tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80111687496821917202024-03-14T04:32:03.860-05:00One Random AngelMusings of a terrestrial being. Divine inspiration incidental.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-71230503812772681612015-09-22T08:29:00.002-05:002015-09-22T08:29:40.305-05:00One Random Angel has moved...Dear Readers,<br />
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If you've been following this page, thank you so much! And I wanted to let you know that I will no longer be posting new material here. I have a new website with tabs! Check it out... <a href="http://www.onerandomangel.com/" target="_blank">Click here to go to new website. </a><br />
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Thank you,<br />
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AngelAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-77098218997045517312015-09-13T08:43:00.001-05:002015-09-13T08:55:45.976-05:00Be still and blow bubbles...<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's an adage I've always liked:</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't just do something, stand there.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Stand in the surf, or sit on a rock, or lay your</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">body across the earthy loam…and be quiet.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Very quiet.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Do you hear it? That still small voice, the</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">echo of your soul, reverberating with the call</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">to your own true self to emerge...</span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> -Reverend Jan Taddeo</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Don't just do something, stand there. What profound advice. In the midst of all our busy lives, it's sometimes difficult to just be. To be present to the miracles around us and hear our own heart beat...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So today I'd like to share with you the secret magic of bubbles...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I own <a href="http://www.thelittlegym.com/huntsvilleal/pages/default.aspx" target="_blank">The Little Gym of Huntsville</a> where I teach <a href="http://www.thelittlegym.com/huntsvilleal/pages/Blog.aspx?year=2015&month=January&title=Parent%20Child%20Classes%20at%20The%20Little%20Gym%20of%20Huntsville" target="_blank">Parent/Child classes</a>. In every class, we have bubble time. <b>And bubble time is magical</b>. Every single day in every single class. You blow bubbles, and toddlers and babies stop everything else they are doing and they watch the bubbles. Every time. And if a child is crying before I start blowing the bubbles, the tears stop almost immediately when the bubbles start. And they are present. Present in that magical moment. And I assure you they are not preoccupied that they were hungry or wet or anything else possibly minutes before. Nor are they worried that maybe later they will be hungry or wet. They just enjoy the bubbles.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Maybe sometimes we need to slow down and enjoy some metaphorical bubbles. Or maybe literal ones. Accept an invitation to enjoy a moment where we are not preoccupied with past grievances or worried about future fears. Where we can just be present to the things floating right in front of us.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKE1z-7tMBxG6pbG7ivmqbqcbvdZ9-GB5XDK0Pj_3QNxpThljcqS-X6L8yLyqxc2wn37XgaxisHMob_1lhdw9y4o-HTE4pd4VuOaVdzAai0o6aIv_3W5uM8fNlrJVnHIxesYM7mrZwLik/s1600/11130119_909790152376433_2065337378596451013_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKE1z-7tMBxG6pbG7ivmqbqcbvdZ9-GB5XDK0Pj_3QNxpThljcqS-X6L8yLyqxc2wn37XgaxisHMob_1lhdw9y4o-HTE4pd4VuOaVdzAai0o6aIv_3W5uM8fNlrJVnHIxesYM7mrZwLik/s320/11130119_909790152376433_2065337378596451013_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Slowing down enough to be present to these metaphorical bubbles can be hard. I know. Because in the words of Emily Dickinson, </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I dwell in possibility</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. I seek diversity for the sake of diversity. I have a need to learn new things. This leads me to accept a lot of invitations. Which leads me into a lot of busyness sometimes. I would imagine I'm not alone in this tendency in today's busy world... </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But to serve the world, we sometimes need to slow down and not be distracted by so much of it. We need to focus on smaller things in front of us and be present in a way that allows us to go within our selves to hear that still small voice of our true self. I suggest starting with blowing bubbles. As you watch them float on by, let go of all other thoughts, be still, and listen to your own heart... So advises this one random angel... </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-28558793504311615362015-07-28T06:15:00.002-05:002015-07-28T14:22:19.336-05:00Finding your voice- Or Lessons I've Learned from Isabella <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been working with children since I was old enough to babysit. Been teaching children in some capacity for the last 23 years. So I don't want to say I've seen it all, but I will say not much surprises me. And I generally think I'm pretty good at reading kids and meeting them where they are and bonding with them from there. Or at least I thought that until this past year when a creative, loud, happy child named Isabella surprised me and taught me a new lesson that will help me now to be a better teacher- and maybe even a better person.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me back up- when I first began teaching Isabella, then 2 years old, about a year ago in one of my <a href="http://www.thelittlegym.com/huntsvilleal/pages/Blog.aspx?year=2015&month=January&title=Parent%20Child%20Classes%20at%20The%20Little%20Gym%20of%20Huntsville" target="_blank">parent/child gymnastic classes</a>, I did not see her at all as creative, loud, or happy. In fact, I saw her as timid, introverted and nervous. She hid most of the class behind her dad's legs. And her kind, supportive parents, along with her kind, well-meaning teacher would encourage her to try skills and push her to participate. But if I'm honest, she didn't really ever seem to enjoy the class in those days. But I thought she needed time- time to get to know me, time to be comfortable in the environment, and time to just watch and observe before doing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then we started a new Kindermusik <a href="http://www.thelittlegym.com/HuntsvilleAL/Pages/kids-music.aspx" target="_blank">program</a> at my gym this past January. And Isabella and her mom joined my very first class. I could see the first day that Isabella was more comfortable. From day one she participated fully in the class. Without any pushing or encouraging. And as the weeks went on, Isabella became louder and louder in her participation. In a fantastic way! She modeled for the other kids all the imaginative play involved in that program. She was the first to vocalize and sing along. She really transformed into a leader before my very eyes. One week early on we were dancing with scarves to classical music- Isabella stood off to the side and sang "Let It Go" as loudly as she could over the music. It was glorious. And not the behavior of a timid, introverted child.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And as amazing as watching her come out of her shell in music class was, here is the part that really blew me away- as soon as she found her voice in the music class, the way she participated in the gym class also changed! She stepped out from behind her dad's legs and into the center of the circle. And she met me in the gym class with the same imaginative spirit that we used in music class. In our opening circle for example, instead of burying her head in her dad's chest when I'd ask her for her name, she began to give me a different name each week for what I should call her and she'd pretend to be that person (usually a princess). And one day during our exploration time, she said to me, "I'm Ms Angel and you are Isabella- you follow me." And she led me around equipment that a few months earlier I couldn't even get her to go near.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And here is the lesson I've learned- Isabella didn't need more time or understanding from me. She needed a change in environment. She needed to find her voice where she felt confident. And where the activities spoke to her and her strengths. She found those things in music class. And then she owned her new voice and used it to overcome whatever fears she had in the gym. Because now she tries skills. Now she participates fully. She is sometimes still nervous when trying new physical skills, but now instead of hiding and refusing to try, she just tells you that she is nervous as she is trying it anyway. And she is a joy to teach in both programs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So my hope for all of us is that we can find a change in environment when we need it. Find a place where we feel confident. One that speaks to our strengths and draws out the very best in us. One where we can sing "Let It Go" loudly even when entirely different music is playing...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">************</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Angel Hundley is an instructor at and owner of <a href="http://www.thelittlegym.com/HuntsvilleAL/Pages/default.aspx" target="_blank">The Little Gym</a> franchise in Huntsville, AL. The gym has weekly classes for 0-12 year olds in gymnastics, parent/child, dance, sports as well as music and movement. For more stories, insights and cute baby pictures follow the gym on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TLGHSV" target="_blank">Facebook</a>.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-54678349027362643742015-07-24T07:46:00.000-05:002015-07-24T09:05:45.546-05:00Being Real with Specific Positive Feedback<style>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Today
we’re having a staff meeting at my <a href="http://www.thelittlegym.com/HuntsvilleAL/Pages/default.aspx" target="_blank">The Little Gym franchise location</a>. In
preparation, I asked all my staff to read a blog post on our gym website I
wrote in back in 2011. I wanted to remind them of my core philosophy about
teaching children before our new season starts in a week. Because I think it’s
a good one. So I decided to share it with you all too…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Picture this scene- Child attempts forward
roll: child climbs onto cheese mat, stands up straight with hands held high in
the air, then drops to his knees, throws his shoulder down and sort of falls
over himself and off the side of the mat. Resembles more of a wrestling move in
a slapstick comedy than a gymnastics stunt. Cut to the instructor who says,
“Good Job!” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Really?!?
Good job? To that instructor I want to say, what was good about that?!? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">There
is an increasing amount of criticism these days for non-competitive sports
leagues and the like where they don’t keep score and everyone receives a
participation trophy. People worried that these practices don’t prepare kids
for real life. Here’s what I think. Kids don’t need competition at a young age
to prepare them for anything. But they do need, and deserve, meaningful, honest
feedback. Specific feedback that is meant to highlight the behaviors that
should be repeated. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">At
The Little Gym we call this SPF, specific positive feedback, and it is what we
train our instructors to use when teaching. So if we go back to our scene
above, the instructor could have said, “The way you stood up straight and held
your hands high in the air was a perfect start. Let’s try it again now and this
time…” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">That
is much more meaningful and instructive than just saying good job. And there is
always something that can be said. Even if the whole skill looked a mess.
Sometimes the SPF is simply, “I LOVED the enthusiasm you brought to that
attempt!” If a child leaves feeling good about being enthusiastic and keeps
that up, great! Better than leaving with a false sense of confidence for being
told they did a great forward roll if they didn’t. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And
the practice can certainly be used outside of the gym as well. I’m not saying
using SPF is easy. You actually have to PAY ATTENTION closely enough to
behaviors to be specific. Much easier to multi-task while watching our kids and
look up occasionally and offer a “good job” as encouragement. But I challenge
you to see the results if you begin to be more specific in your praise. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And
as for the soccer league that doesn’t keep score and yet gives all players a
trophy, I think that does kind of send the wrong message. At least as far as a
child who is an incredible soccer player and yet gets the same reward and
recognition as a child who barely knows a game is going on most of the time.
But I do believe every child on the team deserves a reward and recognition. But
a reward specific to an actual skill each child possesses and exhibited during
the season. How much more powerful and meaningful would that trophy be then?
