tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6828232626763975862024-02-20T14:28:10.683-07:00ms fish~just keep swimming~Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.comBlogger452125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-7310807687872914912016-12-16T17:38:00.002-07:002016-12-16T17:42:09.146-07:00If You Don't Ask, They Won't Tell<div style="background-color: white; color: #3d596d; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;">The</span><span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"> </span><strong style="font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;"><a href="https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-TFddCrHlPY" target="_blank">Mamas and the Papas</a></strong><span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;">think we</span><span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"> </span><strong style="font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">can’t</strong><span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;">trust Mondays. I'm not sure what's so shady about them but they definitely have an air of superiority.... as if they have the monopoly on dread. There is something I</span><span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"> </span><strong style="font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">can</strong><span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;">trust about them though. I know they'll be swamped. There is always a Monday morning line-up of patients outside the clinic, anxiously awaiting 8:00 am. We can almost hear the customers chanting “</span><em style="font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">open, open, open</em><span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;">” like the old Mervyn’s commercial. After spending the weekend coughing or vomiting or hurting, they can hardly wait for the doors to open, heralding hopes of a quick fix or a definitive diagnosis.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;">This busy Monday morning was no exception. Except that my first patient wasn’t there for illness.</span><span style="font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"> </span>Belinda was there to go over lab results from our initial visit. They were mostly normal, which [usually] lends itself to a cut-and-dried appointment, something my next three sick visits, already waiting, would be thankful for.</div>
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“<em>Your Vitamin D level is low</em>….” I said, “<em>so I would like you to</em>……”</div>
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I stopped mid-sentence and took a good long look at the hollow, deadpan eyes staring back at me. The person I was talking to was not the same person I met two weeks ago. Something was off. Really off.</div>
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“<em>Is everything ok</em>?” I asked, sincerely and softly, abandoning the topic of Vitamin D, which suddenly seemed banal.</div>
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“<em>Today is the one year anniversary of my son’s death….he needs me to be with him</em>.”</div>
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“<em>What do you mean</em>?” I implored, aware of the instant chill down my spine.</div>
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“<em>I mean that I don’t want to be here any more…I can’t do it anymore….I want to be with my son</em>.”</div>
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“<em>What about your other children and husband, who live with you? Do you want to be with them?"</em></div>
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“<em>They will be just fine without me</em>….” she said flatly.</div>
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As we talked, I learned she had been stockpiling sleeping pills, which she was planning to swallow after going home and cleaning her house. “<em>I want it to be spotless when I go</em>.” She reached for her purse and pulled out a tattered wallet-sized picture of her angel son along with a two-page goodbye letter to her family. She assured me of being at peace with taking her life. <em>"God knows my pain. He will forgive me."</em></div>
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I told her she needed to go to the hospital and get some help. She obstinately refused. “<em>I am NOT going. I hate hospitals. I hate psychiatrists. I do not need help. Please, don’t make me go</em>.”</div>
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“<em>We have a counselor here today," </em>I volunteered. “<em>Would you at least be willing to talk to him for a little while</em>?”</div>
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Thankfully, she agreed, which allowed me an excuse to leave the exam room. I immediately summoned Rafael, a LCSW, who luckily didn’t have a patient in his office. He introduced himself to Belinda and settled in for a crucial conversation. Meanwhile, I called 911, knowing confidently this was what I had to do. And yet, a little part of me felt a sting of angst, knowing I had just betrayed her confidence, and she would forever swear my name.</div>
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I was sad and hopeful for her, and now very behind. Monday, Monday.</div>
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Later in the day, Rafael stopped by my office.</div>
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He explained that Belinda was very upset when the police officer walked into the room<em>. </em>She just kept saying<em> ‘I trusted Dr. Fisher…how could she do this to me</em>?!’</div>
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“<em>But you know what</em>?” Rafael continued. “<em>You really did something good today….I am convinced she was serious and ready to kill herself. In fact, I think she had already taken some pills….she was starting to slur her speech and couldn’t tell me the day or date</em>.”</div>
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Six weeks later, I was surprised to see Belinda back in my exam room. The empty gray haze in her affect was gone. She smiled. She twinkled. And she said this:</div>
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“<em>I want to thank you…. I got some medicine and am seeing a therapist. I am doing so much better. I can't thank you enough from the bottom of my heart. I was so mad at you at first, but I’m so glad you sent me to the hospital. I know that you really care about me</em>.”</div>
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What if I had not asked her if everything was ok that gloomy Monday?</div>
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What if….</div>
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If you don’t ask, patients won’t tell.</div>
Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-9828608624483684812016-08-01T06:00:00.000-06:002016-08-01T22:11:05.281-06:00My Philosophy on Aging the Day I Begin the Back Nine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Moving to New Mexico has changed me in a lot of ways (right around 50 or so ways 2B exact</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">).</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> </span></div>
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I think the biggest influencer has been my job, and the wonderful patients I am privileged to take care of: people of all ages in all stages of health and illness. One of the things I have learned is that there is a lot of heartburn here. <i>#longlivegreenchili</i> <i>#buystockinOmeprazole</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">The other resounding lesson I've learned is that "our past and present habits will become evident with aging ailments and medical conditions" </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(<i>Anita Joy</i>)</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">. Our bodies are a reflection of our thoughts and lifestyle (and genetics). The care you give now can spare so much pain later. Sure uncontrollable stuff happens. But we can stack the odds. </span></div>
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I'm no different than others, who in the middle of middle-age has a mid-life crisis. It's sobering to wake-up one day and realize that trampolines are torture. And right around the corner is arthritis and down the street, cataracts. Aging is tough. It ain't for sissies. I see the challenges daily. It could be very easy to be depressed today, my birthday, knowing the potential horizon. </div>
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Instead it's motivated me to step up my game, do what I can to be more mentally and physically healthy and focus on what is good about this back nine of my life. And I wanted to share that!! If I could help one person make a healthy change, all my time, effort and embarrassment will have been worth it! (See <i>#50changes</i> on my Instagram: jennifisher66)</div>
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You see....from my vantage point, "middle-age" seems to be a real sweet spot. (Although every age has benefits with things to learn.) The 20s are spent convincing others to love us. The 30s learning to love others, the 40s learning to love ourselves. The 50s and 60s+ are golden, when all that comes together: less proving, more giving and living. Not yet challenged with hearing loss, incontinence, daily arthritis pain, impaired mobility, or other struggles of aging, but with more freedoms that come with established careers, empty nests, and self-acceptance.<br />
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Cameron Diaz has a book called "<b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Longevity-Book-Science-Strength-Privilege/dp/0062375180" target="_blank">LONGEVITY</a></b>--<i> the science of aging, the biology of strength, the privilege of time.</i>" I love her tagline and way to think about aging. I don't like the negative tone of the ubiquitous phrase "anti-aging" as if growing older is an enemy to fight against. You can't hold back a sunset. And those who want to let it happen naturally, without dying the gray or Botoxing the wrinkles, shouldn't be made to feel they are anti anti-aging. I also don't love the term pro-aging as if we are promoting tickets to a carnival ride. </div>
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Years tick by like a moving train. It's pointless to be for (pro) or against (anti) that. Whether we slow down the train, or promote it along the way, the train, unless derailed, WILL get to the station. Being anti or pro-aging assigns value to something that just is. It is what it is. </div>
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Plus, let's be honest, my pro or anti stance varies with the low back pain of the day. Some days I holler, "bring it on" loving the wealth of wisdom birthdays bring. Other days (usually after seeing an infirm 85 yr old), I adamantly want to stop the train. I want to get off and picnic forever in the nearby field of paintbrush and poppies, never ever re-boarding the age train headed to Dementia Town. </div>
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Forget pro or anti-aging. How about choosing to simply find joy in aging, however that resonates in the moment. Your soul is rooting for this.</div>
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Joy in aging. <i><u>Joyaging</u></i>. <i><u>Joyaging</u></i>!! (I can make up my own words... it's my birthday). </div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I'm grateful for the perspective and charisma that comes with 49 years of experience + 1 yr of sleeping (=50).</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> </span>Aging is a doomed privilege. Maybe I'm not lucky enough for forever. But I am lucky enough for now. For now, I'm basking in this golden time, that soft magic hour before the sun sets. </div>
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We'll see what I say about all this when I turn 80. I'll probably need a new word, like <i><u>constipatience</u></i>!</div>
Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-9259992500136024982016-07-24T12:57:00.001-06:002016-07-24T15:21:30.060-06:00SKINCARE Part C<br />
.......... 43/50 SKINCARE Part C ..........<br />
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Here is my PM routine:<br />
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1. Cleanse: If I am wearing make-up, I use <a href="http://www.sephora.com/take-the-day-off-cleansing-balm-P126301" target="_blank">Clinique Take the Day Off</a> Cleansing Balm. Easily handles face/eye make-up. Or T<a href="http://www.sephora.com/regenerating-cleanser-P379710" target="_blank">ata Harper Regenerating Cleanser</a>. Followed by 2nd cleanse with micellar water. If I'm not wearing make-up, I just use the micellar water with a cotton pad. Trendy product...it's all the rage. Attracts/traps dirt due to micelles, tiny oil molecules suspended in water. Was using <a href="http://www.walgreens.com/store/c/garnier-skinactive-micellar-cleansing-water-all-in-1-cleanser%2Bwaterproof-makeup-remover/ID=prod6310459-product" target="_blank">Garnier</a> Micellar Water (much cheaper dupe for the holy grail <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Bioderma-Sensibio-H2O-Water-8-33/dp/B0036SFTK4" target="_blank">Bioderma</a>) but it has ingredients I didn't love so switched to <a href="http://www.sephora.com/micellar-cleansing-water-P381020" target="_blank">Caudalie</a>.<br />
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2. Serums: again the serums are what do the work. I pick products with actives such as niacinamides, peptides, and fruit acids (glycolic or lactic acid). On half of my face (the half with Retin-A), I'm using <a href="http://www.sephora.com/t-l-c-framboos-tm-glycolic-night-serum-P392246" target="_blank">Drunk Elephant Framboos Glycolic Night Serum</a> (great name, cool packaging, cult following) It has both AHA and BHA (two types of acids). Listed as 12% glycolic.<br />
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On the drug-store half of my face, the best comparable I could find is the <a href="http://www.target.com/p/olay-prox-nightly-purifying-micro-peel-1-3-fl-oz/-/A-16602746" target="_blank">ProX Olay Nightly Purifying Night Peel</a>, which may be about 10% glycolic acid.<br />
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I'm able to use both an acid (night) and a retinoid (day) because my skin is used to it. May be too much exfoliation for sensitive or virgin skin.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_tiHyNYBe-Jj-HPM6RC-q5VhuHh7DZsCmtQKbnyUvxRbyybBGlAnFfJk0GLfvR1L7IR23v1Q8VOt7TSTJvqfJGdocgn9PhLkUl8YcyTDBUvDeeaqHGqvh924DgVnVMKddHLqQ0Ci/s1600/FullSizeRender_3.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_tiHyNYBe-Jj-HPM6RC-q5VhuHh7DZsCmtQKbnyUvxRbyybBGlAnFfJk0GLfvR1L7IR23v1Q8VOt7TSTJvqfJGdocgn9PhLkUl8YcyTDBUvDeeaqHGqvh924DgVnVMKddHLqQ0Ci/s320/FullSizeRender_3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
3. Moisturizer: the expensive half of the face gets <a href="http://www.ulta.com/age-smart-super-rich-repair?productId=prod2152651" target="_blank">Dermalogica</a> (won't re-use when this runs out) or <a href="http://www.madhippie.com/shop/face-cream/" target="_blank">Mad Hippie</a> (delightful natural cream with safer ingred). Drugstore half gets <a href="http://www.target.com/p/olay-regenerist-sculpting-face-cream/-/A-10910276" target="_blank">Olay Regenerist Micro-Sculpting Cream</a>. A great product, pleasure to use. One of the industry's and Olay's best seller of all time. For a reason.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMPeSPyAkqNhUwASrg4R4gPnUlCHCldIL4id1YdmMZeBy4vvvAVzKsILWz0r8-uog3-vE_Ya5frj1i1qANZE3BC-bG6mpl55jOAQmB9lX-Hit6KWUviO8KOiLOdA2XOGsTHca-2uZ/s1600/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVMPeSPyAkqNhUwASrg4R4gPnUlCHCldIL4id1YdmMZeBy4vvvAVzKsILWz0r8-uog3-vE_Ya5frj1i1qANZE3BC-bG6mpl55jOAQmB9lX-Hit6KWUviO8KOiLOdA2XOGsTHca-2uZ/s320/FullSizeRender_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Skin Treats: once or twice a month I use <a href="https://www.amazon.com/BEST-Dead-Sea-Mud-Mask/dp/B00XTAFYKY" target="_blank">Dead Sea Mud Mask</a> by Pure Body Naturals. 4.5 stars with over 8,000 reviews on Amazon 😱!! This is especially good for acne, rosacea or irritated skin. I just like using it....it makes me feel all spa-ish and fancy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYjWhp2gUfYvbuqZneO-80cn6aauc7Ev1wKju54X62zDqzdVuziRX8U7E9pCytEQQxAJrapFCfOJxhCrE-fBtxWx7QusomM6eg2WPtLpOimGrmQryzeCBMnpSpq4fbNBUbhds2CKV/s1600/mud+mask.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYjWhp2gUfYvbuqZneO-80cn6aauc7Ev1wKju54X62zDqzdVuziRX8U7E9pCytEQQxAJrapFCfOJxhCrE-fBtxWx7QusomM6eg2WPtLpOimGrmQryzeCBMnpSpq4fbNBUbhds2CKV/s320/mud+mask.jpg" width="307" /></a></div>
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I use the P<a href="http://www.ulta.com/brand/pmd?cmpid=PS_Non!google!PrestPCA_SmallBrands&CAWELAID=330000200000460040&CAPCID=93070368750&cadevice=c&agid=27160083630&catci=kwd-30549846551&gclid=Cj0KEQjwztG8BRCJgseTvZLctr8BEiQAA_kBDyzBd4SkLMwz3skw3dA7Tp6JuY0gLpDDLgQHW7Ys8usaAkcU8P8HAQ" target="_blank">MD Personal Micro-Derm</a> tool 1-2x /month.<br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Glycolic-Acid-30-Gel-Peel/dp/B006ZBKH2Y" target="_blank">Glycolic peel</a> (30%) after the PMD. * Do NOT use with active cold sores. Caution with dormant HSV.<br />
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Obviously you can see, I employ both chemical and physical exfoliation.<br />
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Finally: love, love the luxurious <a href="http://mahalo.care/" target="_blank">Mahalo line</a>: the company, philosophy, branding, packaging, name, everything about it. And opening a package from them is pure awesomeness! Check out their beautiful IG feed! I'm not a big fan of oils...but if I'm especially dry and feeling indulgent... this is the oil I reach for.<br />
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My two-sided experiment isn't perfect. There are lots of influencing variables....but I can definitely see a difference between the two sides of my face. Which side do you think is looking better?<br />
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Thanks for stopping by.... let me know if you have any questions, comments or suggestions!<br />
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xoXo,<br />
Ms Fish<br />
<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-14800573239505891442016-07-24T12:56:00.004-06:002016-07-24T15:36:11.947-06:00SKINCARE Part B....... 43/50 SKINCARE Part B .......<br />
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Here is my current AM Skincare Routine:<br />
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1. Cleanse with <a href="http://www.costco.com/Kirkland-Signature%E2%84%A2-Daily-Facial-Towelettes-150-ct.product.100109239.html" target="_blank">Kirkland wipes</a> from Costco. They are soft, gentle, and a good price. I've tried several others (Yes to Cucumbers, Neutrogena, etc.) but these are hands down my favorite.<br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">2. Tone with either </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Thayers-Alcohol-free-Petal-Witch-Hazel/dp/B00016XJ4M" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Thayer's Rose Petal Witch Hazel</a><span style="text-align: center;"> (Natural Grocer or Amazon) or </span><a href="http://www.target.com/p/pixi-by-petra-glow-tonic-3-4-fl-oz/-/A-17408487" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Pixi Glow Tonic</a><span style="text-align: center;"> (Target) with 5% glycolic.</span><br />
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3. Vitamin C serum. This is the backbone of a complete skincare routine. Proven in clinical trials. This is an antioxidant which treats and prevents photo damage, the biggest precursor to aging and cancer. It is unstable in heat and light, so needs to be from a reliable source that mixes the product fresh. I use <a href="http://www.timelessha.com/20-vitamin-c-e-ferulic-acid-serum-1-oz/" target="_blank">this</a>. There is a LOT to learn and know about Vit C. There are lots of different types and the formulas and secondary ingredients used depend on the type of Vit C. Not all C serums are equal!! Despite what you can find on the web, do not try making your own serum.<br />
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4. As mentioned in Part A, I am experimenting with drugstore versus higher-end products on my face, hoping really there isn't too much of a drastic difference or I'm going to look might funny. hahaha.<br />
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So on one half of my face, I use Tretinoin Cream (Retin-A*). It comes in different strengths. Right now I'm using mid-potency of 0.05%. This is the worker bee, prescription only. Lots of good long-term data with good efficacy. It thins the top layer of skin promoting rapid cell turnover. Thickens the deeper layer of skin, to boost collagen, improving wrinkles. Reduces age spots and evens skin texture. May reverse pre-cancerous cells.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZMLA8LHu2T6w-EK2v7FelykUmpo4QDJ7unKn9p0vMxgHSjrF65fgfDIHC8quTxBRtdrTmz2Rf1BT0tJv1NNX1Z-Ak1tKA25alIVKaZAtTkMsBKAqlciARYLizbfwZRtBHYTITnjt/s1600/tretinoin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZMLA8LHu2T6w-EK2v7FelykUmpo4QDJ7unKn9p0vMxgHSjrF65fgfDIHC8quTxBRtdrTmz2Rf1BT0tJv1NNX1Z-Ak1tKA25alIVKaZAtTkMsBKAqlciARYLizbfwZRtBHYTITnjt/s320/tretinoin.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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On the flip side of my face: Neutrogena Anti-Wrinkle serum. This has retinol, a weaker cousin of the prescription Retin-A with the potential for more irregular absorption, depending on face conditions (pH, dryness, inflammation, etc).<br />
