tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82427655269146577442024-03-04T23:47:35.208-08:00Housewife…wait, when did I marry a house?!?!Living life on a little farm in the middle of the quaint hood west of SLC & let’s see what happens….Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.comBlogger545125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-90678911353275651592015-02-23T07:44:00.000-08:002015-02-23T07:59:02.033-08:00and so it is Hemingway's last stand<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There are a hundred things I'm not going to say, but could. What I will do is offer half of an explanation. Over the weekend I discovered this space is no longer<i> mine</i>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have always been aware that the thoughts I publish become echos of themselves, like rocks falling down a canyon wall. Once I have written them I no longer have any say in how they are read or used. What I do have say in is whether or not I continue. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPltI8mMi-nol_4tsTwKbR3PMJN92W5LaxBtS_a5RskLi9g6_Xqbel9_a8DLRpX-sjGXi4G8IgUldcSUnWac7GY488ZC6NWOx9nMH3H2rvJXMV10zh6EJMzGZuEEO1akVv_cqTI4X52E0/s1600/10b97aa082cb8be1b5fd0a04a4eb6144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPltI8mMi-nol_4tsTwKbR3PMJN92W5LaxBtS_a5RskLi9g6_Xqbel9_a8DLRpX-sjGXi4G8IgUldcSUnWac7GY488ZC6NWOx9nMH3H2rvJXMV10zh6EJMzGZuEEO1akVv_cqTI4X52E0/s1600/10b97aa082cb8be1b5fd0a04a4eb6144.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Before I joined all the other "blogging moms" I wrote for myself. And I will let you in on a secret- after I joined the world of bloggers I still only wrote for me. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I adored the format of words and pictures together. I enjoyed the way the random pieces merge creating a larger story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It doesn't matter to me if what I write is ever seen by another person. In fact, there have been many times while publishing pieces that I have discovered how much I prefer to write for an audience of one. I'm a selfish (dyslexic) jerk when it comes to writing. I am careless in my rereads, my grammar, my spelling...because what I write is honest, especially my fiction.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Having said that I hope one would understand that I can't stay here in this space writing under the dimness of another woman's shadow. I refuse to edit myself (lol!) and I will never fight a dirty fight when I have the power to simply walk away. But if I may offer her one tiny sandstone peddle of advice: you really should look deep inside yourself and find your own words. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And so this is me signing off from this blog. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">~ Ernest Hemingway ~</span></div>
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Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-45360562320960798082015-02-22T06:49:00.000-08:002015-02-22T06:49:22.839-08:0042<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRlrR02lHAXge6ZmjRipbLTt2nEIJst2FLy_fTpn9AJdfbL49COCXuWa4zs2bj6zPJo5nKSrmPB3pO4Cd7OIeWgVuJ5CrZbGTAeBQw7ey-zGWy1AJyRTSRp-1pzn7u2zMkJk3HnhrU4Uk/s1600/DSCN0067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRlrR02lHAXge6ZmjRipbLTt2nEIJst2FLy_fTpn9AJdfbL49COCXuWa4zs2bj6zPJo5nKSrmPB3pO4Cd7OIeWgVuJ5CrZbGTAeBQw7ey-zGWy1AJyRTSRp-1pzn7u2zMkJk3HnhrU4Uk/s1600/DSCN0067.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-26338142062402852862015-02-21T09:38:00.000-08:002020-02-20T07:45:13.354-08:00the best gift<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXnJI0M2-Ycgq190Ix9Y98bIKy5fUIWeiSQMv-M11VaYU9pi_PGwn3d8gvl2bESnd8DYCF5JyAYz8-sSLHSTcobAOd4DS0PMtykKMTE4JNj7rtIEJm2kMiWS8Z0RfpuY7mE8ZtJH5NQE/s1600/DSCN0011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXnJI0M2-Ycgq190Ix9Y98bIKy5fUIWeiSQMv-M11VaYU9pi_PGwn3d8gvl2bESnd8DYCF5JyAYz8-sSLHSTcobAOd4DS0PMtykKMTE4JNj7rtIEJm2kMiWS8Z0RfpuY7mE8ZtJH5NQE/s1600/DSCN0011.JPG" width="239" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was kneeling on the floor helping Beach carefully box up 3 medals made of glass. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Beach was far more fascinated by the boxes than the awards she had won. As soon as they announced boxes were available she rushed to get hers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She showed me the silky interior, the indented circle for the medal face, and announced the color was the "best" blue. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"Aren't these boxes just beautiful?" She asked me holding them up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was kneeling at her feet looking up into her smiling face thinking how lucky I was to have this kid in my life when I heard a mom from the sea of people squeezing by us say, "No, you leave those on I want people to see them when I am walking with you." </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96CG2HpWvE857AmytwA7DAW3gEUq546iwS_TABpuN4ZGDB9KNSy5ymeP4Io3w4lxEi-KXurI8dJhWHOEEHh2aJnyjMNRdUqVdhyphenhyphenuaz6cjBdTNACVKPFs07YwZVICe6WGPfs77IcC7-88/s1600/DSCN0047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi96CG2HpWvE857AmytwA7DAW3gEUq546iwS_TABpuN4ZGDB9KNSy5ymeP4Io3w4lxEi-KXurI8dJhWHOEEHh2aJnyjMNRdUqVdhyphenhyphenuaz6cjBdTNACVKPFs07YwZVICe6WGPfs77IcC7-88/s1600/DSCN0047.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As the woman twisted to grab the shoulders of her child our eyes met. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Practically standing over me she looked down on me and at the stack of boxes in my hand, and then to Beach. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Smiling Beach. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Smiling, struggling Beach. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The kid fighting a 10-second pause on beam before her series- the series she fell on. The kid asking from the backseat of the car through tears, "When is my dad coming back?" Wonderful, funny, honest, sweet Beach.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEjXqgmIsp0ZwgqrZmge34ZhBL6TzMq4fA7UfzRikXWdiXYhXsqOw9B7p2CZRQsiD5M2SuctU6DFVM5bUpbxZLpS3I3f_hNsZ_tnqx5pNJIRDgtD8_yhO9XPPzQu6nhh2lS3SF69ibeU/s1600/DSCN0021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEjXqgmIsp0ZwgqrZmge34ZhBL6TzMq4fA7UfzRikXWdiXYhXsqOw9B7p2CZRQsiD5M2SuctU6DFVM5bUpbxZLpS3I3f_hNsZ_tnqx5pNJIRDgtD8_yhO9XPPzQu6nhh2lS3SF69ibeU/s1600/DSCN0021.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia2lXEm3yKTSbkcMDebyR6RZJ93_P1I2AURTpPyrpGVZd11P7JhY0aQZBYwTa_f9iLikr-P7ciEzYdmo-BgLK9w9wjtloVQ2Mqq0r9YprGSl8xPeL8yXSbZ7zjed9GdDVEb4wl3fF6Zi8/s1600/DSCN0010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia2lXEm3yKTSbkcMDebyR6RZJ93_P1I2AURTpPyrpGVZd11P7JhY0aQZBYwTa_f9iLikr-P7ciEzYdmo-BgLK9w9wjtloVQ2Mqq0r9YprGSl8xPeL8yXSbZ7zjed9GdDVEb4wl3fF6Zi8/s1600/DSCN0010.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The look on the woman's face gave me the feeling we were the last pair of people she would have wanted to have heard her say that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Her daughter looked at Beach, passing a weak smile of recognition; they had been on the podium together. Then awkwardly under the weight of her mother, she was taken away.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwJyNGK3XSyqtp6p8FSuj2PiRhFVPoOgissaLTbE4mfZHDGH3d7njL5Cz5BLf1dTA9gTph7C71lrvFYZzBgqv46mzGme3Znxome604W1aPmpL1KBwdpK17Ewt8gWoOH9XGPNdlM1rSFc/s1600/DSCN0014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwJyNGK3XSyqtp6p8FSuj2PiRhFVPoOgissaLTbE4mfZHDGH3d7njL5Cz5BLf1dTA9gTph7C71lrvFYZzBgqv46mzGme3Znxome604W1aPmpL1KBwdpK17Ewt8gWoOH9XGPNdlM1rSFc/s400/DSCN0014.JPG" width="300" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">At first Beach and I just stared at each, both us feeling almost guilty for them witnessing us being us, and us seeing them being them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In the wake of them, I didn't know what to say to my own child but she knew what needed to be said. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"That was really sad, mom. I feel bad for that girl- and her mom. That must really suck."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I stood up and Beach asked, "Can I see one of the boxes, they are so cool!" </span><br />
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<br />Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-63634690346339586022015-02-19T07:04:00.001-08:002015-02-19T08:30:09.578-08:00windows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In all honestly I have no idea how I'm going to make through the day. And then the next. And the next. And the next... I can tell I've been running my heart and mind through half thought-out circles for weeks now trying to stay afloat. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Last night after midnight I finally wore myself out to the point of now. Sitting here in the grey morning light looking at the day stretching out before me wondering how to somehow magically make this day happen like all the days behind it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I didn't sleep much last nigh. When I did my dreams were a twisted rehash of one of the only 2 adults conversations I got to have yesterday.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9NHkYQqXENz1kQ9RXQACzAQdCnayblDQYKfjQGNCPLLOtc-08lcIpRvVxSzGM9nSlqeFHQBqFxWHHDORvMkmIeBOqhbaZcXn8XSxiTiiMxKAQInbOHlUYR3YGXbmNd7SKX0u52np3Gtc/s1600/63487_185978118082676_2943778_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9NHkYQqXENz1kQ9RXQACzAQdCnayblDQYKfjQGNCPLLOtc-08lcIpRvVxSzGM9nSlqeFHQBqFxWHHDORvMkmIeBOqhbaZcXn8XSxiTiiMxKAQInbOHlUYR3YGXbmNd7SKX0u52np3Gtc/s1600/63487_185978118082676_2943778_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Of course I know what to do. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">From time to time we all have to do this. T</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">he right things: drink coffee, run, take a long hot shower. Vacuum straight lines in the carpet around a sleeping dog. Read an extra chapter to Beach when she asks me to. Put on a smile and clean pair of pants. One foot in front of the other, fake it until you make, lol. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I just feel like this time I have run out of things to say. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And somewhere at that the bottom of my second cup I start laughing because I sort of know that not having anything to say doesn't really matter because no one is listening anyway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Rumor is there will be snow here by Saturday. </span><br />
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<br />Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-53037029017971605482015-02-16T10:03:00.001-08:002015-02-16T10:09:58.679-08:00calling up from the valley of strangeness <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jxmXVriJRsuXrJINx-BLspy1nt51guHEyF5T79yn1APdDdLhdEWW3nlIGPk9eDOTgT5TDKn5l-em0lMEcuXokJuygqOhctQ7MmF2aBHXXxhAwt7gRFIiF0yLkNotJHnmRbEsx8UJMs4/s1600/DSCF2561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jxmXVriJRsuXrJINx-BLspy1nt51guHEyF5T79yn1APdDdLhdEWW3nlIGPk9eDOTgT5TDKn5l-em0lMEcuXokJuygqOhctQ7MmF2aBHXXxhAwt7gRFIiF0yLkNotJHnmRbEsx8UJMs4/s1600/DSCF2561.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a>It rests in the valley of strangeness. I am tossing brightly colored bell peppers stuffed in a thin plastic bag into the cart and he asks, "Is that for your house or mine?" I pause caught off guard.<br />
It's not only our new reality bursting through that throws me, it's also the oddity of us shopping together at all. If I can help it I don't shop. When it became clear that BC's job was happening I had 3 worries, #2 "shit! who's going to do the shopping?!".<br />
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I would dare say the grocery store is the one place I show the most lasting of the damage. The last place I think to take back control of my life. I can't cover the emotions and/or impulses that arise as the last of the ceiling of my old life breaks off exposing blue sky above me.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirSCrG-yzs7P-X6lVTe2q9T0XQ_z5MmI8zmhXuoeZqwN6RFUDtfXmYaD4kaluyE2cdno8TbGj_KmwwNP9RdQ7M2prztvw5RWeyr8YQVCCqdv8WygF6gAgTA4C2rlURiNoZKJOATStgKk0/s1600/DSCF2560.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirSCrG-yzs7P-X6lVTe2q9T0XQ_z5MmI8zmhXuoeZqwN6RFUDtfXmYaD4kaluyE2cdno8TbGj_KmwwNP9RdQ7M2prztvw5RWeyr8YQVCCqdv8WygF6gAgTA4C2rlURiNoZKJOATStgKk0/s1600/DSCF2560.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a>Like the day I suddenly realized I could buy jello if I wanted to and there was nothing <i>he</i> do about it anymore. It was later at home placing 15 boxes of lime jello in my cupboard that I thought to ask the most obvious of questions, <i>do I even like jello?</i><br />
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I understand it is not normal for a grown woman to walk into a store and have to remind herself she can buy whatever she wants as long as she can afford it. At first the thought makes me smile, then I see the stupidity in it and the guilt and embarrassment creep in.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-sWAoEbLcXU1ueQ6xSVo4DejcfhyphenhyphenoTQPdspT9aoQdpSOw56yWkZfNMWyLKsIRyfrfu2MAgpHu1C0A5tmnd6z5aglH3aoCGGJVcE-aPDKloH-SIDujqlbwwmteHah_wZuFFTKC7fO4ms/s1600/DSCF2565.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-sWAoEbLcXU1ueQ6xSVo4DejcfhyphenhyphenoTQPdspT9aoQdpSOw56yWkZfNMWyLKsIRyfrfu2MAgpHu1C0A5tmnd6z5aglH3aoCGGJVcE-aPDKloH-SIDujqlbwwmteHah_wZuFFTKC7fO4ms/s1600/DSCF2565.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a>If I can recover form that we have food, if not I turn around and leave the store empty handed. So for years BC has been our shopper. He doesn't ask why and he doesn't question my sporadic contributions to the household or the way I cling to buying food from alternative sources like the co-op and the farmer's markets. <br />
<br />
But BC asked if I would come along shopping and knowing he was leaving again I agreed. In fact I agreed twice. But I should never be allowed in Costco. I am completely useless among the giant isles. There is just too much there to make any sense of any one thing. I follow him and stand looking lost as he asks me questions: do you need bread? cheese? chicken?<br />
<i><br /></i>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjx0kVcH1j3oJ8MOqev7BRqz9H3AfdkpL_YnselbHzmgmrM6e9Q64GYUgY7D9FLhVLREipR7JzCJ0VnhPizZCSigvJO-VQmPivY8TTf__iWc3x8epK5hQB1IxW_EuGQceFbt-zRCzivRI/s1600/DSCF2563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjx0kVcH1j3oJ8MOqev7BRqz9H3AfdkpL_YnselbHzmgmrM6e9Q64GYUgY7D9FLhVLREipR7JzCJ0VnhPizZCSigvJO-VQmPivY8TTf__iWc3x8epK5hQB1IxW_EuGQceFbt-zRCzivRI/s1600/DSCF2563.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><i>I don't know</i>, d<i>o I?</i><br />
<br />
It's the same muteness produced by the damn of words lodging in my mind when I am asked a question I can't answer.<br />
<br />
BC asks me to get laundry detergent. I stand in front of the row of boxes looking for something I recognize. Then I watch the other customers picking theirs and I look in their carts and wonder about their life based on packages of pre cooked chicken and frozen ready make potatoes. BC circles back for me, picks out the detergent he asked me to get, and we more on. <br />
<br />
I watch him watching me. I know he wants to say something to me about all this but he doesn't know what. Honestly neither do I.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjrAGobJDhIxlQcITuuF3_ynQynVXjAFER1mlnwF3hlU3icij2Pvbp9Cevi3OGLolj2V9CsrcehZ3mPEoAb2QiLVJJZg9ZQ_tIbjtfR2PrpJaF30vczq-6C6daPPJrswZa5Lt97Ve-kMQ/s1600/DSCF2567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjrAGobJDhIxlQcITuuF3_ynQynVXjAFER1mlnwF3hlU3icij2Pvbp9Cevi3OGLolj2V9CsrcehZ3mPEoAb2QiLVJJZg9ZQ_tIbjtfR2PrpJaF30vczq-6C6daPPJrswZa5Lt97Ve-kMQ/s1600/DSCF2567.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a>When we are done he lets me surf on the back of the charts while he runs dragging it full sprint through the parking lots. People younger than us stop to give us dirty looks.<br />
