tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15101770346949190262024-03-12T20:01:47.661-04:00Just For MeThe ramblings and daydreams of a budding writer.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-66295242411016730412013-01-11T22:27:00.001-05:002013-01-11T22:27:18.626-05:00INTJ PersonalityMost of the time I give no thought to what kind of person I am. I'm sure most people are the same, but when I'm thrown into a tailspin of emotions, the balm I desperately seek lies in my personality type.<br />
<br />
I know who I am, and who I'm not. I'm an INTJ. I'll not be going into a lengthy description here, as I'm sure it would either bore you or distract you. That being said, when I'm in an emotional tsunami, and yes, that is what it mostly feels like, I remember who and what I really am, and it gives me comfort.<br />
<br />
I don't deal well with emotions, especially my own. Most of the time, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel, and what I do feel makes me confused. The problem is that my feelings are hard-wired to my brain, so if my boyfriend and I are having a fight, for instance, I'm not going to lash out and yell and be emotional. I'm going to get very quiet and retreat, and in my head I'm going to figure out what the hell is going on, make corrections, and then move on. <br />
<br />
And when a relationship is no longer working, when there is no longer any benefit it, I walk away. Which is what I've done recently. And I've been feeling guilty for not feeling upset about it. I feel like I should feel more, but I'm just confused and upset that I have all these emotions running around in my head.<br />
<br />
And I think - constantly! I go over each and every aspect of what went right and what went wrong, And I get mad at myself that I think about him, because I don't want to think about him, but I know it's just how my brain operates. And once I've processed all of my emotions, and I've thought about every last little detail, it'll finally be over and done with, and my life will once more settle down into an easy pattern. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-17300315216428641402011-12-31T13:58:00.001-05:002013-01-12T10:09:03.881-05:00SometimesSometimes it feels like I've known you forever, and sometimes you're a stranger to me.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I know I love you, and sometimes it feels like I'm imagining these feelings or making more of them than what they truly are.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I believe you, and sometimes it feels like you're just telling me what you think I want to hear, or worse, what you're only feeling at the moment and they are only fleeting.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it feels like I'm a late night friend whom you call when you're drunk and lonely, that I'm not a part of your real, every day life.<br />
<br />
I've no context, no box into which you easily fit. And I need you, want you, to fit somewhere in my life. I introduced you to the most important thing in my life - my son. I wouldn't do that if I didn't trust you, didn't believe that you were a good influence on him. I did it for my son's sake. He needs a good role model, someone to whom he can look up and aspire to be. But I'm not always sure you should be that person. After all, what do I truly know about you?<br />
<br />
I know you're a good, kind-hearted person. I know you've a lot of love to give, lots of advice to bestow. I know you wouldn't steer him wrong or confuse him with misguided thoughts or ideas. I know you've his best interest at heart. And yet... Yet I don't know if it was a good idea. You only seem available when it's convenient for you. But how can I say that with any amount of certainty?<br />
<br />
I don't know your life. I don't know what you do during those hours and days when we don't talk. <br />
<br />
I'm happy because of you, and yet this happiness unsettles me. I'm not one who can just go with the flow. I think. I plan. I imagine. I plan some more. I think of what could be, what should be, and what probably will be. These things are not the same.<br />
<br />
What could be is us, together. I feel like we could create a good life. What should be is you finding someone who can give you what you want and need. But what probably will be is us, alone. Not exactly strangers, but not really connected, either. <br />
<br />
I imagine us meeting and what we would say to each other. Would we hug? Would you place your hand gently on my face and say, "You're here, and you're real; that is enough for me?" But that is all fantasy, all speculation. More than likely you will look me over and smile, but I would see in your eyes your unspoken thoughts. <i>You're not who I was expecting, and I don't know how to combine the person in front of me with the voice on the phone.</i><br />
<br />
Perhaps we're better off in this limbo, this combination of imagined reality and perfect fantasy. Not really knowing. We let ourselves imagine the worst then tell ourselves they can't be as bad as we've imagined the other to be.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-1551503463863822132011-09-11T11:42:00.001-04:002011-09-11T11:42:17.269-04:00Moving Tribute to 9/11Beautiful memorial to 9/11 and perfect description of Americans and all the world on that horrible day in history.<br />
<br />
The Binch<br />
(By Rob Suggs)<br />
<br />
Every U down in Uville liked the U.S. a lot, <br />
But the Binch, who lived Far East of U-ville, did not. <br />
The Binch hated U.S! The whole U.S. way! <br />
Now don't ask me why, for nobody can say, <br />
It could be his turban was tied on too tight. <br />
Or the sun from the desert had beaten too bright <br />
But I think that the most likely reason of all <br />
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.<br />
<br />
But, Whatever the reason, his heart or his turban, <br />
He stood facing U-ville, the part that was urban. <br />
"They're doing their business," he snarled from his perch. <br />
"They're raising their families! They're going to church! <br />
They're leading the world, and their empire is thriving, <br />
I MUST keep the S's and U's from surviving!"<br />
<br />
Tomorrow, he knew, all the U's and the S's, <br />
Would put on their pants and their shirts and their dresses, <br />
They'd go to their offices, playgrounds and schools, <br />
And abide by their U and S values and rules. <br />
And then they'd do something he liked least of all, <br />
Every U down in U-ville, the tall and the small, <br />
Would stand all united, each U and each S, <br />
And they'd sing U-ville's anthem, "God bless us! God bless!" <br />
All around their Twin Towers of Uville, they'd stand, and their voices would drown every sound in the land.<br />
<br />
"I must stop that singing," Binch said with a smirk, <br />
And he had an idea -- an idea that might work! <br />
The Binch stole some U airplanes in U morning hours, <br />
And crashed them right into the Uville Twin Towers. <br />
"They'll wake to disaster!" he snickered, so sour, <br />
"And how can they sing when they can't find a tower?"<br />
<br />
The Binch cocked his ear as they woke from their sleeping, <br />
All set to enjoy their U-wailing and weeping, <br />
Instead he heard something that started quite low, <br />
And it built up quite slow, but it started to grow-- <br />
And the Binch heard the most unpredictable thing... <br />
And he couldn't believe it--they started to sing!<br />
<br />
He stared down at U-ville, not trusting his eyes, <br />
What he saw was a shocking, disgusting surprise! <br />
Every U down in U-ville, the tall and the small, <br />
Was singing! Without any towers at all!<br />
<br />
He HADN'T stopped U-Ville from singing! It sung! <br />
For down deep in the hearts of the old and the young <br />
Those Twin Towers were standing, called Hope and called Pride, <br />
And you can't smash the towers we hold deep inside.<br />
<br />
So we circle the sites where our heroes did fall, <br />
With a hand in each hand of the tall and the small, <br />
And we mourn for our losses while knowing we'll cope, <br />
For we still have inside that U-Pride and U-Hope.<br />
<br />
For America means a bit more than tall towers, <br />
It means more than wealth or political powers, <br />
It's more than our enemies ever could guess, <br />
So may God bless America! Bless us! God bless!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-13859465555644875822011-04-21T00:00:00.000-04:002011-04-20T23:56:08.478-04:00GriefMy dad is dying.<br />
<br />
It hurts so much to see those words written down, but it doesn't make them any less true.<br />
<br />
I've been lying to myself for a while now. With all the experience I've had in the nursing field, I'd somehow managed to convince myself that because I've seen others much worse hang on for much longer, that my dad would be one of those people. Now I know that isn't going to be the case.<br />
<br />
He's dying.<br />
<br />