*avoid retinols if pregnant<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoTSgsVD3qYGupzWs6J7J6wQTKpYkMz15sVifbDEQNcf7FqBGNiQQoe-_pq9S7C1DfztrhT-4TvxA3hvHt_xd8Wn8wd0gOdxq96Cola3qsrwhbqfNTSb9lwyaey0KH7IcJo1pZ-G64/s1600/neutrogena.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoTSgsVD3qYGupzWs6J7J6wQTKpYkMz15sVifbDEQNcf7FqBGNiQQoe-_pq9S7C1DfztrhT-4TvxA3hvHt_xd8Wn8wd0gOdxq96Cola3qsrwhbqfNTSb9lwyaey0KH7IcJo1pZ-G64/s320/neutrogena.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
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5. Moisturize: don't do this daily in the am unless looking dry. If I wear foundation, I use <a href="http://www.sephora.com/lait-creme-concentre-P391011" target="_blank">Embryolisse</a>, a light delicious moisturizer as a base.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5UgD2BuLAHVBSW-l-VEqYHxX2ZkbXGOeOCMNq8r71sWPm4tPZXC4Fjh90bXEJhZ5c7p34KsMdVGCPsn4eEn1lOi1vXd-Mllsq1AhH0HFKm17NZ3PoCsk_1koa1f8RHr59qCvltHH/s1600/embryolisse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5UgD2BuLAHVBSW-l-VEqYHxX2ZkbXGOeOCMNq8r71sWPm4tPZXC4Fjh90bXEJhZ5c7p34KsMdVGCPsn4eEn1lOi1vXd-Mllsq1AhH0HFKm17NZ3PoCsk_1koa1f8RHr59qCvltHH/s320/embryolisse.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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6. Sunscreen: Every single soul, regardless of age, should wear BROAD SPECTRUM daily but imperative if using Retinoids. This can be in the form of a moisturizer with SPF (love <a href="http://www.ulta.com/facial-moisturizing-lotion-am-with-spf-30?productId=xlsImpprod4190253" target="_blank">Cerave AM</a>), in a tinted CC or BB cream, or as a stand-alone. Currently using <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Neutrogena-Ultra-Dry-touch-Sunscreen-Ounces/dp/B00008IHO3" target="_blank">Neutrogena Ultra-sheer with Helioplex</a> in SPF 30. (Anything more than 50 is wasting your $$). This chemical screen is ok if driving to and from work. If outside for awhile, I prefer a physical block. Like <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Badger-All-Natural-Sunscreen-Unscented/dp/B003II53Z8" target="_blank">Badger</a>-an organic and natural zinc oxide.<br />
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7. Don't believe in eye creams.<br />
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8. We can talk about lips on request..... comment here if interested....<br />
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Continue on to Part C for my nightime routine.<br />
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xoXo,<br />
Ms Fish<br />
<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-33683341355326135402016-07-24T12:54:00.000-06:002016-07-24T15:23:48.000-06:00SKINCARE Part A<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjc0EfYfZvViyW1Etvljdsaa0YXsoP5QFLsUh5Fe11PNA7afZAV_G-H5jTazzKVRr9imXG0734l6X2_IUXrDFwV5LKTUZoyKSCqFSgEDm7ydHjfHjISStXcFcgydFO-lnFyg4Cx9o/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjc0EfYfZvViyW1Etvljdsaa0YXsoP5QFLsUh5Fe11PNA7afZAV_G-H5jTazzKVRr9imXG0734l6X2_IUXrDFwV5LKTUZoyKSCqFSgEDm7ydHjfHjISStXcFcgydFO-lnFyg4Cx9o/s640/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
****Hi there!<br />
I've been doing a countdown on IG (jennifher66) until my 50th birthday of 50 changes I have made over the last couple of years to feel healthier and happier than ever. It's been fun, but I recognize that my posts are a little lengthy for the quick scroll-through format / mentality of IG. Plus IG is so annoying it wont let me put in page breaks, making it hard to read longer passages. So I'm putting some of my posts here*****<br />
<br />
.......... 43/50 SKIN CARE Part A.......<br />
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This will be a 3-part series. I could talk about skin for D.A.Y.S....but I'll reign it into to a couple of hours 😂jk. #maybe Plus check out my IG feed to see mad picture grid skills #justusedanapp #nbd<br />
<br />
So here's the SKINny.<br />
<br />
Two years ago I looked older: wrinkled, tired, dull complexion, under eye puffiness and darkness, and lentigos (age spots). What??? You mean the people who talk about the importance of skin care were actually right?? Dang it!!! I never, literally ever, washed my face (outside of the shower) or used ANY kind of product on it...except for Sea Breeze a few times during HS. Oh how we loved that astringent burning feeling.<br />
<br />
Enter operation skin care. I've been studying and experimenting for two years. Here's what I know: it can be overwhelming with so many products and claims and opinions and conflicting data such as the right order to apply products (has to do with pH), etc. But there are certain products that do have evidence to show efficacy. It's also simply a matter of finding what works for you and your skin type<br />
<br />
I'm in the middle of a 6-month clinical trial (n=1). On 1/2 of my face, I'm using drugstore products, and on the other half, higher-end products of comparable ingredients (not crazy high-end like <a href="http://m.cremedelamer.com/" target="_blank">LaMer</a>, <a href="http://www.sk-ii.com/on/demandware.store/Sites-SKII-Site/default/Default-Start?cm_mmc=PPC-IP-GGL-_-SKII_Search_Brand+Awareness.Exact-_-Brand_General_Exact-_-sk%20ii_mkwid_srEbg7smN_78590811431_sk%20ii_e_m&gclid=Cj0KEQjwztG8BRCJgseTvZLctr8BEiQAA_kBDxTQS9rM_QPcJPETdP8VIwVtgSad6knLnvOioq4B3A8aAkTl8P8HAQ" target="_blank">SKII</a> or medical grade like Neocutis, Obagi or SkinCeuticals) I want to know if you really have to spend more. I may start looking lopsided.... 😂😂😂<br />
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In the next two posts, I'll explain my am and pm skincare routine. I have researched and deliberately chosen each product. #triedlots! I think my skin is looking better and younger than 2 years ago!! Although I still have hollow blue eye bags. There are many causes of this, mine is genetic, so there isn't a cream that will magically improve that. It requires a filler like <a href="https://www.juvederm.com/?cid=sem_goo_43700009995923007" target="_blank">Juvederm</a>. Also, no cream will remove my deep set wrinkles. Those require needles or knives.<br />
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If you are interested in how your skin products measure up (safety, efficacy) <a href="http://beautypedia.com/" target="_blank">Beautypedia</a>, <a href="http://thedermreview.com/" target="_blank">thedermreview</a>, or <a href="http://www.ewg.org/skindeep/site/about.php" target="_blank">EWG Skin Deep</a> database are good resources. <a href="http://www.beautycounter.com/" target="_blank">BeautyCounter</a> is a great place to explore safer options.<br />
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Continue to Part B for my AM routine.<br />
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<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-46149220467876470962016-01-03T19:05:00.000-07:002016-01-03T21:11:12.075-07:00Angels on the Roof<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCvdQ6IwiEUwIkaR-0RR9JqxB9e9b776FElBXJdhpoyOUndVti4zggrkeECjNcbhLjn2NRTC6iM4NjwVKtIikelTnXbSlREbA5QlUssgdfx4R5EI53Ni6-mVfx24yt2kTRLeqEnAy/s1600/clouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwCvdQ6IwiEUwIkaR-0RR9JqxB9e9b776FElBXJdhpoyOUndVti4zggrkeECjNcbhLjn2NRTC6iM4NjwVKtIikelTnXbSlREbA5QlUssgdfx4R5EI53Ni6-mVfx24yt2kTRLeqEnAy/s640/clouds.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Heart Full of Wonder by <a href="http://www.minted.com/product/wall-art-prints/MIN-ULI-GNA/heart-full-of-wonder?ccId=399446&org=title&feature=Browse&event=sku_click&sku=MIN-ULI-GNA&pop_rank=346&source=image&t_api=1">Megan Leong</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><span id="goog_1072145615"></span><span id="goog_1072145616"></span><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>"I know you are busy..... but can I tell you a story?"</i><br />
<br />
I was behind. As usual. It was time to go home, and I had (out-of-town) family waiting to start our New Years' Eve festivities. I still had to call a newlywed and break the news that her culture confirmed genital herpes; change a toddler's antibiotic to one his insurance would cover; call Marcus and tell him the MRI showed 2 fractures in his left hand, one in his right knee and a torn right lateral collateral ligament from his motorcycle accident; and re-fill several medications before the long holiday weekend.<br />
<br />
I didn't have time for anything more, but she seemed especially anxious to share something. So, hiding my impatience, I sat down, closed my computer and agreed to hear her story.<br />
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She always has one.<br />
<br />
Vivian's chronological age is 64, but she is 88 by appearances and 97 if we calculate life-years based on accumulated hardship. Over the last 2 1/2 years of overseeing her healthcare, she has frequently weighed heavily on my mind. Single, and abandoned by her children, she shares her small home with a grandson, who eats what little food she can afford, forcing her to often starve, but feels no compulsion to clean up his messes or help Vivian in any way. In factual tones, never dripping with sorrow or pity, Vivian often tells me about her challenges, especially ones involving her home's decrepit state of disrepair. Weighing less than 100 pounds and packing around a portable oxygen tank, she is tough and hard-working and does what she can to keep up on things such as trimming bushes, cutting down an overgrown tree with a handsaw, scraping chipped paint, and patching holes in the wall.<br />
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Which brings me to her story. I will relay it in first person, just the way I heard it.<br />
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<i>My roof has leaked for a long time. In my living room, there is green mold where water drips down the wall. I couldn't afford a new roof, but I have been saving for many months to get some supplies to repair the leak. Two weeks ago, I had enough to purchase a bucket of tar. The cheapest one was $54.53 and I had finally saved $59 dollars. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I was just about to buy the tar, when another customer standing next to me said, "I wouldn't buy that....it's not going to do a good enough job." He pointed to another bucket. "That's the one you should get." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I asked the salesman the cost of the other bucket. It was $90. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"I can't afford that one," I told the stranger.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Who is going to be putting this tar on your roof?" he asked me. I said I planned on climbing up and doing it myself. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"I'll tell you what...." he said. "I'd like to buy that other bucket of tar for you. And in fact, I'll come on over and put it on myself." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He bought the $90 bucket, and carried it out to my car. I gave him my address and drove away feeling appreciative. But I didn't think I would ever see him again.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Three days later, on Saturday at noon, he showed up at my door. He went up on my roof, then came down and said, "it's kind of cloudy right now. I'll be back in a few hours to take care of your leak."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Two hours later, a beautiful pick-up pulling a large white trailer parked outside my house. Out of the trailer came six big guys who immediately climbed up on my roof and started going to work. I soon realized, they weren't there to just put down a bucket of tar. Six hours later, I had an entire new roof. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The next Saturday, the man showed up again, this time with three guys. They said they were back to put on another layer and seal the roof. They gave me what I could never, ever afford to do in my lifetime.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>While they were working, I made them some of my homemade tortillas and really good beans. It was the best I could do to show my thanks. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><i>And you know what? I still don't even know his name. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But I know he's an angel.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
As she finished her story, we both wiped tears from our eyes. How grateful I was in that moment that I didn't hurry her out of the exam room. I felt gratitude that Vivian wanted to share this story with me. I was thankful for a profession that allowed intimate exchanges like this. I was thankful Vivian wouldn't have to worry about her roof anymore, and that---maybe--- her health and lungs would improve. I was thankful for miracles and kindness and character. And I was thankful to cap off the year 2015 believing in angels.<br />
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<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-86980721791182268362015-03-31T22:43:00.000-06:002015-03-31T22:43:57.248-06:00Rhonda and the Aluminum CansIt was the same story I hear at least once every single day.<br />
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Rhonda stopped taking her blood pressure and diabetes medicine 6 months ago because she couldn't afford them.<br />
<br />
She shared her story... which sounded similar to so many others.<br />
<br />
Rhonda is...<br />
married<br />
without education<br />
without skills or training<br />
can't get a job<br />
in poor health<br />
but not poor enough to be on disability<br />
<br />
And then her story began to differ from the others.<br />
<br />
Rhonda's husband is on disability and collects monthly disability payments. He makes it very clear to Rhonda that because HE is the one suffering from disability, HE is the one that gets all the money. She is not privvy to one cent of it, since she is 'healthy' and all....<br />
<br />
The day I saw Rhonda in clinic, she told me her situation in a factual tone, without begging for pity. Then she got to her reason for the visit: she wanted a prescription refill.<br />
<br />
"<i>I have been saving aluminum cans for several months. I just turned them in at the recycle place and got $7.00 to pay for my blood pressure medicine this month</i>."<br />
<br />
<i>"What will you do next month?</i>" I asked.<br />
<br />
"<i>Oh honey, I don't have the luxury of thinking about next month, or even tomorrow. I just take my days one aluminum can at a time</i>."<br />
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<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-62868671448132166172015-03-24T21:22:00.003-06:002015-03-25T06:26:25.999-06:00The Fireman<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRZnrsg2r0vH3KpiNRiA-FYoxQme2WCWGcnOg3A2k3RIANS4yEm6b7zEtU_pJPEvRC9O9RRxxF_ZJhM9ln3yahjjob_oSwPQUCW8_TX-TEdng_igzljT76EwTZiJw9kHebJF-Kbkl/s1600/fireman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRZnrsg2r0vH3KpiNRiA-FYoxQme2WCWGcnOg3A2k3RIANS4yEm6b7zEtU_pJPEvRC9O9RRxxF_ZJhM9ln3yahjjob_oSwPQUCW8_TX-TEdng_igzljT76EwTZiJw9kHebJF-Kbkl/s1600/fireman.jpg" height="333" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
There were three rock-solid hints right away that this was going to be a tough one.<br />
<br />
First of all, there was a vague chief complaint. Whenever a patient tells the medical assistant they came for an appointment to "<i>discuss an issue,</i>" it's a guarantee the patient isn't there for a sore throat or to check their blood sugar. This generalization usually means one of three things: either the patient wants to be tested for a STI (sexually transmitted infection), wants a narcotic, or is on probation and split their head open while intoxicated.<br />
<br />
But it's mostly just the first two.<br />
<br />
The second clue was that the patient, in this case a male, refused to allow the female student nurses to sit in on the visit. "<i>That narrows things down a bit,</i>" I thought, pointing to a likely problem somewhere in the vicinity between the thighs and umbilicus.<br />
<br />
But I was wrong.<br />
<br />
The third and final clue was when the patient, someone I had never seen before, greeted me with "<i>are you sure you want to see this</i>?"<br />
<br />
Now for me, especially since I <i>chose</i> a medical profession with all its grisly details, this kind of disclaimer is like dangling a penguin in front of a leopard seal. It's an open invitation to escape the mundane of hypertension and hyperlipidemia and feast on something atypical or cool or bizarre or shocking or grotesque or better yet----maybe even <i>fixable</i>.<br />
<br />
So when the patient looked at me with apprehension and asked <i>"are you sure you want to see this"</i> I answered assuredly, hoping not to let the undertones of excitement jump the gun like an anxious girlfriend blurting out "<i>yes I'll marry you</i>" before he even pops the question.<br />
<br />
"<i>Yes, I am sure,</i>" I replied trying to sound safe and confident, and even though I was intrigued and excited, I was also nervous.<br />
<br />
There is always that. Always.<br />
<br />
Walking into an exam room, I am accompanied by my sidekicks: Inexperience & Anxiety. An undercurrent of worry weaves in and out of my day, popping up here and there like a silver thread woven among a tapestry of wool. Will I know the right diagnosis or the proper treatment? Will I recognize whether the problem is a danger or a diversion? Will I be able to make the best decision for the patient?<br />
<br />
I remembered the last time a patient said those words to me --- "<i>are you sure you want to see this</i>?" A 30 year old man, who was lying (clue: not sitting) down on the exam table, proceeded to pull down his pants, and directed my attention toward "something" in his butt that had been causing him excruciating pain for 2 WEEKS. This is an important point to remember --- two weeks, fourteen days, three hundred and thirty six hours!<br />
<br />
I took one look at his backside, and instantly judged this guy as either a Herculean hero or a doltish Cronus. Perhaps he was a little bit of both. I <strike>assessed the situation</strike> stared and totally played it cool, swallowed hard, and calmly stated, "<i>you need to go immediately to the hospital... you have about 8 inches of colon hanging out of your rectum...</i>"<br />
<br />
But I digress. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Like his colon.....)</span><br />
<br />
So back to my story.....there I was in the exam room, ready to see what the patient wanted to hide from the student nurses. It was just me and him and his secret which filled the room like a hot air balloon. I was keenly aware of his vulnerability, and though I have realized this before, I was suddenly filled with marvel at the trust and privilege that patient's extend to health care providers. It is a curious phenomenon, that mere strangers, who within minutes of meeting one another, are exchanging one-sided, intimate details about a person's life and body. This is a precious right and responsibility that I hold sacred and hope never to take for granted.<br />
<br />
Slowly, the patient rolled up his sleeves, revealing several scattered nodules the size of shelled walnuts up and down the front and back of his arms. Some were abscessed, others just nondescriptly sitting there, like a gopher in a hole---only the pest which had burrowed down in his skin was not a varmint, but misplaced heroin instead.<br />
<br />
His story carved a deep inroad into my soul.<br />
<br />
He had been a fireman for 29 years busting his butt and breaking his back, literally, for society. His aches and pains led him to prescription narcotics, which led him to street drugs, which led him to a stomach eroded and raw from the years and years of pain meds. Now at the age of 71, in a desperate attempt to control his pain, he started shooting the heroin to bypass his gut and give it a rest.<br />
<br />
It wasn't for the high. It wasn't for the kicks.<br />
<br />
He was a newbie to this brave rough world not usually inhabited by those with a pension and grandchildren, and he was scared and ashamed at what the drugs were doing to his toned and rescuing arms.<br />
<br />
He had tried every conceivable way to quit drugs and manage his pain in productive ways. He looked straight into my eyes and pleaded, like a sinner asking God, "<i>what else can I do</i>?"<br />
<br />
Oh Mr Firefighter..... I pray this is one rescue you will be able to make.<br />
<br />
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<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-9894314361842026922014-03-03T21:31:00.000-07:002014-03-04T10:50:01.648-07:00The Front Porch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_0PMyMmVgr14zaGZAUxp3FtNT1V9lAkde1xfUHMwNZSyVc16AcJxi2q7Owkl7W5nFcBXAIhyphenhyphenTJwKybJyxcOJTFmXzDDrXmrT9xnJPPrE9vmuGZBG_eHZkJcJgi9Y370wnjpD2VdA/s1600/family+in+springdale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9_0PMyMmVgr14zaGZAUxp3FtNT1V9lAkde1xfUHMwNZSyVc16AcJxi2q7Owkl7W5nFcBXAIhyphenhyphenTJwKybJyxcOJTFmXzDDrXmrT9xnJPPrE9vmuGZBG_eHZkJcJgi9Y370wnjpD2VdA/s1600/family+in+springdale.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my brothers and parents in grafton, utah</td></tr>
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Have you ever noticed that the <i>kitchen</i> is a bit of a glory hog?<br />
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In magazines like Better Homes & Gardens or real-life living, the kitchen often gets a lot of attention. And rightly so. Often described as the "heart" of the home, the kitchen is the <b>hub of sustenance. </b>It is<b> </b>the<b> </b>place where our senses are fed, and where emotions and pounds are born and bred (and often shed).<br />
