tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359341962024-03-13T06:20:43.260-05:00Churlish FigureChurlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.comBlogger2161125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-13546645036225785202024-02-18T12:59:00.005-06:002024-02-18T13:03:48.863-06:00I'm Sad to Say I Must be on my Way, So Buy Me Beer or Whiskey, 'Cause I'm Going Far Away<p> </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYugrYQCgTU0oN4FaEBLaifkjBbY3HjZ0VMN5VzYPLZb0zBlET4cn2nkeRXvdrsEcIYZB6F6eQG4vhh8v1Lzwo5KL9Qhd3CCHNmmfkHCGQFSrnjIS5Bg0OmkAD2WeWSxxQm-USwBaO3eEiy6r_iW1oJdGHyDxPHpAuqJmFtnq523WMbxNvWBat/s4032/IMG_8045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYugrYQCgTU0oN4FaEBLaifkjBbY3HjZ0VMN5VzYPLZb0zBlET4cn2nkeRXvdrsEcIYZB6F6eQG4vhh8v1Lzwo5KL9Qhd3CCHNmmfkHCGQFSrnjIS5Bg0OmkAD2WeWSxxQm-USwBaO3eEiy6r_iW1oJdGHyDxPHpAuqJmFtnq523WMbxNvWBat/w640-h480/IMG_8045.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> Well kids, it seems as though I have moved my blog to Substack. It has a lot less quirks, and it has a lot more action. So, if you are at all interested, please check it out, subscribe, like, comment, or whatever works for you. You can find me here:</p><p><br /></p><p>https://churlishfigure.substack.com/<br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-17481398388335815812024-01-21T12:37:00.004-06:002024-01-21T12:41:30.773-06:00More Songs About Buildings and Food<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlHGrs6aI2t-QiJlEQYdMAPP4tl8fQMzSi4dbbCrz50l4yEAKebC10EApem9MMBrnDjGvvz6I1XpeBMA6pJJN-r1nYfgZ3yr41NdKZOnCME9Hyu_ACzCjHA7JqR9e8iVZ3WiP6NKFYY0IS9s4LzO2UMmzzc-V_JmihkYjMXC_p7034q66q720/s4032/IMG_4645.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlHGrs6aI2t-QiJlEQYdMAPP4tl8fQMzSi4dbbCrz50l4yEAKebC10EApem9MMBrnDjGvvz6I1XpeBMA6pJJN-r1nYfgZ3yr41NdKZOnCME9Hyu_ACzCjHA7JqR9e8iVZ3WiP6NKFYY0IS9s4LzO2UMmzzc-V_JmihkYjMXC_p7034q66q720/w640-h480/IMG_4645.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this in Taos, New Mexico last May. I love the loneliness of abandoned buildings.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><p>This is just going to be a little update post with some photos I took of abandoned buildings last year.</p><p>Soooo, sometime in November I started feeling like I was becoming Hypothyroid again. For those of you who don't have to worry about these things ( I hope that is all of you), what that means is that I was getting more and more tired, lethargic, a little blue, freezing cold, and gaining weight again. I also was beginning to have headaches and digestive issues. Kind of like when people have gastric by-pass surgery and they can't eat very much or they feel very sick, only I gain weight instead of lose it. (LOSE/LOSE!). I knew I had a doctor's appointment in January, and it wasn't terrible yet, so I figured I could wait it out. The symptoms have been gradually getting worse, but, again, I just waited for my next appointment.</p><p>Well, on Wednesday I had my appointment to have my labs drawn the day before my doctor's appointment, and I was right (it's hard to be me). My Free T3 and 4 levels were right on the border of hypothyroidism. Which means my meds are working very well. Which is good. My TSH is also in normal range for the first time since I was diagnosed with Grave's Disease and Hyperthyroidism in 2022. It went from .001 to 1.64, which is incredible. It's all great news, except for my cholesterol numbers (stupid menopause). So, I was hoping that all doctors involved would be amenable to me cutting down my meds. For whatever reason, my body tends to be hyper sensitive to....Everything, so when my numbers get even borderline Hypothyroidism, I get very pronounced symptoms.</p><p>Of course, later that afternoon, I got a call from my doctor's office saying that my doctor had Covid and they had to reschedule my appointment. GAH! Lord knows, you can't help having Covid, I just have to wait another few weeks to see if we can cut my meds. Meanwhile, I'm trying to fight lethargy, exhaustion, weight gain, and always being cold (except when that gets broken up with a hot flash. Woo hoo!). In the middle of Winter, I don't need any help feeling ANY of those things anyway. I'm just going to ask all of you to wish me luck with my dose reduction plea and my current battle to stay awake.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6hUpox76PmfhT8vaTSSyzLu9zVdq5xbDQyow3JHg2UJfm3cKTc6dbBydVTPNZEKFzkHd_d1H26T9itZVJu4oYgHw83gkB8xUvBUu9gL6voPFW7jJMHEjnxpN50yB_adqCnn-SSfoQZpF3v_1is5if9oC6kpIEaayfPptlfTbnB8LbVDxVsInx/s2221/IMG_1320.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1419" data-original-width="2221" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6hUpox76PmfhT8vaTSSyzLu9zVdq5xbDQyow3JHg2UJfm3cKTc6dbBydVTPNZEKFzkHd_d1H26T9itZVJu4oYgHw83gkB8xUvBUu9gL6voPFW7jJMHEjnxpN50yB_adqCnn-SSfoQZpF3v_1is5if9oC6kpIEaayfPptlfTbnB8LbVDxVsInx/w640-h408/IMG_1320.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>I took this in Louisville, Kentucky last month. I especially love abandoned, lonely buildings with ironic billboard ads above them.<p></p><p>On a happy note, I feel like I've had a much better attitude about Winter this year. And seein's how this has been a VERY Wintery last couple of weeks, my timing has been excellent. I do know that it gets harder to maintain that attitude the longer Winter lasts, so check back with me in a month or so and see if my blog posts are just a picture of me with an axe in my hand saying, "HEEEEEERE's Churly!"</p><p>Right now, though? Right now, I am dressing in millions of layers, trying to get out and cross country ski as much as possible, and then making and eating some amazing comfort food (maybe Menopause isn't the only thing to blame for my rising Cholesterol?), and hanging out with cats in front of my fake fireplace reading books. All good things, right?</p><p>I hope all of you have wonderful health news this month, and that you are able to handle whatever weather situation you find yourselves in.<br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-63050708889112145412024-01-15T16:48:00.004-06:002024-01-15T16:53:15.901-06:00I See My Breath Outside, I'm Freezing, I'm Motionless, I'm Disbelieving<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGLOupNePbc2k08R7vc63QXpbRusfScTb1KUPSezBOfevsxLKa6va095gkJlLrKkqrQmFKeJhRcmVQIyPMUywxCTkBguvIkXOCzoEl4WrK9PoDOyaiiGgWzzzAVLlWd-WaSwZciS0FQa0puhAf8KayzxzVhNZdMeNjPhWUFRAUIEg5uvSdVky/s1600/Archie%20and%20box.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGLOupNePbc2k08R7vc63QXpbRusfScTb1KUPSezBOfevsxLKa6va095gkJlLrKkqrQmFKeJhRcmVQIyPMUywxCTkBguvIkXOCzoEl4WrK9PoDOyaiiGgWzzzAVLlWd-WaSwZciS0FQa0puhAf8KayzxzVhNZdMeNjPhWUFRAUIEg5uvSdVky/w480-h640/Archie%20and%20box.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>First off I want to say that I love every animal I've ever had, and I will love any animal I have in the future, but I will NEVER have another cat like Archie. He is such a dork, he's funny, and empathetic (and for a cat that is REALLY weird). Almost everyone who has met him thinks he has to have some dog in him. He is my beloved familiar.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwHosoxUtM8uHxqNaro-iXC7Di8_rAAmMsW6rdDwA403zBbvM8A6qB3TX2ak-oAttVlsVa41w_ftWaXF6XzBZ7sfo8LL8wZQvnG_W8d3Gdk1Wf9KAWVyq5hh76dWwHnJ9N9wczMC8hSwel-g7PSjQilRTlQc_M8WeQlwhJYGDtOSvWHzlJmnk/s720/Archie%20kitten.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwHosoxUtM8uHxqNaro-iXC7Di8_rAAmMsW6rdDwA403zBbvM8A6qB3TX2ak-oAttVlsVa41w_ftWaXF6XzBZ7sfo8LL8wZQvnG_W8d3Gdk1Wf9KAWVyq5hh76dWwHnJ9N9wczMC8hSwel-g7PSjQilRTlQc_M8WeQlwhJYGDtOSvWHzlJmnk/w640-h480/Archie%20kitten.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I first met Archie in 2010 when he was a kitten. He was the biggest spaz at the shelter. I told John that if he was affectionate as well, I would try to adopt him. Turned out he was ridiculously affectionate. He loves attention and will snuggle with anyone. He will let people pick him up and carry him around, even if they aren't being super careful. I have had to tell more than one of my friends to put him down, because they were being too rough and I could tell Archie was uncomfortable. Most cats would scratch your face and jump away. Not Archie. I have a feeling it's less about him worrying about hurting a human than being an attention whore, but I TOTALLY understand that.<br /></p><p>As a kitten he was a terror. The people at the shelter told me he was adopted once before and then brought back. They said it was because the other cats in the house were mean to him, but he shredded every one of my blinds, accidentally ripped my lip open, and purposely dropped books on my head while I was sleeping to let me know he was hungry, so I think there was a little more to it than just the mean cats.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqnB8_wDUT-IF_E-vmP9pBzpeyPUwfTuN1jQ_rCderm7G5K9LLuSso1sHPU3W56B39gUyjKW3CxgGKFo0WuADHgRIoiniBnM_1-ItUCkKAgT8-YRmm0Vm1RSjUcJxckbcvzGNd6idkRNsA4QGmc6aRft4gEWXqgEs2D6QjLOm5MXJwxG5WZf_/s1600/Archie%20Bald1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqnB8_wDUT-IF_E-vmP9pBzpeyPUwfTuN1jQ_rCderm7G5K9LLuSso1sHPU3W56B39gUyjKW3CxgGKFo0WuADHgRIoiniBnM_1-ItUCkKAgT8-YRmm0Vm1RSjUcJxckbcvzGNd6idkRNsA4QGmc6aRft4gEWXqgEs2D6QjLOm5MXJwxG5WZf_/w640-h480/Archie%20Bald1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Archie's most hated thing in the world is going for a ride in the car to see the vet. He's smart like that. Last month on his annual appointment, we had them do some blood work. Archie used to weigh 21.5 pounds, but now he is 12 lbs. He has also been drinking tons of water.</p><p>With humans, they always say that if we live long enough, we will inevitably get dementia. With cats it's kidney disease. Archie is 13.5 years old now, and you guessed it, he was diagnosed with kidney disease. He has anemia as well, and our vet said the anemia might kill him faster than the kidney disease.</p><p>We're all heartbroken. The vet said he'll probably live another year, but not much more, and it could be less. She said there isn't a lot they could do for him. We did get some kidney disease specific cat food. She said we might possibly be able to do a kidney transplant. The weird thing, is that they do that by taking another cat's kidney, and after the surgery, you have to take that kidney donor cat home with you and adopt it. Weird, huh? That may or may not work, but if you'll remember, Archie HATES the vet, and he's old so he might not tolerate a surgery like that anyway. Mostly, I just want him to be happy and free from stress or pain. So, our plan is to let him eat as much as he wants, we have some lactated ringers handy in case we need to give him IV fluids, and then we'll just spoil him even more than we already do (if that's even possible).<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb8HNVlvbLFc5DXGl5sI-mdvry5gkHh-qsnDdHJ1P2CWufoD0LaagmFPKXXKb8uDl1DQ2XjPQx1DWmwqV_fzMPCQLudlMoX1M6jRvgdboeitJpV5z8JWCmNMSmhk9uhzdgSTLEzeIqgKB7R97M7JWnaPKY3GaniBJkC44I_Ge9WlBBAXtkvzaO/s1600/Archie%20dressy.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">, </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb8HNVlvbLFc5DXGl5sI-mdvry5gkHh-qsnDdHJ1P2CWufoD0LaagmFPKXXKb8uDl1DQ2XjPQx1DWmwqV_fzMPCQLudlMoX1M6jRvgdboeitJpV5z8JWCmNMSmhk9uhzdgSTLEzeIqgKB7R97M7JWnaPKY3GaniBJkC44I_Ge9WlBBAXtkvzaO/w480-h640/Archie%20dressy.JPG" width="480" /></div><p></p><p>As you know, he's so suave and handsome that we named him Archibald Leech after Cary Grant. Even as an old man he still looks distinguished.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj05azSXJqO9VuRDtE5TChIZ_EMHLY8k7Ib6hKnwhnE0lRWUWMNYEQjuukkFS42iMqMwcOZg1z-6FIeyqPLDOkUb1nIQJ1QOC7i6OVnYrYZdb3HaAT2e-XiZSfQSPv69A35DyD3zDjf1mZB_pVREhr-geKQeMTUfdlvDFf5GCNKUTYj-SSpuPpa/s1600/Archie%20manager.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj05azSXJqO9VuRDtE5TChIZ_EMHLY8k7Ib6hKnwhnE0lRWUWMNYEQjuukkFS42iMqMwcOZg1z-6FIeyqPLDOkUb1nIQJ1QOC7i6OVnYrYZdb3HaAT2e-XiZSfQSPv69A35DyD3zDjf1mZB_pVREhr-geKQeMTUfdlvDFf5GCNKUTYj-SSpuPpa/w640-h480/Archie%20manager.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I don't know what we'll do when he's gone, because he won't be around to supervise our home improvement projects, and we're just stupid humans that will mess everything up on our own.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4bmQ_QozTUNaBbnBxpdKxmIFZufQuqJ14hoHOHa8a0iSlS6TT_uCCRcOjBg87Aj9PfyIbuShYMoCsQaKlu4paxNMm0nIK8sA1kJdDYjlBT6YlPzyUBz8v2ChZa9MZXxTYVVkY6M9yR5GG_vqTP3e7jmDvDRarLgtGqSed-mqyyVON302VohuV/s1600/Archie%20admiring%20himself.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4bmQ_QozTUNaBbnBxpdKxmIFZufQuqJ14hoHOHa8a0iSlS6TT_uCCRcOjBg87Aj9PfyIbuShYMoCsQaKlu4paxNMm0nIK8sA1kJdDYjlBT6YlPzyUBz8v2ChZa9MZXxTYVVkY6M9yR5GG_vqTP3e7jmDvDRarLgtGqSed-mqyyVON302VohuV/w480-h640/Archie%20admiring%20himself.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>He still has so much he wants to do before he succumbs to his disease. He spends hours working on editing his yoga work-out videos.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEi_P2-3sCFG7_l7wtN_SbLVLZNTC5tbfwpRXIGuDA5nurkd-4gyZJFEBcvcgJo8oh1oI79K_TtT6s8-YOKF9GUkQLPbvFpqZx9BvYI8bXWpBJwbkKiuNSY1Ef1byt-osbB4T3aHeP8om2HifB1hqqyaG5PM3xQMG8KYmb9CXZKZzfXkQnmP1j/s1600/Archie%20and%20Gus.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEi_P2-3sCFG7_l7wtN_SbLVLZNTC5tbfwpRXIGuDA5nurkd-4gyZJFEBcvcgJo8oh1oI79K_TtT6s8-YOKF9GUkQLPbvFpqZx9BvYI8bXWpBJwbkKiuNSY1Ef1byt-osbB4T3aHeP8om2HifB1hqqyaG5PM3xQMG8KYmb9CXZKZzfXkQnmP1j/w640-h480/Archie%20and%20Gus.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>We have kicked around the idea of getting ANOTHER cat in the next few months. Poor Gus Gus is going to be wrecked without him to play with, and he does an incredible job training kittens to behave better without being too rough.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmYjl_vPg0KDTem6_D3Qs-znaCF19XsSdmvbD0Y6ezz2iJF83_CGWOSDY9LH-b1Z_a3VOGcY9Z06PJKFt6mB8hMPghrxiZYS_oo0p8OYlVoienR2fMRG6753IybzkRV7kOYP5DYeIdqDPo1ZljNUhwl7YQrYaP6dWpqivKvVQtgIyS4-AY6AT/s960/christmas3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOmYjl_vPg0KDTem6_D3Qs-znaCF19XsSdmvbD0Y6ezz2iJF83_CGWOSDY9LH-b1Z_a3VOGcY9Z06PJKFt6mB8hMPghrxiZYS_oo0p8OYlVoienR2fMRG6753IybzkRV7kOYP5DYeIdqDPo1ZljNUhwl7YQrYaP6dWpqivKvVQtgIyS4-AY6AT/w640-h480/christmas3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /> I just want to spend as much time loving him while I can. I'm going to miss him slapping my phone out out of my hand so that I'll spend more time staring at him instead, lying on top of me and crushing me when he knows I'm sad, arguing with me about whether it's time to eat or not (it's not), and watching him growl and hiss at the mailman. I have no idea what happens after we die, but for Archie's sake I hope there are unlimited supplies of fresh catnip, tuna juice, sinks of every shape and size, and gigantic scratch boxes located right next to sunny windows.</p><p>Oh, Archie. I thought you would live forever on piss and vinegar. Let's just hope we get more time with you than the vet predicted.<br /></p><p></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-71944175616618626782023-12-31T13:09:00.014-06:002023-12-31T16:10:42.145-06:00The More We Know, the Less We See, Second Time is not Quite What it Seemed<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBPRPmL_sUBRihxqzmM1IztnMWdKtiPX3S9fxeoLhbInbPIyA6iH7O-EFt0Iy-VSiH2bRylnxUk7puT-xDsrPOXi9TXSWBExQO8ycXCKoD6eTURwNcAHZyYxA9WAf6YRD_t-jmMa20XNUOTT8P_kr3lzceKrB6y9uTfthGrSDPK8evkoJtRfU/s4032/IMG_1468.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFBPRPmL_sUBRihxqzmM1IztnMWdKtiPX3S9fxeoLhbInbPIyA6iH7O-EFt0Iy-VSiH2bRylnxUk7puT-xDsrPOXi9TXSWBExQO8ycXCKoD6eTURwNcAHZyYxA9WAf6YRD_t-jmMa20XNUOTT8P_kr3lzceKrB6y9uTfthGrSDPK8evkoJtRfU/w480-h640/IMG_1468.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>It looks like this is my last blog post of 2023. It's been quite a year in so many ways. Mostly good, but I've had a lot of health challenges that I'm trying to work through. Let's hope 2024 gives me a break in that department. This blog post is about the good things, however. </p><p>I know everyone has different ideas of what their purpose is in this life. Personally, my purpose is to find as much fun and joy and adventures as possible, without hurting anyone else. If I died today, I wouldn't worry about whether I left my house clean or not (not, duh), or made enough money (most decidedly not), or whether the cool kids liked me (they never have). I would worry more about if I had been kind enough (I'm always working on that), or if I made a positive difference in the world (I'm sure it depends on the day), or if I worked hard enough on my issues (I'm not sure any lifetime is long enough for that Hurculean feat), and most importantly, was I open to experiences.</p><p>So, every year I like to tally up all of the new things I've tried. Most of these new things happened on trips, but I suppose that's why we travel (if we can afford to).</p><p>Anyway, here is my list of the things I did for the first time in 2023:</p><p>Last January I took Stinky to Chicago and we stayed at the ever swanky Palmer House Hotel. I've always wanted to go there, because my Uncle Duke (his real name is Reginald Harrington Haigh, so I would rather people call me Duke too) worked there a hundred million years ago and one of my aunt's still has some of the art they gave him. I always thought it would be too expensive, but Coadster stayed there on a business trip, and by Chicago standards, it really wasn't that bad. <br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1aPBPhcuu7Ig6t9Lidor1Wh5w4eBw3PcyosuRwkIU0X7mSfzbVeNb7i2hQn2ZTJbHt2W6gZPdrHCPTFH2a540kLbvamjwgUJ-tbfsmObkNK4c1JjPNvcXWVB5d5tLkkQ3jbHfxRFV_adqKx9I4MrCe3D0INE_Ek2k0Od1Cdz4veElcWRdHWDv/s4032/IMG_1260.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1aPBPhcuu7Ig6t9Lidor1Wh5w4eBw3PcyosuRwkIU0X7mSfzbVeNb7i2hQn2ZTJbHt2W6gZPdrHCPTFH2a540kLbvamjwgUJ-tbfsmObkNK4c1JjPNvcXWVB5d5tLkkQ3jbHfxRFV_adqKx9I4MrCe3D0INE_Ek2k0Od1Cdz4veElcWRdHWDv/w480-h640/IMG_1260.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>One of my other firsts occurred on that trip. I experienced my first immersive art experience. We saw the Van Gogh exhibit. It was beautiful and emotional and sweet and sad and so many things. I'm so glad we made a point to see it.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAeJh9tO-e1gM-C_ZOt3YuCb2dxcPfF4mxjhfPyXwFHwkxfpmMl9NJXLjyLqupSf82pXdUKgZbs4r_joIQmX7-FXpj2aXWuq0GXrbEEb6YCrHKy7XIiK4C42vNHLVdq-gj3pD1INFjk8HyF_KYCJpyQ7a0tlafYoh6tTOk9LixiqjKIsU2aSIa/s3694/IMG_2605.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3694" height="524" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAeJh9tO-e1gM-C_ZOt3YuCb2dxcPfF4mxjhfPyXwFHwkxfpmMl9NJXLjyLqupSf82pXdUKgZbs4r_joIQmX7-FXpj2aXWuq0GXrbEEb6YCrHKy7XIiK4C42vNHLVdq-gj3pD1INFjk8HyF_KYCJpyQ7a0tlafYoh6tTOk9LixiqjKIsU2aSIa/w640-h524/IMG_2605.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I had a LOT of firsts on our trip to New Mexico last May. If you know me at all, you understand how much I love cheesy, uniquely Americana shit. So when I found out we'd be driving through Amarillo, I asked John if he would be cool with us stopping at Cadillac Ranch. Lucky for me, John is always cool with doing all the zany, hair brained things I want to do, even if he sometimes okays them with an eye roll. It is an art installation funded by a now dead Texas business person. Basically, you bring spray paint and are encouraged to deface some Cadillacs buried in the desert. Who wouldn't want to do that?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNakbcauRhaEa7KCecn-0IimXlbiFGWry2J11Eo_RAZM4OKxzaEHD8Sd0MON5NWypk_xel0o3mSeooyTjk4EcLtPAaeCpyOCJzwfIoqX7IbBjpVipG5bEMQ-tSen41RkwVeBT-5NjJbFgXegIZXowGzeza7OupIVqv_AUAgPQrblcIl8aZfoGD/s4032/IMG_2668.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNakbcauRhaEa7KCecn-0IimXlbiFGWry2J11Eo_RAZM4OKxzaEHD8Sd0MON5NWypk_xel0o3mSeooyTjk4EcLtPAaeCpyOCJzwfIoqX7IbBjpVipG5bEMQ-tSen41RkwVeBT-5NjJbFgXegIZXowGzeza7OupIVqv_AUAgPQrblcIl8aZfoGD/w480-h640/IMG_2668.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>I also got to go to the land of my people, and see all kinds of space aliens. I didn't find my mother ship in Roswell, but I did get to go to a restaurant where a guy played Charlie Rich songs on a Casio while we ate, and see even MORE cheesy Americana. Poor John.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASb_eKp15-aseazkdaVuSAy5Bd_m45PUOibXGZH1XOy2SL3ODzfs9-1hoYBpll8BmLYzQ7W6dMNN93zWHh-R2E1bw_LrOIzyslgFDnQHT_YMRGD_nJPVWpmGfcg2DC0k7FDz47gG5kf-oxiFYsjq8p467xz5kNL_LBBqeDh8ddzPoo6GDJRmg/s4032/IMG_3118.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASb_eKp15-aseazkdaVuSAy5Bd_m45PUOibXGZH1XOy2SL3ODzfs9-1hoYBpll8BmLYzQ7W6dMNN93zWHh-R2E1bw_LrOIzyslgFDnQHT_YMRGD_nJPVWpmGfcg2DC0k7FDz47gG5kf-oxiFYsjq8p467xz5kNL_LBBqeDh8ddzPoo6GDJRmg/w640-h480/IMG_3118.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>At Carlsbad Caverns I ate lunch in a cave 800 feet below the surface of the earth. The ambience was incredible.