tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37884257172216356362024-03-14T01:50:59.894-07:00What the heck?Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger241125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-69928243917794295482012-06-30T16:27:00.001-07:002012-06-30T16:27:42.464-07:0013.1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometimes it was a mental exercise for me. At night as I set my alarm for the early morning hours, I would envision myself stepping outside first thing in the morning, dressed for my run. I pictured my feet hitting the pavement, my easy breathing and the beauty of my surroundings. I could feel the thrill of the "after high" from having just pushed my body in an exercise of physical endurance. When the alarm sounded the next morning, the thoughts of wanting to snuggle under the covers and snag another hour of sleep was replaced with my last mental image from the night before. Mentally, I was half way out the door.<br />
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Running for me started as an answer to prayer. Strange, I know. Feeling completely overwhelmed with life, I had stolen away for a couple of uninterrupted hours in the canyons. I had been praying to know how to feel more balance and peace in my life. I had not been praying to know how to feel more healthy or more in shape. But the answer was very clear. The thought would not leave-I knew I needed to start running. Years later, I would wrestle with the temptation to question that answer.<br />
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I asked the girls consistently if they wanted to run with me. Maybe it was the time of day or maybe it was me, but they were borderline hostile in their response. Running was nowhere on their agenda. I love that we can always change our agenda.<br />
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I didn't start out "running" exactly. It was more like walking briskly mixed with a couple of jogging bursts. Little by little, my body caught up with what my mind wanted to do. Years later, I knew I was ready to attempt a "race." The Salt Lake Marathon was 9 months away and, usually a solitary runner, I joined a nephew in pursuing that goal.<br />
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And scleroderma raised her ugly head.<br />
Knees and hips began to throb and ache. Hands stung and ached in the cold regardless of how many layers I heaped upon myself. Running was no longer my friend. In fact, it wasn't even an acquaintance. I have never run since.<br />
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Somewhere along the road since then, both girls have picked up where I left off and taken running to the next level. They are consistent and focused and determined. They also seem to love it.<br />
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Individually, they both set a goal to run a half-marathon and signed up with friends and roommates to make the dream come true. Gradually, the friends dropped out for various reasons and in the weeks leading up to the race, the sisters were comparing training schedules, routes, and injuries. The goal they had set for themselves personally had suddenly become a "team" event. In my mind, there could be no better team.<br />
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Race day was perfect. Jordan and Gabe and I waited at the nine mile mark and then the finish line to cheer on our team. As I saw them come around the corner glowing with sweat and exhilaration I tried to hide my face from my family. The wave of pride in my girls was overwhelming. Of course they would have to know I would cry. And not for a minute out of sadness for what my body would no longer accomplish. But for the absolute thrill of seeing what grit, determination and effort combined with my daughter's healthy bodies could accomplish. Sky's the limit, girlies.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOoqPqVx7gZyg1yngM3og-kpshP-ahXq9ME1kc6QRVopbpVCm6k6gOndX6vn9JLrtOUI2jGf2t8nKxhOkeO5qHW_bIMrjCPc_g8bi9N4ZjUFKD-u2p1mYeIQ-HErMMqYQhssm9cqBdC6E/s1600/13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOoqPqVx7gZyg1yngM3og-kpshP-ahXq9ME1kc6QRVopbpVCm6k6gOndX6vn9JLrtOUI2jGf2t8nKxhOkeO5qHW_bIMrjCPc_g8bi9N4ZjUFKD-u2p1mYeIQ-HErMMqYQhssm9cqBdC6E/s640/13.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a><br />
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Perhaps Danny provided some of Hailee's inspiration. Being roommates with an avid runner and marathoner will do that.<br />
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Kate and Steph were also at the finish line. They are entering their third year of cheering each other on in the game of college life.<br />
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The nine mile mark in American Fork canyon.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitGvehyzJX9sHmd9zf-pLgXu8_ZhYTUuNh6xd9xCWlLPSizoMTWyroQLtrZRJNttNTDzihrXK787mDnPVJwJFIRNmSfLsutYMVZhbCBaXdn7m_nQZCntxqhrJ9WfifYN0zAbn_PDtmjLE/s1600/IMG_0922.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitGvehyzJX9sHmd9zf-pLgXu8_ZhYTUuNh6xd9xCWlLPSizoMTWyroQLtrZRJNttNTDzihrXK787mDnPVJwJFIRNmSfLsutYMVZhbCBaXdn7m_nQZCntxqhrJ9WfifYN0zAbn_PDtmjLE/s640/IMG_0922.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-91050104045835297332012-06-11T20:54:00.002-07:002012-06-11T20:54:48.093-07:00Ticket to ride<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Christian's graduation photos by <a href="http://www.michellelehnardtphotography.com/2012/05/21/christian/">Michelle Lenardt</a>)</span></div>
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I can't believe it has been over a month since my last post! It would be easier to quit now than continue but I have found such gratification in being able to look back on the happenings of our life and see patterns of Divine guidance and feel gratitude for what has transpired. So much has happened that I hardly know where to begin, what to skim over and just what isn't important enough to include. </div>
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What I do know is that much of this past month has seemed to revolve around this boy:</div>
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And I believe he is important enough to mention.</div>
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He has been busy with region and state tennis finals, seminary graduation, finishing and graduating from High School and leaving for (and coming home from) a graduation trip to California.<br />
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He arrived home late last night and as I locked up and headed to bed, I felt such a sense of contentment in having almost all of my kids gathered again safely under my roof.<br />
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He sat close to me on the bench today in church and sensing that I was cold, he placed his arm around me and pulled me in close. I couldn't keep myself from marveling at how BIG he was. He is not just tall and strong, but he has prickly, patchy facial hair (that he probably should have shaved for church), a nicely ironed white shirt, stylish pants, and a good looking tie that he put on all by himself. How is it possible that this boy of mine is so grown up? Where, oh where, did the time go?<br />
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Right now, "time" is waiting to be filled again. With a job, lawns, friends, more tennis, friends, high adventure trips, youth conference and more school. There are great opportunities for learning and growth on the horizon and I want to be careful that none of us miss a second. If "time" has taught me nothing else, it is that it carries on with or without your permission. <br />
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You either have to get on board or get left behind. I hate getting left behind. I'm buying a ticket to ride.<br />
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A graduation celebration for our two seniors: Christian and cousin Michelle.<br />
(who is strangely absent from this photo)<br />
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Christian and Miles-the-winner...Apparently there was a big argument beforehand in Jodi's family to see who got to sit by Christian. Jodi and Pat lost and were relegated to the end of the table. I hardly saw them all night.<br />
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Christian's sisters<br />
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Michelle and her momma.. (We were trying to get Vicki to do a "teenage girl" pose..)</div>
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And after the ceremony..</div>
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Christian and Tucker</div>
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The fam...<br />
Questions: Why are the tallest of our group at the top of the hill? Why is my hair plastered to my head? And why did someone leave a box of fun dip under Gabe's chair rendering his teeth so blue that he was afraid to smile with his teeth showing all night?<br />
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And the Warner fam...</div>
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"Big" sis Britt...</div>
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Friend Savannah...</div>
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Grandma Kris...<br />
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other "Big" sis Hailee</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-1440538968604921812012-05-01T19:56:00.001-07:002012-05-01T21:23:53.593-07:00Coming out of the shadows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Jordan travels for work. A lot. Of the last three weeks he has been home 3 days. We miss him but we don't, if you know what I mean. It's been such a part of the routine for so long now that we more easily step in and out of sync with his absence or his presence. Please don't mistake that for not caring. I would much rather have him here than gone. I am more relaxed with my husband home. It's so nice to have someone to sit with at Gabe's games or to spend a weekend night out together or to have someone to cook for that seems to appreciate the gesture, or someone that helps with dishes (I'm giving you that one, honey). I miss our pillow talk, him driving Gabe to school in the mornings, his sweet, random texts and his physical presence. Occasionally, I will catch a glimpse of a couple driving together in the car. The comfort of each other apparent in their animated conversation or their casual silence. And in those moments I miss him terribly. </div>
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But most days my focus is my role as a mother-single as that might be. And most days, I feel like I have all the bases covered. Lately though...not so much. Current events have humbled me and shaken my confidence. I have been flailing, looking for support. Then here,out of the shadows, has stepped my husband- in a way...a role...a setting... that I could not have duplicated. Humbly I acknowledge this family's need for the presence of a husband and a father. Parenting is a joint venture for a reason. I refuse to be so glib as to think I don't need him. Neither of us are as good alone as we are together. And I'm so grateful that I have a great partner to do "together" with. It's not ideal, but we're going to have to find a way to make "together" work no matter where he is on the globe. </div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-47283677523840932292012-04-25T11:49:00.002-07:002012-04-25T11:49:56.712-07:00Looking toward the finish line<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We're getting there. Slowly but surely. "These things take time," I'm told. And although I struggle with patience, I can see that the time and effort being but into remodeling our beautiful, old home will eventually pay off. Eventually.....</div>
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Aussie loves riding over to the "new old house." </div>
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The old garage came down. And with it, a lovely rat habitat. </div>
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The new, detached garage. </div>
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"The addition." The family room is the area with the fireplace. The small, attached garage is to the right.<br />
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Looking forward to....that doggie door. I am certain I will like the dog more with that addition.<br />
The nickel board begins at the entry and wraps all the way around to the butler's pantry. Love it.<br />
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Thanks to nephew, Josh, at <a href="http://europeanmarbleandgranite.net/index.html">European Marble and Granite</a>, we have some fabulous new countertops. Jeff-the-builder had his carpenter, James, cover them and make sure nobody put anything on the counters. James took his responsibility very seriously. </div>
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I love the arched entry from the garage entrance. James, you rule!<br />
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Not loving the dust. And it's not just a little bit. Do you think it will ever be completely clean again?</div>
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Apparently, Pat and Jodi came by to have a look when we weren't there and decided to leave a little graffiti. I can't blame them. It's like a magnet for self-expression.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-42918775643307574932012-04-20T10:58:00.000-07:002012-04-20T10:58:01.565-07:00Sharing sushi with my favorites<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
That title might be a little misleading. Seeing as how <strike>Jodi </strike> someone in our group doesn't like to share. Her sushi as least. But I'm willing to overlook that tiny issue because I really, really like being with these people. Kelli and Brandt drove up from their new residence in California to support Jodi and Pat at their sealing and so we took full advantage of the few days that we had everyone in the same vicinity. <i>Happy Sumo</i> and <i>Bear Country Cookies </i>are a given. Non-stop chatter and laughter is a given. Feeling sick from overeating is a given. Jordan being out of town is <strike>almost</strike> a given. Pat making us all look like midgets is a given. A heart full of gratitude that I get to call these people family--is a given.</div>