<br />
I love being in the kitchen: scouring recipes, making (or ruining) a batch of homemade caramels, cooking up a batch of Meyer lemon curd, or kneading rolls. I love doing dishes and feeling the warm sudsy comfort on my hands, made even better when my daughter sits across the bar from me spilling snippets about her day.<br />
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So when it came time to sell our home in Utah, it didn't surprise me that the kitchen was one of the places I would miss the most. What did surprise me is how nostalgic I would get about the porch.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvLmEWGb5TqcwXocOO0O1PELqZgPK72JOKo0lKWQV3EznIDFA_mHHtWSDafOP2MqWDSDNMYBCLLjsOwr6XDwNmdRmC8kNGK-vXWXVlft1o94USipwnl8l8TNdtGPZ2_Is_Vuu-irQ/s1600/IMG_2687.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvLmEWGb5TqcwXocOO0O1PELqZgPK72JOKo0lKWQV3EznIDFA_mHHtWSDafOP2MqWDSDNMYBCLLjsOwr6XDwNmdRmC8kNGK-vXWXVlft1o94USipwnl8l8TNdtGPZ2_Is_Vuu-irQ/s1600/IMG_2687.jpg" height="587" width="640" /></a></div>
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But, then again, this epiphany made perfect sense.<br />
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I have always had a passion for front (and back) porches. Maybe it's because our front porch growing up was the place of my first kiss. Or maybe because it was the place where I sat for hours as a teenager pretending to read <i>The Outsiders</i> or <i>Lord of the Flies</i> while hoping to catch a glimpse of the hot boy across the street.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOGaNCgzDArluG2PzANQMJ_ncmDodzDVhyw6fePU4U6t2EREvKzfJH-ZyRtjMcUKG1wzsCVgI1zn5BprPdQqZUAx5s-ecXkzTioIfLbgKQkeX01qZdWp56nYDs78KA2oc6Gr39RhkQ/s1600/New-york-city-portraits-9435.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOGaNCgzDArluG2PzANQMJ_ncmDodzDVhyw6fePU4U6t2EREvKzfJH-ZyRtjMcUKG1wzsCVgI1zn5BprPdQqZUAx5s-ecXkzTioIfLbgKQkeX01qZdWp56nYDs78KA2oc6Gr39RhkQ/s1600/New-york-city-portraits-9435.jpg" height="640" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo by Justin Hackworth</td></tr>
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Or maybe it was because of my grandparent's front porch in Idaho. It was enclosed with small windows and lacy curtains. It smelled faintly of lilacs and antiques, had a few plants drinking up the sun, a chair inviting you to also drink up the sun, and a bookshelf of novels to sweeten the pot. It was a like getting a sneak peak into their lives before actually entering their home, and there was always a sense of mystery and excitement crossing through it to get to the <i>real</i> front door.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9cQOG0rxZLeArLBqZpvdH_MIo1Zg-LE3kks-5uidKN0RZB1BoI33Ntqz16PuZLUB-81wapz8s9bGOQggNBKlWlkMh9d0FuZBEg4Tg6OguiPOkkRDL_on1uAEhDm95CCMYA_yqn5tq/s1600/gpa+hack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9cQOG0rxZLeArLBqZpvdH_MIo1Zg-LE3kks-5uidKN0RZB1BoI33Ntqz16PuZLUB-81wapz8s9bGOQggNBKlWlkMh9d0FuZBEg4Tg6OguiPOkkRDL_on1uAEhDm95CCMYA_yqn5tq/s1600/gpa+hack.jpg" height="492" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">grandpa in his st. anthony home. photo by Justin Hackworth</td></tr>
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As I grew older, I found myself drawn again and again to homes with front porches. It didn't matter whether simple or elaborate, I loved (and still do) the concept of a veranda which speaks the language of slow and simple times.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPaoYUt69kQf848ofI-o6p_C9-wXF28WdQwD4cev54wnazXsxIAbtB4MIJXOWIROg5qV8jbfy9dPcZrO-6_iwvQU3IX-2TZsiXl82KMu_KPpZNpFdfwVm9o_OC_b1DCzUsZ86Do-O/s1600/house+ad+night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPaoYUt69kQf848ofI-o6p_C9-wXF28WdQwD4cev54wnazXsxIAbtB4MIJXOWIROg5qV8jbfy9dPcZrO-6_iwvQU3IX-2TZsiXl82KMu_KPpZNpFdfwVm9o_OC_b1DCzUsZ86Do-O/s1600/house+ad+night.jpg" height="403" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">our front porch in Bountiful, Utah<br />
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A porch is to a house what clothing is to people, shedding light (literally, haha) on the style and personality of the people inside. For this reason, I especially love the southern porches that wrap around the house like an extra small apron on a plus-sized girl. I would like to think that only the friendliest of people live in houses with porches so inviting. And if someone is lucky enough to have a porch swing? Well then it seems they have the world by the tail and a downhill pull.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGoo-Li72FoZ5MVwUckR0oRU2shnFZbQnOZI4FyR3QtNiWQTix1wVGwtQphPp3dYgpuifT804FxOxHVCIbj14WhDkG-9zqJ45vdVl4XohbZwt-nVYuXoYPZWUIpyIgmfB5sgKOvON1/s1600/wrap+around.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGoo-Li72FoZ5MVwUckR0oRU2shnFZbQnOZI4FyR3QtNiWQTix1wVGwtQphPp3dYgpuifT804FxOxHVCIbj14WhDkG-9zqJ45vdVl4XohbZwt-nVYuXoYPZWUIpyIgmfB5sgKOvON1/s1600/wrap+around.jpg" height="472" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">source unknown</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiErkS8n9wZ2BtrKBBGm8tRohaxZwz2xxkJsLUO63I-_fsl4GaHS1CDlwqWJ7L27uPjTveEaXzVDbhBAqBNBoMW-HhSsHcn5ZYPMS3A4wWOg_-PGzGt8VeeEPh4N16DWKdFdacV3EJ7/s1600/front-porch.jpg" height="480" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">source unknown</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiErkS8n9wZ2BtrKBBGm8tRohaxZwz2xxkJsLUO63I-_fsl4GaHS1CDlwqWJ7L27uPjTveEaXzVDbhBAqBNBoMW-HhSsHcn5ZYPMS3A4wWOg_-PGzGt8VeeEPh4N16DWKdFdacV3EJ7/s1600/front-porch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
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After I had a family of my own, the front porch became even more meaningful. It became so much more than a spy stoop, a preview, a welcome invitation, or a place to relax and enjoy a lemonade in slow motion. The front porch took on a life of its own, becoming a stage where so many wonderful and surprising events played out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbLLOFJZVejZqB4j2WruS6oyvyeCf8M74ADQd-ujJorcEi3pUYojjggXCRsBbm7UEu2eHEkRsdTDVCoHT-a5fZQlyJnTz2uKFqxlUQtY4iNeSjNI7nQwwjmKgKEOUdrHwvzXx2w_dl/s1600/frontporchcurbappealdaytime.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbLLOFJZVejZqB4j2WruS6oyvyeCf8M74ADQd-ujJorcEi3pUYojjggXCRsBbm7UEu2eHEkRsdTDVCoHT-a5fZQlyJnTz2uKFqxlUQtY4iNeSjNI7nQwwjmKgKEOUdrHwvzXx2w_dl/s1600/frontporchcurbappealdaytime.jpg" height="368" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit: <a href="http://www.nestofposies-blog.com/2012/07/front-porch-tour/">Nest of Posies</a></td></tr>
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Like the time we got our youngest son. He was dropped off by a stranger on our porch in an old wicker basket. I found him one morning when I left to go to work.<br />
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Just kidding.<br />
<br />
We didn't ever have a baby<i> delivered </i> there but we did find a little piece of Mr. Fish's finger (another story for another time).<br />
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Which brings me to to the whole point of this writing.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aAMUM-e0VAg6tMVxznD5nLtah-K2d8UnxXI-6q2hu8x6nz6wcCpNr1IcAPudj81hcZz9RBzDr8PuMZdSo3MNJ4vLQWbM0eGECxi8aV6gzzdRONtZhk9DxBO1RkbYsf4IMRiRixI-/s1600/IMG_5324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aAMUM-e0VAg6tMVxznD5nLtah-K2d8UnxXI-6q2hu8x6nz6wcCpNr1IcAPudj81hcZz9RBzDr8PuMZdSo3MNJ4vLQWbM0eGECxi8aV6gzzdRONtZhk9DxBO1RkbYsf4IMRiRixI-/s1600/IMG_5324.JPG" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">home on Coronado Island, California<br />
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<b>PASSING THE <strike>TORCH</strike> PORCH</b><br />
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On a balmy August Sunday in 2013, our family and friends gathered to say goodbye to my two sons who were leaving for South America. They would leave in two days for their mission, and six days later we would move out of our home forever. It was a double-decker good-bye that put me on an emotional merry-go-round. <br />
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So naturally I wanted a family picture.<br />
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This isn't an easy proposition. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your point of view, my family has developed an aversion to taking pictures because of my.... say....how do I put this.... previous patterns of neurosis.... which included taking about three million tries to get the perfect pic.<br />
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When I got brave enough to share my hopes and plans for a picture, I was met with the expected groans, but I promised that this time it would be quick and simple. All we had to do was walk outside and stand on the front porch. There was beauty all around and joy to the world that we wouldn't have to travel to an exotic red rock locale, or search for the perfect background with the perfect lighting and the perfect colored grass and the perfectly coordinating, but not matching outfits, that looked eclectic but not random or like we tried too hard. On the other hand, my family questioned my choice of location because we definitely didn't have the prettiest porch in the perch.<br />
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But this picture wasn't for the aesthetics.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjayH-Yesggwo8hnQ0eNoW52JS25PJogDzp0H8V6wklgUYHcBI7i3dP-I0F12-gpVcmfDKYmiXc4sLa63qTK8iXjqhEbLqeLD7tzsrWIoiIC6hTFhbdGxdqKemHESB1tjQa9MZDIkwL/s1600/IMG_5043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjayH-Yesggwo8hnQ0eNoW52JS25PJogDzp0H8V6wklgUYHcBI7i3dP-I0F12-gpVcmfDKYmiXc4sLa63qTK8iXjqhEbLqeLD7tzsrWIoiIC6hTFhbdGxdqKemHESB1tjQa9MZDIkwL/s1600/IMG_5043.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">on the front porch for one last photo in our Hurricane, Utah home</td></tr>
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It was about freezing a thousand tiny moments.....<br />
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....a thousand tiny moments that hit me like a wrecking ball on the night before this photo was taken, jamming together twenty two year's worth of porch memories into one word that I kept thinking about over and over.... GIVING.<br />
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Over the previous several weeks, I had been filled with sunshine in my soul thinking about all the things that happened on our front and back porch, with a unifying theme of generous imparting, endowing, supplying. I was amazed at the power of a simple space and <b><u>overcome with gratitude for all who had ventured onto it</u></b>. Our final photograph in that house was the chance for our little plain porch to <b>give back</b> one final memory as we parted forever.<br />
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Now here I must warn you that if you are bored with minutia or need to go pluck your eyebrows, this would be a good place to stop. Because all that follows is reminiscing about everyday porch miscellanea. Once seemingly inconsequential in their ordinariness, the following stories now feel extraordinarily valuable through the metamorphosis of retrospection.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1nu79WUbTAlfajwneMOXsbQMyG1gu8la6uvbvpJQo_Xb9ThJoXekksVHmd_dSAIxCPwclrOhtPGJUmrykeJpQ0blXKJH8cG_zhyphenhyphen-Won56-rwj9zvp8v-w-f2BII4W2aFdG-1V4Md/s1600/visiting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1nu79WUbTAlfajwneMOXsbQMyG1gu8la6uvbvpJQo_Xb9ThJoXekksVHmd_dSAIxCPwclrOhtPGJUmrykeJpQ0blXKJH8cG_zhyphenhyphen-Won56-rwj9zvp8v-w-f2BII4W2aFdG-1V4Md/s1600/visiting.jpg" height="425" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo by Justin Hackworth</td></tr>
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<b>THE PORCH IS A PLACE OF PRANKS</b><br />
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There was the time my husband was studying and I was (supposedly) getting some sleep before going in to work at the night shift. It was Halloween and by 9:00 pm most of the trick-or-treaters had petered out. I channeled my inner Sherlock Holmes and snuck out of the house to our car where I put on a [previously planted] trench coat and mask. ONLY a trench coat and mask. I tiptoed up to the front door like a bobcat praying noboby else would come by and rang the doorbell. When Mr. Fish answered, I flashed open my trench coat nice and wide, shouted Trick-or-Treat in my best Marilyn Monroe impersonation, then turned and ran away. Well, I use the term '<i>ran'</i> rather loosely. It was really more like a stiff walk because it was October and about 120 degrees below zero. And my body wasn't used to that kind of <strike>exposure</strike> cold.<br />
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<b>THE PORCH IS A PLACE OF KINDNESS</b><br />
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There was the time my husband was out of work, and we heard the doorbell ring a week before Christmas. No one was at the door when I opened it, but instead there was an envelope with $200 cash and a simple unsigned note which read, "M<i>erry Christmas</i>." It was manna dropped from heaven onto our cement wilderness. Our front porch was visited by the neighborly Halloween phantom, and was the depository for delicious homemade bread, casseroles, fresh garden produce, goodies, and packages from UPS. When my children were young, they couldn't wait each night to see what secret Santa had left on the porch, counting down the <i>12 Days of Christmas. (</i><u>Thank you so much to whoever you were!!)</u><br />
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There were the times our porch turned into an amphitheater with performances from the Nielsons, or the Beattys or the Wilcock families caroling at Christmas. Or the Wilcock-Johnson quartet serenading us with <i>Stand By Me or The Lion Sleeps Tonight</i>.<br />
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There was the time I opened the door to see a skinny pair of 5-year old legs scampering across the yard and looked down to see a small sloppy pile of freshly picked flowers [out of our yard].<br />
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<b>THE PORCH IS A PLACE FOR ART</b><br />
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There was the time we spent hours making <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spin_art">spin art</a> with the home-spun spinning contraption that Mr. Fish built. It became our workshop for painting, drawing with sidewalk chalk, or planting flowers. Our porch saw its fair share of unplanned <i>'designs'</i> made by melting Creamies or spilled fingernail polish.<br />
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<b>THE PORCH IS A PLACE HUMOR and SCARES</b><br />
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There was the time Jennifer and Jack dropped off Valentine heart-shaped sugar cookies at Christmas. Or the time the policeman sat there with Sean to interview him, or the time I tripped off the front porch and broke my toe. There was the time Brent sat completely disguised and lifeless on the front porch at Halloween, roaring to life and scaring little kids to death when they walked up to the front door.<br />
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<b>THE PORCH IS A PLACE OF TRADITION</b><br />
<b><br /></b>There were the times each fall when our kids stood with bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils and carefully chosen stiff new backpacks for the iconic first-day-of-school picture. My good parents started this tradition.....<br />
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and we kept it going, year after year.......<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1DsJHDh9onkfrrhh66KIbdeUf964Kc7RWhpw6JhkMt-4_4CuTNKixrOG1jroRg55bSaCu-Ldu3XubYQXvLfCbAnLLmtzJHECWCHFI2W5U-ejgImUlOJlg4RmMTfaMHj1ObJzXZp5/s1600/PICT1718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1DsJHDh9onkfrrhh66KIbdeUf964Kc7RWhpw6JhkMt-4_4CuTNKixrOG1jroRg55bSaCu-Ldu3XubYQXvLfCbAnLLmtzJHECWCHFI2W5U-ejgImUlOJlg4RmMTfaMHj1ObJzXZp5/s1600/PICT1718.JPG" height="449" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigEFefU5ED1U1pWf8CyhJw4x95UUMbV0zN4wJEpqTOlv6HlD9WUTmfAezMqOm0shjeaELaKHLmXLRDrMUczYAW2M_zn3FUyWm63eYIIzrjAnvTy-7SoLpOS4H0nr8xcDBvq4dQcWRd/s1600/f140273424.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigEFefU5ED1U1pWf8CyhJw4x95UUMbV0zN4wJEpqTOlv6HlD9WUTmfAezMqOm0shjeaELaKHLmXLRDrMUczYAW2M_zn3FUyWm63eYIIzrjAnvTy-7SoLpOS4H0nr8xcDBvq4dQcWRd/s1600/f140273424.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">first there were four</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4fxuur8b3mlR3hWXt2NoOGoAh8XZWT114VMmq7iw2uM55pBz-U2qUxo9K-b0gE9-LUp7pVIyeWJdyjzlNSSdgvLbcwbt1lHTuMc0vkgi3yTy7oYlXf7hqZynqqH8h1JDVWUyL-vgg/s1600/f140273544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4fxuur8b3mlR3hWXt2NoOGoAh8XZWT114VMmq7iw2uM55pBz-U2qUxo9K-b0gE9-LUp7pVIyeWJdyjzlNSSdgvLbcwbt1lHTuMc0vkgi3yTy7oYlXf7hqZynqqH8h1JDVWUyL-vgg/s1600/f140273544.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">then three</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy4mX1_R6WNBE8DZKhyI_uXtobX4j-9hy1pTtznQ5-U7OHpPRP7ThmQsZO3wJNHsG_ugq_0pwtDJ6vlYS44IiYufhjcaVcD6C0reclrz_b23dPFgAJ4ckCUlxu3SVRdqITUzb3zh7U/s1600/first+day+Jr+year+high+school+8.13.10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy4mX1_R6WNBE8DZKhyI_uXtobX4j-9hy1pTtznQ5-U7OHpPRP7ThmQsZO3wJNHsG_ugq_0pwtDJ6vlYS44IiYufhjcaVcD6C0reclrz_b23dPFgAJ4ckCUlxu3SVRdqITUzb3zh7U/s1600/first+day+Jr+year+high+school+8.13.10.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and then there were two... (Junior Year)</td></tr>
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<b>THE PORCH IS A PLACE OF CRUSHES AND CLUES</b><br />
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There was the time when the doorbell rang and we walked out of the house into a porch-turned-cemetery, complete with several headstones and strobe lights and a sidewalk chalk message which read "I'm dying to go with you to Preference." Our porch was a veritable gallery for all kinds of creativity with high school dance "asks" and "answers." It was the beginning and ending place for many a dance date.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhLxaQY8ZSXvKfVbKEfE2I10ZEHapNBA50uxCURidZzFwXUlKvJDPXu_T6hjyMwA8EIk6jEXRN0erPMOJ1BfXPtNFG0AT0mRNvw9MwX6dKtPS-RvmCievVa1SySw4hJ8Ui6sQaAhn/s1600/Halloween%252Bmore+043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfhLxaQY8ZSXvKfVbKEfE2I10ZEHapNBA50uxCURidZzFwXUlKvJDPXu_T6hjyMwA8EIk6jEXRN0erPMOJ1BfXPtNFG0AT0mRNvw9MwX6dKtPS-RvmCievVa1SySw4hJ8Ui6sQaAhn/s1600/Halloween%252Bmore+043.jpg" height="640" width="368" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIMUReaa4j7PRVIqSnY9D0tkQ9W3yZyMJYFIWEJKRXsN0Ujpdmo9q4iytACxi-3HqhzBXCCWABATc6z9jRNbwlofE3_pbJGCF_QzuzQxH1ycQZ6pCUSu-j9I7GgOwr1VeSZJ9MbtuC/s1600/DSC00200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIMUReaa4j7PRVIqSnY9D0tkQ9W3yZyMJYFIWEJKRXsN0Ujpdmo9q4iytACxi-3HqhzBXCCWABATc6z9jRNbwlofE3_pbJGCF_QzuzQxH1ycQZ6pCUSu-j9I7GgOwr1VeSZJ9MbtuC/s1600/DSC00200.jpg" height="436" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sadie hawkin's dance</td></tr>
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<b>THE PORCH IS A PLACE OF GOOD CONVERSATION AND FAMILY TIME</b><br />
<b><i><u><br /></u></i></b>There were Saturday or Sunday evenings when we would sit out and watch a lightning storm. Or watch the neighborhood kids play basketball or whiz on their bikes up and down the street. Neighbors strolling by would stop for a visit, discussing anything from presidential elections to managing bee hives.<br />
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There were the times when my birthday request was to sit on our porch as a family with an ice cream sandwich and (gasp) just visit. Kindly, my teenagers would acquiesce, and these moments are some of my very favorite times. My kids have a way of making me laugh--- that genuine, deep belly laugh that feels as good as a massage. They would impersonate lines from movies or we would solve world problems like <i>how not to cut off your finger </i>(see above). Of course, there was payback for their time. They always managed to devolve the conversation by bringing up the <span style="font-size: x-small;">{completely fictional}</span> story about the time I got angry and threw a frozen burrito.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7tWSRaYSA93oSXFoT2DAOqhOXQt_8b2jyvmqzF2qyymtYO3dcY3MqYOuJ1oXlC4aFFgzxZiPlLotpWSm-P0W2hdqGJV0HTTTp4GXotCDKFfx1lxLwnrs8zoi-1DENnSDoVmcTt9iG/s1600/mom+and+jenni+on+front+porch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7tWSRaYSA93oSXFoT2DAOqhOXQt_8b2jyvmqzF2qyymtYO3dcY3MqYOuJ1oXlC4aFFgzxZiPlLotpWSm-P0W2hdqGJV0HTTTp4GXotCDKFfx1lxLwnrs8zoi-1DENnSDoVmcTt9iG/s1600/mom+and+jenni+on+front+porch.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my mom, nieces and I in Virginia</td></tr>
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<b>THE PORCH IS AN ESCAPE</b><br />
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The front porch stories are not all roses and rainbows and soft cuddly bunnies. There were times I would go there to pout or ponder after a fight with my husband or a rough day with my children. There was the time I cried there for hours when I thought our marriage wasn't going to last and hoped that the fresh air would absorb my grief.<br />