And honestly, the trophies could all look exactly the same. Just be presented
for different reasons. Maybe a child gets a trophy for being super fast. No one
has to point out he ran so fast he overtook the ball and never stopped. Might
not have kicked a ball once, but he ran like the wind! So maybe when he is old
enough for competitive sports, he remembers his trophy for being fast and
chooses track. And maybe he wins State. And then the Olympics. Instead of
thinking he had a soccer trophy, so he must be good at soccer, and therefore
joins a soccer team and is just mediocre…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">So
let’s make kids feel like winners by pointing out actual winning skills in them
regardless of the score. And oh, by the way, I love the way you read all the
way to the end of my blog…</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3faXrJC2q2yEyU1VXgwSb64_vs9RxYtdjIgxerd3V-KU9EiwDdEI0V34B0n4WQh84qBtUM9U87VFuyV2-I0frBuJNV0DvhOLtvrQPZzulHvif8ryX3HsB-h-VtEw6bnpU3NlPpTMU5OA/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3faXrJC2q2yEyU1VXgwSb64_vs9RxYtdjIgxerd3V-KU9EiwDdEI0V34B0n4WQh84qBtUM9U87VFuyV2-I0frBuJNV0DvhOLtvrQPZzulHvif8ryX3HsB-h-VtEw6bnpU3NlPpTMU5OA/s320/photo.JPG" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My somewhat awkward, creative, life loving child. She may not grow up to be a professional dancer, but she will grow up to be remarkable. </td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-45377634314203706312015-07-19T07:01:00.001-05:002015-07-19T07:23:06.652-05:00You are not that special...<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've learned an important lesson this week. I am not <i>that</i> special. And even as a child, I wasn't <i>that </i>special either.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Teaching <a href="http://www.thelittlegym.com/huntsvilleal/pages/Blog.aspx?year=2015&month=January&title=Parent%20Child%20Classes%20at%20The%20Little%20Gym%20of%20Huntsville" target="_blank">Parent/Child classes</a> for the last 8 years, the question I am most often asked by parents is some variation of "is it normal...?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Is it ok... Do you think I should be worried about... My child does___, do other children do that?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And not once has a parent been hoping I would say, "Wow! That is unique! I've never seen that before!" That would not be a comforting answer to a parent trying to figure out if their kid is ok.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As parents, we can all see the wonderfully unique gifts our children have. We don't need reassurances that our children are special. But sometimes, we do need reassurances that they are not. We want to hear that our children our normal- that the behavior is not that strange...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And you know what? Without fail in the hundreds and hundreds of times I've had a variation of this conversation with a parent, I've always been able to reassure them that yes, their child is ok. Sometimes I have to say honestly that the behavior is not typical. But I've never had to say the behavior was unheard of... and that is all the parent needs to hear to feel less scared. Another child has gone through this. Another parent has dealt with this too. They are not that special.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I would wager that no one in the history of parenting has ever worried a child is too normal. No one stresses when a child hits all the developmental milestones on time and falls in the 50% on growth charts. We take comfort in our children being like everyone else even as we celebrate and encourage them to be different.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As grown-ups though there are no charts to gauge our averageness by and tell us where we fall compared to everyone else. We don't have casual conversations where we can ask others if our behaviors, thoughts or feelings are normal. And so we start to imagine that we must be the only person on the planet who feels or acts the way we do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But this week I've heard from a quite a few people in response to my openness on this blog about issues I've dealt with, and I've learned another person has felt what I have. A lot of other persons actually. And I am less scared for hearing it. I am not that special. And you dear reader, you are not that special either...</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-75621127701273753672015-07-12T09:33:00.001-05:002015-07-13T18:17:55.526-05:00The gift of authenticty...<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A friend told me recently she has never been happy in her whole life. And while that might sound heartbreaking, it was honestly one of the most beautiful, hopeful interactions I've had in a long while. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We were not in a bar commiserating as old friends. In fact, we're barely more than acquaintances. And yet we found ourselves in the middle of a crowded lobby talking authentically about our real selves. The beautiful part. And she was sharing not out of despondency or to complain; she was sharing about taking control of her future by owning her past story. The hopeful part. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's all too rare in life to have genuine, life affirming interactions with good friends. Not because we don't care about one another, but because life is moving fast. And we're all busy trying to be so many things to so many people in so many settings. So experiencing moments when all pretense is gone, and core emotional truths are open and vulnerable is a gift. And so to have one with a casual friend on a random day in the middle of a crowded room was an especially unexpected gift. One that I will now treasure. And one that reminds me to be open and hopeful for more of these interactions- not guarded and cynical of sharing my true self for fear of being real. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And this casual friend is on a journey of being real. One that I find attractive. In fact, since I own a small business, I sort of have a rule not to "friend" my customers or staff on Facebook. If they friend me, of course I accept, and I'm genuinely happy to do so, but I've always felt that given our real world relationship, I don't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable like they have to be my friend and not just my customer or employee. (Although I do genuinely like and think of all my customers and staff as friends.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Anyway, this woman on her journey of understanding her self and becoming real was so compelling to me even before this recent conversation, that I broke my own rule and requested to be friends with her almost a year ago. Actually what I just realized when I checked when we became friends, was that I reached out to her that way exactly the month I went to a training about leadership being a spiritual practice. The month I learned that
<span style="line-height: 150%;">doing the hard
work examining self and working through the emotional barriers we all have is necessary to be more fully present to the people we serve. And the month I wrote my blog about my journey to <a href="http://onerandomangel.blogspot.com/2014/08/if-you-asked-someone-to-describe-me-i.html" target="_blank">becoming whole</a>. Which is a revelation to me. In my mind, I had thought I had only been Facebook Friends with her for a few months. But it makes sense now that of course that was when I reached out to know her more. </span></span></span><style>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">Because you see, until that recent conversation, I did not know any specifics of her journey. But through interacting with her on a regular basis over the last 7 years, I could see/can see that she is becoming whole too. I could see that she was being genuine and authentic, or trying to be. And it made her beautiful and compelling. And then once we were friends on Facebook, I found that she says the most outrageous and honest things- most of the time with profanity involved. And it is like a breath of fresh air whenever I read her posts. Really profane fresh air... </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And so I write this to affirm for her that I see her beauty and am hopeful that she will one day find happiness. And I write this to remind all of us- that having the courage to be authentic, and sharing part of our real selves with casual friends on random days in the middle of crowded rooms can be life affirming in the most beautiful, hopeful way... </span></span></span></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-63223103776191334152015-06-28T15:41:00.000-05:002015-06-28T16:05:26.572-05:00Saving and savoring the world one camp week at a time... <style>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">*This is an excerpt from a
talk I gave on revelry. I wrote it to be read aloud. So if you
know me, please try to “hear” my voice and put the proper inflection and tone
in as you read. If you don’t know me- WOW! Thanks for finding and reading this
random blog! Please try to “hear” it in any voice you like best! </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"></span></span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>…We cannot forget to revel in the midst of our work- because
there is always work to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
needn’t wait to have “vacations” or ‘nights off” to revel and be joyful. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">EB White in a </span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 19.5pt;">New York Times interview in
1969 said, </span><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If
it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. <b>E</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 19.5pt;"><b>very morning I awake torn
between a desire to save the world and an inclination to savor it. This makes
it hard to plan the day. </b>But if we forget to savor the world, what possible
reason do we have for saving it? In a way, the savoring must come first.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And if not first, then
simultaneously. Maybe the trick is to learn to do both at once- save and savor.
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>My 11 year old and her friend went to camp last week. They had a fantastic time,
and I know they had experiences and learned things that will stay with them for
a lifetime. And as I looked at the young camp staff in charge of their care, I
was reminded of the best 3 summers of my life- when I worked at a Camp Otterbein in Ohio. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Camp life
is a magical place where for 10 weeks the rest of the world fades away. And I’m
going to let you in on a little secret now. Something I knew to be true at the
camp I worked, and after spending a little time looking at camp counselors'
blogs this week, I’m now <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>pretty
certain it’s a universal secret among camp staffs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Here it
is: The primary goal of the entire staff is to have a good time. Not make sure
the kids have a good time. I mean our primary goal was to make sure WE had a
good time. The primary goal. Sure we cared about the kids, sure we wanted them
to be safe and have a good time, sure we wanted them to learn things, but I
promise you our number one focus was on having fun ourselves with the other
camp counselors. We lived for the 24 hours every week when the camp was free of
the campers and it became our personal playground. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">When the
campers were there, they were at best an audience for us and at worst a prop. It
was like camp life was some magical place where the goal really was to revel in
life. And it had a sort of fake it till you make it atmosphere. For example if
it rained, we didn't want unhappy campers (because that would make us unhappy)
so we acted like the rain was awesome, and so it was. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Before I
worked at Camp Otterbein, I attended that camp every summer for 8 years. As a
camper my life was changed, and I learned so many things that have stayed with
me to this day. However, having worked on staff later with two of my favorite
counselors, I can assure you changing my life was not their primary concern. Or
even a main concern. And that’s ok. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"> <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/AVvXsEgAoz4bqOxJiGU7Xj1-Mv6RQuBNAJ_EfrDcHgagifnIGdtDAsWO_9DEhh2b1D5WS0ifWLRDNGzmvmk4YSp9vo8R-3pR_ZO8LtStfwB5dnZB3q714a7asNqhP-vJJpsZx-uZqyjdHUj2RRk/s1600/FullSizeRender-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAoz4bqOxJiGU7Xj1-Mv6RQuBNAJ_EfrDcHgagifnIGdtDAsWO_9DEhh2b1D5WS0ifWLRDNGzmvmk4YSp9vo8R-3pR_ZO8LtStfwB5dnZB3q714a7asNqhP-vJJpsZx-uZqyjdHUj2RRk/s320/FullSizeRender-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As 16-year-old camper. Me on bottom left. Favorite counselor in middle top row. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiakKHXV7WQJjMVHNowTiq4cETmFFKbby4AV2IFMS4ZNUhlC0nR6wn1J-grbY9HbxN7yJVLB4kMLaerOVtln_TPSacC7tgq0JUk47Suk4_bwwTxO6eWciklO9_7QiSJrNpKzLvysI-wDxw/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiakKHXV7WQJjMVHNowTiq4cETmFFKbby4AV2IFMS4ZNUhlC0nR6wn1J-grbY9HbxN7yJVLB4kMLaerOVtln_TPSacC7tgq0JUk47Suk4_bwwTxO6eWciklO9_7QiSJrNpKzLvysI-wDxw/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On staff together few years later. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">As
counselors, our goal was not to change young lives, although I am sure we did,
because we were in a position to do so. We were working in a place where we had
the opportunity to do good work, with specific confines to operate in, and so
we did good work and had the best times of our lives. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I’m sure
if you gathered any like-minded group of 18-24 year olds to work together 24/7,
one of their primary goals would be to have a great time. If they are gathered
together to work on selling time-shares, that good time will manifest
differently than it will in a church camp setting. My point is we didn’t have
to stress about or worry if we were making a difference in the world. Our
choice to work there already put us in a place to make a difference. So we just
kicked back and enjoyed every minute of it. We saved and we savored.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">I used to
look back with awe at my time at camp. I thought I loved it so much because we
were all young and energetic with a great job living in an amazing place. And
that’s all part of it. But when I play with my kids for fun and not out of
duty, then I touch on that feeling again. So maybe it wasn't about who we were
then or where we were, but what we expected from life and our jobs in those
moments in that time. Maybe it was so magical just because our primary goal was
simply to revel in life and to enjoy the people around us. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Now one
important reason having fun could be our main goal was that we didn’t have to
worry about bills, food, shelter, or anything really from the outside world.