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<i>L to R: Pat, Jodi, Erick, me, Kelli, Brandt</i><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-22447622514426166942012-04-18T15:49:00.004-07:002012-04-18T17:21:05.912-07:00Rain, rain....I woke up to rain again today. I'm not complaining. But please don't tell Christian that. Any day we have remotely warm weather and/or sunshine and it's his turn to pray he consistently prays; "thank you for this amazing weather we are having and please bless that we will have more of it." It make me smile. He gets cabin fever easily. He loves to be outside. And he is truly grateful when the weather allows him to be there.<br /><br />Spring is notoriously fickle in Utah. One minute you've got the seat warmers on in the car, the next you are blasting the air-conditioning. Both boys play spring sports. Tennis and soccer. As a player or spectator the weather can be a hazard. Gabe played his game Saturday wet and cold. I opted out of cheering from the sidelines and instead had a pretty good view from the car. In case they couldn't hear me cheer when they scored, I honked instead.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvXIRwaJ5YbgVho9zvyXysO1Zqy8i3jEsdU8ls5ChwyhxWCcRHJ2F8NN_TATfYCLxzGQNdfKbLGlgRdT8BeWcpXHatcDrsLHstDkbjZaSX2tMCBgvLeKpCH3fUgmp9ilxpKjTlnkEqAM/s1600/IMG_1286.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvXIRwaJ5YbgVho9zvyXysO1Zqy8i3jEsdU8ls5ChwyhxWCcRHJ2F8NN_TATfYCLxzGQNdfKbLGlgRdT8BeWcpXHatcDrsLHstDkbjZaSX2tMCBgvLeKpCH3fUgmp9ilxpKjTlnkEqAM/s600/IMG_1286.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732877336308424802" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiT56UD8EdxGrIoaS7Lw7UlDDhkGPKMjB3rNJZVE03fBIh78brwHt3kJBlwXWKqB8kyvSR7Y6y64l8u9buprLZpiSMkwL-iE4xdrtAPS4b_1p3vhkkfmtYZ5owRZYdMHCCTnCdU4bJVrc/s600/IMG_1294.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732877319231663266" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjow4VAGsg-z11jv3b7t3cF1aqEoahyhE3MrYMBneJjJM1WyHjXrertF_3ei0ciVqy5PMpmVSrvmopGS3JdRAHtflEViu6jG2cZKKEc6b4-diJPmhow-n4PKGnYR4E1c5Y1Uun-EYvU_W8/s1600/IMG_1290.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjow4VAGsg-z11jv3b7t3cF1aqEoahyhE3MrYMBneJjJM1WyHjXrertF_3ei0ciVqy5PMpmVSrvmopGS3JdRAHtflEViu6jG2cZKKEc6b4-diJPmhow-n4PKGnYR4E1c5Y1Uun-EYvU_W8/s600/IMG_1290.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732877333032738386" /></a>Do you see that grin? Not only did he <i>not</i> complain about the weather, he loved it! Said it was "waaay fun". He even did a mud slide in his white shorts. Of course that makes you look like the more serious player.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiT56UD8EdxGrIoaS7Lw7UlDDhkGPKMjB3rNJZVE03fBIh78brwHt3kJBlwXWKqB8kyvSR7Y6y64l8u9buprLZpiSMkwL-iE4xdrtAPS4b_1p3vhkkfmtYZ5owRZYdMHCCTnCdU4bJVrc/s1600/IMG_1294.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUiupDl5wlT1vIAkxytFW2mA7QqodqEIojdeUm9BOJhI2bXbsuLF76I-ccCBRrhw21yN3eK4GmJ1jW9rTy2tB2L1gqhyGEXja7JDrO8bmxT0wTGIyWviN52gOf6if99FmQwMntyhvqiU/s1600/IMG_1298.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUiupDl5wlT1vIAkxytFW2mA7QqodqEIojdeUm9BOJhI2bXbsuLF76I-ccCBRrhw21yN3eK4GmJ1jW9rTy2tB2L1gqhyGEXja7JDrO8bmxT0wTGIyWviN52gOf6if99FmQwMntyhvqiU/s600/IMG_1298.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732877318078781554" /></a>I can't get enough of this kid. I will cheer for him here or there. I will cheer for him anywhere. (As long as I can watch from the car.)<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyqWzdC9gy5N6AlygYlZyaFqmOnjiChyphenhyphenopYBgT7rFSbEecZNGheOKbRyjWfZA1dCi8e5sv_hnvWa2eI-8uV33kDPk8j16LlVeZ96RkhE2mnMMHAS-lP0T09NsK-nOd0HlCsZetDro9O1U/s1600/IMG_1300.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyqWzdC9gy5N6AlygYlZyaFqmOnjiChyphenhyphenopYBgT7rFSbEecZNGheOKbRyjWfZA1dCi8e5sv_hnvWa2eI-8uV33kDPk8j16LlVeZ96RkhE2mnMMHAS-lP0T09NsK-nOd0HlCsZetDro9O1U/s600/IMG_1300.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732877316777012306" /></a><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-25953226219135925532012-04-17T09:58:00.003-07:002012-04-17T10:50:09.374-07:00Sealed:<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><i>v. to assure, confirm, or bind with or as if with a seal:</i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Saturday, Jodi and Pat were sealed together forever in the Bountiful Temple. It was their day and so I wont presume to know all that it meant to them. But it was a beautiful reminder to me of the promises and covenants that I've made and the amazing man that I made them with. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I can not begin to explain how happy it makes me to see her happy. I have a sneaking suspicion that this man by her side (forever) has a lot to do with that.<br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW-aVQ6FP2P8wUWZQPOv_VHGjQLEjHEkM0cFCxQbSBLHgeFC5CDAYyAnN6kZWtM6nyEXCSe-A2XjwFroLhCqYwixZlDhJtAVqZMCkZJPx0qYVojGxx90_XCzyNgbLTZBVORRB9GgtBtuQ/s600/DSC3698-5x7-L.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732419777321168946" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmjnax3C8wQw0klPiYwV0KobOZkJdToA9HJkRCTDOH4nnf4rrjJYW2-ju8siqeFTz3oEh7dubiwWk7ElObprKFSLNwkf9oG146MNbN5ldDMM2sz8kQy_ql7a3uH_wyu07rxE2GhvSENII/s1600/DSC3687-5x7-XL.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmjnax3C8wQw0klPiYwV0KobOZkJdToA9HJkRCTDOH4nnf4rrjJYW2-ju8siqeFTz3oEh7dubiwWk7ElObprKFSLNwkf9oG146MNbN5ldDMM2sz8kQy_ql7a3uH_wyu07rxE2GhvSENII/s600/DSC3687-5x7-XL.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732419779756029602" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW-aVQ6FP2P8wUWZQPOv_VHGjQLEjHEkM0cFCxQbSBLHgeFC5CDAYyAnN6kZWtM6nyEXCSe-A2XjwFroLhCqYwixZlDhJtAVqZMCkZJPx0qYVojGxx90_XCzyNgbLTZBVORRB9GgtBtuQ/s1600/DSC3698-5x7-L.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a>Jodi and Pat's crew...there is even one missing here. As I've said before, Jodi's life is not easier or less complicated but it is happier and more fulfilling. And is that not what life is all about?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYUx-TZJe4i2atNkef03t9JjUfXiC6GIAdEYb0Bcfd5uZ1Z8aOS1fb76vac9c2DcnMbjof4nNabZ74VuR6HPSjMfxjjyDkJ-CRM9n7RCxzp_fqc5aWNLaSSDWReteH_gvpstgYQWdhO8g/s1600/DSC3793-4x6-L.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYUx-TZJe4i2atNkef03t9JjUfXiC6GIAdEYb0Bcfd5uZ1Z8aOS1fb76vac9c2DcnMbjof4nNabZ74VuR6HPSjMfxjjyDkJ-CRM9n7RCxzp_fqc5aWNLaSSDWReteH_gvpstgYQWdhO8g/s600/DSC3793-4x6-L.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5732419767826437906" /></a>It is good to know people...Jodi and Pat's friend, Ryan, is the amazing photographer that took these photos. Check him out at <a href="http://www.innovativephotography.net/blog">innovativephotography.</a>net/blog</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-26484891968162301812012-04-11T20:11:00.013-07:002012-04-13T20:37:54.554-07:00On Hope and Hurricanes. 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left;text-indent: 0.5in; "></p><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">The tree of life</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">: JK. That was my own interpretation</span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4y7xLJKoh_UeOKUYz0XRbZAwpH1xfRt73xXMDVbOgLluINJ2izSH5M-6OOX8kFOmyBAc06_8UD1TQXI871T3Q0GQhTy8I44PDDAxrFt32KoZU41mHyQV7FjJbNOH1I73WEz0cu8f9s4/s600/IMG_0424.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730349580464202994" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">DISCLAIMER: looong post. Feel free to skip. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">This particular post has been a little harder for me to eek out. I'm not really the "sharing" type. (Which is ironic because I do a great deal of sharing in this post). But I do want to use this forum as an opportunity to publicly thank and acknowledge the many people that have offered their love and support from the very beginning of this journey. In fact, I really hoped the treatment I underwent in Mexico would be successful so that all of these amazing people could have a "reward" for their diligent hope and prayers in my behalf. I didn't want to disappoint them. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">The doctors in Mexico (one Mexican and one American) were very forthcoming. They never promised me anything (other than their complete attention) but it was obvious that they were very hopeful. Like a hungry beggar with outstretched hands, I felt a thrill when any morsel of hope was tossed my way. It felt like sweet nourishment to both body and spirit. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">I was so excited for the prospects ahead that when all of Cancun began to shut down in anticipation of an impending hurricane (Level 3 to start), I was barely phased. That was not the case for the rest of the city, however. Previous experience with extensive hurricane damage had obviously breathed the fear of the "worst case scenario" into all of them. Shops emptied out their stores of all merchandise (to avoid the possibility of looting), taped up the windows to offer support and aid in damage control. Red flags whipped in the wind on all the beaches which were void of any beach chairs or signs of life. Restaurants and grocery stores shut down (hello food storage) and the hotel sent notice that we were to leave all of the balcony furniture inside the rooms, pack our bags and put them in the tub, and then remain in the room away from the windows. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">Even as the storm continued to get closer, I would meet my little taxi driver out front of the hotel every morning, drive to the clinic and spend a couple of hours there doing the next "step" in preparation for the stem cell extraction and infusion. Driving to the clinic on the day of the procedure there was an almost palpable air of fear and anxiety. Under normal circumstances, the procedure is performed in the closest hospital. They had just received word that all of the hospitals were cutting off their electricity and would not be accepting any "non-emergency" patients. So the clinic it was. I will spare you the details but to say that there were many failed attempts to start an IV (no surprises there...the U of U hospital had to use an ultrasound machine and even then it took 7 different tries) and sucking the bone marrow from your tibia feels like your toes are being pulled inside out back through your leg. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">After, Jordan and I rented a car and drove to Tulum to tour other Mayan ruins. The whole afternoon I was doing a constant internal check- "Do I feel any different?" "Can I move my mouth more?" "Can I whistle?" "Hold Jordan's hand?" "Can I breath easier?" "Sit Indian style?" "Touch my toes?" (Oh wait..I couldn't do that even before scleroderma..)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">But no. Nothing. The real kicker was when everybody else started asking. Jordan. Then the doctor. Then the doctor called again. And again. And I all had to show for it was a migrain. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">But it was okay. I had always felt like it would be a process. As much as I would have liked, I was pretty certain that results would not be seen overnight. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">In the meantime the level 3 hurricane was downgraded to a tropical storm. "What a bunch of sissies, I thought." Then the storm hit. And I was the sissy. Holy cow! As the storm gained speed we tried to find food at a make-shift diner in the basement of the hotel. The sideways pelting rain and 90 mph winds made the slick sidewalk impossible to walk on in a straight line. I honestly thought we were going to be blown into a neighboring country. I was scared. But hungry. And hunger always wins out for me. So we persevered into what felt like an upscale refugee camp for the hungry, disappointed land-locked vacationeers. I was glad we had another reason for being there than vacationing. It would have been much more heartbreaking, I think. After all..I still had hope.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">I was able to maintain that great hope and composure until my last follow-up visit at the clinic. It was then that it became very obvious to me that both doctors had expected much more. Both were trying hard to hide their surprise and discouragement. I was crushed. The "process" that <i>I</i> expected was not what they expected. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">We flew home to loving friends and family who all wanted to know how I "felt." What I really heard them say was, "are you healed?" I began to think a lot about that word. What exactly would it mean for me to be "healed?" What about hope? Is there finally a point where you relinquish <i>hope</i> and insert <i>acceptance</i>? Maybe I was to that point? Maybe I needed to just accept and move on?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;">And then Catherine asked me to share my thoughts on pain and the atonement for her Relief Society lesson that Sunday. It was a tall task. <i>What could I possibly share that would be anything that these women had not already experienced in their own lives and didn't already know? </i>But, of course, as is so often the case when we are asked to serve or share, it wasn't for their learning and growth but for mine alone. In the process, I concluded that hope and acceptance do not have to be separate. I can continue to have hope and yet accept where I am today. After all, every single day, I continue to be healed. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';font-size:medium;"><b>This is what I shared that Sunday in Relief Society: </b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';font-size:130%;" ><i>I recently returned from Cancun, Mexico where I underwent unconventional treatment for scleroderma-a rapidly progressing disease I was diagnosed with close to 7 years ago. During my stay at the clinic I was repeatedly asked to measure everything from my level of frustration performing certain tasks to the degree of pain I was experiencing by using a scale of 1-10. Though I understood why they chose to use that system of measurement, I couldn’t quite get past my distaste for it. It is just too subjective for me. My '6' could very likely be someone else’s '2' or my '4' today could be an '8' tomorrow. So when Catherine asked me to share a little about my experience with pain, I felt some discomfort sharing something that I know is very subjective-something that each of you have, do and will experience in your life.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:130%;"><i>For these past several years as you can imagine-or have maybe even experienced-I have tried everything form diet to detox, supplements to prescriptions, <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>physical therapy to cranial therapy and medical treatments to medical experiments in search of healing from a disease that has no known cause and no known cure. Though none of my endeavors have been particularly successful, each has been important in providing momentary hope. Most days, however, I have felt like an innocent bystander watching from the sidelines as this disease slowly robs me of many aspects of my health that I only recently took very much for granted. With the continual hardening of my connective tissue and various internal organs, poor circulation and poor digestion, gone are the days of my early morning runs, being invited to join my sisters in running the Ragnar, whipping my hair into a ponytail, being oblivious to what I eat or where the nearest public restroom is, and getting an uninterrupted nights sleep. The pain and discomfort is very real for me, but on a scale of 1-10, the physical pain ranks lower in comparison to the frustration and grief I have felt over the loss of the seemingly “little things.” Holding the hand of a loved one, not being able to accompany my family when they ski or sled, putting on tights with my skirts, having to be just a bystander for most previously enjoyed activities, feeling helpful, cutting my own meat, tying a bow, being recognized or feeling good about how I look and kissing my cute husband. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:130%;"><i>There have been more days than I would like to admit where my impatience with my limitations or discomfort has translated to impatience with my sweet, unsuspecting family. Or where I have uttered those very ungrateful words, “why me?” Days where I shuffled around feeling sorry for myself and countless moments of jagged crying in the car or the shower pleading with the Lord to just “take it all away.