<br /><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-XeddmgwBT0ad33Sc5AcW7WA7fmOja1F58ZXv_jvntYvB6gPJ_H7ujheu6VLIAlq6FJCFrdR7sJRharC8pNPhBEdk9iKr1lUfOEv8ySvpMJYuGbF_fWbReuEKZZENZqWKZ56SzJOL2sUsl0UZM3urU8nNB3H7nSQsXg_TE2KDdsVAfscGDJgq/s4032/IMG_3604.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-XeddmgwBT0ad33Sc5AcW7WA7fmOja1F58ZXv_jvntYvB6gPJ_H7ujheu6VLIAlq6FJCFrdR7sJRharC8pNPhBEdk9iKr1lUfOEv8ySvpMJYuGbF_fWbReuEKZZENZqWKZ56SzJOL2sUsl0UZM3urU8nNB3H7nSQsXg_TE2KDdsVAfscGDJgq/w640-h480/IMG_3604.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>At White Sands I got to hike barefoot for the first time. The gypsum sand doesn't absorb heat the way normal sand does, so it isn't hot. I have always loved going barefoot, which means this was a wonderful thing for me (in case it didn't seem that way to you).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWH0LQgGv-6kfj7QI-afYwcyeYvwdOWrPpuvbsuhcKqwvHNpdYQ2NEcCC9Hw6_60wUJmFcwc4S-6EPbcfPqVlFk4VBE0LRWoOu_AY0RU3T8pRw11T6_cEvNjKcmbkUILMl_uypJQZJWyyoDSTJzx9Unth7Evbx9_w9_VZSLAQdRl_akIYUHfIF/s4032/IMG_5877.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWH0LQgGv-6kfj7QI-afYwcyeYvwdOWrPpuvbsuhcKqwvHNpdYQ2NEcCC9Hw6_60wUJmFcwc4S-6EPbcfPqVlFk4VBE0LRWoOu_AY0RU3T8pRw11T6_cEvNjKcmbkUILMl_uypJQZJWyyoDSTJzx9Unth7Evbx9_w9_VZSLAQdRl_akIYUHfIF/w480-h640/IMG_5877.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>I also killed two firsts with one stone in White Sands. I got to sled in May for the first time, and I had never gone sledding on sand before. It wasn't quite as fast as sledding on snow, but the older I get, the more okay with the lack of speed I am.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ltWLWCuIIjQS0a-wkwvLtMTLEsQV3jfPmh79uvutMuaHLJ4PK3BdcNGInv5Ax7D6RiDUtIQdrUYwmNTrPsa0Kojo0hRIiFXE78aMr8YqKx7ntYhz_bBBodxmQheO3VJI6zZPd9GX0GvDTO0oPp1oXRqpbDFNWa_QJsO1m3WVf4QmtBHlkFH_/s3768/IMG_E4352.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2585" data-original-width="3768" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ltWLWCuIIjQS0a-wkwvLtMTLEsQV3jfPmh79uvutMuaHLJ4PK3BdcNGInv5Ax7D6RiDUtIQdrUYwmNTrPsa0Kojo0hRIiFXE78aMr8YqKx7ntYhz_bBBodxmQheO3VJI6zZPd9GX0GvDTO0oPp1oXRqpbDFNWa_QJsO1m3WVf4QmtBHlkFH_/w640-h440/IMG_E4352.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>When we made it up to Santa Fe, I scheduled a trip to Georgia O'Keefe's house (well, one of them anyway). I had never pawed through an artist's home before...Especially a rich one. It was beautiful. It would be hard NOT to be creative with those surroundings, and not having to work a shit job, but even so, there is only one Georgia O'Keefe and no one else has the vision she had.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYfkrYuBJBxrWYKNVD0aG-9zBOhVIUxQp8siXoGBrKnIT_o_9gDJWJA-CcUCPDi4pmaW-4B1xuYpHl0vCTH8oP6K8vmRNUxYRZtl_i7mVBJN5NIN8XL0JPjFRkzrcBNy2BcyFZtW2jFdacrQ-jxdtlkgMl4CddDk2vvW7Xa5vb79aLVRiDvlBL/s4032/IMG_5553.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYfkrYuBJBxrWYKNVD0aG-9zBOhVIUxQp8siXoGBrKnIT_o_9gDJWJA-CcUCPDi4pmaW-4B1xuYpHl0vCTH8oP6K8vmRNUxYRZtl_i7mVBJN5NIN8XL0JPjFRkzrcBNy2BcyFZtW2jFdacrQ-jxdtlkgMl4CddDk2vvW7Xa5vb79aLVRiDvlBL/w480-h640/IMG_5553.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>In June, I got to see a baseball game at a real live major league ball park. I did see the Cubs play once, but it was from the rooftop decks, and not from Wrigley Field. This time Stinky wanted us to go to St Louis to see a Cardinals game for her graduation from college present. The game was fun, but I felt so honored that she wanted us to be included in her gift.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXiL2qZ4oXjl3QqG0vNaDWjTuOwGXLnZH78t-HmANX99jQx_lPkVv2H3i3ATz12JA7eDd99uhgEnbCX6QovsEpLX1PkEBRrrb7HIot-0kRy-Vz2HggeYAaAPuS0GQXL7o19Y4nBPuWp7-TAZWes8WTxoRQXm52cEySCEMJGDAR31oNyctUt2l/s2048/native%20american%20sauce.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXiL2qZ4oXjl3QqG0vNaDWjTuOwGXLnZH78t-HmANX99jQx_lPkVv2H3i3ATz12JA7eDd99uhgEnbCX6QovsEpLX1PkEBRrrb7HIot-0kRy-Vz2HggeYAaAPuS0GQXL7o19Y4nBPuWp7-TAZWes8WTxoRQXm52cEySCEMJGDAR31oNyctUt2l/w480-h640/native%20american%20sauce.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>I may not be great at it, but I love to cook. I like to try food from all over the world. It's a great way to look at a culture. So, when we went to Minneapolis for Stinky's birthday in September, I bought "The Sioux Chef" cookbook and I've been slowly but surely figuring out not only how to cook Native American/Indigenous food, but cooking at that fancy level. I have worked in tons of restaurants, but none of them were anywhere NEAR Michelin Star level, and my cooking is a reflection of that. So, this has been a fun challenge. I have tried hard to buy ingredients from Native Americans whenever possible. If I'm going to appropriate a culture's food, someone from that culture better damn well make some money off of it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhepNZdKk6KycOTm6-nMIYy8SLZmRJ3AAOxCG_TDnEenBa443QG4JdptuPsfenNJYuon_itT2zCi30J23W-t4aI7H4in2DTM05JF6YpQyrEyeb_AGge-hqIgYaEh6GDaOqqsIWnCh7xkcjr9Ilxr4tn3mPgD-X9tl_uANb5tPKECL3mWtL3Oaq0/s3663/IMG_1064.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3663" data-original-width="2619" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhepNZdKk6KycOTm6-nMIYy8SLZmRJ3AAOxCG_TDnEenBa443QG4JdptuPsfenNJYuon_itT2zCi30J23W-t4aI7H4in2DTM05JF6YpQyrEyeb_AGge-hqIgYaEh6GDaOqqsIWnCh7xkcjr9Ilxr4tn3mPgD-X9tl_uANb5tPKECL3mWtL3Oaq0/w458-h640/IMG_1064.JPG" width="458" /></a></div><p></p><p>I have always had this romantic vision of taking my daughters to Chicago right before Christmas, and this year I finally did it. Of course, it was a lot easier and fun doing it when they were in their 30's than it would have been when they were young kids. It may not have been quite as magical for them, but they seemed to have a good time, anyway. Mostly, it was nice to spend time with my kids when we did't have to get to work, or home, or be stressed-out.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSl_san9sM-x-8g8WG4om6ppLFtsYbTlqhTEF7AxPsb_fmVzeClhBCe5nXbK1UWf-bcWQJ9TznEAtfKOfkxDi_LroOxoXK_UhRDmTcXj7LD6axBPT4Y6bnYKEuYv2hygUiNMPNmK_noC53i2PWryXv648arsoNvJzT6FWYcRC-qz6-9VM2nwr/s4032/IMG_1634.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSl_san9sM-x-8g8WG4om6ppLFtsYbTlqhTEF7AxPsb_fmVzeClhBCe5nXbK1UWf-bcWQJ9TznEAtfKOfkxDi_LroOxoXK_UhRDmTcXj7LD6axBPT4Y6bnYKEuYv2hygUiNMPNmK_noC53i2PWryXv648arsoNvJzT6FWYcRC-qz6-9VM2nwr/w640-h480/IMG_1634.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I always say I like to explore a place by walking/running/biking, as opposed to driving in a car. Well, this year I got to ride my bike over the Big Four Pedestrian Bridge that goes over the Ohio River from Kentucky to Indiana. I have walked across it before, but it's always more fun on a bike, right?<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2aYulunPRwfNeCbg-zwYKTJfGHTp3Lnf0o9g8E5yvPzakwMtJqxwKhY0k_oN-YRT7Gva9wGwtgKpGh0RyHy6fOGbNPYqT-b-6v3ojeqlzR2PgYI-yg8IPy_ez4J0OoeJ7uDWkn-BBclfAVFUAfQg51jN_f6wdsPvOZ2466t0ThnEZpjDoD97_/s3712/IMG_1896.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2784" data-original-width="3712" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2aYulunPRwfNeCbg-zwYKTJfGHTp3Lnf0o9g8E5yvPzakwMtJqxwKhY0k_oN-YRT7Gva9wGwtgKpGh0RyHy6fOGbNPYqT-b-6v3ojeqlzR2PgYI-yg8IPy_ez4J0OoeJ7uDWkn-BBclfAVFUAfQg51jN_f6wdsPvOZ2466t0ThnEZpjDoD97_/w640-h480/IMG_1896.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>While we were in Louisville, I got to see the English Beat (or what's left of them, anyway) for the first time. They had toured with The Police in the early eighties, but by the time I saw the Police live in 1983, UB40 opened up for them. I had always wanted to see the English Beat, and as we all get older, I try to see all the old people bands while I still can (I'm looking at you, Shane MacGowan). Anyway, the show was a blast, and it's always fun to go places where I'm one of the younger people there. It doesn't happen all that often anymore...</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7HdoOqUnFm8wkoaqVnrVGi-81KzjYfvBwzuyjrboZhWKTyPkqnKXghhS0BYpt53wHhbrNSS4rGi8nvUyvxk4kxkK0_W8vTbmx7vDqBmpOG0pFAE_460WvxmsPPZ87OJf-soGI2grrEimhuSuabLLah_FDBXribuMEdDBtcCXofr9xytOWjWjN/s3496/IMG_1596.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2807" data-original-width="3496" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7HdoOqUnFm8wkoaqVnrVGi-81KzjYfvBwzuyjrboZhWKTyPkqnKXghhS0BYpt53wHhbrNSS4rGi8nvUyvxk4kxkK0_W8vTbmx7vDqBmpOG0pFAE_460WvxmsPPZ87OJf-soGI2grrEimhuSuabLLah_FDBXribuMEdDBtcCXofr9xytOWjWjN/w640-h514/IMG_1596.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> I saved the best for last, apparently. It's nothing I've ever thought about doing, but like I said above, when an opportunity presents itself, I try to be open to it. Drinking tequila in a Catholic church did feel pretty irreverent (but also fun), even if it was a Catholic church that had been converted into a restaurant.<p></p><p>I'm pretty happy with all of the new things I tried this year. I'm already trying to think of more new things to discover in 2024. Here's to a new year of stepping out of our comfort zones and finding new adventures!<br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-62994243928568648192023-12-26T18:01:00.009-06:002023-12-26T18:21:17.536-06:00Words of Wisdom, Words of Strife. Words That Write the Book I Like<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE3ykmv4T_iV1mUnkqvUw6HbD7uurNj8nuuRnjQbfQ7AVbtNUwDbyFgTCxe4NeJVMPVuNhHpsaUUw2L6ILYcK9H36oaLIge1TBO6hutJbjbIKAaQonCji2ZFrbajnvp5glpvXzqfbUbPF_7nOJHc0E03xxr838G1JTRog2UvZ8s2TXhy1giryt/s4032/IMG_1641.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE3ykmv4T_iV1mUnkqvUw6HbD7uurNj8nuuRnjQbfQ7AVbtNUwDbyFgTCxe4NeJVMPVuNhHpsaUUw2L6ILYcK9H36oaLIge1TBO6hutJbjbIKAaQonCji2ZFrbajnvp5glpvXzqfbUbPF_7nOJHc0E03xxr838G1JTRog2UvZ8s2TXhy1giryt/w480-h640/IMG_1641.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>Well, kids.It's the last week of December, so it's time for my end of the year posts. I'm not sure how many I'll have time to do, so I will start with my favorite one: The Books I Read in 2023.</p><p>Since I'm pretty sure I won't finish the book I'm reading right now before the end of the year, I'm going to call it and say that I read 45 books this year. Of those, I read Five Young Adult books, and one children's novel.</p><p>The Children's Novel - Was "Black Beauty', by Anna Sewell. If you only got around to reading one children's book and that book happened to be "Black Beauty", I'd say you were lucky. It was a beautiful story about respecting all life, especially animals. I was never one of those horse crazed girls when I was younger, listening to "Wildfire", and reading "Misty of Chincoteague", like my sister, so I missed this book growing up. I don't think it lost anything by reading it when I was old and cynical, as opposed to when I was young and cynical.<br /></p><p>As far as the Young Adult books are concerned, I'm just going to do a loose ranking. I could go a different way on another day, but right now I would rank them thusly:</p><p>5.) "A Hero Ain't Nuthin' But a Sandwich", by Alice Childress. I loved this book when I was a kid, but I think it lost something either by it not being the 1970's anymore, or the fact that I had already read it before, or because I'm not nine years old anymore. If you haven't read it before, I would still recommend it, but I didn't have quite the same reaction I did in 1974.</p><p>4.) "That Was Then This is Now", by S. E, Hinton. This was another reread for me. I don't remember it being quite so dark when I read it in junior high. It takes place in a small town in Texas in the 1960's. It's about the relationship between two foster brothers, and the decisions we make and can't take back, when we're too young to make them. </p><p>3.) "Moxie", by Jennifer Mathieu also takes place in a small Texas town, but it is supposed to be modern day. It is about trying to deal with sexism and how to channel one's anger. It is really fun and sweet, and the Netflix movie with Amy Poehler is definitely worth watching too. I also think I need more of a tutorial on how to channel my anger over sexism, but this is at least a start.<br /></p><p>2.) I don't think I read "Brown Girl. Brown Stone", by Paule Marshall when I was younger, but I'm glad I read it now. It takes place in the 1930's and '40's in Brooklyn, where Barbadian immigrants deal with racism and poverty. It's a really sweet/sad story.</p><p>1.) I love Jacqueline Woodson, and "Brown Girl Dreaming" is one of her best. It is actually a series of connected poems about growing up in the South in the 1960's and '70's, during Jim Crow and then moving to New York. The writing is superb, and the story itself is riveting.<br /></p><p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4gVi5GtoQKYLHein649k-yLK3QjxQ6JScuSOBXvAvvRh6MrG7ebGwnlduv0BR0QNIb4tNA4LABLxpFFCyHs11XHuU6MW6oR8q62KqU2DsdraRsZv0D5Lfu86MOImO7vuJsJg59jsf-MKfxL6SsMrAi7hNvFCBVtzIrLD327UsmcCkHfGrhlmx/s4032/IMG_2354.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4gVi5GtoQKYLHein649k-yLK3QjxQ6JScuSOBXvAvvRh6MrG7ebGwnlduv0BR0QNIb4tNA4LABLxpFFCyHs11XHuU6MW6oR8q62KqU2DsdraRsZv0D5Lfu86MOImO7vuJsJg59jsf-MKfxL6SsMrAi7hNvFCBVtzIrLD327UsmcCkHfGrhlmx/w480-h640/IMG_2354.JPG" width="480" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I read one Classic Novel in 2023. It was Edith Wharton's "Age of Innocence". In 1921, it was the first novel written by a woman to win the Pulitzer Prize. As a lit major, I'm always surprised by the books I WASN'T assigned to read in college, and this is one of them. It's about the aristocracy of the time, and their bullshit rules. I thought it was fun and a little snarky. One of my favorite combinations.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Ms. Marvel Vol II: Generation Why", by Jamie McKelvie, Jake Wyatt, and Adrian Alphona was the only graphic book I read in 2024. I really love the Ms. Marvel series so far. Who wouldn't want to read about a teenage, Muslim superhero? I can't wait to read the next installment.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I also have just one cookbook that I perused this year: "The Sioux Chef's Indigenous Kitchen", by Sean Sherman with Beth Dooley is amazing. I've made a few of the recipes so far, and I plan to make many more in the coming months. Sadly, I'm not the best cook that ever lived, but in trying to master these recipes I feel like maybe I could get better.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I also only read one Fantasy/Sci Fi book this year, but it was a doozy. Marlon James', "Red Leopard/Black Wolf" is graphically violent and sexual, and epic in every way. It is also a series, and I will tackle the next installment soon. <br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf0rF3rv-zYqHggiLHpnke97dW1iGF5iMLbbh2kU9QLXtOeS1j902GiJIaQFvFx-SolqM8uNTzT4IecUj7OvjPJ0bcxvZL0Fs1EGQVSXGFtKB0PNSvc1gbT7YoOa_4LLMOLWFNXxFMp2SNygsC93LSh8Z7vJTtgJ3MYN-EqTkYVhhmzZG-AV_U/s4032/IMG_6562.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf0rF3rv-zYqHggiLHpnke97dW1iGF5iMLbbh2kU9QLXtOeS1j902GiJIaQFvFx-SolqM8uNTzT4IecUj7OvjPJ0bcxvZL0Fs1EGQVSXGFtKB0PNSvc1gbT7YoOa_4LLMOLWFNXxFMp2SNygsC93LSh8Z7vJTtgJ3MYN-EqTkYVhhmzZG-AV_U/w640-h480/IMG_6562.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I read three Horror/Monster Fiction books this year. I loved them all, but if I have to rank them, it would look like this:"</p><p>3.) "The Daughter of Doctor Moreau", by Sylvia Garcia-Moreno. This is the third novel I have read of hers, and they are all so different. She has such a great imagination and manages to cover political and feminist issues during different points in Mexican history.</p><p>2.) I got pretty into indigenous horror fiction, with more titles I'm excited to read in 2024. Cherie Dimaline, combined the horror of colonialism, fake "christianity", and werewolves all in one brilliant nove in "Empire of Wild".</p><p>1.) I'm blaming Stephen Graham Jones with my recent, above mentioned Indigenous horror fiction obsession. This year I read his, "My Heart is a Chainsaw". Lucky for me, it's a trilogy. So, I plan on reading the next installment in a month or two. This book is perfect for someone like me with ADHD, and a love of pop culture references. I'm just going to hope that Stephen Graham Jones is as prolific as Joyce Carol Oates.</p><p>Strangely enough for me, I didn't read a ton of detective/mystery novels this year. Only two, and here is how I would rank them:</p><p>2.) "Pardonable Lies", by Jacqueline Windspear is another book in the Maisie Dobbs series. It's nice that there are so many of them, because they are great to read when I need a break from how bleak the world is these days. I know that everything will come out okay, with a nice, tidy ending in her books. Unlike the shit show that can be the real world.<br /></p><p>1.) I read Agatha Christie's "And Then There Were None" last Winter. Which is about the opposite of a Maisie Dobbs book. I had no idea how bleak it was, but incredibly engaging and well written the whole time.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhge0-hMTLljRHMnzlhmcTkFJN6pozp3v3caHAnh5h0qFBjt50AoKkhtfq4N6z9gnHIwXhyLIumi_nL-iTJuraZbCkqHY_0_ad4C1bzTz-SxEajbDGF8jVpxpH6RiqKoHhRajWYuNhPEK9QgU5B9M6u9EEAtanPzF1WZhtkEbWotpRErgPpNl-b/s4032/IMG_0318.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhge0-hMTLljRHMnzlhmcTkFJN6pozp3v3caHAnh5h0qFBjt50AoKkhtfq4N6z9gnHIwXhyLIumi_nL-iTJuraZbCkqHY_0_ad4C1bzTz-SxEajbDGF8jVpxpH6RiqKoHhRajWYuNhPEK9QgU5B9M6u9EEAtanPzF1WZhtkEbWotpRErgPpNl-b/w480-h640/IMG_0318.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /> Okay, now we're FINALLY down to the two big categories.<p></p><p>The first is the five best Non-Fiction books I read in 2023:</p><p>5.) "The White Album", by Joan Didion was just...Okay. I'm sure that's blasphemy in some circles. I loved "Slouching Toward Bethlehem", but except for one or two of the pieces, I was pretty bored with a lot of "The White Album". I've been told I really need to read "The Year of Magical Thinking" to feel better about her writing, and I promise I will.</p><p>4.) I was really surprised by how much I liked Jeanette McCurdy's "I'm Glad My Mom Died". My daughter told me I needed to read it (I tried not to read to much into THAT). It was a Summer read, but the story was crazy and heart breaking and compelling. </p><p>3.) "The Body", by Bill Bryson was definitely what you'd expect from a Bill Bryson book...And that's a good thing. It's full of fun, and not so fun facts about the human body. It doesn't bog down with way too much information to process, and you don't need a degree in medicine to understand it.</p><p>2.) John got "An Immense World", by Ed Yong for Christmas last year and loved it. So, I finally got around to reading it this month. I only wish I had more time to read, other than right before bed. The few times I read it during the day, when I wasn't dozing off right before bed, I got so much more out of it. There is so much information about how other creatures experience their worlds. It was fascinating.</p><p>1.) The best non-fiction book I read in 2023 was "The Yellow House", by Sarah M. Broom. She writes about the history and present of the New Orleans the tourists don't normally see, through the history and present of her own family. It is so well written and the stories are heartbreaking. I have been recommending it to everyone I know.</p><p> </p><p>Now, onto the five best fiction books I read this year:</p><p>5.) "Deacon King Kong:, by James McBride. As we all know, I am moody as f*ck, and sometimes what I want to read changes wildly from one day or week or month from the next. For whatever reason, I tried to start reading this book a couple of times before I picked it up this year, and loved it. Who the hell knows why? Anyway, this last time, it really did take, and I got so into the story that takes place in South Brooklyn in 1969.</p><p>4.) Because she teaches at the Writer's Workshop, I have had the pleasure of hearing Lan Samantha Chang read her own work, so it's nice to hear her voice in my head when I read her books. "The Family Chao", is a retelling of Dostoevsky's "The Brother's Karamazov". It takes place in a small town in Wisconsin and centers around the death of a controlling, narcissistic, father.</p><p>3.) I finally got to go to Louise Erdrich's book store, Birchbark Books when we were in Minneapolis this Fall. I bought any of the books on this list written by Native Americans, including this one there. "The Sentence" takes place mostly in 2020. It is about the Pandemic, the Black Lives Matter movement, and all of the gray areas enmeshed in that year. It is also about what happens when the most annoying customer dies and haunts their bookstore store afterward. </p><p>2.) I just finished reading Ann Patchett's "Tom Lake". It is another book that takes place during the Pandemic. It is written by a Writer's Workshop graduate too. It's about a family who owns a cherry farm in Michigan. Their three adult daughters come home during the Pandemic and help pick the harvest. To pass the time, they press their mom to tell them the story of when she dated a now famous actor. In that telling, we also hear the story of a young woman trying to figure out what she wants, after falling into something. It was hopeful, which I need right now.