tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88703504407259831452024-02-19T21:17:32.743-08:00rainYdaYjaneMiss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-60872856916188144812012-12-19T16:13:00.002-08:002012-12-19T16:13:31.962-08:00Christmas Crackers
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Especially
at the end of a semester, right before Christmas, impatiently awaiting a pay
day, sometimes life gets heavy. And after a few nights of Netflix and Diet Dr.
Pepper hibernation/ recovery, I’m remembering the sweetness of this incredible
life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hemingway
said, “Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat, and
when you sleep, really sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive with
all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell. And when you get angry,
get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I read that
today while I was eating a cracker. It was a delicious cracker with this
homemade, cheesy goodness kind of spread that one of our clients brings to the
office every Christmas. There were crumbles of pecans on top. Pecans are my
most favorite nut. When our family would spend Thanksgiving in St. George with
Grandma and Grandpa Johnson I would go on walks with my dad and we would eat
pecans right off the neighbor’s tree. They were soft and fruity and fresh. We
would collect enough to make Dixie salad. Fresh whipped cream, pomegranates,
apples, grapes, pecans, the old green carpet in Grandma Milne’s house, setting
the table with Grandma’s silver, Grandpa in his recliner with the football game
on, ball cap pulled low over his eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I thought
about my daddy’s face in Grandpa’s room at the care center while Matt played
the guitar and Mom and I sang “Country Road”. And then he fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I remembered
when Mom had surgery just after Christmas, years ago, and Grandma and Grandpa
were up visiting. Grandpa brought Mom a tin of cookies, but he had opened it in
the car and eaten a few before they reached Mom’s room. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That was a
pretty great cracker.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-41606199755981856072012-07-13T12:36:00.001-07:002012-07-13T12:39:55.845-07:00Home is Where Your Mama is<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Boogaroo is my niece, Alexandria.
We have been BFFs since she entered this world and I suspect for many moons
before. It was her birth that inspired my first serious desires about writing
and it is in watching her grow that I am constantly reignited with adventurous
ideas and expectations for the future of the women of the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s something magical in the
eyes of children when they look at you, it makes you feel like you matter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s true that I like to tell
stories, but my intent for the records I am creating with a few laughs and
occasional tears has, and ever will be, to say (in as many words and ways as
possible) that you, Alexandria, you and every beautiful, lovely, intelligent,
kind, sympathetic, poetic heart, drenched in emotion and enrobed in the form of
women, you matter. You are brilliant like the sunrise. You have the potential
to make the world more beautiful with every breath that you breathe. You were
always meant to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My mommy’s birthday is at the very
end of July when the sun is hot and the tomatoes are warm in the garden. Since
we’ve grown it has gotten difficult for all of us to be in the same place at
the same time, but for her birthday, Grammy insists, so in the summer time we
come home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At Mom’s last night before last I
was chillin’ with Boogs because her “froat hurts really bad”. She was about to
fall asleep when I made an attempt to sneak upstairs and go home for some sleep
myself. I was turning the knob on the front door when I heard Alex behind me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Where are you going?” She asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Home, Honey. I need to get some
sleep.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Aunt Buff, why do you live
somewhere else?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Poignant question Boogaroo. With so
many answers flashing across the jumbo-tron of my mind I wasn’t sure were to
go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“It’s just where I live, baby girl.
Home is always where Grammy is.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Oh.” She said. Then she scrunched
jungle blankie into a more portable glob in her arms and headed back down
stairs to finish “RED” with Grammy, Papa, and Daddy. Satisfied, because to a
four-year-old, and to anyone who has ever met my Mommy, my answer made perfect
sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My mom and dad have done some
pretty amazing things in their lives. They have climbed mountains that would
give me a nose bleed just thinking of them. Somehow they have managed to weave
music and love through the whole of it. My childhood was a happy one. My young
adult life has been memorable and sweet. I think of the songs linked to the memories
that are dearest to my heart of my family and the time we have been blessed to
spend together and I hear my mama’s voice in my head while my daddy strums his scratched
and faded sunburst applause; “country road, take me home to the place I belong.
West Virginia, mountain mama. Take me home, country road.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
I think this summer we should teach that song to Alex.Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-59761049999542615592012-07-06T14:07:00.003-07:002012-07-06T14:07:39.577-07:00All the Single Ladies<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt;">There are currently 54
million singles in the United States. 40 million of them have tried online
dating at least once. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt;">The average annual revenue
of the online dating industry is $1.049 billion. Per online user that is a
rough average of $239.00 a year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt;">17% of couples married in
the United States last year met online. That</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt;">s 280,000 marriages. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 40.5pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt;">31% of Americans use
online dating services of know someone who does. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt;">*Just a few statistics as a preamble to clarify
the facts, I am not a woman in desperation, I</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt;">m an American, so here</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt;">s my story, please reserve
judgment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(but not laughter, for heaven
sakes, I can</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt;">t ask for the
impossible!)*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt;">A couple of months ago I accepted in a pouty
surrender the advice of a colleague and friend in regards to what he termed </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt;">my ultimate happiness and
wellbeing as a material member of society and the girl who daily interacts with
the clients that allow him to maintain employment.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">” </span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">His
motives were not absolutely pure, but he</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">s an
accountant, nothing is absolute unless it is preceded by a double line
indicating the total, and even then auditors can make exceptions. By the
standards of the auditing staff of Wood Richards & Associates, P.C. my
dating expectations and results were unacceptable. I appeared to be in need of
redirection. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt;">My parents always emphasized in little league and
Monopoly that</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> sportsmanship was key. Nobody wants to
play with a poor sport, so I take bad news pretty well, generally. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I was
in Jr. High a few of my girlfriends and I made up a dance to Brittney Spear</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">s
song </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Oops,
I Did it Again</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">.
As the only girl in the group above an A cup I was sort of nominated to dress
like a Brittney look-a-like. I artfully acquired a pair of gold pleather pants
and some glittery eye shadow. On the day of the talent show performance,
dressing in the girl</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">s
room, I poured my curvy-for-a-twelve-year-old body into the skin tight metallic
marvel and stepped out into the most hostile environment known to man, the
common room in a Jr. High School full of pre-adolescent latent aggression and
overpowering hormones. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We
performed our dance and felt like rock stars. Letting the feeling of fame
linger I remained in </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">costume</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
for the rest of the day. When my dad came home from work that night and saw me
setting the table for dinner he leapt for couth and failed, on the way down he
grasped for something else to utter and this is what he came up with; </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“Nobody saw you
wearing those, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Point
being, I</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">ve
had practice, I can take criticism. I don</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">t like it,
but I</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">m
a big girl, I can take it. So I gritted my teeth and sat down in Ryan</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">s
office. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What
do you think I should do?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
I squinted my eyes closed and let my chin fall to my chest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Try
online dating. That</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">s
how I met Kendra.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
(Ryan</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">s
amazing wife, now expecting their first little girl.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gross!
NO! That is so weird! I</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">m
not</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">…</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
old!</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But to paraphrase Charlotte Bronte,
Reader, I took his advice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My first
attempt at semipublic humiliation, willful disregard for self-respect, and
naive hope in my ability to seek out perfect strangers in a simulated
environment of security and find lasting and sincere bonds came in the form of
Match.com. Their commercial airs often during reruns of </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
Big Bang Theory</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
on TBS, and yes, I do recognize exactly what kind of </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">target
audience</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
I have become. But I have spent a few too many Friday night date nights as the </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rajesh
Koothrappali</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
of my social circle. Low point. So I decided to expand my lone ranger status to
the cyber world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Imagine
that the hot guy from your high school football team got into some </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">sweet
construction job</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
the summer after graduation and never left. Now he</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">s
54, wears wide cut man tank tops on his boat where he drinks beer, pumps out
country music, and hits on fifteen year olds in Taylor Swift tankinis all
summer at the lake. Those were the guys hitting me up on </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Match</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">.
When you log on and see that 42 men have viewed your profile it</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">s
flattering, right? When they all turn out to look like your friends
embarrassing bio Dad who yells profanities at the television during sports
games with chili dripping off of his chin your hope bubble bursts. This isn</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">t
Alabama. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Employed</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
is not a game winner in the race for my heart. What is this world coming to!?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Anyway, </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Match</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
didn</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">t
work out for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I returned
to live action dating, no, I don</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">t</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">mean
it like that, and things went ok for a while. By ok I mean disaster *with a
hulking Arnold accent to get the devastating point across*.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A month ago
I repented of my prideful ways and returned to my computer. I signed up on </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">LDSsingles.com</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">.
You know what? There are far fewer married men on this dating site than I had
been told, but there have still been some real keepers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My first </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">flirt</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
came from a man dating under the sudo-name </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Crazy
Wheels</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”.
</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">His reason for choosing this name? He was bound to a
wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down. You</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">ll
be angry with me for not giving him a chance, you</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">ll
blame it on my vanity. But it was not vanity that curbed my willingness to
encourage his perusal. It was much simpler than that, natural even. See, I</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">m
25. That means 25 years of vigorously protected and preserved virtue. Twenty-five-years!
A girl doesn</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">t
get all dressed up for the ball to stay home and watch</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;"> “</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A
Cinderella Story</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”.
Girl goes to the Ball!</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> As it was impossible to determine
whether my ball was inevitably crashed if I had jumped in his pumpkin coach
without being grossly inappropriate, I passed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After that
was an interesting string of what appeared to be the same 33 year old guy with
two kids posting under several different names and profiles. I wasn</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">t</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">…</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
inspired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">While I was
on vacation to the land of corn and pigs (Iowa) I was chilling on the couch
with Becky and perusing the options on my Iphone when I received an invitation
to chat with </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Soccerfreak</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">.