Like I said, the outside world melted away. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .1pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And so I
know as adults in the real world, we can’t just forget all our responsibilities
and become self-serving people only concerned with having a good time. At least
not completely. But I do think sometimes we could move the goal of having
fun, of participating in revelry, even as we work, up to the top of our list
and see what happens. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">...Where could you practice
saving and savoring? Here is my prayer for you- may you enjoy the dish you
brought to the potluck you planned, may you feel awe at a work day as you dig
in the dirt and notice the ground below you, may you laugh uncontrollably
during the class you lead, may you feel the full warmth of community as you
march for justice, may you be filled up with the joy of doing good work in a
committee meeting, may you get chills at how beautiful the music is coming from
the choir you are singing with, may you revel in the parties you plan and help
with- the fundraisers and the holidays, and may you always find a way to step
back from the work of saving the world as you are doing it just long enough to
savor the world around you. May you replenish your spirit with revelry.
Everyday. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-15950524343225578162015-05-31T21:46:00.000-05:002015-06-01T06:01:34.729-05:00Public Confession Time Old people scare me. Just wanted to get that out into the universe. I know I'm usually all "love and tolerance" on here, and that's partly why I've felt called to confess. Time to stand at the alter of the internet and admit my shortcomings and ask forgiveness...<br />
<br />
Crying babies, difficult kids, unruly teenagers, non-English speaking students, driver's ed students- bring 'em on. I've worked with each of those populations with poise and near infinite patience. But stick me in a room with one old person trying to have a conversation with me, and watch me sweat. Look at my choice of words even, "trying to have a conversation with me." What kind of characterization is that?!? Clearly I have a problem. But I'm working on it. You know, admitting you have a problem is the first step.<br />
<br />
The upcoming presidential campaign has really brought my prejudice out in full force. It doesn't matter how much I agree with a certain candidate's politics, if they are near 70, or worse over 70, all I can think is how can we let someone that old run the country?!? I know. I should hang my head in shame. It's almost as bad as judging someone for their gender or race. Almost. I mean, my fear is a little justified, right? Wait, no. Breathing deep. Starting over...<br />
<br />
So the <a href="http://www.netflix.com/WiMovie/80017537" target="_blank">Netflix series Grace and Frankie</a> has been good for me. Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda play single women in their 70's who are both cooler and living life more fully than I was in college. I cannot tell you how mind-boggling that is to me. And if this show is to be believed, there is little difference between my longings and motivations and theirs! Like they are regular people, just in their 70's! And I have no reason to doubt the authenticity of a Netflix show. House of Cards and Orange is the New Black are pretty much like documentaries...<br />
<br />
Back in my real-life world, I can see the writing on the wall too. I'm getting older. In fact, as I age, (now 41) my social circles are aging too. Which honestly keeps
taking me by surprise. I now have friends in their 50s and 60s (see
how progressive I am!) and they seem ok... so I've been trying to open
my mind to the possibility that old people are regular people too. People who I do not need to fear... unless they control the nukes. I stand by that worry. Baby steps... <br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-14329308352932713002015-05-28T16:46:00.003-05:002015-05-28T20:35:31.029-05:00Life lessons learned from writer AJ Jacobs Next week I'm going to the <a href="http://globalfamilyreunion.com/" target="_blank">Global Family Reunion </a>where I'll meet AJ Jacobs. So before he <i>totally </i>seems like a real person to me, I'd like to share what I've learned from the writer <a href="http://ajjacobs.com/" target="_blank">AJ Jacobs</a>.<br />
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A.J. is a journalist and author of four <i>New York Times</i> bestsellers. All of them fantastic. If you read them you will laugh and learn lots about lots of interesting things. But those aren't things I want to tell you about now. Now I want to be a little more big picture. Share life lessons I've learned from AJ that we could all use.<br />
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<h3>
<b>1. Keep your message consistent, but know your audience</b></h3>
The first time I read an article AJ had written for Esquire, I was a little taken aback. To that point I had only read his books. Books that read like we were in conversation. So I clicked on an Esquire article expecting the same feeling that he was writing to me. Instead, it seemed like he was writing to a man! And a somewhat crass man at that. Even referenced masturbation in the article. So I sat there staring at the screen in confusion for a few seconds, and then it hit me. He <i>was</i> writing to a man. Because Esquire is a magazine for men. But I kept reading. And I shook off my prudish tendencies for a few minutes, and I let myself laugh and even learn a little. Because at the heart of what he was saying, was still the same heart in all of his other work. His message was the same, he had just written it for a different audience. <br />
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Since then I've read and listened to countless pieces he's done on the Global Family Reunion for various and diverse press outlets. And guess what? His message is consistently the same. But the examples he gives, the tone he takes, the stars he name-drops, those change almost every time.<br />
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And while I am impressed with his mastery at writing for different audiences, I'm even more impressed that his message always stays the same. He does not change his core to please others. He changes his communication style to reach others. And it works. Did I mention the four best sellers? <br />
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<u>Life lesson- Don't change who you are to fit in somewhere, but consider changing how you communicate who you are. Keep your message consistent, but know your audience. </u><br />
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<b>2. Pick everyone for your team </b></h3>
I've never been in an elementary gym class with AJ, but I imagine the scene this way- when asked to be the team captain, AJ picks every one who has their hand raised until the whole class is one big team.<br />
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AJ practices radical inclusiveness. When he is writing on a topic, he interviews someone from just about every side imaginable. He is consistent in representing what he believes, but he is respectful and fair in his treatment of what others believe. He finds common ground in normally contentious topics like religion, and he builds on it. And this approach gives a depth to his projects, and therefore his writing, that is rare. His work is full of fresh perspectives. Most of them not his. Reading about his projects, it seemed he would accept help or advice from seemingly anyone who would give it.<br />
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And now I know that to be true. Last summer I emailed him a suggestion for his new project, the Global Family Reunion. Instead of being skeptical of me as a potential stalker fan from Alabama, or vetting me in anyway, he said-great idea- would you like to help? Short time later I'm on the <a href="http://globalfamilyreunion.com/who-we-are/" target="_blank">Who We Are</a> tab on the Global Family Reunion website. I joined his team. As have countless other volunteers helping with this effort all around the world in large and small ways. And he cheers for all of us. Which only makes us want to help him more...<br />
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<u>Life lesson- Instead of trying to build the best team, build one team. Pick everyone. </u><br />
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<h3>
Practice Delusional Optimism </h3>
AJ thinks big. And then he commits. Throws himself into things. Totally. I've decided that is not a life lesson I want to learn- the throwing oneself into things part I mean. Because he does some crazy stuff for his writing. I'd rather just read about his adventures than throw myself into crazy diets or lifestyles. But I do admire his belief that he can accomplish whatever goal he sets out to accomplish. And I do love the loftiness in his ideas about the world.<br />
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In recent <a href="http://www.airstream.com/the-world-as-one-big-family/" target="_blank">press</a>, AJ described what keeps him going as "delusional optimism." And his current vision as an "admittedly quixotic dream." And although I don't remember him using those terms exactly to describe his past projects, the same spirit was present in them as well. That's what made them great. And successful. And that's why people raise their hands to join his team. It's like when people want to drink what the happy drunk is having. You can't listen to AJ and not want to share in his delusions...<br />
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<u>Life Lesson: Dwell in possibility. Don't let perfectly reasonable fears stop you from attaining greatness. Practice delusional optimism. </u><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-41399890551628664112015-04-12T19:59:00.001-05:002015-08-02T19:27:07.562-05:00I am an ally because...<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I heard an inspiring talk today by Brett Jones author of <a href="http://brettjones.net/" target="_blank">Pride: The Story of the First Openly Gay Navy SEAL. </a>Brett instructed as all to take the high road in moving equality issues forward. He was open, authentic and giving in his sharing of his story. When his eyes filled with tears as he recounted his parents kicking him out of the house as a teen for being gay, we felt his pain. And it would have hardly been surprising to hear an angry, bitter response to that and to his outing while in the Navy. But that was not his tone. Instead, he modeled compassion and integrity. He called for all of us to be our best selves in response to injustice. He reminded us progress is made by good people making tough decisions and taking difficult action. </span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't actually just hear the talk; I helped to organize it. Because I am proud to say that I am an ally working toward equality in my sweet home Alabama. Because the LGBTQ cause is my cause. It is my cause not because I share a sexual orientation, but because I share a human orientation. Their story is my story. It is one of vulnerability and longing for acceptance. It is one of trying to find yourself and learning to be comfortable with who you are. It is often a story about friendship and acceptance. It is also sometimes a story about loneliness and isolation. And it is all too often a painful story to tell.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so I write this to thank Brett for his willingness to so publicly share his story. And to say to anyone who might not yet feel comfortable telling theirs, we are here to listen if you ever need to tell it. And to anyone who might think this is not their story, not their cause, I encourage you to listen again. To hear the truths and vulnerabilities common to us all. To our human orientation.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last year I wrote a <a href="http://onerandomangel.blogspot.com/2014/08/if-you-asked-someone-to-describe-me-i.html" target="_blank">post</a> about a secret I had hid most of my life. A secret that really no one but me probably even thought needed to be hid. In the last year since writing that post and sharing it publicly, I have changed. I feel more authentic and comfortable in my own skin. I worry less what people think. I feel more whole. And again, my secret in no way rose to the level of feeling the need to hide a core aspect of my being for fear of being hurt or discriminated against. But whenever I hear a coming out story, or a story of someone who felt forced to hide part of themselves, I understand. I empathize. I feel connected. And so I choose to be their ally. And I believe when we are being our best selves, we can listen to others' stories with an open heart to hear the ways our stories our the same. To see that we are not so different after all.</span><br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDu1s0iWX8qQTs890sycj_wMhDqZTD39biV7psH8c4BVTUlSsx7bF8qp6qmmP1znQX38L3rj_5PlhD3lLj2xuov0SuspjRbAWm9qXeGDexpSOH0TQQXExduyHSJLZrtkUjABNXZ-DSyI/s1600/withbrett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDu1s0iWX8qQTs890sycj_wMhDqZTD39biV7psH8c4BVTUlSsx7bF8qp6qmmP1znQX38L3rj_5PlhD3lLj2xuov0SuspjRbAWm9qXeGDexpSOH0TQQXExduyHSJLZrtkUjABNXZ-DSyI/s1600/withbrett.jpg" width="240"></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">with <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BrettJonesAuthor?fref=ts" target="_blank">Brett Jones</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">True confession, I am not just an ally because I empathize with LGBTQ stories. I am also an ally for more selfish reasons. I have been blessed by intelligent, funny, caring, giving people in my life who happen to also be gay. My life, and the lives of my children, would be greatly diminished if I limited my friendships and interactions to people with whom I share a sexual orientation. Not because these friends have exposed me to what it's like to be LGBTQ- but because these friends have taught me so much about so many things. My goal is to be a well-rounded human being, so I try to keep my circles wide. And each person who crosses in brings something new. And I am the richer for it. And today I was richer for hearing a former Navy SEAL tell his story of love. Thank you Brett. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-79300334652794938682015-03-06T09:33:00.002-06:002015-03-06T09:33:15.052-06:00Planting apple trees<span style="font-size: large;">I live in Alabama. Two days ago it was 70 degrees outside. Yesterday the whole town was shut down due to an ice storm. True story. So this got me thinking about the end of the world. Obviously. Which reminded me of a quote I posted on my facebook page on MLK day: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">"Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces I would still plant my apple tree.” -Martin Luther King Jr</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I like this sentiment. But since the day I posted it, I've been feeling a little guilty. See technically speaking, I would be lying if I claimed I would plant an apple tree the day <i>before</i> the world ended. In all honesty, more likely I would wait until the morning of the last day. Or I'd wait till the morning of the last day to buy the seed. Then I'd plant it mid-day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Don't get me wrong, I'm sure I'd think about planting it the day before the world ended. I'd probably even plan in my head where it should be planted. Might even check on the inventory of apple seeds. But actually plant it when there's a whole other day left in which to do it? Unlikely. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">See I'm not crippled by pessimism, but rather optimism. A pessimist might think why plant an apple tree when the world's going to end anyway? Me, I dwell in possibility. So I would say, why plant an apple tree today when I'll have so much time tomorrow? And who really knows if the world will end? However it occurs to me in either case, the apple tree is not planted as soon as it could be...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps my optimism slows me down in areas of social justice. When I don't participate in a march or a protest or a movement, it's not because I don't think those things will help. It's because I think lots of things will help, and that I'll have time to do some of them. I truly believe in the goodness of people. I tend to think things will work out. That the arc of moral universe is long, but it does bend toward justice as King believed. And so sometimes I wait. Since I believe in the end it will be all right, perhaps I don't try hard enough to speed up the arc's journey. I try a little; if I see an injustice, or I'm presented with an opportunity to help, of course I do that. But perhaps I'm missing the urgency that comes with thinking things are crap and always will be crap unless we do something now...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Not that I want to think things are crap. I think some things are unjust. Some things are wrong. Some things are horrible. Some things are unacceptable. But I never think things in general are crap. And so I wait to plant my apple tree. So what to do?!?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I need to make friends with more tree planters. I may not always believe I <i>need </i>to take a stand for a cause. But I always believe I need to stand with my friends. I do see the urgency in supporting people I love. And so if I belonged to a community of tree planters who spent the whole day before the world ended planting trees, I would be right there with them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">To make a difference in the world, I'm motivated not to fight for a cause, but to fight for friends. I'm spurred to action by community. Which is why I believe in building as diverse of a community as possible. The more diversity in the community, the more depth in the ways to help the world. When we lift up the cause important to one member or our community, we lift up the entire community bit by bit. I hope you'll join us. I'll bring the shovel. You get the seeds...</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-16368816563984951762015-03-01T21:11:00.002-06:002015-03-02T08:06:22.796-06:00My Formative Tree- for David Duckworth<span style="font-size: large;">I clearly remember the moment I first realized it was possible for me to be wrong. I was 18 and in the middle of an argument with a friend's sister in England. I was defending our American lifestyle and feeling righteously indignant. My favorite state of being really when I was 18. Then she said something about how if we were serious about the environment we could build public transportation systems to decrease our dependance on cars. And it hit me. She might be right. I had nothing to say back. A rare occasion for me up to that point. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I tell that story not to say anything about the specifics of transportation policy or my opinions now of it. But rather to illustrate a formative moment in my life. Whenever I've felt myself digging into a position without looking at the other side, I remember that conversation. And that feeling of realizing there was another side. Someone else might have a reasoned point. And I'm grateful to her. To my friend's sister I only knew for 2 weeks more than 20 years ago. Grateful for an interaction in all likelihood she has no memory of having.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Formative experiences are like that. Something seemingly small and insignificant to one person, could change another person's whole life. Wouldn't it be interesting to map out these formative memories the way we do our family trees? In the same way we trace back to find our ancestors to gain insight into our DNA, perhaps we could make a formative tree with those people who had real impacts on our emotional maturity. Really see everyone who helped make us- us. To honor and remember their contributions the way we honor our ancestors. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Some people might appear on our formative trees as tiny twigs signifying short encounters like the conversation I remember with my friend's sister. But other people, old friends, might be represented with huge branches or even large parts of our root systems. Friends who were there being fused to our hearts while we were being formed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One of my formative friends, David Duckworth, passed away last week. I was fortunate to have had the opportunity to spend an evening with him and his wife a few years back while my husband and I were in London where David and his wife lived. That was the only time I had seen him over the last 20 years. And yet when I heard he had died, I felt real sadness and a need to mourn. For a second, I felt like that might be inappropriate. Like I had no right to mourn for someone I hardly knew anymore. That I should feel for his wife and children (which of course I do) but not sadness on my own account.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then after hearing of his death, two other old friends reached out to me through messaging about their feelings, and I've read other friends' comments on Facebook, and I realized, of course I should mourn for David. We all should. He was important to me and to so many others. If I can feel affection for an ancestor I've never met, how much more appropriate is it to feel sorrow at the loss of someone so important on my formative tree? We are intertwined. He is a part of me. And when a part of you dies, you mourn. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not sure if David knew how much I admired him. How much I thought of his character. But I hope he knew I was glad to have been his friend. And if you're an old friend reading this, please know I was blessed by you too. I am certain you would appear on my formative tree. And no matter how long it has been since we've spoken, just like David, you'll always be fused to my heart. My memories of you- make up me.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikwq1RjJnDFGfRAStc2FywVzVYNjwaQIDYCqUPMz6skJT1ZzFJPrQWwJtY2wjp8xom5a-TAggAuyhBVPP3TLfiT0ZA7EZxoEq8f1cebDCvOoCtTuqRcQ0ZYQFJx-h7Dx2AhV3hZwQ0g-k/s1600/18th+Birthday.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikwq1RjJnDFGfRAStc2FywVzVYNjwaQIDYCqUPMz6skJT1ZzFJPrQWwJtY2wjp8xom5a-TAggAuyhBVPP3TLfiT0ZA7EZxoEq8f1cebDCvOoCtTuqRcQ0ZYQFJx-h7Dx2AhV3hZwQ0g-k/s1600/18th+Birthday.JPG" height="312" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from my 18th birthday party- Anna, Dharmesh, Sheri, David, Stephen- some of my favorite branches.</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-31723971373017983702015-02-20T18:27:00.002-06:002015-02-20T21:28:16.555-06:00Some of my best friends are from Alabama...<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">My husband and I moved to Alabama for his job when I was pregnant with our oldest daughter. We've lived here more than 11 years now, and I'm still a little in denial about it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">A while back I was talking about the civil war with my daughter. Conversation went like this:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">me: we won the war so...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">her: wait, Alabama was part of the North? </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">me: well no, not "we" Alabama, "we" Ohio. Mommy is from Ohio.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">her: you've lived in Alabama 10 years. You're a southerner.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I felt like she slapped me.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">And th<span style="font-family: inherit;">at</span> was not the first time she ha<span style="font-family: inherit;">d</span> tried to get me to understand that we are Alabamians. When she was about 4, she wanted to be a cheerleader for Halloween. I offered to buy her an Ohio State Cheerleader Outfit. She looked at me with disdain (yes, even at 4 she could pull off disdain) and said, "why would I want to be an Ohio State Cheerleader? I am from Alabama. I want to be an Alabama Cheerleader." Naturally. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">She's now 11 and still totally firm in her love of Alabama. In fact, recently she said she wanted to live in Mobile when she grew up. I asked why. She said cause they have a beach. I told her there were beaches all over the world. She said, yes, but <i>that</i> beach is in Alabama. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">So I'm trying to learn to accept the fact that my daughters were born and raised in Alabama. Today I saw some study where Alabama ranked near the bottom again in well-being surveys. And I had my first moment of feeling like I should stick up for my daughter's home state. A state she loves.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">So here goes. Yes, there are political realities here that make me cringe every time I think about them. Yes, I wish the state did better in a lot of things. But the truth is, while those things make for great punch lines on the Daily Show, and make me occasionally feel like hanging my head in shame, they do not define our life in Alabama.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">We have found a community of like minded people. Many of whom grew up here. Of course, that I feel I need to add that fact proves I'm not totally past my <span style="font-family: inherit;">stereo-types</span> about Alabamians. And as my 8-year-old likes to tell me, stereotyping is not good. <span style="font-family: inherit;">And</span> the truth is, some of my best friends are from Alabama...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">I like to think I'm open-minded and tolerant. One of my best friends once told me, "liberals always think they are tolerant. But they mean they are tolerant of everyone but conservatives." There is some truth to that. I make little to no pre- judgements about people from exotic cultures. But I'm surprised a bit every time I meet someone intelligent and well-rounded who grew up in Alabama. And again, I live, work and play among them.<span style="font-family: inherit;"> So I should know better. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I should know that loving Alabama or Aub<span style="font-family: inherit;">urn </span>footbal<span style="font-family: inherit;">l <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">means <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">just that your a fan of football</span></span>. <span style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking with</span> a southern accent<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="font-family: inherit;">reveals <span style="font-family: inherit;">only a birthplace, not an i<span style="font-family: inherit;">nt<span style="font-family: inherit;">e<span style="font-family: inherit;">l<span style="font-family: inherit;">ligence</span> level. <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I should kno<span style="font-family: inherit;">w that you can not judge a person's character by their zip code. <span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My daugh<span style="font-family: inherit;">t<span style="font-family: inherit;">er <span style="font-family: inherit;">has every right to</span> be proud of her home. And I need to learn to say with pride that I am from Alabama. <span style="font-family: inherit;">I don't have to be proud of every policy or historical event. But I ca<span style="font-family: inherit;">n find sa<span style="font-family: inherit;">tisfaction </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">in the life we've built here. I<span style="font-family: inherit;"> can take ownership in the state and work to<span style="font-family: inherit;"> im<span style="font-family: inherit;">p<span style="font-family: inherit;">rove the well-being for all here. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I can be proud that I am<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span>rais<span style="font-family: inherit;">ing</span> thoughtful, compassionate, educated children who are proud to be from Alabama and want to grow up and live on the beaches of Mobile.