Maybe not this week. Please God, not before Easter.<br />
<br />
His heart is growing weaker. He has congestive heart failure, among other things. Right now, he's in the hospital. He's also diabetic, and his blood sugars have been very high lately. He's also been running a low-grade fever off and on for over a week. His doctor is attributing the fever to an infection that is masked by his lung cancer. I have finally admitted to myself that it is now time for hospice, if he gets out of the hospital. If there is nothing more they can do for him there, he should come home.<br />
<br />
I can't bear the thought of losing my dad. Of my son losing his dziadzi. Of my mom without him. I can't stomach the thought of a funeral.<br />
<br />
I've dealt with a lot in my life, but nothing has come close to this. My dad is my rock, the one I'm most like. The one who just gets me. I detest the idea of having to be the strong one, the one to hold everyone else's hand and help them through this, when the one person who has always held MY hand is the one to whom I'll be saying goodbye.<br />
<br />
I can't imagine a world without him. I don't want a world without him. And yet, that time is drawing near. I feel it deep inside. I'm sitting in my kitchen, and it all seems so foreign to me. My life feels foreign to me at this moment. I don't like it. I want to run to my dad, to hold him, to have him hold me. To tell him I love him again. To hear him tell me he loves me. I need his smile and his gruff words. And it kills me inside to see the defeat in his eyes, when I've always seen love and acceptance.<br />
<br />
I don't want to see him sick and suffering. But I need him, and I'm just not ready to say goodbye.<br />
<br />
Who will hold my hand when he is gone?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-67739010524972743022011-04-20T23:54:00.000-04:002011-04-20T23:54:51.953-04:00Hurt and ConfusionI fear I may have a stalker, and I waffle between confusion, hurt and a weird combination of happiness and acceptance.<br />
<br />
I may be totally wrong, and I'm equally hoping and I'm wrong and right. I fell in love last year. This man was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my with, grow old with, fight and make up with. Emotionally, though, he was a wreck. I think he still visits my blog and Twitter page, although I have no way of knowing for sure. If it's him, he's switched internet providers. But the visitor in question acts the same way the ex-boyfriend did when he wanted me to know he was hopping on my pages. He exits my blog to my Twitter page. He clicks on responses I make to other people. There's only one person who's ever done that, and that is Sam.<br />
<br />
I can't say I miss him, I've realized that he was not the man I need in my life. But yet, a part of me still has a hard time letting go of those dreams I built around him. He's moved on with his life, having gotten married, even. That hasn't stopped him from stalking me, if it is truly him. My gut says it is, and I've learned the hard way to trust my instincts.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it boils down to me wanting him to realize the mistake he made by fucking with my heart and causing me to walk away. I want him to regret his mistakes. I don't want him back in my life, however. Because he just isn't right for me. I do miss him, though. I miss having a man in my life. Someone to hold me. Someone who listened. Someone who was mine. He was good like that. He made me feel like a woman, instead of feeling like the roles I take on in other people's lives - mother, sister, daughter. I was just me, with him. And that was important to me. I liked being a girlfriend. A lover. A confidant.<br />
<br />
All that isn't enough, though. He was untrustworthy, and he hurt me. He was too wrapped up in himself to think about me. And I think, deep down, that he resented my son.<br />
<br />
I don't mind if he reads Twitter or my blogs. It is almost comforting, knowing he is still on the fringes. That he hasn't forgotten about me. This is why I don't lock my Twitter account or block the ISP address. More fool me, I suppose.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-55394384973261597832011-01-04T17:21:00.000-05:002011-01-04T17:21:52.018-05:00A New Year, a New StartHello and Happy New Year!<br />
<br />
So much has been happened the second half of last year, and it's been ages and ages since I've updated anything here, that I think now would be a good time to update.<br />
<br />
My family:<br />
<br />
As most know, my dad has health issues. I'm glad to report that, while his health isn't great, he's holding steady. We had a major scare over Thanksgiving; we thought we were going to lose him. He's recovering and slowly getting stronger, thank God. I wrote him a letter this year for Christmas, telling him that he is my hero and the person I look up to most. He's taught me two important lessons: a.) family is everything, and b.) accept that life that God has given you, then strive and work hard to make it better. It is hard to not want more, to wish to have things differently. It is sometimes very, very hard to accept "your lot in life," so to speak. That doesn't mean it can't be changed, but it starts with accepting where you are.<br />
<br />
My son is getting so big! He now has braces. And a dad. After a few rocky months, he is connecting with his dad and sister, and I couldn't be happier. Personally, that chapter of my life is closed; but I'm encouraging them to spend time together and get to know each other. The three of them love guns. In fact, Christmas weekend they were cleaning guns together. The family that shoots together.... yeah, whatever. I like guns, but I won't own one, and I certainly won't have one in my house. But it's good that they can bond over the History Channel and History Channel and Outdoor Life. His dad bought him hunting knives and a pocket knife for Christmas. I cringed, but they thought it was cool. Who am I to argue? I'm only the clueless mom right now. That's okay, I'll suffer through. My boy and his dad are learning they belong to each other, and that's a pretty damn cool thing. <br />
<br />
And speaking of sex...<br />
<br />
I've recently ended a relationship with a man I've dubbed, "an emotional wrecking-ball." I like to think I'm pretty intuitive when it comes to others, but I was totally blindsided this time. I believed every lie and line he handed me and let him continue with his bad behavior until I finally reached my breaking point. Do I believe he cheated on me? Yep, I do. Am I much better off without him? Oh, hell yes. I keep waiting to miss him and feel bad about the break-up, but I'm not going to hold my breath. I'm feeling pretty damn good these days.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-21714033549130834392010-10-05T17:15:00.001-04:002010-10-05T17:19:02.218-04:00So Tell Me Something About Yourself...Isn't that the most hated request known? What the hell do you want to know? I like chocolate cake. I'm a lefty. I'd rather go to bed at sunrise than wake up at sunrise. <br />
<br />
Tell me something... Don't you wish, when you meet someone new, that you could just forgo that awkward "getting to know you" stage and just hand them a manual that says, "All You Need to Know About Me." <br />
<br />
Yeah. I wish that all the fucking time. I took the Myers-Briggs personality test a few years ago. I retake it every once in a while, and it hasn't changed. The results? INTJ. Here is what you need to know. (And I'm going to do a lot of cut and paste, here.)<br />
<br />
INTJs apply the criterion "Does it work?" This produces an unusual independence of mind, freeing the INTJ from the constraints of authority, convention, or sentiment for its own sake ... INTJs are known as the "Systems Builders" of the types, perhaps in part because they possess the unusual trait combination of imagination and reliability. Personal relationships, particularly romantic ones, can be the INTJ's Achilles heel. This happens in part because many INTJs do not readily grasp the social rituals. Perhaps the most fundamental problem, however, is that INTJs really want people to <b>make sense</b>.<br />
<br />
INTJs are analytical. They are most comfortable working alone and tend to be less sociable than other types. Nevertheless, they are prepared to lead if no one else seems up to the task, or if they see a major weakness in the current leadership. They tend to be pragmatic, logical, and creative. They have a <b>low tolerance for spin or rampant emotionalism</b>. They are not generally susceptible to catchphrases and do not recognize authority based on tradition, rank, or title.<br />
<br />
INTJs are strong individualists who seek new angles or novel ways of looking at things. They enjoy coming to new understandings. They tend to be insightful and mentally quick; however, this mental quickness may not always be outwardly apparent to others since <b>they keep a great deal to themselves</b>. They are very determined people who <b>trust their vision of the possibilities, regardless of what others think. They may even be considered the <i>most independent</i> of all of the sixteen personality types.</b> INTJs are at their best in quietly and firmly developing their ideas, theories, and principles.<br />
