129 E Main St in Sandy. I launched a temporary website but it's not coming up in Google searches yet so I'm posting my contact info here: Jenny Winkel (801) 557-5620, <a href="http://www.saltcitybodyworks.com/">www.saltcitybodyworks.com</a>.eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-78585076429189015092013-01-28T22:19:00.001-08:002013-01-28T22:35:55.021-08:00Holding the Tension of the OppositesFacebook isn't my scene. I did, however, recently create an alias profile so that I could participate in a forum of students in my graduate program. The day I signed up for an account, Brooks said, "Welcome to the 21st Century, Jenny." It's true. And since then, I have loved communicating with my peeps so much that any time I'm on the computer, whether I'm actually using the forum or not, Brahm chides me, "Logging onto facebook again, Mom?"<br />
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I decided that maybe it's time to start blogging again because I'm starting to want to post in the forum at length and, when I step back to compare how often and how much the other students do, my compulsion seems a bit excessive by comparison. I don't want to burn them out just yet so blogging seems like a good alternative.<br />
<br />
Backing up a moment for a few basics: I was accepted to Pacifica Graduate Institute last summer <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%28http://www.pacifica.edu/%29">(http://www.pacifica.edu/)</a> and began classes on their campus just south of Santa Barbara last October. Pacifica offers various specializations in depth psychology, the tradition founded by Freud and Jung. It's all about exploring the relationship between the Conscious and the Unconscious. The specialization of my track is <i>somatics</i>, or how the body figures into all of that (<i>soma</i> is the Greek word for "body"). So if you were wondering what a massage therapist is doing in a psychology program, there's the connection.<br />
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You should know that Pacifica is a very unique school. It's accredited and if I finish after two years, I will receive an MA, three and I am eligible for a Ph.D. so in this way, it's all legit. The fun part is the kind of classes I take. Last term I was enrolled in classes on dream tending, Eastern meditation techniques, and temple healing in ancient Greece. When I told a friend I am currently studying alchemy along with Western Cherokee witchcraft and sorcery spells, she commented that it sounds more like I'm going to Hogwarts than to graduate school. I couldn't find fault in her reasoning.<br />
<br />
And how is it that I'm attending school in California while living in Utah? Most of Pacifica's programs are designed so that students come in once a month for three days of intense classroom instruction on campus (where we also eat and sleep in between). It's amazing. I love it. And it also means that nearly every penny I earn at my jobs goes either toward tuition or travel expenses. And that's ok because it really and truly feels like I'm on my path. And it's not like this is the first decision I've ever made that doesn't make much sense financially.<br />
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Soooo, my reason for wanting to blog today is to acknowledge some of my shadowy parts. I'll back up to say that in my meditation class last term, I learned a beautiful Buddhist "loving kindness" meditation that I use quite frequently (I'll post it at the end for anyone who is interested). Most of the time when I do this meditation, I feel good inside.<br />
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But then there are times when I do not feel much loving kindness and I don't want to either. Take, for example, the morning commute on the freeway today. Everyone is going 10mph on the 215 because of the huge storm that blew in last night. The roads have been plowed but aren't totally clear yet. I'm in the slow lane when all of the sudden I see a truck (and it seems like it's <i>always</i> a truck) come from the <i>shoulder </i>of the road and butt into the space between me and the car in front of me. What?? I put that space on there purpose. OK, rude driver stories are a dime a dozen so I won't force the rest of the details on you. What I do want to point out is how I said out loud, "I hope you get in a roll-over" and really meant it. I meant it for the next couple of miles, too. But then I realized that black cloud could hover all day if I let it so I cleared out the bad energy by making room for some possibilities: maybe he just got news that his wife was in labor of that his mother was about to pass. We've all been there, right? OK, enough said.<br />
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I guess if that were an isolated incident, I wouldn't be writing about it. But I can't help see a connection between that and what happened last week when I was coming home from work using public transit (an attempt to AVOID the bozo drivers). I had just gotten off the bus and had walked over to the train platform. I was really tired, it was cold and the only place to sit down was right in between two people who were being detained by the Trax police. Oh, well. So I sat down, put in my earphones and pulled out my textbook on the Cherokee spells. Eventually the guy on my left got arrested and taken away in cuffs. The woman on my right was given a warning and released. After the police left, she turned to me, said some insulting things before walking away herself. Again I ask, "What??" So, my shadowy parts surface and I find myself in the middle of a fantasy where I've already read and memorized the whole book so that every spell therein is mine for the casting. I imagine having mastered a pretty convincing command of the original <span class="st">tsa-la-gi </span>pronunciation so that all I need to do is appear to go in a trance-like state (not hard, I'm thinking) and make her sorry she ever crossed over into my peripersonal space. It's all harmless, I tell myself, because all of the spells in my book are defunct anyway. That and I'm not a Cherokee witch. But she doesn't know that, right?<br />
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Jung says that the inability to adapt to circumstances in the face of insurmountable obstacles can trigger a regression. And so I regress to a seven-year-old part of me in both cases — a part that has trouble adapting to the fact that there is rudeness in the world. This is an example of what my therapist could justifiably call "job security".<br />
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So for now, I will leave you with the loving kindness meditation I promised earlier. For the Cherokee spells, see me in private.<br />
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---------------------------------------------------- <br />
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Find a quiet place where you know you wont be disturbed. Close your eyes and imagine yourself sitting in front of you, then a loved one, a stranger, a "not-so-loved one" (then the whole world if you're feeling ambitious) in that order. You repeat the words of the meditation in between each person coming from a place of an open heart.<br />
<br />
<u>Loving Kindness Meditation</u><br />
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May you be safe from inner and outer harm.<br />
May you be free from guilt, shame and hatred.<br />
May you enjoy physical and mental well-being.<br />