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There was the incredibly lonely time when my mother drove away after coming to help when our twins were born. I sat on the porch sobbing enough tears to flood irrigate, completely paralyzed and unable (or unwilling) to go back into the house, and face what awaited. For one thing, I missed my mom already so much my teeth ached. And for another, I felt so overwhelmed, scared and anxious at the thought of caring for TWO babies, plus my two-year old AND three-year old......which, if you've been keeping track, was four kids under the age of four. I was tempted to set up a tent right there on the porch. It was far enough away to escape responsibility, yet not so far that I couldn't sneak in for a brownie now and then, and go in at night and watch them sleep, which is the kind of mothering I felt qualified to do. From then on, I would return to the porch many times when I needed some big sky perspective and cloud therapy. Turns out I was the one that usually needed to rock. Not the baby.<br />
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<b>THE PORCH IS A PLACE OF CELEBRATION</b><br />
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The front door was often a billboard to announce exciting events, or give congratulations, or leave a welcome note for company. It was a place to hang decorations and show our holiday spirit (or lack thereof, more often!)<br />
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The back porch had some stories too. It was the place of lots and lots of parties, where there was often homemade vanilla-bean ice cream churning, steaks grilling or Hires Big H root beer bubbling. The amount of embarrassing and funny stories, laughter, and confessions spilled here could fill a swimming pool.<br />
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<b>THE PORCH IS A PLACE OF LONG-AWAITED GREETINGS AND DREADED GOOD-BYES</b><br />
<br />
There were the school days when I would sit on the porch and watch my kids round the corner and come jaunting down the street from school with their backpacks bobbing. I could always tell what kind of day it was by the height of the bob and speed of the walk. If it was a rough day, there was little energy in the gait and the backpack barely moved. Then I knew an extra hug or snack or mommy time was in order.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKOyKsQ6VIHu-WwK7-l3ECdt3hYiXS9N8OZkKFIBNR6EEGEe20xXFD0VfCLwhtF1gEkWxdy6hUpVXiNVaCwXciGb07t8kplx5qKGSDo_c0XHRwTu-Tig5sFzYeRbqCknzgQmU2K7aP/s1600/Scan0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKOyKsQ6VIHu-WwK7-l3ECdt3hYiXS9N8OZkKFIBNR6EEGEe20xXFD0VfCLwhtF1gEkWxdy6hUpVXiNVaCwXciGb07t8kplx5qKGSDo_c0XHRwTu-Tig5sFzYeRbqCknzgQmU2K7aP/s1600/Scan0002.jpg" height="640" width="520" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my grandmother comes to town</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALy1-CooGgR_aAHuPF0rB8bdavVXuof5GDZHDBGuVyclCAYt_rmYjT1qfKKnQdcmhv1R240HhaOwsoT9lpzcpZ2Dx3dFEX9HEnZ3K6YM69n0fk6FVQrIY3FD-ADok_bROmxQZ8R0X/s1600/IMG_0554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALy1-CooGgR_aAHuPF0rB8bdavVXuof5GDZHDBGuVyclCAYt_rmYjT1qfKKnQdcmhv1R240HhaOwsoT9lpzcpZ2Dx3dFEX9HEnZ3K6YM69n0fk6FVQrIY3FD-ADok_bROmxQZ8R0X/s1600/IMG_0554.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">first day of new job at movie theater</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>MY FINAL THOUGHTS. FINALLY.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
If the kitchen represents the heart of the home, the porch is the ante-heart: the place one must traverse to get to the heart. It's like the space between the arms when giving a hug, where love is often wrapped and trapped.<br />
<br />
The front porch is a sacred bridge, worthy of its own <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/msfish/home-front-porch/">Pinterest board</a>.<br />
<br />
In each of our homes, the porch became the backdrop for old traditions and new surprises, goodwill and goodness, hellos and goodbyes, parties (and party poopers). It was a showcase for seasonal door wreaths and my struggling green thumb. It was a place where celebrations were shouted and love of holidays were displayed. It was a place where friendships were strengthened, world problems were solved, and teen-age dreams came true. It was a meeting place and a gathering place. It was a place where cares were cast aside and the world passed by. It was a place where friends and families reminisced and sunsets stole away our breath.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPtkPlJ1RzOsNJIrkXeW-a015VSdptXfM5JjYuvII0MrKaTprwW5RXK8PDghcfIrAp4_98J4wcMo7_Pi1PjWCWrXOBSCvQ_mG2qAS6F0q5GDLZe6r2AT3aynSKAmQINw9KQ1NpUw4f/s1600/laughing_frontporch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPtkPlJ1RzOsNJIrkXeW-a015VSdptXfM5JjYuvII0MrKaTprwW5RXK8PDghcfIrAp4_98J4wcMo7_Pi1PjWCWrXOBSCvQ_mG2qAS6F0q5GDLZe6r2AT3aynSKAmQINw9KQ1NpUw4f/s1600/laughing_frontporch.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">oh the stories each of those bricks could tell...</td></tr>
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I hope that many of my birthdays will be spent on a front porch somewhere in a rocking chair with a homemade bowl of ice cream in hand and my family gathered around telling stories about the good ole' days of 2014. That is, after we have spent the day river rafting or hiking. I mean, how old do you think I am?<br />
<br />
Family and friends...I'll always leave the porch light on for you.<br />
<br />
Rock on,<br />
Ms Fish<br />
xoxo<br />
<br />
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PS: My front porch experiences are not any more special or unique than yours! If you love the porch as much as I do, please share this with others. Wouldn't it be nice for all of us to do more rocking on the front porch, unhurried, sipping lemonade and taking time to smell the roses. Or in my case, or my garden,...smell the struggling roses.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Disclaimer - This blog post is not promotional or sponsored by anyone. All these views and my love for front porches and rocking chairs is simply acquired from personal life experience and was not written under pressure from the Amish, the people of Tennessee or any rocking chair company. I simply want to remember and renew the laid-back front porch lifestyle. However, in full disclosure, if given a chance, I could totally be bought to sample and promote someone's chair. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6fK2RBLWOM9Zn_Ea_6hkXd5X6KwuOBjjeCwgN-G-6xWXKBmxbshZjhC1b6v-_WtWhXYtpHlPLUVcdQwY471Xqhs646g1DbSUci79BTICuNPUi1m9Ejq-pUnCEhBdHVxm1kQO7YcD/s1600/rockers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6fK2RBLWOM9Zn_Ea_6hkXd5X6KwuOBjjeCwgN-G-6xWXKBmxbshZjhC1b6v-_WtWhXYtpHlPLUVcdQwY471Xqhs646g1DbSUci79BTICuNPUi1m9Ejq-pUnCEhBdHVxm1kQO7YcD/s1600/rockers.jpg" height="400" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">source unknown</td></tr>
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<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-38891760579180196372013-12-12T21:57:00.006-07:002013-12-13T21:06:06.815-07:00Hopper and the Trains<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqtCIp8G4zZ6mGaXipDdx6GDyJU9QJTP_HP4SioPS6S5IJJlmQHhUa3hpUwEu83NQ6AD6px7QDU6ZsDERjKb9UgO1CghvdMkaUdbsoqKxEkejDOFzjfRDITyvBzrPfDKd671kL53jY/s1600/train.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqtCIp8G4zZ6mGaXipDdx6GDyJU9QJTP_HP4SioPS6S5IJJlmQHhUa3hpUwEu83NQ6AD6px7QDU6ZsDERjKb9UgO1CghvdMkaUdbsoqKxEkejDOFzjfRDITyvBzrPfDKd671kL53jY/s640/train.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.hdwpapers.com/express_train_wallpaper-wallpapers.html">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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<br />
Lionel Hopper is famous.<br />
<br />
According to him anyway.<br />
<br />
-----------------<br />
<br />
When I first entered the exam room, I was greeted by the musty, unmistakable smell of abandoned hygiene. On the exam table sat a new patient named Hopper. He was the doppelganger of <a href="http://backtothefuture.wikia.com/wiki/File:DocHD.jpg">Doc</a> on Back to the Future, except Hopper's carefree hair wasn't white, but the color of a faded tangerine and he had thick sideburns flanking a face that looked like it housed a lot of stories.<br />
<br />
Hopper got straight to the point. He wanted Dilaudid, a narcotic pain medicine for his back pain of 30 years.<br />
<br />
Our conversation went a little something like this:<br />
<br />
Me: It is our policy that we do not prescribe narcotics for long-term pain.<br />
<br />
Hopper: So what am I supposed to do?<br />
<br />
Me: What have you been doing?<br />
<br />
Hopper: Drinking beer.<br />
<br />
Me: How much beer you drinking?<br />
<br />
Hopper: Sometimes 1 or 2 beers a day, or sometimes 20-30 cases of beer a day.<br />
<br />
Me: 20 or 30 <i>CASES</i>?? (placing huge emphasis on the word <i>cases</i>)<br />
<br />
Hopper: You bet....whatever it takes. I've been all over and can't get a doctor to give me some of that medicine.<br />
<br />
Me: You've been all over this city?<br />
<br />
Hopper: All over this country. I'm FAMOUS!<br />
<br />
Me: Really...what are you famous for?<br />
<br />
Hopper: Hoppin' trains. I'm a train hopper!!<br />
<br />
He said this with a mix of disgust (that I didn't recognize his fame) and pride (as if train hopping were the equivalent of winning the Nobel Prize).<br />
<br />
Hopper: I've been surviving on the streets for 30 years.<br />
<br />
Me: I could prescribe you some Naproxen.<br />
<br />
Hopper: I can't afford that.<br />
<br />
Me: But you can afford Dilaudid?<br />
<br />
Hopper: Yep. It's the <i>only</i> thing I can afford.<br />
<br />
(Along with 20 cases of beer, I thought....)<br />
<br />
Me: Would you like a Toradol shot right now to help with the pain?<br />
<br />
Hopper: No way. I'm allergic to needles.<br />
<br />
Me: You are allergic to <i>needles</i>? (placing emphasis on <i>needles</i>....)<br />
<br />
Hopper: Yep, one time they gave me a TB shot and my arm swelled up to here (spreading his fingers about 5" high from his arm).<br />
<br />
Me: That means you were having a reaction to the medicine, which means you could have tuberculosis.<br />
<br />
Hopper: Nope. It's those damn needles.<br />
<br />
After we finished the visit, the nurse walked by as Hopper was walking down the hallway toward the exit. She heard him muffle under his breath,<br />
<br />
"I'm never coming to this clinic again...."<br />
<br />
--------------------<br />
<br />
You win some. You lose some.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-54849363299874900762013-12-10T13:12:00.000-07:002013-12-10T20:08:03.488-07:00RIPPLESI love lakes. And the beach--- the smell, endless sky, birds, soft sand. And mostly, I love the hypnotic waves that ripple on and on and on and on.<br />
<br />
And yet... here I am living in a desert.<br />
<br />
But I realized the other day, that there are waves (of sorts) to appreciate right here in my arid inland life.<br />
<br />
My story begins with <b><u><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">R</span></u></b>, a 50 year female who tripped and landed on her elbow. She didn't show any visible trauma initially, but then large purplish bruises arrived to the party several days late, which caused <b><u><span style="color: #cc0000;">R</span></u></b> to worry and so she came to see me for the first time. With a normal x-ray and exam to back me up, I gave her reassurance that the bruising was a normal response and, "no, you are not crazy to be so worried."<br />
<br />
One week later, <u><b><span style="color: #cc0000;">R</span></b></u> brought in her best friend, <u style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #e69138; font-size: large;">I</span></u>, who had not seen a doctor in several years. The two ladies giggled and carried on in the exam room, like a pair of teenage cheerleaders talking about the football team. <b><u><span style="color: #e69138;">I</span></u></b> had a boatload of concerns, her health spiraling downward from years of neglect. Over time, we have tackled the problems one by one.<br />
<br />
One day, <u style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #e69138;">I</span></u> came in with her husband <span style="color: #f1c232; font-size: large; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">P</span>, a diabetic who stopped taking his medication several years ago. His diabetes was out of control, bringing with it several other problems along for the ride. Among the first things I did was give him some cream for a bothersome rash. After getting almost immediate relief, he told his daughter to come see me for a rash that she was fighting. The 24 year old daughter, <span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">P</span><span style="font-size: x-small; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">2</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">,</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>bopped into the office with miserable sores and bobbed out with a prescription for relief.<br />
<br />
So..R brought I. And I brought P. And P brought little P up the coconut tree. (Haha...10 points if you can name that book....).<br />
<br />
Then there is <b><u><span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;">L</span></u></b>. She is an 82 year old firecracker, tough as leather, who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and underwent a mastectomy. Her two daughters brought her in to see me as a new patient because she was having a reaction to the antibiotic given after surgery.<br />
<br />
A week later, I walked into the exam room and saw a familiar face. "Well hello," I said. "Welcome back." One of <b><u><span style="color: #45818e;">L's</span></u></b> daughters, <b><u><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">E</span></u></b>, had a few problems of her own she wanted to discuss.. Since then, <b><u><span style="color: #3d85c6;">E</span></u></b> has returned several times, and I look forward to her visits.<br />
<br />
A couple of weeks ago, as I was taking a history on a new patient named <b><u><span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: large;">S</span></u></b>, she blurted out, "my mother told me to come see you." Turns out, <b><u><span style="color: #674ea7;">S</span></u></b> is just as delightful as her mother and 82 year old grandmother (E and L).<br />
<br />
And wouldn't you know it? <u><b><span style="color: #674ea7;">S</span></b></u> has a teenage daughter. And yes, now I have seen her also. Four generations. L+E+S.<br />
<br />
Throughout my schooling I heard various providers boast about this sort of thing. "That's what I love about family medicine," they would taunt, "being able to care for the whole family." Honestly, I didn't understand that appeal.<br />
<br />
Until now.<br />
<br />
I see <i>they </i> were right. This privilege brings a certain pleasantness, a kind of soothing rhythm, as I move in and out of their days and observe the ebb and flow of their lives.<br />
<br />
Waves.<br />
<br />
Oh sure, it isn't a substitute for the beach. But this RIPPLE effect (of seeing friends, families, generations, one bringing another and another) echoes a tiny hint of the ocean and brings a small wave of joy, right here in the desert.<br />
<br />
And I don't even have to clean sand from my car. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-76949048377236152752013-11-26T11:19:00.000-07:002013-11-26T11:48:17.762-07:00Otis and the EarAcheOtis is a typical 9 year old boy. I realize that is awfully judgy of me, having just known about him for minutes... but I've become pretty good at recognizing key features of patients. For example, I say he's typical because he has two hands and two ears and he wears pants.<br />
<br />
He came with his mother to our clinic because one of those darn ears just wouldn't stop hurting. And for good reason. Looking in the ear, my colleague, Vanilla, saw a nasty looking otitis media, an infection of the middle ear. His eardrum looked like a mini cherry tomato.<br />
<br />
Open and shut case.<br />
<br />
Vanilla prescribed some antibiotics and analgesics and the boy with two ears left.<br />
<br />
Three weeks later, Otis came back again, still wearing pants. And still complaining of right ear pain. This time, a peek through the otoscope showed something completely different.<br />
<br />
And more worrisome.<br />
<br />
His external canal, the hollow tube running from the outside of the ear to the ear drum, was filled with pus. The cherry tomato had popped, spilling pent-up infection into the narrow tunnel. The mother explained that she had not picked up the antibiotic prescription. This didn't surprise Vanilla. It has become a tune we hear all too often these days. So Vanilla cultured the drainage, encouraged the mother to get the medicine (which she agreed to) and the boy with two ears left.<br />
<br />
72 hours later, Otis and his mother returned for follow-up. Otis was feeling <i>more</i> miserable, feverish, growing Pseudomonas (learned from the culture result) and still had not taken any antibiotics. Why?<br />
<br />
The mother, embarrassed and concerned, confided that she simply couldn't afford the medicine. Not then. Not now.<br />
<br />
Vanilla then came into my office with a dilemma. Here is a minor, hurting, at the mercy of his mother's poverty and lack of resources. We both expressed concern about not only the child's acute suffering, but potential complications of an untreated infection, including hearing loss. This 9 year old typical boy could be on the cusp of turning atypical: with two hands and <i>one</i> ear.<br />
<br />
"I want to pay for the boy's antibiotics," she told me. "Should I?"<br />
<br />
There are compelling reasons to do it.<br />
<br />
And not to do it.<br />
<br />
What would YOU do?Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-8444362110361924372013-11-20T13:51:00.000-07:002013-11-21T14:15:01.217-07:00Ukelele and JesusUkelele, as I am going to call her, was strumming along as well as could be expected for a 76 year old widow. Fairly healthy, except for Type II Diabetes, she first came to see me to establish care at our new clinic, which was closer to her home.<br />
<br />
A month later, Ukelele thought she was getting Alzheimer's disease, complaining of short term memory loss manifested mostly with forgetting names and misplacing things. I named three objects and asked her to repeat them. Five minutes later, I asked her to repeat those three objects, which she did easily, grinning like a fourth-grade spelling bee winner when she got them right. (I, too, breathed a sigh of relief that I remembered them.)<br />
<br />
She passed all of the other components, too, of the <i>mini-mental state examination (MMSE)</i>, a screening test used to identify memory and thought impairment. Even more importantly, she drew a clock with clock-like precision, spacing the numbers evenly in circumference. Those with dementia, and forms of hemispatial neglect, typically draw the numbers of the clock bunched on one side. She denied any hint of urinary incontinence.<br />
<br />
Whatever she had, it probably wasn't dementia.<br />
<br />
Then Ukelele said something which caught my attention.<br />
<br />
"When I come to your office or the grocery store, I can remember things perfectly."<br />
<br />
Suddenly, I had a clearer understanding of where this conversation and probable diagnosis was heading.<br />
<br />
"Tell me about life at home," I queried.<br />
<br />
She began to tell her story while I listened, intently, a therapeutic measure in and of itself. She was struggling with financial pressures, missing her husband, and feeling overwhelmed with home repairs and upkeep.<br />
<br />
Then, after scoring moderately high on the <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geriatric_Depression_Scale">Geriatric Depression Scal</a>e</i>, I presented the idea of depression as a possibility for her memory impairment. We both agreed to try a low dose anti-depressant medication to tackle this.<br />
<br />
One month later, she presented for follow-up. Her eyes were wide and bright as she reported,<br />
<br />
"I am slowly starting to remember where I put things.... I am sleeping better and not so sad."<br />
<br />
Her serotonin-induced improvement incited a dopamine surge for me. I was genuinely happy she was feeling better.<br />
<br />
"My knee hurts" she then abruptly changed subjects.<br />
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More questions, a knee exam, followed by an x-ray dappled with osteophytes gave me reassurance that she was suffering from the inevitable wear of aging on the joint cartilage: osteoarthritis. Though painful, it is usually not as destructive, nor require toxic medicines as does the pesky cousin: rheumatoid arthritis. This was good news. When I told Ukelele I thought she had arthritis, she clapped her hands in the air, raised her head to the ceiling and squealed,<br />
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"Thank you, Jesus!"<br />
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She continued, "I have been praying to Jesus that you would say that."<br />
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Then she grabbed my hands. "And I have been praying to Jesus, every day, for YOU."<br />
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Oh....I thought. What a sweet thing to say, Ukelele. Music to my ears, really.<br />
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Because, as God knows, I need it.<br />
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We all do.<br />
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<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-16635099996420029062013-11-18T18:06:00.001-07:002013-11-19T14:46:34.031-07:00To Believe or NotShe came in all spruced up, hair curled, make-up just right. She carried herself well with perfect posture. Except for the curious scars on her left cheek, her complexion was flawless. At first impression, I thought her story was going to be a little more positive than most of the stories I hear day in day out.<br />