<br />
Hallmarks of the INTJ include <b>independence of thought and a desire for efficiency.</b> They work best when given autonomy and creative freedom. They harbor an innate desire to express themselves by conceptualizing their own intellectual designs. They have a talent for analyzing and formulating complex theories. INTJs are generally well-suited for occupations within academia, research, consulting, management, science, engineering, and law. They are often acutely aware of their own knowledge and abilities—as well as their limitations and what they don't know. INTJs thus develop a strong confidence in their ability and talents, making them natural leaders.<br />
<br />
In forming relationships, INTJs tend to seek out others with similar character traits and ideologies. Agreement on theoretical concepts is an important aspect of their relationships. By nature INTJs can be demanding in their expectations, and approach relationships in a rational manner. As a result, INTJs may not always respond to a spontaneous infatuation but wait for a mate who better fits their set criteria. They tend to be stable, reliable, and dedicated. <b>Harmony in relationships and home life tends to be extremely important to them.</b> They generally withhold strong emotion and do not like to waste time with what they consider irrational social rituals. This may cause non-INTJs to perceive them as distant and reserved; nevertheless, INTJs are usually very loyal partners who are prepared to commit substantial energy and time into a relationship to make it work.<br />
<br />
As mates, INTJs want harmony and order in the home and in relationships. <b>The most independent of all types, INTJs trust their intuition when choosing friends and mates—even in spite of contradictory evidence or pressure from others.</b> The emotions of an INTJ are hard to read, and neither male nor female INTJs are apt to express emotional reactions. At times, INTJs seem cold, reserved, and unresponsive, while in fact they are almost <b>hypersensitive to signals of rejection from those they care for.</b> <br />
<br />
There you go. Me, in a nutshell.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-27464705259171224822010-09-28T17:22:00.000-04:002010-09-28T17:22:59.497-04:00It's Been AGES!Since I've posted here!<br />
<br />
And boy, oh boy, has lots happened. Most of you follow me on Twitter, so you know all about it. But here's the new stuff.<br />
<br />
I'll be moving in the coming months, hopefully before Christmas, but I'm not putting anything in writing. My parents bought us a house, ostensibly giving us our inheritance and when they are around to see us enjoy it. It needs work, and said work is being done, but I've other things going on in my life to devote the time that's needed to make the repairs go faster.<br />
<br />
My dad is not 100% free of cancer, yet. YET. There is a nickel-sized shadow on his lung, and his doctor is not completely sure of what it is. There have been tests done, and the doctor is going to wait to actually SEE the tests, not just the written results. But the bottom line is, Dad is not completely done with treatments, yet. And his heart isn't as good as it was. He's have issues with fluid build up, and now, on top of everything else, he has gout. Caused by, presumably, the meds he's on. Oh joy. <br />
<br />
My personal life has taken some hits, lately. Everyone who knows me knows I like answers to things, and recently, I don't seem to have any for what has been happening. On the bright side, I've many wonderful, supportive friends, an amazing kid, and a family that knows to let me lick my wounds in peace. I'm not okay, yet, but I'm working on it. <br />
<br />
I'm writing again. I've no time frame for when anything will be posted. But all I have to say is, God Bless our soldiers! They've been hitting up my other blog like crazy, and my numbers are going through the roof! They keep me happy, so I'm going to do my best to keep them happy. <br />
<br />
Love to all. Talk again soon.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-26362402364078076062010-06-13T11:30:00.000-04:002010-06-13T11:30:26.622-04:00Quotes and Life LessonsFor the most part, I like quotes. I like browsing and reading and finding one or two that encapsulates what I think or feel or even how I behave. They remind me of who I aspire to be and where I've come from and my past mistakes and triumphs. <br />
<br />
My Aunt, when I was sixteen, handed me a book entitled, "You Are Not The Target" by Laura Archera Huxley. Not exactly fun reading for a teen-aged girl, but then, I've never been the typical anything. What I basically got out of it were these two bits of information:<br />
<br />
The only thing in life I can control is myself. <br />
<br />
If I am not the cause of someone's bad mood, I'm not going to take responsibility for it. <br />
<br />
The two statements are not direct quotes, at least I don't think they are. They've been in my head and life for so long that I feel like they are more my words than belonging to someone else. <br />
<br />
But I do live by these two quotes. I have OCD tendencies when it comes to control, about what it is that I DO have control over. If I hear of something new, for instance, I need to know more about it. Wiki or the dictionary are my first two stops. Personal knowledge is something I can control. If I can't remember a fact or a name or a song, I'll hunt it down until I have it. A friend commented, upon leaving the house without his phone, that he would have felt more comfortable if he'd left his dick at home. I feel that level of uncomfortableness if I'm unable to look something up. That probably qualifies as a OCD tendency.<br />
<br />
The second is a bit harder to put into practice; there are a couple people in my life who know just what buttons to push to send me over the edge, but for the most part, I tend to not react when someone is going off the deep end. I've learned to roll things off my shoulders instead of taking an insult or a snide remark personally. Who knows what day that other person is having? I like giving people the benefit of the doubt and figure they are just having a bad day. Some people are just complainers. Some people lash out when they are in pain because they don't know what else to do. I get that and tend to look for reasons for the behavior, rather than the behavior itself. I learn more about others and myself and am healthier emotionally because of it. <br />
<br />
Not to say I'm not impulsive at times, I am. Not to say I don't react instead of thinking then acting, I do. I'm not perfect, but this is my life; I only get one, and I like to be happy. <br />
<br />
And if you know anything at all about people with an INTJ personality, this makes perfect sense to you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-79954809857875593742010-05-24T14:12:00.001-04:002010-10-08T07:38:51.536-04:00One WeekWhat a difference one week makes.<br />
<br />
Last Monday, I found Ian's dad on Facebook. There he was, plain as day. A former co-worker had friended me there, and after thinking it over for a couple of days (and one message from her that said, "Hey, remember me...") I friended her. There he was in her Friends list, in plain sight.<br />
<br />
I debated - Do I? Don't I? Should I? I was praying for civility but expecting a brush off when I clicked the send button on the short message I composed. The message consisted of... "Hi. It's been a while since we've talked. (Read ten years.) I'd really appreciate it if we could talk soon." That was it. The message.<br />
<br />
I got my boy ready for his baseball game, and we didn't get home until close to 8:30 that night. To find five messages from his dad, asking me to contact me. Here is my cell number. Here is my home number.<br />
<br />
While I was reading his messages, he opened up a chat in Facebook and said hello. I was literally shaking in my chair. We talked. I cried. Ian was in the living room watching television and I was in the kitchen speaking to his dad. He asked me to call him after I put Ian to bed, and I said I would. We talked for three hours.<br />
<br />
On Tuesday, I spoke with Chris during the day. He'd talked to his daughter about Ian, and they both wanted to speak with Ian on the phone. They called that night. Ian is over the moon. He's really, really handling this well, but I think he's a bit shell-shocked, to be honest. I spoke with Chris, then handed the phone to Ian. While he was talking to his dad, Chris' daughter Kylie found me on FB and friended me then started chatting with me, asking if Ian had a FB page, and would I make him one so they could talk. Ian asked to speak to his sister, so Chris and I started chatting on FB. Later, before bed, I was speaking again to Chris on the phone and Ian brought my laptop into my room, where he was chatting with his sister. It was one of the most surreal moments in my life.<br />