May you live life with the ease of an open heart.<br />
May you go beyond your inner darkness and awaken to your radiant true nature as boundless love.eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-7182059509436762662012-07-15T20:32:00.001-07:002012-08-06T08:03:18.573-07:00It's been so long since I've posted that Blogger has updated it's interface and I'm not sure how to use it. Let's hope this goes live.<br />
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I was driving at night a few weeks ago with Brahm and Oliver. I turned a corner only to find a handful of teenagers wearing dark clothing skating in the middle of the road. It wasn't like a near miss or anything but I still seized the opportunity to grumble aloud about how stupid they were for being so careless. Brahm and Oliver followed suit, adding their own keen insights to the IQ levels of our fellow travelers. A moment of silence ensued then Oliver busts out with this question, <br />
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"Mom, can I haiku about this?"<br />
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Is there any other answer but yes? Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Oliver and Brahm's poetic interpretation of the events of that night:<br />
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<br />eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-4886339772719126942012-01-11T19:52:00.000-08:002012-08-06T08:03:31.556-07:00Need An Oil Change?Then allow me to recommend the Jiffy Lube in Draper.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8uwVf3VXGvZUleKQmFVuz8yHjPsORbyLYY4KpnPqaWYFsKoVjerTun5GNKkLqYD5AmTK3sJXL0CaO94FoHl9F_sJcD3fpHTiUiIV5WMsXKs1jnFmopOTv3fFidJXSPdfMlRu5rKxNO4/s1600/IMG_2855.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8uwVf3VXGvZUleKQmFVuz8yHjPsORbyLYY4KpnPqaWYFsKoVjerTun5GNKkLqYD5AmTK3sJXL0CaO94FoHl9F_sJcD3fpHTiUiIV5WMsXKs1jnFmopOTv3fFidJXSPdfMlRu5rKxNO4/s400/IMG_2855.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-67572618640792226212012-01-06T21:05:00.000-08:002012-01-06T21:05:11.777-08:00Homeland SecurityBrooks just got back from a business trip to New Jersey and we're catching up now that the kids are in bed.<br />
<br />
"While you were gone Oliver came up to me and said, 'I know all the passwords for the television. 1969 for the year dad was born, 1974 for the year you were born and 1999 for the year you both got married [he's correct on all counts]."<br />
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"Well, why don't I change it to 2021 then?" he replies.<br />
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"Why? What's that?"<br />
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"The year we kick him out of the house."eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-66070063176611104502012-01-01T20:39:00.000-08:002012-01-01T20:41:38.873-08:00Happy New Year<link href="file://localhost/Users/brooksbriggs/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <style>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzXK-p9CHBImpnVdw8VmpQlyslReJD8018FsYzvOY_XriLV-M4JtHxKWpw1KFRgYQv6BYYBasBIA5euKDKgMdMlic4PHMkYTLp9INGZnwsVBotP5a89j57B8ovi4uohVtcUn1eF1fS7Q/s1600/lacrosse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzXK-p9CHBImpnVdw8VmpQlyslReJD8018FsYzvOY_XriLV-M4JtHxKWpw1KFRgYQv6BYYBasBIA5euKDKgMdMlic4PHMkYTLp9INGZnwsVBotP5a89j57B8ovi4uohVtcUn1eF1fS7Q/s320/lacrosse.jpg" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fading days of fall</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4gLQQ3f6u6FAX9Sn9oJyVqvk5jlKbvELkwco9nPeA30PxVwR7zmky0bffJxV1x0mbwIaIGClBoQmjK8mClOGt-i9qRZ7RXAEBpSEeRxOnPlhe10xxU0r4t9aN9VlK5UcoCfp5JxnFsQ/s1600/haircuts1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4gLQQ3f6u6FAX9Sn9oJyVqvk5jlKbvELkwco9nPeA30PxVwR7zmky0bffJxV1x0mbwIaIGClBoQmjK8mClOGt-i9qRZ7RXAEBpSEeRxOnPlhe10xxU0r4t9aN9VlK5UcoCfp5JxnFsQ/s320/haircuts1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New do</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSbpCH_gmgFunww_u1iJ2FlA0BGIKoQZyriPCXAcKkn9twBxJXGb9yD_D45TzrdkXAwR7Gt9p9WwPOSkIOBxQ1xof2AGxPkO_cFm_OSLgm-zuIRrMOg1twaQbspJIJZEja50-3m7eUED4/s1600/bread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSbpCH_gmgFunww_u1iJ2FlA0BGIKoQZyriPCXAcKkn9twBxJXGb9yD_D45TzrdkXAwR7Gt9p9WwPOSkIOBxQ1xof2AGxPkO_cFm_OSLgm-zuIRrMOg1twaQbspJIJZEja50-3m7eUED4/s320/bread.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buy this book!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-26604314152606594792011-12-28T14:47:00.000-08:002011-12-28T14:47:37.030-08:00Dear Santa 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJQQv5Hh_2GqV7Rfl4wdZZZ1TCct3aR8DbbKZkH87DTwt5WC8724ZCqNJrlELexprj1J-fJtXUOqB3MwQydwcBwbLd3xy2f9onsI3DTDr_eK210XgwXepe31gkx-VElPDA1mNxR6WErI/s1600/santa_letter2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJQQv5Hh_2GqV7Rfl4wdZZZ1TCct3aR8DbbKZkH87DTwt5WC8724ZCqNJrlELexprj1J-fJtXUOqB3MwQydwcBwbLd3xy2f9onsI3DTDr_eK210XgwXepe31gkx-VElPDA1mNxR6WErI/s640/santa_letter2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMspGV4YITRnpdLLvEpU0kTO9ryGYXnyoydjCz3T2YO05ng1J2I4dmxYOa5rjNbgn02xZ8KcvdIoctCiQOyg34uEq_Bs1J4KCm2M1xDuu_yG8PsL2a2GRE6HCAVlKmgnNPMXTqsjencGQ/s1600/signature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMspGV4YITRnpdLLvEpU0kTO9ryGYXnyoydjCz3T2YO05ng1J2I4dmxYOa5rjNbgn02xZ8KcvdIoctCiQOyg34uEq_Bs1J4KCm2M1xDuu_yG8PsL2a2GRE6HCAVlKmgnNPMXTqsjencGQ/s320/signature.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-73191342245883527332011-12-26T22:32:00.000-08:002011-12-26T22:32:02.766-08:00Storm Trooper Takes LAA couple of weeks ago, a friend pointed out that I need to blog more. True. This is me backblogging to the end of November when Brooks took a business trip to LA for a video shoot. As is customary, Brahm sent him packing with a Lego figure (this time, a Storm Trooper) to document the trip. I present the following:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_SG_6FNer2luakdbPicNA6uUVbo0uvv9VGBOMmSftItFbXr2rrGeHYYEVDksgfmVBB3TRYVxfJgGFqdrhnQq2Oo8QKQ8O46UwlE_ZKYzJ0mWqB_pqYVB8uyZB0yKNNahs9aVvt1WPjg/s1600/IMG_3110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="475" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_SG_6FNer2luakdbPicNA6uUVbo0uvv9VGBOMmSftItFbXr2rrGeHYYEVDksgfmVBB3TRYVxfJgGFqdrhnQq2Oo8QKQ8O46UwlE_ZKYzJ0mWqB_pqYVB8uyZB0yKNNahs9aVvt1WPjg/s640/IMG_3110.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the set</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipfa49yzQav9IvryTnPd0iResE5DQFixc9vdtJ8ZyNNcRF-AsO6YgXuq9dNiM6FjXO5B1saYEwDa4PVvKKO211nI1c0UJMkdIM6Vo6CYD7LL3LBG5_8UUWUi-0GXlh0PGzjIheMKhBMrE/s1600/IMG_3123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipfa49yzQav9IvryTnPd0iResE5DQFixc9vdtJ8ZyNNcRF-AsO6YgXuq9dNiM6FjXO5B1saYEwDa4PVvKKO211nI1c0UJMkdIM6Vo6CYD7LL3LBG5_8UUWUi-0GXlh0PGzjIheMKhBMrE/s640/IMG_3123.jpg" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Pull focus!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHMk1VWDDgagwBhKtCVZQSlWsOc7MNVHV-O5CZPjAeRD7ySrT8f4HyfqZ9jjWIQXnZQ67sS8UNmG9pX4Njq-BuyrtisPDcIQF2O4qQIxWzF6yLWvWxbLXY_9suuzloRN9v-tXNLF4cFLI/s1600/IMG_3140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHMk1VWDDgagwBhKtCVZQSlWsOc7MNVHV-O5CZPjAeRD7ySrT8f4HyfqZ9jjWIQXnZQ67sS8UNmG9pX4Njq-BuyrtisPDcIQF2O4qQIxWzF6yLWvWxbLXY_9suuzloRN9v-tXNLF4cFLI/s640/IMG_3140.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can't see him because he's behind the lens on this one.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhevSvY7V9ywpRDCDTVscfrHuaxYuY5PQwOTHKGEm7pxtGp57rI8Qbzr8Rb-LGbMjmIrLF1j0u1S__BsdvxEK3BxEejat6b-n49QBlD86-pVVaxWHnAMAQ0Jxyo7Q0ljo6Hk9roEe_rS5s/s1600/IMG_3183.