<br />
My hunch was debunked about 2 sentences into our conversation.<br />
<br />
She wanted Alprazolam (Xanax)... a highly addictive drug, which can net sellers upwards of $5 per pill on the streets. It is a medicine I choose not to prescribe, because you know... the rotten few have ruined it for the deserving many. <br />
<br />
Before turning Cindy away, I listened, disheartened, as she told me her story. She had been locked away in a tiny room, a prisoner in her own home, with very little food and no sunshine. The jailer was her husband, who had gradually become more abusive, at one point smashing her face and fracturing her left cheekbone. At his breaking point, he threw Cindy in a bedroom, locked the door, and she wouldn't see the light of day for 9 months. He had become her sole source of food, freedom and fear. <br />
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After Cindy's daring escape, she began to have nightmares and anxiety, developing classic symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. She was prescribed Xanax to fight her fires, which helped her cope and quenched the flames. She began to help other women with similar stories, and soon became a model of strength, a pillar of support for others. Reaching outwardly helped her heal inwardly. Eventually, she was hired as the director of a local goodwill organization, and she felt strong enough to wean from the Xanax, another captor from which she wanted to escape.<br />
<br />
But slowly, her nightmares and flashbacks re-emerged, the embers re-igniting. For the last 6 months, she had embattled the discomforts with stoicism, but finally accepted the need for extrinsic help. She wanted... needed the medicine to cope.<br />
<br />
So she sat in my office, crying, hoping for a prescription.<br />
<br />
Her story was compelling. It sounded legitimate. Her external scars glaring proof of something gone awry. I told her that I don't prescribe that medicine, but would refer her to our in-house psychiatrist who could give her t<i>hat</i>, or something more effective. She cringed under the weight of the inevitable wait.<br />
<br />
Maybe her store is true, every word. Maybe she is the exact person for whom this medicine is designed for. Maybe she deserves this med, <i>whenever</i> she needs it.<br />
<br />
And maybe.....she told me a darn good story, and has developed a Streep-like ability to cry when the moment is right.<br />
<br />
I'll never know. She has never returned.<br />
<br />
But I have returned again and again to thinking about that experience.<br />
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And it haunts me, did I do the right thing?Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-43097129164443714862013-07-08T22:12:00.000-06:002013-07-09T12:35:58.744-06:00Footprints of Southern Utah<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKCrlRMHsRnfo8Fgl7aSE8-hOyBwKohXR9xviKMxzWsCh8PZIGVWwcuIgIs5vt5e3C0RcT9bQN4oWtR1MbOTWFXPUt6-h0fnrnQhi-YxZOrnQIqbXEQ0Ijy-jkeCERGgrf1_u8FrW3/s1600/IMG_0365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKCrlRMHsRnfo8Fgl7aSE8-hOyBwKohXR9xviKMxzWsCh8PZIGVWwcuIgIs5vt5e3C0RcT9bQN4oWtR1MbOTWFXPUt6-h0fnrnQhi-YxZOrnQIqbXEQ0Ijy-jkeCERGgrf1_u8FrW3/s640/IMG_0365.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<br />
Change is rarely easy. Unless you are changing from a standing to {my favorite} lying position. I dig that change every night.<br />
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But other types of change, such as leaving a place you love... well... now that can tough -- tough as a cheap steak in an amateur cook's hands.<br />
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I've moved 7 times in my life. And each time has been for new and exciting, greener pastures. But this time....my 8th time... feels different. It IS different. I was settled in. Happy. Comfortable. Secure. With my family around, friends found, and job sound.<br />
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Then we heard a thunder clap. My husband's company, Viracon, announced out of the clear cold blue, that they were closing their doors. With no job for Possum, a mountain of school debt, and our youngest boys (and only children living at home) leaving on a mission, we decided to make a move. HAHA! Literally.<br />
<br />
I am joining the National Health Service Corps and moving to help a place where it is hard to recruit practitioners, with a two-fold benefit. It will help the community (ahhhhhh) and pay off my student loans (yay!!). Our goal is to return to southern Utah in 2-4 years, debt-free, and a little stronger, a little wiser, and a little grayer in the pelo (did I mention I'll be learning Spanish...).<br />
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Nice idea. Painful execution.<br />
<br />
So I decided to get creative. It's more fun than crying. My solution?<br />
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<i>Sole</i> searching.<br />
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I started an Instagram / Facebook series entitled <i>Footprints of Southern
Utah</i>, documenting my feet / footprints in various undisclosed places that are
meaningful to me. I posted daily for three weeks, and followers could
guess where I was.<br />
<br />
This project was fun and just what I needed to turn my frown upside down.<br />
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Here are the stats:<br />
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22 days<br />
38 locations (+ 11 more that didn't make the cut into the project)<br />
26 pairs of shoes (two not pictured)<br />
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8 photographers/assistants <br />
4 pedicures<br />
4 colors of nail polish<br />
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3 Swig sugar cookies<br />
3 embarrassing moments <br />
1 can of whipping cream<br />
1 pie mis-hap <br />
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Without further adieu, I give to you....<br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">FOOTPRINTS OF SOUTHERN UTAH PICTURE PROJECT</span></span></span></div>
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Day One - <b>DIXIE REGIONAL HOSPITAL</b>. This was my last day assisting in the Operating Room, next to my awesome mentor and friend, Dr. Ott. I walked out of the OR, teary and droopy. And the hospital healing gardens took my breath away, and cheered me up. The hospital grounds are soooo lovely! And so are my Keens, I might add.<br />
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Day Two - <b>ST. GEORGE TEMPLE</b> - (Does anyone else think the temple builders must have had a wicked sense of humor?)<br />
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Day Three - <b>SWIG</b>. I had to eat a few cookies, washed down with a Dirty Dr. Pepper, to get the shot just right. Sometimes I make sacrifices like that. And contrary to what may appear, the health hazards of eating from this <i>footstool</i> is minimal due to the fact that..... not many others have eaten off my footstool.</div>
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Or version two....for the more conservative types.<br />
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Day Four - <b>OUR POOL</b>, with friends and neighbors and noodles<br />
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Day Five - <b>ENTERPRISE RESERVOIR</b>, where my dad and I went fishing, finally. As you can see, we scored.</div>
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Day Six - <b>JUDD'S COUNTRY STORE</b>. How can you not love a store that sells Love Potion #69, DANG Root Beer, Kickapoo Juice, and Bacon flavored soda, plus old-fashioned candy. This is great place for stocking stuffers!</div>
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Day Seven - <b>TABERNACLE IN ST. GEORGE</b>. I love this pic! I look so hip and cute. (And short!) The Tabernacle is a place where I heard my daughter as well as dear friends perform at various times. <br />
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Day Eight - <b>KOKOMO SNO</b>. This is a new little sno cone shack... I mean trailer... in Hurricane that is adorbs!!! Complete with changing fluorescent mood lighting. Oh and did I mention delicioso? Try peaches with sweet cream.<br />
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Day Nine - <b>COSTCO</b>. True... it isn't fancy {so I paired it with non-fancy shoes} but it isn't available in my new town, and I'm having a little bit of panic attack about it. In other happier news, may I suggest the Hi-Chews?<br />
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Day Ten - <b>MY PARENT'S BACKYARD IN ST. GEORGE</b>. Let's get sappy for moment, shall we? I'm sad that this picture doesn't show off my dad's <u>beautifu</u>l yard. I'm wearing flowers in my toes to make up for it. Oh I will miss this peaceful, happy place!<br />
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Day Eleven - <b>GRAFTON</b>. A favorite place of the hubs and Billy the Kid. A ghost town with charm, history, beauty and mystery.<br />
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Day Twelve - <b>CORAL CLIFFS CINEMA</b>. They have such friendly and good-looking ticket takers! (Hey dude... your thumb is butting into my picture).<br />
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Day Thirteen - <b>SPRINGDALE AND ZION</b>, one of my favorite places in all the world. PS: Does anyone ever stop and get apple juice from this place? <br />
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I'm definitely <i>reflecting</i> on this beauty....<br />
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Day Fourteen - <b>DOWNTOWN PUBLIC LIBRARY OF ST. GEORGE</b>. Good study times here with friends. Warning: Do not try this at home. I repeat, do not write on your feet. It tickles.<br />
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That's Rhett and Scarlet on the cover by the way. That's why I can handle sitting in the middle of the floor in the middle of the room with stares from all directions. Because tomorrow is another day.<br />
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Day Fifteen - <i>What do do in the Summertime?</i> <b>PICKLE BALL COURTS</b>. It is here I love to beat my husband. <br />
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Day Fifteen - <i>What to do in the summertime?</i> <b>HURRICANE CITY FINE ARTS BUILDING</b>. Watched + performed many great shows here. The last one, shown here, was Annie, the musical. And no, I'm not putting my feet up on the chairs, kids. That is only an amazing illusion.<br />
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Day Fifteen - <i>What to do in the summertime?</i> <b>HURRICANE CITY SWIMMING POOL</b>. The lifeguards are so competent and cute. <br />
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Day Fifteen - <i>What to do in the summertime? </i><b>VIRGIN RIVER</b>. The Laurels and I floated this on my final week as Young
Woman's president. I popped a tube. Didn't blow a gasket. <br />
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Day Fifteen - <i>What to do in the summertime? </i><b>ROOFTOP CONCERT IN PROVO</b>. Ok... it's not Southern Utah but such a great event co-founded by my brother. And as a public service, I ought to let you know, it's just as good listening upside down.<br />
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Day Fifteen - <i>Oh what to do in the summertime?</i> <b>ST. GEORGE SPLASH PAD</b>. I don't have little kiddos, so why this place you might ask. It was here my friends and I met and made a huge welcome home poster for Bridget's missionary daughter. You might think a wet park is a funny place to make a poster out of paper. It is.<br />
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Day Fifteen - <i>Oh what to do in the summertime?</i> <b>ST. GEORGE DAY SPA</b>. Daisy gave me a spa day with her for Mother's Day. Such a fun gift and day!!</div>
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Day Sixteen - <b>WOMEN'S HEALTH SPECIALISTS</b>. This was my office. Dr. Fisher, at your cervix! Loved working here!!<br />
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Day Seventeen - <b>HURRICANE HIGH SCHOOL SOCCER FIELD</b>. If you came to the high school soccer games the last few years, you would have heard my voice "<i>Welcome to Tiger Stadium. Where the winds are fierce and so are the Tigers</i>!" I loved announcing the games, and spent many many hours on that field watching my sons <strike>beat</strike>... play soccer.<br />
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See Ms. Fish. See Ms. Fish jumping. See Ms. Fish jumping for joy.<br />
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Day Eighteen - <i>Let's go shopping!</i> <b>KITCHEN KORNER</b>. I may or may not have spent a little too much money here. And I may or may not have made a fool of myself taking this picture. </div>
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Day Eighteen - <i>Let's go shopping!</i> <b>ACE HARDWARE IN ST GEORGE</b>. Much more than a Hardware store, much to my <strike>husband's</strike> wallet's dismay.<br />
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Day Eighteen - <i>Let's go shopping!</i> <b>CHRISTENSEN'S</b>. Best place for outdoor and dress shoes.<br />
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Day Eighteen - <i>Let's go shopping!</i> <b>CLASSIC SPORTS</b> - Best place for athletic supplies. Plus, Jared is the best athletic supporter in town!<br />
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Day Eighteen - <i>Let's go shopping!</i> <b>HARMON'S</b>. Best grocery store EVER! Especially their cheese section. Some girls kick up their heel with a juicy kiss. I kick up mine with a juicy selection of cheese.<br />
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Day Eighteen - <i>Let's Eat!</i> <b>WHIPTAIL GRILL IN SPRINGDALE BABY!!</b>. One of my all-time favorite places to eat. LOVE their spaghetti squash and goat cheese enchilada, pictured here. I'm hoping to get one in the mail for my birthday.<br />
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Day Eighteen - <i>Let's eat!</i> <b>DURANGO'S</b>. A local joint that feeds our family monthly. Ok, weekly.<br />
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Day Eighteen - <i>Let's eat!</i> <b>BENJA THAI</b> - Last supper with my bestest friends.<br />
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Day Nineteen - <b>DIXIE ROCK</b>, overlooking all of St. George. I'm sporting my new adventure shoes, made by awesome friend Becky Lewis! Oh my sole, those are Dr. Seuss quotes on the bottom.<br />
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The shoes are chuck full of quotes and a recipe and signatures and things that I love.<br />
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Day Nineteen - <b>SKY MOUNTAIN GOLF COURSE</b>. The place where the colors are really this vibrant. Meaningful because this is where Andy learned to golf and played on the high school team. And where we took family photos and dance pictures. <br />
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Day Nineteen - <b>TEN:TWO</b>, an adorable boutique in downtown Hurricane, owned by the darling, creative entrepreneur Shari Leavitt, shown here! She probably won't paint your toes (unless you are doing a Footprints project), but she will sell you some killer polish and cute clothes to match.<br />
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Day Twenty - <b>HURRICANE PEACH ORCHARDS,</b> looking towards Molly's nipple, a Hurricane landmark of mammaried fame. I call this Toe <i>Jam: An</i> Ode to the Fruit Orchard.<br />
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Day Twenty One - <b>HOME SWEET HOME - MY KITCHEN FLOOR</b>. I love the tile that my husband laid. It looks like aged brown leather. So my aged foot fits right in.<br />
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Day Twenty One - <b>HOME SWEET HOME</b>. This pic showcases one of my culinary treats, since I love to cook and bake. This butterscotch pudding with caramel sauce is the last homemade thing I made in my kitchen. Served up on a {foot} bed of <strike>lettuce</strike> whipping cream.<br />
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Day Twenty One - <b>HOME SWEET HOME - MY BACKYARD</b>. This is my favorite of the footprint pictures. It's Wild and carefree and the epitome of summer. Thanks to my honey for taking such good care of our grass. It looks amazing!<br />
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Day Twenty One - <b>HOME SWEET HOME</b>. Love at home! Taken on the night before I moved.<br />
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So glad my parents came to say good-bye.<br />
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Day 22 <i>Moving Day</i> - <b>SAND HOLLOW RESERVOIR</b>. On to new roads, new adventures, and healing of my burned legs.<br />
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For those that just can't get enough.... here are the OUTTAKES: the photos and places that didn't make it into the series. <br />
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Sean's work / classroom at BYU<br />
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Dixie Health and Wellness Center where I was a provider and had a great nurse and office manager<br />
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Watching my boys play pickleball<br />
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Back for more Kokomo Sno<br />
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City pool where Otto teaches swimming lessons and lifeguards<br />
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My mom and dad's lush green grass and Daisy's cute feet <br />
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I couldn't use this picture because it's false advertising. I don't run.<br />
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Which shoe? Chaco or Keen.<br />
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A different version of the pickle ball courts.<br />
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We live in a desert. <br />
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Croshaw's pies. The pie melted.<br />
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Ballard's nursery. <br />
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Who doesn't love a good flower foot soak now and then?<br />
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Or just a foot soak!<br />
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Watch an exciting behind the scenes video of how we took the above photo<br />
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Desert cracks<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfbzqURaSMmVJ2b2qnkPFBhR93ARC8aIpgJGhyphenhyphenwm50xmNUAnQeC1LeNA9lEZgeqqvPbYrW6ENB-QTtOLlvp5bvBfMdcuFn3vOXpPVOfhZYdGJkmVjdKi5KwVRBJGtoBWFBX8Fir3q/s1600/IMG_1782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfbzqURaSMmVJ2b2qnkPFBhR93ARC8aIpgJGhyphenhyphenwm50xmNUAnQeC1LeNA9lEZgeqqvPbYrW6ENB-QTtOLlvp5bvBfMdcuFn3vOXpPVOfhZYdGJkmVjdKi5KwVRBJGtoBWFBX8Fir3q/s320/IMG_1782.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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The bank<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAb_ptHuAz4-sggBNt4cNkrTXQxq5NFp8vCclihp3f9F612rDRb94NM4aJc-0dSSGqLtezN1QKRZ-Xpk6hhoPxraLDHcoKRo_R5lwdDIwGPXDhI0uoWpHhpnpaLagMhHGale-GNji3/s1600/Deseret+First+Credit+Union.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAb_ptHuAz4-sggBNt4cNkrTXQxq5NFp8vCclihp3f9F612rDRb94NM4aJc-0dSSGqLtezN1QKRZ-Xpk6hhoPxraLDHcoKRo_R5lwdDIwGPXDhI0uoWpHhpnpaLagMhHGale-GNji3/s320/Deseret+First+Credit+Union.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Health and Performance Center Surgical Suite<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZodjQ3AMIqHZwGvnIqWacAo7r4AsmA9uDlZui8W0K1T2pqz8Oet1IxHms4etdJ-NvgA8tAQDTvObqfeujOZczWEFZaE1eXVuMWCWPnD1abjRnHJyeLfDPyYTin-vgta8WcTUbWTT/s1600/Health+and+Performance+Center+Day+Surgery+OR.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZodjQ3AMIqHZwGvnIqWacAo7r4AsmA9uDlZui8W0K1T2pqz8Oet1IxHms4etdJ-NvgA8tAQDTvObqfeujOZczWEFZaE1eXVuMWCWPnD1abjRnHJyeLfDPyYTin-vgta8WcTUbWTT/s320/Health+and+Performance+Center+Day+Surgery+OR.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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River Road Operating Room - loved assisting in the OR<br />
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Church gym<br />
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Me and my dear friend, Amee, at the temple. <br />
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Well there you have it.... I <i>shoe'd</i> you a thing or two about my world. It helped <i>heel</i> my heartache about leaving, and was a <i>ball</i> to think about places and people important to our family. Now I'm sure you never want to see another picture of my feet again.<br />
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Before you go.... Tell me, do you have a favorite from this footprints series? What do you do to help when making a big change in your life? Have you found a good way to say good-bye? What footprints do you want to leave behind?<br />
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I would LOVE you to leave your footprint here and hear from you!<br />