<br /></p><p>1.) I had heard such good buzz about this novel, but I was daunted by it's girth. Eight hundred pages is nothing to sneeze at, especially for a person who has almost no attention span. I took the leap, and I am so glad I did. My favorite book I read in 2023 was "The Love Songs of W. E. B. Du Bois", by Honoree' Fanonne Jeffers. It was a beautifully, sad tale of an African American's story from the earliest days of the United States. This book made me feel so many strong feelings. It was hard to put it down to go to work, or eat, or just function on any level.<br /></p><p>So, judging from this list, I need to read more classic, graphic, and sci fi/fantasy novels next year. If you have any recommendations of books you loved from any genre, I'd love to hear them. <br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-30571213325965763452023-11-25T14:02:00.001-06:002023-11-25T14:10:10.821-06:00I Have My Books, and My Poetry to Protect Me<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5jVrkAAJeWUlMrBO2_7ODA7fxGVkjhoR2NpBAagfIXuaRPhr71xQ3Uk55JQm14KGG4MIPAfSN6MIAG1rC8jse3-7lvAvYdi1JEGxa2zLNA9likD4GRyCAWIrkHojMCfIWdA6sGWnG6rkoJ7nOYyjwn__f71wITWUoJ2QsiikEswl0hOMtMlWt/s631/me%20writing%20in%20my%20journal.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="631" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5jVrkAAJeWUlMrBO2_7ODA7fxGVkjhoR2NpBAagfIXuaRPhr71xQ3Uk55JQm14KGG4MIPAfSN6MIAG1rC8jse3-7lvAvYdi1JEGxa2zLNA9likD4GRyCAWIrkHojMCfIWdA6sGWnG6rkoJ7nOYyjwn__f71wITWUoJ2QsiikEswl0hOMtMlWt/w640-h518/me%20writing%20in%20my%20journal.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How 1985 is this photo? I'm in a trailer with faux wood paneling, I'm listening to a cassette tape, and writing in cursive in a notebook next to an electric typewriter...And I'm wearing Levi's 501 jeans and Chuck Taylors.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Last week was the anniversary of me buying my first house, and I've been thinking about spaces lately, and what it means to be able to create a sanctuary according to my specifications (within my budget, of course). There is always a certain feel that I want from a room. I like lots of sunlight, and I have this weird hatred of carpet. I have no idea why, but it bugs me. Of course, most of the places I've lived before this house were filled with carpet. So, now I have a house with none.</p><p>I like a funky vibe. My brother told me (not unkindly) that he wasn't as into my style. He prefers clean lines, and very little ornamentation. I understand that, but I do like a bohemian kind of look. I don't love tons of clutter, but I want to show off my friends' and my art, I love plants, and I am a BIG fan of festive lights.</p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWgXkmNBAxzTfiklSqj975wuTVm7SsyYKO810APJnrXCU3jqt8Kr_rfepmQdaMCqBjTyXydwyNU5Oeq0-kipyeAylUNgm_3uR7cj2qZGbPVDAcPwEctt64UETL9tdn45xF4P162yY5u8J01qFHeuR1y6fCqYG39EP2jJ2YwWESuUFImW342uBH/s4032/IMG_9426.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWgXkmNBAxzTfiklSqj975wuTVm7SsyYKO810APJnrXCU3jqt8Kr_rfepmQdaMCqBjTyXydwyNU5Oeq0-kipyeAylUNgm_3uR7cj2qZGbPVDAcPwEctt64UETL9tdn45xF4P162yY5u8J01qFHeuR1y6fCqYG39EP2jJ2YwWESuUFImW342uBH/w480-h640/IMG_9426.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p>I know not everyone has the luxury of making a work/creative space exactly for them. After 14 years in this house, and now that my girls are gone, I FINALLY decided to claim part of our spare bedroom as my "work" space. I used to write on my desktop in our living room. It was fine, but it was in the middle of everything and it was hard to focus. In the last few years I bought a laptop, moved my that desktop to the spare bedroom, and a couple of months ago, I bought a real live desk. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsr221d602y-aDBuxYoATawFWp8ILwkHvrAnV1PuejGX3oB9BDT2SQ5Uw6ZKacbSsdDr9URkZKtXbWqjPqtB7LcMBWwxKfAyzTvLSEJaYhkw3sM46ctAC1uZofsRXw13kyqg-KaSkXAAoibwhjSCy_2oeIFjhajrYHJUYZ5ljFUeuEILFP5BXq/s4032/IMG_0777.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsr221d602y-aDBuxYoATawFWp8ILwkHvrAnV1PuejGX3oB9BDT2SQ5Uw6ZKacbSsdDr9URkZKtXbWqjPqtB7LcMBWwxKfAyzTvLSEJaYhkw3sM46ctAC1uZofsRXw13kyqg-KaSkXAAoibwhjSCy_2oeIFjhajrYHJUYZ5ljFUeuEILFP5BXq/w640-h480/IMG_0777.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>There is room for plants, and books, and most importantly, festive lights. I also don't mind lighting a stinky candle or incense (I guess there's no getting over my catholic upbringing). The good and the bad of all of this, is now I have no excuse NOT to write. That's a lot of pressure, but probably what I need to light a fire under my ass most days.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeReQxc8hdEi8IS6Mc1HrF7sUBbMimmkXLYTFYYWjVyRSGxW99x6-dI5vJyilLblY40r72fznMXnKnhO1tU0WG6wSyITvVfhSsPct2CilTHPByY2hyphenhyphen0vHwDxcJuoaXnb8UsO-VHXdH-iOPa8Yzj6AupGVuUlPErcQEjeYjXENPv95mTuLb8Viy/s4032/IMG_0528.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeReQxc8hdEi8IS6Mc1HrF7sUBbMimmkXLYTFYYWjVyRSGxW99x6-dI5vJyilLblY40r72fznMXnKnhO1tU0WG6wSyITvVfhSsPct2CilTHPByY2hyphenhyphen0vHwDxcJuoaXnb8UsO-VHXdH-iOPa8Yzj6AupGVuUlPErcQEjeYjXENPv95mTuLb8Viy/w640-h480/IMG_0528.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /> Since I'm a moody bitch, creating a mood before I try to make something is really important to me. I like to listen to music. What I choose to listen to depends on what I'm working on. Usually, though, I like it to be pretty mellow. I save the faster, ragier stuff for when I'm cleaning or cooking and/or dancing in my kitchen.</p><p>I also try to read something before I start writing. I usually read a short story or two, or some poetry. I am a HUGE fan of the "Best American Short Story" series. I can thumb through it and see which story speaks to me at any given time, or check out the first sentences of stories that I love.</p><p>When I was younger, I always had a journal that wrote in, and if I wrote fiction, I would HAVE to write it down first, before I typed it on a type writer or word processor. These days, I'm finally used to just writing everything right on my laptop. Although I do carry an unlined notebook around with me to write down things or observations as I'm thinking about them. Lately, I've been celebrating my oldpeopledness by cracking myself up with things I misread or mishear. For example - private voice as pirate voice, and particularly complimentary as patriarichally complimentary.</p><p>So, yes, I'm not that fancy. I have written outside in a notebook, at my kitchen table, at a makeshift desk in my living room, and even (god forbid) in a carpeted bedroom, but since I have the option, I'm really excited to make my creative/work/play space exactly how I want it. I guess we'll see if it inspires me to write more prolifically. <br /></p><p></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-26641414638438536172023-11-17T10:48:00.000-06:002023-11-17T10:48:25.818-06:00Doctor, My Eyes Have Seen the Years, And The Slow Parade of Fears Without Crying, Now I Want to Understand<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6bISHNMIPBKE8kzOyCgLgbycSoojTZuPWkNUG17WCCvFP_mOqZW5HQOdUUO1TbXFQDto5r5Dw26pm8VeTqwXuCCDge9omk-edpVM1z0lZMZigXyUdLyRfxKhp1sOeGC9AaVZyHGT5w0V8xxdKymA-7yNCCklBN6hrk5ihUaiAML-vNdkoamd/s4032/IMG_0265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6bISHNMIPBKE8kzOyCgLgbycSoojTZuPWkNUG17WCCvFP_mOqZW5HQOdUUO1TbXFQDto5r5Dw26pm8VeTqwXuCCDge9omk-edpVM1z0lZMZigXyUdLyRfxKhp1sOeGC9AaVZyHGT5w0V8xxdKymA-7yNCCklBN6hrk5ihUaiAML-vNdkoamd/w480-h640/IMG_0265.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /> Soooo, it's been quite a month. I've had this ridiculous cold for the last few weeks. I also had my yearly mammogram, which was normal. Whew! Then a week ago I had to get tests to see how my Thyroid Eye Disease was doing. It was going very well, thank you. It looks like my friends bringing over truckloads of Brazil nuts is working. Thanks again, wonderful friends! Of course, staring into bright lights for a few hours and having a tiny ultrasound wand placed in several spots on my eyeballs was a FABULOUS way to trigger a brutal migraine for me, but it's better than going blind, right?<p></p><p>ANYWHOOOOO, going to the eye doctor turned out to be quite the experience. While I was waiting in the hallway to get my eyeball ultrasounds, a couple of employees came walking up pushing something that was labeled "the sunshine cart". They were blaring "9 to 5" and handing out free snacks. Dolly Parton and free treats? THOSE are the people who should be making billions of dollars, not those evil corporate CEO's who cheat poor people and don't pay their taxes. </p><p>After the Sunshine Cart left to give snacks to other patients, an older couple (older than me, even) looked for chairs to sit together to wait for their next appointment.</p><p>"You two can't sit apart from each other? Are you afraid she'll leave you?" Another old guy joked.</p><p>"Ha!" The woman said, as her husband sat next to me and she sat on his other side. "It's a little late for that."</p><p>"We've been married for 65 years!" Her husband said proudly.</p><p>"Wow, " The other old guy said. "I bet she's heard all of your stories..."</p><p>"My husband can't hear half the things I say anymore, which probably helps us stay married," I said.</p><p>The husband laughed, got very excited, and pulled out his smart phone to show me his hearing aid app and show me all the features, and how he can just turn it down if he's tired of listening to people.</p><p>"Boy, I'm surprised you even know how to use one of those phones," the other old guy said. "I can barely work my flip phone, which he pulled out to show us that he wasn't kidding about still having a flip phone.</p><p>"That's the only thing he DOES know how to do on his phone," his wife said.</p><p>Then a woman came out into the hall and called a name, that of course, none of us could hear. She called it again, and it was me.</p><p>"Sorry," I said to her. "We were all just sitting there talking about being deaf. The woman laughed and said,</p><p>"Yeah. We have a different clinic for that..."<br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-45543618790136500942023-11-01T20:00:00.003-05:002023-11-02T08:12:04.589-05:00Walking By Myself, Down Avenues That Reek of Time to Kill<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixU6XF9RTk0AbOvDRH3AGxQuGEbx-b06UghFO84QI2QXSsDhom_oNvJaAv2z1ODQ8uF5mv6XZ4pcDG9_67rbbFxE_JioaDQhyT0Z2KwuJUVxzWBMiLwCJQDa-8hPxFP3ydfU58saECcrfymEob2tC4kFqQGo7x6qoZogXQWZrZaR8ej8SdW-oB/s4032/IMG_9879.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixU6XF9RTk0AbOvDRH3AGxQuGEbx-b06UghFO84QI2QXSsDhom_oNvJaAv2z1ODQ8uF5mv6XZ4pcDG9_67rbbFxE_JioaDQhyT0Z2KwuJUVxzWBMiLwCJQDa-8hPxFP3ydfU58saECcrfymEob2tC4kFqQGo7x6qoZogXQWZrZaR8ej8SdW-oB/w480-h640/IMG_9879.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /> Okay. So, I was late for work a few weeks ago. The thing is, I originally had plenty of time, so in my addled brain I thought I could just water a few plants in our front yard. You know...Because the drought and all. After I did that, I still had a couple of minutes, so I figured I'd just run across the street to my plot at the Community Gardens and only water the tomatoes and my pepper plants. It was almost the end of the season, and those were really the only things producing much.<p></p><p>Anyway, I got over there and saw that there were some ripe tomatoes. I knew I should wait to pick those until after work, but I have this impulse control thing wrong with me, so I decided it would only be a minute more to pick those. On my way to the spigot for the water, I was amazed to see that there were quite a few green beans that could stand to be picked. Huh? I thought they were done. I was running out of time, so those could REALLY wait to be picked until after I got home from work. I want us all to stop here and admire my restraint. At least for a minute.<br /></p><p>I watered the tomatoes, and while I was watering the peppers, this very sweet young man (he could probably be anywhere from 15 to 40 years old, but everyone looks young to me) came over with a root vegetable in his hand. "Hi," he said. "Hey, do you know what this is? I thought I just planted mustard greens, but then this came up and I'm not sure what it is." </p><p>"Hmmmm. It looks like it could either be a malformed turnip or one of those weird white radishes. What are they called?... Oh yeah, Daikons! I wonder if there's some kind of vegetable identifying app you can get on your phone, like the plant ones?" </p><p>He said he figured there was one. Then he told me this was his last day in the gardens. He had to nanny for some kids and wouldn't be back before we all had to be out for Winter. He also told me to help myself to any of the mustard greens he had left in his plot. Which was very kind.</p><p>Shit! Now I was actually late. I stared hard at the green beans, couldn't stand it, and said, fuck it. I was going to take the time to pick them anyway.</p><p>I gathered up the tomatoes, green beans, and my watering can and juggled them all the way home. Of course, once I put everything down on the counter, I realized that I got weird dirt/vegetable puke stains on my shirt and had to change it. So, I grabbed a light gray shirt out of my clean clothes hamper (I hear some people actually fold their clothes and put them in their dressers. It sounds quaint). I looked down and realized I was wearing a brighter pink bra that showed through my shirt. If I had been in my twenties, I may have just gone with it, but being 58, it felt a little unseemly for the office. So, I dug through said hamper again until I found a darker shirt and put that on. Amazingly, it wasn't backwards or inside out. I searched around for a bit before I found my gloves, grabbed my messenger bag, hopped on my bike and headed to work. I was about halfway there before I realized I had forgotten to wear my helmet. I thought about turning around, but reasoned that I rode my bike without a helmet for close to 40 years before I started wearing one, so this one day probably wasn't going to kill me. I know, I know. I fully expected to slip on a banana peel left in the street, crash my bike, and bleed out through my temple five seconds after that.</p><p>Amazingly, I made it to work only five minutes late. It wasn't even worth trying to explain to my boss why I was late. He's a busy man, and I'm sure he didn't even notice. Also, he's met me before and would probably be MORE surprised if I started getting to work early every day.<br /></p><p><br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-6447565526862872952023-09-21T09:39:00.003-05:002023-09-21T10:46:10.072-05:00I Rode My Bicycle Past Your Window Last Night<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3zreDOXrLHrNad_Afva_4WCGGAmQJwM47t6u9gTj8hmrwy9X12Dh96tEUXuj6ieoUGHWw9RZifF-QSRcF0ML5B5_9c1ruPtSEPvJuSko73tWDT1gBe09nT8ZnDkd4yXnvz36BAtnKbpYXtXF2_tPHqvaAtFYBm7ialL1ZU4FJMMNapb_QeE0/s960/John%20headshot%2010.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm3zreDOXrLHrNad_Afva_4WCGGAmQJwM47t6u9gTj8hmrwy9X12Dh96tEUXuj6ieoUGHWw9RZifF-QSRcF0ML5B5_9c1ruPtSEPvJuSko73tWDT1gBe09nT8ZnDkd4yXnvz36BAtnKbpYXtXF2_tPHqvaAtFYBm7ialL1ZU4FJMMNapb_QeE0/w640-h480/John%20headshot%2010.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Somebody has a birthday today. This time thirteen years ago, John and I were dancing around each other. We talked about it, and John said he didn't think he was ready to start dating again. It was about a week after that conversation, that we found ourselves sitting across from each other, on a date at the India Cafe. I'm verrrry glad he went against his better judgment and asked me out. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvxo9fNVpe30ZcdOkbohVESJOQWphsfdnyT9GfIkrJguW7H8Su5M8lgBTPHGiVJ0JTi9hdBGgK9PSteK7hKKFFO7A16eDCyNBOXvtuHEmIp1yOJphe0GascnxiyCvzg8CF3slMhf-raftDAfYBVCE0d0VmiBfHt0W946wdUPrKId0d-I7kJvtX/s528/homecoming%20(3).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="528" data-original-width="342" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvxo9fNVpe30ZcdOkbohVESJOQWphsfdnyT9GfIkrJguW7H8Su5M8lgBTPHGiVJ0JTi9hdBGgK9PSteK7hKKFFO7A16eDCyNBOXvtuHEmIp1yOJphe0GascnxiyCvzg8CF3slMhf-raftDAfYBVCE0d0VmiBfHt0W946wdUPrKId0d-I7kJvtX/w414-h640/homecoming%20(3).jpg" width="414" /></a></div> <p></p><p>Originally, we decided to take it slow, and hang out and see where it went. Of course, a few weeks and John getting hit by a an F-150 pick-up truck while riding his bike later, that whole "taking it slow" thing went out the window. </p><p>Since then, he has been there for me and my girls. Teaching Stinky how to drive a stick, helping both girls with life emergencies in their twenties, helping to fix bikes, getting in political arguments with Coadster because they both love that, and NOT getting into political arguments with Stinky because that stresses her out. He is one of those great people who will drop you off at the door somewhere, and search around for a parking space so you don't have to walk in the rain, or cold, or heat. It is so nice to be with someone who can talk things out, and who works as hard (or harder) at everything as I do.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlA8BkQqRBC0ThUJpM3ZHdyjpyhkvajLtbo_1subAaJiyo8V8EteFE9Erfcs4LvUYUe_hMt-12moT6PzVCKNuqBo1jHZlc5KR7aCNdBbeS-luLjNP96OvDk6lrkRsK7VsyMSjdIBeBag9QXePMOMBsmqmVCspkDRQhR1WVKf3gk_zA9Ap_u69/s960/johncat.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="960" height="526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlA8BkQqRBC0ThUJpM3ZHdyjpyhkvajLtbo_1subAaJiyo8V8EteFE9Erfcs4LvUYUe_hMt-12moT6PzVCKNuqBo1jHZlc5KR7aCNdBbeS-luLjNP96OvDk6lrkRsK7VsyMSjdIBeBag9QXePMOMBsmqmVCspkDRQhR1WVKf3gk_zA9Ap_u69/w640-h526/johncat.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>John always says that scars are sexy. Lucky for us then. After all the bike crashes, his getting hit by a truck, my breast cancer and Grave's Disease, and the emotional scars our three cats have left on us, we just keep getting sexier and sexier.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_FFX9rkcDbTNIvEqs9nCsKs_OlDqK0-UlV8M3wJ-jhIe0UNAqzWYFUqeMA7NLpqq5cacTBn-t34FUAfjrhHrpseszrCl8bUfSDt2NEFlCmXJslnKxtTTRrj6P_b6vIFvJAC_CGWAe14wxiT0ALsE2FLeTXSZFCqshh_fQa7Eazbk_Ib5qBx4/s1440/John%20headshot%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_FFX9rkcDbTNIvEqs9nCsKs_OlDqK0-UlV8M3wJ-jhIe0UNAqzWYFUqeMA7NLpqq5cacTBn-t34FUAfjrhHrpseszrCl8bUfSDt2NEFlCmXJslnKxtTTRrj6P_b6vIFvJAC_CGWAe14wxiT0ALsE2FLeTXSZFCqshh_fQa7Eazbk_Ib5qBx4/w640-h640/John%20headshot%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>We've run, hiked, biked, and explored almost every kind of surface together, and John is always so patient and good at slowing down to go at my speed with me. I have the big ideas and plans for adventures, but I'm not great at logistics. He will take those plans and ideas and make them happen.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQMRhGGpvbJQ-xdvDJBn1kAcAgQcWvV-UQKjSoMd26P5b9FsrfN6t31likkMrpb-KfsI4RqKTnR6aWTx-j1TY-AwwClfBcWdDU7yCrQMqf32t2sdU3Iek8JNFLz5NimxcUiKGPqrdY5YRxddXiTBYFba0IHopPwmLA2ClVuK7OKYKjzfswbSXd/s960/John%20headshot%2013.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQMRhGGpvbJQ-xdvDJBn1kAcAgQcWvV-UQKjSoMd26P5b9FsrfN6t31likkMrpb-KfsI4RqKTnR6aWTx-j1TY-AwwClfBcWdDU7yCrQMqf32t2sdU3Iek8JNFLz5NimxcUiKGPqrdY5YRxddXiTBYFba0IHopPwmLA2ClVuK7OKYKjzfswbSXd/w480-h640/John%20headshot%2013.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p> </p><p>So, all of this gushing is just to say, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! to my very best friend and partner. I am so glad you changed your mind thirteen years ago and gave us a shot. I hope to spend a long, happy, life together playing and collecting memories...Scars and all.</p><p><br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-36052545621278673712023-09-14T17:30:00.005-05:002023-09-15T14:28:53.497-05:00Went to School and I was Very Nervous, No One Knew Me, No One Knew Me<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRuybJw9lnuvKUZ1SpJWxIDDBeNkmdr6QtTLTOmM3-yEAt263cvu4nmpB6yrvzOHGi9h826Zqa-FZDNbKCH4RHdrLI2L7GZNYwLsjaSO6LIpPxsS8oOwXY-ioXAr9zuyefOTnAs3Kna5hOMx_xpPqP1bZPdQCEuqYt4mnXjI33B4t9gaXhOk7/s604/me%20at%20uni.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="494" data-original-width="604" height="524" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRuybJw9lnuvKUZ1SpJWxIDDBeNkmdr6QtTLTOmM3-yEAt263cvu4nmpB6yrvzOHGi9h826Zqa-FZDNbKCH4RHdrLI2L7GZNYwLsjaSO6LIpPxsS8oOwXY-ioXAr9zuyefOTnAs3Kna5hOMx_xpPqP1bZPdQCEuqYt4mnXjI33B4t9gaXhOk7/w640-h524/me%20at%20uni.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So many geometric patterned sweater vests in 1983. I'm the one in the middle. I took this on my disc camera. If you've never heard of it, ask your grandmother. She might remember.