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:130%;"><i>But along the way I have known-truly known-that through the Savior’s infinite atonement, I can be healed. I have prayed for, fasted for, and hoped for that healing. And it is through that same gift that I <b>have</b> experienced much healing. I know that the Savior chose to experience all of my pains-of every variety-through His own physical experience and not just spiritual revelation. He has taken my <b>self pity</b> and healed it with <b>gratitude</b>, my disease-provoked <b>insecurities</b> and healed them with <b>confidence</b> in new areas and a profoundly increased confidence in Him, He has taken moments of <b>discouragement</b> and healed them with <b>hope</b>. And the real, physical pain-He has healed that too. I have cast that burden at His feet countless times and have been given the strength and the desire to push through and accomplish and even be fully present for more than I would have even without it. I have become very aquatinted with "grace."<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:130%;"><i>His intimate knowledge and awareness of my feelings of isolation, fear, and loneliness have allowed Him to cover me on both sides of the veil with friends and family that have filled me to overflowing with love and support. <o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:130%;"><i>So, on a scale of 1-10, how much do I dislike this disease? <o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:130%;"><i>And on a scale of 1-10, how willing would I be to give up the lessons learned and the opportunity to come to know my Savior more fully and feel of his love and <b>healing power</b> more completely? I wouldn't.<o:p></o:p></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">And to scleroderma, for that, I am eternally grateful.</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <!--EndFragment--></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhMkU4m_SYpcIneh0I7jXSEdA3ctRAK_zVYInO1mfrra1FdSnN5pLNE6PAKzIWxxaxg9zRO2zDlMHGFlQ4MvNFz54qw9YqKRZITFqsy_zJV0Mb9utkJQcsvRcG39Kplxn_1LwvTneka8/s1600/IMG_0795.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Tulum</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ENpRpeOVRKOLN7LrdkeHYTYtR1Qprt8PNFQ59HXibcxnjCEA8Y5CjkWkXXoUHwU-G0l7hdJ8spRqpN1wpB0NK_3kP4Ph7rhPEoIwrJGObmaJMPrvw4xFq5CnOXsqGNMAPZ4y-_CJwss/s600/IMG_0426.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730350022735991186" /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilg5NChjyNuOgdRJdV75z-oHCJRzmIDpbd7sY60XGfh8seXINUZCGGWh9SzwKNSGmwwkhLP8o5uTjo4blrujJIhbf64qZfKBfuVbrQCDRnBadhjQ-yAPODvYMs9vkawgRfF0avlKD2PwM/s1600/IMG_0422.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilg5NChjyNuOgdRJdV75z-oHCJRzmIDpbd7sY60XGfh8seXINUZCGGWh9SzwKNSGmwwkhLP8o5uTjo4blrujJIhbf64qZfKBfuVbrQCDRnBadhjQ-yAPODvYMs9vkawgRfF0avlKD2PwM/s600/IMG_0422.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730350025162449570" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhedrynFv60PfgFCesBWrJFOBm2uY5Kp4n57dO2tyw1pzVjlHSiU9yoTmlbnfM13cNIsnb4g18NI_vZU46WPYAv4R7-2ztiifE_FDvtWts9eyhNyI1NtE7MGjvTTcHUg1uCtuuvISiPNg/s1600/IMG_0423.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhedrynFv60PfgFCesBWrJFOBm2uY5Kp4n57dO2tyw1pzVjlHSiU9yoTmlbnfM13cNIsnb4g18NI_vZU46WPYAv4R7-2ztiifE_FDvtWts9eyhNyI1NtE7MGjvTTcHUg1uCtuuvISiPNg/s600/IMG_0423.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730350019753206498" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrk0U-17LCvrem3w4GCTcsVug0Em2gRQu35zk8ON2ouY7yDJsUM3XRq0zNYEh7VWpYiQfmZ-uzB54Bnu89_bVzpUiTrYlIwyZQ-lwkHaImlvavsOFdag7UFIPcmZlN4gfYL1k3wBabl7c/s1600/IMG_0427.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrk0U-17LCvrem3w4GCTcsVug0Em2gRQu35zk8ON2ouY7yDJsUM3XRq0zNYEh7VWpYiQfmZ-uzB54Bnu89_bVzpUiTrYlIwyZQ-lwkHaImlvavsOFdag7UFIPcmZlN4gfYL1k3wBabl7c/s600/IMG_0427.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730349585822456866" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I maybe got a little carried away with all my new camera apps on my phone...</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4y7xLJKoh_UeOKUYz0XRbZAwpH1xfRt73xXMDVbOgLluINJ2izSH5M-6OOX8kFOmyBAc06_8UD1TQXI871T3Q0GQhTy8I44PDDAxrFt32KoZU41mHyQV7FjJbNOH1I73WEz0cu8f9s4/s1600/IMG_0424.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5-nddF5MLeJkGApJ1zYKMjyP-lIyVYA-8k3wwQWOWToAGI00m7wttMPEEzepdkEkaW-9sq9gtoJjwAqBK42Bx_e-g_5vwDdOWd8Z4sUOl0-FhqpNcaOUUGkUsWgVx9dmQ4Vf3mRn5c0/s1600/IMG_0419.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5-nddF5MLeJkGApJ1zYKMjyP-lIyVYA-8k3wwQWOWToAGI00m7wttMPEEzepdkEkaW-9sq9gtoJjwAqBK42Bx_e-g_5vwDdOWd8Z4sUOl0-FhqpNcaOUUGkUsWgVx9dmQ4Vf3mRn5c0/s600/IMG_0419.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730349568800336674" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">We took a boat tour across this bay. By the time we returned it was pouring rain and the boat pitched and rocked in the waves. I have a small problem with sea sickness on a calm ocean. Read: misery.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVN8IF78BLHsrg7N8A335R4lng8qdCvGHB1T37h6yo6_g1HLUTeYysRGgWNC8ZHGooun-7FSKkJjrykM7xL6qCeSVGgOBg4IUVVxpriY9EJOkaehg02hQ_77MNgwlMggI8SakRvAQzic/s1600/IMG_0418.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUVN8IF78BLHsrg7N8A335R4lng8qdCvGHB1T37h6yo6_g1HLUTeYysRGgWNC8ZHGooun-7FSKkJjrykM7xL6qCeSVGgOBg4IUVVxpriY9EJOkaehg02hQ_77MNgwlMggI8SakRvAQzic/s600/IMG_0418.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730349563761123154" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Not a soul in sight. If Jordan had hair you would see it whipping in the killer wind. (On the phone again)</div></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNgrFlYHAeYfZVt81k5swc2nCpxSafEmWX7dxVjKBU_wG0E4LEnYzaebHorVEyP6YIa-2UpJRlmxvsfbUk_1za2L7lfrAemriPveX8-7amNoDIegrBa1ipQyEFVUkvxFWP465l-i1DzA4/s600/IMG_0431.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730350039860598322" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Preparing for the "hurricane." The day before this place with filled with merchandise and people.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh35day3_eVFyj60lzpzXD_34u840HYLHDXvYrfFHesBAYS5JE2C2pDL-bAFQjEm0GiXMd8zx-_c2OTYd7Ths5DT0vGLWsXqZJAGAtwu5Ue3-vJODZ0yD7c9XYOEqz_X2TBLICSg6h79Q8/s600/IMG_0430.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730350033831469762" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">Dr. Abblitt (standing) and Dr. Kadish</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVTL94gWG-No-aMAfoW3iRmY7B2yawGe5KqWwoD1COrM-Ux7gHPmz0PWGqj2LIWD7Ca9ARy09m_EHZR0aLGycraJdCeujaIn45pHM549_k4GfkJluc0EmsVz7ODyHTSr36ZJQ8Dstms0/s600/IMG_0789.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730350306631605122" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhMkU4m_SYpcIneh0I7jXSEdA3ctRAK_zVYInO1mfrra1FdSnN5pLNE6PAKzIWxxaxg9zRO2zDlMHGFlQ4MvNFz54qw9YqKRZITFqsy_zJV0Mb9utkJQcsvRcG39Kplxn_1LwvTneka8/s600/IMG_0795.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730350313320854034" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><div></div><div><div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">My cab driver(bottom right-loved him but can't remember his name), the lab tech (with the lab coat), and the office manager (Rudy).</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioOn-neHZuvCOcJQn9iOsQZ8HcecXcJZkhI4yRYbJ876sv3XIJ7-ReZAAnI7p8qM6K_EBaQXBbB-pnA73lGgSJJw0smTLdWbJvLWWaDnWoIPBLZyQIsABLaAa1yadyyuSzItQAh-CSwBE/s1600/IMG_0800.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioOn-neHZuvCOcJQn9iOsQZ8HcecXcJZkhI4yRYbJ876sv3XIJ7-ReZAAnI7p8qM6K_EBaQXBbB-pnA73lGgSJJw0smTLdWbJvLWWaDnWoIPBLZyQIsABLaAa1yadyyuSzItQAh-CSwBE/s600/IMG_0800.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5730349564853051186" /></a><br /></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-53212533433214671632012-03-28T14:25:00.001-07:002012-03-28T18:30:56.970-07:00Someone in Mexico knew my name (Part I)<div style="text-align: left;">(...besides this big mouth....)</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzmQPIaOb3Xix85zo_q0WKrGyD0WaG_d640ft7aqR6TSA3QrMBwpig-L3XPpjmcJilR-n5E3Op5Ik40FxrGn6mpC50h3FCjgSLRXLXmwO3BhzhZCJszlNlHl_KdJfxvSwnqBYDQmZICL4/s1600/IMG_0350.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzmQPIaOb3Xix85zo_q0WKrGyD0WaG_d640ft7aqR6TSA3QrMBwpig-L3XPpjmcJilR-n5E3Op5Ik40FxrGn6mpC50h3FCjgSLRXLXmwO3BhzhZCJszlNlHl_KdJfxvSwnqBYDQmZICL4/s600/IMG_0350.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725069375896182450" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMc9VLrgOn_BtPP1GhuS1lXx3CAiVv_ANnh0e3J87Y1KVfm7EWD0BWQ5RbJHYDAnm39WatpRaRyvqxvuy71GJLEmSEizoY-f213Zntyjf5p6XEx7EGCwVS6CawnwsTYq7RKUlZK2SM3X0/s1600/IMG_0407.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECTAQ7zJj-pIQv-MmQPhrbgRd2RF1dtPVMy24kY-s6-J9008pS85J8ve_PRLbEJzmUS2nrzTWOGad8NReQZAfR0ljt-_uWFFxpVE1uAoe5IB9aLqqY5r4VkPC-5QnRL0HowMtNUhCTTA/s1600/IMG_0409.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a>Hailee came down the stairs directing me to look at her laptop screen and declared she had found it. "It" referred to a stem cell clinic in Cancun, Mexico with the prominent testimonial being that of a scleroderma patient. I hadn't really realized she had been searching for "it," and so I was surprised and maybe even a little humbled that she had taken it upon herself to research in my behalf. Motivated by my frustration that this disease that had so rudely invaded my body over 6 years ago was still progressing and that my doctors could give me no real hope for improvement or cessation, I decided to follow up. I sent two separate emails but got no response. Disappointed but not surprised, I told Hailee it appeared to be another dead end. A day later I received a response email from the World Stem Cell clinic with the reply,<br /><br /><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Dear <span style="font-weight:bold;">Hailee</span>,<br /><br />I would be happy to call and speak to you today. Please let me know what times are optimal for you and or your mom.<br /><br />Where did you find the e-mail address, for news ? We have never used that e-mail to the best of my knowledge and I apologize as I never received your request.<br /><br />Thanks for your perseverance and look forward to our conversation.<br /><br />In Health,"<br /></span></i><br />Apparently my daughter was not willing to accept my "dead end" response and had done some emailing of her own. Bless her heart.<br /><br />That was in August. At the end of October we found ourselves traveling to Cancun so I could receive stem cell therapy targeted at treating scleroderma. Everything had just seemed to fall into place. It all felt so divinely orchestrated that I was filled with hope for the outcome. (The result for the other scleroderma patient had been nothing short of miraculous). The night before we left, Jordan came across a link for a new scleroderma study being conducted in the US. He wondered if we were maybe approaching this from the wrong direction. Suddenly, I was filled with doubts and fears. I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that we had promised the boys a little prelim vacation before I started treatment. There was no way we were <span style="font-style:italic;">not</span> going. We got on the plane at midnight with so many thoughts gripping my brain. I recorded some of them in my journal....<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">It was 1:30 in the morning, I was on my way to Cancun, Mexico for controversial medical treatment for scleroderma-a disease I 'd battled for almost 6 years, and my only fear now was that there was no stem cell clinic in Mexico and we were victims of some cruel scheme. Jordan had had an interesting experience earlier that day trying to transfer the money to the clinic. A seed of doubt had been planted. The more excited and comfortable I became about the actual treatment, the more nervous I was that it wasn't real. I began to go over every conversation and email I'd shared with the doctor affiliated with the clinic, questioning some things and feeling assured by others. I was told that all I had to do was to go on line, create my own account with the clinic's web page, enter my flight and hotel information, and somebody would be at the airport to pick us up. I told myself that if we got to Cancun and there was no one there, we would know that we had been scammed. I prayed a good portion of that night that somebody would be waiting for us.<br />After a miserable,sleepless, painful night, and a long lay-over in Atlanta, we arrived at our destination. The boys had been troopers but I knew that the night had been rough for them as well. Jordan is a seasoned traveler and was the only one that looked somewhat rested, but each of us was anxious to get to our hotel. After passing through customs and then immigration we moved through a set of doors to an area filled with people holding signs with names of their appointed passengers. <b>None held my name.</b> We moved through another set of doors to an area filled with time-share salesmen and saleswomen and-gratefully-none there held my name either. Now outside, we were met with another group of drivers with signs. I scanned the crowd but even before seeing a sign, I heard someone shout, "Lori!" Do you remember the end of the movie, "The Testaments" when the Savior searches Helam out of the crowd and acknowledges him with his name? How sweet it was to hear the sound of my name and to see two men, one holding a clipboard with "<b>Lori Radman,</b>" printed in big block letters. In the van, we were offered juices and water and Rudy welcomed us to Cancun. Assuring me that the hardest part of our stay here-the flight-was now over. He waited until we were checked in to the hotel, translating when he felt it was necessary, and then left us with a folder full of brochures and pamphlets on the clinic, and tourist attractions, and a cell phone with his number, and the clinic's doctors entered into speed dial.<br /></span><span style="font-style:italic;">We spent the rest of the day exploring the mall across from our hotel, eating tacos, trying to find me a swimsuit (who forgets to pack a swimsuit for the beach in Mexico?), visiting the aquarium to see the dolphin show. The weather was overcast and chilly, but we were in Cancun, my boys were with me and giddy with enthusiasm, I had an opportunity for healing on the horizon. Friends and family had offered prayers and love in my behalf, and someone in Mexico knew my name. </span><div><i><br /></i></div><div>I captured the trip with my trusty iphone..<br /><div><i><br /></i></div><div>K-nex at the shopping center across from the hotel.<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECTAQ7zJj-pIQv-MmQPhrbgRd2RF1dtPVMy24kY-s6-J9008pS85J8ve_PRLbEJzmUS2nrzTWOGad8NReQZAfR0ljt-_uWFFxpVE1uAoe5IB9aLqqY5r4VkPC-5QnRL0HowMtNUhCTTA/s600/IMG_0409.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725068882378087170" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcU79G1Rc1H3H6hs4AU5U_qv2trAKVIJutCTjXTXiSlxJCuNH6ZGQeQxGLFC36Gjfs-W_cEGnoMKvaH3_BB3z958HEs6dn3zYlQoncK0CoXhfO4UR4hyq1fzYil4NgT3C9wl0-5bua5ZU/s1600/IMG_0400.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMc9VLrgOn_BtPP1GhuS1lXx3CAiVv_ANnh0e3J87Y1KVfm7EWD0BWQ5RbJHYDAnm39WatpRaRyvqxvuy71GJLEmSEizoY-f213Zntyjf5p6XEx7EGCwVS6CawnwsTYq7RKUlZK2SM3X0/s600/IMG_0407.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725068885426227250" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyenaJQkZ-i3q7pMRcAXIlle_oV4fVq_Og_TO45B3T0VMfbqKZTSAbNJVsyl5C4MoIwHmBWaFyRJhlN1kSc1H-Eu9Bu_yRs4Y9S6IF5gIIb0KWq7ShP962DPmao_i3iae9aB27uYmkChU/s600/IMG_0349.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725069368534385090" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6qh0m-i5G54gKthAJ3mtb5XerCmbwJhED_NUI0Ij-vziRwLuw0fNHe-AFUrGSkomKIkcAHbP1DZgyLRm7Fp5RVjFZOFoWTP-Es9DxQKOTqpXMhAmRqw3o-kYR2RxLqCt9O1K9L-WAhg/s600/IMG_0348.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725069356302462002" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Jordan signed them all up to "swim with the dolphins." I'm pretty sure he was able to run home after and cross that off his bucket list.