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhevSvY7V9ywpRDCDTVscfrHuaxYuY5PQwOTHKGEm7pxtGp57rI8Qbzr8Rb-LGbMjmIrLF1j0u1S__BsdvxEK3BxEejat6b-n49QBlD86-pVVaxWHnAMAQ0Jxyo7Q0ljo6Hk9roEe_rS5s/s640/IMG_3183.jpg" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out on the town</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpfErfKDwTXTp7lSN4ty07eXvals2d9KogSGSEUpZTJYEvXTxNGWGoOiqzVyNhu4JZRNLtrR3Sc6vYBeR8OkTYR0UuDCZIs8ijVB3MViv2km2NmDpLgoszd-r6USOSi2QSeqv68-8n0U/s1600/IMG_3204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpfErfKDwTXTp7lSN4ty07eXvals2d9KogSGSEUpZTJYEvXTxNGWGoOiqzVyNhu4JZRNLtrR3Sc6vYBeR8OkTYR0UuDCZIs8ijVB3MViv2km2NmDpLgoszd-r6USOSi2QSeqv68-8n0U/s640/IMG_3204.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch break at the Griddle Cafe</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrznHuOUYw12pUfwEZqjd6LgiRb3lZ6H7XNStXshE1b5NclFKIBBieVWQ6E4fylz_V-gZJ7InX9seKdKI7HLupJxz1H-IbMnvr5ze_FxVgmZYwmdJF9xarZJBZuBjos6t0FC1Tq1eabBs/s1600/IMG_3452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="475" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrznHuOUYw12pUfwEZqjd6LgiRb3lZ6H7XNStXshE1b5NclFKIBBieVWQ6E4fylz_V-gZJ7InX9seKdKI7HLupJxz1H-IbMnvr5ze_FxVgmZYwmdJF9xarZJBZuBjos6t0FC1Tq1eabBs/s640/IMG_3452.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bumping into Alan Tudyk at the airport ("Wash" of Firefly fame, a favorite of Brooks and mine)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSHr0Y1e2jHX0I3yfGBFz2IE5qj8-gaFiok9yK7-4m0EsSv_MnMiQIoZzLqhvPdWJmsLnSUyeDtNAOrfD2Cmr3eBFUwxC-taTFCCL7GD6IGuPjshUCoi0NtbsOVRSw8tN8Gk_RI8Dwpnw/s1600/IMG_3208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSHr0Y1e2jHX0I3yfGBFz2IE5qj8-gaFiok9yK7-4m0EsSv_MnMiQIoZzLqhvPdWJmsLnSUyeDtNAOrfD2Cmr3eBFUwxC-taTFCCL7GD6IGuPjshUCoi0NtbsOVRSw8tN8Gk_RI8Dwpnw/s640/IMG_3208.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good-bye coastline, hello inversions!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-85316419163719411112011-12-25T14:37:00.000-08:002011-12-25T14:37:30.950-08:00Makin' Treehugger Mama ProudBrahm and Oliver got "Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans" in their stockings. After sampling "booger" flavor, Oliver made sounds of throwing-up while declaring how disgusting it was. Knowing my children's habits as I do, this surprises me.<br />
<br />
"Wait a second," I say looking at Oliver. "I thought you guys liked the taste of boogers." <br />
<br />
"Yeah," he says, "but this is <i>artificial</i>."eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-86134951359564070382011-12-22T09:41:00.000-08:002011-12-22T09:42:07.888-08:00Happy SolsticeToday is the first day of winter, the day in which we have the least amount of daylight hours of the whole year (9 hours, 14 minutes and 53 seconds where I live, to be exact). We celebrated last night since winter technically arrived around 9:30 PM. Every year we get together with a couple of friends and loosely celebrate with food, a reading of the poem "The Shortest Day", then more food after that. This year I did some informal research on Solstice traditions around the world so I could embellish the celebration and up our credibility a bit.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8ag416kb-pQciQuCknjHiKBg6T0B7o1ZOOHESjdE7L-PSPZnKjt8GiKoJwLUgSGhkAroGE8bENaeH9C1WZlKxn1J46VkhbG2mfhJX6aJt3kFh7QiW9y0hHLmZZJOcvs0JKnj7A4O5C8/s400/citrus.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Citrus bath for purification</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8ag416kb-pQciQuCknjHiKBg6T0B7o1ZOOHESjdE7L-PSPZnKjt8GiKoJwLUgSGhkAroGE8bENaeH9C1WZlKxn1J46VkhbG2mfhJX6aJt3kFh7QiW9y0hHLmZZJOcvs0JKnj7A4O5C8/s1600/citrus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>Before supper, the boys and I drew a bath for them. Apparently in some Asian cultures, this time of year calls for a citrus bath that holds purification properties. Shopping for the fruit was one of the funnest parts, le<span style="font-family: inherit;">tting them choose among the assortment in the produce section. Pomelo, kumquat, lemon, lime, tangerine, grapefruit, orange and </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">blood</i><span style="font-family: inherit;"> orange is what we ended up with. They set out tea lights all over the bathroom, lit them and with a handful of salt (also for purification), jumped in. This really was a beautiful sight and what was even more wonderful was how they were really into it. They wound up cutting most of the fruit i</span>n half and sampling it all. It ended when Oliver's belly button started stinging too much from the citric acid in the water.<br />
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Today is one of those days I wish I had more time to myself to finish this entry. I'd like to write about the bonfire we lit outside and the yule logs we threw on (the boys were champs and dug the pit for it in the rock hard soil) and other meaningful observations. It's already 10:30 in the morning and as soon as the boys come in from shoveling the walk (something to keep them busy while I'm writing), they'll be chomping at the bit for something fun to do. Christmas break can be a strain for all of us at times since we are not accustomed to spending hours upon hours together.<br />
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So I'll end with the poem that is read every year. Reading it is not the same as hearing the vocal rendition but for that, you'll have to show up at our house on December 21, 2012.<br />
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"The Shortest Day" by Susan Cooper<br />
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<div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">And so the Shortest Day came and the year died<br />
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world<br />
Came people singing, dancing,<br />
To drive the dark away.<br />
They lighted candles in the winter trees;<br />
They hung their homes with evergreen;<br />
They burned beseeching fires all night long<br />
To keep the year alive.<br />
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake<br />
They shouted, revelling.<br />
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them<br />
Echoing behind us - listen!<br />
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,<br />
This Shortest Day,<br />
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:<br />
They carol, feast, give thanks,<br />
And dearly love their friends,<br />
And hope for peace.<br />
And now so do we, here, now,<br />
This year and every year.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-84903931528971167492011-10-25T13:30:00.000-07:002011-10-25T13:30:33.888-07:00Fruit of the Harvest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRTdAqwYNnXuOqvEt1nAxw94xARwZfgtjDyZSgqjGRSkutIVZs9r3Za3msaprCNUDVy9fxMCaWoeLXKGM0tUbk6hleGmvonMCYVXB6TiBULB-oZZTZih_gc331ESzY3BLQUR6SqMoJ2A/s1600/eve-fruit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRTdAqwYNnXuOqvEt1nAxw94xARwZfgtjDyZSgqjGRSkutIVZs9r3Za3msaprCNUDVy9fxMCaWoeLXKGM0tUbk6hleGmvonMCYVXB6TiBULB-oZZTZih_gc331ESzY3BLQUR6SqMoJ2A/s320/eve-fruit.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Lately I've been sinking into a lot of books on mythology, dreams and Jungian psychology. I would say that this photo is unrelated visual interest but, maybe it's not. I took it last week after Brooks and I pulled up the garden's tomato plants and put the beds to winter rest. This tree grows on the adjacent property (the owner has generously offered as many as I want) so we sat underneath it and gathered a few.<br />