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> It's strange getting older. There are so many things I've forgotten. Feelings that burned so hot at the time, are cool and dull now. Of course, there are some things I hope never to forget. The things that sucked at the time, but that I learned from, and those lessons that made me a much happier person in general. Can you tell I'm feeling Fall coming on hard, both literally and figuratively now?<br /><p></p><p> This time forty years ago, I was just starting my adulthood. I moved into my dorm room at the University of Northern Iowa at the end of August in 1983. It was the beginning, but it felt like the end too. I always thought that I would die, or something bad would happen to me before, or right after I turned eighteen and could leave my horrible situation with my abusive legal guardians. After a few weeks of waiting for something bad to happen, I realized that it might not come after all, and I could start working on this new life.<br /></p><p>I wasn't prepared for independence. I never had any money to learn how not to spend it, I was rarely allowed to go out with friends, I had never dated, I hadn't been allowed to express my opinions freely for the last eight years, and I had very few social skills. I had spent so much time living in my own little world, and I suddenly had to learn how to live in the "real" world. I had no idea I was allowed not to consent to anything or establish boundaries. I could say no? I could voice negative emotions without being threatened or punished? Needless to say, I made soooo many mistakes (sometimes the same one over and over again) for <i>years</i> after that.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaziHguaFjyqv4-T62S7Xg4qU4h5UOydUiJjyernzMU2GCMgej8XcmTRGsWwKfzlKeMMjvY5ChM6SONuijdH2r3Wv5ycurX2nnwrMOOEN7ey60ItMPtS0fAneddfbCJKr_2oBFzm1l24NaTP9xT9UbuI19359Rz29hOowNWAll5ysSvnxIP8Wz/s243/my%20id%20card%20at%20UNI.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="243" data-original-width="179" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaziHguaFjyqv4-T62S7Xg4qU4h5UOydUiJjyernzMU2GCMgej8XcmTRGsWwKfzlKeMMjvY5ChM6SONuijdH2r3Wv5ycurX2nnwrMOOEN7ey60ItMPtS0fAneddfbCJKr_2oBFzm1l24NaTP9xT9UbuI19359Rz29hOowNWAll5ysSvnxIP8Wz/w471-h640/my%20id%20card%20at%20UNI.jpg" width="471" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't worry. This isn't a mug shot. It's just the picture on my first university ID card. Try not to be jealous of my OP Shirt.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><p>The University of Northern Iowa is the smallest of the three state Universities in Iowa. A lot of the students go home on the weekends and it can feel like a ghost town. I went there because I was injured the last year or so of high school, and the only track scholarship I was offered was for a small christian college in Southern Iowa. Even <i>I </i>knew that wasn't a good idea for me...Or for that school either. I thought I'd have a better chance of walking on to the track team at UNI than I would the other two bigger state schools. Of course, after I got there, I found out that the cross country/track coach had a serious eating disorder and we spent half of our practices getting fat tested, being expected to do three different work-outs a day, write down everything we ate, and then get shamed for every calorie. It didn't take long for me to decide that maybe I could just run on my own and skip all the bullshit. <br /></p><p>I transferred to the University of Iowa the next semester, but maybe it was best that I spent my first semester of freedom at a smaller school. I might have lost my mind had I gone to a bigger school with more to do. It was a nice, safe way to learn how to make friends, drink alcohol for the second time in my life (I did get drunk once at a friend's New Year's Eve party my junior year of high school), learn that I couldn't drink more than two beers an evening, figure out that I wasn't ready to be in any kind of romantic relationship after one blind date, and that I would probably be happier at a bigger school that had a better writing program.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCu1_Y2ceIOZXowc-qlgLVDX4jANRYhhpwG7KuYoa9AJPojPw7w_q3lPMuEpW997SRSKkG3KhebdSt-9nut0EW1Omn9Yyz3M7IFR4rdLjIzH4hbpH-HkghosuNLlbzDjskBhE2vxL_cidnuaY6gVAQY7ThrKiEC-9lhmOLJ026mdqPnwODSEjX/s628/in%20the%20dorms%20at%20uni.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="628" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCu1_Y2ceIOZXowc-qlgLVDX4jANRYhhpwG7KuYoa9AJPojPw7w_q3lPMuEpW997SRSKkG3KhebdSt-9nut0EW1Omn9Yyz3M7IFR4rdLjIzH4hbpH-HkghosuNLlbzDjskBhE2vxL_cidnuaY6gVAQY7ThrKiEC-9lhmOLJ026mdqPnwODSEjX/w640-h510/in%20the%20dorms%20at%20uni.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahhh. Those wacky dorm room shots. At least there were no camera phones back then, so there are only a few of these photos lying around.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><p>Believe me, forty years later I'm still working on some of that shit, but even as old as I am and with my brain a little more muddled, I remember how scary/exciting/overwhelming/liberating it was to so messily maneuver around trying to be a person in my own right. They say youth is wasted on the young, but I don't know if I agree. Sure, it would be great to have the physical part back. I would love to be in my fifties and be able to run like I did in my late teens, and not be in pain after sitting too long in one position. BUT, I think it's easy to forget all of the insecurities and emotional stuff. I can't imagine having the energy to work on all those issues and see my place in the world through those HUGE emotions and all that self-criticism while careening dangerously close to 60.<br /></p><p><br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-88248792748343253302023-09-07T18:30:00.025-05:002023-09-07T22:09:11.880-05:00She's Got Marty Feldman Eyes<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4iO0IiS1IXY1tbPP0lLSBPvLnkAtm4Ry0ctCcTHOGTPh_CucgrXfHQ8YSgECWjFVwjs669r7WdDROb4y9n8RLbNDKb0saPBNxVRN25CUJYCyELObnIs2dlWPf5i8IeaG2jZD0ErSnZ972so1xgLlBpWw--9YOwmhzPrzwRJZ-6Tl46cpf3PQV/s4032/Sunflower%20pic.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4iO0IiS1IXY1tbPP0lLSBPvLnkAtm4Ry0ctCcTHOGTPh_CucgrXfHQ8YSgECWjFVwjs669r7WdDROb4y9n8RLbNDKb0saPBNxVRN25CUJYCyELObnIs2dlWPf5i8IeaG2jZD0ErSnZ972so1xgLlBpWw--9YOwmhzPrzwRJZ-6Tl46cpf3PQV/w480-h640/Sunflower%20pic.jpg" width="480" /></a></div> <p></p><p>Is this thing still on? Yeah, so, I've been <i>meaning</i> to write forever, but I haven't been making time. Partly because I have too many things I try to do, and partly because my Grave's Disease meds make me fat and lethargic. I keep trying to fight the lethargy, with limited results. I guess I'll just keep on trying.</p><p>So many things can happen in five or six months, right? The good thing for all of you, is that I have so much to write about that I won't have time to into the minutiae of what I had to eat for every meal of the day (I save that shit for Facebook, apparently), or how many bowel movements I had, or how often I stepped in cat puke a week (quick answer? probably about equal to my number of bowel movements). I will, as usual, go into too much detail about health issues and where I'm at with menopause (quick answer? Who the hell knows). Let's get down to it, shall we?</p><p>1.) Health Issues: Since my doctor cut my Grave's Disease meds in half, I am not nearly as tired and woebegone as I was on the bigger dose, but I am still both of those things. Also, even though I'm not actively gaining weight any more, I am not actively losing what I have previously gained by taking twice my dose of meds no matter how much I exercise or how little I eat. Of course, wah! wah! wah! It's all so much better than dying of a stroke or heart attack. So, I guess I'll take it?</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32Bi_zRkApKVK7LMtPfLwxnljDapdGHwcG-slxsISxGSet2Q9PbDej528Lfw79KWHEW1SjF8EFkIR7AtDusZ7m9WqRtTHoCFOQT0xlqkybwidG0gOiI4wIuzo0TcMT-y4HJuYvGNqudaUgwbnFphU_y7uUXCwDK5HeP6R0CDsuZ6TecEAtF4T/s600/Grave's.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="600" height="608" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32Bi_zRkApKVK7LMtPfLwxnljDapdGHwcG-slxsISxGSet2Q9PbDej528Lfw79KWHEW1SjF8EFkIR7AtDusZ7m9WqRtTHoCFOQT0xlqkybwidG0gOiI4wIuzo0TcMT-y4HJuYvGNqudaUgwbnFphU_y7uUXCwDK5HeP6R0CDsuZ6TecEAtF4T/w640-h608/Grave's.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sexy, huh?<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p>The other thing is that I got my eyes checked to see if I had Thyroid Eye Disease, which can cause blindness, and keep you from seeing colors, and make your eyes all bulgy like Marty Feldman. When I went to the appointment, I joked with the resident that maybe I wouldn't mind so much to have it if it took away my squinty little eyes. He seemed a little horrified, because he either didn't get my joke, or didn't think I was as funny as I always think I am (most likely). Anyway, after about three hours of testing, it turns out I do have Thyroid Eye Disease, or TED. The doctor I spoke with about it said the best thing to do for it was to keep my Grave's Disease under control by taking my meds, limit my stress (Hmmmm. Not my strong suit), and to get Selenium. She was very specific about how and what to take - exactly three Brazil nuts a day. Oh, how I wish Cashews had tons of Selenium instead. I am hit and miss with remembering to eat those three nuts. Let's hope I don't blind myself with my own lame-assedness.<br /></p><p>Because I am stupidly optimistic, I like to look at any positives I can find about this annoying disease. So, here's what I have so far: In looking for ways to control my Grave's Disease, I stopped drinking milk and eating dairy yogurt (for the most part) because dairy products are high in iodine, and it's made my allergies a lot more tolerable. The joint pain seemingly caused by my meds have made me finally get off my ass and see a doctor about how to fix it. The doctor then sent me to a physical therapist, who made me custom inserts for my shoes, and gave me some exercises to do. The joint pain is still there, but I'm hoping it gets better. The biggest positive is that I have had people who had thyroid disease reach out to me to tell me that reading the things I've written have helped them. Sometimes it's nice to know you're not the only one going through and/or being frustrated by something. I'm glad I can do that for even a few people.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aM3oYmKO7J7Hv7weF2hCAv6tio_BvV6IqryMEvXecPlJZeHZsY93F_h11vM7NO2BvVGJ7NTdxTcMDb_YtXTPTpg_tn3vzg_a_yQjK0WZ3GhF5qUyNK_G9mSklraxf4lED9I6potPZF5fan2WyvWiRHveKinwwqkbQaNoxYXPtjBBoy3xrlkr/s4032/Green%20Castle%20Bridge.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_aM3oYmKO7J7Hv7weF2hCAv6tio_BvV6IqryMEvXecPlJZeHZsY93F_h11vM7NO2BvVGJ7NTdxTcMDb_YtXTPTpg_tn3vzg_a_yQjK0WZ3GhF5qUyNK_G9mSklraxf4lED9I6potPZF5fan2WyvWiRHveKinwwqkbQaNoxYXPtjBBoy3xrlkr/w640-h480/Green%20Castle%20Bridge.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> 2.) Playing Bikes: I am riding my bike way more than I was last time I wrote in here. I'm still horribly out of shape, so going up hills is even harder than ever, and I am trying to do longer and longer rides. On RAGBRAI week I rode three whole days in a row, and did my longest bike ride this year, 86.5 miles in a day. A VERY hot, and miserable day. Bike riding is fun!<p></p><p>3.) The Garden: Gardening during a drought has been a little crazy. The tomatoes, and raspberries, and Zinnia's are happy. The broccoli, zucchini, and Mexican Torch Sunflowers? Not so much. </p><p>4.) My Husband: I know I do gush on and on about John, but if you've had even half as many shitty relationships as I've had, you would appreciate the hell out of a great partner too. He is patient and kind and generous and helps to remind me not to be disappointed when my body doesn't respond the same way it did before I had Grave's Disease. Some days I come home from work all lethargic from my meds, but also a bit anxious because of my disease. I will have planned to ride, but it feels overwhelming, and when I whine to John about how lame I feel, he'll say something like, "Just do what you can. How about watching some "Stranger Things?" And you know what? Watching "Stranger Things" is always the right way to deal with feeling crappy. So, what I'm saying, is that John is an empathetic genius and I'm pretty damn lucky he is in love with me.<br /></p><p>5.) My Daughters: I am also incredibly lucky to have two amazing, strong-willed daughters. As they move out of their twenties, I get to watch them find themselves. They have both been through a lot, and they're still sorting through who they are and what they want now that they're adults, but neither of them are afraid of hard work, and they are both doing that work. They have also been very supportive of me and my issues. I'm just happy that I actually choose the family I was given.</p><p>Okay...that's probably all more than enough for one blog post. Hopefully, I will keep on it and I won't have to spend so much time summarizing my life on here, but you know how I am...<br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-44656367810820461902023-02-26T18:02:00.001-06:002023-02-26T18:02:45.659-06:00Look Around, Leaves Are Brown, There's a Patch of Snow on the Ground<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSA_w9WTcDDzHvdtDMly50VPmE04ZsDhVJFwWhbBYCDOIhbyizxCZLbDgUtgN5jo5lu0Van9LONNY88tbL0ZjFrjau3w-t2ba-kYV8GAf4SXDjOuxUxK7KLPspqhPUHv6q2Uf7HjrN38P0rKiKZxMJpBJiDyBDHC3-dD1WnKb1qM3GWThFuQ/s1800/CIKY8714.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSA_w9WTcDDzHvdtDMly50VPmE04ZsDhVJFwWhbBYCDOIhbyizxCZLbDgUtgN5jo5lu0Van9LONNY88tbL0ZjFrjau3w-t2ba-kYV8GAf4SXDjOuxUxK7KLPspqhPUHv6q2Uf7HjrN38P0rKiKZxMJpBJiDyBDHC3-dD1WnKb1qM3GWThFuQ/w512-h640/CIKY8714.JPG" width="512" /></a></div> <p></p><p>Well, kids. It's been a rough Winter for me. Not that everything has been bad. I got to take my baby girl to Chicago for a long weekend to celebrate her getting a job after she graduated from her surgical technician program, and that was amazing and fun.</p><p>It's mostly everything associated with my Hyperthyroidism/Grave's Disease that's been doing me in. Of course the thyroid is a hormone so when it's messed up, it f*cks with all kinds of weird things in my body...Most importantly emotions and energy levels. And no older person needs help messing with those things.</p><p>I am taking Methimazole to calm down my thyroid. Like I've said before, that medicine has a lot of side effects. The ones that are bothering me the most are the headaches, which on me are migraines, muscle and joint pain, digestive issues, and weight gain. Sounds like a blast, right? Luckily, some of those side effects lessen as your body gets used to being on the drugs. And since my hyperthyroidism was so bad, they gave me a large dose of these drugs every month. At my last appointment a week or so ago, they checked my levels, and my meds have worked so well that I am now HypOthyroid, which means I am super lethargic, I have mild depression instead of anxiety, Oh, and even more of the weight gain that seemingly never ends. </p><p>I also forgot to tell you that my meds lower my immune system. I do try to be careful and wear a mask when I'm in large groups of people, but sometimes I forget, or get tired of it, and go someplace and don't wear one, but I finally got sick this past week, and it was a doozy. I had this weird cold thing that turned into a stomach flu and I was tired and dizzy and watched a lot of bad TV. I started feeling a little better today, so I'm hoping I'm on the upswing. <br /></p><p>I know I am whining a LOT right now, but the good news is that my doctor decreased my dose by half, so in the next month or two, I should hopefully start seeing a decrease in the lethargy, depression, and even my weight gain is supposed to calm down. I can't even imagine how lovely that will all be.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVcPAQtNX-SFbDaeq-lAPFgmZbyW2Kkds8R3bzdWfRNSq4nx-CTC-CWn4lgIhg3qgcPmN9oIUbGAhtaQp6H-A5u-1-17pZInqKsCLuJpM-HrYRVcl3PFlP5ce3tCA_3f2zR8e5VDvbkVoDn6Gif6yHL9J_dS0EPKoVeSM6aL9r83opZ4kbQ/s4032/IMG_1569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVcPAQtNX-SFbDaeq-lAPFgmZbyW2Kkds8R3bzdWfRNSq4nx-CTC-CWn4lgIhg3qgcPmN9oIUbGAhtaQp6H-A5u-1-17pZInqKsCLuJpM-HrYRVcl3PFlP5ce3tCA_3f2zR8e5VDvbkVoDn6Gif6yHL9J_dS0EPKoVeSM6aL9r83opZ4kbQ/w480-h640/IMG_1569.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>Don't worry, I'm still trying to get some exercise in, which is normally how I deal with any physical/mental/emotional issue I have, but the weird joint and muscle pain thing that my meds do is no joke...Okay, it can seem kind of funny in that old-people-falling-apart way, that those of us of a certain age can either laugh or cry at...Or laugh until we cry, which is what I like to do.</p><p>Anyway, here is an example of what I'm talking about:</p><p>When we were in Chicago we went to the immersive Van Gogh exhibit (which was amazing and I highly recommend it). We checked out the gift shop ahead of time, and they still had some merch left from the Frida Kahlo immersive experience and it was on sale, so I thought, "What the hell, I should get the 1,000 piece Frida Kahlo jigsaw puzzle". I totally forgot why it's a bad idea for me to buy jigsaw puzzles, and that is because my stupid ADHD can make me hyper-focused (read: obsessed) about completing puzzles, and it can take away from literally anything else I should be doing. Who needs to eat? Sleep? What's that? I can put in my own catheter, don't you think? No? Maybe a chamber pot?<br /></p><p>So, I start working on this stupid puzzle, and I have kind of a shallow table I use to put puzzles together, and spend almost an entire day one day working on it, and because of the weird position I was in for most of that day, I wake up the next morning and my hip is all different kinds of messed-up. Seriously. Shit. That was about a month ago, and it's still not back to be 100%. It's a hell of a lot better, and almost where it should be, but man is it embarrassing telling people how I hurt my hip - vigorous jigsaw puzzling? Egad! I guess it's an answer to one of those, "tell people you're old without actually saying you're old" things. I could barely walk for a few weeks because I hurt my hip putting together a jigsaw puzzle. No matter how many ways I say it, it's still embarrassing.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHWwy-J_kI7hJHuEGesv-LrJ15klnWdcS6Kom0ogVG4kSC4v3USxBUSZIn6TdG90lHMagOOhIGmYMAy7JUS63ABrfeMrNXfhuvYvglFPd8yG7S88vkp6dWRRPGa7FG9t0-ZDqv06D493QiEOUQCsu1KlsCEYBnAYgCq4n2izjHSwhyqrecog/s4032/IMG_1787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHWwy-J_kI7hJHuEGesv-LrJ15klnWdcS6Kom0ogVG4kSC4v3USxBUSZIn6TdG90lHMagOOhIGmYMAy7JUS63ABrfeMrNXfhuvYvglFPd8yG7S88vkp6dWRRPGa7FG9t0-ZDqv06D493QiEOUQCsu1KlsCEYBnAYgCq4n2izjHSwhyqrecog/w480-h640/IMG_1787.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /> Okay, so the deal is, it's been a rough Winter physically, mentally, emotionally, and as far as my pride is concerned, BUT it is almost March, which means warmer weather (at least by May in Iowa, but SOOO close), my body is slowly but surely getting used to the side effects of my meds, and anyway My doctor decreased my dose by half, so hopefully all of this stupid disease shit should eventually get better and better. HOPEFULLY.<p></p><p>Now, I just have to figure out a way to get the cats to give me my reading chair back that I recently bought to escape into books on all of these bad days I've been having. I can't blame them for hogging that chair, it's soft, and velvety, and best of all, it swivels!</p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-50425459744070179852023-01-29T15:28:00.003-06:002023-01-29T15:28:45.770-06:00Time Grabs You by the Wrist, Directs You Where to Go<p>Okay, for the love of gawd! I am finally finishing my shit jobs post. Before I started this, I really forgot how many jobs I worked, and how many times I worked at a couple of these places. I guess I should just get on with it now, huh?: <br /></p><p> 24.) During my last semester in college I only took 12 hours of college courses, which meant that I could work 60 hours a week instead of the measly 40 I was working when I was taking 16 or 17 hours of classes. A friend of mine knew a guy who was leaving his job at an ice cream/coffee/soup and sandwich place, and they were going to need to replace him. I marched right down, got an interview, and started working at the Great Midwestern Ice Cream Company within the week. I would work at Great Midwestern twice, for nine years and I wore many hats. The first time I worked there, I took classes in the morning, worked there in the afternoon, and worked at the Mexican restaurant at night. When did I sleep and do homework? Who the hell knows. <br /></p><p> 25.) My 19th job was detasseling corn the Summer I turned 26, but I
already kind of talked about that. Basically, I was trying to save up
money to move to Albuquerque to see if job prospects might be any better
after I graduated from college with a "very practical" English degree.