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><br /></span></span></span></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv5IrvJTSemTWAExpPA6tFRjaBpfZdreQGQcAEvSjhfUarpIpKVH3387LwpG3w-qVCCGLjAniFnMut07jX72AOtYTH3z4As2QQUX5O3aIFiMGowZy_P1qr9lauxTY794xhTGDdv0caCJY/s600/IMG_0395.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725068920818983922" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></span></span>We visited Chichen Itza with Helaman from <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#cc0000;"><a href="http://http//www.helamantours.com/">Helaman tours.</a> </span>Honestly the highlight of the whole trip. </div><div>Gabe is a history buff. He kept following our guide around asking him questions. He recited a lot of Mayan history the rest of the trip. </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtChdFgsn8jdIGf-KnQXjAYuRBXUCjI4nlYhd2TeLcktVvZOGFcr7_U4YtNfEauUcoaSi4tz1gIWfJ3zVW-jvU3J1V5iBdWEjkz0lVdmb9QSTWEWsyinGMK4qpEnL94wkclX1n6FBFkl6Z/s1600/IMG_0377.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtChdFgsn8jdIGf-KnQXjAYuRBXUCjI4nlYhd2TeLcktVvZOGFcr7_U4YtNfEauUcoaSi4tz1gIWfJ3zVW-jvU3J1V5iBdWEjkz0lVdmb9QSTWEWsyinGMK4qpEnL94wkclX1n6FBFkl6Z/s600/IMG_0377.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724691819370549170" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNmGMgFgYu13Hiod5H-pm0nww0e65i1O5lZIQGx7ivyw_-Lr3ktBfYjVJ32XT5aZUje9UtWhu92U4hy7pB1OP2hyphenhyphenrSr3uFP5pNnLSZI9znvbLvtBW0UJ2fT_Wc36j_O7P8w2Ca2Qjn0sy/s1600/IMG_0380.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNmGMgFgYu13Hiod5H-pm0nww0e65i1O5lZIQGx7ivyw_-Lr3ktBfYjVJ32XT5aZUje9UtWhu92U4hy7pB1OP2hyphenhyphenrSr3uFP5pNnLSZI9znvbLvtBW0UJ2fT_Wc36j_O7P8w2Ca2Qjn0sy/s600/IMG_0380.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724691817166508050" /></a>Christian grew a tree out of his head. You can also make out the head of a snake- <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(111, 111, 0); font-family:Arial;font-size:12px;"><b>Kukulkan</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"> -</span>at the base of the stairs. The body runs alongside.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj61xgmW7QWr4PjNvM5kDbloommD0O2HbCzC4Kg4SFSRjO-xbXOhlMNlbDjwQq0uzc0akVhbnCP1KUq4RySBvpGbYWDklFLyNYURh9ZAeo5GzO-nL3vTkZycwidUrkbU-SFuY2ItPZ8Ii62/s1600/IMG_0404.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj61xgmW7QWr4PjNvM5kDbloommD0O2HbCzC4Kg4SFSRjO-xbXOhlMNlbDjwQq0uzc0akVhbnCP1KUq4RySBvpGbYWDklFLyNYURh9ZAeo5GzO-nL3vTkZycwidUrkbU-SFuY2ItPZ8Ii62/s600/IMG_0404.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724691802352964898" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7JFYaX9eCm8kAPVHSYcdFlBe3F-DRyrBAyiIWg6nK-xbRMw-9UrHUZ6DG_HpIWIbDCIgxrWQX-hRFOJOXStp1qnETZP01hI0ZT3C7g3KR6hzDjFxzh8o5vn7WQpAy_d64_xcM-p43-Zfa/s1600/IMG_0405.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7JFYaX9eCm8kAPVHSYcdFlBe3F-DRyrBAyiIWg6nK-xbRMw-9UrHUZ6DG_HpIWIbDCIgxrWQX-hRFOJOXStp1qnETZP01hI0ZT3C7g3KR6hzDjFxzh8o5vn7WQpAy_d64_xcM-p43-Zfa/s600/IMG_0405.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724691802494082754" /></a>This is another natural wonder: a floral arrangement made from fruits.</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEaKRn2MjtGDT2PjFQB7OMsvYyp2BRNj6hQ_-hw2sDr4-Cv_jQwPscRGVRNknTvwHtUuUDS8vvGZmGLmieAJlqf6NkOfvxNuejOU1XHLFLBb5x_SI1fT7Nbp5ZZAjGIGrE7VMpgsOHLTA/s600/IMG_0366.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724692139421225746" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGGf5shtcGdMLq4Sr72vbT3iLkxquAnDCOids-tKtBkIFRliLtEIckQm2mVGtWo9e7CjpgdoM6e6x-JB7NAJajkywmZMYIR6T2tHmP1Xmai3-6K0amcoi-2VQIqwkqxX_dIm6bvdP1GwI/s600/IMG_0376.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724692144452827442" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span>The tour ended with a trip to a cenote-a natural well. It was unbelievably beautiful.<br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcU79G1Rc1H3H6hs4AU5U_qv2trAKVIJutCTjXTXiSlxJCuNH6ZGQeQxGLFC36Gjfs-W_cEGnoMKvaH3_BB3z958HEs6dn3zYlQoncK0CoXhfO4UR4hyq1fzYil4NgT3C9wl0-5bua5ZU/s600/IMG_0400.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724692150064342066" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></span></span></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">Actually the tour ended with this...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsUKCcQni7pahjF8qZWNLQ4bdl2LGhDYTdxfCaQ_hDhJnmTJ1ohyphenhyphen8ROeA8qDFHt5LyDjKRicdZoxKBvPcXiO-Vot705pCZ_I3Isqq2o8mE6IQcJWowu668z56nOKEAYPF_WbFmqi99XIE/s600/IMG_0397.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725118809223327362" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">Another day, another quesadilla and mexican coke. Can't beat it. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1ZfqfNrrDIaI9bMlqHrvH6KOHuMq4aHq0eoc_4aUwH80iMyzLR_WJp86ZLQcwrkdX3JhRtNu7EIlO2ppamXaHtSdjxl4L8BrMTSsYMpLUJlfy_QBBIErobZrqQo3KcWYBT-9pZo7EnQ/s600/IMG_0396.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725068915877971506" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span>As the boys prepared to leave, the weather prepared to surprise us.</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1O29nPAcIvsCPOLPUm7_S9JsMxJQtfNmLy0o-LjpamUqTTmbdr3FcIg4v0ie_eZoC1TSmvCwWj3l7JKwjZ4sBf5ykKuy-XgamTWXHMYT6sMRiKTDJ0akU6Ly0OC9FzPoQLZ3yNDSo-1w/s600/IMG_0393.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5725068945972830594" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " />The day before I started treatment, I put my boys on a plane back home-by themselves. With a layover. I was questioning my sanity and mothering instincts. Jordan assured me they would be "fine." And they were. </div><div><br /></div><div>I prepared for the unknown the following day. Jordan assured me everything would be "fine..." And it was.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6E72vzVMPr_M5zY60GslElYg7B4ZwqjBmLM9zGSqLqSb_0DO66PDpI-1P_GhXj_6VWiSLhM0WeiizVv5wfL7UWQwg8rfUEb_ZVLRQ90fEAPSSEFZTpRn19eyrmgEz2Gw1ioxxLVySKLIz/s1600/IMG_0394.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6E72vzVMPr_M5zY60GslElYg7B4ZwqjBmLM9zGSqLqSb_0DO66PDpI-1P_GhXj_6VWiSLhM0WeiizVv5wfL7UWQwg8rfUEb_ZVLRQ90fEAPSSEFZTpRn19eyrmgEz2Gw1ioxxLVySKLIz/s600/IMG_0394.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724691798148879378" /></a><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-42717663640194448692012-03-20T07:08:00.007-07:002012-03-20T08:45:04.893-07:00Andy fell down and broke his crown<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0K1CgqFsXY6kevK_zsO5hGVi47ljpP9snNTSH-3nlfeo4kkUiWyDZ4kUaq4KJsomG06CQSVESUcG6Y8KNVusxvlVd3iG_OmoKCNvo8mIBGHbR1KafBEuxGQDynMW8wkUq619YDA1McL6r/s1600/IMG_0731.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0K1CgqFsXY6kevK_zsO5hGVi47ljpP9snNTSH-3nlfeo4kkUiWyDZ4kUaq4KJsomG06CQSVESUcG6Y8KNVusxvlVd3iG_OmoKCNvo8mIBGHbR1KafBEuxGQDynMW8wkUq619YDA1McL6r/s600/IMG_0731.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722003093728572674" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">I know this may come as a surprise to some of you, but nobody has ever asked me for my autograph. I can go anywhere and rarely (ok, never) has anyone asked if they could have their picture taken with me. There have been very few occasions where I felt like people (other than my immediate family) really wanted a piece of me. So...I am sensitive to the fact that I can't really appreciate the public demands on the private life of a celebrity. But still, I <i>am </i>sensitive.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So when we saw <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andy_Roddick">Andy Roddick</a>, a celebrity tennis player, in <i><a href="http://www.chipotle.com/en-US/Default.aspx?type=default">Chipotle</a></i> the day after we had cheered him on to victory at the tennis tournament, I tried to keep a lid on it. I turned to point him out to my kids, but there was apparently no need as they had all suddenly turned into the presiding officers of the <i>Andy Roddick Fan Club</i>. Gabe had been carrying around a tennis ball and a sharpie marker ready to capture autographs from any of the great tennis players we had the privilege to see play. He hadn't really expected to need them in Chipotle while we ate our lunch and now here was a perfect opportunity. Whispering in my ear, he asked if he could run out to the car to get them. At the same time, Christian leaned over and asked if I thought it would be okay to ask Mr. Roddick if he could get a photo with him. He had his phone camera ready. I wanted to say,"no." 'Cause that's how I roll. <i>Don't draw attention to yourself or others. Don't ask of others-especially a celebrity. </i>But...I have missed opportunities with that line of thinking. <i>And</i> I had previously denied my children opportunities with that line of thinking, so I sucked up my insecurities and told him to "go for it." Which he did. Respectfully, he waited until Mr. Roddick had ordered and paid for his food before asking (also telling him that he had seen him play the day before and been so impressed with his performance) and then shoved his phone in my hands to snap the photo. There was no friendly banter. In fact, there was no friendly anything from our celebrity. Just a grunt and an obligatory pose. I tried to comment. To give basic, friendly affirmation, but I got <i>nothing</i>. It was awkward, people. And all the while, I can see Gabe, sitting just to my right, with a tennis ball and a sharpie marker. I tried for my boy's sake to say, "Mr. Roddick, would you be so kind as to take 2 more seconds to autograph a tennis ball for a 13 year old fan?" but I was already sweating and he seemed so miserable that I just couldn't do it.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFf393BOXE9_YyGVVZlI03L9ot6NRCgFjiVXE1Hjte28De-MoXCoS1d5l-hDJT6hYriJPHBpf1uP3zYkkxu8-N1-PBdhGoOoVzwUmXNB77Q-1u5SNT7lpLCKQwdYAWe-7tU3PyS4oP_S7/s600/IMG_0774.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722003091920999810" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>Brittney's cooties are showing</i></span></div> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZCiDRNzRDE8wQb5IQjsmuk1LBHaASb1o9kcseabacz4mF-zaOI-RZKNspnsNyvhS8NV6m3JAmia-LfpODGCthqIyUtf9lLG52EpZKInH78FrEd6WQZvL4ueWN1gaD1TAT3-6vIoFdgQcA/s600/IMG_0775.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722003087816807506" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Our 20 seconds of celebrity gawking had cost us our place in line, so I returned to the back of the line-again. Gabe didn't budge. He continued to sit at the empty table looking forlornly at the unsigned ball in his hands. I felt terrible. <i>Why hadn't I made more of an effort regardless of Mr. Roddick's apparent distate for....us??</i> I motioned for Gabe to come talk to me. ( I felt bad, but not bad enough to lose my place in line a second time)</div><div><br /></div><div>"Bud," I said, "I'm so sorry I didn't stop him from leaving before he had signed your tennis ball."</div><div><br /></div><div>"It's okay, Mom. I saw how he acted." </div><div><br /></div><div>And it hit me. Gabe wasn't upset because he hadn't gotten an autograph from <i>the</i> Andy Roddick- a great tennis player that he had looked up to and admired and followed for years.</div><div>He was upset because he didn't <i>want</i> the autograph. </div><div><br /></div><div>In one fell swoop, humanity had rushed in and swept a hero off of his pedestal, bringing him to his knees and exposing him as nothing more than a mere mortal.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so...Gabe is currently in the market for a replacement of that empty spot on his pedestal. I told him to choose carefully as falling off is an occupational hazard. To not chose anyone he didn't want to get hurt. </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-52555997145999696872012-03-15T13:10:00.002-07:002012-03-15T13:10:00.139-07:00I know Love means nothing in the game of tennis...<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; ">...but there was so much I loved about our trip to Palm Springs to watch the BNP Paribas Tennis Tournament. </div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; ">I loved seeing the "Over 60 Couples Bike Club" out for a morning bike ride. The weather was clear and sunny and headed to 80 degrees. In March! There is no question why this is retirement heaven. </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG98baRSyFqQ5oanLC4-sU4RAt4X1n6u1se23i2ezlAultPrSzVzu-vg1ucOAlKxRw2y9Vr7ECmL3efKm-VJY79N2GwUp27lqXaI5Q8wPPMWU7B7tTQLR9G2uyJb8RNzdI6tYd3AdcAwRS/s1600/IMG_0730.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG98baRSyFqQ5oanLC4-sU4RAt4X1n6u1se23i2ezlAultPrSzVzu-vg1ucOAlKxRw2y9Vr7ECmL3efKm-VJY79N2GwUp27lqXaI5Q8wPPMWU7B7tTQLR9G2uyJb8RNzdI6tYd3AdcAwRS/s600/IMG_0730.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719881352951082770" /></a>I loved being with these people. They are goofballs and gracious and easy going. Which makes everything enjoyable.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFZlI-a_fd8qo_J59lsT8c3oF8TYmeASfJTP5U_-9n3baUQe2blbpqDR3H_KYzr9yZgrXMfv1n7SElYD_g6InNDG9kcrOLekHRlpGmrC2UaRpepJsx4ImD_lH61TQoEKJ5mx02uHejtrKc/s1600/IMG_0754.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJyttnAY_8XIOiyihiJX7h_0O_47kflWBMEJFQNLTcASrhqaYGPF4iksIohPxVJk4fJUTiwyhi0oVMrGGNkVv-RfPaQ69KcdyeW2LBQoQLUj0xPIvx8_BMvdEJjT4c7O9RP19RTuQoxKi/s1600/IMG_0740.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJyttnAY_8XIOiyihiJX7h_0O_47kflWBMEJFQNLTcASrhqaYGPF4iksIohPxVJk4fJUTiwyhi0oVMrGGNkVv-RfPaQ69KcdyeW2LBQoQLUj0xPIvx8_BMvdEJjT4c7O9RP19RTuQoxKi/s600/IMG_0740.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719879908102801074" /></a>Our loved our agenda every day. Bake. And watch tennis/people.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zCqsf5y60ycCrl499y7EVEsKgkcIvWtRSz5sUoSkCHrAj8fQYGpaKVBtukxW__Z-EUuGPyTq864iHbe0keEzQBROtN0ngRiojTvqzuZ6tgwg7zKVZpWITv9tAg3eMgTPe3UWx5qL2BcW/s1600/IMG_0762.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zCqsf5y60ycCrl499y7EVEsKgkcIvWtRSz5sUoSkCHrAj8fQYGpaKVBtukxW__Z-EUuGPyTq864iHbe0keEzQBROtN0ngRiojTvqzuZ6tgwg7zKVZpWITv9tAg3eMgTPe3UWx5qL2BcW/s600/IMG_0762.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719879902870564578" /></a>I loved Brittney's hair at the end of the day. And her brother snuggling up to her. (We may have baked during the day but the weather turns ice cold when the sun goes down).<br /><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7dD5yYPuh159A1eVPGpVdd9UOMgRVN-WNS3LLKGlRayy5c_trgKP88viXFa_UDcNmxxlLd5tNfxilDV81vb6bx6riiiU2G_oNTjcZ8KLTrsh_E3Vi_ywtwIGSBXTOWgRG4xCdpnRhsgV/s1600/IMG_0758.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7dD5yYPuh159A1eVPGpVdd9UOMgRVN-WNS3LLKGlRayy5c_trgKP88viXFa_UDcNmxxlLd5tNfxilDV81vb6bx6riiiU2G_oNTjcZ8KLTrsh_E3Vi_ywtwIGSBXTOWgRG4xCdpnRhsgV/s600/IMG_0758.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719879899648591442" /></a></div><div>I loved watching all the greats. We also saw some not so greats. But I'll tell you about that in another post. This is the love post.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBlxMVbsLdmTOMoDwwUwmeOkdE2ulufS1lPo-wgDAevRKs8e3RBph0sdWfg4QLGmJXfYKTdlz1fR7E0q8rSSPk30dYqemn_nrxCALxjA76tDoyc8AnQ4UayDZpCpjTwbTFFtgSAxQyqUa/s1600/Mar+8%252C+20121.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBlxMVbsLdmTOMoDwwUwmeOkdE2ulufS1lPo-wgDAevRKs8e3RBph0sdWfg4QLGmJXfYKTdlz1fR7E0q8rSSPk30dYqemn_nrxCALxjA76tDoyc8AnQ4UayDZpCpjTwbTFFtgSAxQyqUa/s600/Mar+8%252C+20121.jpg" /></a></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; ">I loved wearing sandals and watching the "ball kids" and the smell of fresh cut grass and frozen lemonades and sunsets.</div></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QsFspMxkvQpO8-iD3mGkQkbTYb41wK2zyashibuzbi0QYs4q8UNP6rmYI8-o3JEXuGqDEckPzxl0npRnQs3K8n5bH0_ooWCfypZNttRMnOVKM10YUADq7LEsUxtgbm4k-z5V4Zn-_ozr/s1600/Recently+Updated7.