<br />
And after I had spent most of the morning in bed with a horrible headache, and I shopped with him twice, he took me up the canyon. We hiked in the shadows. Across ice. Over mud. Up through the scrub oaks until we broke out onto the ridge. There we could see straight into the twisted valley below us. He stood. I sat. And separately together, listened to the calls of the search and rescue teams combing the mountain for the lost man they were sent to search for.<br />
<br />
me? I believe I know exactly where they should be looking...Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-58161377569281398462015-02-10T08:21:00.000-08:002015-02-10T20:45:49.983-08:00running on the ground<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuIx9Rb5JXFGcq2Fnbw2ELYO5StnHxOpmFZaq2HnpXPqfT-8VA-T1fIvrI1vWZ5mBgQgceEy525x1lsGV7CL4kyWrIjm_51n_ohlu_kTpkAw2raH-OTMtVgrxiZTW8N7mE2bPNPV2KjuM/s1600/DSCF2386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuIx9Rb5JXFGcq2Fnbw2ELYO5StnHxOpmFZaq2HnpXPqfT-8VA-T1fIvrI1vWZ5mBgQgceEy525x1lsGV7CL4kyWrIjm_51n_ohlu_kTpkAw2raH-OTMtVgrxiZTW8N7mE2bPNPV2KjuM/s1600/DSCF2386.JPG" height="320" width="249" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m stumped on what I can say about reuniting with BC in Moab, About how it felt to see his new life with my own eyes. Walking through it as if I was wearing a </span><span style="line-height: 18.8181819915772px; white-space: pre-wrap;">visitors'</span><span style="line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> badge trying not to tread too heavily where I don't belong. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5RdVvc-IeBRjwjjBf2IKeugBBwewAVBlnbsMZDHG14A9H_0qEoNISaSbFRD90W79BxapuoKojvljVJ27BAkc2SlO5revMBTaMDQRKKKqUDe9L59Gl_Zxwi6Zlh7CvpvkQuIaxN_0b5A/s1600/DSCF2388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5RdVvc-IeBRjwjjBf2IKeugBBwewAVBlnbsMZDHG14A9H_0qEoNISaSbFRD90W79BxapuoKojvljVJ27BAkc2SlO5revMBTaMDQRKKKqUDe9L59Gl_Zxwi6Zlh7CvpvkQuIaxN_0b5A/s1600/DSCF2388.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHllz3i3ovXejFbqKN4adOLu5aVhSDLsUu7kzAe_JGTCefCquplaS54Y9RKoUZ66pfFjkGCNSAVuP6D0Io-3XhhAAWWx45qWP7ZgZ28xdD7tYylEMSRbIY_fhi1uHxOh9ZW4_VqqdzSW8/s1600/DSCF2387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHllz3i3ovXejFbqKN4adOLu5aVhSDLsUu7kzAe_JGTCefCquplaS54Y9RKoUZ66pfFjkGCNSAVuP6D0Io-3XhhAAWWx45qWP7ZgZ28xdD7tYylEMSRbIY_fhi1uHxOh9ZW4_VqqdzSW8/s1600/DSCF2387.JPG" height="320" width="214" /></a></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Between pushing hard to leave the farm in good enough condition for the in-laws to watch, all the money stress, travel details, big and little kids, and the drive, I pulled into Moab sicker than I had been in days. My condition seemed to unnerve BC but he appeared to be a little unsure about how to behave either. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0iPq0xxe_uTz0YOGhHVJcGivLgSGFLO8eIgi-xHOV_uzM80NvKx0SRsLvGc-7HlBBe0J-bfnOoA0jiMQl9i0-xxAvSpbsv9CKGyFk_uNR-ESDdXkfHtAc1ndlPeSinBJCzG1vDNneuH0/s1600/DSCF2396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0iPq0xxe_uTz0YOGhHVJcGivLgSGFLO8eIgi-xHOV_uzM80NvKx0SRsLvGc-7HlBBe0J-bfnOoA0jiMQl9i0-xxAvSpbsv9CKGyFk_uNR-ESDdXkfHtAc1ndlPeSinBJCzG1vDNneuH0/s1600/DSCF2396.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzaz8SlzEnJml8F5rdf-o4T4t_Y-C9CpaTUsBQZGZL_jQfDL_skC6WAGpHvg4b5NF_TzCoBhUJqlIt06fn9Tea85EjIfaRfiTq1HndcUUk3xf9UtkpMv3Ss5uiaHyi1NbM-nXyQzZpspQ/s1600/DSCF2405.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzaz8SlzEnJml8F5rdf-o4T4t_Y-C9CpaTUsBQZGZL_jQfDL_skC6WAGpHvg4b5NF_TzCoBhUJqlIt06fn9Tea85EjIfaRfiTq1HndcUUk3xf9UtkpMv3Ss5uiaHyi1NbM-nXyQzZpspQ/s1600/DSCF2405.JPG" height="320" width="255" /></a></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-7abfca3c-740b-9b7c-f2b6-1223199fd0c8"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span id="docs-internal-guid-7abfca3c-740b-9b7c-f2b6-1223199fd0c8"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Did we really unravel 12 years in a few months apart? </span></span></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-7abfca3c-740b-9b7c-f2b6-1223199fd0c8">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiePaNomJePK-krE60ZuQBHy9J2wob5N1yio9o1V9QyBoNjvlTXscmrrB7rzGKR1gXoHzvi2t5JpE3Jnlx4RnHcQUxaTETf5SdjKDpEqZsaBQF2GiVgo5GIxJ8RiscHEIJX0S0Q_w9tHRQ/s1600/DSCF2401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiePaNomJePK-krE60ZuQBHy9J2wob5N1yio9o1V9QyBoNjvlTXscmrrB7rzGKR1gXoHzvi2t5JpE3Jnlx4RnHcQUxaTETf5SdjKDpEqZsaBQF2GiVgo5GIxJ8RiscHEIJX0S0Q_w9tHRQ/s1600/DSCF2401.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE2U1D6f-hZwgSocwxvYZqzUXjIADGw-BVuDiuajl4dkjkmIRqt9tKMkI91YcVeCQyHFMbRZTeOTVd4OyWx8hBk0DNx2roMLtuTotiF9xA69klx8AhI_yCwXF6D_LCSRmQSN3HOGWeb8c/s1600/DSCF2406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE2U1D6f-hZwgSocwxvYZqzUXjIADGw-BVuDiuajl4dkjkmIRqt9tKMkI91YcVeCQyHFMbRZTeOTVd4OyWx8hBk0DNx2roMLtuTotiF9xA69klx8AhI_yCwXF6D_LCSRmQSN3HOGWeb8c/s1600/DSCF2406.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, no, not completely...</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It took a couple of hours to get Beach to stop looking at me as if I was the interrupter of her dad's new life. By then she had already scribbled her name in the dirt all over the job site and jumped on every bed in the camper trailer where he is staying. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvZ1V7mThjiHSblDlDmHNDW-8A0ZpbrHYaFvkf7l8vcaJ2CUEFCTrKNgVGQ5rzF7ZRvl8CYpjGtYidn33UEM9CeE9AKcoNx5ndrysGi52gVkIXJRHvQyrxp7DM1-gy7pKSvaqG8lGJ_8Q/s1600/DSCF2408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvZ1V7mThjiHSblDlDmHNDW-8A0ZpbrHYaFvkf7l8vcaJ2CUEFCTrKNgVGQ5rzF7ZRvl8CYpjGtYidn33UEM9CeE9AKcoNx5ndrysGi52gVkIXJRHvQyrxp7DM1-gy7pKSvaqG8lGJ_8Q/s1600/DSCF2408.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-n8A70VaylrI0oSar2Nns3pY9-W6lqlu-RWvRy5tQ-1Ih4KWClIdviBpoUx-WXTMCt6aPpHPGKhw11_29ReL4YTj7hhXp0mIvBYyJhuPw68v64Hj_zEt-ISUBAKmqASls7pStvrMb3yg/s1600/DSCF2412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-n8A70VaylrI0oSar2Nns3pY9-W6lqlu-RWvRy5tQ-1Ih4KWClIdviBpoUx-WXTMCt6aPpHPGKhw11_29ReL4YTj7hhXp0mIvBYyJhuPw68v64Hj_zEt-ISUBAKmqASls7pStvrMb3yg/s1600/DSCF2412.JPG" height="320" width="246" /></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> To me it felt somewhere between a custody hand off and a first date. But slowly in the landscape of Arches we began to find common ground again. Which is sort of funny because the common ground we share is the appreciation for just how opposite we are from one-another. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZPI5j7rbGX9rAvEbi5a1JAx6ddBngogfLQD_cWIaxdD17BmOLwTH0zvWOXxBzoWyTq8ed3occ2m_e4wNdImAkwmRB-S6fupwpyU7ZaFoVyX3hqiXKCbreLk6d6QQD-AmcYF10zDm7X7Y/s1600/DSCF2414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZPI5j7rbGX9rAvEbi5a1JAx6ddBngogfLQD_cWIaxdD17BmOLwTH0zvWOXxBzoWyTq8ed3occ2m_e4wNdImAkwmRB-S6fupwpyU7ZaFoVyX3hqiXKCbreLk6d6QQD-AmcYF10zDm7X7Y/s1600/DSCF2414.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3donar4wtsScxsBo0fv6sQRcD_FmalGMqNW3LnKrdFLQD6jDE0TnWFoFkFw7rHWbGEgjW0wRV6wfLmzTwGpJn5QbQvGam7nfmG-_2n27mWjhihihoGy375M2MW2NCmWE8pwG_wDa5r8/s1600/DSCF2415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3donar4wtsScxsBo0fv6sQRcD_FmalGMqNW3LnKrdFLQD6jDE0TnWFoFkFw7rHWbGEgjW0wRV6wfLmzTwGpJn5QbQvGam7nfmG-_2n27mWjhihihoGy375M2MW2NCmWE8pwG_wDa5r8/s1600/DSCF2415.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> There in the vastness of Arches I watched my child fall back in love with her father. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LeXVzM5-occw8dD55l4Liz7xuVoIGIuNwBxp6PGeJVMTDlgjUqKvi_lbDGet9ycGkEN0FUjmF9oVU4fZXckv-Cwt6WoMj0jhIlGz4WAcYxUUhPz-hjlCPs9O96VtbDRIyQryJGMF1lg/s1600/DSCF2418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LeXVzM5-occw8dD55l4Liz7xuVoIGIuNwBxp6PGeJVMTDlgjUqKvi_lbDGet9ycGkEN0FUjmF9oVU4fZXckv-Cwt6WoMj0jhIlGz4WAcYxUUhPz-hjlCPs9O96VtbDRIyQryJGMF1lg/s1600/DSCF2418.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvPziysp20_oI6w1kfmIIoiec98EZ73prr0FpK9josW5RGx2JR2LhEKjc0Or6oNhF2RGo1QT01WboVIVjIGWG92dTvWzCtZDUxdWakIRnWTFjlue9T3inlsjqP22CfpcHhhwmZferu48/s1600/DSCF2416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvPziysp20_oI6w1kfmIIoiec98EZ73prr0FpK9josW5RGx2JR2LhEKjc0Or6oNhF2RGo1QT01WboVIVjIGWG92dTvWzCtZDUxdWakIRnWTFjlue9T3inlsjqP22CfpcHhhwmZferu48/s1600/DSCF2416.JPG" height="320" width="236" /></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> And I watched BC and I meet again as the people we are today.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDKPAsMSu8ec5FE5vgxboMJ6Vaycgso_chfIa2IiI3hbSmn1TL4TdPkKvps4DrjK9I0XPWVqYONUDwy1544zNnMh7-Yakjivb2pVud6wpwvdsDJtydBKX8eiw5z04AJkwi9r3_v5mOIM/s1600/DSCF2422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDKPAsMSu8ec5FE5vgxboMJ6Vaycgso_chfIa2IiI3hbSmn1TL4TdPkKvps4DrjK9I0XPWVqYONUDwy1544zNnMh7-Yakjivb2pVud6wpwvdsDJtydBKX8eiw5z04AJkwi9r3_v5mOIM/s1600/DSCF2422.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMZfBSiDEbg3MPm3genLBMT-YFiBJLt5u80ggMsbp6HCNGKIROXSbUglUa97TWXKm6DJGQ_ULZGY9zf5WlY8U71egPsbmza1icfbjS2yH-PEFDddYN63bw9E4dmxgZo9h5hjYAeHY1Yu4/s1600/DSCF2429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMZfBSiDEbg3MPm3genLBMT-YFiBJLt5u80ggMsbp6HCNGKIROXSbUglUa97TWXKm6DJGQ_ULZGY9zf5WlY8U71egPsbmza1icfbjS2yH-PEFDddYN63bw9E4dmxgZo9h5hjYAeHY1Yu4/s1600/DSCF2429.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> As the distance faded I could feel myself watching the horizon, wondering if this was our new life together-apart. He really loves Moab and there is a ton of work there but not enough skilled contractors to do it all....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCVel5i8wIt_BLKMYIcjpGFwAdgRh6UnCBDWN9DrJzVzQ-eLYFvHrWKn7NCLOQjD7G6CpdO9QeBEGevRcCoTnnw1CPMz51p_r4rV8uJ0Vu5iCFO8fyoqYhubj5GylQOIISbAmclHUQ9Q/s1600/DSCF2439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCVel5i8wIt_BLKMYIcjpGFwAdgRh6UnCBDWN9DrJzVzQ-eLYFvHrWKn7NCLOQjD7G6CpdO9QeBEGevRcCoTnnw1CPMz51p_r4rV8uJ0Vu5iCFO8fyoqYhubj5GylQOIISbAmclHUQ9Q/s1600/DSCF2439.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsneq3krR_bZ-nEuHCkrMYvxzEcBAaSx117cQJbJy9yKDeubBSIcCYfBUaU71eVncOH_9SYerIKKgHSAZu4mvsaHXnjnKBpKheanW7KMSri902JkUN1NZ1kzlocxcKyYIyMEA2McJLXE/s1600/DSCF2440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlsneq3krR_bZ-nEuHCkrMYvxzEcBAaSx117cQJbJy9yKDeubBSIcCYfBUaU71eVncOH_9SYerIKKgHSAZu4mvsaHXnjnKBpKheanW7KMSri902JkUN1NZ1kzlocxcKyYIyMEA2McJLXE/s1600/DSCF2440.JPG" height="320" width="232" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Her gym, her world is in SLC and that is not changing.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-vcr09YcsWX-OcMdvlGzVFzzS7gjm3sbMAez2rB1oo6clZ8-eYcW558SX_dKBJ8wAUREtd3UNEwSuDyGgLaI5CDn6M_Lb2JBaAyuN_x4Jq6UCDhz0iRtJl9rmZne0QgLk5cje_XrlGk/s1600/DSCF2441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-vcr09YcsWX-OcMdvlGzVFzzS7gjm3sbMAez2rB1oo6clZ8-eYcW558SX_dKBJ8wAUREtd3UNEwSuDyGgLaI5CDn6M_Lb2JBaAyuN_x4Jq6UCDhz0iRtJl9rmZne0QgLk5cje_XrlGk/s1600/DSCF2441.JPG" height="381" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The way it stands now his job is on track to wrap up in June. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> But I suspect when the time comes it will be more of a new beginning than an ending to this way of life for us. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ23SxKq8x8kjM2ERcgf77cfVJLT86E-BlSiLqVdwKmjLW2BaP-POOI4GI_ZSf4kGH0CqAFBslic1OZ8IcJFLdz2USJoRCc11NXKseu2vUFyRQ1jrWzDE5mZEdMl3aV6N5-Ho9lGG4FXw/s1600/DSCF2442.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ23SxKq8x8kjM2ERcgf77cfVJLT86E-BlSiLqVdwKmjLW2BaP-POOI4GI_ZSf4kGH0CqAFBslic1OZ8IcJFLdz2USJoRCc11NXKseu2vUFyRQ1jrWzDE5mZEdMl3aV6N5-Ho9lGG4FXw/s1600/DSCF2442.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVDDBzmO8c7-n0gJkrWyAB6FIzPSiXgLE8CmsywU8NR4mHg03aDkyqLUlYS3K81TrtSwir2gHkTQ7NgEhFIprhC6wgVUrnXZD3NbdvlvkghFCMBUR7J0Zmp98jxctbnxtTmakh6kbmJs/s1600/DSCF2443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVDDBzmO8c7-n0gJkrWyAB6FIzPSiXgLE8CmsywU8NR4mHg03aDkyqLUlYS3K81TrtSwir2gHkTQ7NgEhFIprhC6wgVUrnXZD3NbdvlvkghFCMBUR7J0Zmp98jxctbnxtTmakh6kbmJs/s1600/DSCF2443.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once I told BC I would follow him anywhere. At the time I meant Alaska. I had no idea that "anywhere" would include living separately-together. He never has been one for predictability or convention. And although I have always claimed my perfect relationship would include being on the receiving end of a phone call home from camp 2 on Everest we all know I wouldn't hear the phone ring...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1gcqy9xzYge9vU1eXPxzaOENIUdE0fNFHmwUjKK_TsgFIbHEkQwPe2w6MLSZv_CJwQfsMvEYrzgCp1GTHg7PuxPbqLk8_O8k_QHJM6dBey60Qmj6RjTvliaFFO01qkBOueZqMGHnuOA/s1600/DSCF2444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN1gcqy9xzYge9vU1eXPxzaOENIUdE0fNFHmwUjKK_TsgFIbHEkQwPe2w6MLSZv_CJwQfsMvEYrzgCp1GTHg7PuxPbqLk8_O8k_QHJM6dBey60Qmj6RjTvliaFFO01qkBOueZqMGHnuOA/s1600/DSCF2444.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLxWNDSWwRC1fxbre6j0zI7b1n5dBu8Yu1yUwwEkr9SrtWJPJYV36kCsZEfFQ1s-rhD4wSFWoFalUH05OXYHex9WUNyEFTD2XLDWT7GSttYuS6CojWlkTLEVLoWLNNpk2RtnWZNl7LXM/s1600/DSCF2445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLxWNDSWwRC1fxbre6j0zI7b1n5dBu8Yu1yUwwEkr9SrtWJPJYV36kCsZEfFQ1s-rhD4wSFWoFalUH05OXYHex9WUNyEFTD2XLDWT7GSttYuS6CojWlkTLEVLoWLNNpk2RtnWZNl7LXM/s1600/DSCF2445.JPG" height="320" width="258" /></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But from here I see my life very differently than I did before. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In fact I think I have the best view of it I have ever had. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJjVt3T4-BypITG_P4MDXfRyC4El-rmb2YeVqPYvRv-GY_bzTvcIt6xh3fEXUAjsP-6b1Yw5wAswKGIUqjqVICJ5rexWFi0Celayc7zH0SPbNd_5rD70OLvj56D4ro14YNtblrDnyjUmk/s1600/DSCF2447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJjVt3T4-BypITG_P4MDXfRyC4El-rmb2YeVqPYvRv-GY_bzTvcIt6xh3fEXUAjsP-6b1Yw5wAswKGIUqjqVICJ5rexWFi0Celayc7zH0SPbNd_5rD70OLvj56D4ro14YNtblrDnyjUmk/s1600/DSCF2447.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfUfxNP_qWcs4cVP0IbOs_xL8nCtMFBgWLKQIqJbtdz9zI3NXpywCA_6iHvQtMeZKFoJkAxoxSywFGoxH_cRlZVLOrFUh-cqf8mnaQwI_fW_fSaDVhcYDPf4wix1vIqySwvy7eZQjAV8/s1600/DSCF2449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfUfxNP_qWcs4cVP0IbOs_xL8nCtMFBgWLKQIqJbtdz9zI3NXpywCA_6iHvQtMeZKFoJkAxoxSywFGoxH_cRlZVLOrFUh-cqf8mnaQwI_fW_fSaDVhcYDPf4wix1vIqySwvy7eZQjAV8/s1600/DSCF2449.JPG" height="320" width="217" /></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> A lot of things that haven't been making sense I now understand. We stayed the night in Moab in his trailer on the job site. We hiked through Arches, swam at the local pool, and ate Mexican food in town. Then I took us to stay in a 5 star resort in Colorado Springs. Where we sat out on the balcony drinking PBR and laughing about the contrast. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_aNTIFwRp58W9bC8U-ipymWZiz0g2R5vpzf_mVzOBnRnEfwhMe48FrCvBWft7lJ8mxw6kPoKLNHrBHXarXV16O3PaNfYNDZmGNhZ2bAT1L-Dqj1hjeiawKRgUhRdULDKf7AKuTCDGuI/s1600/DSCF2451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG_aNTIFwRp58W9bC8U-ipymWZiz0g2R5vpzf_mVzOBnRnEfwhMe48FrCvBWft7lJ8mxw6kPoKLNHrBHXarXV16O3PaNfYNDZmGNhZ2bAT1L-Dqj1hjeiawKRgUhRdULDKf7AKuTCDGuI/s1600/DSCF2451.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> For the first time in my life I think I truly see who I am, what I want, and where I am going.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1DVfUDjbKgfW5VXzpV8cjkpfRmTF6aCwZAYOiMshfEziUH1RfkgGXLiC_Yf1osn4gkZvBNEHREO6PeZS1ibjJ1Pv6E6G_BK47UJ32NNIzWJGeuQBuPc2ZTX5UrMLA0Sa1ThFlXUYRNbk/s1600/DSCF2435.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1DVfUDjbKgfW5VXzpV8cjkpfRmTF6aCwZAYOiMshfEziUH1RfkgGXLiC_Yf1osn4gkZvBNEHREO6PeZS1ibjJ1Pv6E6G_BK47UJ32NNIzWJGeuQBuPc2ZTX5UrMLA0Sa1ThFlXUYRNbk/s1600/DSCF2435.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Zbhdvnm2jTWfofpuOU13ggywgoa1K_GgPdrc4QFxn9VlDRylhanHP4-L0dy6dLXXlrogN_UluJh4WTnB335KgpLDXi4GNZBEguugqxpSCbStwdaACa9xcWK7FAYD0e0wXHd-CyFpcxU/s1600/DSCF2454.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Zbhdvnm2jTWfofpuOU13ggywgoa1K_GgPdrc4QFxn9VlDRylhanHP4-L0dy6dLXXlrogN_UluJh4WTnB335KgpLDXi4GNZBEguugqxpSCbStwdaACa9xcWK7FAYD0e0wXHd-CyFpcxU/s1600/DSCF2454.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Somewhere in the space and time of the drive home with Beach sound asleep as the miles rolled by, I reminded myself to tell BC to make sure whatever new car he was buying to replace little red has to have a full size spare and jack because where I am planning on going it requires the comfort of knowing you have a good spare tire just in case.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha1GAGWH_poNvm-DWkSimL4nlbBNx3b2n82ZG_6ky9cJlV_hRjjHpYr4PhBoYqnhYER6Ht1OxT1Ny2fIKogR6ImeYg-5_4ZoPZZEGHKovzIFJTGSBqidrHbGoTEHAEv6BqvYYgbu2MrcY/s1600/DSCF2434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha1GAGWH_poNvm-DWkSimL4nlbBNx3b2n82ZG_6ky9cJlV_hRjjHpYr4PhBoYqnhYER6Ht1OxT1Ny2fIKogR6ImeYg-5_4ZoPZZEGHKovzIFJTGSBqidrHbGoTEHAEv6BqvYYgbu2MrcY/s1600/DSCF2434.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> It feels really good to finally be standing on my own two feet on solid ground.</span></div>