<br />
On Wednesday, Chris and Kylie showed up at Ian's baseball game. Chris and I had planned on going out to dinner on Friday, so we could see each other and I could emotionally prepare myself for Chris and Ian meeting. But Kylie was to be with her mom this weekend, and she didn't want her dad to meet her brother before she got the chance to. Again, I shook. I had to work the concession stand that night, and it was a darn good thing - I needed the distraction. They came back to the house after the game, and Ian and Kylie were as thick as thieves. For our part, it felt like those ten years disappeared, like we were never apart. I don't know how that happened, but it just did.<br />
<br />
On Thursday there was another phone call. On Friday there was dinner and drinks for Chris and I. We talked. We connected. We talked some more. He came back to the house and we watched a movie with Ian and my sister. Ian asked his dad to sleep over, and he agreed. (He and I had already agreed.) Chris helped me put Ian to bed. In the morning, they played Wii. That night, Chris came to dinner. He brought new smoke alarms for the house, ingredients for a sausage dip for my sister to try, and a WWII book and Playstation 2 game for Ian.<br />
<br />
On Sunday, Chris called me at 9:30 in the morning, asking if I would bring Ian over for the day. I didn't pick him up until almost 8:00 that night.<br />
<br />
In one week, Ian went from never seeing his dad to having one, to meeting and hanging out with a sister he never knew about (I'd told him, but he didn't remember), to making camping plans and being given a new bike (Chris bought Ian a new bike because all the kids on his street were riding theirs and Ian didn't have one) and the hint that he might be getting a gun for Christmas.<br />
<br />
In one week, I went from being a single mom raising a child on her own, worrying and wondering and hoping and dreading the day Ian would meet his dad, to being amazed at learning all the mannerisms my son has that come from his dad, knowing he looks even more like his sister than I thought possible, to knowing that I'm no longer his only parent. To realizing all the forms that now have to be filled out with Chris' information for the next school year...<br />
<br />
One fucking week has changed my life forever.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-53862028929495507722010-05-09T20:55:00.001-04:002010-05-09T21:22:40.157-04:00Too Good To Be True... Or Is It?I took my son to my parents today for a visit with my mom for Mother's Day. While she was opening her cards, she reached out, swatted my dad on the arm and said, "Tell her the good news."<br />
<br />
Late last year my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. It was a small lesion on the perimeter of his upper, left lobe that grew before treatment could begin. He was initially told he wasn't a candidate for surgery, but a different doctor told him he was. The day before he was to be operated on, he was told the surgery was canceled; his other medical conditions made surgery too risky. An entire month had been wasted on tests and x-rays only to have the same conclusion drawn. A month when he could have been receiving treatment but was instead becoming more and more stressed out. <br />
<br />
In the end, the month wasn't entirely wasted; we learned of another condition that my father had that we had to worry about. Luckily, it's a treatable condition.<br />
<br />
So, my mom swatted my dad, and my dad turned to me, smiled, and began telling me that he'd an appointment today with his doctor at the cancer center to review the x-rays that had been taken on Monday. In the radiologist's report it was noted that the tumor appeared to have been removed surgically. No more tumor. NO MORE TUMOR!!<br />
<br />
This was only the preliminary report. My dad will have more tests, including an MRI and PET Scan. <br />
<br />
My dad hadn't been a candidate for surgery, the best course of treatment for cancer. Neither had he been a candidate for chemotherapy. He was left with radiation. Not the best option, but the best one available to him. And it worked! <br />
<br />
I cried when he told me. I cried when I called my sister to tell her and cried harder when she started crying. I hugged my dad and cried. I hugged my mom and we cried together. <br />
<br />
Any one of us could die at any moment, for any reason. Just because my dad is, for the moment, cancer free does not mean his other health issues can be brushed aside. But it means that, for this moment at least, that my dad will not be dying of cancer. <br />
<br />
Thank you, Jesus, for hearing and answering our prayers. I owe ya.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-73877138355305311782010-05-01T09:13:00.000-04:002010-05-01T09:13:31.725-04:00On Belief...I was born and raised a Catholic. I'm raising my son as a Catholic, as well. Am I religious? Not especially, no. Do I believe and follow everything the Catholic Church teaches? Outside of religious doctrine - no. The purpose of the papacy, for example was to continue spreading the word of Jesus throughout the world. And throughout the last two thousand years (making it the world's oldest organization), it has done precisely that. By far, I believe the Catholic Church has done far more good than bad for the world. <br />
<br />
The church's main job, in my opinion, is to continue teaching the world about Jesus. Along the way, it felt itself important enough to tell us how to live our lives. In as how to live the way Christ wants us to live, yes, that should be included. The Church points to the Ten Commandments, first. But if you look at almost every civilization, no matter where and when on the world time line, there is a code of conduct that every civilization followed. Don't kill. Respect your elders. Don't take what isn't yours, and don't want what isn't yours to the point it's going to make you do something stupid - either be content with what you have or work harder for something more. Does it say premarital sex is bad? No, it says honor your commitments. Does it say birth control is wrong? No. And I am sure there have been methods of birth control being practiced since women learned to walk and talk. <br />
<br />
However, lest us forget, the Catholic <i>organization </i>is made up of men, and no man is perfect. There have been married popes, warrior popes and just plain bad popes. There have been horrific atrocities - the Crusades and Spanish Inquisition, to name but a few. Regarding the sexual abuse scandals being made around the world, what these men did is horrible, it is wrong, and the Church should own up to it's responsibility. Is it the Church's fault that some priests are pedophiles? No, it is not. It is wrong to let them stay in positions of trust, however. These abuses did not start in the 20th century. The only difference between now and five hundred years ago is that now people are no longer afraid of protecting themselves instead of the Church and are pointing fingers at priests for their wrongdoing. <br />
<br />
It is hard to teach my son to respect the Church when it has lost so much respect for itself, but I still believe in the religion it teaches. I still believe in the sanctity of Sunday mass and the sacraments of penance and communion. The reason that Easter is my favorite holiday is because it is the most important in the Catholic religion - it is the reason for its very existence. The joy, the solemnity and the power of Christ all come together on Easter Sunday. <br />
<br />
But I remind myself and my son that no one is perfect and everyone, including priests and even Popes, can and do, make mistakes. The words <i>accountability </i>and <i>responsibility </i>are big in my home. My son knows what they mean and how they should shape is actions and decisions. It's been a long time since I talked with my cousin, a Catholic priest, about his years in the seminary. They teach what the job of a priest is, but I wonder how much time is spent on HOW to do the job; how to hold yourself accountable, how to self-discipline yourself. How do you reaffirm and re-evaluate the choices you've made. Do priests now get continuing education? Do they still participate in retreats? I don't know. But I think it's important to find out. It is good to be held accountable for your actions. It's what the Catholic church teaches, after all. Self-determination.<br />
<br />
And I'm still a Catholic.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-52484552674189240852010-04-26T16:02:00.000-04:002010-04-26T16:02:46.883-04:00Barney SongsSung to "This Old Man"<br />
<br />
I hate you, you hate me, Barney is my enemy.<br />
AK47 through the floor, no more purple dinosaur.<br />
<br />
AND<br />
<br />
I love you, you love me, Barney is my enemy.<br />
Put a shotgun to his head, pull the trigger and Barney's dead.<br />
<br />
Sung to "Joy to the World"<br />