Knowing as you do my deep and connected love of soccer and all sporting events
involving running until you die you can imagine my excitement. But the idea is
to keep an open mind, so I accepted. Becky snuggled over to have a peak and as
she did I received a second invitation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">MrLarsen</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
was a technical writer from San Diego with hopes of becoming a patent attorney.
6</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">”</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">,
dark hair, employed, RM, college graduate. Defiantly lying, right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But I totally
took the bait. We started talking on the phone and texting and messaging every
night for a week. We were making plans to meet. My faith in the gravitational
pull of romance and magnetism that maintains the structure of the universe was
restored! Well, that</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">s
a little dramatic, but he was pretty cool. Then, without warning or cause, he
vanished from existence. Gone. Poof!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was so
weird! And a bit of a hit to my pride if I</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">m being
totally honest. But mostly so weird!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In all of
these adventures I must intimate to you, dear reader, that I do not feel that I
am exhausting my options or even approaching expiration. I feel like an
explorer. I feel elastic. I feel kinda like a female Indiana Jones. Stuff</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">s
getting</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
real. I am seriously considering carrying a sack of sand in my leather shoulder
bag, just in case I need to collect a golden idol from a pressurized trigger of
death. (I already carry crayons and paper, so I</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">m
good if I need to make a rubbing of an ancient tablet in a flaming underground
sewer.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sometimes
when people read my blog they ask me, </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">“</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Was that true?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Come on
guys, you can</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt;">’</span><span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">t
make this stuff up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "cinnamon cake"; font-size: 14pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Ps, only 10% of sex offenders use
dating sites to meet their intended victims.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-37153938859167082862012-05-07T15:55:00.001-07:002012-05-07T15:55:57.884-07:001,000 Kisses<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">I
thought it would be like Pete Townshend said when I learned to love again. That
someone would come along and whisper, or sing to me at an embarrassing family
gathering “Dan in Real Life” Style, “Let my love open the door to your heart.”
But that’s not how it happened at all. And I’m not saying that I’m in love, or
that I was even close, but the door’s open, and the fresh air can come through.
It’s kind of a funny story really. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">I
know this guy; he’s pretty cool by normal standards. In an awkward kind of way
he seems to shine in peculiar moments. We’re buddies, but now and then he pulls
out the stops and makes me feel just like Goldie Locks, minus the three angry
bears. Not too hot, not too cold, not too soft, not too hard, not too big, not
too small, just right. It’s that “just right” feeling that eased me out of a
seven year shell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">I
know what you’re thinking. A shell? You?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">Yes,
me. See, I had been dreading a spring cleaning experience involving long
stories and all sorts of dirty laundry, and so I avoided facing the ugly truth
about my heart, it was closed for business, out of service, in disrepair. Not
because of some endless heartbreak, but because of neglect. Almost like those
terrible abused animal commercials with Sara Mclachlan music in the background.
I would step out of the shower and look in the mirror and hear that stupid
Angel song playing in my head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">Terrible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">But pathetic
is simply not my style, so I did what I always do when I don’t know what to do
next, I read a book about it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">I dug
in deep and did some real research. Sources like “He’s Just Not That in to You”
and the poetry of Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning presented such opposite
views on the subject as to leave me absolutely unresolved. I listened to some
“Dashboard Confessional” and google searched several famous “lovers”. I looked
for general authority talks and quotations about being a bitter, frigid,
spinster. (not that I think of myself that way, but more because I wanted to
avoid that end at all costs!) I wrote about a million pages in my journal about
sorting out my fears and knowing what I want. It all amounted to just about
nil. Nothing. Nada.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strange how
introspection can often only clarify your desperate need for a pedicure and
little else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">I
moved out of my parent’s house, 25 years of Elizabeth packed into Daddy’s truck
and about five trips in my jeep latter I took inventory. 146 books, 37 pairs of
shoes, 8 strands of twinkle lights, 6 ruffled pillows, 1 painting of an apple,
1 hand-me-down guitar, 16 flavors of lip gloss, 1 mission, </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">¾</span><span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;"> of an English degree, 2 nieces,
1 nephew, roughly 1,000 kisses, just as many photographs, 1 girl, out on her
own in the great big old world with $286.00 in a jar that will take me to
England someday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">I felt
like I was getting somewhere, and at the time, anywhere was a step in the right
direction. On a long drive one night my buddy gave me some excellent advice, I
think it might have been an accident. He said, “Why not?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">I took
him at his word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">A
friend came over far a bit to work of some school stuff and when he asked if he
could kiss me I thought, why not?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">A
couple days later I breached all limits of sanity and when asked the same
question by a very old and absolutely “friend” friend I thought, why not?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">I
returned to my buddy for a refund, clearly, CLEARLY, “why not?” was not working
for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">In
the jumble and hullabaloo that was our recovery conversation we walked in
tandem down a road and I found that it required very little patience to listen
to his long drawn out thoughts. They were architecturally sound, able to
withstand the elements and the pressures of time. They were well orchestrated
like the music that always seems to be running through his head. I wouldn’t realize
it for a few more days, weeks maybe, but I was starting to think in the back of
my mind, why not?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">So
the other night, after my buddy took me out for some sympathy ice cream and
told me that his feelings didn’t match mine, that he didn’t want to be
romantically involved, I expected the caves that hope had been tunneling
through my stone cold heart to crumble, trapping several unsuspecting Chileans.
They didn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Loverboy; font-size: 18pt;">So
here’s to the next 1,000 kisses. Cause really, why not? <o:p></o:p></span></div>Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-77652524711883205652012-01-01T19:35:00.000-08:002012-01-01T19:35:04.791-08:00Stuff I've Made & Stuff I've Scrounged<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I have meant for a while to write this post, but first I had to take a few pictures! I've been busy crafting and scouring the countryside for bargains and ideas. (Kinda like a pirate) It's been tons of fun! Every time I make something cool my Mama is proud and every time I get a screamin' deal my Daddy beams. Plus, I am totally stocked up for future endeavors in living outside my mama's house. (I know, it's about time, but I'm not planning on packing up my things too soon. I kinda like it here :))An interesting side effect of my habitual accumulation has been the consequent accumulation of bedroom space. I currently habitate two bedrooms, thusly accommodating myself, my books, and my hobbies. Yikes! Maybe I should get a place of my own! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Starting with my scrounging adventures, here's the low- down on the build- up!</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4RlzeQ11T4CYAQU2EFp32QTHdFso6T0984ZRBrRwK5jz58BjUWj3eUUzlvO1dkbvD9aZn2dNSFbdrMAwQEDDLIN3DHr-gtb-YKQ4Q5Tb7NRni-bql_Co80LwFjDnk2xJLnUIoOajhzzo/s1600/IMG_1156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4RlzeQ11T4CYAQU2EFp32QTHdFso6T0984ZRBrRwK5jz58BjUWj3eUUzlvO1dkbvD9aZn2dNSFbdrMAwQEDDLIN3DHr-gtb-YKQ4Q5Tb7NRni-bql_Co80LwFjDnk2xJLnUIoOajhzzo/s320/IMG_1156.JPG" width="161" /></a>This pretty little find came from an add on the internet. Mom has a tiny kitchen and needed some more storage space. The old guy with the storage shed wanted $60, he got $40. Bazinga! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX71H-1j4nb1Mp1VZPhVy2W7G5VbNV1zs-EemasEwih9HNQJ4dBCGdjSXh27bnIbACOsaTMKcwiChCZoaMSHJy7Khwcut84MoQvwMwqd2GJECawyK_1hpsQjBjKCgrP-nOY3gcU11XDMoW/s1600/IMG_1159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX71H-1j4nb1Mp1VZPhVy2W7G5VbNV1zs-EemasEwih9HNQJ4dBCGdjSXh27bnIbACOsaTMKcwiChCZoaMSHJy7Khwcut84MoQvwMwqd2GJECawyK_1hpsQjBjKCgrP-nOY3gcU11XDMoW/s320/IMG_1159.JPG" width="240" /></a></div> These are the finds that Julie hates the most, the ones I grab from people's front lawns. The sign says "FREE" what would you do?? This was a small TV stand, I painted it and gave it a little re-enforcement, now it holds movies and a few books. The drawers are especially nice, I have a small room, they eliminated the need for a full sized dresser.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_QmgZnsF8hl1_JOBIpbJhC_tFvgC0FK8TOhPOrioE7dUyLbUgE52eUowfIjFOwVgIUDOCYzB1z0rkXZGXzzTBsVOdIiUNy-mqeal5wm68h3iCqQFuw7_R9F9uns-VZjiipq5uXUwe6AfF/s1600/IMG_1160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_QmgZnsF8hl1_JOBIpbJhC_tFvgC0FK8TOhPOrioE7dUyLbUgE52eUowfIjFOwVgIUDOCYzB1z0rkXZGXzzTBsVOdIiUNy-mqeal5wm68h3iCqQFuw7_R9F9uns-VZjiipq5uXUwe6AfF/s320/IMG_1160.JPG" width="320" /></a>Mom says that in an earth quake these shelves will kill me. My books needed a home, all available wall space was dedicated to the cause.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWNMgdTCiAbyrUJS33sgQDZvf0JdIvOyU3mbeYGB4zlpwN90Qt_zUOsmRWT8VIJW2IYm6FyLJpLhrwTkk_CYziZpFZNn3SGVTQRaAugF4-yXJReN1NKR5mLw-jVmWPxMFqSYY9bg0FL2f/s1600/IMG_1162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIWNMgdTCiAbyrUJS33sgQDZvf0JdIvOyU3mbeYGB4zlpwN90Qt_zUOsmRWT8VIJW2IYm6FyLJpLhrwTkk_CYziZpFZNn3SGVTQRaAugF4-yXJReN1NKR5mLw-jVmWPxMFqSYY9bg0FL2f/s320/IMG_1162.JPG" width="320" /></a>I am so proud of this FanTaStiC MAP Desk! Yard Sale hopping on a Saturday morning with mom and dad, I scored like crazy. For $20 I picked up 2 DVD's, a welcome Pineapple, a retro fabulous segmented serving dish, and, for a mere $5, this super rad desk. I love, love, love it! <br />