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Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-88112901599308669652015-02-03T11:08:00.000-08:002015-02-03T11:08:11.917-08:00honestly, you can't make this shit up...<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFsfAcP7WrmUM_Xrovnef8JMtEuTAixd5a7Kyi0X4y8Gu27LbsrbKhI4dCAneCfUWbSroP_9oPQ1EOL9TkPIyQl9G1vcEWpiD6blpNUsxeiORHu-vrIppIPoq9Ll0lfUb8NqGfoOpehio/s1600/DSCF2373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFsfAcP7WrmUM_Xrovnef8JMtEuTAixd5a7Kyi0X4y8Gu27LbsrbKhI4dCAneCfUWbSroP_9oPQ1EOL9TkPIyQl9G1vcEWpiD6blpNUsxeiORHu-vrIppIPoq9Ll0lfUb8NqGfoOpehio/s1600/DSCF2373.JPG" height="320" width="241" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I really should have know better than to feel like I couldn't handle one more thing going wrong. Especially on day 4 of stalking the mysterious and elusive bank draw that is over due. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is a dangerous temptation just begging the Universe to step in and fuck things up even more. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I'm cleaning the house, doing the farm shit, & I walk into the mudroom [oh-no don't go in there!]. And there is water gushing out of the top of the washer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is a front loader this should not be happening.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Beach opens the door from the kitchen to ask which one of the identical blue blankets she should pack for the upcoming weekend drive to Colorado to find me standing in front the washer trying to mop up the half inch of water that is on the floor while also attempting to see exactly why the little slot you put the soap in has become a waterfall and she says, "um... Steve." (It's a gym joke).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, the mudroom floor is clean.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Universe? She's not so funny,<i> but the sure kid is!</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-11385809091005675912015-02-03T09:21:00.000-08:002015-02-03T09:59:04.642-08:00Nowhere and the Great Beyond<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg131Kr9iee2Z28EzrnLqEsidc0aZE4NsPDmphT9IOqBDYBJytcwp8GTLx6qblB910wzj9cMLzQlqRTbHwRDFuEUSPtiZOpkfKaWUXjjqSfaw29PhI1n2w4eZRNf4fNjOEXVqfnuRkf65E/s1600/DSCF2280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg131Kr9iee2Z28EzrnLqEsidc0aZE4NsPDmphT9IOqBDYBJytcwp8GTLx6qblB910wzj9cMLzQlqRTbHwRDFuEUSPtiZOpkfKaWUXjjqSfaw29PhI1n2w4eZRNf4fNjOEXVqfnuRkf65E/s1600/DSCF2280.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
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Yesterday right before I left hiking the phone rang. It was my mother-in-law reminding me the second half of our property tax was due. I think I felt the edges of my soul wilt. I thanked her for the reminder, got off the phone, and walked away. </div>
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If you were wondering my computer is still MIA. And there is no way to get everything done that needs doing before we leave for Beach's next meet, 10 hrs away in Colorado. Obviously I'm not even trying. I have accepted that I can't win and I can't keep up. My only option is to keep going and hope it is enough.</div>
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But yesterday's mountain only worked yesterday. </div>
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In those stolen moments walking paths carpeted with mud and caked with snow. Above you is the sky filled with clouds waiting to clear the cradling peaks of the Wasatch in winter. They line up like overburdened ships entering a rough harbor. </div>
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Deep in the back, up a deer trail where the scrub oaks arch and touch overhead, one step was sheer ice, the next ankle deep mud, and the next snow so slippery you could fall just standing on it. It took every last ounce of concentration to stay on my feet... </div>
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When I woke up this morning I realized life in the valley is no different. Nowhere feels safe to step. I think I see stable ground and then I find it's not.</div>
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On top the mountain opens views of more mountains and of hidden other valleys with frozen ponds. Sights I had forgotten the feeling of. I thought I saw movement through the trees but I couldn't be sure what it was, or if it was at all. </div>
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It is the same with the words written late at night. I think I see something slowing creeping in but I can't be sure what I am seeing. And when I wake up in the morning I laugh at myself for ever wondering at all that there could possibly be someone else out on the ledge with me...</div>
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This trail is the closest far-ness I can manage these days. It is not truly wild or dangerous. The city breaks into the background quite a bit. But it is steep and muddy and it has a pretty decent view into the Great Beyond...</div>
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<br />Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-57540675021191562052015-02-01T19:18:00.001-08:002015-02-01T19:18:32.554-08:00wild<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I hardly know what to think when I look at this photo of BC and Scott on the river on a beam rescue.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQy1ZCgzvZS9zhKcCWAX_CbOMZspMUT-esOL81Q-Oc4fb2qQSaXUWzyqckGvBFGtYWcOvyvWugRRUxnbq2VC7hrEWxNwiZECB51wmt4gIxXjdWltmC0Qw9_gx3bxFXE75zA_6iefRG3Nw/s1600/18250_943250499026264_602722834813746694_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQy1ZCgzvZS9zhKcCWAX_CbOMZspMUT-esOL81Q-Oc4fb2qQSaXUWzyqckGvBFGtYWcOvyvWugRRUxnbq2VC7hrEWxNwiZECB51wmt4gIxXjdWltmC0Qw9_gx3bxFXE75zA_6iefRG3Nw/s1600/18250_943250499026264_602722834813746694_n.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a>The image is so stark and striking. I know exactly the wildness of being cold, wet, and dirty.... it hurts in the best way. I can feel the soreness and the sleep that only comes after a day of being swallowed by the elements. The sweetness of sitting in the dirt in the desert drinking beer and watching the sunset. The wonder of drinking a gritty cup of camp coffee tucked into a sleep bag too cold to move. Or the wildness of being caught in the rain high up on the mountain.<br />
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About the same time BC was there in the rapids baling out an overloaded raft I was standing a couple hundred miles away in the corner at bars. From his spot on the floor my friend Sarah's husband asked me how I was doing. I answered I was fine but he called me out on the lie. "You don't seem fine." He pressed. "Okay then, I am sick and tired and I'm lonely." <br />
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Sure, I finally have this single parenting thing figured out.</div>
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I kill my own spiders.</div>
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I even sleep with <i>most</i> of the lights off.</div>
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I remember to get the mail and put out the trash cans the night before trash day.</div>
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The kids are doing fantastic.</div>
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The animal are still alive and well- minus Jack Cat who is MIA.</div>
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What I haven't figured out is how to just put it all on hold & go play- I mean play hard and wild. I feel tied to the weight of being the "only" one. I feel like I have to conserve for some unseen events. All I really want is to wander off into the mud and hike until curiosity is beaten by fatigue and <i>then </i>figure out how I'm going to make it back to my car.<br />
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I don't mind being alone. Mostly I like it. I like not having to negotiate. I like not having to work by committee. I like breaking my own rules. I don't mind that Jack Cat is really gone even as that fact is slowly starting to sting. What I mind is feeling trapped by alone.</div>
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When I said I was lonely I wasn't talking about missing other people, </div>
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I was taking about me.</div>
Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-52582479496036940952015-01-28T08:55:00.003-08:002015-01-28T08:55:49.539-08:00the blue line: may contain strong or offensive language ie pinkeye. <div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Beach's gym is hosting a gym meet this upcoming weekend. Fun. I work, Beach competes, I work some more, and Beach has a birthday party to get to, I work some more, and Fisher's mom is in town to visit with him. More than likely that will include a fight about a motorcycle. A motorcycle 3/4 of his parents agreed on but she said no to, then yes, then no, then prayed about it and said god said no. I'm not sure if god signed off on her keeping all of his hard earned summer job funds from him over it, that is a grey area.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>I should ask her since god and I don't talk... </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Feeling a bit scattered the kids and I decided we should make a giant calendar on the wipe board detailing the events of the next few days just to keep the farm running smoothly. Things are going to be a little crazy and I can tell you it is the dogs who are getting the shit end of the stick. Oh wait the chickens, I totally forgot about the chickens!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In blue marker I have 3 days listed:<b> <span style="color: blue;">Thursday</span></b>,<b> <span style="color: blue;">Friday</span></b>, and <span style="color: blue;"><b>Saturday</b></span>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thursday almost looks normal. Just a few items like: <span style="color: blue;"><b>Fish to school, Beach to gym, Misty to work... 7:30 Sarah-Mom pick up from gym drop Beach to"?"</b></span>, <b><span style="color: blue;">Misty 8PM pick up Sarah-Mom & go to gym set-up Lehi</span></b>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Okay that question mark at where exactly Beach is going might be something I need to work out- I have options. But still pretty normal-ish.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Friday looks a little stranger. It has lots of </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>times</b></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and </span><b><span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">arrows</span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, a few </span><span style="color: #f1c232; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>stars</b></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, extra names like</span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;"> Alexis: dogs</span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, added tasks like </span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">hijack Sophie early from school, carpool gym rats to Lehi for pre-meet practice, work/gym in Lehi,</span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> and </span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">Fisher's mom pick Fisher for weekend from school or home (?)</span></b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Maybe it is the kids who are getting the shit end of the stick...anyway... </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Saturday is the craziest. It starts early and ends late. This is the madness and fun (no sarcasm) of meet season & putting on a gym meet. Doing it without BC running backup sucks. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think I have people I have never met helping me out. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I might ask the animals to buddy up and take care of each other, although the lower on the food chain they are the trickier it gets to find a good buddy. Plus you can't ever trust the cats with anything.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And in a twist I have Sophie's dad getting both of the girls ready for a meet </span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u>by himself</u></b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. There are also a</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> few task still with openings; </span><span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><b>apply within</b></i></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
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Before I could finish this post<b><span style="color: #38761d;"> Wednesday</span></b> got added to the board.<br />
<b><span style="color: blue;">Get trash cans out, lend Alexis the big red van</span></b> (omg! look out slc!), d<b><span style="color: blue;">rop Alexis's car off to mechanic but pick up it backup by 5PM, Beach to my mom's, go to the doctors (maybe), run paper work for Conner to Layton (if needed), pick up Beach & Sophie from gym 7:30PM, keep Soph overnight</span> <u><i><span style="color: magenta;">because the little kids at her mom's house have pinkeye.</span></i></u> </b><br />
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Which caused me to return a call to Sarah-Mom that started with "Fuck you, they have pinkeye?!" Trust me, there will be a part B to this post. I can feel it.<br />
Until then: Go team! And we totally got this <span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="color: blue;"><3 </span></b></span><br />
Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-79332829661277155642015-01-25T08:46:00.001-08:002020-02-20T08:00:34.227-08:00excuse me officer, could you hand me my shirt?<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="font-size: 24px; font-stretch: normal; font-weight: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">excuse me, officer, could you hand me my shirt? </span></h3>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">(hiking without happy meals April 13, 2011)</span></h3>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>If your neighbor who has six kids, no job, is on food assistance, yet has an unending supply of disposable money lying around she might not be in the PTA. Or she might, but she has a side job with the government. </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Well not exactly with them but if you think about the War on Drugs is a huge employer in the <country-region w:st="on"><place w:st="on">USA. It </place></country-region>might even give old mighty Walmart, aka the Devil’s playground, a run for its money. </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Also when your neighbor's place ‘gets’ a home invasion robbery & you are told the well-armed thugs had the wrong house, spending a few months worrying about why they had not double-checked the address before kicking in the door might be pointless angst. </b></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRynq36oj7iRc88OzJjMmD5mjjLhQ8F9B5G9RbPUuKbiXMpQbH2FUZGYro-mS4VA7MLkuc8JmMsgubj4x15fYZc0JzVHERoTOQ5PGmutuFE3dL3g7YDu6aSqsrqBEW1i5p7io2PmuODdwh/s1600/garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b></b></span></span></a><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The other thing to note about said drug dealing neighbor she might actually become one of your best friends. </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Wow. That’s really strange because I’m sure I think most synthetic street drugs are bad. It's all pretty black & white & green to me. Bad guys are bad guys. </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Unless they cook really great Mexican food, braid your kid’s hair, save your dog from being hit by a speeding car, and sit in your back yard with you all summer sipping lemon aid and watching the kids play in the grass.<br /><br />Slowly over the warm months, she began to admit to me what her boyfriend was doing over there on the other side of the fence. Hum. Now what? </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>You like her, no not just like her you care about her. You love her children. For hell sakes, you are practically raising the youngest two as if they were your own. The middle two listen to you when they won't listen to anyone else. It's a giant mess. Instead of a nice little Movie of the Week, it's a pink Valentine's day cards with a real bleeding heart glued to it by a paste-waster. </b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>She wanted out. She wanted a good & normal life for all of them BUT... </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>If your neighbor is a drug dealer don’t lend her your best muffin pans unless you can part with them for 20-life Federal Time. </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><br /></span></span></b></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">Possibly consider a new name for your dog Kilo. Especially if he is going to corner the officers with your 'history of taking off your shirt' on display and you're going to have to call your dog... <i>"Come here Kilo. Good boy."</i> </span></span></b></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">And try not to miss her too much, even if the way she says certain words makes you laugh so hard you might pee your pants just thinking about it. </span></span></b></span></span></div>
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Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-4242102160936863732015-01-19T15:36:00.001-08:002015-01-19T17:41:29.573-08:00desert drowning <div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>There is a shadow inside silence that is as wet and heavy as dark water. In the middle of a crowded casino hallway I felt the edge of it breaking over me. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><i>You are totally, utterly alone, y</i><i>ou know that don't you?</i> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>It was a hard thought to argue with because I was alone.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifnf7T6s5pCFMez19cXfRydzXYqDtzIVZ2yCBHbrim1R4ve8pfd1_MfsqUFJ06AC1rLIHqtZ7b1islzOtrKwzga_AuPikAJYkpGEd-kd2co5rDhVAeFvC2moUMZoU4uSxfx3S3ETMSArA/s1600/sunset+at+camp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifnf7T6s5pCFMez19cXfRydzXYqDtzIVZ2yCBHbrim1R4ve8pfd1_MfsqUFJ06AC1rLIHqtZ7b1islzOtrKwzga_AuPikAJYkpGEd-kd2co5rDhVAeFvC2moUMZoU4uSxfx3S3ETMSArA/s1600/sunset+at+camp.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Standing for lack of direction or place, stupidly holding a phone with no one to call. BC back at home, us barely on speaking terms.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> Beach off with friends. Wendi dead. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Me alone.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ujZoPNAz9-9UOnxw6GZfK9TT5o6KePmKfelcYf61QAHhjYi4ZJE5Mm9z86dWRSu524P5khcT8UDI06NsYyankCbVMJSVw5pe7ySBb-qZm4GZ7vl5WD-XOYG7kONGam4ktnin6rBcrw8/s1600/water+in+the+desert+ii.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ujZoPNAz9-9UOnxw6GZfK9TT5o6KePmKfelcYf61QAHhjYi4ZJE5Mm9z86dWRSu524P5khcT8UDI06NsYyankCbVMJSVw5pe7ySBb-qZm4GZ7vl5WD-XOYG7kONGam4ktnin6rBcrw8/s1600/water+in+the+desert+ii.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Silence starts long before the talking stops.</b></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> It is soft and it spreads out wide. </b></span><b>Diving deep head first into night waters. Breaking the smudges of moonlight bobbing on the surface. Heading the wrong way in a blind attempt to reach for an unsure bottom- when really you should be heading up for air. Or better still safe and warm tucked into the arms of a dry sleeping bag.</b></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But have you ever just decided to stop swimming and sink, letting the water become the sky. When I take Beach to the pool that is all she does. She swims and dives beautifully but all she wants to do is dive to the bottom of the deepest end of the pool and sit. It makes the life guards crazy. She's has BC's lungs and she can stay under for long quiet stretches that feel like church time- each second seeming to last forever.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have always been susceptible to silence. I surround myself with words and stories. I flood my world with them. Their noise keeping my mind busy. Pacifying the darkness. I drown in silences.</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0K2KfqWzulOiGT7S2zOyo7yBMd_X0cdEmcxuv-WanmGoN4Po9653p-6CZqPTYtNx2G63BfzVIZwj5Vm-Ul5lz0EMaOKFlpPoXCI9o_pC4lSM8DXZCJvPvPzb60g0s-mzSbtdyVq-y_Q/s1600/100_2913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0K2KfqWzulOiGT7S2zOyo7yBMd_X0cdEmcxuv-WanmGoN4Po9653p-6CZqPTYtNx2G63BfzVIZwj5Vm-Ul5lz0EMaOKFlpPoXCI9o_pC4lSM8DXZCJvPvPzb60g0s-mzSbtdyVq-y_Q/s1600/100_2913.JPG" height="200" width="156" /></a><b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A good deal of our drive home from Las Vegas was done in blackness broken by the beams of headlights. Miles and miles traveled and yet I could tell I was getting nowhere. </span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKU4klvo5d0WsmCjkCBheB2psydT-tXflyPfCyANI1AeLKO1nycug5M3jnHhxWk-BShvNPirTEURpPj2Ec10KbumfinPIkVKoETTePNC_zr0Jmeg_fVOe1OX5X0CdDNLBOV1MPqc9x6sk/s1600/100_2938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKU4klvo5d0WsmCjkCBheB2psydT-tXflyPfCyANI1AeLKO1nycug5M3jnHhxWk-BShvNPirTEURpPj2Ec10KbumfinPIkVKoETTePNC_zr0Jmeg_fVOe1OX5X0CdDNLBOV1MPqc9x6sk/s1600/100_2938.JPG" height="235" width="320" /></a><b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I came home to how it was left. BC's bags and my bags competing for space in the front room. Tripping over dogs and stashes of clean or dirty laundry, some incoming, some outgoing, mine, his: we were just passing in the night. <i>Romantic</i> like giant lit ships sailing in opposite directions through icy winter seas.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>When I discovered my computer was gone, in the shop for upgrades and repairs, everything about how,where, and when an unknown, I felt the world fall dangerously quiet. My photos, my writing, my stories, music, conversation, media, communication, email, bills, news, movies, even what I read, was taken. BC said, <i>there is no good time to have it fixed</i>. And he's right, there isn't. But it's hard to believe that there could have been a worse moment than this one to pick. </b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbz2XKXu9Ncedc1SvO3RHddQjJv0JK9QvXn_eKqG3SPYxWLyvzvSsYjEIFG9xRiXBT0_2z9h8gEiR9JkOhVovW7Mio9N86WXXUezThD_RTfWCj39drQplnHRXec4PSW35WY1OoWY2kHbQ/s1600/sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbz2XKXu9Ncedc1SvO3RHddQjJv0JK9QvXn_eKqG3SPYxWLyvzvSsYjEIFG9xRiXBT0_2z9h8gEiR9JkOhVovW7Mio9N86WXXUezThD_RTfWCj39drQplnHRXec4PSW35WY1OoWY2kHbQ/s1600/sunset.jpg" height="261" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><b>And BC left in the morning leaving me here with all my unpacked baggage and nothing else to listen to but the stories I tell myself. </b><b>There is a shadow inside silence that is as wet and heavy as dark water and think I am in danger of drowning in it.</b></b></span></div>
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<br />Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-82487336312837508752015-01-08T07:20:00.000-08:002015-01-08T07:26:36.168-08:00from the doctor to gym and home<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-OzeYbzc-4odGPAA00KtdsqKnFp4pN86trgupxybYWiqwwl_cZ57mK3Nu22eMVNKwVnUEVcuEJwAEXoEjI_nv38bSHspw9CgRiJK5uc5DnnS3LcAxVeOYoXFH_khk75huEmxpl09ooU/s1600/DSCF2018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-OzeYbzc-4odGPAA00KtdsqKnFp4pN86trgupxybYWiqwwl_cZ57mK3Nu22eMVNKwVnUEVcuEJwAEXoEjI_nv38bSHspw9CgRiJK5uc5DnnS3LcAxVeOYoXFH_khk75huEmxpl09ooU/s1600/DSCF2018.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach hiding under the covers <br />
watching Word Girl on her Kindle</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">The follow-up to Beach's bad tummy is we got the early appointment. Drove through the middle of the city in morning rush hour. Unfortunately Wednesdays are Beach's doctor's day off so we were seen by one of the other treating physicians in the practice- the one I love. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Not the <i>other one</i>, the one I have actually chewed out twice (back in the little Alexis & Conner mom days) for being indecisive and a giant waste of time and money. I think some of my exact words were, "I could have gotten this same bullshit from some newbie mom on a park bench" and "Really? That's all you are going to say? So when we turn up in the ER tonight because you missed treating this do you want a phone call?" WHICH for the record is what happened. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">She had refused to treat an ear infection in a kid who had a history of ear infections that responded well to antibiotics, </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">and w</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">ho was already scheduled for surgery after multiple ruptures (the times we didn't get on an rx soon enough), b</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">ecause she said it wasn't "red enough yet". </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It got us an apology from the real doctor and a star in our chart meaning call the real doctor about this kid (or this Mom-Bear, either way).... yeah so, turns out that one doctor I would see her later that night but not in the office- at the gym as I slowly realized her kid is on team! That sucks for me.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Yes, back to Beach at the doctor's office. "You don't come here very often" is what the RN said as he decided to get a rare weight and height on Beach to put in the chart. 10% in weight and 20% in height. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9J2fLcU3hlUcuKvSa82IXFYyfYdiU5ttj484UnKkJozBOrCTSk643IvL1CrV_AgZS4RUrXDuEZRwQyLcGE0ay7mpRb6ypkXj_4df0cJPHr-FItBFpkUIEcpyGdzi1xXQaQJcO4KGdfXo/s1600/10891611_930358800315434_4182164093889621947_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9J2fLcU3hlUcuKvSa82IXFYyfYdiU5ttj484UnKkJozBOrCTSk643IvL1CrV_AgZS4RUrXDuEZRwQyLcGE0ay7mpRb6ypkXj_4df0cJPHr-FItBFpkUIEcpyGdzi1xXQaQJcO4KGdfXo/s1600/10891611_930358800315434_4182164093889621947_n.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The home owners photos of BC hard at work</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">The good other doctor, who looks a lot like Jerry Garcia, ruled out all the lower big scary stuff pretty quickly. He also brilliantly navigated though any possibility it was stress related. Turns out he was the pediatrician to the kids of the head coach of the U of U gymnastics team and has had season tickets forever. He even told Beach where his seats were and said he would look for her at the meet where Beach's gym provides the runners. He told her to wave to him. She told him he should know that was against the rules. Beach kills me.</span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"> </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdyVBM-OnBjtqyuEK_QHeloaXBe27byGehCeXU5plUeUYQGp0UvLHtwWbrj3sGfEJCVqzM5MnwUrmUtuus5d1T8THF6OhAYNHe6ZtbmWoI8jSA0JCDRwFom4cvtd6QAoz2IF2frU5SDhE/s1600/10917881_930358683648779_4044070830021881188_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdyVBM-OnBjtqyuEK_QHeloaXBe27byGehCeXU5plUeUYQGp0UvLHtwWbrj3sGfEJCVqzM5MnwUrmUtuus5d1T8THF6OhAYNHe6ZtbmWoI8jSA0JCDRwFom4cvtd6QAoz2IF2frU5SDhE/s1600/10917881_930358683648779_4044070830021881188_n.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The home owners photos of BC hard at work</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the end he pronounced the leading suspect to be esophagitis caused by a little infection possibly an ulcer. With a small amount of management & an rx it should clear up. If it doesn't clear up or doesn't respond to rx and antacids then we know to look a bit deeper like gallbladder... He laid out a very safe and logical plan avoiding all the costly or uncomfortable diagnostics until if/when they were truly needed. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJNT-tI37MA7RaPdllmmDtYyytHVR5sBktfIITjjsQLK6a8YFAagtsIl13vLD0HUtnhMdRTIIyx5wlpAEJ1ppnphv1CWrmI2y1CQxrVc5uRop2stQcEqs6SENPuygPZ_Gh-j_sFdIVCc/s1600/DSCF2020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJNT-tI37MA7RaPdllmmDtYyytHVR5sBktfIITjjsQLK6a8YFAagtsIl13vLD0HUtnhMdRTIIyx5wlpAEJ1ppnphv1CWrmI2y1CQxrVc5uRop2stQcEqs6SENPuygPZ_Gh-j_sFdIVCc/s1600/DSCF2020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixJNT-tI37MA7RaPdllmmDtYyytHVR5sBktfIITjjsQLK6a8YFAagtsIl13vLD0HUtnhMdRTIIyx5wlpAEJ1ppnphv1CWrmI2y1CQxrVc5uRop2stQcEqs6SENPuygPZ_Gh-j_sFdIVCc/s1600/DSCF2020.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the car on the way home I asked Beach if she understood everything the doctor had told us. We talked about what might be happening and why. Then as a way to evaluate what she was really thinking or feeling and how much she was understanding (watch/listen, practice, teach) I asked her what she was going to say when her teammates asked what the doctor said. She answered, "He said my stomach hurts".</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Yes, yes he did. And hopefully that is the beginning of the end of it! </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We kicked back the rest of the day. Rescued Sophie from school and hit the gym a little early. She had a fantastic practice. </span></span></span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Her coloring is still pale and waxy and she's not eating very much... but overall we are doing a whole lot better! </span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">BC called the gym to check on her. Then he told me he emailed me something. I was thinking here I was alone at home with all this weirdness, a frozen washer, stupid chickens, pretty much dead broke, it must be something sweet to cheer me up. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_KEOC69xfFHWNYFLMGqTcZMY1kuKOaChKpQYY28fSA1JuAvfVVjsBfg9Yhw2LlWakdT4k-tSEWqSbkk2pYrUMd51MTlAYPbUqmlrjQQ4JLEcZZzds71DDBMsAkh7NgT1J7FDB7i8ISng/s1600/IMG_20150107_172631189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_KEOC69xfFHWNYFLMGqTcZMY1kuKOaChKpQYY28fSA1JuAvfVVjsBfg9Yhw2LlWakdT4k-tSEWqSbkk2pYrUMd51MTlAYPbUqmlrjQQ4JLEcZZzds71DDBMsAkh7NgT1J7FDB7i8ISng/s1600/IMG_20150107_172631189.JPG" height="223" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Nope, it's men standing around drinking beer. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">I did ask him about it he said I was missing the point. It was men drinking beer in front of the walls BC had framed. </span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Interestingly enough throughout this "ninja down with a stomach thing" he is not the first boy to send me a photo of men drinking beer or I should say of beer. That's fine because the girls are a little bit smarter and this turned up in my possession last night. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #141823; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Thank you ladies <3 I think we are good :) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>It's 7 am and the peds office opens at 8:30. The target is to be the first worried parent through on the phone this morning to get the earliest appointment possible to sort all this stomach stuff out. Back of the mind target is not to get all weird now and just show up at 8:30 am after being this calm this long. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Beach is up and acting Disney Cheerful.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>(Oh, this kid....)</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>I explained what was likely to happen at he doctor's office: blood draw, stool sample, pee in a cup, lots of questions, maybe x-ray or ultra sound. </b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuahwGm1Y4H9Cd080E-pwGoBh63Fe313lFDZM8XvQKXkLiSai3ZtQbVVMVG2V6XMplW2Heky1xkDjllDn6AevaaUmDhP61MdzOGPwVgcKfsohQtpA7qlU6q5U5aHDoF5DajIZvAV6KN9A/s1600/oct+14+LV+trip+2013+151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuahwGm1Y4H9Cd080E-pwGoBh63Fe313lFDZM8XvQKXkLiSai3ZtQbVVMVG2V6XMplW2Heky1xkDjllDn6AevaaUmDhP61MdzOGPwVgcKfsohQtpA7qlU6q5U5aHDoF5DajIZvAV6KN9A/s1600/oct+14+LV+trip+2013+151.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><b>She balked at the peeing in a cup. I explained the reason. She took the answer, rolled it around and said <i>okay, I hope I have good aim.</i></b></b></span><br />