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---------------------------<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Huge thanks to:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Brent Fisher</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Janessa Behunin</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Jared Behunin</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Stockton Fisher</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sean Fisher </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Landon Fisher</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Loni Hackworth</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Allen Hackworth </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Amee Roe</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Jennifer Montgomery</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Becky Lewis</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Shari Leavitt </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Lance Gubler</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Jared Ellison</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Shauna Zundel</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Barbara Johnson </span><br />
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xoxo<br />
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<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-56053271888382435302013-07-03T16:21:00.000-06:002013-07-03T16:21:00.122-06:00Fourth of July RecapSouth steps of America's capitol.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQe5itCMGIhHGXN_APZgs5y-E_WGIGugWUCirOM15Z9IgI-Z0ASO7qo5iXO-h4Ng8mtRejBp5SDzG4bqOwQ916pq70DcubBd2-Y60JHGmH5qoj2gkrUvFDGmeExdi_ZnSmHfOB2AGyH-Y/s1600-h/Steps+of+the+Capitol.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357998223410191442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQe5itCMGIhHGXN_APZgs5y-E_WGIGugWUCirOM15Z9IgI-Z0ASO7qo5iXO-h4Ng8mtRejBp5SDzG4bqOwQ916pq70DcubBd2-Y60JHGmH5qoj2gkrUvFDGmeExdi_ZnSmHfOB2AGyH-Y/s640/Steps+of+the+Capitol.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 435px; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
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A menu you don't see in St. George<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBPJk8lQVwECPquxOXd6ypME_SfMKZUUcPZ8WjDLeNygoF5dMVYHL7ZvWk_COVsNHuQoKGE_cRxSD7kPCK5rXPL1zq4BMIAv4nloDz1giTIbNM1dj85X51VW6iaWJ_nOGRdBNwHVC-IhI/s1600-h/Menu.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357998197721331154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBPJk8lQVwECPquxOXd6ypME_SfMKZUUcPZ8WjDLeNygoF5dMVYHL7ZvWk_COVsNHuQoKGE_cRxSD7kPCK5rXPL1zq4BMIAv4nloDz1giTIbNM1dj85X51VW6iaWJ_nOGRdBNwHVC-IhI/s640/Menu.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 400px; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
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In front of the Navy Memorial to pay tribute to my brother, a Navy officer on his way to Afghanistan in a few weeks, as a doctor for the Marines. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJEymnjPqto9x6N4xXae55NO_UTg5SeZ2MPnnziUFeUY0XSFgnbc0uBHqxmpY2KrY-9sqfJDxVlp-OyP9g6WctPoWGFR-mtV_0A2if5lizrhIKelV2mcTJiKubAn-hAsdxd_s39fGFtIw/s1600-h/Kristi+and+Jenni+at+Navy+Memorial.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357997644399702098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJEymnjPqto9x6N4xXae55NO_UTg5SeZ2MPnnziUFeUY0XSFgnbc0uBHqxmpY2KrY-9sqfJDxVlp-OyP9g6WctPoWGFR-mtV_0A2if5lizrhIKelV2mcTJiKubAn-hAsdxd_s39fGFtIw/s640/Kristi+and+Jenni+at+Navy+Memorial.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 500px; width: 443px;" /></a><br />
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Masses of people. And this was just the dress rehearsal!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSttcsB9X0JMAmZtsSxMk62GvYe2I6Ot9NHSx2MW5W_CGIgeppOdg5RZGlex-hD-kq1LjrS8gHt2NaLdB4dkY1flXe6q4JPfa7-QdD-VYOoQWX6YMHdVjPzBzlPl4lmNCT0AJI7s5ar1s/s1600-h/Capital+Hill.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357997627776594946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSttcsB9X0JMAmZtsSxMk62GvYe2I6Ot9NHSx2MW5W_CGIgeppOdg5RZGlex-hD-kq1LjrS8gHt2NaLdB4dkY1flXe6q4JPfa7-QdD-VYOoQWX6YMHdVjPzBzlPl4lmNCT0AJI7s5ar1s/s640/Capital+Hill.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 500px; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_QBrcrz9yrQ9ZDirwsmnVxGoJ-Ge4_mhkJfioW-SjsPLRz0vnWH5z4Ew-M6xlOGNNyI3QyQnC9KVqrv28-kuRrMFO8Oorbv_bZvIdMNIxU5tARcgoCq38VzXZN6Piidm3Y0z9MWAx4WU/s1600-h/people+at+the+concert.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357996957472378034" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_QBrcrz9yrQ9ZDirwsmnVxGoJ-Ge4_mhkJfioW-SjsPLRz0vnWH5z4Ew-M6xlOGNNyI3QyQnC9KVqrv28-kuRrMFO8Oorbv_bZvIdMNIxU5tARcgoCq38VzXZN6Piidm3Y0z9MWAx4WU/s640/people+at+the+concert.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 500px; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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Sisters waiting for the concert<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmM_lDa6y-EbZ76bSKsfciU5XhxfC9-v1VAQ3t26iauyjTfUy617EODrRyrHqaGrDfbPnP3ht-BIM_ZZpjslrlJ4g1DhNFi3cc94tSX1ReVAcX9mtHgaLF8bvK4x6qjclHR7HtdgXglUA/s1600-h/j+%26+k+on+lawn.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357996950992754418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmM_lDa6y-EbZ76bSKsfciU5XhxfC9-v1VAQ3t26iauyjTfUy617EODrRyrHqaGrDfbPnP3ht-BIM_ZZpjslrlJ4g1DhNFi3cc94tSX1ReVAcX9mtHgaLF8bvK4x6qjclHR7HtdgXglUA/s640/j+%26+k+on+lawn.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 500px; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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In 2009, dreams came true! It has always been my mom's dream to be at the Capitol for the Fourth of July concert<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkJZTXTIe_h-CeIMMVgc6cmO1duJpxGRlORSsiYdFjLIzv7kMjIcNi-a6sRJG55FPe6hcYPVtJ7IwH56l9_4FdB4TgnLZAuUV-sLzD2Mc0wuVAj8BV3rgudtvKXi883oxGlPhsQ2sMmE/s1600-h/Mom+and+Kristi+enjoying+the+concert.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357998208796252194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkJZTXTIe_h-CeIMMVgc6cmO1duJpxGRlORSsiYdFjLIzv7kMjIcNi-a6sRJG55FPe6hcYPVtJ7IwH56l9_4FdB4TgnLZAuUV-sLzD2Mc0wuVAj8BV3rgudtvKXi883oxGlPhsQ2sMmE/s640/Mom+and+Kristi+enjoying+the+concert.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 500px; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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Capitol Fourth. Performers: Natasha Bedingfield, Barry Manilow, Aretha Franklin and more<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkVI9WA5GxX9TyIKWoSX2t_dCd4nPMoYMMC1kI06eBE0ClcnnvIAUJESupbBRZcjoPBBqL-TF2uMl9_1iZC-x5ZaD8buuUUECF8L0T8NbzglGO6l_xvhttpBsbK0fz59BSKW0LqC8OQvM/s1600-h/capital+fourth.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357996918693337730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkVI9WA5GxX9TyIKWoSX2t_dCd4nPMoYMMC1kI06eBE0ClcnnvIAUJESupbBRZcjoPBBqL-TF2uMl9_1iZC-x5ZaD8buuUUECF8L0T8NbzglGO6l_xvhttpBsbK0fz59BSKW0LqC8OQvM/s640/capital+fourth.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 500px; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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Aretha Franklin at the dress rehearsal. Yep she showed up in levi capris, tennies and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDJFsL82Aaxn-qLOYNNdhS75cQF5SKXsI2262WVNLK4zuTcQ6SRWWKNZjXzjwXCkbUeho6sCHHvrVLNJNuW4_M58YcCpvUc_sDY_ht-nOwUClKQoefbvNThnpfkxy7FkdkUevRMx3FbA/s1600-h/Aretha+Franklin.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357997623033347730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUDJFsL82Aaxn-qLOYNNdhS75cQF5SKXsI2262WVNLK4zuTcQ6SRWWKNZjXzjwXCkbUeho6sCHHvrVLNJNuW4_M58YcCpvUc_sDY_ht-nOwUClKQoefbvNThnpfkxy7FkdkUevRMx3FbA/s640/Aretha+Franklin.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 400px; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
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Janna pulled out all stops. This tart looks good, but tasted even better!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3C2fK3cokME6fLL53BQxW_7_dYwLH3kF9Nn4gDYBDf44x5OvD5-4-RtgiP08B86wMiWxOTGiNNQCS30rnNBEd7ZErB1if0bAtiuQKaGnOAMmRFigZjf3-oUwbPyFkjhh5RzEO7rcp5eQ/s1600-h/Flag+tart.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357997642186510690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3C2fK3cokME6fLL53BQxW_7_dYwLH3kF9Nn4gDYBDf44x5OvD5-4-RtgiP08B86wMiWxOTGiNNQCS30rnNBEd7ZErB1if0bAtiuQKaGnOAMmRFigZjf3-oUwbPyFkjhh5RzEO7rcp5eQ/s640/Flag+tart.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 400px; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
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Family gathering at the most incredible fireworks this small town girl has ever seen!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcPIw4hiEneKfDE83t9Qk7CdOLtP6lblkoLdkQN4ZtvikOYj8jh5L8rFIx0bZirw72veCRjr6QkSiF4Imb3yKuhBxNQRqfKfatcol7EFQAAYZeRjLWRt1yRazzuB-0Dfx6jNI4Wrix7F0/s1600-h/Family+at+fireworks.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357997633913091186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcPIw4hiEneKfDE83t9Qk7CdOLtP6lblkoLdkQN4ZtvikOYj8jh5L8rFIx0bZirw72veCRjr6QkSiF4Imb3yKuhBxNQRqfKfatcol7EFQAAYZeRjLWRt1yRazzuB-0Dfx6jNI4Wrix7F0/s640/Family+at+fireworks.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 400px; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
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My beautiful mother, enjoying her grandkids before the firework show<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3WDB6g9iLooyuR6YVMnvhUz9TLTEATdGgoq-LCTKEImued_BZEb_L1mwUMt29jmdFFuqIlhRyLh9bFjfyF2UTpVoRXEaEQkc0BCGHpR4Qu1UcLtOLtAyg7JZWd4wP08oV07tBC5ePvQ/s1600-h/My+beautiful+mom+enjoying+fireworks.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357998221949438194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3WDB6g9iLooyuR6YVMnvhUz9TLTEATdGgoq-LCTKEImued_BZEb_L1mwUMt29jmdFFuqIlhRyLh9bFjfyF2UTpVoRXEaEQkc0BCGHpR4Qu1UcLtOLtAyg7JZWd4wP08oV07tBC5ePvQ/s640/My+beautiful+mom+enjoying+fireworks.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 500px; width: 426px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Girls at the firework show: LL, Ms. Fish, K, and Janna<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOx0dlTqTxwNY1UevTAPfUE5qxIpHdM2bKFWoL4jPmJkW8uKSPXty2LWTusw88UkYaK4WJEAzlqNLtfaVQNBIEmN2MFPxGS-LqOWZfsEVTFHtI66Xg3WgJJbMWbXCcyrJENQeM2340zig/s1600-h/Mom,+Jenni,+K,+and+Janna+at+fireworks.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357998210554179986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOx0dlTqTxwNY1UevTAPfUE5qxIpHdM2bKFWoL4jPmJkW8uKSPXty2LWTusw88UkYaK4WJEAzlqNLtfaVQNBIEmN2MFPxGS-LqOWZfsEVTFHtI66Xg3WgJJbMWbXCcyrJENQeM2340zig/s640/Mom,+Jenni,+K,+and+Janna+at+fireworks.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 400px; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Front porch with my brother's kids<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBm1bXuVRlyXsX5CCst6T4kKEn-U4DC1_60gOHiwggGBhfDUjlBCVqfSxgluWrs2VR4TOGKIkNMgEU_gil_1Pw-VeIXAWPospKdc0IV8pZRqEw0DoKhLpHR31d6NPsng3PVF_thRER4vw/s1600-h/front+porch.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357996924291290706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBm1bXuVRlyXsX5CCst6T4kKEn-U4DC1_60gOHiwggGBhfDUjlBCVqfSxgluWrs2VR4TOGKIkNMgEU_gil_1Pw-VeIXAWPospKdc0IV8pZRqEw0DoKhLpHR31d6NPsng3PVF_thRER4vw/s640/front+porch.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 400px; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Taking the footpath between my brother and sister's house<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTE9_7fAyAOy0waFohfpkf_2zOPzaemWGP6iyeVJiKiu6XCwVDnTrbCHufDrHXiw6E1z5KdchDm5tt9AnnE4S2IvMBx3_PoxNUoKaGsWYwFyTVszoxoPrk8EbEBc1D79aPcrQherBvgTY/s1600-h/The+secret+path+to+K%27s+house.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357998375670499138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTE9_7fAyAOy0waFohfpkf_2zOPzaemWGP6iyeVJiKiu6XCwVDnTrbCHufDrHXiw6E1z5KdchDm5tt9AnnE4S2IvMBx3_PoxNUoKaGsWYwFyTVszoxoPrk8EbEBc1D79aPcrQherBvgTY/s640/The+secret+path+to+K%27s+house.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 500px; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I spent the days surrounding the Fourth of July in the Nation's capitol and the Commonwealth. I couldn't ask for a more powerful and meaningful way to celebrate America's birthday.<br />
<br />
On the morning of the Fourth, we drove to Monticello, home of Thomas Jefferson, and witnessed an inspiring Independence Day Celebration and Naturalization Ceremony. 66 people from all across American gained citizenship. <br />
<br />
Monticello: Home of Thomas Jefferson<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8E7YrXGnLtqUEnYebPBl7924ffRbjkOuJceUJ4UynVHiqHFvE72j49uO97g-tAt9qwCYBNzGcDCYuHIRE9d_E1plUvE-3frqU4oUQXgTba9XJiq8bOfHiBSu8c_ctOYfJfSFvm97tEZI/s1600-h/monticello.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357996953961157186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8E7YrXGnLtqUEnYebPBl7924ffRbjkOuJceUJ4UynVHiqHFvE72j49uO97g-tAt9qwCYBNzGcDCYuHIRE9d_E1plUvE-3frqU4oUQXgTba9XJiq8bOfHiBSu8c_ctOYfJfSFvm97tEZI/s640/monticello.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; height: 371px; width: 500px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
Here is their oath. We should all be so inclined to pledge similarly.<br />
<br />
OATH OF CITIZENSHIP<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreing prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen' that I will support and defend the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by the law; that I will perform noncombatant service in the Armed Forces of the United States when required by the law; and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion: So help me God.</span><br />
<br />
Besides the focus on America, the trip was to help my sister move into her new Virginian home as she begins her anesthesia residency. We unpacked boxes, ate, shopped, toured, walked, ate, rode the metro, ate, walked, laughed, took the car to a shop, walked in circles, ate and talked.Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-80509460042422777972013-06-20T16:13:00.002-06:002013-06-20T16:34:14.053-06:00The Last Supper(s)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tN06G30DjC3zxzaE_cwmdvX4ibDNDe4XHK91Vas1jth4VFUKNxYcEQw-gJo_LBtOZhDLodJqeZPb3v-ZBMw0KzZJPIUYDdrR2PZ0MvZefaHOXqdxXAFMOOt3j8RZm8pIEFK2h6Cs/s1600/fruits+and+veggies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tN06G30DjC3zxzaE_cwmdvX4ibDNDe4XHK91Vas1jth4VFUKNxYcEQw-gJo_LBtOZhDLodJqeZPb3v-ZBMw0KzZJPIUYDdrR2PZ0MvZefaHOXqdxXAFMOOt3j8RZm8pIEFK2h6Cs/s640/fruits+and+veggies.jpg" width="499" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo by ms fish</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
Every morning when our friends came to get us for school, my mom would ask each one what they had for breakfast, and if we weren't running late, what they had for dinner the night before. It became so routine that eventually kids started volunteering what they had to eat before my mom had a chance to ask.<br />
<br />
We used to tease my mom mercilessly about her inquisitions. And now, I realize how brilliant she was. That daily ritual was my mom's live Pinterest board... her way of getting meal ideas for the family.<br />
<br />
As the circle often spins round 380 degrees, I find myself doing (or at least thinking about doing) the same thing. I would love to poll every person at church on Sunday and ask what sorts of casseroles or crockpot delights await their arrival. Are they going home to boiled, roasted, au gratinated, or mashed potatoes? What about Monday's meal?<br />
<br />
Just like my mother did, I love to talk about food with others - to get ideas, sure - but it is also much more. Sharing our food habits, preferences, ideas and successes is really a glimpse into our heart. <br />
<br />
In one week, I will no longer be cooking for my family. We are all dispersing to college and missions and I am moving away to start a new job, leaving my husband behind to sell our home. It really gave me a jolt as I went to the grocery store today and realized I was shopping for our last few suppers.<br />
<br />
Since I am curious about what others eat, I imagine some of you are too. So I am going to share what I have planned for the next week. For me, cooking for my family is a demonstration of my love for them. I enjoy it, and will miss it very much. I hope they will love our last few suppers together, at least for a season.<br />
<br />
Friday: <a href="http://www.feastingathome.com/2013/01/rosemary-chicken-lasagna.html#.Ub4e6YJbimQ">Rosemary Chicken Lasagna</a>, watermelon<br />
Saturday: eat out<br />
Sunday: <a href="http://whitsamusebouche.com/blog/2011/12/08/restaurant-style/">Steak</a> with herb butter, <a href="http://www.stltoday.com/lifestyles/food-and-cooking/recipes/article_2fa00db9-2eb5-5c47-b30e-789a60bafdc3.html">potato gratin</a>, roasted cauliflower and zucchini with marcona almonds, fresh corn on the cob, homemade rolls<br />
Monday: <a href="http://www.melskitchencafe.com/2013/04/thai-style-chicken-and-quinoa-salad.html">Thai-Style Chicken and Quinoa Salad</a><br />
Tues: homemade pizza<br />
Wed: <a href="http://kerrygold.com/recipes/grilled-blarney-castle-cheese-chutney-sandwich/">grilled salmon with lemon butter sauce</a>, rice pilaf and <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/Recipes/top-secret-restaurant-recipes-red-lobsters-cheddar-biscuits/story?id=2788706#.UcN73etQ1OA">cheddar biscuits</a><br />
Thurs: leftovers<br />
<br />
I'm curious.... if you had one more week to feed your family, what would you serve?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-34575582627563214632013-03-30T14:03:00.000-06:002013-03-30T14:03:00.889-06:00Pissed<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52cAf4xFoRjym7WPv_Uu2vyJZcNY06IVo7ogOEci-n4zNRPxtLQ_32S04BptIhsdWcr716isa86gPruYEietJrt650esyzw_UUXbj94b7NYvyTIw0I13WwmfOZyRsuIFzhVSn2ko3/s1600/trapped+in+art+by+cecilia+paredes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52cAf4xFoRjym7WPv_Uu2vyJZcNY06IVo7ogOEci-n4zNRPxtLQ_32S04BptIhsdWcr716isa86gPruYEietJrt650esyzw_UUXbj94b7NYvyTIw0I13WwmfOZyRsuIFzhVSn2ko3/s400/trapped+in+art+by+cecilia+paredes.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">art by <a href="http://www.moredesignplease.com/moredesignplease/2012/3/5/trapped-in-art-cecilia-paredes.html">cecilia paredes</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I am just a smidgeon mad.<br />
<br />
I am a responsible American citizen. <br />
<br />
I also happen to owe the government <b>a lot </b>of money. For school loans. And I will have to work very hard for a very long time to pay them back. There is no getting out of it. Except death. Not even with bankruptcy.<br />
<br />
And yet this same government has absolutely NO moral imperative to spend wisely, frugally or responsibly, and dig themselves out of the debt they are in.<br />
<br />
The hypocrisy, irony and downright inequity is really ticking me off.Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-43396266804853597292013-03-28T13:42:00.001-06:002013-03-29T12:31:40.236-06:00Choosing Busy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZT_Z8hiaDJR4z6qFct4HOxK10tWYWtcFOeu0fGyUfuhAJEy3AdVApjMDwUpeI40Wt8YgBzZOKJmJDAW27r2rhPvXVgfN8hPSJH-5V8uF3FF-rBksnFBHtvxMDjoMbFKvOqivDFdth/s1600/peaceful+place+by+john+keaton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZT_Z8hiaDJR4z6qFct4HOxK10tWYWtcFOeu0fGyUfuhAJEy3AdVApjMDwUpeI40Wt8YgBzZOKJmJDAW27r2rhPvXVgfN8hPSJH-5V8uF3FF-rBksnFBHtvxMDjoMbFKvOqivDFdth/s640/peaceful+place+by+john+keaton.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://fineartamerica.com/featured/a-peaceful-place-john-keaton.html">A Peaceful Place</a> - By <a href="http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/john-keaton.html">John Keaton</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
My lovely and wise sister-in-law, <a href="http://amyhackworth.com/">Amy</a>, always makes me think.<br />
<br />
One of her recent posts on <a href="http://www.designmom.com/">Design Mom</a> about being busy is no exception. <br />
<br />
You can read her post <a href="http://www.designmom.com/2013/03/on-being-busy/">here</a>.<br />
<br />
Her ideas caused me to reflect about my own relationship with busy. Keeping busy has produced many positive results in my life. I believe there are many benefits to being busy. It is good for the body and mind to be productive. It is good for kids to be involved in activities, which prevents boredom and finding their way into trouble.<br />
<br />
And yet, there is no doubt that running from one thing to the next to the next runs the risk of leaving us haggard and unfilled.<br />
<br />
So many of us, professionals and non-professionals alike, try to figure out how we can live in the gap between harried and humdrum.<br />
<br />
I appreciated what Amy had to say. Here are my thoughts and response:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love having a full plate. I am much more productive and organized when I have more to do. I LOVE being busy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">
</span><span style="color: blue;">Or more accurately, I love standing at the corner of hectic and
bored, the Goldilocks approach to the business of being busy. In other
words, I aspire to fill my time with moments that alternate between fast
and slow pace, producing an average pace of feeling “just right.” </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How do we do this? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: blue;">It is all about decisions.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: blue;">
</span><span style="color: blue;">For me, the bad guy of busyness is not the action, but the loss of
autonomy and control…. whether I feel forced or trapped, or whether the
activity is my choice.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">
</span><span style="color: blue;">What is busyness, exactly? It is incorrect to assume that busyness is
synonymous with “fast.” If I am sitting on a park bench being
physically IDLE, but mentally writing a poem in my head through active
pondering, I consider myself active with mental energy. Taking time to
remember, or ogle over a fresh patch of tulips is a busy mental moment.