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QsFspMxkvQpO8-iD3mGkQkbTYb41wK2zyashibuzbi0QYs4q8UNP6rmYI8-o3JEXuGqDEckPzxl0npRnQs3K8n5bH0_ooWCfypZNttRMnOVKM10YUADq7LEsUxtgbm4k-z5V4Zn-_ozr/s800/Recently+Updated7.jpg" /></a> </div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER">Gabe's parting shot on my phone.</div></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER">It was such a fun trip. I loved being warm. And not having to think.</div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER">But I do think I'd like to come back next year.</div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><br /></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFZlI-a_fd8qo_J59lsT8c3oF8TYmeASfJTP5U_-9n3baUQe2blbpqDR3H_KYzr9yZgrXMfv1n7SElYD_g6InNDG9kcrOLekHRlpGmrC2UaRpepJsx4ImD_lH61TQoEKJ5mx02uHejtrKc/s600/IMG_0754.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5719880260879424706" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-51409228861116670682012-03-14T13:31:00.004-07:002012-03-14T15:33:39.776-07:00First stop: Ruby's Diner<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;">We grabbed the boys (and the daughter who happened to be on spring break) and headed out of town for a quick getaway. Of course it was no fun without Hailee (the very responsible daughter at home studying for college exams) but we tried to make the most of it. </div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;">Our first stop on our way to the hotel was Ruby's. Worth mentioning: the pepperjack cheese sticks with dipping sauces. A zillion very tasty calories.</div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEahsvdlq6CM6hXsaSHvm1QkdCn_DKfW666keFSuWF4bMkTlJgjORTC5K-KX4Zy6pwiyEw96TFkQ7Fzv9Lv85KTLhaMi_h3yyoSCQVFcJUsp7UKEM2UdnMKSGdSeVle0GBKyi3zYL9H8jL/s1600/Collages1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEahsvdlq6CM6hXsaSHvm1QkdCn_DKfW666keFSuWF4bMkTlJgjORTC5K-KX4Zy6pwiyEw96TFkQ7Fzv9Lv85KTLhaMi_h3yyoSCQVFcJUsp7UKEM2UdnMKSGdSeVle0GBKyi3zYL9H8jL/s800/Collages1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-52303644731162871582012-03-07T09:09:00.003-08:002012-03-07T09:58:23.585-08:00The view from hereDad loved the mountains. I don't know that his original plan would have ever involved leaving them. Being drafted to serve during the Vietnam War changed the course of all of our lives forever. One very obvious way was leaving Utah never to live again until his retirement. Living all across the United States and Europe was an adventure to be sure and there was beauty specific to every place we lived, but dad always lamented about missing "his" mountains. Upon retirement, he nestled himself and mom in the foothills of one of Utah's beautiful mountain ranges and I cozied up to another. Apparently, one of the genetic gifts I received from dad was a large dose of the "mountain needing" gene. It probably sounds a little corny, but I feel strength from these mountains. Their beauty lifts me and inspires me. Each season the mountain transforms into a new kaleidoscope of colors, shapes and textures that is breathtakingly beautiful. Sometimes when life seems to be pressing harder than I think I can tolerate, I have looked to the mountain and asked for a small portion of it's strength. <div><br /></div><div>One of the many little gifts from our remodel was being able to capture this view from a new master bedroom window. My first thought when I walked up to this new window opening?</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Dad would love this view. </i></div><div><br /></div><div>And so it is...a new gift..now when I look at "my" mountains I see not only beauty and strength but I can feel dad there too. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgli8fgKr1Ls-s_XqG0Vg8_Hew9uKY3IEDpkQIek1TB0i_KKa565eq7ZJ0RcOvnv59h2XDjxiSi4RHLU6u5D7RBWUXqaM92aiv0VpvAYoyFY2jpMOFCWvhANDY2T8_djmwVHTWXt14vvUp7/s1600/IMG_0661.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgli8fgKr1Ls-s_XqG0Vg8_Hew9uKY3IEDpkQIek1TB0i_KKa565eq7ZJ0RcOvnv59h2XDjxiSi4RHLU6u5D7RBWUXqaM92aiv0VpvAYoyFY2jpMOFCWvhANDY2T8_djmwVHTWXt14vvUp7/s600/IMG_0661.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717204230558459970" /></a>Pat can finally "fit." I tell him all the time, that his 6'5" giantness is the reason for the remodel. Until his marriage to my "little" sister, the average hight around here was about 5'4".<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJpoGAQnmcsZIN1ZbcV_uIkFJ7_f89bl5ylZ9gTN62cm11Bn_q6gHkzQiVfSHghrPuMapcmahjBiBpi0-_jMfRb0EWi4QM8ZmQEEyObzaRJ9cV5zJuenFVpqLniRVY_tWIjprUrsr5BEx/s1600/IMG_0662.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJpoGAQnmcsZIN1ZbcV_uIkFJ7_f89bl5ylZ9gTN62cm11Bn_q6gHkzQiVfSHghrPuMapcmahjBiBpi0-_jMfRb0EWi4QM8ZmQEEyObzaRJ9cV5zJuenFVpqLniRVY_tWIjprUrsr5BEx/s600/IMG_0662.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717204225506180130" /></a>Anne-Marie and Jeff-the-builder discuss options for that little hole in the wall. I guess her mom never told her not to draw on the walls. I love, love these two people.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddiii0m5hVNVEYQxmveB5ayrZ-Px2iygU72VK97LX8bzSD47UFDpMgZKVY9o6mY8g29uXvJkehxktCQjcz7o_bkpmo9uU78-57FdIjrCWKTbVRxFwjJJrFaH9Uy3noV62jEkKJTDp6J9c/s1600/IMG_0707.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhddiii0m5hVNVEYQxmveB5ayrZ-Px2iygU72VK97LX8bzSD47UFDpMgZKVY9o6mY8g29uXvJkehxktCQjcz7o_bkpmo9uU78-57FdIjrCWKTbVRxFwjJJrFaH9Uy3noV62jEkKJTDp6J9c/s600/IMG_0707.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717204209833970226" /></a>The "roof solution." Is is called a shed roof? I think the window are so dang cute.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewKU-OQYehWDF1NmbstgelZFNszUwSE4_hRHfE3KmABSqu_uSC4daOMAmSWLR3X6_DpeX4dwm-ota3lRlnfovUu105O-LTpswNo3XvhzMkXF-sq19KThFgYFEwD-RJTU9zKTcgs1YMHsJ/s1600/IMG_0704.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewKU-OQYehWDF1NmbstgelZFNszUwSE4_hRHfE3KmABSqu_uSC4daOMAmSWLR3X6_DpeX4dwm-ota3lRlnfovUu105O-LTpswNo3XvhzMkXF-sq19KThFgYFEwD-RJTU9zKTcgs1YMHsJ/s600/IMG_0704.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717204209284918402" /></a>The basement stairs. The risers are far from even. There is a combination of 6", 7" and 8" risers. Do we fix them? Make them all even? Or set up a hidden video camera to entertain ourselves with video of all of the people that seem to trip coming up the stairs?<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOnnTPBnogsvCuV2PI4euDlkUYtkeokbWnSzG11YLfla96JCSwlwhIoKWSr9ClY-B8ofabN3I0sLK7vF7G_WEZyyYR2JGv700DF40v3asZd5pBAezSuMYe_OGsFu6cCCthj8rTj70A0pvg/s1600/IMG_0706.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOnnTPBnogsvCuV2PI4euDlkUYtkeokbWnSzG11YLfla96JCSwlwhIoKWSr9ClY-B8ofabN3I0sLK7vF7G_WEZyyYR2JGv700DF40v3asZd5pBAezSuMYe_OGsFu6cCCthj8rTj70A0pvg/s600/IMG_0706.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717204204357258242" /></a><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-84258887072069501232012-03-02T07:43:00.004-08:002012-03-02T08:17:01.716-08:00UnspokenThere is a lot I could say about this trip down south for the boy's (Gabe and Nick) President's Day soccer tournament. We had learned mere hours before we left that dad had passed away. We were ragged and heartbroken and exhausted and working so hard to put one foot in front of the other. It was a trip where much more was felt than spoken.<div><br /><div> <div>So I am going to leave it at that. </div><div><br /></div><div>And although in a very different way, it was still a good trip. <div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbuje95aqHwdv-BQ29JJ9vDwKXliYzlpUvdd6uh75rss665nj4Ls01X6vr_3_FkQNbl95mhwshw-AfRXCRcyu8ztA5RYfOgfZlTRWfrf6uKM__iFl6WkZIDz8gfNkr3936JQd3NpDwbT-/s1600/IMG_0641.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbuje95aqHwdv-BQ29JJ9vDwKXliYzlpUvdd6uh75rss665nj4Ls01X6vr_3_FkQNbl95mhwshw-AfRXCRcyu8ztA5RYfOgfZlTRWfrf6uKM__iFl6WkZIDz8gfNkr3936JQd3NpDwbT-/s600/IMG_0641.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715328474230485954" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UCHZ15WtHNXHRuT5f_NQxK9MQss4x-KKr-szFY1LrRPt4-tdIv8BB7P95qhfxYgRt7nUNgDmOwSM9F2OU-LA_9fvIO0WPzhgsXyM-7ePgyL1TB3ixrED_Sysht7lmSD0TggWJAWNcoMq/s1600/IMG_0640.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UCHZ15WtHNXHRuT5f_NQxK9MQss4x-KKr-szFY1LrRPt4-tdIv8BB7P95qhfxYgRt7nUNgDmOwSM9F2OU-LA_9fvIO0WPzhgsXyM-7ePgyL1TB3ixrED_Sysht7lmSD0TggWJAWNcoMq/s600/IMG_0640.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715328467531660594" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-huWemxRrF6f8RpOMEyrwh-eT4JBqC9TK_7wiugEElQgtd7ycl4SMHBl36IAegfGiq2DIgp7ay3GF7nkivp-cnUuZ4pEbkxPliq3fKkLJ32hYpoFAoEa0Af2NYzlv5BV-jBdsNrWRA3uR/s1600/IMG_0648.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-huWemxRrF6f8RpOMEyrwh-eT4JBqC9TK_7wiugEElQgtd7ycl4SMHBl36IAegfGiq2DIgp7ay3GF7nkivp-cnUuZ4pEbkxPliq3fKkLJ32hYpoFAoEa0Af2NYzlv5BV-jBdsNrWRA3uR/s600/IMG_0648.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715328463689828530" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7pauFxORbZykRGGrh5vCXucPIQT4hIBPm7JEHy2oEmmP5SYgwg8bzFrPeryaioaJ5g9HYFuE1gmq2pfuZnbcVqIpm-d8g7cYiBoEuHV4KxAK-939ulKz_hSZQKohpgBeb8GmYMCcZ-65v/s1600/IMG_0638.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7pauFxORbZykRGGrh5vCXucPIQT4hIBPm7JEHy2oEmmP5SYgwg8bzFrPeryaioaJ5g9HYFuE1gmq2pfuZnbcVqIpm-d8g7cYiBoEuHV4KxAK-939ulKz_hSZQKohpgBeb8GmYMCcZ-65v/s600/IMG_0638.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715328154224700242" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHgqWiEljETpDU-sWs8rFgZHIjqO7iVC6uwlKhLD4mDabdLgudv2CvobB8hw2j1lVnBfuEPB-JPY6WznLJPycMpLUXsqCd842MBwTaJ_8lU5vRLo_OK5B2XNpVHyn7K_6MtyC2ZgYvyWrK/s1600/IMG_0642.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHgqWiEljETpDU-sWs8rFgZHIjqO7iVC6uwlKhLD4mDabdLgudv2CvobB8hw2j1lVnBfuEPB-JPY6WznLJPycMpLUXsqCd842MBwTaJ_8lU5vRLo_OK5B2XNpVHyn7K_6MtyC2ZgYvyWrK/s600/IMG_0642.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715328143348026386" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8V1aYNtA5R5odjYwKP-gkxnpPJdXEY5N9ALyx9I0J29t-AUfayZEiptVZvP929-3iCstB-ij2vOqfy2AGKCbMW_hbIaJYgn6_call8bz8JlT9mcv3GXOTlGaB1ktRJ3NKar36UtVWviOp/s1600/IMG_0645.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8V1aYNtA5R5odjYwKP-gkxnpPJdXEY5N9ALyx9I0J29t-AUfayZEiptVZvP929-3iCstB-ij2vOqfy2AGKCbMW_hbIaJYgn6_call8bz8JlT9mcv3GXOTlGaB1ktRJ3NKar36UtVWviOp/s600/IMG_0645.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715328139148202226" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsID5UcpuqGzqlGKacX-VYnNX6wwAbDSyQKCv5_7rasI9Tlxz99-F9uYsm2gBZV4LT5b2Wk1u5Ov6L8Lbys4yOh9ozY3dmUO6UmfZFJbD7VCyOduDevlNzUVIf82Ud68ari-BAQ-HJmoM2/s1600/IMG_0647.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsID5UcpuqGzqlGKacX-VYnNX6wwAbDSyQKCv5_7rasI9Tlxz99-F9uYsm2gBZV4LT5b2Wk1u5Ov6L8Lbys4yOh9ozY3dmUO6UmfZFJbD7VCyOduDevlNzUVIf82Ud68ari-BAQ-HJmoM2/s600/IMG_0647.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715328137578663298" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEekKPbXKP9Ys2WvK_9g-5HyAgBK0R1500ObrSlJFBwMoK67LLwFUjrx50ASqTMrUxA21FIYd6aZ_cj8muP4KS9vB9OWnLVBW79ADOC9CCIOdoeBiJ2NKSNGJivNLNRQIoLXWGwlt8Gsz/s1600/IMG_0646.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEekKPbXKP9Ys2WvK_9g-5HyAgBK0R1500ObrSlJFBwMoK67LLwFUjrx50ASqTMrUxA21FIYd6aZ_cj8muP4KS9vB9OWnLVBW79ADOC9CCIOdoeBiJ2NKSNGJivNLNRQIoLXWGwlt8Gsz/s600/IMG_0646.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715328130410237954" /></a><br /></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-70208960171982100522012-02-29T08:43:00.011-08:002012-03-01T16:04:56.716-08:00I miss him every dayDo you know what..? People are amazing. For all of my years, I have wondered what the appropriate thing to do or say in this situation would be. How do you offer comfort and love and support to someone who has experienced such sadness and loss in their life? Would they rather just be left alone? And if I do approach them...what do I say? What if I say the wrong thing? <div><br /></div><div>I am here to tell you that something is better than nothing. Although asking me how I am will probably result in a lie- a hug and acknowledgment in any form-be it a card or the miriad of food and treats or an "I'm thinking about you" or the beautiful flowers that have brightened our home or even a simple text- my family and I have felt a surprising amount of strength and comfort from even the smallest efforts. I am awed and grateful beyond words for the goodness and love of people. Truly, my cup runneth over. </div><div><br /></div><div>The strength we have felt from the prayers of friends and family in our behalf has been obvious. I firmly believe that it is the lifting power of those prayers that has allowed us to enjoy sweet, tender experiences with each other and with dad in preparing for the funeral. I know that doesn't last forever. People get back to their daily lives and rountines and move on-as they should. We are expected to do the same. The comfort and strength that I felt before is definitely not constant anymore. It ebbs and flows now leaving me with more and more moments where I feel raw and exposed and just plain sad. </div><div><br /></div><div>In those moments, I go back and re-read some of your inspired words. Many were writen to mom that she then shared.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dad was a great thinker and an amazing writer. He would appreciate the beauty of these written thoughts. I want to share a few...perhaps there is comfort here available for others as well.<br /><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, sans-serif;font-size:85%;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYUPqQZIYqq-S52W6LD7f0PaYKPmszrSwGrlpI_HBcK-KBrgXWzh9PDiSNmr6kjx782d-7NurSZWRiubHGPcTXDuc_dD6K9fhn57t1BAzSPD3dlEAQuWAHgfExNrcEXa2E6bQg67XKQ50g/s1600/IMG_4205.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYUPqQZIYqq-S52W6LD7f0PaYKPmszrSwGrlpI_HBcK-KBrgXWzh9PDiSNmr6kjx782d-7NurSZWRiubHGPcTXDuc_dD6K9fhn57t1BAzSPD3dlEAQuWAHgfExNrcEXa2E6bQg67XKQ50g/s400/IMG_4205.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714619866758558226" /></a><blockquote type="cite" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-family:'Lucida Sans';"><div lang="EN-US" link="blue" vlink="purple"><div class="WordSection1" style="page: WordSection1; "><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-bottom: 10pt; font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-family:Calibri, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><b>Those memories together in the hospital are precious moments that have impacted my life forever. Hearing the news that your dear husband had passed away was honestly one of the greatest moments of loss I have ever experienced. I could only imagine how heartbreaking this news was for you. My heart went out to you; it broke with yours. How helpless we feel at those moments; how acutely aware we become of the fragility of life. I was reminded of the beauty of the plan of salvation as the doctor expressed his testimony that, “God has a plan for us.” He does have a plan for us. And that gave me comfort. While I was caught away in the grief of the moment, I rejoiced that he truly had only been “transferred” to his next area—his next assignment—received “into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where [he] shall rest from all [his] troubles and from all care, and sorrow” (Alma 40:12). (from one of the elders mom had called for help)</b></span></i></span></p></div></div></span></blockquote><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR6P8gDSPma55pIajISzYXM1d7hXFb1HMi9F1fdYGJSLFBLWkVPm1H-KNvpXM0uGknnunKt9ru7azLfXKgu_ptURNAX_O-1dQWiYU1kgZ2zQ62epSgyzJ_QT_SdFMqrwfdULRUPMDRf3VS/s1600/IMG_1060.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR6P8gDSPma55pIajISzYXM1d7hXFb1HMi9F1fdYGJSLFBLWkVPm1H-KNvpXM0uGknnunKt9ru7azLfXKgu_ptURNAX_O-1dQWiYU1kgZ2zQ62epSgyzJ_QT_SdFMqrwfdULRUPMDRf3VS/s600/IMG_1060.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714619861841901554" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Your father died too young—at least as earth lives go.