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<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I asked if she was nervous.</b><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>She said, no, <i>going to the doctor sounds interesting</i>.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>She said the only reason she was crying while I carried her out of the gym last night was because she had wanted to tell Big Coach D she had finished her series before she left but was in too much pain to talk. </b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEzpqiIfTcERUGvOukkydXTOLBQqP_BuNgAuUJv4C5F3rnUDUVmAEeaAxVMbzz8yAKZZyY2l1bMy0P5kmMVp2BSDL5yeycYuGE1_FWhWllbuK4iy_A72-SCHldwae4wyFq89mpCYdNASI/s1600/529821_449678791712606_1826012425_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEzpqiIfTcERUGvOukkydXTOLBQqP_BuNgAuUJv4C5F3rnUDUVmAEeaAxVMbzz8yAKZZyY2l1bMy0P5kmMVp2BSDL5yeycYuGE1_FWhWllbuK4iy_A72-SCHldwae4wyFq89mpCYdNASI/s1600/529821_449678791712606_1826012425_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="color: red;">(</span><span style="color: red;">Oh, this kid!) </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>She saw a news clip about the Boston Marathon bombing and said in a low voice, <i>oh I don't like THAT bombing.</i></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_DiSpidQdAN89tQDtuUg-uJ6bKpQyGzzKQdMWFcAfjiZGmHDhG1PfGn3830DU5Q8ZjrYBl2C-D0lb7JO6H95EOR6t-5f-bJ71U1DrmZsi7nZdWE_iyfKwNEMFCvPh_zJmi6BmX8POvwo/s1600/10649995_10202320235999378_2304270790869129545_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_DiSpidQdAN89tQDtuUg-uJ6bKpQyGzzKQdMWFcAfjiZGmHDhG1PfGn3830DU5Q8ZjrYBl2C-D0lb7JO6H95EOR6t-5f-bJ71U1DrmZsi7nZdWE_iyfKwNEMFCvPh_zJmi6BmX8POvwo/s1600/10649995_10202320235999378_2304270790869129545_n.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Which reminded me of the odd thing she said the other day. A friend asked her if the year she competed in Las Vegas if she had gone with Sophie or if Sophie had gone with her. Beach said, <i>neither, our grown-ups took us</i>. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>(...but she sure is a funny kid!)</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>And when I asked for the umpteen time how she was feeling she finally admitted she can still feel 'something' like it is there but not there ever since her the pain started on Monday afternoon...something she had been denying. Something she did bars and beam with. Looking pretty good too.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6moRnJE0VZ4Oo1zKdG0ulPEoK-0BRqcq7tTgn_LVAv5H_cqqNypXi5ZL1a7wY1sLoE1Bvg_GMGy4-mGjH_hcyYqkxsu5mynj8Tb4I2EHpfbE3BlwrWHIY653767Mw4dwWqCTwYt_kQw/s1600/gym+level+5+iii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6moRnJE0VZ4Oo1zKdG0ulPEoK-0BRqcq7tTgn_LVAv5H_cqqNypXi5ZL1a7wY1sLoE1Bvg_GMGy4-mGjH_hcyYqkxsu5mynj8Tb4I2EHpfbE3BlwrWHIY653767Mw4dwWqCTwYt_kQw/s1600/gym+level+5+iii.jpg" height="284" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>I told her the doctor is going want her to do as much of the question answering as possible. Especially because of the whole gym thing. I explained that stress can cause stomach pain in people, real and not exactly real- the pain not the people. "If it was any other kid getting stomach pain suddenly before gym or right before...well you were going to break weren't you..."</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><b>She said, <i>Yep, I'm afraid of doing break. </i></b></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i>(Oh, this kid, sigh)</i></b></span></div>
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Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-30341813999991335652015-01-04T06:47:00.000-08:002015-01-04T06:47:14.176-08:00wish you were here, postcards from the farm<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>This is Beach. Around her all hell is breaking loose. Her uncle and her brother and even her mother are trying to trouble shot an electrical problem in the mudroom. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Turns out I didn't just blow a fuse, mine or the house's. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The house around her has an end of the world vibe as the boys pull fuses and shut down power to sections of the house. Electronics powered down and candles lit.</b></span></div>
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<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She is completely unaffected by it all.</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The total disaster with the eye doctor most of which went down in front of her via the phone. The end result was a set of mismatched not completely correct contacts costing twice what we were told, a 2nd unprocessed refund hopelessly pending, lots of finger pointing between the front office, one f bomb, one phone call asking my parents for a short term loan, and a transfer of all Beach's records back to the expensive clinic.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The washer with frozen pipe at day 4. Where I got desperate, or more accurately got pressure from a 15 yr kid who had just spent a week in Moab and would like clean clothes sooner rather than later. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So then I broke something overloading an outlet or a circuit</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> or just an old house in my attempt to speed up the defrosting of the washer.</span></b></div>
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXKBykYK_WFbPruncC1ExSWatOotTmdMfdgbT-GCsOd9E_1SyHb2kwPfOd6bxIHdsogzANJsDcSq1G1k0HhgHlF6OLHk4H7ruTth1stfIA-69g0KecMdPayVviXOlTXXMBcT7sYz6Ti0/s1600/DSCF2001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXKBykYK_WFbPruncC1ExSWatOotTmdMfdgbT-GCsOd9E_1SyHb2kwPfOd6bxIHdsogzANJsDcSq1G1k0HhgHlF6OLHk4H7ruTth1stfIA-69g0KecMdPayVviXOlTXXMBcT7sYz6Ti0/s1600/DSCF2001.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYUtisTTaMiFiRp9Q29ILNyl8jU32Avhjws1AhvOCqvyu47IYdGPHiB5bFZRPbI-a_IbiAqiuEkAYpUqv_7MCsnbW_4ihAbh36A8a7ix9CabRNBtlIUdNy2hU8NwMh7aYU0R0ij6N5djI/s1600/DSCF1995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYUtisTTaMiFiRp9Q29ILNyl8jU32Avhjws1AhvOCqvyu47IYdGPHiB5bFZRPbI-a_IbiAqiuEkAYpUqv_7MCsnbW_4ihAbh36A8a7ix9CabRNBtlIUdNy2hU8NwMh7aYU0R0ij6N5djI/s1600/DSCF1995.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The one thing I haven't mentioned is I know from past experiences that when the washer freezes sometimes, roughly about half the time, things break somewhere inside. That makes it hard to hold out much hope for an easy solution. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>So it's winter in this old farm house. The mudroom is hardly beautiful and not exactly an inside or outside space; it is a room you always wear shoes in. And there are always complications with spaces such as these. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Around here you put on big boots and a farm coat and walk over the crusty snow to the coop get eggs. You carry clean water from here to there in metal buckets and feed the chickens from old coffee cans both of which stick to your skin in the cold. You break up ice chunks and secure bedding. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>There is a rabbit and dogs and a few cats. Its all the same. </b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrR_WfxjPP14h5Z9zLpcpRVC9W0mTLNHFCKaqXu58aQ7T_R1V2pGYmsJbR15-hDeyWYoRP2ns3kpH4lz_ZkxQmzfS9ax-5CWcnuu-lGSkWmg2aeuy9GdFnQltPBeYau7aQpQoPfrf87s/s1600/DSCF2006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><b></b></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrR_WfxjPP14h5Z9zLpcpRVC9W0mTLNHFCKaqXu58aQ7T_R1V2pGYmsJbR15-hDeyWYoRP2ns3kpH4lz_ZkxQmzfS9ax-5CWcnuu-lGSkWmg2aeuy9GdFnQltPBeYau7aQpQoPfrf87s/s1600/DSCF2006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrR_WfxjPP14h5Z9zLpcpRVC9W0mTLNHFCKaqXu58aQ7T_R1V2pGYmsJbR15-hDeyWYoRP2ns3kpH4lz_ZkxQmzfS9ax-5CWcnuu-lGSkWmg2aeuy9GdFnQltPBeYau7aQpQoPfrf87s/s1600/DSCF2006.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a><b>The greenhouse has its own requirements, heaters and fans that need switching on and off. But late at night you can slip on the same big boots and cross the yard to the glow of the string of lights hanging inside the thin billowy frame. That is where the hot tub waits.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>I don't have a way to make all this tie neatly back in. Yesterday just wasn't neat. There are other storms brewing. Meet season hanging heavy on the horizon (and the pocket book). Even the bench at gym was lacking luster. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The day and the night sort ran like slow moving lava. Those of us able to make it to higher ground did pretty damn well and those of us who didn't quite get there just keep passing the phone off to those who did because the last thing BC needed to hear me say was what I was thinking and feeling about the whole thing. Instead he got to hear about who said what at gym and about India and about India's dog...</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>And this is Beach. She is an island. She doesn't care that the only vegetable left in the house is one lonely napa cabbage. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had stopped at the edge of my driveway, heading for the trash cans out on the street, to watch the girl (she's about 20 yrs old) walking down the snow spotted sidewalk. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I see her all the time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Seven years of watching her as she walks past my house on the way to 7/11. She used to try to talk to me but after a year or 2 of my shortness she would simply talk to dogs. She and her sister pass by several times a day to buy all kinds of shit food, mostly large sodas. I assume Mt. Dew. They are a family of Tennessee hill people (I know not very nice but you get the picture). Everyone is a touch big, slow, too related, and too friendly with each other- yes, all of us on 10th have wondered aloud if they really were that kind of family. The amount of dogs having puppies and cars having tires doesn't help offset any rumors strolling the block. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In fact, I suspect they are the reason the old Asian woman tells me that I have a good husband then angrily shakes her fist in the general direction of their house and says "not from Colorado." I've never fully figured out what she is trying to say to me, only that to her "Colorado" is something bad and BC is not that. I don't know how she knows him but I remember a time when I too was just his neighbor and I think I thought the same thing about him. It may not have come out quite the same, <i>hey there, look at that guy surely he's not from Colorado </i>but the idea of he's good, not bad was there somewhere. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I couldn't help but pause to watch her: she is the sister of the man killed last month while he was at work up the street at the other 7/11. Killed over a box of smokes. I will never get beyond the senselessness of that. No one should. At least my sister died doing what she loved- drinking.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">As the girl walked further away, bundled head to toe in Walmart winter wear, I was aware of the bitter cold filling up all the holes in my own clothing and my own strangeness. </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A hundred thoughts rushed through my mind. Thoughts that take me up the stairs of my sister's apartment, through the door, and into the tiny stale rooms with the hopeless fan buzzing full force at thin air.<i> How can she go to a 7/11 like it nothing? Does he haunt her? Do they remember him? Does she even care? </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I stared at the back of her head as she bobbed away. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Suddenly she hollered out, "He was shot". The words rose then burst, like an overfilled balloon popping. It seemed involuntary. But more than that, to me it finally seemed like something normal was happening. Some one was finally making sense. Or perhaps we were members of a secret dead sibling club and she was simply answering one of my unspoken questions. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVs-k3QTNfoNmstFCHH-XNn4oQyfMvittuUu7aMXSN1BhP2JzawwA4rY-lFwdjUuJI0rMBmnBW1XtmoNEqsQB9o391Z5nBWqOf17It4C66pYefgk3vs0fCpEGiqp8o01oHYfjos-KuNZw/s1600/DSCF1930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVs-k3QTNfoNmstFCHH-XNn4oQyfMvittuUu7aMXSN1BhP2JzawwA4rY-lFwdjUuJI0rMBmnBW1XtmoNEqsQB9o391Z5nBWqOf17It4C66pYefgk3vs0fCpEGiqp8o01oHYfjos-KuNZw/s1600/DSCF1930.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2F16kayBs6giKDvRzToZjgsVgS17gREKkK47oNB6EKyZdSxWQg4wxm0VBQJ9MEs59DGDykhtz4JOhd_w-bAEQhoa-30b5MPFk3IYnnl-PeEryp8_0av-0hYBQR6PCpg4ZS-hcN96-RgY/s1600/DSCF1969.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2F16kayBs6giKDvRzToZjgsVgS17gREKkK47oNB6EKyZdSxWQg4wxm0VBQJ9MEs59DGDykhtz4JOhd_w-bAEQhoa-30b5MPFk3IYnnl-PeEryp8_0av-0hYBQR6PCpg4ZS-hcN96-RgY/s1600/DSCF1969.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She walked on vanishing down the street. I finished with the trash, pilling it on top of a heaping city can filled with the whole reason I was such a mess. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">See at some point around 4 A.M. that morning, being alone with an unlimited supply of coffee and no one to stop me I had pulled all the furniture in my house away from the walls. Removed all the arts, stacked the books, and began cleaning and sorting through everything we owed- filling 3 bags for donation, 4 bags of trash, and piled unnecessary pieces of furniture in the back of the van. [BC is going to kill me.]