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Here's what one book says an apple can represent: "In dreams, the apple is often seen as a symbol of wrongdoing, dating back to the the apple offered to Adam. In waking life, who, or what, has tempted you?" It hasn't showed up recently in my dreams but we've sure had our fair share of apple pie, apple crisps, apple sauce and eating them plain (fresh and baked).<br />
<br />
Well. perhaps I have fallen into temptation of sorts since some of our harvest has come from what I like to call "orphaned" trees - trees whose fruit is falling to the ground and going to waste either because the property is abandoned or the owner is overwhelmed by sheer quantity of fruit and can't keep up. Brahm refuses to help pick if I haven't received explicit permission and Oliver will help but "only because you're forcing me to do it." Now there's an interesting psychoanalytical opportunity, eh?eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-61925654249531174842011-08-27T07:32:00.000-07:002011-08-27T07:40:55.114-07:00Special Price for You, Pretty Lady<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/AVvXsEhrbe5NLj8a0fFxF_LGw0aG0MpZaM_FEJYvvod055Gq6DoOF_bdUYZVyhxwzh2yzXSy1iz9CWBeuRfhFT9em-bpnY2HWvzLm4rX8c_jE4AnR1vN_-c6mMSp9nte_S69f2z0v-8qeZL71yA/s1600/hendrik.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbe5NLj8a0fFxF_LGw0aG0MpZaM_FEJYvvod055Gq6DoOF_bdUYZVyhxwzh2yzXSy1iz9CWBeuRfhFT9em-bpnY2HWvzLm4rX8c_jE4AnR1vN_-c6mMSp9nte_S69f2z0v-8qeZL71yA/s400/hendrik.jpg" width="345" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hendrik Winkel with his bakery cart, 1900.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In his younger years, my great-grandpa Winkel sold baked goods from a horse-drawn cart in Holland, his country of origin. Later, he came to America with his wife and children, settled in Richfield, Utah and opened up a bakery with a proper storefront. Most of his children emerged with a similar entrepreneurial spirit, including Francis Benjamin, my grandfather. Francis left Utah for California in his twenties and, after trying his hand at a few things, also settled into the bakery business. A true entrepreneur usually has his hand in several pies (no pun intended) so it was no surprise that Grandpa went into real estate investment and also opened up a lumber company, one my father eventually took over and ran successfully for many years. I've seen this spirit in my father and in myself, as well (starting up the community garden in our neighborhood was an entrepreneurial endeavor in many ways). And so it came as absolutely no surprise that Oliver Briggs showed up on this planet with an obvious desire to go into business for himself.<br />
<br />
Take yesterday, for example. After months of growing and tending heirloom tomato seedlings he planted himself, Oliver finally opened his doors to the public in the form of a simple vegetable stand we set up on the side of a busy road here in Sandy. <br />
<br />
<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/AVvXsEh-QPP_PE0nNMGtU1dXL3SqShr3zHoMMWnClxJ4r2D8waDd9jEqRceu0yFwegiViqv6Ctm7V4uUrouDdhm1g3F-a2AjFaeqc6frjKuvRFjl2ZVBcaVrMs_-CtHpoVLbGdJ4Bfe9ntiYhzc/s1600/tomato.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QPP_PE0nNMGtU1dXL3SqShr3zHoMMWnClxJ4r2D8waDd9jEqRceu0yFwegiViqv6Ctm7V4uUrouDdhm1g3F-a2AjFaeqc6frjKuvRFjl2ZVBcaVrMs_-CtHpoVLbGdJ4Bfe9ntiYhzc/s400/tomato.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oliver Briggs at his tomato stand, 2011.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
"This one is called Striped Cavern," he explained to one customer. "It's hollow inside so it's great for stuffing with rice or cheese."<br />
<br />
His tomatoes come in an array of colors, shapes and sizes - Green Sausage, Cherokee Purple, Moonglow, Brandywine and Green Grape, to name a few. <br />
<br />
The road to glory hasn't always been smooth. Some of his seedlings bit the dust from disease or a missed watering schedule. He'll be the first to tell you that weeding his plants on a hot July afternoon is not one of his favorite things to do, either. But any seasoned entrepreneur has stories to tell of the low points along the way.<br />
<br />
My sense is that his lows were quickly forgotten yesterday as he lined his pockets with dollar bills. <br />
<br />
"Why do you work so hard to take care of your plants?" I asked him one day back in April.<br />
<br />
"Because I want money," was his simple answer.<br />
<br />
Ah, yes. "And because you like a challenge, too," I thought to myself. For most entrepreneurs, the two together are hard to resist.eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-48352132418719279292011-07-28T19:52:00.000-07:002011-07-28T20:39:02.224-07:00Where Am I?<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/AVvXsEhdTloHytXlNN7EuzyrAPyhGNyoeIFmv0NCjlvHmEufOKQmBHuJtPSiuTA-ROAoosPurGTkgdSkMN3xRS5HlMzEXg1NZhdnN8vvtFbgbTn786S6KxwSNrpXHqBu-gDgc9OlI2Kz8ETIMs0/s1600/IMG_3215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdTloHytXlNN7EuzyrAPyhGNyoeIFmv0NCjlvHmEufOKQmBHuJtPSiuTA-ROAoosPurGTkgdSkMN3xRS5HlMzEXg1NZhdnN8vvtFbgbTn786S6KxwSNrpXHqBu-gDgc9OlI2Kz8ETIMs0/s400/IMG_3215.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emerald Bay</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
(Written Wednesday, July 27))<br />
<br />
I'm sitting at the kitchen table of my cousin's cabin in South Lake Tahoe. I'm alone. Like, very alone. My nearest husband and children are 600 miles away. And I feel fine about that.<br />
<br />
OK, that's a lie. The first two days of my vacation I felt like crap about that. Not like <i>guilt</i> crap but like actual <i>"I miss you"</i> crap. Which is so unlike me. Maybe all this meditation mumbo jumbo is backfiring and my raisin heart is graduating to prune status. I don't think I'm ready for that.<br />
<br />
But I digress. I'm sitting at the kitchen table on the last of my four days here. I stink from beach, suntan oil and sweat. I'm procrastinating filling the bathtub mostly because I'm so tired. And I'm reflective. So I write.<br />
<br />
In the cold of Utah winter I started hatching plans for this vacation. My cousin David and his wife Amy had bought a cabin here and generously offered it as a place to get away. At first I modestly declined but as the winter grew longer and longer (and longer and longer), a warm place to go seemed like a good idea. Originally it was going to be a family vacation but I had a sudden change of heart a few weeks ago and decided to come by myself. We all went to Legoland together in April and had a good time, Brooks had suggested I might need a vacation (that may be his way of saying <i>he</i> needs a vacation, if you know what I mean) so plans were revised and here I am.<br />
<br />
I haven't had so much solitude since, well, I actually can't remember when the last time I spent four days by myself. In fact, have I ever done this? No. Therefore, I had a long list of things I wanted to do with my alone time. I anticipated going out into the woods all day long and being deeply spiritual. You know, profound meditation with short snack breaks. Well, on Monday I sat around all day in my pajamas, cried while watching <i>Legends of the Fall</i>, and alternately ate from five different flavors of ice cream in between dread-grooming sessions. That's spiritual. Kind of. Keep reading if you are curious as to what kind of discovery and enlightenment the getaway did, in fact, bestow.<br />