<br />
Joy to the world, Barney is dead.<br />
We barbequed his head!<br />
What happened to the body?<br />
We flushed it down the potty!<br />
And round and round it goes, and round and round it goes.<br />
And round it goes, and round it goes!<br />
<br />
Thanks to Ian!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-1362671459091457022010-04-24T21:15:00.000-04:002010-04-24T21:15:33.330-04:00States I've VisitedI like this :) <br />
<br />
<img src="http://chart.apis.google.com/chart?cht=t&chs=440x220&chtm=usa&chf=bg,s,336699&chco=d0d0d0,cc0000&chd=s:9999999999999999&chld=CACTDEFLMDMAMSARNJNYNCPARITNVAWV" width="440" height="220" ><br/>visited 16 states (32%)<br/><a href="http://douweosinga.com/projects/visited?region=usa">Create your own visited map of The United States</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-37116490600202735522010-04-24T10:11:00.004-04:002010-04-26T13:01:01.836-04:00My Favorite WordsI have two lists of favorite words. The first list of words is small, and it contains words that are fun to say. I like the way my mouth feels when I sound the words. I love the shapes my mouth has to make in order to pronounce those words. <br />
<br />
Veritable.<br />
<br />
Malleable.<br />
<br />
The words on the second list are also fun. They appeal to me because of the way <i>I </i>feel when I say them. One part of the list is empowering; they make me feel strong and in control. Another part just makes me feel good, I like what they are. All of the words on this list are Hard "c" words; either begin or end with the letter "c."<br />
<br />
The empowering words only became so within the past couple of years. Before then, they were taboo or bad or naughty or dirty. They weren't spoken out loud or in mixed company, either by a man or woman. But using them; saying them and writing them gave me power over them, instead of holding power over me. They are only words, after all. a string of letters. But I control these words. They mean what I want them to mean, stand what I want them to stand for and convey an image I am projecting. These words will never embarrass me or make me feel small or cheap or somehow worth less than full measure.<br />
<br />
Cunt<br />
<br />
I've written a post about this word already, but let me tell you, I still take great, great pleasure in using this word; in pronouncing it, using it in stories, saying it during private times and when I'm pissed off.<br />
<br />
Cock<br />
Fuck (admittedly, probably my favorite word)<br />
Dick<br />
Clit<br />
Rock<br />
Soak<br />
Spank<br />
Suck<br />
<br />
Some of these words came into my vocabulary when I began writing again, eighteen months ago. Yep, eighteen months. That's it. This isn't the entire list of empowering words, but the most prevalent.<br />
<br />
Other words include<br />
<br />
CARS - I LOVE fast cars!<br />
Cash<br />
Cookies<br />
Coke<br />
Crayons<br />
Candy<br />
CAPtain Morgan<br />
VodKa (okay, it's actually a K; fucking sue me, I still like the way it makes me feel and it's my list!)<br />
music<br />
<br />
There are others, but seriously, those words make me smile and feel happy. They are good words. And they're mine.<br />
<br />
What are your words?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-36213355299937999182010-04-20T09:52:00.001-04:002010-04-20T09:53:54.197-04:00Today's GripeI don't know why I feel I must bitch so much, but here's today's gripe.<br />
<br />
I need to put together a grocery list and go food shopping. I love going food shopping. I know, that sounds weird, but there was a time in my life when going grocery shopping was a luxury and most of my food came from either my parents' house or the food pantry at the local church. It was only for a couple of months and it happened years and years ago, but the fear of not having food in the house is still real to me, even though my circumstances are radically different. Grocery shopping is something I do not take for granted, and it is not a chore.<br />
<br />
My gripe for today: I need to go grocery shopping and I'm not sure that if I do, I'll not be completely wiped out when I'm done. I hate being wiped out more than I love going grocery shopping. That should tell you something, well, a couple of things. The MS is still impacting my daily life and I'm not completely back on my feet again. Neither of which I'm happy about. <br />
<br />
Need to work out a Plan B. *grabbing paper and pen*Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-19187376248880251252010-04-17T13:19:00.002-04:002010-04-17T13:36:28.959-04:00New NeighborsI live in a town home, or, if you are from the Northeast portion of the US, a row home. I've neighbors on either side of me. I've lived here for nine years, and I love my home. It is warm and welcoming and while it is old and not everything is perfect, it is my home.<br />
<br />
Over the past nine years, I've seen neighbors moving in and out. The neighbors that were here when I got here were unbelievably great - they were more than patient with my son (who was one year old and felt he had an open invitation to everyone's home) who was active and adventurous. (Read that to mean mimicking gymnasts and circus performers.)<br />
<br />
The elderly neighbor on my right eventually moved in with her son and daughter in law, and the other outgrew their home and moved into something bigger. Since then, it's been a series of mishaps and misadventures. Some neighbors were worse than others, but the last to leave were, by far, the worst I ever encountered, anywhere. I called them my "ghetto neighbors." A term not meant to belittle one's socio-economic background, but simply used because I couldn't think of a bad enough name that I could call them around my child.<br />
<br />
The mother frequently (read all the time) called her two daughters, then ages three and one, "little bitches." As they got a little older, she moved on to "you little motherfuckers." She would leave them unattended upstairs while she did god-knows-what, then scream at them when they got into her make-up, which they did frequently. She screamed and cursed and threatened to leave them and the guy she lived with. We're talking a true basket case. The guy was only slightly better, but then he went to jail for a year. <br />
<br />
I've new neighbors now. They seem normal. They are quiet, their children are behaved and they dress appropriately. The neighbor on the left is a single mom of two kids, a daughter eleven and a little boy, one. He's a doll!<br />
<br />
New neighbor on the right has a daughter who's three. One thing to note about right-hand neighbor; she, too, has MS. A much worse case than mine since her speech has been effected and she must walk with a cane. She can't drive. She knows I have MS and how she found out that tidbit of information, I'm not sure; it's not something I talk about.<br />
<br />
When my son asked me about her physical condition, I explained to him that she has MS. He became frightened, which is understandable. I wanted to reassure him that I wasn't going to develop other symptoms and wind up with her disabilities, but I couldn't. And that broke my heart. But at the same time, I did tell him that I am healthy and I take care of myself and whatever happens, our lives will still be good. He's been extra clingy, but I expect it to pass soon.<br />
<br />
All I can say is, I think this summer is going to be interesting. I'm just hoping it's in a good way.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-51549453106368246672010-04-13T09:15:00.003-04:002010-04-13T09:34:26.134-04:00MusicMusic has always been a part of my life; I don't remember a time when it wasn't. While my mom likes music, it was and is my dad that is the big influencer in our house. There were church hymns on Sunday morning, Jim Reeves and Pasty Cline on Saturday nights. There were Polish Kolendy (Polish Christmas carols) and music lessons for years. My mother's contributions were Unchained Melody and Irish songs in honor of St. Patrick's Day.<br />
<br />
I grew up listening to everything and anything - from obereks to concertos. Today, my son is carrying on the musical tradition. While my brother first learned music on an accordion (and don't laugh, you've no idea how hard it is to play) which he mastered in three years before moving on to first the electric guitar and finally the acoustic, my son has started on the clarinet. He asked for a guitar for his last birthday, which we bought for him. My brother will teach him, and I'm curious to see how patient they are going to be with each other.<br />
<br />
For my son's part, he loves hard rock - Ozzy, AC/DC, Breaking Benjamin and hip hop - Jay Sean, Ludacris, and Trey Songz. He also likes Black Eyed Peas and Bon Jovi. His favorite song, though, is Classical Gas, and he often logs on to YouTube to find classical guitar videos. He appreciates music in all forms, and he's not shy about it. He even goes to sleep listening to music, much like I did at his age.<br />
<br />