</span></span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-84247435262836825842015-02-20T13:01:00.002-06:002015-02-20T18:33:43.542-06:00She occasionally shares random thoughts in no consistent way at...<span style="font-size: large;">So AJ Jacobs shared a sermon I wrote on the <a href="http://globalfamilyreunion.com/we-are-family/" target="_blank">Global Family Reunion Blog</a>. Before he posted it, he sent me the intro to look over. Originally it said, "she blogs at..." I was like, I don't feel like I blog. I feel like I occasionally write stuff and post it to a blog and share the link on Facebook. So AJ was kind and changed it to "she writes at..." Which last night sounded great to me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Then my crazy kicked in a little bit. So this morning I sent AJ an email saying, "so she writes at is also now making me crazy. I have real problems I know. Started to think I don’t write at something the way you write at Mental Floss or Esquire. More like I record random thoughts at…"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">He was kind again and indulged me and sent an email to the Blog editor to change it. But she had already posted it with the aforementioned "she writes at..." intro. And so now I feel compelled to write something here on this blog today. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The problem is I have no process. I don't consistently write on here. And when I do write here, the topics are all over the place with no real theme connecting them. It's a creative outlet for me. One that I usually only indulge in when I have something to say. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So if you've found this blog today through the link on the Global Family Reunion, I want to say thank you. Both for your interest in the Global Family Reunion and your interest in my random thoughts. Hopefully you will find something here that resonates with you. And I'm glad we're family now. </span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-36909912231035796852014-12-26T09:44:00.001-06:002015-02-20T18:34:22.307-06:00Sunshine the Archangel starring Jennifer Lawrence <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">As the year wraps up, it seems a good time for introspection and evaluating self. So I turned to the online quizzes people share on Facebook to really get a good sense of who I am... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">It all started when my friend shared a link to see what <a href="http://www.playbuzz.com/avibwx10/what-famous-poem-was-written-about-you?pbg=807d" target="_blank">famous poem was written for you</a>. I got
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">'There is Another Sky' by Emily Dickinson. </span>"There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there..." This poem did seem to be written for me! And I've always felt Emily and I are soul friends.</span><style>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">So I took another quiz. Which superhero should you hook up with? At this point I wasn't yet on my journey of self reflection, but just wanting to know the answers to life's important questions. So which superhero should I hook up with? Thor. Of course. Made perfect sense to me. In fact, if it had suggested any other hero I might have doubted the scientific validity of those online 10 question tests. But Thor. Obviously.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">Took a few other "control" quizzes. Confirmed my heart is in California, my biggest flaw is that I'm too selfless, I should live in San Francisco, three words to describe me are sharp, confident and loyal, "A teacher to all" should be written on my gravestone, my true personality is that of a born leader, if I were a Doctor Who villain it would be a weeping angel, and the word that sums me up is lively. You add all that to the Thor and Emily answers, and clearly these quizzes are powerful tools of revelation. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">Next step was to analyze my soul. I have a brand new, green colored soul of a beagle. And where has my soul been before? Egyptian royalty in a past life. Almost as obvious as Thor really. Egyptian royalty. Everything is starting to make sense... PTA president was just a stepping stone on my way back to where I truly belong... Oh, and in case you are wondering where my soul might go next, found out I should be reincarnated as the Hallelujah Emoji! Hallelujah!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">And it wasn't just abstract things I learned. The time I have left on earth is 59 years and 4 months. My 60's nickname is Sunshine, and Jennifer Lawrence will play me in a movie about my life. Awesome! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">And then I stumbled upon <i>the</i> question. <a href="http://www.playbuzz.com/tinmaru11/which-type-of-angel-are-you" target="_blank">Which type of Angel are you</a>? This could get to the very heart of my purpose. The question I've been asking my whole life: which type of Angel am I really? Answer:
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">"You're an Archangel! You are the badass angel of the heavens, protecting
earth and her people." </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Badass angel of the heavens. Watch out world. I'm on a mission now. One day you will be able to watch the whole story in "Sunshine the Archangel" starring Jennifer Lawrence. Until then, you can keep up with my random progress here...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Happy New Year Friends! Hoping we all find our purpose in 2015... </span></span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-54478429936296576772014-12-14T09:14:00.001-06:002015-07-31T10:50:09.478-05:00My Grandmother Lived<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Of all the things my mom did for me growing up, the one I'm the most thankful for is when she married us into a large, crazy family on Feb 6th, 1981. I was 7 years old and suddenly I had a step-father and new uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents. All of whom welcomed my sister and me and always treated us like family. Even saying "treated us like family" seems wrong. They didn't treat us like family, we were family. We are family.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And in the center of that family was my Grandmother, Nellie Austin. She died yesterday Dec. 13, 2014. And so this post is for her. And for my step-father and his 5 brothers and sisters who loved her. And for my sister and cousins who shared her with me. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Grandma Nellie was not what you think of as a traditional grandma. She didn't sew or bake cookies. She didn't offer sage advice. She didn't solve problems. Truth be told, she sometimes caused problems. She was loud. She was confrontational. And she was real. And I hope to one day grow up to be just like her.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Grandma Nellie lived. She was not afraid of life. If there was music playing, she was on the dance floor. You always knew she was in the room. As a child, that was sometimes embarrassing. But as an adult, I find it admirable. She lived out loud. She did not sit in a corner worrying about what others thought or how she should act. She jumped up and danced. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Grandma Nellie confronted society's norms. She loved and married James Austin, a black man, long before it was socially acceptable. She wore pants. She used curse words. She partied. And you knew what she thought of you. She lived by her own standards. And she loved her family. Of that, there was never any doubt.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Grandma Nellie was authentic. What you saw is what you got. And what I saw was a fierce, strong woman. A woman who loved without discrimination. A woman who danced. A woman who lived.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Nellie Lee Austin (Aug 28, 1936- Dec 13, 2014) Rest in Peace Grandma. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyGtMNu1ukL8Y-_7x904aGj6Mn3XoEUiEeqrOsns7zX6HGJ3QCdFem_ByGVonXLI0YIKUU_izxNGL1ynyVwSGWa70Yn14GQJejJczqCEXBfKNYHTWa_r4ADcYQprA3izB3G-vyzT7Kd9s/s1600/10363986_615792795181979_7146750458064563771_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyGtMNu1ukL8Y-_7x904aGj6Mn3XoEUiEeqrOsns7zX6HGJ3QCdFem_ByGVonXLI0YIKUU_izxNGL1ynyVwSGWa70Yn14GQJejJczqCEXBfKNYHTWa_r4ADcYQprA3izB3G-vyzT7Kd9s/s1600/10363986_615792795181979_7146750458064563771_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma Nellie with her 6 kids</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9UkZAKpQv_IfSCdAY6uibUSgYp6yVkZ4kW-C-tzNKoH4Yxt-GuJSbSCmlE4hx2u4c_KdsduPxliU3WkYlSk2ZtIMY9KPa6Xr0To19r1apPJ_mcy_KHXyjSpFg6HkPuRq_rWdNmKYXBQo/s1600/Nellie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9UkZAKpQv_IfSCdAY6uibUSgYp6yVkZ4kW-C-tzNKoH4Yxt-GuJSbSCmlE4hx2u4c_KdsduPxliU3WkYlSk2ZtIMY9KPa6Xr0To19r1apPJ_mcy_KHXyjSpFg6HkPuRq_rWdNmKYXBQo/s1600/Nellie.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma Nellie dancing with my husband at our wedding</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-23470933614329549132014-11-25T16:27:00.000-06:002015-02-20T18:35:17.575-06:00For my Ferguson Cousins <span style="font-size: large;">I intentionally do not post about politics, religion or other generally controversial topics online. In fact, I try to stick to amusing stories, funny pictures and optimistic statements. In part because I own a small business and don't want to offend any potential customer, but in a larger part because I've always tried to follow the advice of Saint Francis of Assisi, "Preach the Gospel at all times, and when necessary, use words." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now the "gospel" in that advice has changed over time to mean "values" for me. But even though my concept of what I want to "preach" has changed, the core message of living what you believe through your actions has remained a guiding principle. I sincerely hope I have made enough intentional choices to reflect to those who know me that I value tolerance and diversity. But today, that doesn't seem to be enough. It seems necessary to use words. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In response to the decision to not indict, Stephanie Jordan, a friend I admire a great deal, posted on Facebook, "Thank you for the invitation to keep the conversation going. Let's DO this then." And she moderated a very thoughtful discussion amongst her friends. What struck me is that I had nothing to say to add to the conversation. Those who know me will be able to tell you that it is a RARE occasion when I have nothing to say.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And as I thought about it more, I realized I had no vocabulary at the ready to join the conversation. I have truths I hold dear. I have values that guide my actions. I know how to act respectfully. I know how to seek out opportunities to experience and learn from genuine diversity. I know how to support my friends. I know how to not belittle or bully someone for their beliefs, or for any part of who they are. What I don't know how to do is to easily continue a genuine discussion about race problems in our country. But it is time to learn. It has become necessary to use words.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It occurs to me that perhaps one reason public discourse has become so polarizing, so extreme, is because good intentioned, moderate people stay out of the discussions. We believe our actions speak for themselves. Since we do not feel racist, we don't feel the need to enter into discussions of race. We like to believe we can change the world through good example and right actions. And I'm not saying that we can't, but maybe sometimes that example has to include naming things. Maybe the right action is to make it clear through words, that we too see the problems. They are not just the rantings of the inflamed. They are also truths that the middle see.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And so here are some necessary words I'd like on my record: I believe that we have overt and covert racism in this country and in our systems. I believe that white privilege exists for all white people whether we feel it or not. I believe that our criminal justice system is broken. I believe that good people join law enforcement. But I also believe that law enforcement officers need better training and a systemic culture shift.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And in trying to find my vocabulary to continue the conversation, I remembered another value of mine: I know that we are one big global family. Since I value that, I've been volunteering with AJ Jacobs and his <a href="http://globalfamilyreunion.com/" target="_blank">Global Family Reunion</a> (GFR) project to help people celebrate our one big family. And I'm realizing now that working on the GFR can help me continue the race conversation through a lens I've already been holding up...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We are all connected. Literally. Through blood and/or marriage the Global Family Reunion Project is connecting up the world. There is only one human race. This is not a belief; it is a fact. Now we have to decide how to act like a family. We are all cousins. We may not like all of our cousins. But shouldn't we have some responsibility to our family none the less? The age of tribalism is over. It no longer needs to be us versus them. It need only be us. But what does that mean? How does that conversation go? How do we hold up our cousins in Ferguson? I honestly don't know yet. But I'd like to thank my friend for the invitation to keep the conversation going. Let's DO this then...</span><br />