<br />
• Silence is rejuvenating. I don't think I need to say much more than that.<br />
<br />
• In a true mosquito crisis, I will quickly abandon my homemade essential oil formula for good old-fashioned DDT.<br />
<br />
• I pack around too much stuff in life, literally and figuratively speaking. What am I saving up for? I don't need that much to be happy.<br />
<br />
• Brooks is my best friend. I take his companionship for granted. I take a lot of things for granted.<br />
<br />
• Contrary to what I have often believed over the years, a life of care-free bliss would not make me happy. It would be oppressive, if it existed at all.<br />
<br />
• I need to drive at least 500 miles to truly get away. This is essential, psychologically-speaking. I do not need to drive that far, however, to enjoy many of the things I have been doing out here. There are so many mountain lakes and trails (both hiking and mountain biking) in my own backyard that I've never explored. What am I waiting for?<br />
<br />
• I do not need to go to the gym in order to get exercise.<br />
<br />
• Speaking in terms of garbage, I create a lot of waste. I'm pretty sure I can 1) back on consumption in general and 2) minimize what I personally put into the landfill by more carefully selecting what kind of products I buy. I notice that this is something I'd like to change because I desire it, not because I think I should.<br />
<br />
• I am easily distracted in my everyday life with things that are ultimately of little consequence.<br />
<br />
• I want to try extending the garden season using hoop houses and row covers. Don't ask me how that factored in.<br />
<br />
• The night sky here is so black that the stars shine all the brighter. Lying on my back looking up, I see God there.<br />
<br />
• Nature is enduring. It kind of feels like when all is said and done, She's probably going to have the last word.<br />
<br />
• I need to get out more.eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-86146691923788283692011-07-03T17:13:00.000-07:002011-07-03T22:15:30.006-07:00In Praise of Meditation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi297YHNwf-yzMco9HbmH6zuiMeXuX4MBNdBr_qYtfFNsoPVjKepZaRbke_4aXKsqTGKLGLC8eaNGSPq7CbfkgWQ2_el63Tal7NV0eNjJYtUhUJXti63te7lk5Ob5f62xzYZPjf6DQoqmY/s1600/dandelion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi297YHNwf-yzMco9HbmH6zuiMeXuX4MBNdBr_qYtfFNsoPVjKepZaRbke_4aXKsqTGKLGLC8eaNGSPq7CbfkgWQ2_el63Tal7NV0eNjJYtUhUJXti63te7lk5Ob5f62xzYZPjf6DQoqmY/s400/dandelion.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">I started meditating as a daily practice almost a year and a half ago. For me this consists of sitting in silence for twenty minutes in the morning and twenty minutes at night (sometimes more but rarely less). I'm usually on the floor mattress in my "office", propped up by the wall and a bunch of throw pillows. At first I followed the Christian Contemplative model of letting the mind go blank, allowing the layers of my ego to dissolve in order to commune with God from my core. Then I realized this style was too advanced for me. The Zen Buddhist tradition of <i>mindfulness</i> has become the way I "sit". It simply involves paying attention in a non-judgmental way to whatever comes up in the moment. When my mind begins to wander into the past or future I can use my breath (or any of my five senses) to bring me back into the present. The non-judgmental part can say, "Oh, look - my mind has drifted" without getting frustrated that I am not "doing it right". In fact, non-striving is a key element of mindfulness. The Taoists say that by not striving to achieve anything, everything is achieved.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Many people who mediate in earnest call it a “practice”. I have come to understand it in the way that we say “I will practice the piano” or “I’m going to a dance practice”. For me, being mindful in my daily activities does not come naturally – it takes practice. So I do.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Maybe I will write another day about how I came to meditation or how unfamiliar it seemed at first. Today I am thinking of how the quality of my life is different all these hours of practice later. Take the present moment, for example.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m sitting at the computer journaling this and Oliver comes in and points a homemade Lego gun in my face. I stop what I am doing and give him my attention simply by looking down the barrel into his eyes. I see mischief. Normally I would be irritated by this “intrusion” but in this moment I feel curious. I feel mindful.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“I am going to attack the Jennicita,” he informs me in an alien voice. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I continue my gaze. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Do you think this can really shoot you?” he asks, pressing the gun a little closer to my face. I admit aloud that, indeed, I am wondering that very thing. He pulls the trigger. The bullet misses and lands somewhere in my hair.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Oh, no!” he shrieks. “Now I’ll <i>never</i> find it!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Meditation has enlarged my capacity to <i>connect</i> to moments like these. In this moment with Oliver, my heart feels at home, I <i>feel</i> an eternal connection to my child. I am not worried about how we are supposed to be packing the car right now to head out of town for the Fourth. There is more stillness, less angst.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The angst and irritation still happen but I am a hostage to them less and less. Mindfulness acknowledges heartbreak, sadness, fear, and anger – they don’t just magically disappear because I meditate. It’s that somehow the container that holds them is larger so they occupy less of the space. I have been able to sit with them and acknowledge them as guests – I know they will not stay forever. With no small measure of grace I can even wonder what I can learn from them, tune into what they are teaching me and be the wiser for it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Let’s be clear here: the inner Godzilla is alive and well. I don’t think it’s going anywhere anytime soon. I think the difference is that now I can make room for that part of me as well. I know that it’s there (and still makes plenty of messes) but I also know that it doesn’t have to run the show all the time. Practice has cultivated an ability to say, “Hmm, look at that. Godzilla just showed up” and trust that Tokyo will still be there in the morning.</div>eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-53315028616151713132011-07-01T18:50:00.000-07:002011-07-01T18:50:10.126-07:00Carved Into the Backyard Fence<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/AVvXsEgUbRXDKZEp9cJdCOwppHRfnt8pJLVbFYWhjwdLyH_igibx7EtZdyFsWIMGy3vFAf0VYpvojzIdM8BSOfdkCq8UM8rvkRB52r-0tE6-sH4JWpANI64tLuXCsittklb2wHZOAIMKKldzmgs/s1600/fence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUbRXDKZEp9cJdCOwppHRfnt8pJLVbFYWhjwdLyH_igibx7EtZdyFsWIMGy3vFAf0VYpvojzIdM8BSOfdkCq8UM8rvkRB52r-0tE6-sH4JWpANI64tLuXCsittklb2wHZOAIMKKldzmgs/s400/fence.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"This house needs a DS"</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-61869472962436518772011-06-05T08:13:00.000-07:002011-06-05T08:13:43.035-07:00Found Under Oliver's Pillow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfx3gnkNEqwtUvlg2XYixYGPK-EI5-S23ZLFaRC_72SMp1jLhTUZff9ajKUDE4rw8jdSdp7nmE-WxVH4hgwPZULAXRi_dhyphenhyphenvJE_HbE7oeV7Wftalk3yNvgTDQcFt_cP2JK6ErF_A_a0vg/s1600/tooth_fairy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfx3gnkNEqwtUvlg2XYixYGPK-EI5-S23ZLFaRC_72SMp1jLhTUZff9ajKUDE4rw8jdSdp7nmE-WxVH4hgwPZULAXRi_dhyphenhyphenvJE_HbE7oeV7Wftalk3yNvgTDQcFt_cP2JK6ErF_A_a0vg/s640/tooth_fairy.jpg" width="494" /></a></div>eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-40370067145944759642011-05-28T21:29:00.003-07:002011-05-28T21:29:53.834-07:00It's the Little Things That CountSo, we're driving up to the movie theater tonight to See Kung Fu Panda 2. Brooks had been at a writer's group this afternoon and while he was gone the boys and I cleaned up the driveway - weeding, blowing out dead leaves, etc. In the car Brooks complimented the boys on all their efforts.<br />