I'll not be making any Top Five lists or tell you why I like certain songs; my taste is too eclectic and a song I love this month I might be sick of by next month. (The fabulous @karenbrand is thinking of doing just this, and I'm dying to read her blog! You can find it here: http://themadnessofginggorge.blogspot.com/ )<br />
<br />
But for this month, this is my son's favorite song:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Z__FHAG1Jk8&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Z__FHAG1Jk8&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
While this song is mine (for the moment, anyway):<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Dtzf60_XaOg&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Dtzf60_XaOg&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-32412200450460350862010-04-04T23:55:00.000-04:002010-04-05T23:51:15.751-04:00I'm AnnoyedFor the next couple of weeks, I'm going to be annoyed. I'm going to be cranky and short-tempered and impatient.<br />
<br />
Thirteen years ago I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS). It was confirmed by MRI with my very first exacerbation. At that time, I was told I've a very mild case and in all likelihood, if I didn't tell anyone I have it, no one would guess. And in thirteen years, I've had four exacerbations. Four in thirteen years is a damn fine track record, let me tell you.<br />
<br />
The first time, the right side of my face was partially numb. At first, my doctor thought it was Bells Palsy and referred me to a neurologist, where I was diagnosed with the MS. But that was it, just my face. Scary, to be sure. But it didn't hurt. It's not like I lost muscle use. It just felt like Novacain that hadn't totally worn off.<br />
<br />
The second "flare up," as I call it, was the worst. I made it worse by freaking out about it, to be honest. My left leg was affected that time. I could still walk, it just felt weak and a little heavier than normal. I didn't notice anything was wrong until I went to pick up my foot to tie my shoe and I kept missing the handrail I was aiming for. (At the time, I worked in a health care facility where handrails were abundant). Four days later the ball of my left foot was a little numb, my shin was tingling, and I was a basket case. I was on neurological pain meds, sleeping pills and steroids. I swore I would never be like that again.<br />
<br />
Since then, I've learned how to manage and control myself. I no longer get mad at my body for not being able to keep up. I know I'll not be able to do marathon shopping sprees. I can't window shop. Other than that, not much stops me.<br />
<br />
The third flare up affected my leg again, milder than the previous one. I didn't even see the neurologist. I didn't miss time from work.<br />
<br />
This time is a little different because something new is involved, my arms. Let me stress this again. I've a very, VERY mild case. I'm typing, for instance. A small portion of my right hand feels slightly numb. My left arm feels a little weak. What I'm having a harder time with is fatigue, the most common and debilitating affect of MS. I'm tired. I'm really, really tired. In the past it's felt like I'd worked a 16-hr. shift by 10:00 am. I've been afraid to drive. This isn't as bad as that, but I'm tired.<br />
<br />
What do I do? I rest. I have my books and my iPod and laptop and my bed and my recliner. I sometimes sleep, but mostly I read. I relax. Is this what I want to do? Fuck no. It's gorgeous outside! I want to start cleaning the flower beds. I want to clean the lawn furniture. I want to hose off the balcony. There are a thousand things I'd rather do than kick back in the recliner.<br />
<br />
Had this happened in January, I'd have been happier than a pig in shit, so to speak. I'd have an excuse to stay put! Now, I'm irritated.<br />
<br />
I know in a couple of weeks I'll feel fine, again. Until then, I'm not going to be quite myself.<br />
<br />
You've been warned. ;)<br />
<br />
me<br />
<br />
PS. If you follow me on Twitter and start treating me differently, I'm going to unfollow your ass.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-76237062660354584012010-03-22T10:11:00.000-04:002013-01-13T16:31:21.398-05:00Daddy UpdateFirst, I have to say Thank you. A million and one thank yous. To everyone who has asked on Twitter and has left a comment, you've been supportive and helpful and I'm amazed at your generous heart. My dad is constantly surprised when I tell him someone has asked about him, has said a prayer for him, is thinking of him. I know it sounds stupid and it's absurdly cliched, but my heart swells when you ask me about him, ask how he's doing. I keep everything locked up inside. I am more than willing and able to share happy news, but talking about painful things.... well, that's not me.<br />
<br />
So here is an update to Dad.<br />
<br />
Dad has half-way through his first round of radiation therapy; he has 18 more to go. Because of his other health issues, he is not able to receive high doses of radiation. This is why his first course is longer. Advance, retreat. Advance, retreat. <br />
<br />
This is the honeymoon period of his cancer treatment, when he looks good and feels good and is optimistic. The reality of his cancer will hit us with the results of his tests after the first course has been completed. <br />
<br />
I'm not expecting to hear the cancer is gone. I'm not expecting to hear there has been a marked decrease in size. <br />
<br />
I'm praying that I hear the tumor hasn't grown. Stopping the growth is success, to me. You have to stop it before you can reverse it or kill it or get rid of it or whatever the correct terminology is. I only know I'm praying that I don't hear that it's bigger. <br />
<br />
We've been spending a lot of time together, and I don't mean just the two of us. I mean my son makes a point to call them more often, even though we only live three blocks away. He sleeps at their house more often. (Granted, it's the only place he's allowed to go when he's grounded, but that's another story). <br />
<br />
This past weekend I'd a dinner for my aunt's 79th birthday (his sister). The weather was perfect, the food was awesome (patting self on shoulder) and dessert, the birthday cake, goes by the name <a href="http://www.cooksrecipes.com/cake/spectacular-orange-cake-recipe.html">Spectacular Orange.</a><br />
<br />
We sat around the dining room table long after the meal was finished and most of the cake, as well. We talked. We laughed. We played musical chairs as we moved from conversation to conversation. It was better than Christmas and Thanksgiving rolled into one because we were celebrating not just my aunt's birthday, but my dad being able to enjoy it, as well. (And yes, there was rum involved).<br />
<br />
Easter breakfast and dinner will be at my house, and Daddy has already put in his request for dessert - a dry-bottom shoe-fly pie. (It's cake and pie in one. Don't knock it until you try it)! And since I've announced that instead of going out to dinner for birthdays, I'll have family dinners instead, my dad has also put in a request for his birthday dessert (his birthday is April 24). He wants a lemon sponge pie. (He likes pie).<br />
<br />
I'm thankful that he's looking forward to things, and not just the test results.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-56198185291830425012010-03-17T10:53:00.000-04:002010-03-17T10:57:09.221-04:00WordleI'm a big fan of words. And Twitter. So, combining them makes me very, very happy :)<br />
<br />
(You can click on the picture for a larger image).<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/1794412/Happy_Times"
title="Wordle: Happy Times"><img
src="http://www.wordle.net/thumb/wrdl/1794412/Happy_Times"
alt="Wordle: Happy Times"
style="padding:4px;border:1px solid #ddd"></a><br />
<br />
This one is without names. Still fun to read!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/1794448/Without_Names"
title="Wordle: Without Names"><img
src="http://www.wordle.net/thumb/wrdl/1794448/Without_Names"
alt="Wordle: Without Names"
style="padding:4px;border:1px solid #ddd"></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-19281975436311700262010-03-09T14:46:00.000-05:002010-03-09T15:24:24.803-05:00Update - Please ReadOver the past few weeks, I've seen an explosion of new activity to my blog for which I am tremendously grateful. My readership has gone through the roof, and I am humbled by the attention the blog has been receiving.<br />
<br />
However, I realize not all my readers want to read my stories or wade through the story entries to get to my personal updates. It is for this reason that I have created a new blog. On here, I will post entries about me - boring or mundane as they may be.<br />
<br />
I hope you enjoy what you read; I hope it gives you some insight as to who I am and what interests me. Please feel free to leave a comment, if you'd like. <br />
<br />
And as always, you can find me on Twitter; my username is @daria67Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-33357062533165923712010-02-18T11:23:00.000-05:002013-01-13T16:31:55.133-05:00ControlMy dad has lung cancer.<br />