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I've squashed it next to ANOTHER book shelf, it's shelves are VAST. I'm excited just thinking about the day we hauled it home! Boy did Daddy laugh.<br />
I also MOdg Podged the letters on the book shelf spelling "Home" there are several interchangeable holiday "o's" I am excited to collect them all. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEA_fazCbd3gOcMsD5XbG7nfGFsRDVoL2QPLlxaL_ThqpvLSAxVAF66QTz0k0JgRLyCaaluul7nWNSMRPjGfZAzLzTdOWmMedMarEQxpFJn8_0FyF5wxlOY3-3w5Gdq6YMrC7GTLepnPW9/s1600/IMG_1161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEA_fazCbd3gOcMsD5XbG7nfGFsRDVoL2QPLlxaL_ThqpvLSAxVAF66QTz0k0JgRLyCaaluul7nWNSMRPjGfZAzLzTdOWmMedMarEQxpFJn8_0FyF5wxlOY3-3w5Gdq6YMrC7GTLepnPW9/s200/IMG_1161.JPG" width="123" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiobPF_Qh_COhZa-bviUvvIaErz8c5Yvr7DmvlZ6wNQM7Z-T1qeWJwOqiY1o6zC2H1VKXPG0ag4FDQXwf11EKI8NbF7rPzhiRyhr9SKFW5x6Jd5Imq1TrO_9EPDKagz4s5Pd3StylfUnoOJ/s1600/IMG_1169.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/AVvXsEiobPF_Qh_COhZa-bviUvvIaErz8c5Yvr7DmvlZ6wNQM7Z-T1qeWJwOqiY1o6zC2H1VKXPG0ag4FDQXwf11EKI8NbF7rPzhiRyhr9SKFW5x6Jd5Imq1TrO_9EPDKagz4s5Pd3StylfUnoOJ/s320/IMG_1169.JPG" width="240" /></a></div> This cluttered mess was a lift off of a sweet friend Ruthie. She no longer harbored fond feelings for the beast, but I was (as ever) willing to make some room. (P.S. subtle homage to Marilyn & the , no joke, <i>graphic novel</i> of Pride&Prejudice featuring Miss Elizabeth, they's my homegirls.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcmm3xfAd6gqpBBwzdmwBxIKED6wTahSUQ9xoYuqUzcE8uojGtKn16oAETiFIbiVQTVFYezeXw9Y_jGA-4j-N2VD8tymvdVXGJZ3EmMeS1Zs7BFGD__4aZXXiVcA-3g5k5sQ0HbayjbwO/s1600/IMG_1170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcmm3xfAd6gqpBBwzdmwBxIKED6wTahSUQ9xoYuqUzcE8uojGtKn16oAETiFIbiVQTVFYezeXw9Y_jGA-4j-N2VD8tymvdVXGJZ3EmMeS1Zs7BFGD__4aZXXiVcA-3g5k5sQ0HbayjbwO/s320/IMG_1170.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> This big fella is another excellent scrounge.<br />
<b>Fo FREE</b>. That's right, it was on another friendly neighbor's front lawn. This book shelf is massive! Took me a while to find a way to wedge it into one of my rooms. The solution came to me when the cold weather came and we had to bring Mom's rain forest inside for the winter. It's a great place for all of her house plants to get some sunshine safely behind the window. Sadly, this monster made me a <i>tiny bit</i> late for work. It was too big to fit in my Jeep! Lucky for me, Daddy was home and zoomed to my rescue in his Truck. It went something like this:<br />
Me: Hey Daddy, whatchadoin?<br />
Dad: Out in the garden, why?<br />
Me: Well, I'm down the street and this enormous FREE bookshelf won't fit in my Jeep! Well, if I could lift it by myself I am sure I would find that it would not fit. Can you come help me?<br />
Dad: What? I guess.<br />
Me: Like right now? Cause I was on my way to work, but I gotta have this shelf!!!<br />
Best Dad EVER.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwNx6yI5R93HH1-ofqQ4yqvYOHB8oG9k3FHHOLFfhfC-1yJQQxwU_3eiAFrgZYzsscl0xnNoBtoMzZYTW8nz45gC3BZXwcBoa9TLYBzwZZRNHOe3tVUHe4gZcitUIeIu8VGR3NG0nAR8B/s1600/IMG_1164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="65" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwNx6yI5R93HH1-ofqQ4yqvYOHB8oG9k3FHHOLFfhfC-1yJQQxwU_3eiAFrgZYzsscl0xnNoBtoMzZYTW8nz45gC3BZXwcBoa9TLYBzwZZRNHOe3tVUHe4gZcitUIeIu8VGR3NG0nAR8B/s320/IMG_1164.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This shelf is stuffed in the tiny space above my closet, I can't reach it, bit I can see it! </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTEBbpTCammJ0BMBkhIx1rJpehfhpy55uuz8KJYUFwSej1uzU_ZyPM_-YLs7gW6jglPR2lp_01BQvN69xKuR9N3Qg__M6b24yiWLPttCsJA7aJgtcwmY0ayelFga0VwlcKLYoVf6PMiESX/s1600/IMG_1168.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/AVvXsEgTEBbpTCammJ0BMBkhIx1rJpehfhpy55uuz8KJYUFwSej1uzU_ZyPM_-YLs7gW6jglPR2lp_01BQvN69xKuR9N3Qg__M6b24yiWLPttCsJA7aJgtcwmY0ayelFga0VwlcKLYoVf6PMiESX/s320/IMG_1168.JPG" width="227" /></a></div>This is a scrounge/Build. I found an ugly piece of wood in the wood pile out back, collected a few baby food jars (courtesy Grammy and Claire) and approached Dad with my idea. The result? I crooked and wonderfully useful ribbon rack and a great place to keep buttons and beads. Matty saved those love birds for me when they moved into Grandma Martin's house. He knows how I love birdies!<br />
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New adventures in paper crafting, I am still contemplating these, but I like the idea. I hope they turn out.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQeS-jvcVQlOEdG26KXzDFmOELszeuLKAAB3whEZO4UlGETK28hDhibW-yS9xCJoCGdeXSDWOhSBwUuh2oTvNUw_nJSt36fJbAc3bIH_pHk_1EH60MCjCtHFe01UCD4e67ilgseKu8CZwc/s1600/IMG_1167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQeS-jvcVQlOEdG26KXzDFmOELszeuLKAAB3whEZO4UlGETK28hDhibW-yS9xCJoCGdeXSDWOhSBwUuh2oTvNUw_nJSt36fJbAc3bIH_pHk_1EH60MCjCtHFe01UCD4e67ilgseKu8CZwc/s200/IMG_1167.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5B6Ij1tXX3quLmzflXQMk2cg4WVS9BKth44_8eM1Xgyj82xMv-u9eMbuw7n7k0kRA9X39C1eMMHYdkoj57P-96OVSlLAaEFDcCLH1GT0dklR5U4GRR6NKOfXPku8AG0v7Y8Tg9fFFlG0/s1600/IMG_1166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5B6Ij1tXX3quLmzflXQMk2cg4WVS9BKth44_8eM1Xgyj82xMv-u9eMbuw7n7k0kRA9X39C1eMMHYdkoj57P-96OVSlLAaEFDcCLH1GT0dklR5U4GRR6NKOfXPku8AG0v7Y8Tg9fFFlG0/s200/IMG_1166.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilC8NPqYnffW3xrV0hXFSRLHoqzz8eWllM5pAf0gARu4nOloGA5F2rM1LvjX9p7eAZ-gHvnkW7n17ijDfa-5ybZobKx4qUy5XZ5kwNme2t4PB2R_mkrvT3AFGKBycRv5ZOR7489BVOHm4X/s1600/IMG_1165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilC8NPqYnffW3xrV0hXFSRLHoqzz8eWllM5pAf0gARu4nOloGA5F2rM1LvjX9p7eAZ-gHvnkW7n17ijDfa-5ybZobKx4qUy5XZ5kwNme2t4PB2R_mkrvT3AFGKBycRv5ZOR7489BVOHm4X/s200/IMG_1165.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI20CsLhtLhw7j8L9716eZgfqmxlFmf0SFEnExsFsBe1EwNjA-TkOxgyRYbNVI4qnT-yDFX92undRSNaIBJYx7HD2l8o0RvHgiM2NVPnBXc6W1_WMWnQpijQAtiXkcarFdqqkJaSmiI5pD/s1600/IMG_1157.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI20CsLhtLhw7j8L9716eZgfqmxlFmf0SFEnExsFsBe1EwNjA-TkOxgyRYbNVI4qnT-yDFX92undRSNaIBJYx7HD2l8o0RvHgiM2NVPnBXc6W1_WMWnQpijQAtiXkcarFdqqkJaSmiI5pD/s320/IMG_1157.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<b>Saw it on Pinterest! </b>Old Oatmeal can. Outside holds headbands, other hair things go inside. So much better than digging through a drawer full of ribbons and flowers! I plan to make one with Alexandria next time we visit. I think she'll loving making it. Hopefully it will help her keep her hair things together and be more willing to put them away.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwDmLFqIHNtwl2RFtrgqVxgBKpuDqoYUs42QVg_pN3tD2PppSmpUR1YVzfF_GW_JbeBEJZ4VsQJbAm2sOSp1c11xCYmiEyC3hYSoG-wTXUoe0hfBhriIo4YjzXv_ZC_Ecl8tHbzoDXXRd/s1600/NewYear+Banner.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwDmLFqIHNtwl2RFtrgqVxgBKpuDqoYUs42QVg_pN3tD2PppSmpUR1YVzfF_GW_JbeBEJZ4VsQJbAm2sOSp1c11xCYmiEyC3hYSoG-wTXUoe0hfBhriIo4YjzXv_ZC_Ecl8tHbzoDXXRd/s320/NewYear+Banner.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Cutest Banner Ever! Well, that's what I'm tellin myself. I had fun making it. The colors are really great.<br />
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This is a cover for my sewing machine. Flip it upside down and it becomes a carrying case with a wide comfy strap.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Well, those are my latest adventures! I have a closet full of these kinds of things. Matt thinks it's a terrific waste of space. Often lovingly referred to as my "hopeless chest", but I find a particular joy in making old things new, in putting orphaned pieces together to make a family. Ha ha, it's good to be your own kind of beautiful.</div><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> </span>Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-63208509806418727372011-11-25T22:18:00.000-08:002011-11-25T22:18:50.698-08:00Jane<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";">A Letter to Jane, the Sister of My Soul.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";">In the seventh grade I was a bit of a tender flower. That terrorist called puberty had rocked my world with a scandal. Still, at twenty-four, I am trying to figure out how to navigate through life with these hips. When grace abandons a young girl just before it’s time to start wearing high heels and batting her eye lashes, the adjustment is, well, </span><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">awkward</span><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";">. I wasn’t sure what would become of me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";">Mom used to haul me along on her trips to “The Book-a-teria”, a used book store here in town, where she would trade in her paper-back cowgirl/mystery/romance novels for “new” ones. I discovered one day, while wondering through the cinderblock and wood plank shelving, a </span><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter"; font-size: 14.0pt;">classics</span><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";"> section. The first novel I selected was creamy brown with swirly, rough font. “<i>Wuthering</i> <i>Heights</i>”. Her thin yellowed pages were soft as feathers. I held the book by its binding in my left hand and with my right I bent the book like a rainbow. I slid my thumb across her page edges, fanning them open. The sweet, dusty smell of old moist paper and ink puffed out into the air, along with tiny floating particles of paper dust that blurred in the sunshine from the store windows. We understood each other. Used books are the reality of “beautiful on the inside”. I took her home with me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";">Oh, Heathcliff! What you did to my heart!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";">I needed more. Inside the front cover was a cheesy list of “similar titles you might also enjoy”. That’s where I first found her. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";">“<i>Pride & Prejudice</i>”, by </span><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jane Austin</span><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";">.