</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrnah9FIRjBYiL2pK7S9n-54CHUPHkt80UZXOt-F9j69hh6ZSctzl8y3mpyEKJ0HpIs3iK7n04vGO0YbsGUj6YzUqtdzMrz58P1kJ9clwocYucTho4ApUku7Vwopl88tiG8Daj9tW7cY/s1600/DSCF1964.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYrnah9FIRjBYiL2pK7S9n-54CHUPHkt80UZXOt-F9j69hh6ZSctzl8y3mpyEKJ0HpIs3iK7n04vGO0YbsGUj6YzUqtdzMrz58P1kJ9clwocYucTho4ApUku7Vwopl88tiG8Daj9tW7cY/s1600/DSCF1964.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXGQj4s-jKHnOMrzqSFW6lrsSs7j29GbAuD-J9-1Fj0Us_VCb-RqRmWzfpVFggd_orEIRlrpJsP7C1dAs6unKIqvp8VrxSZ7pVkyMLEcyVk8Ss5SIneWlY2FKCGu30SMNdjz4yrnLFzF4/s1600/DSCF1976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXGQj4s-jKHnOMrzqSFW6lrsSs7j29GbAuD-J9-1Fj0Us_VCb-RqRmWzfpVFggd_orEIRlrpJsP7C1dAs6unKIqvp8VrxSZ7pVkyMLEcyVk8Ss5SIneWlY2FKCGu30SMNdjz4yrnLFzF4/s1600/DSCF1976.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Late in the afternoon Sarah had called to check on me and remind me she still had my child from the day before. "You really must be geeking out. I haven't heard from you all day." She had laughed. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">At that point in time I had yet to put anything back. And was standing in the middle of the front room like a full blown crackhead. Covered in my own dirty hand prints trying to justify (a little too late) how I was going to explain to BC that I had </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">by myself</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> carried a ceder lined mission style wooden bench/chest down </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">his </i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">stairs to put it in the hallway opposite Beach's bedroom. At least I hadn't carried it up. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Y2ajavSN1KAUnv3O0hUnfGtJ8Y0mV8E_34b5CcCj8YqB97E518FoC-_AVetxsLm52tHPppxl0HOL0-kT-UTj-rqy3dX1AhONHEzvtxQ-fc7ZVtWp8zOpwzZ5O9EZgqNNk93FvmHnOtY/s1600/DSCF1973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Y2ajavSN1KAUnv3O0hUnfGtJ8Y0mV8E_34b5CcCj8YqB97E518FoC-_AVetxsLm52tHPppxl0HOL0-kT-UTj-rqy3dX1AhONHEzvtxQ-fc7ZVtWp8zOpwzZ5O9EZgqNNk93FvmHnOtY/s1600/DSCF1973.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpn3FrlQIzlDK8S03zXnitKmPjazgdFjjVkKcNg_M1AwDnK0BUsvno6LBgd9oAeMD4Br4MGtldtUyVIEhv7T1SlGrRWcIn72X8viIw4sp8Da5tnCzq_HdrIQl3tEBMBb6SDhGO7RGkH8U/s1600/DSCF1972.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpn3FrlQIzlDK8S03zXnitKmPjazgdFjjVkKcNg_M1AwDnK0BUsvno6LBgd9oAeMD4Br4MGtldtUyVIEhv7T1SlGrRWcIn72X8viIw4sp8Da5tnCzq_HdrIQl3tEBMBb6SDhGO7RGkH8U/s1600/DSCF1972.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">That was about the 24 hr mark of what would become about 32 hrs of complete solitude (minus the phone call and the outburst from the girl). I had dropped Beach off to Sarah on New Year's Eve in the early afternoon with 20 bucks and a bag full of overnight supplies. I spent New Years alone; a lot of it in the hot tub drinking and obviously plotting deconstruction of my whole life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Most of it had gone as planned except for that girl...w</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">hen I think about her I guess we all walk around with invisible balloons that rise above us. Some burst from inside pressures, some from outside forces, while others seem to just slowly lose air. And some hang around over head for a long time before you decide to let them go.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlSAfZoi4aHGS-ocbTQuzvBg6DKUhqUThG9ZGgMu-bc9EZ4qBtsNrKSGoLJm_kiuip0cAw5Aoo1t1HZjeNqWBaU3oOEXaXJwNLD-X34dxXNviDcTJ3uLQzieMOHFSn0Y-v9zn5H_Cvgww/s1600/DSCF1980.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlSAfZoi4aHGS-ocbTQuzvBg6DKUhqUThG9ZGgMu-bc9EZ4qBtsNrKSGoLJm_kiuip0cAw5Aoo1t1HZjeNqWBaU3oOEXaXJwNLD-X34dxXNviDcTJ3uLQzieMOHFSn0Y-v9zn5H_Cvgww/s1600/DSCF1980.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Y7ZFlmP8p6ESKgXVJ3rvLSbWv0EmcoE-n5AOlmxPBPuajUt_wkPCTVg1L93zKtcqbvO5HTG3IP3xsapvDIHeYUgKQH8Gtr-XOClNtmmukFucdhYR-XoTxyRTV8lY9CHlSP6EkUg1dxY/s1600/DSCF1974.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Y7ZFlmP8p6ESKgXVJ3rvLSbWv0EmcoE-n5AOlmxPBPuajUt_wkPCTVg1L93zKtcqbvO5HTG3IP3xsapvDIHeYUgKQH8Gtr-XOClNtmmukFucdhYR-XoTxyRTV8lY9CHlSP6EkUg1dxY/s1600/DSCF1974.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I close my eyes I often see my sister- for no reason at all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I am surrounded by people I tend to forget that I am actually okay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I am truly alone I am completely entertained by own foolish bravery and off center points of view. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By the fall of dark on New Year's Day Beach had been returned to me and the house had been almost completely restored to its new, improved, less cluttered, and way cleaner, arrangement.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUKloUaTCgmw4nqsfV4uch5b8vY5TbO59_zg_-lVZEcdzXSHL6XY7nIo0UXNpEtnXXvOzglGNQlnq3qEvsAzx26a8SoJP7g0FV6oNNhpEnkW8vxyOiYfansGDwaOOeByIFOdfpi_U2BGw/s1600/DSCF1957.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUKloUaTCgmw4nqsfV4uch5b8vY5TbO59_zg_-lVZEcdzXSHL6XY7nIo0UXNpEtnXXvOzglGNQlnq3qEvsAzx26a8SoJP7g0FV6oNNhpEnkW8vxyOiYfansGDwaOOeByIFOdfpi_U2BGw/s1600/DSCF1957.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMLpNCsLQdjar-J-mOosx4ci8OjXJ8b64fmovNnPqjqGcxWq0ukl6HrFZE2XdfBw9d_573QiPgyl3Y5lgTkPsK-VqjgGSSGb_0pryxpxRsHhwO9Nf6v-FuSZcH_DhgpF0zN4pJ8SFLmY/s1600/DSCF1963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMLpNCsLQdjar-J-mOosx4ci8OjXJ8b64fmovNnPqjqGcxWq0ukl6HrFZE2XdfBw9d_573QiPgyl3Y5lgTkPsK-VqjgGSSGb_0pryxpxRsHhwO9Nf6v-FuSZcH_DhgpF0zN4pJ8SFLmY/s1600/DSCF1963.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This I know: </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Left to my own devices I have the tendency to rip my life apart, to over inflate the weak spots, and run with scissors. But given enough time (coffee & oranges) I'm also not too bad at putting it all back together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-20123001171731172542014-12-25T17:53:00.000-08:002014-12-25T17:53:25.373-08:00540<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUyVHWMWdS8iHD2JfWkithyphenhyphenAXG6OYuT_jE8LyOMHog_zuB84gOuActKIUA7aUSkBLwVVA6J1nkP05w3h78AxeNwADx8kA9LZfpYtU4h1IbcN4Oke8478AUDhpEynI2eE_H9kfqqNzbl1M/s1600/DSCF1830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUyVHWMWdS8iHD2JfWkithyphenhyphenAXG6OYuT_jE8LyOMHog_zuB84gOuActKIUA7aUSkBLwVVA6J1nkP05w3h78AxeNwADx8kA9LZfpYtU4h1IbcN4Oke8478AUDhpEynI2eE_H9kfqqNzbl1M/s1600/DSCF1830.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJnDQSi7_0wxh0750Lkso9YlVsjivAJvKGYZvG4LjlORIVuHrN5GZ_OqqoUy4taxZYq7yCW-KRTmS4HidZG9ulUI1buvb9k1rdm91QVAXusMX3JKX23cgN-TQgJZvk9WHmnrUE1wlOyzU/s1600/DSCF1840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJnDQSi7_0wxh0750Lkso9YlVsjivAJvKGYZvG4LjlORIVuHrN5GZ_OqqoUy4taxZYq7yCW-KRTmS4HidZG9ulUI1buvb9k1rdm91QVAXusMX3JKX23cgN-TQgJZvk9WHmnrUE1wlOyzU/s1600/DSCF1840.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> It's not often that the world is forced to be just as it is. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1aKDuqHHfB2j2AJTVv_tmQyGLEs59jiBRUh4l4-DEsvz2Y_-e3TJsM2v55_75PwPFx00ZjtAtvLBp94rzIieIuYW8aEZhV2YB14iGQ5EdfdjJ1q_VY_0g5lBJI0e6D19wCpmaXxv14E/s1600/DSCF1863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1aKDuqHHfB2j2AJTVv_tmQyGLEs59jiBRUh4l4-DEsvz2Y_-e3TJsM2v55_75PwPFx00ZjtAtvLBp94rzIieIuYW8aEZhV2YB14iGQ5EdfdjJ1q_VY_0g5lBJI0e6D19wCpmaXxv14E/s1600/DSCF1863.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXfn35rv2xZZmNzJQSTfwPhZTTJvLrebbEXpKyI318wGcYCJZSWmqHQ0o1yGJwJgkLxfliXgN4LbiuwDB261W-eW-2zY0wHUdb8PS8WcjzjO8LZJwhtwNNyLO-Y5EKERSDGkefAH0a1E/s1600/DSCF1889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXfn35rv2xZZmNzJQSTfwPhZTTJvLrebbEXpKyI318wGcYCJZSWmqHQ0o1yGJwJgkLxfliXgN4LbiuwDB261W-eW-2zY0wHUdb8PS8WcjzjO8LZJwhtwNNyLO-Y5EKERSDGkefAH0a1E/s1600/DSCF1889.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Snow can't simply be ignored. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It levels us and flips the consequences of gravity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It makes fast things go slow and slow things fast.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo79mnJ2Inpk72hwwg_sdFsdaEQ64SShBqBekEII0e4p9JmX1XWMLpW1aRmuGx0-KV5xkIAH_vJNLwJJp2vDguezjWZsAW7AkW7Pu4QOSSHkzV2IkK6-xdBYfr6w3oLwFD5XOz2rJIvB0/s1600/DSCF1839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo79mnJ2Inpk72hwwg_sdFsdaEQ64SShBqBekEII0e4p9JmX1XWMLpW1aRmuGx0-KV5xkIAH_vJNLwJJp2vDguezjWZsAW7AkW7Pu4QOSSHkzV2IkK6-xdBYfr6w3oLwFD5XOz2rJIvB0/s1600/DSCF1839.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDkl7JQH6Uz2gkd0e9fp-hpiPqrLqNinABUdpyTygyF5LmiEB78sQ_Gdysak4zM9ks5nXz9U-FK_rm27rSDL0N8hR8InhVUh91TSWxBBuMzvoLK4yvlmIRY1kIeni0JRdlE3BM5Qn_pUg/s1600/DSCF1850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDkl7JQH6Uz2gkd0e9fp-hpiPqrLqNinABUdpyTygyF5LmiEB78sQ_Gdysak4zM9ks5nXz9U-FK_rm27rSDL0N8hR8InhVUh91TSWxBBuMzvoLK4yvlmIRY1kIeni0JRdlE3BM5Qn_pUg/s1600/DSCF1850.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"> Running knee deep through a field of frozen water carries a strange freedom- </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">like a million gates left open.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I exist so well in the extremes.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORN3Nd1FX5YKUbYrklUiJGsa-4HvQsg9SF4svx1XukgC_fuX8H4V3n1AXtIJOuFQxP3YiSYncUhQ2e1h6dtadyZ_VUkFb3APrRFHoSFo2EgOpMg2Ngt3xHUeNAxcAw3902CnSF7T8DM0/s1600/DSCF1894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORN3Nd1FX5YKUbYrklUiJGsa-4HvQsg9SF4svx1XukgC_fuX8H4V3n1AXtIJOuFQxP3YiSYncUhQ2e1h6dtadyZ_VUkFb3APrRFHoSFo2EgOpMg2Ngt3xHUeNAxcAw3902CnSF7T8DM0/s1600/DSCF1894.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Under the vastness of the desert my head is mercifully silent.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In the snow my body is set free.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It is as if there is no memory of anything that came before.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJ5o-y1U7qkNOaIGlZt6dE3FLMMHxALv6GgtU3c_MMQYknbwS7QAmm9jblEIH5DSnRqovljRQf3iyur2V6TJfTIVw8bgltC3nTpOOxBIDXSbAvgAqjZ96DfZ1sJarG6FMVwTaADZ7L9g/s1600/DSCF1837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJ5o-y1U7qkNOaIGlZt6dE3FLMMHxALv6GgtU3c_MMQYknbwS7QAmm9jblEIH5DSnRqovljRQf3iyur2V6TJfTIVw8bgltC3nTpOOxBIDXSbAvgAqjZ96DfZ1sJarG6FMVwTaADZ7L9g/s1600/DSCF1837.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc1Z7NqqlfpxsYceg2ela04G29ZW0Zxptim_EQ1wvqOM92mUB-vfyt3xWBzDrexJBKUsSubyTXOfVqh9KTC3HVLOSOGB0DorajGT7CFJ4fgWLfQ0QebQ0uuoeLEnYkKhV_PHjtsX64Cg0/s1600/DSCF1891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc1Z7NqqlfpxsYceg2ela04G29ZW0Zxptim_EQ1wvqOM92mUB-vfyt3xWBzDrexJBKUsSubyTXOfVqh9KTC3HVLOSOGB0DorajGT7CFJ4fgWLfQ0QebQ0uuoeLEnYkKhV_PHjtsX64Cg0/s1600/DSCF1891.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Even BC forgets. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmHmOP5-oMuIfYrrkMd-DSPnSJIbKgtWROKCIc2h6uDYjCDLcZ55SaRPnlSunwCJoKueZXHzVcJkFYC6hEI4LXIL10HjwI4CksgT1J64ZTOV9sDjfRpZk2a6vJkuXD8eJPhK4-cIvnw4/s1600/DSCF1845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmHmOP5-oMuIfYrrkMd-DSPnSJIbKgtWROKCIc2h6uDYjCDLcZ55SaRPnlSunwCJoKueZXHzVcJkFYC6hEI4LXIL10HjwI4CksgT1J64ZTOV9sDjfRpZk2a6vJkuXD8eJPhK4-cIvnw4/s1600/DSCF1845.JPG" height="320" width="238" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirmVY2Jx2NoBhEfDFLk5lIyMU41gTQNFft9j6sm3wpZ-OHtYweeoZQOyJqhwR6Vyx8lpleERRohHCpaXHb9_wGpMstFDsAiFU07Oa9BP8iBWc89GQrbv2dAz-mJgxlhH_jMemUnvx1l9Y/s1600/DSCF1892.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirmVY2Jx2NoBhEfDFLk5lIyMU41gTQNFft9j6sm3wpZ-OHtYweeoZQOyJqhwR6Vyx8lpleERRohHCpaXHb9_wGpMstFDsAiFU07Oa9BP8iBWc89GQrbv2dAz-mJgxlhH_jMemUnvx1l9Y/s1600/DSCF1892.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We left Beach to slide in peace and we took a hike over the backside of the mountain. Forgetting who I am, and where I came from, he tried playfully shoving me backwards into the snow. Only he hadn't remembered to temper the power in his touch. He hit me hard, hard enough I was too stunned to try and catch myself and I rolled twice before stopping. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Neither of us knew quite what to do. Until I started laughing- and rubbing the spot high on my chest where he had hit me. He apologized a half dozen times before I convinced him I was really okay. Okay-er than I had been in long time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Tougher than I had planned on being ever again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Happier than I wanted to admit. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVrOeOHESr1Kj1NdFMy5LYvsW9lRre_sJn84o-BEv0DfAoUIlwAv3t1cvsWRwCStDSuH4l7o4tUC7-WOwePV3WI3SXbGLKiXDMFX5_Vmap4PbtrrqplavbHLv-tGbAPVo8m7QqzAIpMU0/s1600/DSCF1844.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVrOeOHESr1Kj1NdFMy5LYvsW9lRre_sJn84o-BEv0DfAoUIlwAv3t1cvsWRwCStDSuH4l7o4tUC7-WOwePV3WI3SXbGLKiXDMFX5_Vmap4PbtrrqplavbHLv-tGbAPVo8m7QqzAIpMU0/s1600/DSCF1844.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But the snow tends to do that to me.</span></div>
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Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-63854666465102602182014-12-25T07:20:00.001-08:002014-12-25T07:20:34.041-08:00the stars of Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SjKGp_YCv1CjTIPTim4mKwj2kI0WjVIsR-8t6jUgntHIRFkwZTW9HJJOZmuJjF_fFwFAYzIl7ChNUHsU6F802JQ9IQjiqARSjtwyurq4OcZ2HJief6WdSQCiHXCmfh9IGc04yrLh-t8/s1600/DSCF1779.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SjKGp_YCv1CjTIPTim4mKwj2kI0WjVIsR-8t6jUgntHIRFkwZTW9HJJOZmuJjF_fFwFAYzIl7ChNUHsU6F802JQ9IQjiqARSjtwyurq4OcZ2HJief6WdSQCiHXCmfh9IGc04yrLh-t8/s1600/DSCF1779.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The stars of Christmas didn't come from our house. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They didn't come from our shopping cart or our little budget. Many of the simple joys & kindnesses that lit our season came from somewhere much bigger than meeting obligations. They came from deep within the true spirit of a Holiday I don't always see eye to eye with... but this part of it, like knowing the full story behind a surprise Yeti- this I can wrap my whole heart around. And so can she! <3 </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh... I believe there are angels among us</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sent down to us from somewhere up above</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They come to you and me in our darkest hours</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To show us how to live, to teach us how to give</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To guide us with the light of love</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To guide us with the light of love"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">~Angels Among Us, Alabama~ </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">~merry christmas my friends~</span></div>