<br />
It's hard just writing that sentence, but it's even harder living with what it means. When he was first diagnosed, we were told that surgery wasn't an option given his other medical issues; neither was chemotherapy. But since the tumor is small, we were told, radiation was a good option and there was a high probability that he'd recover completely. It seemed as if all of his other medical issues were so much worse than the cancer, that the cancer would be a walk in the park. That's how the doctors made is sound - treatable, with a high probably of full recovery. In contrast, his congestive heart failure and diabetes were much more to be concerned about.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1510177034694919026" name="more"></a><br />
<br />
Then Dad got sick, and the cancer was pushed to the background to deal with the more pressing and more serious sickness. He recovered; in fact, he is healthier now than he was before. He's better able to withstand the cancer treatment. So much so that now surgery is an option.<br />
<br />
What the fuck?! I never considered surgery, it had never been talked about, and now suddenly, there's going to be an operation?!<br />
<br />
Last weekend had been good; I'd spent time with my son, got things crossed off my to-do list and posted two (fucking awesome) stories. I'd put my son to bed Sunday night and was on my laptop, catching up with my friends on Twitter. Out of nowhere and for an instant, I pictured myself typing, "Daddy didn't survive the surgery. He's gone."<br />
<br />
And in that moment, in the second or two it took for those words to run across my mind, I lost whatever self-control I had been holding onto. I don't cry - I suck it up and move on. But I cried. For three hours. My eyes hurt and my throat hurt and my lungs hurt and my back hurt and my heart broke. Blindly, I wrote an email to one of my best friends, telling him I'm not ready to lose my dad, that I'd rather die than see him die and a whole bunch of other emotional shit. It's a damn good thing I can type blind because I couldn't see anything through the tears.<br />
<br />
I'm all about self-control. Keeping a reign on my emotions - I deal with what I need to, when I need to, and don't let my emotions run amuck. Normally. Thank God for friends - I've one that talked me back from the ledge on more than one occasion. He distracts me and helps me refocus on things I can do, like plan a family dinner this weekend, ie <a href="http://daria67.blogspot.com/2009/11/holidays.html">Thanksgiving </a><br />
<br />
Dad goes in for surgery on Tuesday, and I have absolutely no fucking control over what happens. I'm trusting his life to some fucking stranger with a knife. I don't care if he is the great-grandson of a former US President; he doesn't inspire confidence. But Mom and Dad trust him, and I have to believe that they are capable of making that kind of decision. I'm scared and worried and unable to do a fucking thing to make anything better. <br />
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I'm back in control of myself, for the most part. It's tenuous, but there. I am a firm believer in self-control and self-determination. I choose, as much as a person is able, what happens and what doesn't happen in my life. Things don't normally just happen to me. I don't allow that. Yes, circumstances present themselves, but it is the way I react to them, how I choose to deal with them, that is important to me. <br />
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I hate that my dad is sick. I want to call his surgeon and threaten him - just so he knows how important it is that he NOT FUCK UP. This is MY father whose life he controls at the moment.<br />
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Okay, gotta go before I lose it again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-46371346564814039502010-02-08T09:50:00.000-05:002010-03-09T14:58:21.442-05:00Superbowl AfterthoughtsJust like everyone else last night, I tuned in to watch the Superbowl. I <i>love </i>football, and it doesn't matter which teams are playing (usually). I love the game - the frustrations, the big plays, the turnovers and upsets, the rushing, the passing, the blocking, the Quarterback Sneak and the Hail Mary pass. All of it. Don't get me wrong, I'd <i>like </i>for the Philadelphia Eagles to win the Superbowl <i>just one time</i>, it's just I've pretty much given up hope that Donovan McNabb is going to take us there. But I digress...<br />
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I was rooting for the Saints to win. I had moments of fear and doubt, I'll admit. At one point last night, I'd texted a comment on Twitter remarking that the Saints, perhaps, were suffering from Beagles Syndrome. (An affliction the Philadelphia Eagles are prone to, where they play more like dogs than professional athletes). It was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'd worried that by publicly announcing my fidelity I'd been the harbinger of doom. An "Oh fucking God, what have I done" moment, if you will. Thankfully, I was wrong! The second half was amazing, and they went on to win the game.<br />
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Throughout the night, between eating and drinking and biting my tongue in a futile attempt to not say, "oh fucking hell" in front of my father, I watched the commercials in the hopes of finding the next "Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head" commercial. You know the commercial I'm talking about, where the Mrs. is bitching to the Mr. and the Mr. takes a sharp turn or whatnot and the Mrs.' mouth goes flying off the side of the cliff and must resort to her "angry eyes" only. I did not find one, but TWO great commercials last night that just tickled me. A third commercial made me say, "Aawww... " (as in 'I want to lick you from head to toe') and one that made me all tingly (as in, 'I want someone to lick <i>me </i>from head to toe'). Another magical moment came at the end of the night, after the game.<br />
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I can't remember which commercial came first, but the E*trade commercial with the jealous girlfriend asking about the "Milkaholic Lindsey" was priceless! Here it is, for your viewing pleasure.<br />
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The second commercial was the Doritos "Keep Your Hands Off My Momma" commercial. I'll admit, I've played this one five times already!<br />
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Okay, make that six times!<br />
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The commercial that I made me say, "Aaawww...(I want to lick you from head to toe)" was the CBS Cares commercial with Mark Sanchez. He is uberlickable. Oh yes he is! And shove off, I <i>know</i> he was speaking to <i>ME</i>.<br />
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Now, the commercial that made me all tingly was, no surprise here, a car commercial. Not just any car commercial, but the Dodge Charger commercial! I love cars with muscle and cars that are <i>fast</i>. (Think Hemi!!) This little gem just made my night!<br />
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Yeah... still does it for me!<br />
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To me, the most magical moment of the night was not the Saints winning the game, but what came after. Not Drew Brees shoving the Lombardi trophy in the air, but instead holding his little boy, cuddling him and lifting him in the air. Check out the photo below. It tells me that no matter the victories, the trophies, the adoration or whatever comes next, that moment when he held his son high in the air was the best moment of his night. That he was there and able to share it with him. It moved me. <br />
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I'm looking forward to next season! Geaux Saints!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1510177034694919026.post-54718200383604990192010-01-05T13:53:00.001-05:002010-10-19T16:51:39.739-04:00Recipe for Chicken Rice SoupThe are very few things I like about cold weather. Football is one. Cuddling on the sofa while watching football is another. If there is soup, it's a winning day, no matter what!<br />
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My favorite soup is Chicken Rice Soup, and I only use my grandmother's recipe. It's so simple, it's scary. And because I'm just a nice person, I'll share it with you.<br />