When I am sitting on vacation, sans cell-phone, sans the cares of the
world, watching my kids busily body surfing in the ocean waves, I am
busy being a present parent. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">
</span><span style="color: blue;">BUSY simply means you are choosing one activity, or five, at the
expense of another. Tim Kreider tells of riding his bike every
afternoon, implying that somewhere there must be a giant chart which
rates different activities on a busyness scale: bike riding hanging
attractively {deceptively} at the bottom, while work-related emails
teeter destructively at the top of the pile. The irony, of course, being
that while Kreider is out riding his bike, friends trying to reach him
would, in essence, get a busy signal. The negative connotation of ‘being
busy’ seems to stem from the benefit derived from the activity rather
than the activity itself.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">
</span><span style="color: blue;">Even the ultimate antidote to busyness…meditation… requires a focus
on being busy with emptying your mind and being busy with the work of
breathing. The only break from busyness is death. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">
</span><span style="color: blue;">I choose not to look at busyness as the enemy. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">
</span><span style="color: blue;">The real enemy is the word YES! Which makes NO the real hero. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">
</span><span style="color: blue;">The ability, wisdom and strength to selectively CHOOSE how to spend
my time is where true contentment [and autonomy] lies. And isn’t that
the whole intent of being “busy”…. to ultimately find sustainable peace
and joy?</span></span><br />
<i><br /></i>Additionally...<br />
<br />
This life is all about BALANCE with eating, relationships, money, etc. Time management is no exception. And in each of those areas it all boils down to making good decisions. It seems to me that learning to make good decisions is at the core of everything.<br />
<br />
That is the hard part.<br />
<br />
I am the worst decision-maker ever.<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-68908639396296641572013-03-28T12:48:00.000-06:002013-03-29T12:34:18.703-06:00CraftingHere are a few things I have made recently, all for Young Women's activities.<br />
<br />
<b>ONE</b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzpit1u5SIMglwMb-dSkZ6mOZhj_EucEkYWm6Uyoc5O0ULc4Dh_e1xCLFRfL2sSP_bnG554vCaynct-N6rAxG3afND23Z_swCEO8hZX0vpJ0dFnHnTiJCIebmgX9WIMO0K5v2Sgu3/s1600/nail+polish+bites.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfzpit1u5SIMglwMb-dSkZ6mOZhj_EucEkYWm6Uyoc5O0ULc4Dh_e1xCLFRfL2sSP_bnG554vCaynct-N6rAxG3afND23Z_swCEO8hZX0vpJ0dFnHnTiJCIebmgX9WIMO0K5v2Sgu3/s640/nail+polish+bites.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fingernail polish bites: marshmallows and tootsie rolls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>TWO </b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy386UR7tvBB0ecbPYDU8e_ZrDDcv9Pa0YprEIHYiadIJAFksbaabaVbEUteuBWMU9tLXuXxXbHXup9QZmXlNHS03g6XGyvMYFOqDHhN776K1aP4GZME8hPdR3Q_j-wqcw8WhJMjMN/s1600/bday+key+rings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy386UR7tvBB0ecbPYDU8e_ZrDDcv9Pa0YprEIHYiadIJAFksbaabaVbEUteuBWMU9tLXuXxXbHXup9QZmXlNHS03g6XGyvMYFOqDHhN776K1aP4GZME8hPdR3Q_j-wqcw8WhJMjMN/s640/bday+key+rings.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">High top Ked shoe key ring</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b>THREE </b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIjlREoRY-aU4wz3W7ZIXCHaeWJpjsnEk74PQ-zq7Z1EarLmu688-v5KyyNoDdXv7_m9oGXGdtF5agEiF57_6XPwlRs8Y6qsAp-Nx6oYGLl6T2cEg2Zee8DvWpwYpsx_UiMpUZPm-/s1600/tootsie+jar+label.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIjlREoRY-aU4wz3W7ZIXCHaeWJpjsnEk74PQ-zq7Z1EarLmu688-v5KyyNoDdXv7_m9oGXGdtF5agEiF57_6XPwlRs8Y6qsAp-Nx6oYGLl6T2cEg2Zee8DvWpwYpsx_UiMpUZPm-/s640/tootsie+jar+label.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">jar label for tootsie rolls</td></tr>
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<b>FOUR </b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8MCIpVRhyphenhyphenKDdwYNbfvL3LfcKB75aDnGjpdeJ35UNaenQr0aE9IFrjcHVuXcrfeZ3N9U9UUWFXzqoaMeS2C4BYHuWpy2Hu0CD2g8ZzGzVVpxehObtyXNkYhxvTRjcKwxN7MLOlt6pr/s1600/tootsie+pops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8MCIpVRhyphenhyphenKDdwYNbfvL3LfcKB75aDnGjpdeJ35UNaenQr0aE9IFrjcHVuXcrfeZ3N9U9UUWFXzqoaMeS2C4BYHuWpy2Hu0CD2g8ZzGzVVpxehObtyXNkYhxvTRjcKwxN7MLOlt6pr/s640/tootsie+pops.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">tootsie pop reminders for New Beginnings</td></tr>
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1. Refreshments for Spa-aaah night where we painted toe nails and made decorations for New Beginnings<br />
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2. Birthday gift for each girl... a canvas tennis shoe key ring purchased <a href="http://www.ebay.com/itm/Lot-of-12-Canvas-Sneaker-Tennis-Shoe-Chucks-Keychain-Party-Favors-/310427770220">here</a>. I made a medallion in photoshop sporting this years' theme: Stand in Holy Places. Cut it out with a 1 1/2" circle punch, laminated it and attached it with a jump ring. Packaged in cellophane bag with a label, and sealed closed with washi tape.<br />
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3. Label for jar filled with Tootsie Rolls for New Beginnings<br />
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4. Tootsie pops given to girls on Sunday to remind them about New Beginnings. Lollipop wrapped in coffee filter, tied with baker's twine and cardstock label. Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-41844191963608056022013-01-16T05:00:00.000-07:002013-01-16T10:38:04.102-07:00Wedding Wednesday: Gifts Part IIIThis is the last installment of a three-part series on gifts given to Daisy and Jared for their wedding celebration. You can read about the other gifts given in <a href="http://jensfishbowl.blogspot.com/2012/12/wedding-wednesday-gifts-part-i.html">Part I here</a> and <a href="http://jensfishbowl.blogspot.com/2012/12/wedding-wednesday-gifts-part-ii.html">Part II here.</a><br />
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These last gifts were amazing and generous. And each came from people very dear to D&J.<br />
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Daisy met T&B when they volunteered to be host parents for Daisy when she was in the Junior Miss pageant in Salt Lake City. Daisy has kept in touch with them. In fact, T&B became like another set of grandparents to Daisy. As a wedding gift, they gave Daisy and Jared 7 nights in the honeymoon suite of the luxurious Marriott Ko Olina Resort on the beach of Ohau, Hawaii.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizjRFywcPOjGBsH7lth6JbwvAMXmBLaomvbz4Poq0_ICidi6cKpKPKxAxb2EeJ_6lQMq4_iE3pe80DGgE-MgaoxMkWoV3D6qWATlpc_9HsiEJAWB5rb2-54aNaV4R8LEzmiVu3oYxc/s1600/beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizjRFywcPOjGBsH7lth6JbwvAMXmBLaomvbz4Poq0_ICidi6cKpKPKxAxb2EeJ_6lQMq4_iE3pe80DGgE-MgaoxMkWoV3D6qWATlpc_9HsiEJAWB5rb2-54aNaV4R8LEzmiVu3oYxc/s640/beach.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view from D&J's hotel</td></tr>
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Jared's best man, CI, donated the table and chiavari chairs for the reception as a wedding gift to the couple. <br />
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And finally, Daisy's co-worker,L& J, allowed us to have the reception in their beautiful backyard. <br />
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We are so touched and grateful for the goodness of people and for such good, good friends. <br />
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Thanks to all!!<br />
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Ms. Fish<br />
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Next week Wedding Wednesday: Decorations <br />
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<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-64857865417219317482013-01-12T20:52:00.000-07:002013-01-15T19:25:06.478-07:002012 Christmas Holiday Recap We had one of the best holiday seasons on record.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEy2eN9H1pIN03z6wRbV3S02zMtZ3hFGsW3qwMEV1KF9de1VcBrNAhTgCccmvWiaHgbQ2pJZLHyx7o-OYqjxkyU_vDzZPmyxKjS55ALkjR6YWh3GXsx49EiNyPRWxDezdrtIg9lIsL/s1600/IMG_0312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEy2eN9H1pIN03z6wRbV3S02zMtZ3hFGsW3qwMEV1KF9de1VcBrNAhTgCccmvWiaHgbQ2pJZLHyx7o-OYqjxkyU_vDzZPmyxKjS55ALkjR6YWh3GXsx49EiNyPRWxDezdrtIg9lIsL/s640/IMG_0312.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I mean we totally hit it out of the park! <br />
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It probably won't happen again. This year, all of our kids had free time from work and school, which meant we had lots of time to spend together. Next year, Otto and Andy will be on their missions and after that who knows if all seven of us will ever have such a big chunk of undivided free time again. <br />
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We took advantage with 3 weeks of non-stop {almost} playing and eating and laughing. <br />
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We watched <a href="http://www.stgeorgeutah.com/calendar/event/?id=9423">The Taffetas</a> sing their hearts out,<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2K5q6gFm30fdou81h9jtUwWM-yMErEVBWfBQxBn-Bh0BguxdJ56fSXIaEa7-GFfL6vRK3hYA7JYCpTnd3-PSg5VfHIe6ICSqCl4jB8q41q1WS1TUGjThcc9FBsSj7SnzIjD1v640b/s1600/taffetas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2K5q6gFm30fdou81h9jtUwWM-yMErEVBWfBQxBn-Bh0BguxdJ56fSXIaEa7-GFfL6vRK3hYA7JYCpTnd3-PSg5VfHIe6ICSqCl4jB8q41q1WS1TUGjThcc9FBsSj7SnzIjD1v640b/s640/taffetas.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit: Kyle Turman</td></tr>
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ate delicious prime rib and belly-laughed at <a href="http://rattlindplayhouse.com/">My Big Fat Southern Utah Christmas</a>,<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfU8_Wo-LJKLgDXSP7hr0yeD-bTh3m17uiGB3naZ6Nvye0SZewOE7aNqnuH6mDRaaFRC60z5-wZt46izH92lGnVTisW03R5W4prtA-npgZHPq4XSYZMEW9dfyuI_12PUWcjtgt_MZ/s1600/fat+xmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfU8_Wo-LJKLgDXSP7hr0yeD-bTh3m17uiGB3naZ6Nvye0SZewOE7aNqnuH6mDRaaFRC60z5-wZt46izH92lGnVTisW03R5W4prtA-npgZHPq4XSYZMEW9dfyuI_12PUWcjtgt_MZ/s640/fat+xmas.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://dixiedollardeals.com/">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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went bowling, played Pickle ball, did some Christmas shopping, had a family sing-a-long <i>(Andy and Sean played guitars...yeah!)</i> and played games. We had some good discussions and performed a little bit of service. We read some Christmas stories, including our traditional <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carpenters-Gift-Christmas-Rockefeller-Center/dp/0375869220">new picture book</a>, and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Jars-Jason-F-Wright/dp/1590384814">this</a> one.<br />
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Of course homemade food was on the agenda, such as: <a href="http://christinascucina.blogspot.com/2012/04/lemon-souffle-pancakes-with-raspberry.html">these</a> lemon souffle pancakes with raspberry syrup, <i>(you have never quite arrived in breakfast heaven until you try these!)</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://christinascucina.blogspot.com/2012/04/lemon-souffle-pancakes-with-raspberry.html">photo credit: Christina's Cuccina</a></td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.stephmodo.com/2012/07/homemade-pizza-dough-in-five.html">pizza</a> on my new pizza stone and <a href="http://purplechocolathome.blogspot.com/2011/09/pizza-factory-breadsticks.html">these</a> breadsticks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadOwPhyUjmsWjJVSNRPnAHR2IkFzsDIy2xJT9265YH5zb0-1NpFOWBPQiLXUbXfPk5BMKHsRHeWcVQIL_BZRdu0MSW_Prh-xuBNwykoiHvDR-OPG8zZstkrhrNygFDwGWoSoV_dX1/s1600/pizza+factory+bread+sticks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadOwPhyUjmsWjJVSNRPnAHR2IkFzsDIy2xJT9265YH5zb0-1NpFOWBPQiLXUbXfPk5BMKHsRHeWcVQIL_BZRdu0MSW_Prh-xuBNwykoiHvDR-OPG8zZstkrhrNygFDwGWoSoV_dX1/s640/pizza+factory+bread+sticks.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://barefootandbaking.blogspot.com/2012/05/pizza-factory-breadsticks.html">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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We ate delicious grilled hamburgers and perfect potato salad at my mom and dads. We swooned over the broccoli, chicken parmigiana, garlic mashed potatoes and blackberry Italian sodas at a new Italian restaurant called <a href="http://www.bucadibeppo.com/">Bucca Di Peppo</a>.<br />
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Of course, we had our traditional formal Christmas Eve dinner... this year with a black and gold theme.<br />
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I used my grandmother's beautiful China from Germany (which I gratefully inherited), and borrowed my mom's gold coasters. I found this gold fabric for the tablecloth at a killer 75% off this summer when Joann's fabric store was closing (moving). Then found some gorgeous gold goblets to match at TJMaxx. <i>(Gorgeous gold goblets...say that 10 times real fast!)</i><br />
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We had ham, garlic mashed potatoes, and asparagus. <i>(My New Year's resolution really should be to clean & degrease my cookie sheets...)</i><br />
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<a href="http://jensfishbowl.blogspot.com/2010/11/7-layer-salad.html">seven layer salad</a>, honey and maple roasted carrots, haricots verts with crispy bacon nubbins,<br />
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Ms. Fish's perfect rolls <i>(hungry yet?)</i>,<br />
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and <a href="http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/7bTRR8/www.marthastewart.com/338834/chocolate-genoise">chocolate genoise</a> with peppermint ice cream. <i>(Mine almost looked like this...almost... !)</i><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUdcXQzgdy_exH6SSs0ZLDYjOEmGe7XULu7dH9uYvc7kA3UGUl0UJhsHEKR2TmEYePWV2kIy5mzodtnoe_JcU-wzy71DTMpLhTViUZQ14Mn1a2KadB9j-6TRXloAsEAXHvPEIhiu5D/s1600/Peppermint-Chocolate-Roll_Bakers-Royale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUdcXQzgdy_exH6SSs0ZLDYjOEmGe7XULu7dH9uYvc7kA3UGUl0UJhsHEKR2TmEYePWV2kIy5mzodtnoe_JcU-wzy71DTMpLhTViUZQ14Mn1a2KadB9j-6TRXloAsEAXHvPEIhiu5D/s640/Peppermint-Chocolate-Roll_Bakers-Royale.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bakersroyale.com/cakes/peppermint-chocolate-roll/">photo credit</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Christmas day was wonderful. <i>(If you took our picture's word for it, it was a little blurry and dark. But wonderful! Can't you just see the Christmas glow in the children's eyes. Mr. Fish looks especially overcome with emotion!)</i><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRFyQFSD6wbVXMVt2DBT8yYMEKMWwOEIWUDTnXAdsQzJTexaun5VpWyVD7g9YJ_kOcmOJgMGJs-jN42idCJsqKyIL0Ede_wVvbn0bJTnboExkyxkZAo990LgKsJbHmuqyw2TMQKQNv/s1600/christmas+morning.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRFyQFSD6wbVXMVt2DBT8yYMEKMWwOEIWUDTnXAdsQzJTexaun5VpWyVD7g9YJ_kOcmOJgMGJs-jN42idCJsqKyIL0Ede_wVvbn0bJTnboExkyxkZAo990LgKsJbHmuqyw2TMQKQNv/s640/christmas+morning.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">christmas morning 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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There were generous gifts given by all....including this awesome paper replica of an iPhone 5 --- made and drawn by Sean... preloaded with my favorite apps, of course.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jTtFizuzAxJuuE6ckbWz9gIUz_AuDbmDLbTLRWxYE_IhuW7iqLF5M1RtzGKRiRqFBVOeaxPQ3tMU1KheIKBjDqYUE8gh5gICA4_po9Ly9eSWjGQC_IKuO9kK5_zj7DiD-ADgZyfc/s1600/Collages1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jTtFizuzAxJuuE6ckbWz9gIUz_AuDbmDLbTLRWxYE_IhuW7iqLF5M1RtzGKRiRqFBVOeaxPQ3tMU1KheIKBjDqYUE8gh5gICA4_po9Ly9eSWjGQC_IKuO9kK5_zj7DiD-ADgZyfc/s640/Collages1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">notice the clever jphone logo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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It came in a shiny fabric case sewed by Daisy herself <i>(1st comes <u>love</u>, then comes <u>marriage</u>, then comes sewing up an iPhone <u>carriage</u>).</i><br />
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Then...my real iPhone 5 from my kids and Mr. Fish came a few weeks later. So exciting! Thank you BSJJ<i>SL</i>!!!!!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzoGeFUIyBaiTH1HdeOxyH1Gv_BCVCWYBtM1WT8TrS1ApgQuU__86AynemFktcQTJvQ2ABizfEIk5PSwo8rjq2hpAXfxaPXHvzTCc5dStZY1i8MLM595hyphenhyphenno9Lb3hX5xfadGC-iiZ/s1600/boys+open+the+plaques+from+bedroom+wall+from+Sean+and+Janessa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzoGeFUIyBaiTH1HdeOxyH1Gv_BCVCWYBtM1WT8TrS1ApgQuU__86AynemFktcQTJvQ2ABizfEIk5PSwo8rjq2hpAXfxaPXHvzTCc5dStZY1i8MLM595hyphenhyphenno9Lb3hX5xfadGC-iiZ/s640/boys+open+the+plaques+from+bedroom+wall+from+Sean+and+Janessa.JPG" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">O&A model their new hats and show off their plaques <i>(not to be confused with plagues)</i> - snuck from their room, wrapped and re-gifted from Sean and Daisy. It was so funny!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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After presents, we had Christmas brunch (consisting of a sausage and egg casserole and blueberry scones), a visit from Grandma and Grandpa Hackworth and then a dreamy afternoon with Hugh Jackman.<br />
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We came home with our head full of songs <i>(for days) </i>and filled our bellies full of <a href="http://www.texascooking.com/features/dec2004eggnog.htm">rich and creamy eggnog</a>. <i>(Yes, we drank raw eggs and though some may be able to make a good case to the contrary, we all still seem to be normal.) </i>Then we spent the next several days competing with one another in the following games.<i><br /></i><br />
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A highlight was spending time with my brother, Jeremy, and his family. And having an informative family home evening on money management with my goodly parents.<i> (10/10/10 --- good advice)</i><br />
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The year was finished with our FIRST ever, and hopefully first ANNUAL ski trip to Brianhead on New Year's Eve.<i> (First time Mr. Fish and I have been skiing in 30 years. He was hot! on the slopes. I noticed THAT after I realized I actually might not die). </i>It was fun to watch all our kids zip down, especially first-timer Sean.<i><br /></i><br />
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Then we topped off our vacation with the Hobbit (<i>which I surprisingly enjoyed)</i>, and a delicious balsamic pork roast <i>(which my kids surprisingly enjoyed)</i>.<br />
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It was three weeks full of laughter, family, food and gratitude. <br />
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Though I did NOT want it to end, there is no silencing the drumbeat of time. The kids have all gone back to their busy college lives and Mr. Fish and I are left with an empty nest & the echoes of many sweet melodies.<br />
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We wish you a productive and peaceful new year.<br />
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Cheers!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8OUg456oRcEpybtqEA8VqfooP0KKeTqrGYJ89_5eVGJ4DJ6lLHiFXwP5s0klfOma7UtuXMKMgwa8EwPlO8NwLPVW-EKofXwflWl465Kq0Jd_kWxc89616YGK2T1YwRIOKPoLS_4a/s1600/dinner+cheers3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8OUg456oRcEpybtqEA8VqfooP0KKeTqrGYJ89_5eVGJ4DJ6lLHiFXwP5s0klfOma7UtuXMKMgwa8EwPlO8NwLPVW-EKofXwflWl465Kq0Jd_kWxc89616YGK2T1YwRIOKPoLS_4a/s640/dinner+cheers3.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">not pictured: Sean, the photographer</td></tr>
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Thank you for sharing a little part of your day with me!<br />
<br />
Ms. Fish<br />
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<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-84923092127774386382013-01-02T00:26:00.000-07:002013-01-15T22:11:58.998-07:00Wedding Wednesday: Gifts Part II (Handmade Heart and Heritage)Hello!<br />
<br />
I hope you had a wonderful holiday season. Here in the fishbowl, it was our BEST holiday yet.... and probably the last of its kind! I didn't want it to end. We have had so many days of
undivided time together as a family. But...more to come on that later.<br />
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<br />
Today, it's time once again for Wedding Wednesday. I am in the thick
of a three part mini-series on gifts... a nice coincidence to coincide
with the gift-giving holiday season.<br />
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The <a href="http://jensfishbowl.blogspot.com/2012/12/wedding-wednesday-gifts-part-i.html">last post</a>
focused on GIFT #1: a singular, generous gift from my brother - he shot the
engagement photos, bridals, preception, wedding, and wedding luncheon. <br />
<br />
Mr. Fish will do some trade work for Justin and his family: home/car repairs and
improvements, in hopes to repay a fraction of what Justin donated. <br />
<br />
========= * =========<br />
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There were so many other incredible & meaningful gifts given all around, and I feel a need to document them so we won't forget. <br />
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<span style="color: #666666;"><span style="color: #999999;"><span style="background-color: white;">{Warning: sap and long post ahead}.</span></span> </span><br />
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========= * ========= <br />
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GIFT #2 <br />
<br />
Another of the greatest gifts in the whole
affair was working with Jared's parents (Don & Camille). They were
so awesome. We would meet on Sunday evenings and make plans and divvy up
assignments and review the budget. Camille was so helpful and did a
huge chunk of the work (made the luminaries, made homemade marshmallows,
gift bags for the groomsmen, helped dye coffee filters, sew pillows... and much more). Don & Camille were
so easy going. They were MUCH easier to work with than we were!!<br />
<br />
Plus we had some good times trying out different refreshment ideas for the preception.<br />
<br />
Thank
you D&C, from the bottom of our heart, for all your ideas,
financial contributions, work and effort you put forth to give our kids a
dream wedding!<br />
<br />
We are grateful Daisy has such wonderful in-laws.<br />
<br />
========= * =========<br />
<br />
<br />
<u>GIFT #3</u> - to Daisy<br />
<br />
One of the most poignant gifts was <b>completely unexpected.</b> On the night before the wedding, my mom gave Daisy a long pearl necklace, that was my grandmothers. I had never seen it before. So special!<br />
<br />
But wait.... it gets even better. The pearls were <i>hand-strung</i> by my great-grandmother. Daisy wore it with her wedding dress.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ4l9VgAxcxjVuUcrGMZ54eQ_9fBWARaWtBTyf-tgFZMdhmYB6-VuCAH6LdKewQwmKYsfv9U7Oyt4MXTDe-88Ztytme7KhEhPwAWG9T5hFsmw-YpzLlQrJzUNLM_nonyxFP9CGGyK2/s1600/ness+and+mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ4l9VgAxcxjVuUcrGMZ54eQ_9fBWARaWtBTyf-tgFZMdhmYB6-VuCAH6LdKewQwmKYsfv9U7Oyt4MXTDe-88Ztytme7KhEhPwAWG9T5hFsmw-YpzLlQrJzUNLM_nonyxFP9CGGyK2/s640/ness+and+mom.jpg" width="341" /></a></div>
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(That was something OLD. Something BORROWED = her grandmother's pearl
bracelet. Something BLUE = garter. Something NEW = orange shoes).<u> </u><br />
<u><br /></u>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-GtmxMKbfWOZhVIuzkozYW_eOvfKXYAy7-Dhcz2t8zrR4NPLmQC7RfYpHjBJ3Y0wCdtNQ1cbxdVU6-BYAKnM3AJkw71uwbGHO0CWSD1JXjbW_kTeB2ISbYZNhyRsYgk-EJz3IsFS/s1600/holding+nessa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-GtmxMKbfWOZhVIuzkozYW_eOvfKXYAy7-Dhcz2t8zrR4NPLmQC7RfYpHjBJ3Y0wCdtNQ1cbxdVU6-BYAKnM3AJkw71uwbGHO0CWSD1JXjbW_kTeB2ISbYZNhyRsYgk-EJz3IsFS/s640/holding+nessa.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<u><br /></u>
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<u>GIFT #4 </u>- to Daisy<br />
<br />
Another gift from my mom, this one expected, was a darling little book --- <span style="color: #444444;">hard cover, bound, </span>square 5 x 5 --- called <i>What I Wish I Had Known When I Got Married</i>.