<br />
"Thank you, boys, for all your hard work today."<br />
<br />
Encouraging the spirit of gratitude I say, "And thanks, Love, for taking us to the movie."<br />
<br />
"Brahm catches on and adds in a wry tone, "And thanks, Mom, for giving birth to us."<br />
<br />
Knowing it's his turn and not wanting to come up empty-handed, Oliver says, "Yeah, and thanks, Dad, for that Y chromosome."eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-57017253487472830782011-05-02T09:46:00.000-07:002011-05-02T09:46:52.998-07:00I've Been Updated(Written 4/25/11) <br />
<br />
My friend Lizzie Young paid me a visit today. I didn't recognize her when I opened the door, probably because I knew her best ten years ago when she was nine. She and her family lived a block down the street from us before they moved back east. Liz used to babysit Brahm on occasion when he was just a peanut. She is a couple of days away from going back home after finishing her second year at BYU. She was in the neighborhood and dropped in to say hello.<br />
<br />
I'm glad she did.<br />
<br />
One of the funny things about getting older is that it's not so apparent to me as it's happening but becomes increasingly so in the company of younger people. Like Lizzie. She wondered if I was still doing photography and if I had the pictures I took of her and her sisters when they were children.<br />
<br />
"I know I still have the negatives, at least, " I tell her.<br />
<br />
"Negatives? What are negatives?" she wants to know.<br />
<br />
I look at her intently. "You're kidding, right?" I ask. Her tone sounds sincere enough but it might be a playful jab.<br />
<br />
She's not kidding.<br />
<br />
Later she says in an upfront manner, "Jenny, you need to be on facebook." This is the equivalent of saying, "I want to keep in touch with you, just not in the archaic ways you might be accustomed to. Like phone. Email. Live conversation. You know." We texted on and off for the next couple of days so at least we were able to communicate somehow <i>non faceboci</i>.<br />
<br />
Another thing I noticed about the way Lizzie and I reconnected was that most of it (minus a quick tour of the remodel) took place around the computer and cell phone. She showed me pictures of her family and friends and we did some music sharing, all via applications and internet sites.<br />
<br />
<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/AVvXsEgA0TtdPjLJEUvQs-lG6O-on9lsbJEN7E8nsG-Cc8_ixF7U1KUqiqzPX3NSZv8JEBhY26xLbCT_-TXRd1D6H-Z_u2RehcCCQweUSaw0RzVZo73BV9MVuw1xGf11F0LIuBvozuik_6qCuVk/s1600/liz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA0TtdPjLJEUvQs-lG6O-on9lsbJEN7E8nsG-Cc8_ixF7U1KUqiqzPX3NSZv8JEBhY26xLbCT_-TXRd1D6H-Z_u2RehcCCQweUSaw0RzVZo73BV9MVuw1xGf11F0LIuBvozuik_6qCuVk/s320/liz.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liz and I in a photo taken on a camera phone.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Look, I'm not at all against technology or staying current with the times. I'm only admitting that my reptilian brain does not evolve as quickly as, say, other people's. Or maybe that goes without saying for most aging humans. It's just that I really enjoy spending a good hour of conversation with someone I can see face-to-face. I like planting a tomato seedling into soil I can sink my hands into. A hands-on massage feels really good to me, whether I'm the giver or receiver. I can think more clearly if I can sit down with a few minutes and a good, hot cup of tea. I don't wear a watch. My friend Bekki laughs at me because I refer to Lowe's as "the hardware store". I prefer getting a cookbook off the shelf versus opening the Betty Crocker app Brooks put on (and I deleted off) my iPhone. I still send thank-you notes via snail mail (Lizzie, if you're reading this, "snail mail" is a modern term referring to the paper-and-envelope messages that US Mail couriers hand deliver to your house. For more info, refer to the Wikipedia app on your phone).<br />
<br />
The upside is that she showed me how to install a playlist on my blog here. So far I only have a few songs and I'll have to figure out how to place it in the sidebar where you can actually see it (it's down at the bottom for now so start scrolling). But, hey, it's a place to start.eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-20853383545359971542011-04-24T19:14:00.000-07:002011-04-24T19:19:19.611-07:00Easter TidingsI called Matty yesterday to see if he wanted to attend an Easter mass with me today. Every year I say I'm going to go to experience what it's like but I never do. Matt is not religious at all but I thought he might be up for it. He was so we went.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRfTXT_BIW6r4er2ii84ITjOjL5O0b9BYm30FfjCfbl2iMWPSSONs0n8AmVvRXnPZyJl08gL4LxUjzLuWEpf1O0wojWRG_-6NQB3ZtLYNf6oYG5XjdrFJ61mvbQygVl7oL1lUJAV1FH7M/s1600/madelaine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRfTXT_BIW6r4er2ii84ITjOjL5O0b9BYm30FfjCfbl2iMWPSSONs0n8AmVvRXnPZyJl08gL4LxUjzLuWEpf1O0wojWRG_-6NQB3ZtLYNf6oYG5XjdrFJ61mvbQygVl7oL1lUJAV1FH7M/s320/madelaine.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
He found an early morning service at the Cathedral of the Madeleine in down town Salt Lake we could attend. Thinking it might be crowded, we got there early and were surprised to get good parking and seating. I warned him on the way there that I woke up with a sticky eye and so not to be surprised if I kept my distance.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zrO_eDAqg1kRqhLgmBGKIzM7ssnGTGw9AK0Z2z7M281K4QjiY21iotdqFAof8hnp1yWLMGUqQiK1Gc1ZIFRoc0zA4JmPfk2UESxxJKE-fPfhbpBlxL0dhwtBIgEmpXa3tWbzVkFTRA4/s1600/matty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zrO_eDAqg1kRqhLgmBGKIzM7ssnGTGw9AK0Z2z7M281K4QjiY21iotdqFAof8hnp1yWLMGUqQiK1Gc1ZIFRoc0zA4JmPfk2UESxxJKE-fPfhbpBlxL0dhwtBIgEmpXa3tWbzVkFTRA4/s320/matty.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
A woman on the way in offered to take our picture. "I'm doing the rounds of Easter worship this morning," she said frankly. "I'm Unitarian by faith but I know Deacon Dodge here very well. I think you will enjoy the service."<br />