<span> </span>But, we know he died in the Lord, while doing what he was called to do.<span> </span>And, in the Lord’s concept of time and eternity, his passing was right on time…right on time for the next calling…right on time for his next lesson...right on time for the lessons we have yet to learn.</span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-left: 0in; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></i></span></p><div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt3U4dKzhJrsKe9jzPSepD6NeF1F4qgKsz2af_02D8m4fmzbJz7JgWaKkRCf5PeVf93DephooqkFm_Q2bhTHciJO-89s2OCRfTykqbfkLuNYiHelf9rnj_gwhUbFDTLiZywz-Q_VaHRC30/s1600/Recently+Updated2.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt3U4dKzhJrsKe9jzPSepD6NeF1F4qgKsz2af_02D8m4fmzbJz7JgWaKkRCf5PeVf93DephooqkFm_Q2bhTHciJO-89s2OCRfTykqbfkLuNYiHelf9rnj_gwhUbFDTLiZywz-Q_VaHRC30/s800/Recently+Updated2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a> </div><div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"> I'm sure there is purpose and meaning in what happened, whether known or not. Regardless, Doug's passing has a bitterness for you and all of us that will not easily subside. Although there is comfort and balm available in the atonement of our Saviour there is a natural and God-intended hardship and sorrow that each must pass through to one degree or other. I don't mean to dwell on the obvious, but I do want each of you to know of our prayers on your behalf and our desires to stay in better contact with you all. It is times like these that the true value of family and our ties that bind us together in eternal ways becomes more apparent as the more petty distractions of life are stripped away. </span></i></span></div><div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Tm4byRMCThkYhyphenhyphen158_Nf6okkf0JMDwcsdmG2Pst0W5BOWmwS9vnV-D7150QFIQoeSnctDjLFCzQO76-GNpmGCxHHKDBZL4Z4ZwtZS-AGbItLMlaMYfsz9y2Az-Ufp1n9OJH9-igzhC7k/s1600/Recently+Updated3.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Tm4byRMCThkYhyphenhyphen158_Nf6okkf0JMDwcsdmG2Pst0W5BOWmwS9vnV-D7150QFIQoeSnctDjLFCzQO76-GNpmGCxHHKDBZL4Z4ZwtZS-AGbItLMlaMYfsz9y2Az-Ufp1n9OJH9-igzhC7k/s800/Recently+Updated3.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Tahoma;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">These next days will be busy and unrelenting in their requirements, but in a short period of time you will begin to feel the quiet peace that the Lord promises. It does not take away all the pain, but it does help us to accept in our souls that God is merciful and kind. He understands this part of the plan of salvation quite well and has made sufficient provision to comfort those who have faith in Him. </span></i></span></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Tahoma;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Tahoma;font-size:85%;">Family on Mom's side:</span></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKGytJXDJU9MQ8s2OU-vPII_2GGIIIgeEPPIDNhmIK0k8UmqEHk8EjfgaqsD47fTWHKPtPjLwgNYNPJBTpbiHQpdboVwV0Mo0KNj22BtnffdQHMSRliQmHtBLFf8X9e1_Rjy_sXueLzqEn/s1600/Recently+Updated5.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKGytJXDJU9MQ8s2OU-vPII_2GGIIIgeEPPIDNhmIK0k8UmqEHk8EjfgaqsD47fTWHKPtPjLwgNYNPJBTpbiHQpdboVwV0Mo0KNj22BtnffdQHMSRliQmHtBLFf8X9e1_Rjy_sXueLzqEn/s800/Recently+Updated5.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><br /></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">There are no words that can adequately express the pain and grief we feel at the passing of a loved one. For those we truly love, we tend to hold on to that pain and extend that grief sometimes longer than we know we should. We do so because that pain, in some therapeutic way, helps us feel and remain closer to the one who has passed. We fear that to let go of the pain would be tantamount to betrayal of that one we wish were still here. And, while we believe with all our heart in the continued life we’ve been taught, there are still questions unanswered. It is at this time that we are forced to exercise our greatest faith. What a blessing it is to have the teachings and knowledge of the Gospel in </span></i></span></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">our lives.</span></i></span></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Family on dad's side:</span></span></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOKqvSQasJ6SeHhG2KDTVrAo0GCudnQViDZxXtPvzEFzJ02pmgXFiREtd5Kj6gRf-4kyIWJR5QEYCjm7PtiEwBw9fEBNAnBhjnXpZvj2W8W17uMIQ8I7cIk0Pd5zWLpl8jNvbOwXrSKKe/s1600/Recently+Updated6.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOKqvSQasJ6SeHhG2KDTVrAo0GCudnQViDZxXtPvzEFzJ02pmgXFiREtd5Kj6gRf-4kyIWJR5QEYCjm7PtiEwBw9fEBNAnBhjnXpZvj2W8W17uMIQ8I7cIk0Pd5zWLpl8jNvbOwXrSKKe/s800/Recently+Updated6.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Good timber does not grow with ease, </span></i></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">the stroger the wind, the stronger the trees;</span></i></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">The further the sky, the greater the length;</span></i></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">The more the storm, the more the strength.</span></i></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">By sun and cold and rain and snow,</span></i></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">in trees and men, good timbers grow.</span></i></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Your dad was such a man!</span></i></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZ_wao7NU8tz8fNnC1qFGlpcCAkmdwzDlh9U-hGw7rm2GsW1O_6__fq_YgBgImL5ndgk1_OV9W6NTiUQOpRGY7Ef3be5nXD1tVX2E2aV8-qS_g8UmqCOR1zfKS_u6MNoIgy17axnOMUzB/s1600/Recently+Updated4.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZ_wao7NU8tz8fNnC1qFGlpcCAkmdwzDlh9U-hGw7rm2GsW1O_6__fq_YgBgImL5ndgk1_OV9W6NTiUQOpRGY7Ef3be5nXD1tVX2E2aV8-qS_g8UmqCOR1zfKS_u6MNoIgy17axnOMUzB/s800/Recently+Updated4.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a></div></div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER">*thank you to Brandt and Emma and Nicole for all of the photos*</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-56344390730560898192012-02-27T15:09:00.002-08:002012-02-27T15:45:35.747-08:00A birthday breakfast at Mimi's and a shameless plug for my favorite authorWe celebrated Christian's birthday with breakfast at Mimi's Cafe before Kelli and her family had to head back to California. I find myself wanting to hold tight to my family. To never, ever let them go. But since I don't get to decide, I know I must and so we tried to soak up every minute we were together. In my opinion, sharing the most important meal of the day is a great way to do that. Add in Mimi's very indulgent hot chocolate and you have a party! <div><br /></div><div>Christian has some generous aunts and uncles and scored with great gift cards and a car charger for his phone, a stylin' outfit and some beef jerkey-of course. But the <b>gift of all gifts</b> came from the kindergarter in the group. Jill spent hours making Christian a book. Priceless-I tell ya. </div><div><br /></div><div>Christian read out loud and then, with Jill guiding his arm, turned the book around to show everyone the pictures. We ooohed and ahhhed until Erick got jealous because noone ever seemed to like his gifts that much. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here are a couple of exerpts for your enjoyment....</div><div>"Me and Christian were watching the sunset-rainbow go away from in the east. Me and Christian had to have sleeves and pants because it was very, very cold."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Me and Christian were laying down and watching the ants crawl and there was a king ant with green jewels. The butterflies and bees were very beautiful and we watched them fly around." </div><div><br /></div><div>It's very poetic, don't you think?</div><div><br /></div><div>I am hoping Jill decides to make it into a series. I can't wait for the sequel. Or for the next time we are all together.<br /><br /><div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglE-FXHaRP9BN2QjUJf5gTQ1FtgJbGDG5eAThQROqjW8OCJUXA3ftypeQl6quy0a0sx6dt7GmbgAep9WeHz8lcsComhtnxVGuhvNJ-kHrMtqY7sFmAyM9sxi7bGYTNI__qHwZTOh3gfrAa/s1600/Recently+Updated1.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglE-FXHaRP9BN2QjUJf5gTQ1FtgJbGDG5eAThQROqjW8OCJUXA3ftypeQl6quy0a0sx6dt7GmbgAep9WeHz8lcsComhtnxVGuhvNJ-kHrMtqY7sFmAyM9sxi7bGYTNI__qHwZTOh3gfrAa/s800/Recently+Updated1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a> </div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-88469601007238040592012-02-24T08:17:00.002-08:002012-02-24T08:26:56.487-08:00Happy 18th Birthday Beauiful Boy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv4oGT4EltzlGkXwTdHBPm4AsAzu-o5BtEjot3wfKoscJ3niMgogsfHD4NpBf7GXjp99JbSheBgLpxQHSvVzPSrho7dJDtZrLld4imysLYdDBTt_dgXWZW1WkjM2CGazReDpF3c7ErkpkX/s1600/100-0018_IMG.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv4oGT4EltzlGkXwTdHBPm4AsAzu-o5BtEjot3wfKoscJ3niMgogsfHD4NpBf7GXjp99JbSheBgLpxQHSvVzPSrho7dJDtZrLld4imysLYdDBTt_dgXWZW1WkjM2CGazReDpF3c7ErkpkX/s800/100-0018_IMG.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712738169247098802" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKA417yfSM6Mjy6fs2k_mzzq3BAIbfnrqZfdFwV3IEd9OcNoTWZoOsWvOGj_XyJ5Ug342pmPPgKnfb1pRv7kQIgVj7Yf1ev9bO_B4z5snEypHSG28a6-7h-sVk-vOkaxbFHBUTGg5O3oyX/s1600/IMG_8273.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPXXRw4oPjSXwNfIN2bwCpmd0EhWAIAQzkMLjhTafS2nNBxvAcCaIEmalZnsOy01evjhj6mT1-_Tj4L3GOH8yF2AXbsiq_rwfQRuXmWvKr5FY-byHNLQw9w0oZhJU-Dd7HV3hyphenhyphenDgI9Ljf/s1600/IMG_0500.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPXXRw4oPjSXwNfIN2bwCpmd0EhWAIAQzkMLjhTafS2nNBxvAcCaIEmalZnsOy01evjhj6mT1-_Tj4L3GOH8yF2AXbsiq_rwfQRuXmWvKr5FY-byHNLQw9w0oZhJU-Dd7HV3hyphenhyphenDgI9Ljf/s800/IMG_0500.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712738159000415090" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4hvxvNwQkz0lEiiJVJcDk7fCcauyyqPKRSQNuQ7JSrsL_PP-om2lmu7DoeyJPYwsHcFp0am7csCQV-aPKtpG-df5ZtUAOm0j7zgCtrsXN_vpLp1JdeLg9BZwN4eFj6QUMnhu4VKgDSFj5/s1600/IMG_7021.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4hvxvNwQkz0lEiiJVJcDk7fCcauyyqPKRSQNuQ7JSrsL_PP-om2lmu7DoeyJPYwsHcFp0am7csCQV-aPKtpG-df5ZtUAOm0j7zgCtrsXN_vpLp1JdeLg9BZwN4eFj6QUMnhu4VKgDSFj5/s800/IMG_7021.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712738139578213666" /></a><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKA417yfSM6Mjy6fs2k_mzzq3BAIbfnrqZfdFwV3IEd9OcNoTWZoOsWvOGj_XyJ5Ug342pmPPgKnfb1pRv7kQIgVj7Yf1ev9bO_B4z5snEypHSG28a6-7h-sVk-vOkaxbFHBUTGg5O3oyX/s800/IMG_8273.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5712738164411331058" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">I am so lucky to be your momma...</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-38982959540854884702012-02-19T16:11:00.004-08:002012-02-23T06:38:41.430-08:00The gift of being his daughter<div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>Dear Dad,</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>You have left us so suddenly and unexpectedly that I can hardly catch my breath. Mom called and told me your heart had stopped and now it feels as though mine will never beat the way it should again. Why dad? What could possibly make you think that we would be okay here without you? </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>I asked you that question when I went to the abandoned parking lot to talk to you. I heard you tell me, as you have on so many different occasions, </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>"Lori, sweetheart, you'll figure it out. I know you can do it." </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>It's just that I don't want to do it without you. I need you, dad. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>People tell me -and I too know it to be true- that you will be with us. That we wont have to do it alone. Only right now, I ache, literally ache, for your touch. For your hug or the way you would squeeze my arm when you could no longer squeeze my hand. Am I weak to want your physical presence when I can feel you close by? </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>There are a few things I need you to know, dad. I wish we could skype one more time so I could look into your eyes and tell you how proud I am of you. You never, ever stopped trying to improve yourself. In every way. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>You were the most physically fit person I've ever known. I've never know you not to be up before everyone else and exercising. You just got more physically active as you aged. Your son-in-law was a little intimidated when he first saw you without a shirt and discovered that you had muscles he had only ever dreamed of having. And you took the advice to "eat your greens" to a whole new level. You ate them raw, blended, chopped, baked and sauteed. After you had tilled, planted, tended and harvested them, of course. I was planning to plant raspberries this spring with your help. Rasberries are a little tempermental I'm told. Yours were the most well behaved, beautiful, delicious raspberries on the planet. Now what am I going to do? </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>You were always improving your mind. You read, and read, and read. Your voracious appetite for learning and studying sometimes left the more simple-minded of us struggling to catch up. I'll never forget when Jordan and I were dating and you wanted to let him know of your gratitude for "taking on your daughter." You told him you thought he was 'magnaminous'. He looked at me like he wasn't sure if he had just been complemented or berated. Jordan learned quickly,though, that you thought the world of him. The feeling was mutual. Jordan loved you,dad. But I think you knew that. He has lost his favorite golf and tennis partner. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>You committed to improving every one of your relationships. You told each of us often that you loved us and were proud of us. But beyond that-you showed us. You were the first to notice a need (sometimes before we even noticed it ourselves) and the first to make every attempt at meeting that need. From folding Jodi's laundry to cleaning out my garages, to working in Kelli's yard, to being an untiring tennis parter to Erick-even when that meant heading out late at night when all you wanted to do was to go to bed-we knew we could always count on you. And the best part-we never felt like we had to qualify for it or meet a list of requirements before we were eligible for your love and service. It truely felt unconditional. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>But the relationship you worked most on enhancing and improving was with your Savior and our Father in Heaven. Your heart became more and more moldable and tender as you opened it further and further to the Lord's will. I have watched you serve in every capacity willingly and determinedly. And then to offer up your life in His service as a full time missionary in Washington DC at the stage of life where you could finally sit back, relax, and spend some uninterrupted time on the golf course, speaks volumes to us as to what your priorities were. There are moments when I selfishly wish that I had not had to share you with the missionaries and marines in DC the last 2 1/2 months of your life, but I know that you were fulfilling a life long dream and were unbelievably happy. I would never wish to take that away from you. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>You showed us what it means to "endure to the end." Only the end came too soon for me. There is still so much I wanted to share and so much I had to learn from your wisdom. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>I want you to be proud of me. I want to be worthy to be called your daughter. I cannot begin to express how grateful I am that I had 43 years to call you "dad." It is a gift I don't deserve.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>I love you with all of my broken heart.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>Your daughter,</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><i>Lori</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; ">Douglas Edward Plummer</div><div style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; ">1945-2012</div><div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCtMZmQhMzibRJ5aI7Z3IFuOKhe8eKVFH_U9e9VXKzErsRqK5Elr-15DrIrCEJPfAj7N_xVdy5598STcKOyDRmnm6l1cUbDm_p9iUZjtcm2hnQoQb-qGovVFLNgj-pEqYEEu0CmYUT8KSN/s1600/dad.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCtMZmQhMzibRJ5aI7Z3IFuOKhe8eKVFH_U9e9VXKzErsRqK5Elr-15DrIrCEJPfAj7N_xVdy5598STcKOyDRmnm6l1cUbDm_p9iUZjtcm2hnQoQb-qGovVFLNgj-pEqYEEu0CmYUT8KSN/s800/dad.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a> </div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-64913410401568103582012-02-14T21:06:00.000-08:002012-02-14T21:09:50.652-08:00Happy Valentine's Day!<div style="text-align:center;margin:0px auto 10px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQixzrRbqU12TLB09FM7SA2Gqi0gEPXqSVUTJSQEncCPjmueKVyVBb8aPANEfVKKFObNZ-AtaLn-pfv7BY-XY9sOJIS3IyRWnj5rvJNLOIH14paqmEjL7iwhQo4GI5sv7sfQNBQgbXkq8/s1600/Feb+14%252C+2012.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQixzrRbqU12TLB09FM7SA2Gqi0gEPXqSVUTJSQEncCPjmueKVyVBb8aPANEfVKKFObNZ-AtaLn-pfv7BY-XY9sOJIS3IyRWnj5rvJNLOIH14paqmEjL7iwhQo4GI5sv7sfQNBQgbXkq8/s800/Feb+14%252C+2012.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a> </div><div style="clear:both; text-align:CENTER"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-22733721275753899582012-02-08T08:26:00.001-08:002012-02-08T09:21:36.516-08:00It was a GIANT(s) superbowl party!<div style="text-align: center;">In between gorging on cowboy caviar and chips</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8R6OSvk3aUbPomdm8iNJ0tWv7r7Y5xpWTF9IshM3pGnl5YQzWzhoDh1UEGrVyx4CsAojkp36IsrOSASs2gbYT165S1PxBWD-s78D9FztpS2a3EsGgzWcpbG9IVCO4qp-knyQYwCAKX80k/s1600/IMG_0967.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmhEaBL7TNDb8H78BAs8FvMBlcFzNurVJ-qOgXpJx_HPzasyEtji4fUa_EvFbikUaZgY_G6jc0GjwP9sonx6ETnb-mGvGIhlS-vYsC0Z4Oq3tM8mg1zpEHz56jMnbndvEZSqIjutMYeQ_Q/s1600/IMG_0963.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmhEaBL7TNDb8H78BAs8FvMBlcFzNurVJ-qOgXpJx_HPzasyEtji4fUa_EvFbikUaZgY_G6jc0GjwP9sonx6ETnb-mGvGIhlS-vYsC0Z4Oq3tM8mg1zpEHz56jMnbndvEZSqIjutMYeQ_Q/s600/IMG_0963.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706803090175138450" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">and pigs in a blanket (or as Erick was trying to convince Miles-donkeys in a pillowcase), baked brie and fruit and antipasto kabobs (love you Pinterest) and brownies, and cookies and 7-layer nacho dip and barbequed meatballs...</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIotJghwM7E8qxGYRlulTgsKjY-lmacxPTGcs4B_KaUyTFbvMFuMUXkJzojBGeIVYrfoCCmRM8LIlRnulSnyHdZ7nWthDSh0P9iUCSE5z8vG3M5ktu-DkcXehafSzwxHyC7Rz7r4ArW6r/s1600/IMG_0952.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIotJghwM7E8qxGYRlulTgsKjY-lmacxPTGcs4B_KaUyTFbvMFuMUXkJzojBGeIVYrfoCCmRM8LIlRnulSnyHdZ7nWthDSh0P9iUCSE5z8vG3M5ktu-DkcXehafSzwxHyC7Rz7r4ArW6r/s600/IMG_0952.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706803082345447362" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Jodi taking a food break</span></i></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNdWmYIsvFY-amLOTNtAsz3QdyNwm-yTzs1eXp0gp3IDWC-jD_kkNSEq6qt2Bdj_tZxbNLlTsuWz1IAVDqj6dABcDQWJS7cc3EnPsnJQlst6jYzaWc8GyqTCgl7W9Y_9UoZVmV-8wcamsv/s600/IMG_0946.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706804118247726258" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></span></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>We took in <i>THE</i> game. (Although I think this is a shot of Jodi and Pat gawking at 54 year old Madonna during halftime) By the way...thank's for hosting. <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:78%;">WHY can't I get the underline thingy off???</span></i></u></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPgFQO5wqoWh_gLU2wzS26bJEub50U5b7DYI5H46KuKh8B3J5kZHb_h2I7oEKVXQz4_ivSA3gVEPRJH5Z8MDGBtQZMlGgbhzH36wGayZrY5YlGbmPiWlYqmOAmP3krVnk311ZGwHbFRBN/s1600/IMG_0938.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKA5OK-KmFNPe4F_re9WY0CoI38_ml2NaqSAxcuHB3homz_ctcP_u3wBw4ZGREXlnVxcDhTUN02jd4y36XmyiceIse2xkHth3fuyifEJfWyMB79Lq_FgRvqdbePOKgOnD0Wq9Bmi4AqKhl/s1600/IMG_0958.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKA5OK-KmFNPe4F_re9WY0CoI38_ml2NaqSAxcuHB3homz_ctcP_u3wBw4ZGREXlnVxcDhTUN02jd4y36XmyiceIse2xkHth3fuyifEJfWyMB79Lq_FgRvqdbePOKgOnD0Wq9Bmi4AqKhl/s600/IMG_0958.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706802689766851074" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></a><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">Brittney isn't necessarily a football fan but she is a food fan (and a family fan)</span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQPgFQO5wqoWh_gLU2wzS26bJEub50U5b7DYI5H46KuKh8B3J5kZHb_h2I7oEKVXQz4_ivSA3gVEPRJH5Z8MDGBtQZMlGgbhzH36wGayZrY5YlGbmPiWlYqmOAmP3krVnk311ZGwHbFRBN/s600/IMG_0938.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706803076225271778" /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>Jordan telling me off for getting too close with the camera.</u></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJalyAM7tdiYkGdsTArtCIBK5HzZb8mxzyf9KUDnCK-k2YUSpzaPEI9bRB6c88Q29ggMN6_VdIxfbmaU6OK0jrEjufu3YDDGrQILPXyzlB__hX8EVNpDR2yhfgJpX8lDLcCTIPJyZFnP_r/s1600/IMG_0941.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJalyAM7tdiYkGdsTArtCIBK5HzZb8mxzyf9KUDnCK-k2YUSpzaPEI9bRB6c88Q29ggMN6_VdIxfbmaU6OK0jrEjufu3YDDGrQILPXyzlB__hX8EVNpDR2yhfgJpX8lDLcCTIPJyZFnP_r/s600/IMG_0941.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706802719080996690" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">As you can see from Erick's shirt, we were pretty split on which teams we were cheering for. </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUojXRb-11Sh2HhJHQrVzAZdeQlMT_znBl6OeYtuCKWXEQzystk9BHNFbgcB5x-uJCfcmv4Apq5bU-dLkTPRhgKbgAcWR55-co6TcgjhfqBHivTC75Bd8SF4VBTaqm5Q32xorHpD3bqba/s1600/IMG_0939.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKUojXRb-11Sh2HhJHQrVzAZdeQlMT_znBl6OeYtuCKWXEQzystk9BHNFbgcB5x-uJCfcmv4Apq5bU-dLkTPRhgKbgAcWR55-co6TcgjhfqBHivTC75Bd8SF4VBTaqm5Q32xorHpD3bqba/s600/IMG_0939.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706802711111147762" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Love him. Even if he is a Patriot's fan.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXeWaj7fY_IflIcO7jr0AS3sVbrkILBKX8ZuFvnqbOSg5bqp5flYcsibOSeOXLj9HnZpBqtPnLLnCtAp9_gcWImiqJ-_sBJnKnQys37JlrPKFnPvF8OZ2jrkrDn0lX4RaP5L4d0JQdWl2V/s1600/IMG_0948.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXeWaj7fY_IflIcO7jr0AS3sVbrkILBKX8ZuFvnqbOSg5bqp5flYcsibOSeOXLj9HnZpBqtPnLLnCtAp9_gcWImiqJ-_sBJnKnQys37JlrPKFnPvF8OZ2jrkrDn0lX4RaP5L4d0JQdWl2V/s600/IMG_0948.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706802694880466994" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">My team. I totally scored.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKA5OK-KmFNPe4F_re9WY0CoI38_ml2NaqSAxcuHB3homz_ctcP_u3wBw4ZGREXlnVxcDhTUN02jd4y36XmyiceIse2xkHth3fuyifEJfWyMB79Lq_FgRvqdbePOKgOnD0Wq9Bmi4AqKhl/s1600/IMG_0958.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8R6OSvk3aUbPomdm8iNJ0tWv7r7Y5xpWTF9IshM3pGnl5YQzWzhoDh1UEGrVyx4CsAojkp36IsrOSASs2gbYT165S1PxBWD-s78D9FztpS2a3EsGgzWcpbG9IVCO4qp-knyQYwCAKX80k/s600/IMG_0967.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706804112777743538" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-14996923495435991442012-02-01T16:20:00.000-08:002012-02-06T20:01:05.879-08:00The Evolution of a House<div style="text-align: left;">We had been looking at houses for 3 years. It had almost become a hobby. Our kids were ages 7,5, and 3 and it had become <i>their</i> biggest nightmare. We tried to sneak it on them, we tried putting on a movie in the car, we tried bribing with treats but the second we got in the car together they were suspicious. I think they're all scarred for life. There is a chance that none of them will ever be able to search for a home of their own in the future.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We put in a couple of half-hearted offers on land as far north as Bountiful and a home with a blue tin roof south in Sandy-but nothing felt right. We loved our little house on Chapel Street, but had wanted a little more room. I always felt that I would just "know" when a house was right for us. I had yet to get that knowing feeling and had begun to chastize myself for being such a foolish idealist. When I became pregnant with Gabe, the search began to feel too intense and we both just decided that we were happy to stay put. We concentrated instead on how we were going to make the space we had work. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And then a friend mentioned she had driven by a house for sale just a few short miles from us. I balked at the idea of going through yet another disapointing dead end but indulged my friend and made an appointment. Nervously, I rang the doorbell and was greeted by the handsome home owner who invited me in to the front foyer. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It was at that moment that this foolish idealist knew that she was home. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkumVsqR7l6zNkKwX_4ntdIHYW1wTuEbslgTCV7cWrEf6QADP0gm_5JNHmWexketL4xqOeH6BzyeF7943cInwkEFE05ML9m73rv0NhJj2qvL_XMt5xKPTw9QrCUtZMkBgC1YsiUWynovwl/s1600/DSC01309.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div style="text-align: center;">We have loved everything about this house. We love our neighborhood, we love the schools, we love the ward and we love our friendships we have created here. It was where we were supposed to be. It was an answer to prayer. </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_JmZGp3pYGsIT8ErR86IZhviYUwIWixUYt6IJc6ekggIHylpdoTZceekEKbmDSEj6uVnSGPl4dObsoQVfXjlw6yBsBZKc3LvFMv9XKLMr7H_IjjK2Zw6IWgk08wPPPmwGiF5OO7JAkR2/s1600/101-0110_IMG.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">14 years ago, our house looked like this:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWacD31eoiLJ8HRTqABO_EnxmK3_Ur-IIclojT20nHuDscpHaq7NhO6NkFAZbbCdZZ4GkD9AzQfKKY7whNq7RLj_CSnpJl1LX8cdLxkBNRdO2qwgr8iqS_ikJLs7D8YqIKCIGEZd9Kjom/s1600/IMG_0596.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6Wq5dzs7FFVvTcdvU4_3xX8stZAjwFCC2YLz6VjtSuYeB7CVOA7VzcglMTF5gQhRAfqiiR3IJ-pBuF5iN4GWylNqEqofYrhnjkK_PWGQrobR64Gr_sNX9mQ0TcQXjANMWIbeKJ3CvQOK/s1600/100-0023_IMG.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT6Wq5dzs7FFVvTcdvU4_3xX8stZAjwFCC2YLz6VjtSuYeB7CVOA7VzcglMTF5gQhRAfqiiR3IJ-pBuF5iN4GWylNqEqofYrhnjkK_PWGQrobR64Gr_sNX9mQ0TcQXjANMWIbeKJ3CvQOK/s600/100-0023_IMG.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704330225164213538" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">Then a couple of years ago, we made some changes to the driveway and the landscaping.<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Q9jf-viT6_2ZKTc5OfM5BekdhNZlzfN4qa-U9q3hbFnoJ1UHlhDORvWSg6Dv9Z9kr6bWmQrc1w6ReNa9Hj0r68GNAxJFjLyah_FLfbfpYGpP0l2X6xbh9vylMY-q_42H2l81rfrPdi8R/s600/IMG_0864.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705531113816354402" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></span></span><div>Today, with the anticipation of a new, attached garage, it looks like this:</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI2IMxxFWH_mpYatW7GYp9NNOt_-STOe6NGFXXW0C5odPcm1SfrtDdlAJzDwZoOagjUj7wCBOsUmmqul5wNYlLX3-PvRirRrymvSRGzZqNsoH9WEF2eEnBTjzdw_IqMP8yPXVgHK4NBT4I/s1600/IMG_0589.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI2IMxxFWH_mpYatW7GYp9NNOt_-STOe6NGFXXW0C5odPcm1SfrtDdlAJzDwZoOagjUj7wCBOsUmmqul5wNYlLX3-PvRirRrymvSRGzZqNsoH9WEF2eEnBTjzdw_IqMP8yPXVgHK4NBT4I/s600/IMG_0589.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704330192709817586" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-A3w9gTe-7A401Fxm9K5ostEv5LZ6RqbSosmn95a5rq47ipUNF-Gk9H-KVrhhjL0QSvtlRiZ2U9bVQbOBS2e7JaHKDzWR05n5mwZlae0KSsCgCPsihV7ovPZYxZLKWwHNTHTcvkBCpHII/s1600/IMG_0587.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-A3w9gTe-7A401Fxm9K5ostEv5LZ6RqbSosmn95a5rq47ipUNF-Gk9H-KVrhhjL0QSvtlRiZ2U9bVQbOBS2e7JaHKDzWR05n5mwZlae0KSsCgCPsihV7ovPZYxZLKWwHNTHTcvkBCpHII/s1600/IMG_0587.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">It's a little tricky with all of the different elevations. </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-A3w9gTe-7A401Fxm9K5ostEv5LZ6RqbSosmn95a5rq47ipUNF-Gk9H-KVrhhjL0QSvtlRiZ2U9bVQbOBS2e7JaHKDzWR05n5mwZlae0KSsCgCPsihV7ovPZYxZLKWwHNTHTcvkBCpHII/s600/IMG_0587.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704330187338359154" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></span></span><div>When we moved in our kitchen looked like this: It still had the original 1936 cabinets.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4puTkRlUUngv4xQqv-T2jzy8JbCfxNGyZzI5YfbNGzOoAxEclPr0OXiZvlAsNn5a95SA0ELs140KqQq1-gCECGxXlhgAL5kgr8yu2G6HWQaM_WHa9NtqWnfkQRbjQkB8wOj7nu26Kcia/s1600/IMG_0813.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_JmZGp3pYGsIT8ErR86IZhviYUwIWixUYt6IJc6ekggIHylpdoTZceekEKbmDSEj6uVnSGPl4dObsoQVfXjlw6yBsBZKc3LvFMv9XKLMr7H_IjjK2Zw6IWgk08wPPPmwGiF5OO7JAkR2/s600/101-0110_IMG.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705530955085698514" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; ">Then this update. Still with the original 1936 cabinets (aside from the stainless steel shelves behind the girls).<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4puTkRlUUngv4xQqv-T2jzy8JbCfxNGyZzI5YfbNGzOoAxEclPr0OXiZvlAsNn5a95SA0ELs140KqQq1-gCECGxXlhgAL5kgr8yu2G6HWQaM_WHa9NtqWnfkQRbjQkB8wOj7nu26Kcia/s1600/IMG_0813.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkumVsqR7l6zNkKwX_4ntdIHYW1wTuEbslgTCV7cWrEf6QADP0gm_5JNHmWexketL4xqOeH6BzyeF7943cInwkEFE05ML9m73rv0NhJj2qvL_XMt5xKPTw9QrCUtZMkBgC1YsiUWynovwl/s600/DSC01309.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705530958549106834" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></a></span>A couple of weeks ago it looked like this:</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs4puTkRlUUngv4xQqv-T2jzy8JbCfxNGyZzI5YfbNGzOoAxEclPr0OXiZvlAsNn5a95SA0ELs140KqQq1-gCECGxXlhgAL5kgr8yu2G6HWQaM_WHa9NtqWnfkQRbjQkB8wOj7nu26Kcia/s600/IMG_0813.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704330209699474546" /></div><div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><u>Notice the old coal burning fireplace that was behind my kitchen cabinet. The spice cabinet, to be extact-as that was the only thing that would fit in that shallow space.</u></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMRnX455esyY98vFIgyNsVcHNt87BqQcRavRUTEbPp27zXO7TjLSqkqLgo0DC9fnVtc-02p0gWy_5kko8I8FDDQZH2-7UxKsZCsLRnUr6TUUxIDMzfu5b_I1PHfWI8mq6MFl6sNTIqmM48/s1600/IMG_0817.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMRnX455esyY98vFIgyNsVcHNt87BqQcRavRUTEbPp27zXO7TjLSqkqLgo0DC9fnVtc-02p0gWy_5kko8I8FDDQZH2-7UxKsZCsLRnUr6TUUxIDMzfu5b_I1PHfWI8mq6MFl6sNTIqmM48/s600/IMG_0817.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704330207033914882" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></u>Today it looks like this:<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWacD31eoiLJ8HRTqABO_EnxmK3_Ur-IIclojT20nHuDscpHaq7NhO6NkFAZbbCdZZ4GkD9AzQfKKY7whNq7RLj_CSnpJl1LX8cdLxkBNRdO2qwgr8iqS_ikJLs7D8YqIKCIGEZd9Kjom/s600/IMG_0596.