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<span class="userContentSecondary _c24"> </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-42832519618422263382014-09-26T16:32:00.000-05:002015-02-20T18:35:33.668-06:00Proud to be from Whitehall: Ohio's Most Dangerous City<span style="font-size: large;">So my hometown of Whitehall, Ohio was recently ranked #1 on a list of <a href="http://www.homesecurityshield.org/news/most-dangerous-cities-in-ohio/" target="_blank">Ohio's Most Dangerous Cities</a>. I'm not sure if it was that dangerous when I grew up there or not. I do know that my mom still lives there, and when I visit, things seem about the same to me. So maybe it was. But let me share my thoughts on growing up there...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is not going to be an "I made it out of there" story.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I do not think I am where I am today <i>despite </i>growing up in Whitehall, OH.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I think I am who I am today <i>because </i>I grew up in Whitehall, OH. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I learned that the quality of your house or apartment has nothing to do with your character.</b> I loved growing up in a duplex rental community. Loved my friends being so close we could play 10 houses down until dark because my parents could always reach me by yelling loudly out the door. Most of the adults I knew had not attended college. Some of my friends were raised by single parents. Some by grandparents. Many (including me) with a step-parent. But from what I saw, most of the adults worked hard and made the best lives they could for their families whatever their structure. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I developed a sense of independence that has served me well my whole life.</b> My friends and I walked all over the neighborhood. We walked to school, and we walked through the Beer Dock on the way home for candy. In junior high, I would take a bus with my friends to the mall and other places. I know I was able to do some of that because 30 years ago it was a safer, simpler time. However the ease of getting around town, and the independence that fostered, was enabled by the lower-income nature of Whitehall. We had public transportation for one thing. And we had a mixed-use urban community. Unlike my friends who lived in more affluent suburbs of Columbus. Those friends had nothing but nice houses on large lots near them. There were no stores to walk to and no bus to take anywhere.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I had fantastic teachers who instilled in me a love of learning.</b> Our schools may not have been the best equipped, but we had some really great teachers. After taking Dr. Bradshaw's History Seminar, I was honestly over-prepared for college the first year! And I learned first hand that a great education is not about money. It is about great teachers. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I experienced the power of community. </b>I knew my neighbors. I knew my friends' parents. I felt supported and loved at Eastview United Methodist Church. I was part of the Ram Band with all the Ram Pride that came with it. I took class trips to DC, NYC and Chicago. I performed in plays and sang in choirs. And I honestly never felt limited by resources. Our community found ways. Our parents found ways.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Since growing up and moving away, I have traveled the world with little fear and with confidence
in my ability to use public transportation. Naive or not, I do not let worry
about potential crime stop me from living my life to the fullest. I know that bad things can happen anywhere. But I
also know that good things can happen anywhere. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now I'm not saying that raising children in a lower income area is the <i>right</i> place to raise them. But I am saying, that it is not the <i>wrong</i> place. Among the friends I grew up with, there are now teachers, and lawyers, and business executives, and Phds, and great parents, and even greater human beings. I can think of way more success stories off the top of my head than I can of failures.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So yes, I am proud of where I came from and proud of the lessons I learned there. They have served me well. So thank you Whitehall, Ohio. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-78797982484718572692014-09-22T23:29:00.000-05:002014-09-23T06:10:48.249-05:0010 books that changed me<style>
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My friend Lynsie posted on Facebook: “I was tagged by Mario
to list ten books I care about. I included some epic poems and essays, cause
I'm grown, and I do what I want. I tag Jane, Brittany, and Angel to tell me ten
books that changed you.” </div>
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<br /></div>
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I’m grown too, so I also choose poems and collections of
essays. And one play. And a textbook. And a business book. And a humor/religion
book. Cause I’m really rebellious like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when I started thinking about books that have changed
me, it brought so much to mind that I decided to answer here on this blog where
I have more room. Told you- rebellious.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><u>Where the Red Fern Grows</u> by Wilson Rawls</div>
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This book is the earliest novel I have clear memory of
reading and loving. And so I honor it for starting a life long love of books. </div>
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There are only two other novels on this list of 10. But
that’s not because I don’t love reading novels. I do. And I have loved too many
to really pick favorites. It would be like choosing favorite students. Well, to
be fair, we all <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">choose</i> favorite
students, but it isn’t polite to name them. So instead of favorites, I’ve
picked 3 that inspired me to read more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And the first of those is <u>Where the Red Fern Grows. </u></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><u>A Summer to Die</u> by Lois Lowry</div>
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I read this sad, sad book over and over as a pre-teen. And
every time I would cry and cry. I remember my mom asking, “Why do you keep
reading that book when it makes you cry like that?” And I would say
through tears, “because I love it.” And I really did. </div>
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<br /></div>
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And I continue to love books and movies that make me
cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prefer fiction that makes
me cry actually. Non-fiction, I want to make me laugh. But fiction, I’ll take
the cathartic experience of crying over a fictional character’s pain any day of
the week. </div>
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<br /></div>
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3.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Barbie Doll”
by Marge Piercy </div>
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Not sure if Mr. Geyer or Mrs. Farry at Whitehall-Yearling
High School introduced me to this poem. But they both introduced me to so many
things I am eternally grateful to them for, so I’ll just thank them both.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This poem absolutely changed me. It awoke a feminist
consciousness in me. Taught me the power of poetry. And introduced me to the
work of Marge Piercy. All three things I have drawn from in my life. </div>
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<br /></div>
4. <u>Don Quixote</u> by Miguel de Cervantes <br />
Ok this one I'm sure I read in Mrs. Farry's class. I chose it from a list for my senior project. And I loved everything about it. I loved the post-modern techniques in a novel from the 1600's. I loved the theme and the characters. I loved the original plot and all the variations in work inspired by it. It is not my favorite book of all time, but it is my favorite story of all time. To dream the impossible dream. And you know I live to charge windmills...<br />
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<br /></div>
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5. <u>It was on fire when I lay down on it</u> by Robert Fulghum </div>
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Like Marge Piercy, once I was introduced to Fulghum, I read everything he wrote. He's been like my personal adviser for living a good life. The title essay from this collection has always stayed with me as a cautionary tale. He tells the true anecdote of a fireman who asks someone how the fire started on the bed they were laying on. Answer- I don't know it was on fire when I lay down on it. Fulghum reminds us that before we get too smug, we should remember we all lay down in burning beds. "I knew he was trouble when I started dating him." </div>
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<br /></div>
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6. <u>Language Files</u> Fifth Edition Department of Linguistics/The Ohio State University</div>
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Ok, this book really did change my life. Literally. You need a little background to understand how. So when I was a freshman in college I took a sociology course. One day we read about a girl who had been locked in a closet for most of her childhood and the effects that had on her. One of course being a lack of language abilities. This got me thinking about how one could even think without language. I became slightly obsessed with this question for about a month. I would argue both sides with myself because my friends quickly tired of the debate. And I tried to find psychology or sociology books that would help answer my question. All without satisfaction. Some of the books would get close to the issues I was trying to examine, but none ever honed exactly in on what I wanted to know. So eventually I dropped it. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Fast forward a couple years and I was a junior in another college and an International Studies student. I decided to get a certificate to Teach English as a Second Language just as an add-on to my degree. My thinking was I could travel the world teaching English. The first required class was "Introduction to Linguistics." I had no idea really what linguistics was. I suspected it was like grammar. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I showed up the first day and opened my textbook. There was a heading in the table of contents- "Language and the Brain." It was like a light bulb went off over my head. I can still feel the joy of that discovery. Armed with the word linguistics, I immediately went to the Used Bookstore and bought like 10 books and read them all. Suddenly everything I had wanted to talk about years before was possible. I immediately changed my major to English with a concentration in TESOL so that I could take every class the University offered in Linguistics. And thus altered my life. As an English major I decided to apply for a job at the Writing Center. Where I met a physics student... But that's another story. </div>
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<br /></div>
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7. J<u>ulius Caesar</u> by William Shakespeare (allegedly) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lynsie put books she likes teaching on her list, and that reminded me of my love of teaching <u>Julius Caesar</u>. I only taught American High School students for 2 years while Jason was in graduate school in Virginia. But the experience of teaching High School will change anyone! My sophomore students were required to read this play. And I was so thankful to be teaching great political speeches and intrigue and betrayal instead of Romeo and Juliet... </div>
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<br /></div>
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8. <u>First Break All The Rules</u> by Marcus Buckingham, Curt Coffman</div>
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This is the best management book I've ever read. And I've read a lot to be honest. More than necessary really. But more than a management book, this book is a philosophy for how to value and maximize the strengths of people in all areas of your life. And the <a href="http://www.strengthsfinder.com/home.aspx" target="_blank">Strengthfinders</a> stuff to come out of this book is fantastic. I live my life by it. </div>
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<br /></div>
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9. <u>Year of Living Biblically</u> by AJ Jacobs</div>
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Readers of my blog, and friends of mine offline know I adore AJ Jacobs. This book is why. It tackles serious issues with humor and heart. I read it at the exact moment in my life when I needed to hear the answers he found. I know I said I wasn't going to name favorite novels, but when asked what my favorite book is- this is always the answer I give. </div>
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10. “I Dwell in Possibility" by Emily Dickinson </div>
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This poem doesn't just speak to me. It speaks for me. Across time and space I found a kindred spirit. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-21570894256276177582014-09-09T08:14:00.000-05:002014-09-09T08:14:31.958-05:00I dwell in possibilityMy 7-year-old got in the car after school the other day and announced, "I still believe in Santa, but I'm getting kind of suspicious of those Elves on the Shelf." Not much gets past her.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD57hoojE4j66LcB59zIs0Icf_kYf8gzcimbkfzNqVnJesW52lu2pidEdU1dy7CfoQjrRj5btkIRcEJe-Wh9LOTFZCZLFsfgWWr86sRsBruW03gQuWVZg3utx0wqsbMRBf76Bh2f9oGbM/s1600/322312_2272803301259_64527076_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD57hoojE4j66LcB59zIs0Icf_kYf8gzcimbkfzNqVnJesW52lu2pidEdU1dy7CfoQjrRj5btkIRcEJe-Wh9LOTFZCZLFsfgWWr86sRsBruW03gQuWVZg3utx0wqsbMRBf76Bh2f9oGbM/s1600/322312_2272803301259_64527076_o.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
This revelation got me thinking about a blog post I've been writing off and on in my mind for the last 20 years or so. You can see at that pace why this blog only has a handful of entries...<br />