The guy I was dating at the time had a cousin who just moved to New Mexico who
had a little apartment that used to be a garage where we could stay for
free until we got set-up.</p><p>26.) Surprise, surprise, my 20th job was
working at one of those crappy mall pizza places in Albuquerque. It was
so bland and boring that I don't even remember the name of the mall OR
the pizza place. What I remember most about that job in 1991, was that
New Mexicans put Ranch dressing on EVERYTHING. Ironically, Iowa would
later be known for doing just that, but back then, I hadn't really seen
that before.</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06EskTXjy8Pupad0nx3R1wrR6CtQkc5E5MPKejpk2RZT5aPeAUYVhBQ6-6ppMneQcb6eAsUh-JMXV1ETi4Jfmae_i_3aBU1PjwEk1jOhLglVP1gBQQCXuwlZyUXuxgpXlyEdSS9crKywUVAUc5goMAscAWzA4Mi3vkkDWcaB5iVHIj5c2eA/s604/Great%20Mid%20Sarah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="604" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06EskTXjy8Pupad0nx3R1wrR6CtQkc5E5MPKejpk2RZT5aPeAUYVhBQ6-6ppMneQcb6eAsUh-JMXV1ETi4Jfmae_i_3aBU1PjwEk1jOhLglVP1gBQQCXuwlZyUXuxgpXlyEdSS9crKywUVAUc5goMAscAWzA4Mi3vkkDWcaB5iVHIj5c2eA/w640-h460/Great%20Mid%20Sarah.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>27.) While I was in Albuquerque I discovered I was pregnant with The Oldest. Not having been around babies much, I thought I should move back to Iowa and family. I was lucky enough to get my old job back at Great Midwestern. I worked there through both of my pregnancies. I worked on the line, was a janitor there and a shift manager. It was the last restaurant job I ever worked. As usual, the most important part of that job were the amazing friends I made and still have today.</p><p>28.) When my oldest daughter was old enough to go to kindergarten, I was finally able to afford to leave my abusive ex-husband. I would only have to pay full-time day care for my youngest daughter and the before and after school program for my youngest. I got a full-time job at the hospital working as a nursing assistant in the Ob/Gyn clinic. I took home $1200/ week there. $600 went to pay for daycare and $600 went to my rent. Everything else had to come from my part-time job at Great Midwestern. I did love my job at the clinic. I did phlebotomy, I assisted in all kinds of different procedures, I taught med students how to use a sterile field and catheterize women, I was pulled to translate for Spanish speaking patients, and my favorite part of the job, was advocating for patients. I had to make sure they weren't getting pap smears less than a year than their last one, so their insurance company would cover it, and I had to help them through some painful/scary procedures. It was the most heart breaking/rewarding job I've ever had. <br /></p><p>29.) Because being a nursing assistant only paid $7.80 back in the late 1990's, I took a typing test, and got a job as a patient account representative in the business office of the same hospital where I worked at the ob/gyn clinic. Even after cleaning toilets for a living, this was probably my least favorite job. It was a lot of dealing with insurance companies that screwed over our patients, seeing people lose their farms and their homes because they had astronomical hospital bills they couldn't pay, and every phone call I answered produced ridiculous amounts of work I didn't have time to do, before the next call came in bringing its own ridiculous amount of work. At least some of the calls were amusing. Aside from half of them starting out with, "You fucking people...". I had a guy tell me that the Pope said he would pay his bill, and he gave me the address of the Vatican to send it to. I wondered if the Pope would pay my day care costs too. I also had a woman tell me that I was in cahoots with Janet Reno in causing the Oklahoma City bombing. I had no idea Janet Reno caused the bombing, or that I was so powerful (you'd think I'd be making more money). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhr-vjj95ls9PyKxcSoeFaReJX2xwpl9LseadQpBo62EuOKS443m-o7wjvo3VApShPoGW_N0PYM6dW0hEVaeFm7bVVUT9zdm5JwofGV9R0eRxYohT203HxgZvXSUNf_M_lYf_DZzW2FWMiErUnWoRW2a1gz9aYxcZfBKlK3gnLDC_Y_i8Fw/s1600/me%20at%20work%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhr-vjj95ls9PyKxcSoeFaReJX2xwpl9LseadQpBo62EuOKS443m-o7wjvo3VApShPoGW_N0PYM6dW0hEVaeFm7bVVUT9zdm5JwofGV9R0eRxYohT203HxgZvXSUNf_M_lYf_DZzW2FWMiErUnWoRW2a1gz9aYxcZfBKlK3gnLDC_Y_i8Fw/w640-h480/me%20at%20work%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p> 30.) Since I was not super happy at the business office, I was applying for all kinds of other jobs. I did it like playing the lottery, I didn't think I'd get them, but it didn't hurt to try. You never knew...I finally got lucky and started working at the Admissions Office at a big 10 university. In April, I will have worked here for 22 years. When I started there in 2001, nothing was online. All the applications were paper and they, and any supporting documents were sent through the mail. We had a toll-free line to answer any questions and a huge space in our office was taken up by all of our paper files. I have seen everything change and our work force decrease by probably 70 %. Besides me, there is now only one other person who was there when I started still working in the office. My job has changed a bunch of different times, and I was just told that I will be learning something completely new to me in the next few months. I get good insurance, and get paid well for what I do. I have no idea how much longer I will be at this job. I hope I will be able to stay until I can afford to retire, and in my best fantasies, I get to that place sooner rather than later.<br /></p><p>31.) I am counting donating plasma and mowing an older woman's lawn as one job. They were what I had to do to be able to afford to pay my mortgage after I first bought my house in addition to my full time job. Lucky for me, I only had to do them for a little over a year.</p><p>So, 31 jobs. No wonder I'm tired. I really hope I don't have to add to this list. I would love to somehow get enough money to retire and my only job will be to take care of my house, my gardens, and my fun hobbies. I can't even imagine how luxurious that would feel.</p><p>May you all be able to afford to retire the minute you are ready.<br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-24646962113624598452023-01-08T16:15:00.011-06:002023-01-09T16:28:57.476-06:00I Was Working as a Waitress in CockTAY-al Bar, That Much is True<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2YqD6hb3f53tg8ACybB4BTpEM3Ne_S8TrurJ1eC0wCGLm5ulTb0q6rUBKM6PzOM_96DNp1xb-Z7wCTsiYWRwORuu3hBfiJ7GIf0kSjPJWWIyOlFYAJ2RBh2awK7lvHx3KoykFBLbV7LjcJUH68h-GZApSC0lUsxHs4miu8JWtmLchFL5XUQ/s600/2020-12-29-bb-ls-nighsessions-drone-jpeg-4-jpg.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">/<img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2YqD6hb3f53tg8ACybB4BTpEM3Ne_S8TrurJ1eC0wCGLm5ulTb0q6rUBKM6PzOM_96DNp1xb-Z7wCTsiYWRwORuu3hBfiJ7GIf0kSjPJWWIyOlFYAJ2RBh2awK7lvHx3KoykFBLbV7LjcJUH68h-GZApSC0lUsxHs4miu8JWtmLchFL5XUQ/w640-h360/2020-12-29-bb-ls-nighsessions-drone-jpeg-4-jpg.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo found on the internet.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> Okay. So, it's time for round two of me listing every shit job I've ever worked. Let's see, where were we?<p></p><p>10.) The tenth job I had was being a line cook at Snow Summit Ski Resort in Big Bear Lake, California in 1985/1986. I found this job because a couple who worked with for the US Forest Service and helped with our job in the California Conservation Corps during the Summer, also worked at this ski resort during the Winter. They helped get my boyfriend at the time and I jobs and even let us stay at the their parent's A-Frame cabin for a couple of weeks when we first got there. </p><p>I wanted to learn how to snow ski, and by working there I got free lift tickets, rentals, and lessons. It's really the only way I would ever have been able to afford to learn how to ski.</p><p>In the 1980's this ski resort attracted a lot of B-movie actors, and bands that were on their way up or down. One year every one of my co-workers got sick with every kind of flu/pneumonia/pleurisy/cold you can imagine. So, on Christmas morning that year it was me and one other guy who didn't have insurance and couldn't afford to go to a doctor, making breakfast on one of the busiest days of the year there. We were both just as sick, we just couldn't get a doctor's note getting us off of work. So, sorry people like Jan Michael Vincent and the band Berlin if we gave you a horrible flu that year.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtWFWh8My4-Ol5S0mytaeOtIMz_xyrBSbHf0RTV8qnIleRMyT-cO6U9R-lU-TTrFvbEpT7vZ6ValeyvXMoFL4lT5YrMtoy2Df5PSvrrDNUsNI4C5mmTVcj6J_jDaKyHWOjWt3rjHGl-l16U6iqSsM32j-G9w96c132nMj23KyEFmRNKtQE7Q/s497/Gussini%20with%20Riva.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="497" height="624" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtWFWh8My4-Ol5S0mytaeOtIMz_xyrBSbHf0RTV8qnIleRMyT-cO6U9R-lU-TTrFvbEpT7vZ6ValeyvXMoFL4lT5YrMtoy2Df5PSvrrDNUsNI4C5mmTVcj6J_jDaKyHWOjWt3rjHGl-l16U6iqSsM32j-G9w96c132nMj23KyEFmRNKtQE7Q/w640-h624/Gussini%20with%20Riva.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> 11.) After the ski resort, my boyfriend and I moved to San Francisco. When I first moved there I got a job being an assistant manager at a shoe store on Shattuck Avenue on the Oakland/Berkeley border. I was 20 years old, and that company took me for a ride. They paid me minimum wage as if I were only working 40 hrs/week, but expected me to work at least 60 hours a week for that.<p></p><p>Worst of all, like most companies back then (and today too), it was a HUGE good-old-boys network. The regional manager was an old dude with a gambling problem, and the manager was a younger dude who just covered for him.</p><p>When I finally got sick of everything enough to quit, the manager told me that I was only quitting because I was worried about spending enough time with my boyfriend. (It couldn't POSSIBLY be because I was smart enough to know I was being taken advantage of, and in a toxic work situation or anything...). Later on I found out that the old white dude was stealing from the cash register to gamble and after I left, it wasn't possible for the young white dude to hide that fact from the company. They fired both managers and laid off everyone else under them. I felt bad about the other co-workers, but those two manager dudes had it coming.<br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmsYr5TvoVKmxm2X-Rmnb6PtYHdFwX4RjIKvKFR1ZG_P0Hqj17bRaaNMWiqfc8zsgessakpFVo2L53RJ_ZdCghLb8wUun6Zip1wAZSZOj6Or-47dLho8hh2nzvebzaNv7GQHc8U569JTfyuOYaQZM_fuVXFuDumODUxZz-I-BUedDoGgNLw/s707/me%20sitting%20cross-legged%20on%20the%20floor.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="707" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmsYr5TvoVKmxm2X-Rmnb6PtYHdFwX4RjIKvKFR1ZG_P0Hqj17bRaaNMWiqfc8zsgessakpFVo2L53RJ_ZdCghLb8wUun6Zip1wAZSZOj6Or-47dLho8hh2nzvebzaNv7GQHc8U569JTfyuOYaQZM_fuVXFuDumODUxZz-I-BUedDoGgNLw/w640-h462/me%20sitting%20cross-legged%20on%20the%20floor.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me when I was 21 in the apartment I found from my co-worker at the Courtyard Cafe.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> 12.) My twelfth job was working as a waitress and barista at the Courtyard Cafe on 24th Street in San Francisco in 1986. It was kind of a fancier place. I waited on Burt Parks, Robin Williams, and Alice Walker's daughter there. I have a million stories about the cafe, but that will have to be their own 20 different blog posts.<p></p><p>I will say, I met a woman working there who let me rent a flat with her and her friend, and that friend and another roommate who came along later were some of the best people for me to be around at that time.</p><p>13.) My next job was as a bar back at a fancy restaurant in the basement of Macy's Department Store. I loved this job. I was actually more of a bartender, because the person I was supposed to be backing wasn't really into it, and so I learned a lot just doing her job for her. Don't worry, I still made tons of money. Either this woman knew every famous person who ever lived, or she had a wonderful imagination, because she would tell me all these stories like, "So, we were at this party in Paris and I went to the bathroom, and I see Salvador Dali just watching me. You know, he was a terrible voyeur..." She was endlessly entertaining.</p><p>The hardest thing about that job was how many of my friends and co-workers were contracting and dying of AIDS at that time. It was such a sad and scary time.</p><p>15.) My 15th job was back in Iowa City where I decided to go to school again and see how I did. In the Summer I was working back at the Mill at night, but I also worked at The Farmers Market and Bakery on Linn Street as a cook. This was kind of a hippie/artsy place where the livin' was groovy. I learned how to make soups here, and other valuable lessons like, don't use more barley than is called for, and just because a little dill is good, it doesn't necessarily mean that a LOT of dill will be better.</p><p>16.) Once I was in school in the Fall, I got a work study job to go along with my job at the Mill. I worked in book stacks at the main library. Imagine me handling books all day. The sad thing was that I wasn't able to read them, and I couldn't even take the time to peruse the jackets for book descriptions. Frankly, it got a little frustrating.</p><p>17.) I moved back to San Francisco at the end of 1987. My old boyfriend and I were having many issues, and we were going to give it one last chance to see if we could make it work (spoiler alert: we couldn't). I got a job in the mornings at a place called "Bakers of Paris". It was owned by a Vietnamese company. </p><p>Originally, they had hired all these gorgeous French women because they thought it would bring in a lot of business, but many of the French women were very rude to the customers, so they were forced to hire Americans who maybe weren't quite as beautiful. It was an easy job, because the manager liked to smoke a lot of weed. So, because he was smart, he organized everything so well that he could do his job when he was really high without having to think very hard. That worked for my ADHD too. The best part about the job is that we got free baguettes and pastries</p><p>18.) While I worked at Bakers of Paris in the morning, I also took the J Church straight to Macy's, where I went after I moved back. There wasn't a bar back job open anymore, but they hired me to work on the deli side of the restaurant. I still made pretty good money, and we would cater parties to things like Vanna White's new clothing line, where because it was about fashion, no one there would eat, and we would get to have all of the leftovers.</p><p>19.) Here's where things get a little muddled, because I thought I only worked at the Mill twice, but now that I'm writing this, I must have worked at the Mill THREE DIFFERENT TIMES! So, I worked there when I came back from San Francisco a SECOND Time. Just thinking about this is making my head hurt. I'm so glad I'm not young and moving every six months anymore. JAYSUS!</p><p>21.) My 17th job was working in the juniors department at The Glendale Galeria in Glendale, California. I had lost my Iowa residency while I was in California the last time, and I had to pay out of state tuition, which was ridiculous for me. I thought I would go back to California and pay in-state tuition there, and my newer boyfriend was an actor who thought he had a line on a gig there. We were both wrong, but before we figured that out, I sold clothes to people like Punky Brewster, and to whomever it was who was in charge of costumes for Bernadette Peters in the movie "Pink Cadillac". </p><p>I made a fun friend there, named Barbie who was a self-proclaimed Cuban American princess and we would ride around in the candy apple red BMW her parents gave her for graduation. This was in 1988, and there was all kinds of talk about gang violence. I was 23 years old.</p><p>22.) After I moved back AGAIN to go to school in Iowa City. My brother had a talk with the residency office for me, and after over a year, I finally got to pay in-state tuition. I worked two jobs. The first was as a line cook at a Mexican restaurant. It was a shit show in a lot of ways, there were some issues with cocaine and some of the servers (again, this was the 80's/early 90's), BUT I met one of my favorite people and future roommates here, so no matter what kind of bullshit I had to put up with, it was worth it.</p><p>She was the brilliant one who suggested we play "The Love Boat" at work. The bartender would of course be Isaac, the old dude who waited there would be Captain Stubing, the doofy guy we worked with was Gopher, the most prolific cocaine user waitress got to be Julie the activities director, and she decided all of us women cooking on the line would be the special guest appearance of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders (duh). </p><p>23.) During this same time, I worked my 23rd job. I used to be a nude model for art classes at the university. It paid almost twice what minimum wage was, and the hours were flexible. I was already working almost full time and taking 17 hours/credits at the university, so I didn't have a lot of time for anything else. Also, modeling nude wasn't all that weird for me. My parents were artists, we were raised to see the human form as beautiful and not shameful.<br /></p><p>One of my "greatest" memories was once when I was modeling for a painting class. There was a guy painting almost right in front of me. Different students would take a break from their paintings, walk by his, and laugh. Since the painting was facing him, I couldn't see it from where I was sitting. Finally, after I got to rest in between posing, (it actually hurts to sit still for long periods of time) I went over and checked out what he was working on. It turns out it was a painting of a rooster's head with my body riding a giant phallus. In my head I laughed to myself, "It doesn't look a THING like me".<br /></p><br /><p>It looks like I'll be doing a part three to this. It's amazing just how many crappy jobs I've worked when I lay it all out like this. I do apologize for the bad typos, and misspellings. I could really benefit from a good editor right now...Or even a bad one would probably help.<br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-34878024039933130082023-01-04T23:38:00.012-06:002023-01-08T14:59:26.552-06:00In the Same Boat With a Lot of Your Friends, Waitin' for the Day Your Ship'll Come In<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicQwHmX6fK5CMsqL_5ZCg1bvnjtDPaqa9dWYc0wzsTVFm1nEubXOue7af-g-TLCczoAnaCeMn3W7M-G4cNa91TZ9N56M3V5W8_Bdck0EjnaIMygq62awRmP-thSvh-hKhx4MSjbE9r3qtAxio_7fUaRlbtuIsKdzdCij8ow_EdGG6JQO85Bg/s506/one%20thin%20picture%20of%20me.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="291" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicQwHmX6fK5CMsqL_5ZCg1bvnjtDPaqa9dWYc0wzsTVFm1nEubXOue7af-g-TLCczoAnaCeMn3W7M-G4cNa91TZ9N56M3V5W8_Bdck0EjnaIMygq62awRmP-thSvh-hKhx4MSjbE9r3qtAxio_7fUaRlbtuIsKdzdCij8ow_EdGG6JQO85Bg/w368-h640/one%20thin%20picture%20of%20me.jpg" width="368" /></a></div><p></p><p>Oh, kids. I've been fantasizing about being able to afford to retire for the last couple of years now. I get that I am lucky to have a job, and that since I've worked at this same institution for 26 years, that I get paid well for what I do, and what with my latest health problems, I am EXTREMELY lucky to have the health insurance I do, but I'm worked out. Of course, I probably have at least ten years before I can even entertain the idea of retiring, but a girl can dream, can't she?</p><p>People tell me that I'll be bored when I retire, or that I will lose my social outlet, but I beg to differ. First of all, the only time I'm ever really bored is when I'm at work. My job basically consists of me inputting classes and grades from other colleges into a computer and answering the same questions via phone and email for the last 21 years. Also, it is true that I have made many great friends in my past jobs. My friend Ed G. used to say, "It's a good thing that Churly is poor and had to work so much, or she wouldn't have any friends." But I don't have tons in common with most of my current co-workers. They are all perfectly nice and all that, it's just that they aren't like people in my past jobs, that weren't in offices, who I still see and hang out with over 30 years later. If I didn't have to work the majority of my waking hours, I would have time to go hang out with people I DO have things in common with.</p><p>Most importantly, I have so many things I could be doing with my days that I just don't have time for now. So, right now I fantasize about it.One of these decades, I hope I can afford to retire for real. While I'm thinking (obsessing) about all of this, I thought I'd look back on all of the many, many jobs I've had in the past. I think after reading about them, you'll see that I have earned the right to be tired of the grind.<br /></p><p>1.) My first "job". I think I should have stopped after my very first job, because it probably wasn't going to get any better than that. When I was 9 or 10, our next door neighbors in Mesa, Arizona asked me if I could take care of their dachshund, and her six newborn puppies while they were on vacation for two weeks. It was by far the best job I've ever had.</p><p>2.) The second job I had was when I was eleven. I took over my brother's old paper route, delivering the Chicago Sun Times and the Tribune in Alsip, Illinois. This was in the late 1970's. After they caught John Wayne Gacy, I was never so glad to be a paper GIRL.</p><p>3.) My third job was as a neighborhood babysitter when I was in junior high. The few things I remember about this job was trying to spread the cookies out in their packages to make it look like I didn't eat as many as I really had, watching Saturday Night Live after the kids had gone to bed, and reading the naughtiest parts of the parent's copies of "Forever" by Judy Blume. I'm not exaggerating when I say that every single family I babysat for had a copy of "Forever" on their book shelf in the late 70's.<br /></p><p>4.) In high school I wasn't really allowed to work outside of my legal guardian's house. I did PLENTY of work inside it, though. I was allowed to sort boxes at the company that one of my legal guardians managed from time to time, and I was allowed to detassel corn every Summer. For those of you NOT from Iowa, detasseling is where a bunch of people who are desperate for money go out in corn fields and pull the tassel of certain rows of plants to make hybrid seed corn. It usually takes place for a few weeks in July, so it is hot as hell, you get really bad corn rash walking through the aisles of corn, there are bugs everywhere, and if you're really lucky, you'll grab a tassel that has this goopy disgusting mold on it. I did this particular job all four years of high school, and one Summer right after I graduated college.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbOC8dTyW6NSvP5RrTioX73xXXm-x9ZWQCJmT_0JHR0TMg4sgRmiQoJkZs1xhwBTKEEne4LDAU4rMBOxGFKjuCm9PD67Bweh406JHQPsPwx2owwzY0qIIElXbSNr71jVo4F47psqrwfjtuYE7fYk8g6ypn5JE1PFcIjUAVeyTRN7vDCPDXSQ/s737/me%20running%20a%20chainsaw.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="585" data-original-width="737" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbOC8dTyW6NSvP5RrTioX73xXXm-x9ZWQCJmT_0JHR0TMg4sgRmiQoJkZs1xhwBTKEEne4LDAU4rMBOxGFKjuCm9PD67Bweh406JHQPsPwx2owwzY0qIIElXbSNr71jVo4F47psqrwfjtuYE7fYk8g6ypn5JE1PFcIjUAVeyTRN7vDCPDXSQ/w640-h508/me%20running%20a%20chainsaw.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>5.) When I first moved to Iowa City it was really hard to even find shit jobs. You know, Reaganomics and all that. I did have a stint trying to sell magazines over the phone, but that lasted about a week. I hate to bother people in general, and I hate to try and sell people things they don't want or need specifically. So, it was about the worst situation for me.