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";">By the time I was a sophomore in high school I had read my Barnes&Nobel copy at least a dozen times. On the cover was a dark haired Miss Elizabeth, in a pink floral patterned dress, sitting at a tea table in the garden. Next to her stood a rigid and fearsomely handsome, Mr. Darcy, in a top hat and a dark suit. I was forced to purchased a new copy eventually, the text had begun to rub off of my first love’s pages.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";">I read everything I could find of Jane’s. I read everything that seemed similar. I read everything that sat next to something of hers on the shelf. Something about her voice, her understanding of the love between sisters, her endless hope, her shameless delivery of the inevitable happy ending, built a bridge between us. I have been wondering back over that bridge to visit her ever since. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";">Jane knew something that I am always trying to forget. She knew, absolutely, that beauty is so much more than superfluous. She knew that good conversation was the secret of life, that walking heals your heart, that dancing is the best way to fall in love. Pride & Prejudice is not about practicality. It is about the heart of honesty, the bitter that enlivens the sweet, the dream that you don’t even realizing you are living until, suddenly, you wake up! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter";">Jane might seem silly, or <i>romantic</i>, but she was real, and she believed. If I could channel a little bit of that energy, open my heart and not feel like it’s a chink in my armor, but a badge of courage, perhaps it would improve my senses. I feel an increase in my olfactory reception just thinking about it. What must the stars look like to eyes that are in love! <o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: "Architects Daughter"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Gosh, I don’t mean, “let’s have a tea party and embroider cushions!” I just mean, have a little faith. You never know, it could happen. </span>Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-24814345977072616202011-10-29T21:07:00.000-07:002011-10-29T21:07:34.394-07:00See You at the Whore House<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Talking with my brother the other day about music, cause that’s one of the three things I think about, I mentioned some rad new tunage I had been experiencing on Spotify. Magically I was producing all kinds of delicious ear nourishment without paying. Flabbergasted, he insisted that I explain. So I told him,</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="color: #403152; font-family: "MV Boli"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #403152; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent4; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 128;">“Dude, it’s Spotify.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64bMV7kP3lv9xDzmvMSg3pXMtZyPIjzW9Km5ct-KiodDDGavxO6AQrJ7lC1h1kavxeWQYj2a56gwJ9l9zrEoJ7qbxOM9dPP3cbz5Ao35N7IjL09QQcSf3bWzFHY5L21nAECT2iG3e58_Z/s1600/Haunted+Mansion+Bash.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64bMV7kP3lv9xDzmvMSg3pXMtZyPIjzW9Km5ct-KiodDDGavxO6AQrJ7lC1h1kavxeWQYj2a56gwJ9l9zrEoJ7qbxOM9dPP3cbz5Ao35N7IjL09QQcSf3bWzFHY5L21nAECT2iG3e58_Z/s320/Haunted+Mansion+Bash.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #632523; font-family: "Snap ITC"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #632523; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent2; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">“Where’d you here about that?”</span><span style="color: #632523; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #632523; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent2; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He said.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #604a7b; font-family: "MV Boli"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #604A7B; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=75000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent4; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 191;">“My friend Jeff.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #632523; font-family: "Snap ITC"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #632523; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent2; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">“Where’d you meet Jeff?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #604a7b; font-family: "MV Boli"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #604A7B; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=75000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent4; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 191;">“The Whore House.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #632523; font-family: "Snap ITC"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #632523; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent2; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">“Oh, Okay. Move over, I’ll show you some good stuff.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Guess you wanna know how he responded so coolly to such an interesting reply. Not a ton of big brothers are down with their little sister meeting fellows at a whore house. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfzogYJY68aT-KpVxPQkyBIbFRBWlNctMhTWR6jHE5JUNLRW-JGvq9c3SiPxYlp21PfmrjB9TgzNdGSbNQVGOeYwLFtsGnkt16PxKbLAQTVolnHI-Oxkxu3t2zHqgGsiwmHb7di2jJbJd/s1600/Arizona+heights.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfzogYJY68aT-KpVxPQkyBIbFRBWlNctMhTWR6jHE5JUNLRW-JGvq9c3SiPxYlp21PfmrjB9TgzNdGSbNQVGOeYwLFtsGnkt16PxKbLAQTVolnHI-Oxkxu3t2zHqgGsiwmHb7di2jJbJd/s320/Arizona+heights.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This isn’t just any old house of ill repute, no no, around here, those are words of love. They refer to a few rooms surrounded by a few more walls that hold all kinds of sweet memories for me and my besties. We went in girls and boys, we came out Men and Women. Weird, but beautiful. It started a few years back, somewhere just before my first niece, Alexandria, was born. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFVL1Rza95XcSOQcplDEgIVLA6R6KgbxZUkhQnqk6IFUKdhtBN1LzQylLKqA3-3XWNnxKeJ95EtKjJSJRgM4za4ZOd6_qzTYZBolMZ1WH5ypBQbTWGOoTZdFROoTJzCJ0v_LkLk_IPFPg/s1600/legs+and+smiles.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggFVL1Rza95XcSOQcplDEgIVLA6R6KgbxZUkhQnqk6IFUKdhtBN1LzQylLKqA3-3XWNnxKeJ95EtKjJSJRgM4za4ZOd6_qzTYZBolMZ1WH5ypBQbTWGOoTZdFROoTJzCJ0v_LkLk_IPFPg/s320/legs+and+smiles.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Near the end of the summer my life took a sudden turn, a crazy one. I had been working at the car dealership, the cookie factory, processing and boxing bags of saline solution for shipment, selling long distance over the phone, tickets at the Dee Event Center, blah, blah, blah, and then; unemployed. I filled out an application at “The Living Scriptures” and when they called to offer me an interview I answered my phone,</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="color: #10253f; font-family: "MV Boli"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #10253F; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: text2; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 128;">“Ticket Offi. . Thank you for. . Ken Garff. . . Hello?”</span><span style="color: #604a7b; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #604A7B; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=75000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent4; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 191;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXsZ45i7DJreACsZ-NJc8Y8bf2ce00ENgOGLYvlwTlhRuC-bvqw7gOsSRETeKnIQturiTEegS5RzDb5AivOID1HWHLl-d_bJHOiyAIhPDICOOx760Tcffjeb5v11z3dyoB-kqFDZmeQE8g/s1600/Roller+Skating.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXsZ45i7DJreACsZ-NJc8Y8bf2ce00ENgOGLYvlwTlhRuC-bvqw7gOsSRETeKnIQturiTEegS5RzDb5AivOID1HWHLl-d_bJHOiyAIhPDICOOx760Tcffjeb5v11z3dyoB-kqFDZmeQE8g/s320/Roller+Skating.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">They let me come anyway and later that week I was sitting in a conference room of noobie telemarketers looking for an irresponsibly quick pay day. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmaAsfk0bwVimW7utTB0iCbXHw6pbkdW_cnNr_3xkgs12w95_GxzSkkMXEooUarSaaDUUxvpGU66al1427dxuShNAG5YJ850YHn45xiYIKoulbYcnydiw2XSDR9s0grBc7rMrAfE-8p3GJ/s1600/pumpkin+carving+at+Lyn%2526Mitch%2527s.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmaAsfk0bwVimW7utTB0iCbXHw6pbkdW_cnNr_3xkgs12w95_GxzSkkMXEooUarSaaDUUxvpGU66al1427dxuShNAG5YJ850YHn45xiYIKoulbYcnydiw2XSDR9s0grBc7rMrAfE-8p3GJ/s320/pumpkin+carving+at+Lyn%2526Mitch%2527s.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Two weeks of training at $12 an hour followed wherein I met the former Miss Brittany Faye Garrett, now Mrs. Bee King, halved some delicious “Villa Bella” BLT’s, scrounged enough change to wrestle a Nutroll out of the vending machine on breaks, and ultimately, got fired for being a useless telephone salesperson who had never seen a living scriptures video and questioned the historical accuracy of the facial hair on the animated interpretations of biblical characters.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaq4G_GhEezNqAWPR67Rd4s-gPgCvzPOi8KYqjM3EHfysAf3Ch0Cwy903vlExizuOMYZulrEU5j_A1VZRNwQK8MQY8gwoj2vF2gaUU0zOmZ_a1zV6KyTScHvCVcGnz2FSc_cyuxPKTM89Q/s1600/Jeepers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaq4G_GhEezNqAWPR67Rd4s-gPgCvzPOi8KYqjM3EHfysAf3Ch0Cwy903vlExizuOMYZulrEU5j_A1VZRNwQK8MQY8gwoj2vF2gaUU0zOmZ_a1zV6KyTScHvCVcGnz2FSc_cyuxPKTM89Q/s320/Jeepers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I ended up waitressing for Mrs. Lee at the Wing Wah, several stories for another day, and spending every egg-drop-soup free moment at the Whore House. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MfJ6qPsqxrzPcNho_IKgY58JPGKqZcQcd75L2gLseTu4Ebryv_R08OAsYqVXPbVdS8FGr1WRtSQbfhPB0NuKrgSKJCzAJ0p2l32a86302O78AGLrazTacxPcHoCC3fQ4stznmK6EfuMY/s1600/Rock+Star+Secrets.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MfJ6qPsqxrzPcNho_IKgY58JPGKqZcQcd75L2gLseTu4Ebryv_R08OAsYqVXPbVdS8FGr1WRtSQbfhPB0NuKrgSKJCzAJ0p2l32a86302O78AGLrazTacxPcHoCC3fQ4stznmK6EfuMY/s320/Rock+Star+Secrets.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were both stretched pretty thin in the cash department, and by thin I mean broke-da-broke. Starving for some salty sweet goodness and someone to talk to about our crazy trainer; I purchased a Nutroll and sat down next to Brittany. I don’t remember our first conversation but I’m sure it involved lots of laughing at least two enormously overstated “RIGHT?’s” and a sharp increase in volume and speed. In the background Karen Carpenter started singing, “We’ve only just begun. . .” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_NQLFhZrsqk7Sart94k_uxbX6rHPUVSWQyyNkvGVJtIv726DbOb_YKNZW_xJze2OaqH2Im13Ydn2LVYNNU65_EAVngrmWL-ZohYj-gnawWEAaCHivhsHFO7YxYpCK0ARwBjjJxahkab7/s1600/St.