Mom had collected bits of marriage advice from significant people in
Daisy's life (co-workers, mother-in-law, aunts, friends, etc).
Amazingly, there wasn't much duplication in people's answers...it turned
out to be a wide range of sage advice, and so fun to read. The little book<i> </i>became part of the decor<i> &</i> sat on the
coffee table at the preception. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ6OXwRf48LZC4ncF4Fiq_XQoW8mgW-x0i5xfl3yMSonmoaokk95fOUheVt9v3uUubLdYACqZ5RxNhWUG0W75JIg01shHk2lfRCDFP08CzaVooHtqzzZyHaSdnOuoxZSE_e2J4GJb5/s1600/+what+i+wish+I+had+known.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ6OXwRf48LZC4ncF4Fiq_XQoW8mgW-x0i5xfl3yMSonmoaokk95fOUheVt9v3uUubLdYACqZ5RxNhWUG0W75JIg01shHk2lfRCDFP08CzaVooHtqzzZyHaSdnOuoxZSE_e2J4GJb5/s640/+what+i+wish+I+had+known.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<u>GIFT #5</u> - to MOB<br />
<br />
On the night before the wedding, my mother gave me a cameo, which was
given to her by her mother on the day on my wedding in 1987, along with a
beautiful letter which I will always cherish. It made me cry.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTqLjOeure8SZUWhO6xyCaWW5sODYkE55WU7rh61M1Op5ls7BU2MfnxopfTG3qqLe5oMp08AY1KsSHdETn9utCLi-ZWo5m7i7HDm7cwfuZhzfcRCivGS2yAyQVII-5Pzr-aWgTwEy/s1600/cameo+and+hanky+from+loni+night+before+wedding.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxTqLjOeure8SZUWhO6xyCaWW5sODYkE55WU7rh61M1Op5ls7BU2MfnxopfTG3qqLe5oMp08AY1KsSHdETn9utCLi-ZWo5m7i7HDm7cwfuZhzfcRCivGS2yAyQVII-5Pzr-aWgTwEy/s640/cameo+and+hanky+from+loni+night+before+wedding.JPG" width="478" /></a></div>
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<u>GIFT #6</u> - to Bridesmaids<br />
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Camille (Jared's mother) and I wanted to give gifts to the wedding party and to those who helped at the preception. We were so grateful to the many people who helped us, and to the friends / family of Daisy and Jared who played a huge role in making the day special.<br />
<br />
Daisy had 5 bridesmaids (fun fact: each was a girlfriend from a different time period in Daisy's life). We gave them a small gift bag, including a face masque, some bit o' honey candy, orange jelly bellies, and a personalized white handkerchief. Maybe the girls will use the hankie at future weddings and think back fondly on the day they shared with us.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2WrpKMHYbMVonJRRFTu-XJ4AVu2lo_ZQrHKHlSgl4Tes1wZLjXxpUJ96v3Ey_Kc2CEMWNtoEEKP3-lkevruTNBt8o3DApBObdYyn3jSjDnG15-eIM80cHnaoQBBhbpbtVnm__8yDG/s1600/hankie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2WrpKMHYbMVonJRRFTu-XJ4AVu2lo_ZQrHKHlSgl4Tes1wZLjXxpUJ96v3Ey_Kc2CEMWNtoEEKP3-lkevruTNBt8o3DApBObdYyn3jSjDnG15-eIM80cHnaoQBBhbpbtVnm__8yDG/s640/hankie.jpg" width="484" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">bridesmaid handkerchief</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<u>GIFT #7</u> - to Groomsmen <br />
<br />
Camille gave each of the groomsmen a black tone-on-tone striped tie, along with a pair of orange socks that we hand dyed. Each of the boys had a different shade of orange. Ombre socks!<br />
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<u>GIFT #8</u> - To friends / reception help<br />
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For the girls who helped in the kitchen and manned the hot chocolate station, Camille and I gave them white aprons with their name and a bee embroidered on the chest. My sweet friend, Amee, sewed on a white & orange pocket. (Girls gotta have a place for lipsmack and cell phones!) Sadly, I didn't get a pic of these aprons.<br />
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<u>GIFT #9</u> - To Jared & Daisy <br />
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Amee made these pillows to be used as wedding decor and then in Daisy and Jared's new home. We had their wedding logo (vector graphic) digitally converted for machine embroidery. <br />
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Camille and I made this pillow. Sewing on the B monogram was a PAIN. Remind me not to do it ever again.<br />
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<u>GIFT #10</u> - To Daisy and Jared<br />
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Just for funsies, I had some flour sack towels embroidered with their logo for their kitchen.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84JiLRodRaQdlaClcCP7yCKRDodqfUF9-jzmJXHmTjPjQbtr0HegjmhFQ3ESE2a3Wwo2Y3jtOFvIl37QPhl3Ssj1awcinyGKmebiOxu3f6vSLLTYwNxJonW6Wlf-RYPvnQFReG11i/s1600/towels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh84JiLRodRaQdlaClcCP7yCKRDodqfUF9-jzmJXHmTjPjQbtr0HegjmhFQ3ESE2a3Wwo2Y3jtOFvIl37QPhl3Ssj1awcinyGKmebiOxu3f6vSLLTYwNxJonW6Wlf-RYPvnQFReG11i/s640/towels.jpg" width="504" /></a></div>
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<u>GIFT #11</u> - to Daisy <br />
<br />
I had been pondering about something I could impart to Daisy that<br />
<br />
a) didn't cost a lot<br />
b) didn't take a lot of time<br />
<br />
but would help her to know & remember that she is part of a long line of strong and wonderful women (who mean so much to me) and have been an example of a loving and enduring marriage.<br />
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One day while working on the invitations, which said: <i>We invite you to join us for <b>A PERFECT DAY</b></i>, an idea struck...this was simply going to be another in a long succession of perfect days.<b></b><br />
<br />
I pulled out a book my mom had given us a few years ago (another awesome gift!) with stories, pictures and geneology information of our heritage. I wrote down each wedding day from my mom to my great grandmother. Roberta embroidered them on a crisp white handkerchief:<br />
<br />
<i>A LEGACY OF PERFECT DAYS</i><br />
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The initial and wedding dates of five generations were included. After I got the hankie back from Roberta, I was looking it over and realized that every one of them was married in the Fall.<br />
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Good Karma.<br />
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Daisy followed another tradition. Each of the women represented on this hankie got married in the same place: the LDS temple. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQBFuisXTmyWrjodyGZNoYVFi61oE7C1Iyn-RbFmY-ZHs7oIrUWuvvUKQ6ntKjkG2Rk-A4X-YQg7t0DXvep7qXs7FY12YTrxqQGKq_1mu4vnHbfSoM8OEgtBa6jYzf-kH7o_mTE_x/s1600/nessa+hankie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQBFuisXTmyWrjodyGZNoYVFi61oE7C1Iyn-RbFmY-ZHs7oIrUWuvvUKQ6ntKjkG2Rk-A4X-YQg7t0DXvep7qXs7FY12YTrxqQGKq_1mu4vnHbfSoM8OEgtBa6jYzf-kH7o_mTE_x/s640/nessa+hankie.jpg" width="473" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #999999;">{UPDATE: Sap still running thick....}</span><br />
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<u>GIFT #12</u> - to Daisy <br />
<br />
Hankies seemed to be the order of the day. In addition to the brand new hankie (pictured above), I also passed along the hankie my mother gave to me on my wedding day. And it has been with me every time I have gone to the temple. The hankie has been passed down from generation to generation: crocheted by my great grandmother, given to my mother on her wedding day.<br />
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<u>GIFT #13</u> - to Daisy <br />
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My mom also gave Daisy a hankie, crocheted by my grandmother. These are vintage heirloom treasures that will mean more to Daisy as the years progress.<br />
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(Gosh...we had a lot of hankie panky going on. Is that a sign we cry a lot?)<br />
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<u>GIFT #14</u> - to Jared and Daisy <br />
<u><br /></u>
Paper and fabric. Two things I love. So I always knew that when my daughter got married, I would make her a quilt. At first it was going to be the usual... a quilt for picnics or soccer games. But then I decided to turn the quilt into a wedding decoration. We had huge spaces to fill. And quite frankly, I was running out of decorating ideas. <br />
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But was I up to the challenge to fit Daisy and Jared's style ---- modern, bees, hexagon shapes, simple? A <a href="http://www.allpeoplequilt.com/magazines/americanpatchworkquilting/international-quilts-norway_ss1.html">log cabin</a> just wasn't going to cut it. I scoured Pinterest and blogs. Finally, I found this...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTzkQ2TGOWUXGcC-1C81unQyLnmofbtBWQVdthUhe4I_nItq7QtTQu22dOgk6sR0RhTyjwlrK1exzTtaStkXlTPWTCPyZAlGQQFxeRcJWIHDyLbjlj1MEqUEoMU9B552I7OPF_GZS/s1600/hexagon+quilt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTzkQ2TGOWUXGcC-1C81unQyLnmofbtBWQVdthUhe4I_nItq7QtTQu22dOgk6sR0RhTyjwlrK1exzTtaStkXlTPWTCPyZAlGQQFxeRcJWIHDyLbjlj1MEqUEoMU9B552I7OPF_GZS/s640/hexagon+quilt.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://themodernquiltguild.com/2012/01/06/100-days-week-of-shapes-featured-quilt-6/">credit</a></td></tr>
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which gave me the inspiration for this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcgzeZddcaBk_ySQT-WynGX9Pb5znWH7XowCm0dSY6z5yL6Tq1XhyphenhyphenEOgd051mO9qyfdsqccWjaupzxC3E6j64gqPlfKstSUjhTw-G5O6X0Scf1qLWiOgoY9MHtuD9be6aozbtI9E-5/s1600/quilt+blocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcgzeZddcaBk_ySQT-WynGX9Pb5znWH7XowCm0dSY6z5yL6Tq1XhyphenhyphenEOgd051mO9qyfdsqccWjaupzxC3E6j64gqPlfKstSUjhTw-G5O6X0Scf1qLWiOgoY9MHtuD9be6aozbtI9E-5/s640/quilt+blocks.jpg" width="632" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">laying out hexagon quilt blocks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Each of the hexagons were hand appliqued onto the quilt top. The machine quilting was done by Lori Durrant. I bound the quilt with hand-sewing again. And yes....If you look close, there are a few blood stains on the white fabric ;) <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWj6k_GAbbH7Lsl3ktCmONS9Gmeelp1gjreTFaM3adHWx_Y9kpFmk-l3Pzkrf2uzsgPMRYjQzWxSHE6foTNnmjOiYFxyvmUeDD5eNwV842ytGGT-BYiQlYu4BXgyiwJmel7cSH-NqS/s1600/quilt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWj6k_GAbbH7Lsl3ktCmONS9Gmeelp1gjreTFaM3adHWx_Y9kpFmk-l3Pzkrf2uzsgPMRYjQzWxSHE6foTNnmjOiYFxyvmUeDD5eNwV842ytGGT-BYiQlYu4BXgyiwJmel7cSH-NqS/s640/quilt.jpg" width="452" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the finished quilt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<u>GIFT #15</u> - to Jared and Daisy<br />
<br />
One day a package came in the mail that made me cry. Again. (Hmmm...answered my own question... see Gift #13). My sister-in-law's sister, Lisa Jones, sent a package wrapped with simple elegance -- creamy paper with a satin orange bow. Careful unwrapping revealed one of the most beautiful books I've ever held in my hands; along with a sweet handwritten note, expressing delight in being able to make this and share in the celebration. Both Daisy and I were touched, awed and grateful.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQ7kYn-2za-VpH58LQHUAjL548WBk_7yoizBczg5Y7XhiTVx30xqwjtcnPNBokA2m5qJmDRVuVSohB7gpiE1qr_Yl0_FKq5InZ0rsE8aETM555YN9161f5RwBcXdScMsXFbpkm5sC/s1600/cover+sign+in+book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="592" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQ7kYn-2za-VpH58LQHUAjL548WBk_7yoizBczg5Y7XhiTVx30xqwjtcnPNBokA2m5qJmDRVuVSohB7gpiE1qr_Yl0_FKq5InZ0rsE8aETM555YN9161f5RwBcXdScMsXFbpkm5sC/s640/cover+sign+in+book.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The book -- square 6 x 6 --- was a guest book and journal. The pages were hand torn. The inside cover had their logo imprinted on it.<br />
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Each <a href="http://online-judge.uva.es/p/v9/999.html">signature</a> began with a hand-picked specialty paper with the most beautiful patterns and textures. Lisa hand-stitched the binding using a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coptic_binding">coptic stitch</a>, allowing the book to lay completely flat for ease of signing.<br />
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Maybe the book was so beautiful because Lisa teaches book arts at BYU - Idaho, and has access to fancy paper and stuff. Or because she takes the craft very seriously and does professional quality work. Maybe it's because Lisa has exquisite taste and a good design eye. Or because she is one of the kindest people on the planet and transferred genuine generosity into every stitch. Whatever it is, the book was magical.<br />
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So grateful for the beauty of this gift and the giver.<br />
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We also had so many generous gifts given to Daisy and Jared. I was truly overwhelmed with the outpouring of creativity, generosity, and love shown to them.<br />
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A huge thank you to my momma, Camille, Amee, Roberta (embroidery), Lori, Lisa, and Daisy's bridesmaids who were so helpful and attentive and thoughtful. And of course, all others who helped in any way. <br />
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Have a Happy New Year full of giving!<br />
<br />
xoxo<br />
Ms. Fish<br />
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Next Week Wedding Wednesday: Gifts Part IIIMs. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-13120109865878396462012-12-19T12:31:00.001-07:002012-12-21T13:08:01.130-07:00Wedding Wednesday: Gifts Part I (Photography)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Christmas is so close I can smell it... that unmistakable whiff
of generosity. So naturally, my thoughts have turned to giving this
week.<br />
<br />
That's one of the best parts of the
Christmas season, isn't it?<br />
<br />
Turns out, it was the same with our wedding. <br />
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There were lots of {wonderful} gifts given. So many, in fact, it will take up the next three Wedding Wednesdays to talk about. That's how big the gift giving was! It's quite amazing really.... so many warm fuzzies....I could have made a quilt with them.<br />
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Today's post is about ONE singular gift. It is a biggie ---the first, and arguably one of the most generous.<br />
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<u>GIFT #1 - THE GIFT OF PHOTOGRAPHY</u><br />
<br />
I'm talking about our photographer's gift of <b>time</b>: giving his...and freezing ours.<br />
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Along with his gift of talent, skill, patience, and art.<br />
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============ * =========== <br />
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<br />
We'll get to the actual wedding photos in the near future. But first, the <i>before</i> shots.<br />
<br />
The engagement period is an important part of a couple's life as they transition from a casual couple to becoming more emotionally intimate with one another. It is significant to document this period, with photographs.<br />
<br />
In September, Daisy and Jared squeezed in a quick trip to Provo, where <a href="http://justinhackworth.com/">Justin Hackworth</a> lives, for their engagement pics.<br />
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Even though Justin lives in Provo, no problem! He is a world-wide traveler, and will go anywhere for his clients. He rolled into town the day before our reception, so Jared and Daisy fit in a quick photo shoot at the <a href="http://www.sunriver.com/">SunRiver</a> golf course just as the sun drooped into evening. <br />
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They took full advantage of the large grassy hill and clear sunny skies.<br />
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I can't say enough good about Justin's charm -- both as a professional and as a person. A simple search on Google will produce a bucket full of fun about him. But don't just take my word or Google's word for it. <br />
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<a href="http://justinhackworth.com/blog/">Witness more of his work here.</a>. Better yet, <a href="http://www.justinhackworth.com/#pages/Bio%20-%20Pricing%20-%20Info">hire him</a> and experience his magic for yourself!!<br />
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Thank you Justin (and Amy)!<br />
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Have a very merry gift-giving, picture-taking Christmas!!<br />
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xoxo<br />
Ms. Fish<br />
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PS: Speaking of love and gifts, here is a little gift for you. Treat yourself to some romantic Christmas R&B <a href="http://www.amazon.com/What-Christmas-Means-Kem/dp/B00997NGFG">here</a>. <br />
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Next Wedding Wednesday: Gifts Part II (Heart and Heritage)<br />
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<br />Ms. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-682823262676397586.post-55264944861845708782012-12-16T21:46:00.001-07:002012-12-16T21:58:29.269-07:00On Sorrow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There are times when words or hugs cannot soothe a hurting Spirit. In such circumstances, the solace I seek can be found in a <i>HOPE</i> and a <i>RISK</i>.<br />
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<i>HOPE</i> ---- that The Man and His method will tenderly wipe away our tears, even those that have stained the soul.<br />
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And the <i>RISK</i> of <i><b>IF</b></i> only sweetens the reward.<br />
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Peace,<br />
<br />
Ms Fish<br />
xoxoMs. Fishhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12914177141155640172noreply@blogger.com1