<br />
The year was 1992. I was in college watching one of my then all-time favorite movies "The Lost Boys" with a friend who shockingly had never seen it. When the vampires in the movie fly around, the camera angle is from their perspective. So my friend asks, "Are they flying as bats or men?" "I don't know, men I guess." To which she says, "oh that's ridiculous. I don't believe that." Still makes me laugh. Vampires- fine. Vampires turning into bats- fine. Vampires flying around like Superman- ridiculous.<br />
<br />
And so through the years I've been mentally collecting these lines people draw in what they are willing to believe. One of my favorites was when my then 4-year-old cousin was watching Rocky and Bullwinkle. He looks up from the tv and calmly says, "Squirrels can't talk." Yep. There you have it. The only logical flaw in the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show...<br />
<br />
These lines come up at my <a href="http://www.thelittlegym.com/huntsvilleal/Pages/default.aspx" target="_blank">The Little Gym</a> often too. Just recently I walked into a 3-year-old class just in time to hear a girl tell her teacher, "those snakes aren't real." True. Because the "snakes" were actually just scarves tied around the beam. But notice she didn't say, "those scarves aren't snakes." She said, "those snakes aren't real." So part of me thinks she entertained the idea of them being snakes in her head just long enough to draw her line. And even as she made her statement, she was looking for reassurance... <br />
<br />
What also amuses me is the flip side- the leaps we'll make to justify a belief. (And now I'm just speaking about kids here, so no one extrapolate this to apply to any adult beliefs...) Back to my daughter and Santa. So last year for Christmas my older daughter asked for a robot toy from Santa. She received a blue penguin robot. Blue being her favorite color and penguins her favorite animal. When her younger sister saw this miraculous gift, she said, "see sissy! <i>Now</i> do you believe in Santa? Who <i>else </i>would know you liked blue and penguins? I told you Santa was real!" Indeed. Who else....<br />
<br />
A couple of weeks ago my 7-year-old Elf skeptic came home and announced she had "scientifically proven fairies existed." <span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">She
added, "My friend saw one. And you know, if you see something you can
believe it. And if your friend sees something you can believe it. Right,
mom?" I had a small moral crisis about how to answer her. Wasn't sure if I I wanted to crush her belief in eye witness testimony. My husband however, had no such crisis. He told her that wasn't scientific proof. He explained that was the least reliable kind of evidence. Then he listed for her reliable "hard" evidence she would need to prove their existence. The best being capturing a live fairy, but they decided that if she found a piece of a wing or some pixie dust, that would be good enough. So the hunt continues... at least till her belief line in fairies moves... </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">As for me, I like my lines widely drawn. I leave room for lots of things to fit. I dwell in possibility...</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><br /></span>
<b>I dwell in Possibility – (466)</b>
<br />
<span class="author">By <a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/emily-dickinson"> Emily Dickinson</a> </span>
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I dwell in Possibility – </div>
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A fairer House than Prose – </div>
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More numerous of Windows – </div>
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Superior – for Doors – </div>
<br />
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Of Chambers as the Cedars – </div>
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Impregnable of eye – </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
And for an everlasting Roof </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
The Gambrels of the Sky – </div>
<br />
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
Of Visitors – the fairest – </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
For Occupation – This – </div>
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The spreading wide my narrow Hands </div>
<div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
To gather Paradise –</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-78568583272371892552014-09-08T21:13:00.000-05:002014-11-26T07:44:37.641-06:00I literally learned something new...I speak in hyperbole. I exaggerate and over emphasize for effect. I adore figurative language, and I live in metaphors. And I yet I thought I had a good grasp of reality. Even thought my mastery of metaphor gave me a leg up on understanding people and the world.<br />
<br />
And since my children were young, I've been teaching them that we are part of an interdependent web of life, and I've worked to make sure they know we are all connected on this great big world of ours. And I've felt proud of how I'm intentionally raising tolerant children who are comfortable with diversity and respectful of the earth. And then recently, I learned something that blew me away. It was as if I had been struck by lightning.<br />
<br />
Guess what I learned? We <i>are</i> part of an interdependent web of life. Everything <i>is</i> connected! And not just in some metaphorical way. <i>Literally</i>.<br />
<br />
Apparently, everything is made of atoms. And not just any atoms, the <i>same</i> atoms that have always been making things! Aside from meteorites, everything on earth has been recycled out of<br />
the same atoms for 4.5 billion years. The same atoms! How awesome is that? So you could be made of atoms that used to hold Joan of Arc together. Literally. I cannot stress that point enough. And these atoms just keep changing configuration to form new parts of our interdependent web. <br />
<br />
I am certain that for some of you, this information is not new. I know this in part from the reaction of my own scientifically minded husband when I asked him to confirm the validity of this information about atoms. I continually present new cause for him to shake his head and sigh... (thankfully love is patient) <br />
<br />
So anyway, laugh at me if you must, but even when I said, "we are all connected" I didn’t mean literally. Except for maybe in the sense of how a weather or economic event on one side of the world will affect the other. It never occurred to me the same atoms that were once in ancient people are now in me. But they are.<br />
<br />
Add this to all the new found information I've been gleaning on my pursuit to join the <a href="http://globalfamilyreunion.com/" target="_blank">Global Family Reunion </a>, and I can safely say I have a new sense of belonging to the interdependent web of life. And a new gratitude for everything and everyone that I am connected to- which again- is everything and everyone.<br />
<br />
Learning has always been joyful for me, but learning something <i>new</i> that I thought I <i>knew</i>, has been awesome. Literally. So I'd like to offer up that you take a new look at something you thought you knew. Be open to discovering an entirely new perspective. And then share it with the rest of us. Because our web could use a bit of stretching now and then. So says this one random angel...<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-66586337085497950962014-08-31T11:02:00.001-05:002014-09-02T08:08:26.093-05:007 things you shoud know if you plan to marry a rocket scientistOk, so all these lists going around online have inspired me to write a list of my own. This is one I've been working on for the last 16 years while married to my husband...<br />
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<b>1. Unless your spouse works in propulsion, don't refer to him/her as a rocket scientist. </b><br />
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My husband is an aerospace engineer. Whenever I tell someone what he does for a living, they say, "oh, he's a real life rocket scientist?" Wait, let me back up- whenever I tell someone who does NOT live in Huntsville, Alabama aka "Rocket City" that he owns a small aerospace engineering firm with contracts to NASA and commercial space companies, they say, "oh, he's a real life rocket scientist?" To which I have to say, "well, no actually. He doesn't work on propulsion." Insert blank stares here. But I say it. Because that is what is expected of the spouse of an aerospace engineer. Technically correct representations of the facts.<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;"><img alt="photo" src="http://www.zeropointfrontiers.com/images/about-jason.jpg" height="165" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="220" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My husband at his firm <a href="http://www.zeropointfrontiers.com/#" target="_blank">Zero Point Frontiers</a></td></tr>
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So the remainder of this list will be 6 things you should know if you plan to marry an aerospace engineer...<br />
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<b>1. Your spouse will prefer estimations to include numbers and not metaphors. </b><br />
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Speaking of technically correct representations of the facts, my husband always wants me to clarify what I mean by "a lot." For example, it is not acceptable to say "there is a lot of water coming from the pipe below the sink." He wants some sort of number value given to the amount of water. And usually a number involving the duration of said leak too...<br />
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<b>2. Directions will be given in terms of east/west and the like and not "turn by the carwarsh." </b><br />
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My husband has frequently asked me "where is the sun?" while giving me directions. I don't know? In the sky.... All I can say is that Google Maps has pretty much saved our marriage...<br />
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<b>3. Your household may become early adopters of new technology. </b><br />
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My husband has waited hours if not days in line (how's that for number estimates!) for the latest iphone. And we've upgraded our tv more than our carpet. We also bought the first Pruis off a car lot in Southern CA. Sometimes this can be frustrating, but if you go with it, you can reap great rewards.<br />
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I remember being frustrated with a gift of a Tivo shortly after my first daughter's birth 10 years ago. I had no idea what a Tivo was, but I was certain we didn't need it. And annoyed that he thought I would want one. Then I discovered that I could PAUSE live tv whenever my new baby needed attention. So I could be a good mom, AND not miss a moment of my show. Win-win. And suddenly my husband was the genius everyone assumed him to be... <br />
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<b>4. You might become a science fiction fan. </b><br />
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Before the marriage I did like me some Star Trek, not gonna lie. But in the last 16 years, my exposure to science fiction has multiplied at a rate like the tribbles. Some of it is bound to stick... <br />
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<img alt="File:ST TroubleWithTribbles.jpg" data-file-height="294" data-file-width="400" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/5/50/ST_TroubleWithTribbles.jpg" height="294" width="400" /><br />
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<b>5. Before you know it, your kids will know more about the universe than you do. </b><br />
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When my daughter was 5 she declared, <span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">"I'm
bored with Daddy taking us to school. All he does is tell us science
stories. I know everything now. I even know how a black hole is formed."</span><br />
Same year she told me <span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">she loved me as much as the amount of "earths fit into the
sun." Which she said was more than a million. And according to my fact
checking, she was correct. So I felt really loved and sadly inadequate
that my 5-year-old knew more about the scale of things in our universe
than I did... </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><b>6. If you ask a question, be prepared for an answer. </b></span><br />
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">My standard disclaimer to any friends or family that visit the <a href="http://rocketcenter.com/" target="_blank">U.S. Space and Rocket Center</a> with us is this, "Don't ask Jason a question unless you really want to know the answer." Because if you point to something randomly and ask, "what's that?" you might get a 15 minute mini-lecture on the history of space hardware. Which can be fascinating if you are prepared. Which is also true of the whole marriage experience. Fascinating if you are prepared. So says this one random angel... <b> </b></span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><br /></span>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-88461189187164026492014-08-30T17:50:00.000-05:002014-08-30T17:50:43.564-05:00Can you play me a memory? "Son can you play me a memory?" Quick. Name that tune... If you said Piano Man by Billy Joel you win. No prize but pride really. But still, that's something. So good job, you!<br />
Now back to my random thoughts on playing memories...<br />
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The piano man got me thinking about the way songs can take one in an instant back into a memory. I'm not talking about artists or genres that remind us of a time period in our life. I'm talking about specific songs that seem to transport us in time and space to other specific moments in time and space. And since I was driving with hours ahead of me when those thoughts began, I was able to let my mind play me some memories. But don't worry, I've since arrived at my destination. I'm not blogging and driving... <br />