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Regarding the building itself, I learned that the exterior has a Roman style but is Gothic on the inside. Construction began in 1900, was completed nine years later and cost around $344,000 to build. The frescoes, windows, statues, font - everything - was absolutely stunning. This wasn't he first time I had ever been inside but it was the first time I had sat through a service. When I was a child, we lived within walking distance from the Mission San Jose de Guadalupe. I was raised a Mormon but, even so, there was so much Catholic influence in the history and culture of where I grew up that going into a Catholic church stirs up some nostalgia. Today was no exception.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52R7NG8ad6-kL7kcrkz-TQZVP3Qmz5llWSEui_MLz-qQT97xH1jSDczmTuOq6RYPv9xfVVrqkBJYz97y7A2_m_qs4t7WThJd_bDqnfrVHsJFsIxxNU6iSnm2lanQB8MgkznR_DTAyyqA/s1600/apex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52R7NG8ad6-kL7kcrkz-TQZVP3Qmz5llWSEui_MLz-qQT97xH1jSDczmTuOq6RYPv9xfVVrqkBJYz97y7A2_m_qs4t7WThJd_bDqnfrVHsJFsIxxNU6iSnm2lanQB8MgkznR_DTAyyqA/s320/apex.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I don't resonate with the vibe of the Catholic faith but I have to say that they observe some of the most beautiful traditions. I love the way the priest swings the censer that diffuses smoke into the air (the smell is incense-like and somewhat comforting), the sung portions of mass are haunting - especially the way the sound echoes up to the high ceilings, I like how the stained-glass windows tell stories from the Bible, and the organ accompaniment is concert-hall-worthy. I observed the devotion and conviction in members of the congregation. Most of all I liked being able to absorb new things about Easter simply by hearing it in someone else's language.<br />
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On our way out, I asked Matt what he thought of the service. Referring to the part where you turn to your neighbor, shake hands and wish them peace, he said, "My favorite part was when you gave pink eye to everyone around us."<br />
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Happy Easter.eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-81537929949274861172011-04-12T08:22:00.000-07:002011-04-12T08:22:20.220-07:00Playing with Food<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY2tfrDlOw3SelFMJKTOIyUGpZEAehwe9YfNgpAgKM6ijY1Af_Wc72UfduhXqun1qn0HHtkCUWjfh3pkoimxjmoc8R9D9tFALPqsABrZPjVCD5c-4ngTABniCV8juPcpuD7g0ZlfE4j-Q/s1600/crab.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/AVvXsEhY2tfrDlOw3SelFMJKTOIyUGpZEAehwe9YfNgpAgKM6ijY1Af_Wc72UfduhXqun1qn0HHtkCUWjfh3pkoimxjmoc8R9D9tFALPqsABrZPjVCD5c-4ngTABniCV8juPcpuD7g0ZlfE4j-Q/s400/crab.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brahm experiments with the culinary arts.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-73759209423954765822011-04-08T20:54:00.000-07:002011-04-08T21:04:33.172-07:00My Boy is Ten<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6NPuAQFs5Vc_DHGIXudVA3bl2YTm0UfqQk9xLcgqD-kkRFF6GjPh61EDG4OL9TG-U8kWMNOqCsBo6XH12T6Y6-5mBD0vBQ5HNLKIgHe-Uvd-_H082PSPK0q-sHiXmgvRFATHWjLYB-T0/s1600/brahm_yo.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6NPuAQFs5Vc_DHGIXudVA3bl2YTm0UfqQk9xLcgqD-kkRFF6GjPh61EDG4OL9TG-U8kWMNOqCsBo6XH12T6Y6-5mBD0vBQ5HNLKIgHe-Uvd-_H082PSPK0q-sHiXmgvRFATHWjLYB-T0/s400/brahm_yo.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Wow. Ten years ago this past Wednesday, Brahm Briggs made his foray into my life. I grabbed some photos from the first few years and posted them here - there's no way to do a compilation of the last decade. There's also probably no way to sum up the ways in which this little human has changed my life.<br />
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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/AVvXsEiETHvU2iyhWACyzaKer46oTSsQCQpqPph3i-5s3bLn90paQOXy5_SAbpnXqYHzwgp0f7qN8B2VLAwpdRmtXz-cdO0EAhuhYpAvds1T5BmLsJtoI7Srm3Q8fC92osrL-8W2l2357gK5RP0/s1600/dishwasher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiETHvU2iyhWACyzaKer46oTSsQCQpqPph3i-5s3bLn90paQOXy5_SAbpnXqYHzwgp0f7qN8B2VLAwpdRmtXz-cdO0EAhuhYpAvds1T5BmLsJtoI7Srm3Q8fC92osrL-8W2l2357gK5RP0/s400/dishwasher.jpg" width="292" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Does anyone even remember our kitchen looking like that?</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/AVvXsEhxclBm5W1YPTn9wqZDdBzBqNDiTj4UagbPgDeVT2Q64z9cAbpAIy_1Xm0Ip7OojBS98fYtHCy2fi4DZXA8XzatV8tgohXj2quw6UX3Ctqk05iuCciMRtFn1Epn-uVl4Fp_xJGzWDjHZUk/s1600/astronaut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxclBm5W1YPTn9wqZDdBzBqNDiTj4UagbPgDeVT2Q64z9cAbpAIy_1Xm0Ip7OojBS98fYtHCy2fi4DZXA8XzatV8tgohXj2quw6UX3Ctqk05iuCciMRtFn1Epn-uVl4Fp_xJGzWDjHZUk/s400/astronaut.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An early sign of his persistent interest in space</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/AVvXsEiDVJTBKTPC2xiY1dBPGmAiG1dv6BP6c5FFDfJzSndlVopstZP65YVqd6ElM9_6fMJ0rEhk2OunGd0aoxfCJv0i8BUOFX4kKo3rN5mvurHUAzWgt_vNo8Iu4a3pmE0SINIk2evx5ykVCAI/s1600/snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDVJTBKTPC2xiY1dBPGmAiG1dv6BP6c5FFDfJzSndlVopstZP65YVqd6ElM9_6fMJ0rEhk2OunGd0aoxfCJv0i8BUOFX4kKo3rN5mvurHUAzWgt_vNo8Iu4a3pmE0SINIk2evx5ykVCAI/s400/snow.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loading snowballs into his beloved dump truck Brooks found at DI</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/AVvXsEgXtyBYZlaCaGVwmAUOCymRNakrP4HeOfKsUjp3Xbs61esKrxLwJNmWR4XIMpuaqWXegHzzARwYrOMcSvVTpBa_RZWrWC_aqme5Vo9iCY1sDVNDCiapGu1-4kNCK8wdDjMxF_SDVZ08AoY/s1600/leaves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXtyBYZlaCaGVwmAUOCymRNakrP4HeOfKsUjp3Xbs61esKrxLwJNmWR4XIMpuaqWXegHzzARwYrOMcSvVTpBa_RZWrWC_aqme5Vo9iCY1sDVNDCiapGu1-4kNCK8wdDjMxF_SDVZ08AoY/s400/leaves.jpg" width="292" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fall leaves at the park across the street</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Few people are prepared for parenthood. I thought I was - I mean my pregnancy with Brahm was a decision (yeah, even though by the time I decided we should start "trying" I was already pregnant and didn't even know it!). The first year was hard - I'm not going to lie. Making the transition from a self-centered life doing things I was good at to a life revolving around a creature that challenged every insecurity was tough. People told me not to blink or I would miss his childhood. My waking hours were much longer now - how could that be true? Well, I won't say it all happened in the blink of an eye - I have so many memories of first steps, first day of school, transition from trike to bike, first loose tooth to now braces - and yet here we are at the end of his fourth grade year. It strikes me that he is more than halfway to graduation from Brinkel University.<br />
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Like most parents, I sometimes I go into his room at night and watch him sleep. It's funny how his face has changed so much since he was a child and yet when he is asleep he has the same aspect of the nine-month-old I used to lay down for a nap: his cheeks go rosy, his eyelids have a pale lavender cast and his lips are full and smooth. Even his face is the round shape it used to be. When I look at him I marvel at the patience in his growing body, at the supply of second-chances for a woman who could use them. I see how he has opened me up to the wisdom of yin, to remembering what a less linear view of the universe is like. I get chances to admit that I don't know the answers but that I am willing to help him find them. Knowing him is learning and respecting the power of sovereignty, it's enjoying the journey more and worrying about the destination less.<br />
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I thank God for the classroom that being Brahm's mom has been.eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-49564280061941099802011-04-03T19:36:00.000-07:002011-04-03T19:36:32.508-07:00In No Particular Order<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Thumbs Up</span></u></b><br />