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Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-70485721273432807192014-12-19T08:55:00.000-08:002014-12-19T09:22:22.581-08:00the salt lake sea<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Through the whitecaps of thoughts tossed in the roughness of fever and capsized bed sheets an idea bobs like a beacon.<i> I can call him home. </i>And in that split second I believe that is true. So true I can smell him. Then reality hits me, <i>no, no I cannot.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I think: I can call my mom, <i>no I can't, that is too much to ask of her...too much driving, and I don't even know if I work or not....</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can call his mom, <i>no, no that is too much to deal with...and again too much driving, too hard of directions to give...</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I return to what I was telling myself as I feel asleep last night: <i>I can do this</i>. <i>I can't possibly feel as bad as I think I do...</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I start running down the list of possible help and alternative plans, discounting them by either too much to ask of some else or I can't do that to Beach. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>I can call him home. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>No I can't. </i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqmSkFzXjeXacBpGMadMRLDBia1gZ0ZX9JKv5gOT_YaU1CKQj52pokzjZAxbnmUqvJRWTg2UNS7lq7SCg7T0HAW5cjo1soChfma_I7jJVTIH4p37XQlZ4bllYkn3r7rbE3-ov4h4cL6aA/s1600/417589_613342518679565_971265009_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqmSkFzXjeXacBpGMadMRLDBia1gZ0ZX9JKv5gOT_YaU1CKQj52pokzjZAxbnmUqvJRWTg2UNS7lq7SCg7T0HAW5cjo1soChfma_I7jJVTIH4p37XQlZ4bllYkn3r7rbE3-ov4h4cL6aA/s1600/417589_613342518679565_971265009_n.jpg" height="320" width="291" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I know exactly what his day looks like. I know the details. And I know the way those details make his face look, the way he stands, one pant leg of his thick camel colored trousers falling over his boot, the other accidentally tucked in. I know the way he holds an overdue cup of gas station coffee and rubs his jaw, now thick overgrown with hair... I know that right now there is an early morning mad dash commute that started at 5 am into Grand Junction Colorado to get more forms in a frantic attempt to pour the last pour today to stay on schedule... I know the trailer he is sleeping in doesn't have a working heater.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I also know I am not alone here treading water in this sea of sickness. All over the valley there are sick moms 'playing through'. It is as if the ancient sea never reseeded. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I show up at pick-up and the young single coaches ask what I'm doing at gym. The short answer is I'm a mom. This is what we do by definition. The longer answer is I'm a mom who lives the wrong direction from all the other moms, on the wrong side of town, in an un-pretty little house, without a teenage driver at home to help. And for now I am situationaly-single, and all the other wives in my flock are sick too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The phone rings around 7:30 am. The voice is familiar but at first I can't place it until he announces himself "Misty, it's Andrew....can you help us with Sophie..." A husband reaching out into the extra wife pool for help for his own drowning family. And just like that I am handed a life-preserver. I'm getting the help I need to make it through my day cleverly disguised as helping someone else. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This I can do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The day's list is as follows: with Quin's help (as dispatched by BC) jump BC's old Chester the Molester van, meet some creep wanting to possibly want to buy it, straighten out the construction checks with the bank, rescue Soph-Soph from school, feed and supply ninjas, don't lose a 15 yr old on his possible last day in town under my supervision, drive gym taxi, work (?), stall 1.5 hrs then drive back across town as the birthday party taxi, feed 15 yr, & last but not least drink wine because the beer is all gone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Before 8 am the phone rings again. It is BC's mother, knowing how sick I was yesterday, calling to check on me..<i>. No, but thank you I'm feeling better</i>... which when I think of how the ripples of kindness and support radiate it doesn't feel like such a lie. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Today really is all or nothing. </span><br />
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<br />Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-50865749453704887822014-12-17T09:06:00.000-08:002014-12-17T09:06:59.510-08:00Pro Se<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">BC's next return date to<i> </i>Utah [sic] has been pushed out to at least the end of the weekend and now hoovers suspended in fog of We Will See Land. I say his return to Utah because on Monday he called and kept saying "when I get back to Utah" I had to remind him the western states were not like the eastern ones; when you are in Utah you are generally in it for a very long time. Needless to say he was overly tired and possibly over whiskey-ed as well. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I talked to his mom, assured her he would be here for Christmas because no one else will be willing to work. That was the only reason he came home for Thanksgiving. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Overall things are going well even without him. The 3 parents legally tied to the 15 yr old all agreed that he is doing the best he has ever done for the longest sustained period of time. And yet they managed to say that he and I together</span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> is </i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">in fact </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">working without giving me any of the credit for it; you are welcome. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I however am giving credit to me and to the boy. We are doing better than okay. Family life is fun and wild, as it should be. The house is mostly clean, the animals cared for, dinners are late but they are good, and the school isn't calling me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've gotten him hooked on This American Life and he keeps busy fixing the things I keep breaking- like the van door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We did have a break-in. It was my mother-in-law dropping off a case of cake mixes. In the name of security all I'm going to say is she went to great lengths to get in the house. (she scares me)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yes, overall the daily is going fine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It is the nights that are long. They lack definition or perhaps boundaries. On my own I find I don't have the sense to go to bed when I should and I can't stay asleep even when I do. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">BC calls me with the construction reports, when I close my eyes I can see the walls rising. When this is all over, months from now, spring I am guessing, I want us to drive out beyond the sand dunes, down the long dirt roads of the west desert to slopes of Desert Mountain so I can catch up on all the dreaming I am missing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> </span>Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-61012768821122000302014-12-11T09:06:00.000-08:002014-12-11T09:06:38.586-08:00strings of lights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For 12 years, every step of the way I have fought & resisted all the logical arguments, laws, and facts that would define us as US. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And in the end I have found without you I am simply not me. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkc9rO1ybhAIWexy2bWGazDe_dQdNhFFQDWVGLnDVmvMhGFs6i6noM0KoOSqVsryZTMkNUHbb1nxDoFkqZxj95jDvsU3lKVPLLAA4XDUCczBwwVO1KTD3mDH4BjBdi6hbH3EwQk4yFupY/s1600/DSCF1455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkc9rO1ybhAIWexy2bWGazDe_dQdNhFFQDWVGLnDVmvMhGFs6i6noM0KoOSqVsryZTMkNUHbb1nxDoFkqZxj95jDvsU3lKVPLLAA4XDUCczBwwVO1KTD3mDH4BjBdi6hbH3EwQk4yFupY/s1600/DSCF1455.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8XbPNPghjSt9uhWqhmRQJoHYYaEeRCUy3rQx-fP8Kyvb2DUJzeRbXcrKB6f1qjCqBnv4yl7UfehdB6hzSbmXHyURNjwpy6Q9Ti2ewVmwjUzDsErvWVwz7TyocDmjTYjZeRtaxtg29fI/s1600/DSCF1451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8XbPNPghjSt9uhWqhmRQJoHYYaEeRCUy3rQx-fP8Kyvb2DUJzeRbXcrKB6f1qjCqBnv4yl7UfehdB6hzSbmXHyURNjwpy6Q9Ti2ewVmwjUzDsErvWVwz7TyocDmjTYjZeRtaxtg29fI/s1600/DSCF1451.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I will meet you there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">~Rumi</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">BC, Thank you for holding all our faith and for talking the tree lot guys into opening at 8:30 am for her so the 2 of you could together find her perfect little tree among all the-too-big-of-ones in a real tree lot. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Close your eyes. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Fall in love. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Stay there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">~Rumi </span></div>
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Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-86804640402367236152014-12-08T08:38:00.001-08:002014-12-08T09:46:18.248-08:00life in the land of oz<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvh8o1IgdhhyphenhyphencUB6k6x2kKzOG1poMtOy-tjRqev5Rh-I6YkpQfsvauxSIxx3we_Q6tq_IueMzjDWM8UFyVlci8w9F6Shqa_4Z4e42aML9HzW7qGhzKA7eorzqVfePdzwsZH1EBPZF21pU/s1600/DSCF1425.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvh8o1IgdhhyphenhyphencUB6k6x2kKzOG1poMtOy-tjRqev5Rh-I6YkpQfsvauxSIxx3we_Q6tq_IueMzjDWM8UFyVlci8w9F6Shqa_4Z4e42aML9HzW7qGhzKA7eorzqVfePdzwsZH1EBPZF21pU/s1600/DSCF1425.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I suggested the kids go for a walk. Perhaps do some trespassing. Even offered a few good place they might enjoy. Being a practical mother I cautioned them about not getting picked up by the police, to cross streets carefully, and to not step on rusty nails. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Once they were gone I laid down on my yoga mat and listened to the silence. The day was not going exactly as planned. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I pause before offering this next detail because even I know there are somethings a grown-up shouldn't admit to...yeah, that would be a bad idea but I like bad ideas, here is the whole story...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had 2 events this weekend that required funding: the gym meet on Saturday, check. And the gingerbread house party on Sunday, shit, forgot about that one and it was scheduled for my place. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7rAtSUK4HrSSPO4-tZLc2E7N3cuR6i8U-EJNPExwGkkm4KtCpn5kkkIerILGCmPgnpY5GKu7hH55CjFdjCINnU2WNQz2V-ZslQkaO3zi5ESS5dXisuXDOhvDirwxz4NJbEBdr8bTF6w/s1600/944633_653064391374044_202067670_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR7rAtSUK4HrSSPO4-tZLc2E7N3cuR6i8U-EJNPExwGkkm4KtCpn5kkkIerILGCmPgnpY5GKu7hH55CjFdjCINnU2WNQz2V-ZslQkaO3zi5ESS5dXisuXDOhvDirwxz4NJbEBdr8bTF6w/s1600/944633_653064391374044_202067670_n.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So early-ish Sunday morning, the day of the party I had headed to the store, well kind of I did. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After little red sputtered to a shaky start in the driveway I decided <i>let's try that again</i> because going to the store is one thing, being able to come home is another. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I pulled the key out of the ignition, noted I had started it with the gym key, doesn't matter, oh little red. I tired it again this time with the real key and nothing. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmanQAiUFoFcWYULVTkzueFy3xevUxgN0JwVaD4T3LlzUM2k5o7rr8DIX4elolt0XhVS1ifjB1yR_Gh34tm5c9sqeEBuDTI17MwFwyOVEG-XSk71hI_J3EupTPV0odPHNxqzKQcaa4oLY/s1600/oct+14+LV+trip+2013+091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmanQAiUFoFcWYULVTkzueFy3xevUxgN0JwVaD4T3LlzUM2k5o7rr8DIX4elolt0XhVS1ifjB1yR_Gh34tm5c9sqeEBuDTI17MwFwyOVEG-XSk71hI_J3EupTPV0odPHNxqzKQcaa4oLY/s1600/oct+14+LV+trip+2013+091.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No big deal. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Since BC bought a truck it's sort of like a car lot around here. I simply climbed into the next car over which was the big red van. The van always starts but it also tends to never have a full tank. And as my luck would have it BC left it on empty. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Despite my own mental objections to driving on empty I drove big red and the glowing low fuel light to the dollar store where I purchased 15 dollars worth of candy. This is where that not great for sharing detail shows up: that was my last 15 bucks. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">See one of BC's boys is/was due to deliver me some funds at some point yesterday. That math is pretty simple- he hasn't come. He will, he just hasn't yet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It gets better. Me, the low fuel light, and a bag of candy came home just in time to discover that due to illness the party had to be canceled- dang. Knowing I just spend our last cash on candy (wow) I offered it to the kids. <i>I mean what the hell anyway? </i></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-feTNeQzP8xILbg24KDqdQdhpLfxJ2cn1QLEjVyJcB7Zluykjc_4fUwa10E_sPoNjJnjlGWk5-VGXv5h4N_fwq79FyVfE2vlyR1rZuxCS_FWZddLtCdAMKeiU5wOHTXwgTe0AbwRXh8/s1600/10857391_993183757362104_2740646027104833059_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-feTNeQzP8xILbg24KDqdQdhpLfxJ2cn1QLEjVyJcB7Zluykjc_4fUwa10E_sPoNjJnjlGWk5-VGXv5h4N_fwq79FyVfE2vlyR1rZuxCS_FWZddLtCdAMKeiU5wOHTXwgTe0AbwRXh8/s1600/10857391_993183757362104_2740646027104833059_o.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then strongly encouraged them to go find something fun to do, yes such as trespassing, or better we call it urban exploring. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So that is why I was lying on my yoga mat listening, then laughing- (well, and the fact that I had turned my ankle kickboxing and standing had stopped being fun hours ago). And that was were I was when I looked up and saw that spider overhead on the ceiling. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No BC, no kids, no way in hell I could leave it to live in my house or be the person who gets close enough to kill it.... I wondered if I got Beach's bird and taped it to a long stick and aim it's beak at the spider if it would eat it for me. I figured it might work but that I would most likely lose a finger during the taping phase of the plan- still I considered it for a long time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I spent half an hour not being able to do anything but watch the spider before I finally sucked it up and killed it using a fly swatter. Which I then refused to pick up because it had touched the spider. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The dead spider lay under it until the kids returned. Beach used a tissue and cleared the crime scene. It was a good hour before I allowed Beach who had touched the spider to touch me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By the end of the day, after having a discussion with my son about the dangers of siphoning gas from one car to another (him lecturing me not to do it) Beach and Sophie, who by that point had joined us, were eating a dinner of potato wedges and shooting orange jello, over, under, and through, the largest display of dollar store candy wrappers and cheap frosting while I argued to Jeff, Sophie's papa, that essentially potato wedges are the same as baked potatoes and baked potatoes are a meal....</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkJ48q7SVThdx6zj3yvuc6rbtf4F5WVhH8CwDVlbpj7qQRscc7P_jK9v-yi8T_SlR7iiO-EzA0M7LFUj5i9J0cXbewR2t82pUdH-ioSiJj5NUZvYU1VwtMxp1885OmKw2b6IGEsIWwkus/s1600/DSCF1415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkJ48q7SVThdx6zj3yvuc6rbtf4F5WVhH8CwDVlbpj7qQRscc7P_jK9v-yi8T_SlR7iiO-EzA0M7LFUj5i9J0cXbewR2t82pUdH-ioSiJj5NUZvYU1VwtMxp1885OmKw2b6IGEsIWwkus/s1600/DSCF1415.JPG" height="200" width="149" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He had come in the house laughing having already past little red in the driveway, hood up, battery charger connected. Luckily for me he was still laughing at my disaster when he left. "I'm around tomorrow, call me if you need me..." or did he say "when"?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Overall I think things are going pretty well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-55549216476621933772014-12-06T08:22:00.000-08:002014-12-07T19:12:44.682-08:00skimming the surface, mlb<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-vG6fyqWGkUCVxNXXvt8BfLXuxUMMjSD1DVcZHx8rBAd8ZJqYkqkfPr22q8W8ORX_UIY2EZv_tH8ywHpCGgVCM-YAgAH9faL0katVzLCt2z4OfuvB9MQM3OhZVE2q1B3xzHUemndIC4/s1600/DSCF8460.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-vG6fyqWGkUCVxNXXvt8BfLXuxUMMjSD1DVcZHx8rBAd8ZJqYkqkfPr22q8W8ORX_UIY2EZv_tH8ywHpCGgVCM-YAgAH9faL0katVzLCt2z4OfuvB9MQM3OhZVE2q1B3xzHUemndIC4/s1600/DSCF8460.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