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One of my song transporters is "Danger Zone" by Kenny Loggins. I hear it and suddenly it is 1986 again, and I am 12 years old. My friends and I have just walked through English Village up to the movie theater by Zettler Hardware. I can hear Shannon Marshall say loudly as we enter, "where we gonna sit?" like it was yesterday. And I smile remembering how much we laughed that day. And lots of other days. But that's the one burned into my memory tied to that song. <br />
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I have many others. I shared in my f<a href="http://onerandomangel.blogspot.com/2012/10/my-blood-runs-cold-my-memory-has-just.html" target="_blank">irst ever blog post</a> how "Earth Angel" takes me to 8th grade. And nothing can transport me back to high school faster than "Knock on Wood." And not just high school, but a Friday night on the football field. Yep. I'm marching in the band. In my Ram band. And I'm oh so cool...Speaking of cool, "99 Dead Baboons" and "Lydia the tattooed lady" magically whisk me away to a road trip in 1994. You can tell by those titles that it was an awesome trip. Four great friends cruising up and down the eastern coast. Ceiling upholstery held in place with staples and the ashtray full of change. <br />
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I'll stop there. Because I realize this post has been a bit indulgent. So I invite you now to indulge in your memories. Try to hear a song in your mind that transports you through time and space. It's fun. No TARDIS or other time machine necessary I promise. And I hope you play some happy memories. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-61004592763037031652014-08-22T18:21:00.000-05:002014-08-22T18:21:02.737-05:00Let's all meet at the Global Family Reunion! I just found out I am a cousin of my favorite non-fiction writer, <a href="http://ajjacobs.com/" target="_blank">AJ Jacobs</a>. And by cousin, I mean I am a distant relative on his Aunt Jane's husband's side of the family. And by distant relative, I mean we have 31 degrees of separation between us on the <a href="http://www.wikitree.com/index.php?title=Special:Connection&action=connect&person1Name=Jacobs-2987&person2Name=Scott-10477" target="_blank">WikiTree Connection Finder</a>.<br />
And that, my friends, is good enough to get me in the family photo! <br />
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This photo will be taken at the <a href="http://globalfamilyreunion.com/" target="_blank">Global Family Reunion</a> in New York City, June 2015. And you are all invited too. The website describes the event as "the biggest, most extraordinary and most inclusive family reunion in history. Come meet fascinating cousins you never
knew you had — and learn about how we are building a Family Tree of the
entire Human Race."<br />
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Sounds awesome, right?!? And as for the photo, "Those with a proven connection to the world’s biggest family tree
(currently at 77 million people) get a bracelet and take part of the
largest family photo in history." And if all that isn't enough to get you excited, "Sister Sledge will lead us in the largest sing-along of “We Are Family” in history." How could you <i>not</i> want to be part of that?!<br />
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So in order to connect myself to this Family Tree, I had to do some research. Prior to starting, I literally only knew the names of 4 out of my 8 great-grandparents. And I knew zero about any one else further back on my tree. But I knew I loved reading about all of AJ Jacobs projects through the years, and here was my chance to be part of one. So I started with no other goal in mind really than to get my bracelet and eligibility for the picture.<br />
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I actually met that goal pretty early on in my research. Through my great-grandma Rodger's side of the family. But as I started to add names to my family tree, I kinda got hooked on it. And I've learned some really cool things about many of my ancestors.<br />
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My 7-year-old daughter's favorite fact is that I traced one branch of my tree back to King Alpin and Queen Fergusia of Scotland. She asked, "so we are royalty?!?" I tried to explain that we were just distant descendants of Royalty on one branch of our tree. This was pretty much a distinction without a difference for her. So if you run into her one day, and she expects you to kneel, I apologize... Of course she also requested that I trace us back to the first monkey. I told her unfortunately written records didn't go back that far...<br />
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My favorite newly found ancestor by far is my 1st cousin 8 times removed, Mary Elizabeth Greenlee (born McDowell). She was born in Northern Ireland in 1707, and she died in Rockbridge County, Virgina in 1809. She is described in <a href="http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=50997322" target="_blank">one history</a> as, "a feisty lady. Some people thought she was a witch. The Indians
thought she was crazy. They believed bad things would happen to them if
they harmed a crazy person and Mary was allowed to freely roam in and
out of their camps. Mary probably was not crazy, but was actually very
smart, although somewhat eccentric."<br />
Now that's someone I am proud to call family...<br />
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True confession time, I moved to the South 15 years ago, and I never understood the Southern obsession with family history. In fact, I kinda mocked it. My husband and I hung a plaque marker on our first house that read, "In 1868 nothing happened here." I really did not get the pride people had in their lineage or in who had lived or slept once in their homes ages ago. <br />
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And I certainly did not care about who my ancestors were. What I realize now, is that I did not care because I did not know. Over the last weeks I have developed an unexpected attachment to my roots. I feel part of something bigger than I ever have before. I have felt a little less of just one random life.<br />
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It is easy to not care about something when you have little to no knowledge about it. Which is kind of the point of the whole Global Family Reunion Project. When you realize you are literally related through blood or marriage to 77 other million people (and counting) it makes it harder to not care about those other people. And the more knowledge one gets about our great big human family, the hope is the more one will care about our great big human family. <br />
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And so my friends and followers, I look forward to singing with you all one day:<br />
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We are family<br />
I got all my sisters with me<br />
We are family<br />
Get up everybody and sing<br />
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Everyone can see we're together<br />
As we walk on by<br />
and we fly just like birds of a feather<br />
I won't tell no lie<br /> all of the people around us they say<br />
Can they be that close<br />
Just let me state for the record<br />
We're giving love in a family dose<br />
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<div style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
We are family<br />
I got all my sisters with me<br />
We are family<br />
Get up everybody and sing</div>
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<a href="http://www.metrolyrics.com/we-are-family-lyrics-sister-sledge.html#ixzz3BAKRhLmm" style="color: #003399;">Sister Sledge - We Are Family Lyrics | MetroLyrics</a> </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8011168749682191720.post-18953619644014540022014-08-13T09:14:00.000-05:002014-08-13T09:15:18.953-05:00The Thinking Hobby<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">My 7-year-old daughter self-identified "thinking" as one of her hobbies for a form I was filling out about her. At first I chuckled, but then I wrote it in realizing that "thinking" <i>is </i>one of her hobbies. So much like any proud mommy sharing products from her child's hobbies, here are some of my favorite of her "thoughts":</span><br />
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"> -One day when she was about 5, she heard on the radio a news story about someone who had just died. She says to me, "Mommy, if we are all connected, we should have a funeral for that person." Huh. I was a bit worried about the logistics of that request, so I said, "well, we are all connected and that is a beautiful idea, but unfortunately too many people die a day for us to have a funeral for everyone. How about we have a moment of silence for all of them before bed time?" This was acceptable to my thinker. That night we started the practice. I said, "and now we will have a moment of silence for all those that died today. We are thankful for all the ways our lives have been made better by the people who came before." My thinker adds, "Yes. Like Abraham Lincoln." To which I say, "yes, like Abraham Lincoln and members of our own family who have passed on but whose lives touched ours." She gets the last words in, "but mostly Abraham Lincoln." :) </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">-One day not too long ago, my thinker was playing "house" with her best friend. They both wanted to be the mom of the baby. A potential landmine of conflict...but my thinker saves the day,</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">"I know, we can be gay." -my daughter</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">"What's gay?" -friend</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">"You know, when someone has two mommies or two daddies."</span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">"Oh, yeah, right. Sounds good." </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">And so the age old question of who gets to be the mommy was solved. I promise you that thought would have <i>never </i>occurred to me as a child. But then my hobby wasn't thinking... </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">(and if you are wondering what the friend's mom thought about this- the girls were actually playing at her house, and she was equally proud of their problem solving. She's cool like that.) </span><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><br /></span>
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">-</span><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">Back in the summer of 2013, my thinker carried a Slinky named Michelle around with her everywhere. One day on the way to a party, she asked, "what
if someone has a toy with them cooler than mine?" I started to answer
with some wise words about sharing or jealousy, but before I could get any words out, she
chuckled and said, "I'm just kidding. What could be cooler than a
slinky?" </span><br />
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">- </span><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">August 2012 new kindergarten thinker's</span><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">
homework was to "draw 3 objects." She drew a mudpie, onion grass in a
sink, and the big red chicken from Dora. When I asked her why those 3
objects, she said "I thought they would be interesting choices." Indeed. </span><br />
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And finally for my visual thinker friends, I am going to share a few photos of her costume choices through the years. Because she can never just dress up like a simple character. That's not how thinker's think... <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibon1rUsbSiqLTEvsIO7uuN3dCTFXQ4wHJK15HmGWV_YVvQAQdwYEWT-gP3L0kNVzE-AgJSNnNcjiCgzP_Px9rRiUEdwsXnzW9opDW-ZhaIqS9H9e8H2t1Tup2noP5IRZK6rUoXu5XFw8/s1600/340112_2065477238237_632822430_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibon1rUsbSiqLTEvsIO7uuN3dCTFXQ4wHJK15HmGWV_YVvQAQdwYEWT-gP3L0kNVzE-AgJSNnNcjiCgzP_Px9rRiUEdwsXnzW9opDW-ZhaIqS9H9e8H2t1Tup2noP5IRZK6rUoXu5XFw8/s1600/340112_2065477238237_632822430_o.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">While some toddlers choose to be Cinderella, she created "Fairy Princess Meow"</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 style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHQ9ASn_j6CYCuK3wuA8AQLWU-jV-e-mw992Mo4LXY7SOyPPgUJA8BQe8ehg5vWT_Fh6paZl4uL2GuxfqIcPOAB9xq3p42wgTZRjQ87LYYJHGk7iEce_TF1aHYueVTAIV_p7Ss9ik38ZU/s1600/64108_4693833105491_488362534_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHQ9ASn_j6CYCuK3wuA8AQLWU-jV-e-mw992Mo4LXY7SOyPPgUJA8BQe8ehg5vWT_Fh6paZl4uL2GuxfqIcPOAB9xq3p42wgTZRjQ87LYYJHGk7iEce_TF1aHYueVTAIV_p7Ss9ik38ZU/s1600/64108_4693833105491_488362534_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At a spaced themed party with her friend Buzz. She chose to go dressed as a black hole.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCg0c9nuwsOcxyauYM15sOrQv5plTH17RbQV3ECnswEP6zqzu1nOmOaH3rXxfhPM_qmD8q0-JpX1LI7CsagC3-m8QbScSBNB_-NWMKc5_Vy-95tyf7G2GvXrf2IrrYAq1SNMESwWJLnsg/s1600/1395296_10200819393068839_1190695727_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCg0c9nuwsOcxyauYM15sOrQv5plTH17RbQV3ECnswEP6zqzu1nOmOaH3rXxfhPM_qmD8q0-JpX1LI7CsagC3-m8QbScSBNB_-NWMKc5_Vy-95tyf7G2GvXrf2IrrYAq1SNMESwWJLnsg/s1600/1395296_10200819393068839_1190695727_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most recent Halloween costume. She chose a Doc McStuffin's costume off the rack. Then she added accessories from home- result: Doc McStuffins dressed like a cowgirl.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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I have no doubt one day this "thinking hobby" or hers will transform the world. So stay tuned for that. And for more from this one random angel...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16522559813098781136noreply@blogger.com1