<br /></p><p>6.) My sixth job was at a pizza delivery place called Pizza Wheels. It was one of those shit jobs where most of the people you worked with were great, so it was fine in general, except when the big boss came to town, crapped all over everything, and left again. I quit this job without giving notice because the band Husker Du was playing in this guy named Robot's art studio on a Sunday night in December of 1984 (Bob Mould still had long hair back then), and my boss wouldn't give me the night off. The show was worth it.</p><p>8.) My eighth job was working at Amelia Earhart's Deli, mostly as a dishwasher, but I would cocktail waitress on occasion when there were bands. Like most restaurants in the 1980's the owner appeared to have a little cocaine problem, so she would have me try the soups, since she didn't have much of a sense of smell or taste. If I could actually make money tasting soup for people right now, I would never want to retire.<br /></p><p>9.) My ninth job was working in the Salmon Restoration Project in the California Conservation Corps in 1985. This was the most physically demanding job I've ever had. There were about 20 of us, all 18 to 22 years old, living in trailers right on the banks of the Eel River in Leggett, California, a town of about 150 marijuana growers (back in the 1980's weed was illegal. The growers booby trapped all of the areas where they had crops, so you couldn't hike around there unless you really wanted to tempt fate.).<br /></p><p>We were all trained to fight wild land fires, and floods, and could be pulled to help with those situations whenever we were needed. We were called fish heads because our job was to enhance the salmon population in that area. Back in the day, logging companies would just clear-cut whole forests, take the trees they wanted, and bulldoze the rest into rivers so they could then drive their trucks over the log jams they created. Because they didn't care about anything but money, they didn't realize they were killing off the salmon and steel head trout populations by doing that. Derrrrrr. Salmon will only spawn where they were spawned, and if they can't get there because there are fifty foot high log jams in their way, they don't reproduce. Our job was to use chainsaws to cut up these log jams and then recreate the creek habitat after the jams were busted up. As hard as it was in so many ways, I loved this job. </p><p>I met my first real boyfriend there, I saw a bobcat and a mountain lion out in the wild for the first time at this job, I made tons of mistakes, and learned so much, and woke up every day, walked out into my backyard of Redwood trees and thought, "Damn! I can't believe I live here."<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW29OpO2GftNN9oFHBNCf4E26m50Lz5FKZMcXZ8NDADs7d__WTqLmSQHTs1U7wGMwGTX4aLmxui8iW8_T-ZSi4vYVn7sXGqbYQXW0rrsnoivJ6WgJTXp8jZ2b4r_TdkG1ZnMPflFXBS5c_6MvxHGwoie1-xgWduO4Z3Ss3wJiDeKlAE149Mw/s1505/me%20at%20the%20mill.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1505" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW29OpO2GftNN9oFHBNCf4E26m50Lz5FKZMcXZ8NDADs7d__WTqLmSQHTs1U7wGMwGTX4aLmxui8iW8_T-ZSi4vYVn7sXGqbYQXW0rrsnoivJ6WgJTXp8jZ2b4r_TdkG1ZnMPflFXBS5c_6MvxHGwoie1-xgWduO4Z3Ss3wJiDeKlAE149Mw/w640-h436/me%20at%20the%20mill.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>My 7th and 14th jobs respectively were both working at the Mill Restaurant. Remember when I said I still have friends from jobs that I worked thirty years ago? A lot of those friends I met at the Mill. I met a friend and roommate who helped me get to California the first time. I met my first husband working there. He turned out not to be the nicest person in the world, but I have two amazing daughters from that marriage, so I have to look at that as a good thing. </p><p>I think for me, the reason that the Mill was so important, was that I had just turned 19 the week before I started working there the first time, and I was 23 when I finally quit the second time I worked there, and I grew up there in a lot of ways. I met the kinds of people who I wanted to emulate (and plenty of people I wanted to make sure and NOT emulate). Musicians, artists, writers, and just good, complicated, interesting, hilariously funny friends who helped me figure out how to be an adult...Not a mature adult, mind you. More like they showed me I could be an adult without having to be mature. </p><p>I worked as a line cook there and there were some insanely busy nights, and really bad folk music, but also some nights there was really GOOD folk music, and a lot of people drank too much, and I was experimenting and trying out all different kinds of ways to be, and for me, the Mill was the best place to do that. I honestly don't think I would be the same person I am today (for good or bad) if my brother hadn't helped me get a job at the Mill when I was 19.</p><p>Okay, this is way too long already, and I have tons more jobs to talk about, so I'm calling this Part One, and I'll start Part Two in the next day or two<br /> </p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-14365962459240992332023-01-02T09:53:00.264-06:002023-02-28T12:19:51.676-06:00And This Old World, is a New World, and a Bold World for Me, Yeah Yeah<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik4NizYVYF6KpXk9HlSC_Lmp-cyG-qeRLW3eUTzEHSR0aPm70UeasZxH40dl_-kkV2GjztrkTPCMDyyjNj9UukGSra_vBgG36GwYCzavKNdFLc-M_i-A7l7boa6O88kBEtA81KjpC8UMMnu6dXdzoI3DfEEVjYp_LYuD2FzF1w5ZzMHxNIfQ/s3088/IMG_1082.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik4NizYVYF6KpXk9HlSC_Lmp-cyG-qeRLW3eUTzEHSR0aPm70UeasZxH40dl_-kkV2GjztrkTPCMDyyjNj9UukGSra_vBgG36GwYCzavKNdFLc-M_i-A7l7boa6O88kBEtA81KjpC8UMMnu6dXdzoI3DfEEVjYp_LYuD2FzF1w5ZzMHxNIfQ/w480-h640/IMG_1082.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />Well kids, it's a new year. Intellectually I know that December 31st 2022 isn't really any different than January 1st 2023, but I really don't see anything wrong with portioning out a year, and then going back and reviewing things, and seeing what worked, what didn't, and what I learned from all of the shit. Like most years, 2022 was a mixed bag. It ended pretty well but I had to deal with some crap for a while there.<p></p><p>I always try to start a year out by playing outside when I can. So, for 2023, I did a two mile run, and was able to obtain my beloved runner's high. It was how I'd like the rest of my year to go - playing outside and getting endorphin rushes as much as possible.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE4Kw2dVXPjJUxTbokc5fU72kiw-dLVcsD2jy7Yq2vem26tKXeiRcuqwnasS_tbfIzfQe5s5AH5RYFwiE3f_rwG8JxXSqI1QeEV7fRQtzqBJF54OzXTLby-NPh6PbCIPXT1DMTEBG_a17tC5hx6rRnT1M5WM9kzQRlzlEV_M26gMGm0uSSwQ/s4032/IMG_1017.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE4Kw2dVXPjJUxTbokc5fU72kiw-dLVcsD2jy7Yq2vem26tKXeiRcuqwnasS_tbfIzfQe5s5AH5RYFwiE3f_rwG8JxXSqI1QeEV7fRQtzqBJF54OzXTLby-NPh6PbCIPXT1DMTEBG_a17tC5hx6rRnT1M5WM9kzQRlzlEV_M26gMGm0uSSwQ/w480-h640/IMG_1017.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>We ended 2022 in mellow tone. On New Year's Eve I did my first indoor bike trainer work-out, and picked a show that I can only watch while I'm on the bike trainer, so if I love the show, I will do many more work-outs. In 2018, when I picked "Game of Thrones", I got into incredible shape. John told me that I should start sprinting on the bike any time they showed boobs, but I told him I would be dead at the end of almost any episode. </p><p>Anyway, this year I chose "Yellowstone". My brother told me it was a soap opera, but I don't care. If it's fun and the scenery is beautiful, even if I don't love Kevin Costner, I'll hopefully be engaged and want to do tons of bike trainer work-outs just to watch it. As you can already guess, I'm not the biggest fan of working out indoors, but I live in Iowa, so what's a girl to do?</p><p>We thought about going to the Dublin Underground for Irish New Year, which takes place at 6 o'clock Iowa time and is PERFECT for old people like me and John, but John was worried that it might be a super spreader event on account of how crowded it gets, and my meds supposedly lower my immune system, so we stayed home. </p><p>I bought a bottle of non-alcoholic cosmo mocktail stuff and we played Scrabble and watched the latest Knives Out/Glass Onion movie. It was actually perfect, AND I didn't have a hang-over and hopefully not Covid either the next day.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYX_inq28OeFitIwkIxOHZTEWCw-ne65VHrBiTW42OYnHLudCLqv8UQ67EAkp1bkvZGP7W7o8uIlOtE8Wi-unUDZ0kAN6RIedtEIuQkLTpHJhxXA5u5pBd628yAqyo0baDIUiferqeARK8s8ypLlPUVXGfV-DDEGp3STn05YUBWdgePvGQsQ/s4032/IMG_1019.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYX_inq28OeFitIwkIxOHZTEWCw-ne65VHrBiTW42OYnHLudCLqv8UQ67EAkp1bkvZGP7W7o8uIlOtE8Wi-unUDZ0kAN6RIedtEIuQkLTpHJhxXA5u5pBd628yAqyo0baDIUiferqeARK8s8ypLlPUVXGfV-DDEGp3STn05YUBWdgePvGQsQ/w480-h640/IMG_1019.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>So, as you probably already guessed, this is my year in review post for 2022. I turned 57 years old in July. My birthday was super mellow, but also really nice. John and I did a gravel ride to The Amanas and met the girls and one of their boyfriends and had food truck food and sat in a beer garden. Friends, family, bike rides, beer, and food truck pizza. What's not to like?</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBO30uJTwjt05QVpzbbDAUNS0qee0V8sx061iHEGeQpMqzBeo1Ng-jj2GtSv0MEhbEljP-qDY0vekEkZa9PWuDTTPJnr-VnSR5kzvS38-u7P3wXney-xgyIr4_JM--5fwtzQfycgimyK5HUOP6x52iRRwGpEIe6UmKausXOD2u3h4UL9KY0g/s4032/IMG_8426.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBO30uJTwjt05QVpzbbDAUNS0qee0V8sx061iHEGeQpMqzBeo1Ng-jj2GtSv0MEhbEljP-qDY0vekEkZa9PWuDTTPJnr-VnSR5kzvS38-u7P3wXney-xgyIr4_JM--5fwtzQfycgimyK5HUOP6x52iRRwGpEIe6UmKausXOD2u3h4UL9KY0g/w640-h480/IMG_8426.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Trips we took:</p><p>At the end of January, John and I drove down to Bentonville, Arkansas to watch Cyclocross Worlds in person and try to do some mountain biking. It was great to be in 60 degree temps in January, but I had a bad cold and couldn't really ride as much on the mountain bike trails as I wanted.</p><p>In May The Oldest turned thirty. For her birthday, she wanted the whole family to road trip down to New Orleans together. It was such a wonderful trip. We all split the costs and took turns paying for meals, and it wasn't horribly expensive for any of us. I visited three new states for the first time: Tennesse, Mississippi, and Louisiana. I went to two museums for the first time: The Civil Rights Museum in Memphis, and the World War II Museum in New Orleans. They are both amazing, and I hope you all get a chance to check them out. I sipped on a hurricane and wandered around the French Quarter, I accidentally bought a sculpture of an orgy at the French Market, and we got to dance to a free show of Tuba Skinny. Most importantly, I was lucky enough to share all of these experiences with my family.</p><p>For John's birthday in September, he wanted to go back to Moab and ride bikes and hike. My brother came with us. It was an interesting trip in some ways, because it was only a month after my hyperthyroid/Grave's Disease diagnosis, and I wasn't supposed to get my heart rate up. The weather was perfect on this trip. I think we saw at LEAST 10 or twelve new Arches, we rode our bikes into Arches National Park, and went to Dead Horse Point State Park.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtgXDR97AbXZn0NSalfiXzIWk9MzuorEpJcBDmriq4xiIV5UevEN7B9Nj2OBfPvjBEkeSpFVYMKA_Wrh-pcKV6AyF2qOR6XUybYRyReYYOBDMRh-60TlLqNePqiDbJZPLZyQHKGvSgvqUlEFUC3sUq7Jo-MWjNKBvltnjQxGuO-kvJjBZJWQ/s4032/IMG_7109.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtgXDR97AbXZn0NSalfiXzIWk9MzuorEpJcBDmriq4xiIV5UevEN7B9Nj2OBfPvjBEkeSpFVYMKA_Wrh-pcKV6AyF2qOR6XUybYRyReYYOBDMRh-60TlLqNePqiDbJZPLZyQHKGvSgvqUlEFUC3sUq7Jo-MWjNKBvltnjQxGuO-kvJjBZJWQ/w480-h640/IMG_7109.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p>If you've read this blog for any amount of time, you know that as I age, I like to try new things. I know a lot of people who get so depressed and bored, and can't seem to get excited about anything as they get older, and I prefer to remain a spaz, and find new things to get excited about as I age. So, here are some of the things I did for the first time in 2022:</p><p>1.) I went on a ghost, vampire and voodoo tour in New Orleans on Friday the 13th. I passed out right in front of LaLaurie Mansion at the end of the tour. The Oldest's boyfriend was sure I was somehow possessed with some kind of evil spirits from the house. I think it might have just been a migraine. It was so very dramatic, and I was pretty embarrassed, but it sure makes for a good story. Maybe the evil spirits that supposedly inhabited me left behind the Grave's Disease while they were in there as some kind of parting gift?</p><p>2.) I got to ride my bike to dinosaur tracks in Moab for the first time. It was all very Jurassic Park, without all the blood and gore.</p><p>3.) I did a low level white water rafting trip. Because I had no idea what anything meant when I booked it, the trip was way more mellow than I imagined it would be. It was supposed to rain that day, so everyone else canceled, and it was just John and myself and the guide, and we had a great talk, and got to float past Kevin Costner's latest movie set. Again with the Kevin Costner...</p><p>4.) As I mentioned before, I got a lifelong disease for the first time. I'm hoping my breast cancer doesn't come back, so I'm not counting that as a lifelong disease. This was not a fun thing to get me excited about aging, but it is a thing that will affect my aging, so I'm listing it anyway. At the end of July I noticed that any bike ride I did, I was twice as hot, and would get super tired and dizzy when I went up a hill or exerted myself even the tiniest bit, I also lost ten pounds in about 2 weeks, and I had really bad dry eye (which I've had on and off for years, but hadn't had in a while). My doctor is amazing and astute and decided to do a TSH and Free T4 test. My TSH was .001 which is almost non-existent. I then had to do an antibody test, and ate irradiated iodine and did a scan to see if I had any hot nodes (it sounds way sexier than it is). I tested positive for Graves disease, and negative for any kind of cancer. I started taking meds in September, and it takes about 4 to 6 weeks to really make a difference. There are also some really stupid side effects, like weight gain, which is annoying, and for me, they gave me a dull migraine almost every day for a couple of months, and if I even had ONE beer, that migraine would turn blinding, and I couldn't function. So, I started getting into checking out non-alcoholic beers, and making fun mocktails. The headaches seem to be calming down now, thank jeebus, but I'm still just limiting my drinking. I'll still have a beer or a margarita here and there, but it's been more like once a week or two, instead a few times a week. Who said there was anything wrong with moderation?<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeuzoadAWFENOng3xcSwKolHLTOQXdyHzVThlHJHZiBdn06xNOYd4Pgk504hQh2aC92luMzUi8rfSHhXvit9U5x4_3LWjTPXTF1J0awJ9DTYnyu_5hoMtfni4q4MkslA8q457kJ4iAEk_Dn2hFfdjnW9PwNWsqcrzV9zCM1pkEZLAjEf29rQ/s4032/IMG_2764.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeuzoadAWFENOng3xcSwKolHLTOQXdyHzVThlHJHZiBdn06xNOYd4Pgk504hQh2aC92luMzUi8rfSHhXvit9U5x4_3LWjTPXTF1J0awJ9DTYnyu_5hoMtfni4q4MkslA8q457kJ4iAEk_Dn2hFfdjnW9PwNWsqcrzV9zCM1pkEZLAjEf29rQ/w640-h480/IMG_2764.JPG" width="640" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I didn't get to run or ride as much as I usually do in 2022, but we did manage to go on some fun rides with friends, and eat and drink somewhere during those rides. I feel very lucky to have the friends we do, and I never take that for granted.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyos_TxV7gMdBGMgZ0HhacG8Xh-FCZuzlU0vKCiFkq0XplMJgFco9ZZaR71v0t3fPV499x8qYMbiMjajE3BoB2qtet2498GNt2GYcmV9HuBPerxwCTSK6uYI6ttWrUCmYXJi2grDtjpprTXqjrzUF3CbtW3XSUFsa6dSMPT7BP6Ca4k3LQw/s1440/mural.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="1440" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyos_TxV7gMdBGMgZ0HhacG8Xh-FCZuzlU0vKCiFkq0XplMJgFco9ZZaR71v0t3fPV499x8qYMbiMjajE3BoB2qtet2498GNt2GYcmV9HuBPerxwCTSK6uYI6ttWrUCmYXJi2grDtjpprTXqjrzUF3CbtW3XSUFsa6dSMPT7BP6Ca4k3LQw/w640-h504/mural.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Another thing I try never to take for granted, is the fact that my husband is so damn supportive of all my hair brained schemes. I'm sure half the time he feels like he's married to Lucille Ball. When I told him I wanted to turn our entire front yard into a garden a few years ago, he said, "How can I help?'. When I told him I wanted to paint our front door a ridiculously bright blue, he said, "That sounds great." This year, even before we stayed in the Bywater in New Orleans and saw all the amazing art work on every house, I asked John if he was okay with me painting anabstract pollinator mural on the alley side of our garage. Had I painted a mural before? Of course not. Did I have any idea what I was doing? Hell no! But John said, "I trust you, and I can't wait to see it." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I didn't get it finished before it got too cold to paint outside. I still have to shade the brown-eyed Susans, and put some more grass and stuff on the bottom and draw and paint the bees and the butterflies, but I got a good start to it. I hope to finish it next year. Wish me luck!<br /></div><p></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9lOKvcjEA0XbQqVv3AuoXXYKB9c0KfSc-TVq2RKIExMkeQByNBSHUhVNx6EXUAjwA8FgpQSiI_8onzazcthXY-77GrfNR3Wge4vlmW9zV9k-0OLBNI9Xid9Z6TPUw061erxxLPkpp5JnHeqCKCw3Q60hjhYafzQ-thqQOO7sUj3GdTHyo6w/s4032/IMG_0716.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9lOKvcjEA0XbQqVv3AuoXXYKB9c0KfSc-TVq2RKIExMkeQByNBSHUhVNx6EXUAjwA8FgpQSiI_8onzazcthXY-77GrfNR3Wge4vlmW9zV9k-0OLBNI9Xid9Z6TPUw061erxxLPkpp5JnHeqCKCw3Q60hjhYafzQ-thqQOO7sUj3GdTHyo6w/w640-h480/IMG_0716.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>As I've mentioned before, we live in a cottage that was built in 1950. We don't have tons of money or time, so we fix it up in fits and starts. Last year with tons of help from my brother, we renovated our one, small, bathroom. In 2022, we worked on the living room. We always say that best thing you can do to make your house look better, is to get rid of half the shit in it and clean the hell out of it. Which is what we did in our living room. We also saved up for 12 years to buy a new period to the house appropriate couch, love seat, swivel chair, ottoman, coffee table, and side table. The cats got a new condo too, and we found that entertainment center at the Habitat for Humanity store for $38 dollars that I will finish restoring when it gets warm enough to take outside, sand it down and refinish it. We still need to refinish the hardwood floors, but that is a project for another time.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvxs9ZKS_jjBTeq_fdPkWTvG-TXDBY22JBgHI5eqHaiHSxE255nNuP8NoRh3jBCVeVSFieLDFv4ydttAya6IaY6prdzG_isdDzN3bQccHofW3C9h-gJsslVddPiQORSf4Wq2wfB9JELwS78GcssOW90FiL3CSJJuuEOVgg9jAFjGXiMfG89w/s1440/JPET1339.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvxs9ZKS_jjBTeq_fdPkWTvG-TXDBY22JBgHI5eqHaiHSxE255nNuP8NoRh3jBCVeVSFieLDFv4ydttAya6IaY6prdzG_isdDzN3bQccHofW3C9h-gJsslVddPiQORSf4Wq2wfB9JELwS78GcssOW90FiL3CSJJuuEOVgg9jAFjGXiMfG89w/w640-h640/JPET1339.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> So, yeah. 2022 was another challenging year. The climate is still changing for the worse, the Pandemic hasn't gone away yet, and there are still way too many people willing to hurt other people for money. I'm always curious to see what a new year brings, and if it's bad, I just plan on gardening while the world burns. I just hope it's better...For everyone, and every species.<p></p><p><br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-990230236780164722022-12-31T15:16:00.002-06:002022-12-31T15:16:58.528-06:00Take a Look, It's in a Book, A Reading Rainbow!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQHml_Z18ZQUwZigd-Ws5dI7zgFh1Q1A5e0fHfNTq3Kt2hqIgaYUQHQzRI4xnHRoTWhOkUZKlrTnXaU1AyHBGdEx_uNmO_vbqUvcryUwQnR1el5_gjb9qVm9FMk28hafVI3JYLKayIkv4BA0ODJLAWcpEoNPbZdTVgOOi1hOL_JIlcI2G3w/s4032/IMG_5354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQHml_Z18ZQUwZigd-Ws5dI7zgFh1Q1A5e0fHfNTq3Kt2hqIgaYUQHQzRI4xnHRoTWhOkUZKlrTnXaU1AyHBGdEx_uNmO_vbqUvcryUwQnR1el5_gjb9qVm9FMk28hafVI3JYLKayIkv4BA0ODJLAWcpEoNPbZdTVgOOi1hOL_JIlcI2G3w/w480-h640/IMG_5354.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>Well, Happy New Year to you all! I'm going to try and slip in a couple of end of 2022 posts here in the next day or two. The first one being the books I read in 2022. It's not the best books written in 2022, but the best books I read during the year. Soooo, here we go!</p><p>I read 39 books in 2022. Some I absolutely loved, and some were just okay. </p><p>I read plenty of non-fiction this year. The best five non-fiction books look like this:</p><p>5.) "Vanderbilt: The Rise and Fall of an American Dynasty", by Anderson Cooper. Anderson Cooper takes a look at his family history, and how they came to gain and lose their fortune. It was well written, very interesting, and he didn't sugar coat anything as far as how money corrupts, and generally, you don't make that much money unless you are corrupt.</p><p>4.) "Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI", by David Grann. This book will break your heart in a million ways. It's also about how money will corrupt, and this time it was a whole community of white people preying on Native Americans (again). It also is one of the few things I've read or watched about J. Edgar Hoover that didn't make him seem entirely terrible. So, there's that...</p><p>3.) "Dreams of My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance", by Barack Obama. As I've said before, he most certainly didn't write this book thinking he was going to run for president. It was a very open look at his life growing up in two different worlds, and trying to make a difference in a world full of challenges and contradictions.</p><p>2.) "Crying in H Mart" by Michelle Zauner. It's a memoir about a woman who is mourning the loss of her mother. It's so beautiful and sad, and self-reflective of her confusing and tumultuous relationship with her Korean mother. It is also about growing up in two different worlds with a white father, and a Korean mother, and trying to figure out how to live in both cultures, with food as the language of her mother's love for her.<br /></p><p>1.) In my opinion, the best non-fiction book I read this year was "Just Kids", by Patti Smith. Many people have recommended this book to me, and I bought it a few years ago, but my reading list is long, and I am moody when it comes to books...and really everything in my life. Anyway, this book is a poem, it's a feeling, it's a love song to Patti Smith's youth and her relationship to Robert Mapplethorpe. The writing is brilliant, and their story, and Patti Smith's story of that time is pretty incredible. It took me a while to start another book after this, because of the lingering hang over from "Just Kids".<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzcHE7VW4yrWgtBMoe_-W6EKnCWUk8YrVpFqlawut3bSZOGJC92ddCRJsLxpcW42dvxONTPERonMWc2vC_ifB5UH1usqRDp96y1zB3bnQQcCQAkUQcr3NTYkNSgRMdPo6yeRqtULzBS81Cb3rB6AdtVTOXN58pcfeArJLw2jvaTvTrISZWRw/s4032/IMG_3835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzcHE7VW4yrWgtBMoe_-W6EKnCWUk8YrVpFqlawut3bSZOGJC92ddCRJsLxpcW42dvxONTPERonMWc2vC_ifB5UH1usqRDp96y1zB3bnQQcCQAkUQcr3NTYkNSgRMdPo6yeRqtULzBS81Cb3rB6AdtVTOXN58pcfeArJLw2jvaTvTrISZWRw/w480-h640/IMG_3835.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>I read two children's novels in 2022. They were both amazing. One was a reread, and one was a book I have been meaning to read for a very long time:</p><p>2.) The second best children's book I read in 2022 was "Bridge to Terabithia", by Katherine Paterson. I cried and cried at the end of this book. It's about two children who don't really conform to their gender norms, and who build a beautiful friendship where they are both comfortable being themselves. I wish it had been written when I was a kid.