+Pattys+Birthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_NQLFhZrsqk7Sart94k_uxbX6rHPUVSWQyyNkvGVJtIv726DbOb_YKNZW_xJze2OaqH2Im13Ydn2LVYNNU65_EAVngrmWL-ZohYj-gnawWEAaCHivhsHFO7YxYpCK0ARwBjjJxahkab7/s320/St.+Pattys+Birthday.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Bee invited me back to her place after work one night, while she smothered a slice of toast with a liberal smathering of peanut butter I was introduced to the roomies. Chau, Wendy, Lindsay, and Amanda. Beautiful and virtuous women though they were, they always seemed to have “company”. Technically, I was still living at home so when Mom asked me who I was hanging out with it took me a minute to report</span><span style="font-family: "Juice ITC"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">. <span style="color: #215968; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #215968; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent5; mso-themecolor: accent5; mso-themeshade: 128;">“Where are you meeting all of these people?”</span></span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #10253f; font-family: "MV Boli"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #10253F; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: text2; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 128;">“At Brittany’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #632523; font-family: "Snap ITC"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #632523; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent2; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">“This sounds like an interesting house. . .”</span><span style="color: #632523; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #632523; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent2; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Matt mumbled in passing.</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #215968; font-family: "Juice ITC"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #215968; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent5; mso-themecolor: accent5; mso-themeshade: 128;">“You aren’t going there.”</span><span style="color: #215968; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #215968; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=50000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent5; mso-themecolor: accent5; mso-themeshade: 128;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mom said. </span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Matt didn’t, but I did, all the time.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFvnTc-xjP-QDzE2YTzU7tpC4l6rSltBz53_FUk1O2Czx0eqxbwVt8eMI1gKUoC8DccWxGCLAV_t0lMcwKrtLDlmvbn7De1V_HKqmD7VZQJ7dY_7WMNBYh0Y6LmySS_PEgEwGWP33A5PIw/s1600/pot+of+gold+and+gypsy.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/AVvXsEiFvnTc-xjP-QDzE2YTzU7tpC4l6rSltBz53_FUk1O2Czx0eqxbwVt8eMI1gKUoC8DccWxGCLAV_t0lMcwKrtLDlmvbn7De1V_HKqmD7VZQJ7dY_7WMNBYh0Y6LmySS_PEgEwGWP33A5PIw/s320/pot+of+gold+and+gypsy.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> We joked one day in the kitchen about what the crazy old neighbors must be thinking, what with the swinging front door. The joke continued after I left for my shift at the “Wing Wah” and by the time I got back that night it was official. “The whore House” was our home.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_R6MLdDV2SeY6wwDzBQiN5RnPl0yAE4T4q7QSpniwQQZf9guHIePL7o_pNYqr09H867qmH6Ul7xN1jR86Fj3L1A6wQKSz0vHLq9kytMtK8cZr2Ev6b4sUl-FR2Hyx9GgUwbMphAXSbhp/s1600/Halloween+at+Lyn%2526Mitch%2527s.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_R6MLdDV2SeY6wwDzBQiN5RnPl0yAE4T4q7QSpniwQQZf9guHIePL7o_pNYqr09H867qmH6Ul7xN1jR86Fj3L1A6wQKSz0vHLq9kytMtK8cZr2Ev6b4sUl-FR2Hyx9GgUwbMphAXSbhp/s400/Halloween+at+Lyn%2526Mitch%2527s.bmp" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ironic really, considering the way we all left that great house. Chau and Lindsay were married in the summer to their handsome princes, Tyler, Austin, and I left on our missions, Amanda got married sometime in between. The house adopted Lyndee and Ruth, not sure when, Bee was a lousy pen pal, Wendy left on her mission, then bam, bam, bam, Lyndee, Ruthie, and Bee scooped up some princes for themselves. Tyler followed me home and stuck around, King officially crowned, Austen reclaimed his princess (not the one in fake eyelashes).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeyN6t60zv_nHS-ow5sFlEabe-i8njsAoh5DjPMFocSLkfNFa7-Y0Fv5oPxzuoYJJAJ-GmhbLDC1W2fn9Te-64ePWdPNaMc_FiAS0UIysNldJEA3O-J6wBi7-QcHOtTOngMN1E8amZYw8N/s1600/BBQ+at+Bee%2526Ty%2527s.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeyN6t60zv_nHS-ow5sFlEabe-i8njsAoh5DjPMFocSLkfNFa7-Y0Fv5oPxzuoYJJAJ-GmhbLDC1W2fn9Te-64ePWdPNaMc_FiAS0UIysNldJEA3O-J6wBi7-QcHOtTOngMN1E8amZYw8N/s320/BBQ+at+Bee%2526Ty%2527s.bmp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> T-Roy and I grew up, but just a little, and discovered some dreams to chase. One by one we left the house, but it never left us.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Maiandra GD","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One of these days we’ll fold and one of us will buy that house. We’ll walk out the back door one afternoon to a mysterious BBQ (dejavu) and a text message will whip across the screens of my favorite non-relations in all the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Foods Hot,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">See you at the<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Narrow","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Whore House.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-73771618409448395762011-10-25T11:43:00.000-07:002011-10-25T11:43:26.158-07:00A Tart Treat<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><u><span style="font-family: "Minya Nouvelle"; font-size: 22pt;">Raspberry Tarts</span></u></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt;">Preheat oven to 450 degrees</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt;">Prepare pie crust. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt;">Roll crust into 2” balls and flatten into round discs. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt;">Shape discs into mini cupcake tin pressing discs into the shape of the tin as though they were tiny pies. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt;">Brush edges of crusts with egg wash and then sprinkle with sugar sprinkles for a golden brown color and some sparkle. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt;">Fill each cup with approximately 1 Tbs. of the Raspberry filling, be careful not to overfill.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt;">Bake at 450</span><span style="font-family: "Bella Donna"; font-size: 14pt;">°</span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt;"> for about 10 minutes or until edges are lightly golden brown. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt;">Allow tarts to cool completely</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt;">Remove from pan carefully and pipe or spoon on a dollop of raspberry cream topping.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Minya Nouvelle"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Raspberry Filling</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 40.5pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">2 c. partially crushed raspberries</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 40.5pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Granulated sugar to taste (I use about ¼ c. for every 2c. berries)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 22.5pt;"><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Mix and let macerate until they are juicy and delicious</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Minya Nouvelle"; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%;">Raspberry Cream Topping</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo4; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">1c. heavy whipping cream</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo4; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">4 oz. room temperature cream cheese</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo4; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">2 Tbs. raspberry filling</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Whip cream until it is nearly ready, add cream cheese and raspberry topping. Whip all together until smooth and creamy. (add powdered sugar to whipped cream to sweeten if desired.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><u><span style="font-family: "Minya Nouvelle"; font-size: 24pt; line-height: 115%;">Grandma Maud’s Pie Crust</span></u></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 40.5pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">2c. Flower</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 40.5pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">1c. shortening (Crisco is best)</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 40.5pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">1 egg</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 40.5pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Ice water</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 40.5pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Vinegar</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 40.5pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">1 pinch salt</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">In a large bowl cut shortening into flour until well mixed. In a separate small bowl beat one egg with a splash of white vinegar and a splash of ice cold water. Add egg mixture and a pinch of salt to the large bowl and cut in adding more flour if needed. Dough should not be sticky at all but combine easily into a ball. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Bake at 450</span><span style="font-family: "Bella Donna"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">°</span><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">To increase your yield, maintain the 2 to 1 flour: Crisco ratio and multiply egg mixture to achieve desired texture.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The measurements and techniques involved in Grandma Maud’s crust are not exact by any means. When my mom taught me how to make it she used just the words that Grandma Maud had used to explain it to her. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What’s a splash, mom?” I asked.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You know, just ‘splash’, turn the water on, let it get really cold, then run your bowl through the streaming water. A splash.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Boopee; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No joke, that’s how she taught me. That’s how Grandma taught her. I never knew my dad’s Grandma, but I bet she was really somethin’. </span></div>Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-16476527289054846232011-10-21T13:57:00.001-07:002011-10-21T13:57:17.479-07:00Desperado<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am a Desperado. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I was chillin with Linda this morning,(Linda Ronstadt) as I often do when seeking direction and an opportunity to sing super loud while I clean the house. And just like she always does, she hit me with the truth, square on the chin. Here’s what she said;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">“Now it seems to me some fine things have been laid upon your table, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But you only want the ones that you can’t get.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">You’re absolutely right Linda, but I still want them. What do you say to that?</span><o:p></o:p></div>Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-8985661506481904162011-10-10T10:45:00.000-07:002011-10-10T10:45:36.067-07:00Ain't Life Grand<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "MS Gothic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My friend lost his grandpa last week. He didn't wonder off, he passed away. Away from the mortal sight of his loved ones still on this earth. It has been several years since I have had the sight to see my own grandpas, I wanted to express, somehow, my empathy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'MS Gothic';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'MS Gothic';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I know where you're at buddy.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'MS Gothic';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">I know where our grandpas are too. Busy and peaceful, safe and waiting. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'MS Gothic';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">ps, my radd and fearlessly loyal puppy dog Butch is there too.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'MS Gothic';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">That might not make you feel better. Maybe later it will.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'MS Gothic';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'MS Gothic';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'MS Gothic';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "MS Gothic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "MS Gothic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I miss my grandpas every day. I miss their wisdom. I wish I had known then to ask them everything. I wish I had written down all of their stories. In times of discouragement I want to read their lives. I want to invent ‘Grandpa Google’, where all the answers come from the millions of wrinkles made moment by moment in the minds of those clever, brave, generous, resilient, tender men. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "MS Gothic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I feel the loss of their experience, especially now, as I step further and further every day into adulthood. I miss their hands. Huge, careful hands honed and infused with muscle memory and perfect timing. They were soft and generously folded with wrinkles where once had been hard callouses, tough skin, torn epidermis. They cradled my heart, wrapped all around my shoulders with long arms, still strong, and creaking joints. I remember laying my face in my grandpa’s large cool hand. His eyes had grown sad.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "MS Gothic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Love you Grandpa, love you both.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "MS Gothic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Thanks for the music, thanks for the laughs, for my parents who honor you, for the love you gave my Grandmas who miss you achingly. Thank you for a name I treasure, a place where I belong. Thank you for always looking at me like I was beautiful.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "MS Gothic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Wish you were here,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "MS Gothic"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Elizabeth<o:p></o:p></span></div>Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-87063599345673671762011-08-17T09:51:00.000-07:002011-08-17T09:51:05.306-07:00The One About Love and Stuff<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here it comes, the blog ya’ll predicted would eventually come. The blog who’s anticipation made you slightly uneasy, maybe even a little queasy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Mufferaw; font-size: 14pt;">“The One About Love and Stuff.”</span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Huxtable; font-size: 12pt;">Where to begin? I’ve been mulling this idea over in my mind for a while and I think that to get us all on the same page I’ll start with a story. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bella Donna"; font-size: 48pt;">O</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Bella Donna"; font-size: 24pt;">nce Upon a Time</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Edwardian Script ITC"; font-size: 20pt;">, </span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">there was a princess in a kingdom far far away.</span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Cambria", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> </span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well- loved and well cared for, the princess wanted for little. She was satisfied, happy, but she had one very persistent problem. She couldn’t sleep.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not a wink. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The princess tried everything! But nothing could be done, sleep would not come. Her father the King was desperate to find a way to provide his beloved daughter with relief. He searched far and wide. At his command the most educated scholars in the kingdom researched and fathomed endlessly for a solution. Valiant and cunning explorers, Knights, warriors, and loyal servants of the crown ventured into dark and unknown paths seeking the secret to the princesses sleep. All were unsuccessful.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The king appealed to his people with a proclamation, a plea; </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bella Donna"; font-size: 22pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">the man who can grant my dear daughter one full night of restful slumber will be given my daughter, the princess, in marriage. For one night of real sleep that man will receive all of her succeeding nights and days as well.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bella Donna"; font-size: 22pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soon men began to arrive at the palace with hopeful hearts. Some came with magical words, weaving blankets of drowsy peaceful poetry over the princess’s exhausted body as she lay in piles of manifested clouds infused with warm sunshine. </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bella Donna"; font-size: 22pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nothing.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Men with stringed and scrolled instruments strummed and plucked and serenaded with wide, long, mournful voices. Others with reeds and nimble fingers blew notes of drifting fantasy through puffed cheeks up into the night air above the princess’s bed.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They brought tears with their beauty, but no sleep. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Weeks passed and hope waned. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One night as the sun fell below the hills a young man arrived at the kitchen door of the castle. The cooks received him and cared for him, filthy and worn with dust covering his body from the furthest roads of the kingdom. A shepherd tending his flocks in the far hills, the young man had begun his journey as soon as news of the princess’s plight had reached him. Pushing away the hands of the servants offering supper and a bed for the night he said, “Please, just take her this pillow. She must be so tired. I know she’ll sleep, just take her this pillow.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You’ve come such a long way.” Said one of the princess’s ladies in waiting.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I hate to disappoint you, but we’ve tried pillows. Pillows from the feathers of a golden goose, pillows of sea-foam from the splashes of mermaid tails, pillows made from the floating seeds of dandelions blown with a wish. Your pillow of sheep’s wool will not bring my lady rest.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“My pillow will bring rest to your lady; it will bring her sweet dreams of love. In her sleep she will see the face of her true love and peace will fill her heart. She will sleep.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The maid blushed and took the pillow. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I will take it to her.” She said.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Princess received the pillow and the story of the young man who had journeyed far to deliver it. So tired, she placed the pillow of her last hope on her bed alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wrapping a blanket close around her she crawled into bed. Leaning back slowly she let her heavy head rest against the earthy fresh smelling pillow. She closed her eyes and breathed in a deep slow breath. Exhaling, her mind opened up into a beautiful dream. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A command from the king required silence from the entire castle and all waited with baited breath in quiet stillness as the princess. . . slept.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All through the night and into the next day they tiptoed on slippered feet about the castle, the only perceptible sound the even breathing of the slumbering lady. Another night passed in peace and with the sun the princess lifted her head from her pillow.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The shepherd, the dream walker, the hero, was summoned. The princess saw with her waking eyes the man of her dreams. As promised the two were married. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A small stone cottage was erected in the far hills of the kingdom with a bed and a blanket and a pillow. As the prince had tended his sheep with love he tenderly cared for his wife. She slept very well. </span></div><br />