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705528358576913618" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></span></span></div><div><div><div><div style="text-align: left;">My dream...a family room!</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI2IMxxFWH_mpYatW7GYp9NNOt_-STOe6NGFXXW0C5odPcm1SfrtDdlAJzDwZoOagjUj7wCBOsUmmqul5wNYlLX3-PvRirRrymvSRGzZqNsoH9WEF2eEnBTjzdw_IqMP8yPXVgHK4NBT4I/s1600/IMG_0589.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-A3w9gTe-7A401Fxm9K5ostEv5LZ6RqbSosmn95a5rq47ipUNF-Gk9H-KVrhhjL0QSvtlRiZ2U9bVQbOBS2e7JaHKDzWR05n5mwZlae0KSsCgCPsihV7ovPZYxZLKWwHNTHTcvkBCpHII/s1600/IMG_0587.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3IhVDaWe94Bw-Jwg2Eb82IV_XAEdf6lmLWUlW1dkBzPQkn-7amEvCHTjs9o2J-M4hEwOEbTYbCPcDomdZ37m7EcUOoBsSlEaeDWeFpCEqIcAX8kEPWLXcMuAfM7djmQng1kuHcscrlqz9/s1600/IMG_0583.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3IhVDaWe94Bw-Jwg2Eb82IV_XAEdf6lmLWUlW1dkBzPQkn-7amEvCHTjs9o2J-M4hEwOEbTYbCPcDomdZ37m7EcUOoBsSlEaeDWeFpCEqIcAX8kEPWLXcMuAfM7djmQng1kuHcscrlqz9/s600/IMG_0583.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704329806671914050" /></a>Jordan and builder, Jeff. Best. Builder. Ever.<br /><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Ujl3nvEo7c3-Pd-N-Ijs1KT5D_nBU6RRjqdNnGnk33cXInHdhj9_bYD-kve8di69TWyzA0Pdk1LmXkgScVeVCAt0JjjxjXjjBqirgZrl9yWR24y98r3mLSvocTpK_6SlMwJbRLYIXP3-/s1600/IMG_0584.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Ujl3nvEo7c3-Pd-N-Ijs1KT5D_nBU6RRjqdNnGnk33cXInHdhj9_bYD-kve8di69TWyzA0Pdk1LmXkgScVeVCAt0JjjxjXjjBqirgZrl9yWR24y98r3mLSvocTpK_6SlMwJbRLYIXP3-/s600/IMG_0584.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704329803644771042" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">A view from the "old" into the "new."<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQBSoXiufAdW5bsIUFnba7Nt6te06vSHAfcKj9EXJO46SkdxTGAOC7CTTYX9KhIKU03EbFVPRBvtdu4PdKu3OELjzRsAjp9ATN0pqOCvgEoQNU6VdDgsCg6TKLks_0nHNJnwNztovSqoB5/s600/IMG_0597.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705528367774005762" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></span></span></div><div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">The basement 14 years ago: Christian didn't have to worry about hitting his head on the ceiling back then.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPBMqL_-bvavVBrRuEb87JOINwgarhAHxGwmEcpsGOGD6DXOtvmRpZAocBl5rVixuD1CfebryiU2U4lInyEzo2Y9A6SRIg7ZQj-QmdfKN-LoblfHU95UhJCb8P9y7R1Ofgl2ufUnHtHLVI/s600/DSC00193.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705530970509184274" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span>The basement today:</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFFUM-H-OZWNFs2XoVUp63KsLBp2t_yUpowKmM6Kzl7CIrNngp47wE0RlwebqN6sK6Cpt4ziqUS1LV1PbfczPmdIUR6kydZEqqUHh2njdnXBRvP69LLLhortrmvYiNTispxRQAuh-nHWba/s1600/IMG_0585.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFFUM-H-OZWNFs2XoVUp63KsLBp2t_yUpowKmM6Kzl7CIrNngp47wE0RlwebqN6sK6Cpt4ziqUS1LV1PbfczPmdIUR6kydZEqqUHh2njdnXBRvP69LLLhortrmvYiNTispxRQAuh-nHWba/s600/IMG_0585.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704329792054419890" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">Jordan poses with his "baby." Only when it was his baby, it wasn't pink. I am a fan of this stuff. After all, it is what has made all of this possible.<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinzj4Nc6l5vPn-_Tlg71NrGbKTAB68StBGcSY_nBlTi1VYGJJrm05Q61IIx7e92j6yurfpcIlfpIBnDTcvUEW57Kll5Bn36V435K8px9W5f3VzQjMhqA5zNzY2TpX9rv6oE4eJ8X__lp1D/s600/IMG_0598.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705528363064711810" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></span></span></div><div>I usually have a strong aversion to change. I've decided in the case of our home, I'm more than willing to make an exception. After all, with every change I just fall more in love.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsoPAKMmvh7LG0cPuG4T2vAlQbBQvJK8UV6xEXrakMsChmRCtNkyklJgxyrjt_Cs8SsTQ4vPgcQIQK1aRi9gdYn4l3RgtUoh7I1mPi_lI601HBJRb05ROnXXpH6CYBfC5e3Fmk3mDp8zhK/s1600/IMG_0586.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsoPAKMmvh7LG0cPuG4T2vAlQbBQvJK8UV6xEXrakMsChmRCtNkyklJgxyrjt_Cs8SsTQ4vPgcQIQK1aRi9gdYn4l3RgtUoh7I1mPi_lI601HBJRb05ROnXXpH6CYBfC5e3Fmk3mDp8zhK/s600/IMG_0586.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704329783632195874" /></a><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-72088888847315930782012-01-30T08:24:00.000-08:002012-01-30T08:24:00.266-08:00What they mean by lazy Sunday afternoons.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1EHI89i9Zpe_TtkKJ-AXvnwljdl_a-0Ju1jBjF7OePrUUrPMMiwcpDLcXAGEgP0l3EUT3-bZvxWEobZhS7zRZAf3TKJO2UbyYUfCIOoMqqnl1kWjHn3_fSbeXTvsMn6aWruWd3P1_79_/s1600/IMG_0933.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1EHI89i9Zpe_TtkKJ-AXvnwljdl_a-0Ju1jBjF7OePrUUrPMMiwcpDLcXAGEgP0l3EUT3-bZvxWEobZhS7zRZAf3TKJO2UbyYUfCIOoMqqnl1kWjHn3_fSbeXTvsMn6aWruWd3P1_79_/s600/IMG_0933.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5703243326737436162" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-26477870805894250402012-01-27T17:47:00.000-08:002012-01-27T17:47:00.426-08:00Don't worry Mom, it was just MORP...and the theme was 80's rock. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSbVNgtulibulbrfdVXnA2v2dYThhRJX7u8LxMNqhTpDoPEqrLjxZoJI7HobihQtgCrrVVWgkzr2ffzbNgo9-7HlKeqvBcvGAJ7Frc9hZkTA-3lB8nMNO-D-_4d_gz9dG-3ljhftmE4PMA/s1600/IMG_0881.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSbVNgtulibulbrfdVXnA2v2dYThhRJX7u8LxMNqhTpDoPEqrLjxZoJI7HobihQtgCrrVVWgkzr2ffzbNgo9-7HlKeqvBcvGAJ7Frc9hZkTA-3lB8nMNO-D-_4d_gz9dG-3ljhftmE4PMA/s800/IMG_0881.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702122704460517250" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-69485032478947522672012-01-26T15:47:00.000-08:002012-01-26T16:07:22.916-08:00While we were gone...While we were away, the cutest newlywed couple ever,Stewart and his wife Melissa, came and hung out with our boys. The boys (and their friends) think Melissa is a hotty and they love Stewart. Meaning, they love giving Stewart a hard time. Meaning they couldn't help but introduce him to our family friend, Manny. I blogged about him <a href="http://lorichronicles.blogspot.com/2010/10/having-16-year-old-son-can-be-scary.html">here</a> and <a href="http://lorichronicles.blogspot.com/2011/11/every-witch-way.html">here</a>.<div>This is what happened when Gabe had the genius idea to attach the Go-Pro (video camera) to the mannequin's head and then call unsuspecting Stewart downstairs to play video games. Gabe yells, <i>"Okay, are you ready to get beaten?!" </i>Sheesh.</div><div>Thankfully, they knew to draw the line with Melissa (or maybe she threatened them with their lives). </div><div>I just have to add right here how thankful I am for them both and hope that one day they can find it in their hearts to forgive us or at least give us a chance to let them retaliate.<br /><br /><br /><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/CqI1UON4YM0?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3788425717221635636.post-83820857773396258692012-01-25T17:00:00.000-08:002012-01-25T17:00:03.744-08:00The perfect ending<div style="text-align: center;">Our final stop was Balboa Island. A stop that made it difficult to want to leave. Since Rebecca, Alyse and Jana know this island backward and forward, we turned our daily agenda over to them and they created days filled with morning walks...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGU77i2hv9ilMljSkM_PMxETp4ET8wWOhNSw7WR8a2jZ8ALHYbdPL9_YsqZENWsQLZVPdYGRkil2X8b8g9i2V1Y0qlWXLb0z_p10mVcwCIgfnlT9WMR86KIN36gbvyLnZHN9Lsm3EGH5M/s1600/IMG_0347.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYeJonLco2LQIajn9vIMGhdK607lFTgtkax13kwkYYDjYYgCX7eMd7dR8pZJCVFRlBu6OhixMYeIZwv1_9cVhW_KuzMHdmG5Me20gwwtgrmB7DuyMhINTyEjMrk1INL8HjdaSVSZ8iFMHZ/s1600/IMG_0334.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYeJonLco2LQIajn9vIMGhdK607lFTgtkax13kwkYYDjYYgCX7eMd7dR8pZJCVFRlBu6OhixMYeIZwv1_9cVhW_KuzMHdmG5Me20gwwtgrmB7DuyMhINTyEjMrk1INL8HjdaSVSZ8iFMHZ/s600/IMG_0334.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700630055967382434" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3tOyByIQFZHIXaZMPvlcrPicc6oNdexDvvM6UaqEumvHXw_f4KbkfRuOStd-yZjb8DEgFKiXm6WnovSMSR1krsoUR2hVMZCKqagOVPnIr2rrjPtiKKB9XLIFeilUNJ-VA_w6qQmqlL3DA/s1600/IMG_0335.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3tOyByIQFZHIXaZMPvlcrPicc6oNdexDvvM6UaqEumvHXw_f4KbkfRuOStd-yZjb8DEgFKiXm6WnovSMSR1krsoUR2hVMZCKqagOVPnIr2rrjPtiKKB9XLIFeilUNJ-VA_w6qQmqlL3DA/s600/IMG_0335.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700630058302563698" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgL0QXf2GmA7oUwqnlVjwROOJHN2pvZc7JUIT9mQpEONsshnQOn2Pv4sFs2CFSCF2jy7kb7Xwf6_MRPu12H985ul3537s7ZAlRqPiZbcq7kJ6yzRoQ07w5UUTyiMT3hYH8BRncihRJfgJZ/s600/IMG_0374.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700629560010571826" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span>..weaved in and around the homes facing the waterfront. Homes decked out for Halloween.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68W8wbmvvJptUntSqm1J937RW7JOs_PsP8XngXdt9ybZIYG1SLuMNUEiovIAqlq-NfjQUkFli9NXX5s7TFm2Ak39eQg7xxPZ6TZLOh0fwnnXZg6owcf1RM-slakyu25FMsLh19h3lxjXy/s1600/IMG_0337.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68W8wbmvvJptUntSqm1J937RW7JOs_PsP8XngXdt9ybZIYG1SLuMNUEiovIAqlq-NfjQUkFli9NXX5s7TFm2Ak39eQg7xxPZ6TZLOh0fwnnXZg6owcf1RM-slakyu25FMsLh19h3lxjXy/s600/IMG_0337.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700630052171226914" /></a>And decks decked out for Halloween.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJmMWEK52dTDTJ6Wcq-6faCpj4GBi099xZ89v6ScQD-vgurMcbENwgNYg7gSqo_ez3bi5vNw2RufFfFCNkquwckf9y72ENgAMRs-5U2u_uOymuxQ_qqyFOxQz2BsD13g_p7UdYU48j1MW/s1600/IMG_0340.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJmMWEK52dTDTJ6Wcq-6faCpj4GBi099xZ89v6ScQD-vgurMcbENwgNYg7gSqo_ez3bi5vNw2RufFfFCNkquwckf9y72ENgAMRs-5U2u_uOymuxQ_qqyFOxQz2BsD13g_p7UdYU48j1MW/s600/IMG_0340.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700629588857016834" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDkNzSSoAuPzYr3xopwjx1cY5DX-R_QiLAlZhEgCxiOz93gSERipBEHH6SljCxhDSpKP40_5cHqRRovtI-2WWO5-MA9_wB6jYZ0bdWgbLS2l5oc4AcwqOtFyqedmvJ5oHft4fASg9zCSZz/s600/IMG_0413.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700629071122113554" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">A trip to Balboa is never complete for Rebecca without a stop for a "balboa bar." A chocolate dipped frozen banana rolled in the toppings of your choice. I think I remember Rebecca saying that she even had a Balboa Bar Birthday bash when she was about 12?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5so_urxUQC8GPMmWXTitTtIyE_CQULwnpgSpZ0svRPiGIA89f6SSWC9kRdzFQjQSqfjtOXbcTIMoKM4GqvI4mAxxavKvVz3bvp0cMc-kYYuwgDLSs8Mh0effxc7opLSQ5flztJCpicOKH/s600/IMG_0412.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700629075758571554" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span>Shopping. Of course, shopping. Or at least Kelly shopped and we all helped carry her bags. </div><div>Just kidding. This is the photo we took of Kelly with <i>all</i> <i>our</i> purchases that we sent to her husband, Mark. I texted, "Holy crap! Your wife likes to shop." Mark quickly replied, "Holy crap is not the words I just said! We are not going to dinner with everyone tonight. We are sharing a footlong at Subway." Haha!</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGyQA3zAqfgJ1K2xgyBNCttsSQEFo1nDvGthIDS9ODzwVPgBjobGKFmbtNTqmoIV4tnZTZwyLKde0dOr7vvmMmi04TZZ1moPLtpz0JpyGvZKEUz6Oflx48Bwc59coveaVf9xhKpupBRb2/s1600/IMG_0330.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaGyQA3zAqfgJ1K2xgyBNCttsSQEFo1nDvGthIDS9ODzwVPgBjobGKFmbtNTqmoIV4tnZTZwyLKde0dOr7vvmMmi04TZZ1moPLtpz0JpyGvZKEUz6Oflx48Bwc59coveaVf9xhKpupBRb2/s600/IMG_0330.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700629577699217282" /></a>Pedicures. Sadly, so we can go home and hide them in our boots.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3nbF3mQHOcfAbYalSszbnAEc1aqcVYuTx_YM0xRcfDyk9wE-vVAOgK6cGZL6j08ijZH8g86EdKVq64BEdON7Dkp2v4SK33nxqworyUY_2h5oHHiiFILlo88ZhkOGztrCrbfY8ADafoq3b/s1600/IMG_0342.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3nbF3mQHOcfAbYalSszbnAEc1aqcVYuTx_YM0xRcfDyk9wE-vVAOgK6cGZL6j08ijZH8g86EdKVq64BEdON7Dkp2v4SK33nxqworyUY_2h5oHHiiFILlo88ZhkOGztrCrbfY8ADafoq3b/s600/IMG_0342.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700629572732787506" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">Hair help for Lori. Thank you, Jana!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIu_x6wS2EHLLToqQTjSTraaL5OWSz42kM2fYVn-h4oPdfYw0x3bwXSR-_ZmTmziBzu7j7_SKSSfnxOBnS888xpVfygzCiWO_wUUe9LPz0KSvq53T1HHPnYIWOJJ0mHmFdFUb0tP53QlGK/s600/IMG_0329.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700673043813736082" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">Several stops at Pinkberry for coconut frozen yogurt.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjupKms2TcVO3_klG62X0LGqTU4_yV_aBgCegnv5gzSAmq5nRCxHw06kiQvSJ8hdIEg3_-U0CRd7bTHKz_9dX9tiOPDkIDv7qLgyl0QKDRxIXgfGQNOHXC5j8YpBZoQS95jwwsywUcrXs6X/s600/IMG_0411.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700629105236195266" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBTDfVQn-S__qzmck8RUu9qbQd06WsI6GeQ1YTwbsqemlkmtoOD-EQ_maOWhtTJgRutictIIIsjXkA7HgL0p-QYYf1LmEQoWs4kUXzkX8GflGr679nhWctkleABix0m0ML7Tu1ISyLERr/s1600/IMG_0392.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBTDfVQn-S__qzmck8RUu9qbQd06WsI6GeQ1YTwbsqemlkmtoOD-EQ_maOWhtTJgRutictIIIsjXkA7HgL0p-QYYf1LmEQoWs4kUXzkX8GflGr679nhWctkleABix0m0ML7Tu1ISyLERr/s600/IMG_0392.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700629553944236562" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">And Zachary's Garden Center. A highlight every time.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjupKms2TcVO3_klG62X0LGqTU4_yV_aBgCegnv5gzSAmq5nRCxHw06kiQvSJ8hdIEg3_-U0CRd7bTHKz_9dX9tiOPDkIDv7qLgyl0QKDRxIXgfGQNOHXC5j8YpBZoQS95jwwsywUcrXs6X/s1600/IMG_0411.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY4Eu2Kp9wEz34XJtbIweeGu3fMry60W6rgB4ty3UfkNDB9fCpy1ZHWpyUWZOnvsLhdVlMG-ynRXgIJOGwHUXR6x3AF9ksQsswtfgqOhZy8gZVvhiPleBzPnzocCVlbbsLHkjeM_l5XC-a/s600/IMG_0384.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700673050343604962" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDkNzSSoAuPzYr3xopwjx1cY5DX-R_QiLAlZhEgCxiOz93gSERipBEHH6SljCxhDSpKP40_5cHqRRovtI-2WWO5-MA9_wB6jYZ0bdWgbLS2l5oc4AcwqOtFyqedmvJ5oHft4fASg9zCSZz/s1600/IMG_0413.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjGU77i2hv9ilMljSkM_PMxETp4ET8wWOhNSw7WR8a2jZ8ALHYbdPL9_YsqZENWsQLZVPdYGRkil2X8b8g9i2V1Y0qlWXLb0z_p10mVcwCIgfnlT9WMR86KIN36gbvyLnZHN9Lsm3EGH5M/s600/IMG_0347.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700630393354197122" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">Noteworthy but not photodocumented:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">*Seeing 2 dissapointing movies: The Big Year (actually only 1/2 of the movie), Footloose 2</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">*Dinner @ Gulfstream</span></div><div>*Morning bike ride along the ocean </div><div>*Rolling into a gutter and falling off my bike-after which Kelly suddenly felt an urgent need for all of us to wear bike helmets</div><div>*Shutting my hand in the van door</div><div>*Juxtaposition</div><div>*Trader Joe's</div><div>*Breakfast burritos on the patio</div><div>*Trying to fit 4 of us in Mark's 2 seater car</div><div>*Getting stuck in Mark's car</div><div>*Cupcakes</div><div>*Eating, talking, laughing, recharging, reconnecting and</div><div>*Planning next year's road trip</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwGZsT9Bsnyoh0kAggJQ0oyhBLit6hnnmvOOUawa04a8HJv6ooaeIv_T2J6939kI-TtLrXq6DGRjXsRD2F777hWDO7wbNI9w27pPQ6RYczKGv22nr81P52urgha0pgC3YVPI92Brl5l22c/s1600/DSC_0314.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0