</p><p>1.) The best children's book that I read in 2022 WAS around when I was a kid and I loved, loved it. "From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankwieler, by E.L. Konigsburg is a wonderfully bizarre story about a brother and sister who run away to live in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the mystery that they try to solve. It is a sweet, and quirky, and fun adventure.</p><p>I only read one Young Adult book this year, and if you have to only read one Young Adult book in a year, this was the one to read.</p><p>My top one through five Young adult books that I read in 2022 was "The Hate U Give", by Angie Thomas. I actually read it in less than 24 hours, THAT'S how engrossed I was. It takes place in Mississippi, and it looks at racial injustice from every angle. It is funny, and heartbreaking, and loving, and I wish I could read it again for the first time.<br /></p><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ08OB5UizkMcoOuKGW9wV75wLE-pgxeULY95D03lMAOt3gyEurBtup7HS1MAp0VM6O4G5YU3M-kZ8RZufxh6JeB_pRzO1FfkpvHG3m8BTnPtJywTlQLIBdrOVcLbN4PZm3CWrrTLean8cLoDcoFUGGd1B18i8k1MmSI8KWLB3Z0I0bMcAgQ/s4032/IMG_9515.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ08OB5UizkMcoOuKGW9wV75wLE-pgxeULY95D03lMAOt3gyEurBtup7HS1MAp0VM6O4G5YU3M-kZ8RZufxh6JeB_pRzO1FfkpvHG3m8BTnPtJywTlQLIBdrOVcLbN4PZm3CWrrTLean8cLoDcoFUGGd1B18i8k1MmSI8KWLB3Z0I0bMcAgQ/w480-h640/IMG_9515.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>I read a few detective/mystery books this year, all by women authors. What can I say? I love a plucky female detective story.</p><p>5.) The fifth best detective novel I read was "More Than You'll Ever Know", by Katie Gutierrez. It's not going to win the Pulitzer Prize anytime soon, but it was a fun read, and I'm never too fancy for Summer fun books.</p><p>4.) The fourth best detective/mystery book was part of the Maisie Dobbs series of books I've been reading lately. "Birds of a Feather", by Jacqueline Winspear takes place after WWI. A group of women friends are being killed, and thank GAWD Maisie Dobbs is there to figure it all out. I like about 20 cups of escapism fed to me with my detective novels, and the Maisie Dobbs series delivers on that so far.</p><p>3.) My third favorite detective novel that I read in 2022 is "The Likeness", by Tana French. Yes, you have to spend some time suspending your disbelief while reading this one, but if you can do that, the story is kind of fun...Or my idea of fun, which involves murder and mayhem in a novel.</p><p>2.) The second best detective novel I read this year was "Maisie Dobbs", by Jacqueline Winspear. This is the origin story of Maisie Dobbs and it takes place before, during, and just after WWI. </p><p>1.) The best mystery/detective novel I read in 2022 was another Tana French novel, called "The Faithful Place." It takes place in Dublin. A detective has to go back to where he grew up and face his demons when a suitcase shows up. It is full of dysfunctional families and alcoholism, and working through (or not) your issues. What's not to love?<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFypigyziYqwdckq518PtoHOvXy81Igfbjl6Hp4qLgltHKzNQSv3yOmUdXL5AZxFStQ8q3IJfor_FpyPDYuO8nrIZNrkUvyJmqbGSNs6YaNTCxwanN44jRMJbhBd4-xOAGiMdIA1UBJWFBABIdkoFO5omb8nwA93437hrY75Ahg4ou0FD4lQ/s1440/SYUL8363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="1440" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFypigyziYqwdckq518PtoHOvXy81Igfbjl6Hp4qLgltHKzNQSv3yOmUdXL5AZxFStQ8q3IJfor_FpyPDYuO8nrIZNrkUvyJmqbGSNs6YaNTCxwanN44jRMJbhBd4-xOAGiMdIA1UBJWFBABIdkoFO5omb8nwA93437hrY75Ahg4ou0FD4lQ/w640-h510/SYUL8363.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>I reread two books that weren't children's novels this year. I can't say which one was better than the other, because I loved them both, and that's why I reread them both thirty some years after I read them the first time.</p><p>1.) The best reread that I reread was "Song of Solomon", by Toni Morrison. Jaysus! What to say about this novel. It is tragic, and difficult, and lush, and so, so well written. It is the story of Milkman Dead trying and failing to fly.</p><p>2.) The OTHER best reread of 2022 is Octavia Butler's "Kindred". I originally read this book in the late 80's, and loved it so much that it accompanied me through however many moves into my current house. It takes place in 1976. A young Black woman starts getting transported back in time during slavery to save her White ancestor, while also trying to teach him to be a better person, and trying not to get killed in the process. If you haven't read it yet...Or even if you have, I HIGHLY recommend it.</p><p>The Only horror novel I read this year would probably still be my favorite, even if I had read hundreds of scary books. "The Only Good Indians", by Stephen Graham Jones is about a group of Native American friends who are being hunted down by something bad they did in the past. It is suspenseful, and gory, and there is a lesson to be learned. It had everything.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmb4ldKt7v96fRmcNXsgT_URsLIyhYNNDFqkyaXxfCyADqX1ofiXvGbayV0nC_bixe1fo0B_74X3VV4RdDsthWy3tKmitDUltapI_0ARM7youagliu_1SzvKrvHos3bhhtC1QkQzGrfXNlLO4z944flJmKzG2cjYYQP1qzVGjJWinD_tYUnA/s4032/IMG_0472.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmb4ldKt7v96fRmcNXsgT_URsLIyhYNNDFqkyaXxfCyADqX1ofiXvGbayV0nC_bixe1fo0B_74X3VV4RdDsthWy3tKmitDUltapI_0ARM7youagliu_1SzvKrvHos3bhhtC1QkQzGrfXNlLO4z944flJmKzG2cjYYQP1qzVGjJWinD_tYUnA/w480-h640/IMG_0472.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /> Okay, now we are down to the best five current novels (that aren't detective/Scifi/horror/or rereads) I read in 2022.<p></p><p>It's a little tough ranking them, because most of them are even stevens as far as what I liked, but I'm going to try and rank them anyway.</p><p>5.) "Detransition, Baby", by Torry Peters tells the story of a trans woman dealing with relationships, and her issues, and society's issues with her. It's sad, but also self-aware and saucy and fun. It's also written by someone from the Iowa Writer's Workshop, so that's an extra added bonus.I haven't read a novel written by a trans person before, so I was glad to read that perspective in literature. I hope to read many more.</p><p>4.) My fourth favorite current novel I read in 2022 was "Hell of a Book", by Jason Mott. It was about an African American author running from his past, and his experiences, and the experiences of so many others. It is funny, and weird, and engaging. It was a very different read than most novels, and I like that about it. I wasn't sure where we were going until close to the end.</p><p>3.) My third favorite current novel of 2022 was "The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse", by Louis Erdrich. This was written in 2001, so it was strange that I hadn't read it before, but when I thought about it, that was a weird and busy time in my life when I had two young kids and no time to read novels. ANYWAY, this book is amazing. About a woman who transitions into a priest named Father Damien, on a reservation for over 50 years.</p><p>2.) My second favorite novel of 2022 is "Great Circle", by Maggie Shipstead. I had read great reviews of this book, but I was hesitant because I tried to read another novel she wrote called, "Seating Arrangements". I got through about 50 pages of that, and had to put it down. It was all about horrible rich people at a wedding on the East Coast, and I was bored by the other thousands of books about the exact same thing, and that book didn't seem to add anything new to that topic. So, if that was the case or you too, don't worry. This book was a MILLION times better than that one. It was long, but the story was interesting enough and full of adventures, and a few twists that I wasn't bored at all. AND I have horrible ADHD. So, if I could read a book that long, most people won't bat an eye.</p><p>1.) The best current fiction book I read in 2022 was "The Vanishing Half", by Brit Bennett. It's about two sisters who grew up in Louisiana. One leaves home and passes for white. The other marries a very dark skinned African American man. Their daughters meet as adults, not knowing they are related. It's a very well written, compelling story.</p><p>Looking back at the books I did read, I'm always aware of the types of books I didn't read. Except for "Kindred", I didn't read any science fiction/fantasy books, I didn't read any classic novels either, or comic books/graphic novels. All things to rectify next year. As always, happy reading everyone out there for 2023?<br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-29318660625145278082022-12-27T11:59:00.001-06:002022-12-27T11:59:15.218-06:00A Very Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year, Let's Hope It's a Good One, Without Any Fear<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH0FjSlPoIPAX8OvK3vEKLXPslE6baf5nuBg4Y7qtanjFKCXpBLsDbnvh0GT6Ats6-IHC9lxDj9pOHEk94XAjIbY7SSgo-n7mBrW4TazRynlI85hZMTi7SS-e4k1eIsd1ggLTVUJcxB_cfNbBxNGgZsxqu5pZApx2b7Ek1hZvzADyLUjkbeA/s4032/IMG_0825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH0FjSlPoIPAX8OvK3vEKLXPslE6baf5nuBg4Y7qtanjFKCXpBLsDbnvh0GT6Ats6-IHC9lxDj9pOHEk94XAjIbY7SSgo-n7mBrW4TazRynlI85hZMTi7SS-e4k1eIsd1ggLTVUJcxB_cfNbBxNGgZsxqu5pZApx2b7Ek1hZvzADyLUjkbeA/w480-h640/IMG_0825.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>Oh, kids. We're so close to the end of 2023. It's been a hard year in many ways and a great year in others. I definitely learned one hell of a lot, though. As always, I'm going to try and write more in the future. It's been tough lately adjusting to my hyperthyroid meds. They make me crazy tired and stooopid a lot. All I want to do is watch the dumbest TV, and I've had a low grade migraine pretty much every day until a couple of weeks ago. I'm hoping it means that my body is starting to adjust to them better. Everything I've read says it takes a few months to adjust and then some of the worst side effects should ease up. Sadly, I think the weight gain part of it might be here to stay, but it's not like I'll be losing all of my super model contracts because of it, it just makes running more of a challenge. There are worse things...</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg1GBfwosO7ufcdIDGWOQkmI0DfEq0xG30el7ogy6NsSUERkOsTEMpect6uUa3WyICGHZAaUgJ-wghH8ofY8A1Hm1h1KwpePc6PdNgCMEiEqgI8V2qHPKbFRnyH06la1kDWI4YovHPSvdV9OyRRYXvhiO4VmeVV7KyWzW3Qr_1oziA11MhWw/s4032/IMG_0864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg1GBfwosO7ufcdIDGWOQkmI0DfEq0xG30el7ogy6NsSUERkOsTEMpect6uUa3WyICGHZAaUgJ-wghH8ofY8A1Hm1h1KwpePc6PdNgCMEiEqgI8V2qHPKbFRnyH06la1kDWI4YovHPSvdV9OyRRYXvhiO4VmeVV7KyWzW3Qr_1oziA11MhWw/w640-h480/IMG_0864.JPG" width="640" /></a></p><p>Oh yeah, I was going to write about my holiday. First I want to say that I do love a lot of parts of Christmas traditions. As a single mom, it used to be a lot harder when my kids were young, but now I just do the parts I like, and say screw it to anything that doesn't interest me ,or takes too much work. Mostly, I love to hang all of the photos and Christmas cards on our refrigerator, I love having Christmas lights all over, and a real tree. I LOVE the smell. John does tend to roll his eyes a little about my holiday preparations, but I just like to think that eye rolling and scowling are John's love languages, and I keep on doing what I want to do.<br /></p><p>This year the holiday started with a bang. The weather went and got all blustery and snowy and ridiculously cold. We weren't going anywhere, so it wasn't the biggest deal to us, but our car battery died on Christmas Eve, which was kind of annoying. Luckily, we have a good friend and teammate who was nice enough to come over and help out. We have a Honda Fit, which they don't make anymore, and their batteries are pretty small. We found a few auto parts stores that were open on Christmas Eve. One didn't have a battery, one said he was the only person there and it might take all day for him to get to our car, and one said they had the battery, but that it was too cold for them to install it. John and his friend drove out there, got the battery, and after watching a Youtube video, John was able to install the battery himself in the below zero temperatures. My hero!<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXO9eDeuzpcoEqEFkK0rIG6P2F2VEMR-ZSJe8C346FlXJrR6G4LPO7A_YL_iTpum8a6yMQHxyTED4E-KsbgiV61gLN1m1_tvZS2BxWJIrqxoLdaAKCtmy-dhbotdv-M02I1Wn1uc5M2Q_rnwUvWhCGN5tGxtiaD739nBIaaSKFaxcwHNjyA/s4032/IMG_0884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVXO9eDeuzpcoEqEFkK0rIG6P2F2VEMR-ZSJe8C346FlXJrR6G4LPO7A_YL_iTpum8a6yMQHxyTED4E-KsbgiV61gLN1m1_tvZS2BxWJIrqxoLdaAKCtmy-dhbotdv-M02I1Wn1uc5M2Q_rnwUvWhCGN5tGxtiaD739nBIaaSKFaxcwHNjyA/w480-h640/IMG_0884.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>One of my new favorite Christmas day traditions is taking a bath and drinking some hot tea. I make the water as hot as I can stand and I add too much stinky bubble bath, and I soak. It is my own special gift to myself, and I guarantee you I will never get tired of it.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZG75nYP4vXVMyYFky1D7xwcNDoDWoqBwoGe-3aILqYvIqLwyH4J3wL77M2TG0-4JEtukMFtP6x-VG5HkqdFA98Hn_JDNhmW6EyuE51bhbSSTVpjN9IDexBWrjOSGHJAm6HxeUohTXisunurE4QHdSPm7IUURnBPtOuMWxR_po-sfMqRmCQ/s4032/IMG_0886.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZG75nYP4vXVMyYFky1D7xwcNDoDWoqBwoGe-3aILqYvIqLwyH4J3wL77M2TG0-4JEtukMFtP6x-VG5HkqdFA98Hn_JDNhmW6EyuE51bhbSSTVpjN9IDexBWrjOSGHJAm6HxeUohTXisunurE4QHdSPm7IUURnBPtOuMWxR_po-sfMqRmCQ/w640-h480/IMG_0886.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>The kids and their partners came over at about 11 and we opened gifts. A few years ago, we thought we might do away with the gift giving, and just give the kids what my brother likes to call, "the gift that keeps on giving", cash. But both the girls said they like to actually exchange gifts, and I'm fine with that. So, we each buy a few simple gifts. I always say if it ever devolves into us just exchanging gift cards we'll end the practice, but for now it is kind of nice. I always think I'm easy to buy for because I will take fun tea accoutrements, and books, and I like an actual, physical calendar that I can write on, preferably filled with pictures of adorable baby animals. I just can't shake my 1970's junior high girls sensibilities. Nor do I want to.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic-3ns_NckQC_qiZo7_8Jn29F1Fu_Q7TBI3lnmzhM18yvZ--DEou3nPBo0_7T_B-NUhstXK3bLZyNQzjqqiyytVE2ANzdAssG35-TbP7GSGC_m-xhAYSsc9oGPe9M8pkrB7TRmGowB_-lVPTLrWLBLV39XDBcxl5w5eMxmGQcw4RI4vCaJRg/s4032/IMG_0892.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic-3ns_NckQC_qiZo7_8Jn29F1Fu_Q7TBI3lnmzhM18yvZ--DEou3nPBo0_7T_B-NUhstXK3bLZyNQzjqqiyytVE2ANzdAssG35-TbP7GSGC_m-xhAYSsc9oGPe9M8pkrB7TRmGowB_-lVPTLrWLBLV39XDBcxl5w5eMxmGQcw4RI4vCaJRg/w640-h480/IMG_0892.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Besides my morning tub soak, my favorite Christmas tradition is going out for sushi for lunch. The history behind this comes from when the girls were younger. Their dad's birthday is on Christmas day, and so it used to be that I would have the girls on Christmas Eve, and their dad would pick them up on Christmas morning after they opened their gifts. One year their dad decided that he wanted to go to a party instead, and didn't want to take the girls on Christmas day after all. Of course, I didn't have much food in my house because I didn't think I had to worry about feeding the girls, and so I drove around trying to find a place that was open where we could eat dinner that wasn't Walgreens, when we came across a Chinese restaurant. For years after that, we always got Chinese take-out for Christmas dinner...Until we realized our favorite sushi place was also open on Christmas, and we quickly switched. Now we are pretty much the first people in the restaurant when they open on Christmas. Which I'm sure is annoying to them, until they realize how much we tip. I have worked on Christmas day before, and it sucks, so I am all about compensating people for it.<br /></p><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghE_K72pu_SmO_vZnwQIWUmwyqqZ4Adf46ti2xPpNCL8heXGEyQIwJY8jva5uXTp80AGgezJJt5UNzlnajSOsdngmipvVIuDq2lJX0dkxWTjHY8im8DaVjanx9Ci3brWZc75JHGHyHBFiWdSv1PR3_VtXHO06ROsKuUuoPYeKE7L4v6W74kg/s4032/IMG_0900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghE_K72pu_SmO_vZnwQIWUmwyqqZ4Adf46ti2xPpNCL8heXGEyQIwJY8jva5uXTp80AGgezJJt5UNzlnajSOsdngmipvVIuDq2lJX0dkxWTjHY8im8DaVjanx9Ci3brWZc75JHGHyHBFiWdSv1PR3_VtXHO06ROsKuUuoPYeKE7L4v6W74kg/w640-h480/IMG_0900.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>After lunch, the kids went to spend time with their dad. I started getting a bit of a migraine, so I did some hard resting before I started making dinner. The last few years, the kids have asked that I make pasta for Christmas dinner. In particular, cheese tortellini covered in a creamy pesto sauce, and then I saute' veggies in oil and tamari and ground pepper, and I saute' chicken in garlic butter and white wine sauce, I cook linguine and finally, I make their favorite, Alfredo sauce from scratch. It's all pretty easy to make, and John works as my prep cook and cleans up after me. </p><p>A lot of years we'll play Cards Against Humanity after dinner, but this year it was snowing, and the kids wanted to get home before the drive became too treacherous, so they finished watching the first Harry Potter movie and headed home.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFB8JR4Pzll3aVX0VaUzLd7r0AitLCv6k7wSuSTaBRFV5M-p2WIkG2pDJycl5iKGiYhlO5Q1ACESWfK8GQGTmjjtECP32tsfF4EnGDUF9RQkOUVBgeu6b09VpxZH0R-dysg0KfJpUDijq0tTbHtb7Xkj4n2uSwVJj3Qo8D-Kswu2Gn1qBBgA/s4032/IMG_0905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFB8JR4Pzll3aVX0VaUzLd7r0AitLCv6k7wSuSTaBRFV5M-p2WIkG2pDJycl5iKGiYhlO5Q1ACESWfK8GQGTmjjtECP32tsfF4EnGDUF9RQkOUVBgeu6b09VpxZH0R-dysg0KfJpUDijq0tTbHtb7Xkj4n2uSwVJj3Qo8D-Kswu2Gn1qBBgA/w480-h640/IMG_0905.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>Archie wasn't too upset about it. After all of the dogs and people, and since he didn't get to have any of the chicken I made, he just wanted a little alone time in his safe space. Poor guy.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkbUQh7W7QH35QlDlLZsFGtUz5z82e2QcZCYEiP9Aglch4H7ehsXKfLaLFKYOV1NTAUxtQgayO4HG_HDnVpC0x-p8RcZu_mx2lD7gaY516rGAUZgLzyPQ8lPXcAhjVzTS4wR79DCtToVKD3pwXIJtM8aOCNlzDrBHxyxrDhNutoHMDqwS0bA/s3088/IMG_0911.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkbUQh7W7QH35QlDlLZsFGtUz5z82e2QcZCYEiP9Aglch4H7ehsXKfLaLFKYOV1NTAUxtQgayO4HG_HDnVpC0x-p8RcZu_mx2lD7gaY516rGAUZgLzyPQ8lPXcAhjVzTS4wR79DCtToVKD3pwXIJtM8aOCNlzDrBHxyxrDhNutoHMDqwS0bA/w480-h640/IMG_0911.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>Because Christmas was on a Sunday, John got Monday off at his job, and I get Monday and today off at mine. </p><p>I have really been slacking off of working out. After my doctor told me I could run again in November, I tried hard to start back up slowly. I just did a slow two miles every other day. I thought that would be good. I even graduated up to a 3.5 mile route...And then the shin splints hit. I used to get them every year at the beginning of track season. Back then my coaches just told me to keep running, and they'd go away eventually. I guess, now doctors know that they could develop into a stress fracture, so I stopped running the last couple of weeks. Of course, I didn't do anything else either, except eat too much. So, when I saw it was going to get all the way up to 14 degrees outside. I asked John if he'd go to Hickory Hill and do a snow hike with me.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1xhxddcs8uQP5CO7G2NtNAQMBh8O-rrnL0d2zoOo5A84kpDmvpD-vgQQiGpXR8kil0YfCyK8gkxKfO-lmTbvWo7orcfdN6voDbC5tpbNxzby8a5eGzmxIYoaOLwSSdFBDrZNWebo67HpsVVmGsw3dyo14whDrn8wbRZiHF40jrbQSDKAfow/s4032/IMG_0923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1xhxddcs8uQP5CO7G2NtNAQMBh8O-rrnL0d2zoOo5A84kpDmvpD-vgQQiGpXR8kil0YfCyK8gkxKfO-lmTbvWo7orcfdN6voDbC5tpbNxzby8a5eGzmxIYoaOLwSSdFBDrZNWebo67HpsVVmGsw3dyo14whDrn8wbRZiHF40jrbQSDKAfow/w480-h640/IMG_0923.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>Lucky for me, he was all for it. So, we walked a little over 3 miles in the woods and talked, and I made a snow angel, because I'm always 10 years old.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTCOlym6HKb-70V_ZQd170OcOg3C-DkcEEUGdqLknfWzVRLmLogwmbDPCDPDRBFnJNeCYOnZOn-xTqDd6QRwpZE1u8g5zcwsL0N1rEqqe4rm2QnTJnEk5hFTD0V2mW_cK0NAnQo9KY67H8UIQ2-xmNcAKlIQpsOuUvtD-p4R_GsjYcT53Sg/s4032/IMG_0928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTCOlym6HKb-70V_ZQd170OcOg3C-DkcEEUGdqLknfWzVRLmLogwmbDPCDPDRBFnJNeCYOnZOn-xTqDd6QRwpZE1u8g5zcwsL0N1rEqqe4rm2QnTJnEk5hFTD0V2mW_cK0NAnQo9KY67H8UIQ2-xmNcAKlIQpsOuUvtD-p4R_GsjYcT53Sg/w480-h640/IMG_0928.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /> It was just what I needed, and a perfect end to our long holiday weekend.<p></p><p>I hope you all had a lovely long weekend, and were able to spend it exactly how you wanted, and I wish you all a wonderful week ahead.<br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-3321660798730522922022-11-19T17:59:00.005-06:002022-11-19T22:05:56.574-06:00Home is Whenever I'm With You<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNbJCntC6oFrp0LFGeGNbRuKTF7aETSsXGWWY1UTqK3RtBBNOmCDz3sXF6uDs1Wetux5Bod0QKsj9SL74DhGyyTYw-ixZrneiiAxsta7GrEoHERFuOCHP93_8h7gOexJPB3tA5kDNFph5s2bmAdzgijwUEb9n6CVy3F-nfDvYy2k5MKlo7A/s398/my%20house.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="298" data-original-width="398" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNbJCntC6oFrp0LFGeGNbRuKTF7aETSsXGWWY1UTqK3RtBBNOmCDz3sXF6uDs1Wetux5Bod0QKsj9SL74DhGyyTYw-ixZrneiiAxsta7GrEoHERFuOCHP93_8h7gOexJPB3tA5kDNFph5s2bmAdzgijwUEb9n6CVy3F-nfDvYy2k5MKlo7A/w640-h480/my%20house.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The photos of our house on the realty site.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Well, kids. It's the lucky number 13th anniversary of me closing on our house. I honestly never thought I would be able to afford a house, but because of President Obama's $8,000 for a first time home buyer deal, an FHA loan, and my brother fronting me the $8,000 that I paid back once the government sent me the check, it actually happened, Soooo, thanks Obama!...No, really. Thank you so much.</p><p>Of course, I could barely afford to pay my mortgage, my insurance, my taxes, and my mortgage insurance (basically a poor tax) when I was single and both my girls were in high school. On top of my full-time job, I mowed lawns, and donated plasma, and squeaked by every month.<br /><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fRFX1yY-eyKlTp6gbMRtrIfou6g7PpAxC-FlLyFv12JVmpEYyh0sQzW22ol-pE58z_PCQ1J4U8EAH0Y7-8Fa9bo_bJsK3ho1x5hnpHQhub8kZCLwDaby3OwF8U4286xWI-g9uuddFCXsjdi2gIaF2rfaBPDvUJDK0PwaxDVd5mC_q-1dMw/s2048/house%20now.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fRFX1yY-eyKlTp6gbMRtrIfou6g7PpAxC-FlLyFv12JVmpEYyh0sQzW22ol-pE58z_PCQ1J4U8EAH0Y7-8Fa9bo_bJsK3ho1x5hnpHQhub8kZCLwDaby3OwF8U4286xWI-g9uuddFCXsjdi2gIaF2rfaBPDvUJDK0PwaxDVd5mC_q-1dMw/w640-h480/house%20now.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our house now.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>About a year and a half later, John bought into the mortgage, and helped put down more money, so we could refinance and stop having to pay the stupid mortgage insurance.</p><p>We also spent about $10,000 to get our crawl space encapsulated, so we don't have any moisture down there, and we haven't seen any termites since then either. Whew! That was basically the reason our house was on the market for two years before I bought it.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLf0csfarDk9rsydXwT_aZYQOsVvONj4C7TXo4I0VFdC9ixtTDf_iXxKXsSS63xDGq1HymqoUB_6HuF7AxxEVIdBgxN5CIe7FpZAakGOnOYiFSWup5fzr8Vm3ZXUFVVuRZwktR4p1eAGedGm5cIc9nR_uYDNkYwpHAyKaZOgZiA5vTq0gxZA/s640/kitchen%20old.jpg2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLf0csfarDk9rsydXwT_aZYQOsVvONj4C7TXo4I0VFdC9ixtTDf_iXxKXsSS63xDGq1HymqoUB_6HuF7AxxEVIdBgxN5CIe7FpZAakGOnOYiFSWup5fzr8Vm3ZXUFVVuRZwktR4p1eAGedGm5cIc9nR_uYDNkYwpHAyKaZOgZiA5vTq0gxZA/w640-h480/kitchen%20old.jpg2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The photo of our kitchen on the realty site.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Our house was built in 1950, and in addition to the crawl space work, everything else needed love too. Even with both mine and John's contributions, we haven't been able to take care of everything at once. We've already done two different remodels on the kitchen. The first was new countertops, painting the walls and the cupboards, and removing the upper cupboard doors.