That's How I feel about love. My life is wonderful, but I have trouble sleeping.Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-15325811237095315802011-08-11T09:23:00.000-07:002011-08-11T09:23:06.720-07:00The Nature of My Neurosis<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Welcome to August! Now that the summer is winding down mine has finally begun! My exciting plans; read as much of next semesters course work as possible before it begins! I know, that is a terrible plan. So, to off-set the epic lameness, a break to tell a story.</span><div> </div><div> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">To preface this story I must reveal a truth about myself, a neurosis that I have fostered for many years. If you have spent more than ten minutes with me you have probably seen me pull out my calendar. I keep it with me always, it remembers everything! As a writer I am always in need of a handy place to keep some notes, they all spill out onto the pages of this abused and beloved calendar. It contains the endless list of books I need to read, quotes collected, recipes, addresses, directions, notes from sunday school classes, literature classes, presidency meetings, sacrament meetings, Dr. Who.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> I record my goals, lists for the grocery store, where I went today, where I'll go tomorrow, the hours I worked, the miles I've driven, how many times I've been to Costa Vida this month. I write it all down in this record of Elizabeth. I save them when they are filled on the same shelf as my journals. What was I doing on January 21st of 2010, you can find it in last years calendar.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> I took Stinker to "the LaundryMutt," worked from 6:45 to close at the Hastings, and noted that a new episode of "The Mentalist" would be on that night. I worked 25 hours that week and turned in my Avon order by the following Monday. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Crazy right?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Maybe not. . . </span></div><div> </div><div> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My great Grandma on my Mamma's side was called Olive. I met her a handful of times before she passed away but I was pretty young, I don't remember much. Several months ago, maybe a year and more by now, Mom and I took a jaunt down to SLC with Grandma Lois to visit "the Aunties," my Grandma's sisters. Sitting in a room (walls lined with books, of course) with Olive's daughters, her granddaughter, and her memory, my Grandma passed me an old note book that had belonged to her Mother. It felt like buried treasure in my hands, it smelled like a thrift store. With worn edges and a surface polished smooth from the friction within the walls of a prepared lady's purse, I recognized what this note book must be.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Tenderly I spread open the scribble filled pages. There it was, proof positive that I am not the random assemblance of inappropriate outbursts and DNA that I once believed myself to be. I come from somewhere, there are others like me! Or, rather, I am like them, like Olive, my great grandma. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> In her calendar she had made a long list of all of the books she had read that year, how many times she had read them before, who had recommended them, what she would read next. She had taken notes from a stake conference meeting, written her shopping list, included notes about the women she was assigned to visit-teach. In a smaller notebook she had written a detailed account of a family road trip including miles driven each day, stops made, items purchased, and random comments from her husband about the general condition of the roads. Brilliant!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Though it was a small silly connection I felt tied to that wonderful woman in a deep and intimate way. All my life I have wondered about, pencil in hand, recording the scenes unfolding around me, never knowing why. It is so sweet to me to know that, at least in part, it was simply within me. To write, to relate, to tell a story, that desire was passed down to me through blood and tiny proteins breaking and recombining infinitely, but remaining in tact just enough to encode a message that would cause a single desire to persist over generations. I wonder if she also shared my callus on her third finger. . . </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div> </div>Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-2310493007198813892011-06-02T00:20:00.000-07:002011-06-02T21:12:53.455-07:00"Renember?" -AlexandriaIt has been forever since I have taken the time to tell you a story.<br />
Things have been busy, life has been fast, I have been making plans, working hard.<br />
I had a birthday!<br />
You know, it surprises me every year. Suddenly it's May and I am another year older. How does the time move so fast?!? But each year is a treasure to me. Another piece of the life I have been blessed to build here in this magical place I have grown to love. We added two shiny new members to our family last year. Claire and Scott Paul. Alexandria went to pre-school ( where I am sure she claimed the territory for her crown and country, to be named later, and subjugated all of her countrymen to her imposing but beautiful will.) We all lived through another year of school, work, and lawn mowing.<br />
Funny how sometimes we mark the passage of time by chores like cutting the grass or the release of the next Harry Potter book. "It was a few years back. . . just after we went to the midnight release for HP 6." "They've been out of town for a while now, we've cut the grass three or four times since they left."<br />
Anyway, I have had a fabulous year. I haven't grown any taller, but I have learned how to measure myself more truly. My contact prescription has changed, I suppose I asked for that one, English majors read tiny print. My pants size has changed, thank the heavens! And I'm still me.<br />
So here is a story about me.<br />
All my life I have been full of questions. I used to follow my Daddy around wherever he went, peppering him with endless inquiries about every move he made. If he stopped moving I would have a question about that too. After a few minutes of breathless pestering Daddy would send me away. He has always had a respect for quiet which time in the house doing dishes has taught me to appreciate. Mom said if I could be quiet he would let me help. This was the Mount Everest of my seven year old life. I wasn't sure if I could even breath if I wasn't producing some sort of sound, but I had to be out there with my dad! Early on a Saturday I got dressed in my most rugged looking jeans and my only T-shirt that didn't feature some sort of girly animal. I would not be sent away today. I puttered about desperately behind my Father. Breathing deeply and nodding swiftly when asked a question. My mind was racing but my lips were perfectly still.<br />
It was working! We had discovered the broken part on Mama's garden hose and now needed to visit the hardware store for a replacement. Yes, we would be going in the truck, just the two of us. If I played my cards right I might even get a hostess pie out of this!<br />
I got in the passenger side and slid across the woven seat covers to the middle. I buckled my seatbelt and looked proudly up at my Daddy.<br />
Best Day Ever!<br />
As we pulled away from the house my Daddy looked at me strangely.<br />
"You don't sit in the middle like this with a boy until you're eighteen, ok?"<br />
A boy? What a weird thing to say! Why would I go somewhere with a boy? None of the boys I know can even drive.<br />
<br />
Nine years later, a Junior in High School, a boy came to my Daddy's house. He walked me out to his Daddy's truck and opened the door. I slid naturally over to the middle seat. I buckled my seat belt with a stupid grin on my face and we started to drive away.<br />
"Stop!" I yelped, shocked at the turn my life had taken. Wasn't it just a few summers ago that I had considered this exact scenario preposterous? What had I become? Certainly not my Daddy's Dizzy Lizzy, but something entirely foreign. Something more shocking than when Cory kissed that other girl on the ski trip with Tepanga.<br />
I was a. . . a teenage girl.<br />
The shock wore off, for me and my date. I stayed in that middle seat. Whats more, that same night I let that boy kiss me. I had gone off the deep end. Like Jasmine, on a magic carpet ride, I had seen a whole new world. I walked back through my Daddy's door seconds shy of midnight.<br />
I would never be the same.<br />
The other day I slid across the seat of my Dad's truck to the middle. We shared a conversation with just the right amount of words. We paused thoughtfully and discussed important topics like the emerging bluegrass/ pop genre and how to properly fold a bandanna vs. a handkerchief.<br />
Guess I'm the same after all.<br />
<br />
Time is a funny thing. It passes even when we are asleep. Even during hide-and-seek someone is counting the time away.<br />
When I am old, when I am aching on a Saturday morning for my Daddy to come and take me away for a drive and a nut roll and coke, I will remember the time I spent with my Dad. I'll remember every piece of advice he gave me about building a wall to stand plum and adjusting the balance of your stereo speakers. I'll remember when he put his hands on my head and blessed my broken body. I'll remember how he loved me so well that even when I was only seven years old he was thinking about my future. He was watching for that boy who would show up in his daddy's truck and try to take me away.<br />
Time will take us from here to places we cannot imagine, just as it has before. We will change and move and grow. We will remember. I hope I always remember.<br />
<br />
Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-55575367070578198992011-04-04T21:19:00.000-07:002011-04-04T21:19:55.058-07:00Rainy Days Mondays Believe it or not, there are still things I am learning about life. I has been nearly 3 years since I left on my mission. Sometimes I feel like Herman Melville when he said that his life began at 25, when he returned to America after many adventures upon the sea. Some new way of understanding was imparted to me one afternoon in Virginia. It had pored all day long, it had been raining like that for days, weeks maybe, I don't have any dry memories of Marion, Virginia. We had no appointments, no one to teach, so we walked, all day long, house to house to house; and it rained and rained and rained. Near the evening, when the gray blues were turning to violet blues, we were marching through Hungry Mother State Park. Misty all over, hungry, wet through and cold, but still mumbling to each other every now and then about how beautiful everything was. Virginia is sneaky like that, it leaves you miserably in awe. Sister Nelson stopped suddenly, I walked right into her back. (Just ask her, I did this all the time! I was always looking out at something, forgetting my feet.)<br />
"Shhhhh!", she whispered. "Look!"<br />
Not fifteen feet in front of us were two tiny deer, looking right in our faces, not scared at all. I had never been so close to a wild animal before without a zoo fence in between us. I was transfixed. Everything in the world was dripping, steam was rising from their backs, their quick instinctual bodies still hot and ready to flex into motion should we pose a threat. We stood their forever, watching each other.<br />
We never stood anywhere, we were always moving, walking, running. Never enough time, always in a hurry. My companion was inhumanly prompt. In contrast to everything my two months in the mission had taught me about never never wasting a single moment, we stood there.<br />