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1. Survivorman: Les Stroud reality series on Netflix. Man survives in remote areas on the planet with harmonica, multitool and crushed corn chips in pocket.<br />
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2. Lunch with gay boyfriend Matty at new pho restaurant in town. (Double-thumbs up: Dad spots me a twenty - lunch is on him).<br />
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3. Settlers of Catan. Jenny finally concedes to play and likes it!<br />
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4. Monster Truck Rally with Aunt Vicki, Uncle Mark and Cousin Emmett.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpx0PE6IbzEMTWiSc1jw4C3pvbD-0K5vF6KppDxMgh3ODMPkCcbZ4ssn4TP0pqbeEjEExXVCXOvZqW4BeDStPWNZASKZaYcE-Bk_xfK0qtVKy3dU2uZ9-TS4Q45fUAkcOlmZe46lC5k0o/s1600/IMG_1520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpx0PE6IbzEMTWiSc1jw4C3pvbD-0K5vF6KppDxMgh3ODMPkCcbZ4ssn4TP0pqbeEjEExXVCXOvZqW4BeDStPWNZASKZaYcE-Bk_xfK0qtVKy3dU2uZ9-TS4Q45fUAkcOlmZe46lC5k0o/s320/IMG_1520.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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5. Babysitting Nonah and Zuggie.<br />
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6. Oliver: "What I need is a little more Monchichi in my life."<br />
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7. Sister Mindy's new music video: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=URR_4i5gIFU">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=URR_4i5gIFU</a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFXZ3yxygoVaYccED4jMLbMY6l7Jgn80TxB3WTlPYT1506xZKxg2dRH1kkPnYIZxMoap0wn03bOvaiFKtWToVlKsY_l0LFr24c72i4vF8I-fw5Izs4qpRf0qj0Gc-XZF60C1vt1BZfk8k/s1600/snowqueen.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/AVvXsEhFXZ3yxygoVaYccED4jMLbMY6l7Jgn80TxB3WTlPYT1506xZKxg2dRH1kkPnYIZxMoap0wn03bOvaiFKtWToVlKsY_l0LFr24c72i4vF8I-fw5Izs4qpRf0qj0Gc-XZF60C1vt1BZfk8k/s320/snowqueen.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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8. Spring Equinox Party with Elisa, Janelle, Chris, Amy and Peter. Rolling egg fortune game a pagan plus.<br />
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9. Buy Limited Edition Outback from in-laws. <i>Fabu</i> price and (heated) leather seats.<br />
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10. Kung Fu Panda 2, in theaters May 26.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitehY0LysBrlrRNqtkJIBV0iIJ7Vj6s1Gix9F-YUSQctHjmgLU6B7W8xgyrw_Ep3s1pt0AKxgBUnAdtcpd4SQjUS9dFTULIc67kd3Jw0QSzSl753OweVUR6C9EyO45CAJSF_twDYJxXYQ/s1600/kung_fu_panda27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitehY0LysBrlrRNqtkJIBV0iIJ7Vj6s1Gix9F-YUSQctHjmgLU6B7W8xgyrw_Ep3s1pt0AKxgBUnAdtcpd4SQjUS9dFTULIc67kd3Jw0QSzSl753OweVUR6C9EyO45CAJSF_twDYJxXYQ/s320/kung_fu_panda27.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<u><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Thumbs Down</b> </span></u><br />
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1. Pet chicken Ozzie dies. $50 vet bill, prognosis: not good.<br />
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2. Whiplash, boys and I. (Prescribed massage therapy double-thumbs <i>up</i>. Tension headaches, double-thumbs down).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTaPqvA8bbclENhUro6t5TLl2HdgPKo8nx7OIGUwfGcuswrKvsDCKQUmsRO3PzHWiMn2QjvxdJq0d0YA3r7Tqwt9FTvsEtoZN5a2QcPwJbaulswgHFAP73Wp8PqaZQzNWCMJHPPUJcJx0/s1600/IMG_1429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTaPqvA8bbclENhUro6t5TLl2HdgPKo8nx7OIGUwfGcuswrKvsDCKQUmsRO3PzHWiMn2QjvxdJq0d0YA3r7Tqwt9FTvsEtoZN5a2QcPwJbaulswgHFAP73Wp8PqaZQzNWCMJHPPUJcJx0/s320/IMG_1429.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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3. Cabbage farts. Not sayin' who.<br />
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4. Federal Taxes.<br />
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5. Brooks' lost wallet, April Trax pass included. (FYI: $5 reward).<br />
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6. Rough-housing on school bus = three staples in Oliver's melon. (Double-thumbs down: fifty-cent usage fee for photo.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvpfh_Lz87VlhIsQLzGKwL9FWrLPBQrkGE7o1Gsh4Rl7GjAMzmjsTVlO-w07z2FXCIT-noST2ZM8KDk3NFy2egtcXwAe3bC0QAhIClcnZBGhbCKGt1O3q_ESsNybqjGzVJkZLz43yhGTg/s1600/IMG_1512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvpfh_Lz87VlhIsQLzGKwL9FWrLPBQrkGE7o1Gsh4Rl7GjAMzmjsTVlO-w07z2FXCIT-noST2ZM8KDk3NFy2egtcXwAe3bC0QAhIClcnZBGhbCKGt1O3q_ESsNybqjGzVJkZLz43yhGTg/s320/IMG_1512.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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7. Jenny's ambulance trip to hospital ten days after auto accident. More expensive than vet bill but better prognosis.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vv556PvHiAI7VZseuW5zHW2uX4PGulY6kNjkUPAzrFFTzoqriTdDrBrYNtONRSb1AuJR5lCTp9qzf73cgA7qyQJKF9I5iqBrUGgqToihJZN08NP7SuNdSKop3OVw43Qyx15U_d-CbSA/s1600/MRI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vv556PvHiAI7VZseuW5zHW2uX4PGulY6kNjkUPAzrFFTzoqriTdDrBrYNtONRSb1AuJR5lCTp9qzf73cgA7qyQJKF9I5iqBrUGgqToihJZN08NP7SuNdSKop3OVw43Qyx15U_d-CbSA/s320/MRI.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
8. Home domination of pesky houseplant gnats. They're everywhere.<br />
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9. Spotted: budding moustache hairs on Oliver's lip, not of peach-fuzz variety. Parents definitely not ready.<br />
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10. Snow storm today, at least four inches (more downed branches in back yard). Spring will just have to wait.eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-91422204186811181762011-03-01T16:16:00.000-08:002011-03-01T17:40:18.917-08:00Indy and Snow Trooper #1476 Hit Boston<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWdzPh5VqqJfLr037r5oRBXg5b4hO_6Fr8KtFQl3D8hOXla1Ww80_2Go8JjQLfuJroU9nosJfVOLBQk4v5WaZLBzyzunOQYshhvM4c4exhuJHVugplXHMEj_siFQYnZId1vNU_3shaox0/s1600/IMG_2853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWdzPh5VqqJfLr037r5oRBXg5b4hO_6Fr8KtFQl3D8hOXla1Ww80_2Go8JjQLfuJroU9nosJfVOLBQk4v5WaZLBzyzunOQYshhvM4c4exhuJHVugplXHMEj_siFQYnZId1vNU_3shaox0/s640/IMG_2853.JPG" width="478" /></a></div>Brooks found out yesterday at 5:25 pm that he would be in Boston that night on business. He took the red-eye at 11:30 and comes home tomorrow morning.eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-289472917216156585.post-48131655672318763922011-02-22T21:24:00.000-08:002011-02-22T21:26:58.216-08:00Oliver's Quote of the DayOliver jumps off the swivel chair, his face a knot of consternation. Behind him, Ebay glows on the computer monitor.<br />
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OLIVER:<i> "Dad, I keep searching for swords but all I get are REAL swords that cut through bamboo and cost a lot of MONEY!" </i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtyZ-2DiwT8zFBQh5PyJtmUJVLKoSKAEDyNNUZKP6rV3IAsqNsYP5pHR-nXS961SqgUygD80z5rfgnoXJbjBnwQ0qZ3C0QgtCWSm1QazFbl4na9kE_R_LX5U-7TSvTGIPVx0rt6qFugz4/s1600/ninja+swords.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtyZ-2DiwT8zFBQh5PyJtmUJVLKoSKAEDyNNUZKP6rV3IAsqNsYP5pHR-nXS961SqgUygD80z5rfgnoXJbjBnwQ0qZ3C0QgtCWSm1QazFbl4na9kE_R_LX5U-7TSvTGIPVx0rt6qFugz4/s400/ninja+swords.png" width="400" /></a></div>eugie74http://www.blogger.com/profile/11485046563931829315noreply@blogger.com0