My whole world lies at his feet. I watch him maneuver the rocky cove, tentatively at first testing a toehold for solid ground. He shifts his weight applying pressure but not enough to commit if it is an unsafe spot to come ashore. He is careful, perhaps too careful and I am always left unsure whether or not it is safe between us. <br />
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The soft sunlight glints like salt off the sheen of blond hair encasing the caramel of his skin. He smiles back at me as if to say “I’ve got it figured out now.” But I can’t see his eyes. His hair has fallen forward, his chin dipped too low. Maybe he is trying to tell me something else entirely.<br />
<br />
From there he jumps. I can hear the light splash of water nipping at his heels as he travels with effort to dry ground. His strong hand pulls the nose of the small boat forward. I float with it.<br />
<br />
His other hand holds the line. I am slightly jealous. It coils around his fingers and loops his wrist like a snake. Rocks growl against the hull as he glides us to the precise spot he wants. <br />
<br />
I watch him. He squats to tie the line around the base of a waterlogged tree. His hands move quickly with more assurance than his feet will ever know. I watch his round, speckled shoulders rise and fall as he works. His movements seem to control the waves. He is Gravity, I think.<br />
<br />
His voice startles me, “What are you thinking about?”<br />
<br />
I squint skirting my gaze away, out to open water; looking for a better answer than the one I have to offer. Finding nothing but a blurred blue horizon I turn back to our shoreline, “You.” I reply.<br />
<br />
He laughs, twisting to face me. Now I can see his eyes. He straightens. There is a pause between us as if we are both straining to listen to a fading echo. <br />
<br />
The waves lap the sides of the boat where my fingers linger in the cool water mixing with bits of splintered wood and drowning leaves blown in by the summer winds. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kVg_JBeSwpzwTvVDLEGy_XzLFnU6vmeCvlhkslRL0WMiF3WaRSPtG2EHWoDh0RuiNvRRyFJZL1nAMMAU89AbF_7QWHhpT8BSIEnQU9UOZXGjG9kFjnQNPXqjBbTcF_eIfLVQnDdewtU/s1600/DSCF8395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kVg_JBeSwpzwTvVDLEGy_XzLFnU6vmeCvlhkslRL0WMiF3WaRSPtG2EHWoDh0RuiNvRRyFJZL1nAMMAU89AbF_7QWHhpT8BSIEnQU9UOZXGjG9kFjnQNPXqjBbTcF_eIfLVQnDdewtU/s1600/DSCF8395.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a><br />
He is no longer laughing. He has come to stand knee deep in the water. The waves and foam drift around him.<br />
<br />
His voice tentative on the edge of a rocky shoreline, “No, really what were you thinking about?” <br />
<br />
He stumbles in the slick shallows letting his carefulness slip and drift away from him. It skims the surface near enough for me to collect it. I am a thief not a fisherman. I have no intention of returning it to him.<br />
<br />
I stand and come ashore with dry feet. “No, really, I was thinking about you.” Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-16791380013481160652014-12-05T09:08:00.002-08:002014-12-05T09:11:13.581-08:00on the mend (because I say so) <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFt5nx7hS6-vQAkxPcfl2cN1F3A9eojGDTgIgL1_iGpH4t_26ngaEJUJE7eu7JSNhfmAEyv20UfwBeDEA0hQSbxKVh66ovyyriHg1IdGWBAcvlKOXsM-R1lck3G7Sr8rPU8eTzpFO3t0/s1600/100_3193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFt5nx7hS6-vQAkxPcfl2cN1F3A9eojGDTgIgL1_iGpH4t_26ngaEJUJE7eu7JSNhfmAEyv20UfwBeDEA0hQSbxKVh66ovyyriHg1IdGWBAcvlKOXsM-R1lck3G7Sr8rPU8eTzpFO3t0/s1600/100_3193.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBup0lm3BIFnv1AMMTv3wF4A4jkyUyp7DFCccuelrdg58DjnG-ck0rVZDGs77THrgA7UYYs_nxZSFb9cbg8b4bIgntbkJ0naV5DRQUJrjh2ezy1qw_svPsaXqiIsG1MRGcAtqZWqb6viM/s1600/100_1651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBup0lm3BIFnv1AMMTv3wF4A4jkyUyp7DFCccuelrdg58DjnG-ck0rVZDGs77THrgA7UYYs_nxZSFb9cbg8b4bIgntbkJ0naV5DRQUJrjh2ezy1qw_svPsaXqiIsG1MRGcAtqZWqb6viM/s1600/100_1651.JPG" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's hard to imagine that under the circumstances- beer in hand, the soft darkness and shelter of the greenhouse folding around the hot tub like clouds of opal, my head tipped back over the edge to keep my hair out of hot water, BC across the tub smiling at me- yes, it is hard to image under all that perfectness I would be whining but I was.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38hBe8gKcqPlgC5rRRdscslb3boulz9xrV_E5tEgG8hePPazvqtsXU0mh6j9k3YJSbJZ4gzLylFoIxtsU39U-nSXugWXLxQVwRGcwjmoBK0jd0COCYO88Pny0FweEiOUcejF-cg0IXL8/s1600/100_1661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38hBe8gKcqPlgC5rRRdscslb3boulz9xrV_E5tEgG8hePPazvqtsXU0mh6j9k3YJSbJZ4gzLylFoIxtsU39U-nSXugWXLxQVwRGcwjmoBK0jd0COCYO88Pny0FweEiOUcejF-cg0IXL8/s1600/100_1661.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgdk0K-8gBxtmLlQxeigUj8S3Xg8x4OXx-W8aOW1zOSs_G6CbTOrlgjkOZE5_QpV_j4iHtkaTLyJlsaAuzX_f2Z2LBisnaQwZrF03Sa2n6YYhPS5pIL2Df85odh5yv2RDgR1uZqNVK_Y/s1600/100_1674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgdk0K-8gBxtmLlQxeigUj8S3Xg8x4OXx-W8aOW1zOSs_G6CbTOrlgjkOZE5_QpV_j4iHtkaTLyJlsaAuzX_f2Z2LBisnaQwZrF03Sa2n6YYhPS5pIL2Df85odh5yv2RDgR1uZqNVK_Y/s1600/100_1674.JPG" height="190" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I admitted everything to him... well,<i> not everything</i>, but a lot.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I told him I am losing this battle of control.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I told him I dread the work and the math of food and I'm at the point where it is no longer worth it to me. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiDied0K67B_aKYuyI_-2GcYeCaob30gKVYG0RTauyqp4dDrTuWkflVO2VokYM4JaYtTM7q-xcnlvWhguUit8uPpxOukdNiE9mSeE_gw3WfvnPVVUjHd7xGOILv_hmSQzPCKFFAmyBSd0/s1600/100_3754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiDied0K67B_aKYuyI_-2GcYeCaob30gKVYG0RTauyqp4dDrTuWkflVO2VokYM4JaYtTM7q-xcnlvWhguUit8uPpxOukdNiE9mSeE_gw3WfvnPVVUjHd7xGOILv_hmSQzPCKFFAmyBSd0/s1600/100_3754.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm under pressure I can't seem to shake. It</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> is coming from the insult and ludicrous of being sued for child support for a kid who lives with us full time. From the Season and the wrench thrown in by the way the bank is, or shall we say isn't issuing funds for the Moab job until </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">later; </i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and there is no back up plan</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. It is from the other season, the crazy mad one of meets and travel. It comes from the feeling of being too comfortable & close to my ex. It is from the backhanded compliments and criticisms, some warranted, some not, like phantom chatter coming in on me from other households. It is the long stretches of time without a strong shoulder to lean my head against so I can really relax and smile. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE1DRbKdyhwDZYOxSxNWoVKroR-k2Tnqb6Zc_KBSzgG3NdIE032oe1G4X77c-h_mqqETPIL5IN7yCw0HrHKMyu8HUgDptiO136HsbW1h9mX3QfM5SKX1mRKrdgIVJXmkptAGy0Riwk-DE/s1600/100_1667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE1DRbKdyhwDZYOxSxNWoVKroR-k2Tnqb6Zc_KBSzgG3NdIE032oe1G4X77c-h_mqqETPIL5IN7yCw0HrHKMyu8HUgDptiO136HsbW1h9mX3QfM5SKX1mRKrdgIVJXmkptAGy0Riwk-DE/s1600/100_1667.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I laughed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then knowing he would be gone by the weekend I said, "I give up."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is the weight of water. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He waited.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I laughed again and said, "I don't want to let Beach down or worry her. This is a horrible time to not be well."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is the vastness of the winter sky stretched across the mountains.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He waited.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I laughed once more at myself and said, "I know I got this. I'm just tired. And stressed. And lonely. And I know, I have good people around me. It is all here...I just have to figure out how."</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGpEg9JaQL2o-GG40xoRm56W2KpkZI7QV32BjzKEPGw-qjYuGrAQqH_kqmCmhz2SMMnE9iM6p2etih8sY1b9q380dovqWyHASSpLY687JYrgRM16zI38uO3-D6E8pVZE0AHqK2JxNpnw/s1600/100_3218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGpEg9JaQL2o-GG40xoRm56W2KpkZI7QV32BjzKEPGw-qjYuGrAQqH_kqmCmhz2SMMnE9iM6p2etih8sY1b9q380dovqWyHASSpLY687JYrgRM16zI38uO3-D6E8pVZE0AHqK2JxNpnw/s1600/100_3218.JPG" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">His smile widened. "Do you want me to come to the doctor with you? It might help if there is someone there who isn't lying to him." He paused, "I shouldn't say lying, I mean you aren't always completely honest with what is going on with you."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I laughed answering, "No, I'd say at this point calling it lying is fair." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He laughed too and waited patiently for me to find the answer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXf3pE54AqYXBtvHEke9wKtoI-mYQbCgNfCyNOSVhKX2VwZp0lFsRFR84nfAkMgd_Dewd56DaaVgzbnthV_7s5lTcqUDyKQIjRfHf8IfxG66mU0LxlHm7SLLLQXHqc4Isoq_zZIy6wDX8/s1600/100_1655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXf3pE54AqYXBtvHEke9wKtoI-mYQbCgNfCyNOSVhKX2VwZp0lFsRFR84nfAkMgd_Dewd56DaaVgzbnthV_7s5lTcqUDyKQIjRfHf8IfxG66mU0LxlHm7SLLLQXHqc4Isoq_zZIy6wDX8/s1600/100_1655.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is the way it has always been.</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have never much cared for my resilience.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My money is on my sense of humor- it is most often my only saving grace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span>Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8242765526914657744.post-12823407765969529832014-12-03T07:44:00.002-08:002014-12-03T07:44:53.955-08:00up and over<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQagTkjeHp208jWb1b0AWoQrZOXDlubHBb5pR1QO6MjMJpFPgkFj2GSEtbXsu4DbDLTWTVdCz3ON99CutiYz4zmHMPEEbRhxCx_SkscKjWclXta3Y-M7OljKgb9fYom_cq6vvZh6_Gytk/s1600/lee+iii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQagTkjeHp208jWb1b0AWoQrZOXDlubHBb5pR1QO6MjMJpFPgkFj2GSEtbXsu4DbDLTWTVdCz3ON99CutiYz4zmHMPEEbRhxCx_SkscKjWclXta3Y-M7OljKgb9fYom_cq6vvZh6_Gytk/s1600/lee+iii.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know. Admitting I hate Christmas makes everyone uncomfortable. But I hate Christmas and last night proves it. It's not fun to me it is overwhelmingly stressful. A season I'm not big enough to hold. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So stressful I find myself pounding the pavement, logging too many hours out on the road running- then going back out for more. I make crazy decisions for myself and I start to live on coffee and spoons of peanut butter. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My body is sore. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My mind is sore.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My sugars are chronically low.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And last night I missed spotting the edge between feeling a little off and tanking completely. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In my defense as blood sugar falls my mind gets hazy making it harder to reason just when reasoning becomes very important. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRlnFRo4wtt_kEfrSAHZ2eV3b1kIA1GK3HSypUpiXPWHUm5B87RiKvFJqD-43AQKqydAhx47X5FeCP3bEv0BDXOHyIv7ioH9UDojGu-_QDKgKu8W10BENDBdaCq33X7ugtSzgM9DYl8L0/s1600/sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRlnFRo4wtt_kEfrSAHZ2eV3b1kIA1GK3HSypUpiXPWHUm5B87RiKvFJqD-43AQKqydAhx47X5FeCP3bEv0BDXOHyIv7ioH9UDojGu-_QDKgKu8W10BENDBdaCq33X7ugtSzgM9DYl8L0/s1600/sunset.jpg" height="260" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It goes like this: </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I feel a little tipsy (not so bad). I might complain of not being "clear". A little farther down I will mix up my nouns. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then I get jumpy and lightheaded. At which point I will seek out a soda. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That usually works unless I am more off than I realize- like last night.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-is_fEaTudgwcNzFrmqeoEbBEl00TZo5WP4BELlA9bmdVUO2vdnmPcksH8YxUQ3qgAzq7uOrFr6HlNf5wUdAOftxgg6xUYv_GVKYK7fFhHhA0A10af8MshtupfwsPAbfbts8zBu28Bg/s1600/100_7769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-is_fEaTudgwcNzFrmqeoEbBEl00TZo5WP4BELlA9bmdVUO2vdnmPcksH8YxUQ3qgAzq7uOrFr6HlNf5wUdAOftxgg6xUYv_GVKYK7fFhHhA0A10af8MshtupfwsPAbfbts8zBu28Bg/s1600/100_7769.JPG" height="370" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The trouble is the next step down isn't logical and it doesn't feel physiological, it feels emotional. I get quiet and I get grumpy. I get sad. I shut down. That is the real trouble zone. And once I am there I have the hardest time knowing it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAlj9nKPLN6SoSvBDzOA_cjgTJoWKEeV9RkNBGpLknA_xEDgW8BMwe3T1AZZpeSehm16gdfz0f8MQe0QmLwfFT63K572dJpz8FLzoyKftPQRiGdFSm3kvzLNO3OZHRSeHqhvcSjyTKpMk/s1600/IMG_2674.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAlj9nKPLN6SoSvBDzOA_cjgTJoWKEeV9RkNBGpLknA_xEDgW8BMwe3T1AZZpeSehm16gdfz0f8MQe0QmLwfFT63K572dJpz8FLzoyKftPQRiGdFSm3kvzLNO3OZHRSeHqhvcSjyTKpMk/s1600/IMG_2674.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I came through the door from work silence, dripping grumpy and a pile of mismanaged stuff. BC took one look at me and he knew instantly that I was in trouble....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I spent a long night "fixing" my body, chasing wellness, making promises to myself... that I know I will break.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEB91OoZRN9Cg2cRTfXl_DDesBk5GLNAfvhPYobLfsH9Hp24RpgUkb1Cr9K9vfODySnBwhdlZlJqlGTLRNe965PFI4xh5aE8_m8ijnLuIy9cUmv7wq0HhulDTjIfZy1RiPzgVxL2CdWyc/s1600/SHAM_01_2687.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEB91OoZRN9Cg2cRTfXl_DDesBk5GLNAfvhPYobLfsH9Hp24RpgUkb1Cr9K9vfODySnBwhdlZlJqlGTLRNe965PFI4xh5aE8_m8ijnLuIy9cUmv7wq0HhulDTjIfZy1RiPzgVxL2CdWyc/s1600/SHAM_01_2687.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love December. I love running through the calmness of the cold. I like the long dark nights and the slow mornings. I love feeling the cloak of winter fall. But I don't love Christmas. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I would like that to be okay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Christmas is like that wall, all I have to do is get up and over it and hope I land well on the other side. </span><br />
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<br />Misty Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17918007486522250097noreply@blogger.com0