No matter where I go I can hear the drip drip in my mind. I can smell the mossy moistness of the first real forest ground I had ever tread. I can see their short breaths bathe them in a cloud of thick warm haze. I can't feel my toes. (Some things never change.)<br />
Some things in this life are absolutely precious. Occasionally, in milliseconds, we are changed thoroughly. I had never wanted to be a missionary. I never wanted to live in a moldy smelly apartment with a stranger who wouldn't let me drive and always made me shower first in a cold tiny tub with a ceiling so low even I couldn't stand. But I had craved all my life the feelings that overwhelm me, even now, when I think back on the miracles of those thirteen months. Isn't it a perfect plan our Father in Heaven has made for us?<br />
A natural resilience to conformity has gotten me into some sketchy situations, including but not limited to: knocking my fifth grade mega crush's tooth out in a game of basketball, wearing teal boots (as a missionary) to hear Elder Bednar speak about exact obedience, being stuck on the second story roof of my apartment while my companion was inside with the Sheriff, and teaching a Sunday school lesson to the priesthood in my singles ward about what "women expect of them". You would think that by now I had learned my lesson, not so.<br />
I believe that individuality, in all of us, is so beautiful. It is what makes us, children of God, as unique as the stars. It is what necessitates the personal and custom plans/ paths we all take back home. The lessons that are tailored exactly to each journey, each soul.<br />
So, if the words of He Man thrill you like the words of Capitan Moroni, do not be ashamed! Take your sward in you hand. Shake it at the evil of the world. Tell them just exactly who "has the power". My Heavenly Father loves me. He loves you. He knows you. This life is a joyous time for you to prepare to meet him again, to show him the talents you Did Not bury, but multiplied.<br />
Like a little sparrow he tenderly lifts you in his hands to the sky and whispers, "Fly."<br />
Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-3614715905381944302011-03-11T07:32:00.000-08:002011-03-11T20:16:22.644-08:00The Pink Lady It is the week before spring break, suddenly much like the week before finals. So, in keeping with tradition, I have gotten sick. Feeling overwhelmed and lousy after class and the doctor and on my way to work I realized that I was also famished! "Food must quickly be obtained with as little effort as possible!", I thought to myself. "But what choices do I have between school and work?"<br />
7 11, two of them.<br />
"There has to be another way!!"<br />
Wilst re-formulating my plan I asked myself, "What do I really want?", the answer. . . butter cream frosting. "Where can one procure such a treat at 1:00 pm between Weber State and down town Ogden?" A singe option presented it's self, <u><i>The Vintage Cupcake</i></u> on 24th and Jefferson.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvoktfYzvp1O9B9QLupCIq7UMpqTi6Ajx9L4CNmdaunrKI4bqM0ks6E9cBCfvMjEHxszxIc1gEGGPbaKnYG4dbciNwS9wN86KLKjJxnGB5UISzkOSHNEZ0BW4KYL1wdVEp0-wjWD9kIhcd/s1600/cupcake2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvoktfYzvp1O9B9QLupCIq7UMpqTi6Ajx9L4CNmdaunrKI4bqM0ks6E9cBCfvMjEHxszxIc1gEGGPbaKnYG4dbciNwS9wN86KLKjJxnGB5UISzkOSHNEZ0BW4KYL1wdVEp0-wjWD9kIhcd/s1600/cupcake2.png" /></a></div><br />
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Thither I went. Behind the glass case I saw, among other fantastical treats, at least four inches of swirly, piped, hot pink, butter cream conveniently attached to another four inches of chocolate cake: <u><i>The Pink Lady</i></u>. It was fate.<br />
I was also thirsty by this point. I inquired of the proprietor whither I might find a chilled beverage to quench said thirst. "The old fridge behind you", he said. Truer words were never spoken, for there I found a chilly coke-a-cola in a frosty glass bottle. Providence had smiled upon my miserable day and led me to a miracle.<br />
It's a small little shop, filled with funky furniture and giant cupcakes, it is my saving grace through this stamina sucking week. I must admit that only two days later I returned to the scene and purchased another cupcake. The calories I am sure are beyond our current recognition of numbers, but smiling with palest pink tinted teeth at each client I was obliged to greet that evening, the physical repercussions were the furthest thing from my mind.<br />
I might also add, by way of imparting information, that <u><i>The Vintage Cupcake</i></u> is currently producing girl scout themed cupcakes, yesterday was the Samoa, I know! Shut up! Right? But it's true.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1iqBtALVwVWFSLMkzHzGuv4pKXzSbe9W1QCLqXo4rZ41EF3SMnF7XFfewGHHbsQercol4YLOALUWihqG9Q99c5Z5ofojQy0bALh1VHquBbbVwBz8zdhi0xcKMlYCPwKDxTQFQNMwQbVpX/s1600/cupcake.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1iqBtALVwVWFSLMkzHzGuv4pKXzSbe9W1QCLqXo4rZ41EF3SMnF7XFfewGHHbsQercol4YLOALUWihqG9Q99c5Z5ofojQy0bALh1VHquBbbVwBz8zdhi0xcKMlYCPwKDxTQFQNMwQbVpX/s1600/cupcake.png" /></a></div>Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-11998383043031573432011-02-22T21:54:00.001-08:002011-02-22T22:27:12.387-08:00No Poetry in Tax Season There is nothing poetic about Tax Season. Nothing poetic about getting up early and staying up late to rage through my homework so that I can contribute to the massive haul in one giant breath that is Tax Season. It's a rush of numbers and names, file folders, paper cuts. Staple, copy, file, scan, sign, file, send, stamp, label, file, type, check, pass, fold, file. I feel like a lacy hankie in a business suit tornado. It's strange to imagine how I ever ended up in this world of math, money, and "ice cream" breaks, but here I am, a lot, and I like it. <br />
It's an awkward testament to the truth that life is always surprising you. I make the lame and disapointing assumption that I have some control over the direction of my life and then suddenly reality hits me. Skirting around an accounting office with files stacked up to my nose in my fluffy boots with a bow in my hair. What do you know? Another surprise. But if life limits it's surprises to crazy part time jobs and bad hair dye jobs, I think I can bend through them gracefully. All in all, even on my grumpiest day, I got it pretty good. <br />
may my heart always be open to little birds<br />
who are the secrets of living<br />
whatever they sing is better than to know<br />
and if men should not hear them, men are old<br />
may my heart stroll about hungry and fearless and thirsty and supple<br />
and even if it is sunday may I be wrong<br />
for when men are right they are not young<br />
and may myself do nothing usefully<br />
and love yourself so more than truly<br />
there has never been a fool who could fail<br />
pulling the sky over him with one smile<br />
e.e. cummingsMiss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-6896343504768173792011-02-08T19:59:00.000-08:002011-02-08T20:02:07.865-08:00Blame it All on My Roots<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> My dear parents, you may not know, were both born on farms. Farms. The outside kind, with animals and fields and things. If you know me, you know that the ability to be a "farmer" is not genetic. In fact the opposite genes seem to have won the primordial battle. In the rush to become my DNA was scattered and re-assembled in a way contrary to my ancestors. Contrary to outside in general if you get right down to it. For that reason and many others (including the rebellion inspired by rock and roll) our family has always been a city dwelling circus. My Momma is, however resilient, though the girl was out of the country, the country was not to far removed from the girl. In the car, on Saturday mornings, Country music was pulsing from the speakers. It seems to me now that it was some form of hypnosis. Why? I'll tell you. Last night, learning to dance a bit of country-swing, it all came flooding back. Mid twirl, halfway to a dip at near warp speed, my lips parted and out came a phrase I have not repeated in at least twelve years, " I"m a full grown queen bee lookin" for honey, ah ooo ooo, oh play somethin' country!"</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Thank goodness I was spinning too fast for my partner to notice what had happened. (Or just to fast for me to catch him noticing.) My face was red enough from the little girl giggles inspired from said partner. The last thing I needed was something new to be embarrassed about.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I found solace in another tune from my past. "Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots, and ruined your black tie affair." Make no mistake ya'll, high speed chase though it was, I'm not such a bad dancer.</span></div>Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-22977617585886385632011-02-06T19:14:00.000-08:002011-02-06T19:14:41.375-08:00There's a Battle Cat in My Bed For Christmas in 2010 our family received a most excellent present. We were all together. We don't have that chance too often these days, so we made the most of it. Alexandria, my oldest and most opinionated niece stayed here at Grammy's house and took turns sleeping in which ever bed she liked. Two days after they had all gone home to the sub Arctic tundra known as "Iowa" I kicked something hard at the bottom of my bed. After further investigation I discovered that it was a Battle Cat. That's right, He-man's loyal giant cat. Green with yellow stripes and a snazzy reddish brown saddle. Al had left the poor little guy behind and he has sought refuge under my covers. Now it's February, frosty cold, and no Al. No Scotty to snuggle, no Becky to eat chocolate with, no Danny to poke me during the prayer at dinner. Just me, the Battle Cat, and Norton (my constant companion and anthologies of various literature). So the other night, getting ready for bed, BC (Battle Cat) and I were chatting. I asked him if he knew of any plans He-man had made for Valentine's Day. Apparently it is an unknown holiday in Eternia, but BC promised me he could work something out. I'm hopeful. So, with the assurance that my Valentine's will be a happy one,(bordering on epic really). I now feel the extra obligation to wish ya'll one as well! Have a happy Valentine's Day! Remember the blessing it is to have someone you love near you when the winters of life get absurdly cold and the weather man's predictions let you down again. Love ya! LizzMiss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8870350440725983145.post-13490209409376159542010-12-05T19:45:00.000-08:002010-12-05T19:45:52.026-08:00Telling a story I suppose I am not known as a writer or a poet, but I have been known to tell a story or two. Not a lie, a lady never tells a lie, but a tale, an anicdote, a yarn. I have such a store of those, I thought I'd put them down somewhere. . . here in fact.Miss Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02887409563090021559noreply@blogger.com0