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This is the size pot I use:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I fill it with six quarts of water:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQz3VsHDrhb5aW8GyTFEuZC2etKVLiTtly4oNbyAjh5uQpbx_NaR2efKVMuW9JpbIEzdqMiUL_qHsCPadGgFZPFgG78qYdc22vc7XqoPUFJOM-OlegPK-AgYIs4ZCvZYmsRO9kNR-BIyPl/s1600-h/chicken+soup+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQz3VsHDrhb5aW8GyTFEuZC2etKVLiTtly4oNbyAjh5uQpbx_NaR2efKVMuW9JpbIEzdqMiUL_qHsCPadGgFZPFgG78qYdc22vc7XqoPUFJOM-OlegPK-AgYIs4ZCvZYmsRO9kNR-BIyPl/s320/chicken+soup+006.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Into this pot filled with cold water, I add the following:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Three (3) split chicken breasts, two (2) tomatoes, one (1) onion, four (4) stalks of celery, five (5) carrots and roughly a tablespoon of whole peppercorns.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">First I wash, trim and cut the celery in half:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlPD45oJaz6T9zZvywObrDBNmtVR6P27CcPazlSl0IVdOFariF2jGgOHJywHLwLWWssdHpIr_CH6hLOkBrqc5sHlhkeenZLBJi2DSp1kAUc4oxhyphenhyphenP2RU86l8z25cyDuPwX_De4FQaOQnyZ/s1600-h/chicken+soup+007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlPD45oJaz6T9zZvywObrDBNmtVR6P27CcPazlSl0IVdOFariF2jGgOHJywHLwLWWssdHpIr_CH6hLOkBrqc5sHlhkeenZLBJi2DSp1kAUc4oxhyphenhyphenP2RU86l8z25cyDuPwX_De4FQaOQnyZ/s320/chicken+soup+007.JPG" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and throw it in the pot. Then, wash and half the tomatoes:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdeH2vaBPPFqJWEqXNC12rwp3pfLY_gZRLIoY9pUnSlfzi7tjZA9UN7yzx8qxN1RwfWQJlF-0rtdiU3Gas5La_cwVMZ_RQvuNI-4IZYkZaScwL-ewiS3zMg2kQUX85JGCGdBrvT_F6Mm0v/s1600-h/chicken+soup+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdeH2vaBPPFqJWEqXNC12rwp3pfLY_gZRLIoY9pUnSlfzi7tjZA9UN7yzx8qxN1RwfWQJlF-0rtdiU3Gas5La_cwVMZ_RQvuNI-4IZYkZaScwL-ewiS3zMg2kQUX85JGCGdBrvT_F6Mm0v/s320/chicken+soup+008.JPG" /></a><br />
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and throw them into the pot. Next, I clean and half the onion, like so:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">and throw it into the pot. Next comes the chicken. I know what you are thinking, you're thinking, "What about the carrots?" The carrots get placed in a microwave-safe bowl:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb1Hh7Op_v9mWj_1gSrOOXNKOtBzYgxH4no1o5CZlbhkkAp_tu2mn9NVis9Zoaf6q6E2D1vkB6rcwc6w98wYyKO7dATN2SY6APLjlRFhFrpwUhyphenhyphen2U7ci3mWHt4bGnSH1ToIYJuGQCEcFPv/s1600-h/chicken+soup+010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb1Hh7Op_v9mWj_1gSrOOXNKOtBzYgxH4no1o5CZlbhkkAp_tu2mn9NVis9Zoaf6q6E2D1vkB6rcwc6w98wYyKO7dATN2SY6APLjlRFhFrpwUhyphenhyphen2U7ci3mWHt4bGnSH1ToIYJuGQCEcFPv/s320/chicken+soup+010.JPG" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Because unlike a lot of other people, I do not cook my carrots in with everything else. Inevitably, they never soften, and I detest hard carrots in my soup. There is another reason why I do not add them, and I will get to that in a little bit. NOW! Onto the chicken!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While I use the skin from the chicken, I remove it before adding the lot to the pot. It is much easier to remove the skin before it is cooked than it is to remove the skin AFTER it is cooked and you are ready to cut the chicken up. So, next into the pot goes the chicken and skin:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It does look kind of icky, does it not? I assure you, the end result is fabulous!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Finally, to the pot I add roughly a tablespoon of whole peppercorns. You may omit this, if you wish. I think the pepper brings a wonderful peppery-ness to the soup.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijl6rsEacQ8XuDY6aXoTcmUrSOayuLxsAAdcFLq8ffPQoijDQrw1yZt3WFvIRIWDeDqWCaA204g6sBlp8-GnI4qdgKdzTF5xTpQrIiouGcI5S-JdFWDfNoz2rf61WswJgNFXwBoVbxnbgm/s1600-h/chicken+soup+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijl6rsEacQ8XuDY6aXoTcmUrSOayuLxsAAdcFLq8ffPQoijDQrw1yZt3WFvIRIWDeDqWCaA204g6sBlp8-GnI4qdgKdzTF5xTpQrIiouGcI5S-JdFWDfNoz2rf61WswJgNFXwBoVbxnbgm/s320/chicken+soup+012.JPG" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I set the lid on the pot and the pot on the stove. I set the heat to high until the stock comes to a rolling boil, then reduce the heat to medium and let it simmer for two to three hours.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the meantime, I will wash, peel and cut the carrots and place them in the microwave-safe bowl and cover with water and cook in the microwave 15 minutes, or until tender:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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This is where I am currently in the soup-making process! My kitchen already smells heavenly!<br />
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For now, we wait. And drool. When the stock is complete, I will return with the second half of the chicken-soup making process. Now hurry, you still have time to get the ingredients and make the soup with me!<br />
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The stock is finished - hurray! First, I remove the chicken and place it on a plate:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">With the chicken out of the way, I can now strain the stock into a big bowl. I am one of those people that do not like veggies in soup. Because I strain the veggies, I do not cook the carrots with the tomatoes, onion and celery:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDOFv16kA2oy5MXUWgcPVclqPqcYh5nVFDraw3Lb8qPJo9kIsHih4W-j1FboyVgKzgjJYKz6NcDrEY0mcSpbP2RyeEdn3wLqDyN3V4y9cb8tgv0lTEeKc3fe9LMdCro7eSINy8umsQnp_l/s1600-h/chicken+soup2+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDOFv16kA2oy5MXUWgcPVclqPqcYh5nVFDraw3Lb8qPJo9kIsHih4W-j1FboyVgKzgjJYKz6NcDrEY0mcSpbP2RyeEdn3wLqDyN3V4y9cb8tgv0lTEeKc3fe9LMdCro7eSINy8umsQnp_l/s320/chicken+soup2+002.JPG" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now, with the stock poured back into the pot (which has been rinsed so that there are no peppercorns stuck to the bottom or sides), I cut up the chicken like so:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqigcHHqdnFruRONxTxiRP42avBE6wF2UA-uzMc_mn7NEVVdAaonM3JTaZvXaV5zL7RSDkLyjIOjoVeFIq2r2m17Mn_hXqquUgtV27JvAdHZfUPI-YCr_GD9prQNuMKQH8qhyphenhyphenmxpVdk2s/s1600-h/chicken+soup2+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqigcHHqdnFruRONxTxiRP42avBE6wF2UA-uzMc_mn7NEVVdAaonM3JTaZvXaV5zL7RSDkLyjIOjoVeFIq2r2m17Mn_hXqquUgtV27JvAdHZfUPI-YCr_GD9prQNuMKQH8qhyphenhyphenmxpVdk2s/s320/chicken+soup2+004.JPG" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And throw it into the pot, along with the instant rice. It doesn't matter what kind of instant rice you use, I use a store brand.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAQp2aey66I5EP9w6EftNZ0RYsGaOQ2tNP_xWU1e8NfelxYjEpvurzVdVXapWa6WH5MK6v9-IagWyGLoKk-ZZFNAYbA2sMFkOCFo3U6jWpAuIF5Rvont4U0MuKtcboemzxdhnDXC7U50Q/s1600-h/chicken+soup2+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNAQp2aey66I5EP9w6EftNZ0RYsGaOQ2tNP_xWU1e8NfelxYjEpvurzVdVXapWa6WH5MK6v9-IagWyGLoKk-ZZFNAYbA2sMFkOCFo3U6jWpAuIF5Rvont4U0MuKtcboemzxdhnDXC7U50Q/s320/chicken+soup2+008.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrk2yDrmh69e-XlHNXJNHiug9kbilggLI0kMd-iy26XoVSKem58HoiRGMZmYUQBzHnlx2T1ypNPrcrwKBeOiWKLj2VmqvW4aSPAfBHhu-oQ_qHrxEitbJW-_utjp6_MLYkNXFRErv-TTJ4/s1600-h/chicken+soup2+009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrk2yDrmh69e-XlHNXJNHiug9kbilggLI0kMd-iy26XoVSKem58HoiRGMZmYUQBzHnlx2T1ypNPrcrwKBeOiWKLj2VmqvW4aSPAfBHhu-oQ_qHrxEitbJW-_utjp6_MLYkNXFRErv-TTJ4/s320/chicken+soup2+009.JPG" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And finally, strain and add the carrots.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLIBEeoYbhwPWr-_ZBKvY53qlwEN8IN6VMVOS5KZx_27Y34ZYtUkdshgR_ikfV7dTSM-uxRykk67gJQIS2DWQkv1Iab10Kt3PdY5R1LHALc0puMjyBfFXaDrDPLgCggFP8pnxF0wQjN_C/s1600-h/chicken+soup2+010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLIBEeoYbhwPWr-_ZBKvY53qlwEN8IN6VMVOS5KZx_27Y34ZYtUkdshgR_ikfV7dTSM-uxRykk67gJQIS2DWQkv1Iab10Kt3PdY5R1LHALc0puMjyBfFXaDrDPLgCggFP8pnxF0wQjN_C/s320/chicken+soup2+010.JPG" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Let is simmer in the pot:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhID30e2a5akim1I7BgoCfffUtjSf5OxmFpkk_n-__sfJhcXn71WKE6wIcS5LctqXIl7OYqPTWc1AEKFy8Y5KJAs_zf4wMQQh0fpKig6QWSu2sS4tFCEl5k971mjyNOfZf1P95ZAHkjulkK/s1600-h/chicken+soup2+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhID30e2a5akim1I7BgoCfffUtjSf5OxmFpkk_n-__sfJhcXn71WKE6wIcS5LctqXIl7OYqPTWc1AEKFy8Y5KJAs_zf4wMQQh0fpKig6QWSu2sS4tFCEl5k971mjyNOfZf1P95ZAHkjulkK/s320/chicken+soup2+011.JPG" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">for a half-hour or so. Ladle into a bowl and voila!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWVAFz3S4c3H_A90FC0jZ8UOIBnWbV-GWuNDH_iGGj22doVlCUD-vUYFYjEx3FYPDvEOHe3JgFHUBHxMBwLILMJ36d9tCeiB1b_6ADqIF4Kksd9r7MQlr6hI3gdQLCbsaDKH6FXZzVNQu/s1600-h/bowl+of+soup+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWVAFz3S4c3H_A90FC0jZ8UOIBnWbV-GWuNDH_iGGj22doVlCUD-vUYFYjEx3FYPDvEOHe3JgFHUBHxMBwLILMJ36d9tCeiB1b_6ADqIF4Kksd9r7MQlr6hI3gdQLCbsaDKH6FXZzVNQu/s320/bowl+of+soup+001.JPG" /></a><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Enjoy!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0