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwIVcBGYN2DRizJW2TZr3stle0g5CzbxJdp3W-TY1QLOzWoMdBanqqtmSF5-SXN44DR_-2NmJ1vIXgLmqkZzQ6jmLVKEbTki-OypV47n105cJYI-qn4lTF_ntntA4WedY4z_NcNZt8u7EO3arsGY9SI3MWoHAhu-o-2SfTV8C7e9sKLFRNjw/s960/kitchen2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwIVcBGYN2DRizJW2TZr3stle0g5CzbxJdp3W-TY1QLOzWoMdBanqqtmSF5-SXN44DR_-2NmJ1vIXgLmqkZzQ6jmLVKEbTki-OypV47n105cJYI-qn4lTF_ntntA4WedY4z_NcNZt8u7EO3arsGY9SI3MWoHAhu-o-2SfTV8C7e9sKLFRNjw/w640-h480/kitchen2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our remodeled kitchen.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>The second remodel was a couple of years ago. We (meaning John and our friend, Seaghan) had to rip up part of our kitchen floor to replace some joists that were damaged when we had all of that moisture in our crawlspace, or when something leaked, or both.</p><p>We also repainted the walls, scraped off the popcorn ceiling and painted it, replaced the ceiling fans, replaced the floor tile, replaced all of the appliances, and my brother put in a hood vent for us. It's almost a whole new kitchen, and we'll probably have to do a few other things to it eventually.</p><p>Like I always say, I'm glad everyone is different and has their own tastes, or the world would be a very boring place.I love our older house, and I like to have decor according to that period, but also a little more updated. I like chrome, and checkered floors, and our gigantic porcelain sink in the kitchen. At some point, we'll do a backsplash, but that will take some more money savings and time. For now, I love our kitchen. It's huge and funky, and colorful...And you KNOW how much I love color...<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNjpI4-7xmlgPxoz-fw5rHpublR2d2ntGfThqJBbL3GCTnEjdeaCrfd9lXWZHfvTabQEBFfKOf8APdhCm32nyM2Av0QdhuoMkp15WGQ1P-FsetaGy2cav0ctGysyxoybKjhLq1Zxr6QzYV5tTGG32hkcMNM7u2oeqC0Y6rAMg9uBcTzEKNg/s4032/IMG_4833.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNjpI4-7xmlgPxoz-fw5rHpublR2d2ntGfThqJBbL3GCTnEjdeaCrfd9lXWZHfvTabQEBFfKOf8APdhCm32nyM2Av0QdhuoMkp15WGQ1P-FsetaGy2cav0ctGysyxoybKjhLq1Zxr6QzYV5tTGG32hkcMNM7u2oeqC0Y6rAMg9uBcTzEKNg/w480-h640/IMG_4833.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p>Last year in December, my brother gave us the wonderful gift of staying with us for 10 days and fixing up our bathroom. It had been really disgusting before that. He changed out the sink, retiled the floor, and took out the surround and replaced it with white subway tile in the shower, put in a new faucet in the tub and sink, and painted our wainscoting. John installed new lights, and sealed everything, and I scraped, sanded and painted our window and the ceiling and the walls. It's still very small, but it looks like a dream to me. Thanks, Uncle Bill! We stuck with the black and white tile for the floor and used a green and rust color scheme for the paint and towels and bathmats. <br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSYYh2hNd_CEUok0_xqlDKVsG_hqB9oFx7Uhb0hcsY9iAP7lOJmi9tfVv9RARpfoe4PsfxdbXo0e_dhDtyNaKH6SZGKwdc8Bjt84w98w8b1JcVzS6oE70bqrLttgXXv0BCwLwZVAauGTpfSyCkOo18GDA7vZ3n-aVky34U7MVqB0PZNg1BWw/s1600/living%20room%20old.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSYYh2hNd_CEUok0_xqlDKVsG_hqB9oFx7Uhb0hcsY9iAP7lOJmi9tfVv9RARpfoe4PsfxdbXo0e_dhDtyNaKH6SZGKwdc8Bjt84w98w8b1JcVzS6oE70bqrLttgXXv0BCwLwZVAauGTpfSyCkOo18GDA7vZ3n-aVky34U7MVqB0PZNg1BWw/w640-h480/living%20room%20old.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our living room when we first moved in. I painted it a camel color because it's such a dark room and I wanted it to feel warmer<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Back when I bought our house, we had very little money for furniture. Our old apartment just had a futon couch and a Papasan chair. What some people would call dorm furniture, but I would call poor people furniture. I wanted something better than that, and there used to be a Kalona Furniture Store place on the Coralville strip. I was able to buy a couch, a loveseat, and a big chair for a little over $300. One of my co-worker's gave me her old 1970's style coffee and side table, and I bought a rug from Target.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5lA78hTZZLF_L-HO_KRv9xCRjqjyUQf6CxjwHl4AhX5XqjBGM7hgVTdMNF0JYFCpoy2G8y9joQoFYFJ3-NLf5Bnn0FHFdQePkzVGTnEDy4vCyp2Bh_qbD53B8y-gvn1U542MVDj4I2K29mYn83iXs9N75Q3bfUdVCpjh1STAn6EfGDOZCA/s4032/IMG_9690.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5lA78hTZZLF_L-HO_KRv9xCRjqjyUQf6CxjwHl4AhX5XqjBGM7hgVTdMNF0JYFCpoy2G8y9joQoFYFJ3-NLf5Bnn0FHFdQePkzVGTnEDy4vCyp2Bh_qbD53B8y-gvn1U542MVDj4I2K29mYn83iXs9N75Q3bfUdVCpjh1STAn6EfGDOZCA/w640-h480/IMG_9690.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>For $300, those couches and chair sure held up well, but they were definitely not my style, they were too big for the space, and after 13 years, they were really starting to show their age (something I totally understand). So, last year I looked at a sectional from Ashley furniture. They were having a big sale, and I almost pulled the trigger, but I'm glad I didn't. I went home and read reviews and they all said that after a few months the fabric pilled and looked gross and it was cheaply made. </p><p>We kept saving, and about a month ago, I started looking online and pricing furniture, and reading reviews, and I settled on Albany Park for our couches, and Burrow for our coffee and side table. I would have bought the couches from Burrow too, but they were a lot more expensive, and the reviews said they were more narrow and not very comfortable. They also didn't have an olive green color, which I think looks great in our mid-century house. We still have an ottoman, and a swivel chair coming from Albany Park, but it's taking WAAAYYYY longer for them to deliver those.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2bVkS9PlCoo-WlBnrjQ4gqmAFbhGUMTuC5jjPPSVo9Nv7Ko0zjPpcqW_lSCVSS6aJXAuxuv-xnjDd5hExg0jx0V8NBFrLQ6GOIE29qbUQCQgu2YHh6LJxT5PWC538sh8AbjnMEcyVi93N4U52Du1f2-igcFt4bupSSAbJKMko8mLJJ6jig/s1280/living%20room%20super%20new.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2bVkS9PlCoo-WlBnrjQ4gqmAFbhGUMTuC5jjPPSVo9Nv7Ko0zjPpcqW_lSCVSS6aJXAuxuv-xnjDd5hExg0jx0V8NBFrLQ6GOIE29qbUQCQgu2YHh6LJxT5PWC538sh8AbjnMEcyVi93N4U52Du1f2-igcFt4bupSSAbJKMko8mLJJ6jig/w640-h480/living%20room%20super%20new.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our new TV console, and yes, we do still have DVD's and CD's. We're old like that.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> The last thing we wanted for our living room was a TV console. We wanted a walnut color to match our living room tables, we didn't want it to be too bulky, and ideally, we would love for it to have covered storage. Looking for a TV console under $1000 sucks! We wanted real wood. I bought our last TV stand at Best Buy when I first bought the house and it was made of particle board, and looked like crap, but it was all I could afford. John and I both looked online and read reviews, but anything we could afford was not going to be made of real wood, or if it was, it was going to be all cheap and janky looking.<p></p><p>Last weekend, John and I decided to go shopping in real stores, so we could see what things looked like up close and personal. We both HATE to shop, and when I told The Youngest our plan for last Saturday, she asked, "Who ARE you?'</p><p>We drove all the way to a furniture store in Williamsburg. It wasn't really our style, and it was all so BIG. So, we went to Ashley in the mall (lord help me) and that was the same. The sh*t there was all pretty heinous, and too expensive for "manufactured" wood. So, we went to the rich people store called Dwell. They had a few things we liked, but I wasn't trying to spend my life's savings to buy it.</p><p>Then we headed to Amish country, where there are about a bazillion antique stores. That was all way more our style. There was a lot of really cool stuff, and it was all pretty affordable. I did find a cute little cupboard that would have worked had it been twice as big, or there had been two of them and I could have smooshed them together.</p><p>We tried one last stop on our way home, and went to Restore. It's the Habitat for Humanity store and they have all kinds of furniture and old doors and windows. Most of it is donated.We got our super swank front door there for $25 a few years ago.</p><p>There are two parts to the Restore venue. One is mostly doors and sinks and old bathtubs, and we thought we'd check it out in case there were some old cupboards we could use. There was not. Then we went to the furniture store part, and the minute we walked in, we saw a guy moving a TV console in on a dolly. We rushed right over and checked it out. It was all wood, and not too bulky or wide, and it was a dark color, just not walnut. It didn't have much covered storage, and it needs to be sanded and refinished on the top, but we bought a runner for it for now, and I'll sand and refinish it when it warms up outside. The best part of all, was that it was $38. FOR. REAL.</p><p>I like that we didn't have to buy something new, and I love the price. Now, all we have to do is get our ottoman and swivel chair, and our living room will be set for now.</p><p>I'm hoping to paint our tiny hallway and work on our laundry room this Winter. I know people like to buy new houses, because they're less work and all, but they don't stay new forever, and our 1950's house really is built like a tank. </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vRtez0ha0pPk8ic_kfipsXTWY9ZP7UWa8scLZMwqvj6l2ZGk6FbCsbSs3NdvLlXrgy9efxBXeGH1obHnk1OHggT5L5cSncPa0ooazx9uhnRWcfbYba8dk2T8VpbgTtLlvZQGX9oRBRdc9CmQp6ss6QsXmmIAoLyDS9Bgu29q8l1lqA9Yqw/s1600/house%20wedding.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1015" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vRtez0ha0pPk8ic_kfipsXTWY9ZP7UWa8scLZMwqvj6l2ZGk6FbCsbSs3NdvLlXrgy9efxBXeGH1obHnk1OHggT5L5cSncPa0ooazx9uhnRWcfbYba8dk2T8VpbgTtLlvZQGX9oRBRdc9CmQp6ss6QsXmmIAoLyDS9Bgu29q8l1lqA9Yqw/w406-h640/house%20wedding.JPG" width="406" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div>So, happy 13th anniversary to our homeownership! We've had so many memories, both good and bad here. Of course, my favorite memory is when we got married in our upstairs dormer room with our daughters and their partners as witnesses. I hope to be able to live here until I die...Or until they carry me away to the old folks home, whichever comes first. I'm pretty sure we'll still be working on this place until that time as well, and I'm good with that.<br /><p></p><p> <br /><br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-60683563182494885032022-11-16T23:07:00.003-06:002022-11-17T08:51:57.428-06:00I Don't Know Where I'm Running Now, I'm Just Running On<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAFzbt0ls7qBB-r6YDYB7mSHTINxoe9XahpaE6lxtRAcvf6U-uh8tAFatgs9KGWF1ZBSZcINY5PbZxtynjK5iwyzVn8YUkkkQEEpzUKSFHN1U14yDsie5RI8XCNTM2Gtf3RimEDn5pkxrL6fVOr8K1VUPJxvdYTJf2G1CTtqxkebpbVUx69g/s604/thumbnail_me%20running.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="604" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAFzbt0ls7qBB-r6YDYB7mSHTINxoe9XahpaE6lxtRAcvf6U-uh8tAFatgs9KGWF1ZBSZcINY5PbZxtynjK5iwyzVn8YUkkkQEEpzUKSFHN1U14yDsie5RI8XCNTM2Gtf3RimEDn5pkxrL6fVOr8K1VUPJxvdYTJf2G1CTtqxkebpbVUx69g/w640-h412/thumbnail_me%20running.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Handing off my baton at The State Track Meet when I was 15.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Well, I finally got some good news...Or at least better news. I had a follow-up appointment last Friday for my Grave's disease and to see how my meds were working.They ran a bunch of blood tests, and most of them were good. He said my thyroid numbers were still almost non-existent (I went from a .001 to a .01), but my free T numbers were getting much better. I guess the meds can take up to six months to get to where they need to be. So, the doctor said I can just keep on keeping on with it, and come back in another few months to reassess.<br /></p><p>The best news was that he said I could start getting my heart rate up to 160. I'm a big heart rate spiker. Which means I'm still going to have to be careful, but I can start running again as long as I gradually ease into longer and faster runs. I know a lot of people who would go searching for a second opinion, if their doctor told them they could start running again, but when my doctor told me, I almost kissed him.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEW3W92KjGIMbxKZQkvve2bSVLg8jw8zqIgqB-aeFa7-21lkTE8vV5yzzI8oeuowV3Mc2Jq3rbxDXG-6OnBqtJBJ4n3wyX8-OGDGdBwr0HtC9JkkQ3lKFAQU1rVYGddArM8q99dNJYDdF8pf2pnYV_iZdK4wqiKoClArJ6V896l9QAS6OgQ/w640-h480/me%20running%20like%20jive%20guy3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was still running at least 35 miles a week in my early 40's here.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEW3W92KjGIMbxKZQkvve2bSVLg8jw8zqIgqB-aeFa7-21lkTE8vV5yzzI8oeuowV3Mc2Jq3rbxDXG-6OnBqtJBJ4n3wyX8-OGDGdBwr0HtC9JkkQ3lKFAQU1rVYGddArM8q99dNJYDdF8pf2pnYV_iZdK4wqiKoClArJ6V896l9QAS6OgQ/s400/me%20running%20like%20jive%20guy3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></p><p> I know I always say this, but running has been one of the true great loves of my life. Not to be overly dramatic, but it pretty much saved my life during the worst parts of it.</p><p>I got into running in 1975, the year my mom died, and I was heartbroken, and we moved to a suburb on the South side of Chicago. My parents weren't into sports, and I went to one of those "Free to be You and Me" schools in the 70;'s in Arizona where we didn't do things that were all that competitive. But it seemed like everyone in the Midwest played team sports. I've never had the attention span for most team sports, and I was never very good at them. Then we had a little school track meet in 5th grade, and shocker of all shocks, I found that I could run. Not only that, but I LIKED to run. </p><p>The first real benefit I got from running, was finally being able to sleep at night. I used to have a horrible time sleeping when I was a kid (my poor mother), and when I got into running I was suddenly sleeping through the night. It was amazing.</p><p>Of course, when I started running, no one I knew had ever heard of running shoes. We all ran in our cheap, gym shoes that we got from Venture. There also was no such thing as a sports bra. We all just wore regular bras. Once during the state track meet, my bra strap broke at the beginning of my split of the 4 x 400 relay, and I had to hold my bra strap with my hand the entire rest of the race. I was so embarrassed. </p><p>The first time I ever saw women wearing sports bras was in 1983. The rich girls from Valley High in Des Moines showed up wearing them at districts, and we all kept asking each other, "What's wrong with their boobs?"</p><p>Of course, now there is a ridiculous amount of gear for runners, and it's a million times nicer to run when it's below zero out, and you aren't wearing big, cotton sweat pants that are so drenched with your own sweat that they freeze hard while while you run.<br /></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrU6khLZP0QvKFbXxVz3iswc9nFjmlnlHJgsx9eonHzDUv6TlJ4GxoN5E7RgAbHsab8Q2kHzEVj7HvpMTq48nQZicKrL63gpeGibvUfVEu2VskjUfk5-meL2tyJWuiTYBbJlfEgpZm2S60xEHUbk9KOD1S2_MoKtuuBxLbbGnGJKRUaSZWPQ/s1600/me%20trail%20running.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrU6khLZP0QvKFbXxVz3iswc9nFjmlnlHJgsx9eonHzDUv6TlJ4GxoN5E7RgAbHsab8Q2kHzEVj7HvpMTq48nQZicKrL63gpeGibvUfVEu2VskjUfk5-meL2tyJWuiTYBbJlfEgpZm2S60xEHUbk9KOD1S2_MoKtuuBxLbbGnGJKRUaSZWPQ/w640-h426/me%20trail%20running.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got really into trail running in my 50's. It helps my foot pain to run on softer surfaces.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> Running has always been my sanctuary. People didn't own their own personal treadmills to run on for years after I got into the sport, so I've never really used one. I run outside, and that combination of moving outside, and a free high has helped me through the worst times of my life. <p></p><p>After a few years of finding out who the hell I was and what the hell worked for me to be a happy human in my late teens, where I was only running sporadically, I found an article in Runner's World magazine about how to get into the habit of running. It said to just start doing a short distance. I chose a mile. They said to run or run/walk that almost every day, until it felt easy, then bump it up to two miles. When I was 22 I tried that. After about a month of gradually increasing the distance, I could run almost any distance. </p><p>From then on, I ran at least six miles a day, close to every day until I hit my late 40's. I started having really bad problems with metatarsalgia, where the balls of my feet would feel like they were being stabbed with ice picks if I ran more than six miles. Then that distance shortened to five miles, and now it's closer to three. When I was around 50, I needed to wear a patella strap on my left knee when I ran. I sometimes feel like I'm being held together with band-aids now. Thank jeebus my husband works at an orthopedic clinic...</p><p>I've always known I wouldn't be able to run forever. When I was about 25 I thought that if I was lucky, I'd be able to run until I was 40, and that seemed so old that I was satisfied with the prognosis. Now, I'm 57 and I'm still limping along. I had to take three months off while we sorted out my hyperthryroidism this Fall. But last Friday I was given the green light to start again. I "ran" 2 miles that day, and every other day since then. Of course, I'm running those two miles slower than I thought it was possible to go and still call it running, but it feels SO. DAMN. GOOD. to be shuffling along outside, and that runner's high after the first mile is still as as lovely as ever. I once told a friend of mine that the reason I never got into doing drugs was that a runner's high was so perfect and there were no side-effects. To which she responded, "Well, the side-effect is that you have to run to get that high." Touche'!</p><p>So, if you happen to see me out limping on down the road with my very distinctive gait, and you wave at me, and I don't seem to recognize you, just know that I am as high as hell, and don't take it personally. I may not be able to keep it up much longer, but I feel so lucky to have found the thing that I love to do that has helped me physically, mentally, and emotionally at such a young age. Some people never find that.<br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-14344417040023262592022-10-04T14:21:00.002-05:002022-10-04T16:06:20.351-05:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcGOkbifxU_uBI3H9a600eIC3NDAg2kDeWCCUDY3ExjvXhgcDeXEmG73durMWM5yRunAfh7UpABhjr76Hj-SVC1ON-Sr6-yJ9oOGPXmA03_K1DyP3_98p4uZQ87JzjJtcN5UNPDo_F46Np9-VbJmzp5bkk9U9uHmX1BMGeSDE5Kn9b7GXJ0w/s4032/grand%20junction%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcGOkbifxU_uBI3H9a600eIC3NDAg2kDeWCCUDY3ExjvXhgcDeXEmG73durMWM5yRunAfh7UpABhjr76Hj-SVC1ON-Sr6-yJ9oOGPXmA03_K1DyP3_98p4uZQ87JzjJtcN5UNPDo_F46Np9-VbJmzp5bkk9U9uHmX1BMGeSDE5Kn9b7GXJ0w/w640-h480/grand%20junction%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Well, kids. I was able to make it to Moab. A lot of times when it seems like things aren't working out easily, I wonder if the universe is trying to tell me that whatever I'm trying to do just isn't the best idea. This time, after my sister-in-law had to drop out of the trip because their dog is very old and they didn't want to leave her with anyone else, and then I wasn't sure I could make it after finding out I had Grave's disease and wasn't supposed to get my heart rate up on a trip that was all about strenuous hikes and hilly mountain bike rides, the trip was actually almost perfect. </p><p>My brother showed up to our house with his tricked-out van around noon on Friday. He had a three hour Zoom meeting, so John and I went to lunch, and bought groceries and finished the last little bit of packing. We probably got on the road at around 4 pm. </p><p>We stopped in Des Moines to eat dinner, and then drove the thirteen hours left overnight. I say "we", but I really mean John and Bill. I wasn't comfortable driving at night because I have terrible night blindness, and also my Graves disease can give me double vision. I just couldn't imagine driving an unwieldy vehicle, and suddenly seeing two of everything. Yikes!</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMh4nRak_IFGAYB5TjItczYfEj7duHR-mIKiVUIaeqth_Et01QUfH5HSIPmkxXLt3Hxd-bXYe2yH2XVpB0_sJ6zU3OL1vwGBJj7nxRnZcv_akkGo9pqiqGLsDLQmVjOW6W5a8UjarnQRzpJL__tyNWvHUFtuDO3cbE-H-50tLaofu7BAOHw/s4032/grand%20junction%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMh4nRak_IFGAYB5TjItczYfEj7duHR-mIKiVUIaeqth_Et01QUfH5HSIPmkxXLt3Hxd-bXYe2yH2XVpB0_sJ6zU3OL1vwGBJj7nxRnZcv_akkGo9pqiqGLsDLQmVjOW6W5a8UjarnQRzpJL__tyNWvHUFtuDO3cbE-H-50tLaofu7BAOHw/w640-h480/grand%20junction%201.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>We made it to Grand Junction, Colorado at around 10 the next morning. I had never been there before. It is a cute little town with a lot of mountain bike trails and a bike path that goes on for 20 miles. </p><p>I'm having a hard time sleeping in general with this stupid Hyperthyroidism, but it was even harder trying to sleep in a van on VERY bumpy roads in Colorado, so I was exhausted when we finally got to Grand Junction. So, the boys went mountain biking while I got a few more desperately needed hours of sleep.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifcb0EAOOK6oDpTEpb7EWaUbVYm8tAfhfyFnD0VYNuyG-JmxSD54-sFDwEINheRm-D6X_FJKHuWwZTpTbIktrdNE29xqq5vVZnvMr2Xvwb4_sxTPu_4Qg_f7ZGx61_WMMXjz2c6q_iyhi3b030P0YCQQUpuNt_LfLl8kjRzUDjmJQ76mxsXA/s4032/grand%20junction%203.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifcb0EAOOK6oDpTEpb7EWaUbVYm8tAfhfyFnD0VYNuyG-JmxSD54-sFDwEINheRm-D6X_FJKHuWwZTpTbIktrdNE29xqq5vVZnvMr2Xvwb4_sxTPu_4Qg_f7ZGx61_WMMXjz2c6q_iyhi3b030P0YCQQUpuNt_LfLl8kjRzUDjmJQ76mxsXA/w640-h480/grand%20junction%203.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Since I'm not able to get my heart rate up, John had the brilliant idea that we could just rent an e-mountain bike for a few days while we were in Moab. Of course, I didn't have that e-mountain bike in Colorado yet, so I asked the guys if they were okay with riding around on the flat bike path, and getting dinner and a beer while we played. I heard there were cool murals and sculptures along the path, but since it was almost dark when we got to it, and we were starving, we didn't get to see them. Next time!</p><p>We went to Taco Party for dinner and the food was really great. I also had a delicious margarita. It was just what the doctor ordered...So to speak. We rode to a brew pub after dinner and sat on a rooftop deck for one more drink before we headed to our Motel 6 for the night.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDllDyXGN1PaCO-q2FJN3omVWd8GB2vkKEfhyZdyikYT-Esi_4rfH7jevoQ7UiCc_qXJnnZEWPbr4aE9D8F5lfzSJA_4IWTwk7npfz61g2ulKPGCZOUpk888xe89lhKHpG9KLnkcyykdWhISA38N0_uowtD1lxXfYRF5Qxa-07RaTmOdsqQ/s4032/moab%20bar%20m.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDllDyXGN1PaCO-q2FJN3omVWd8GB2vkKEfhyZdyikYT-Esi_4rfH7jevoQ7UiCc_qXJnnZEWPbr4aE9D8F5lfzSJA_4IWTwk7npfz61g2ulKPGCZOUpk888xe89lhKHpG9KLnkcyykdWhISA38N0_uowtD1lxXfYRF5Qxa-07RaTmOdsqQ/w480-h640/moab%20bar%20m.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>The next morning we drove straight to the Bar M Ranch trails in Moab. I didn't remember them being so hilly, but then I didn't have to worry about getting my heart rate up too high the last time we were there, so it's not like I was very aware of the hills back then.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjozCAcVZUA2Ah_5QxmZF475yzT1MmoSPUJAhkPKQ3nRegmyWdszsyh6H9A9ftWnorv39uaGtPV3orS9IOYVk8wYJIm0Emjm1Fm8M34SEoBUnsmogmHSX6UXh036TUMjJdRKasyg6bSbVEXSfmmffGj7pX3hFb3e7fyhq6mnGafqOcYZcuO0A/s1350/Moab%20with%20Bill.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1013" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjozCAcVZUA2Ah_5QxmZF475yzT1MmoSPUJAhkPKQ3nRegmyWdszsyh6H9A9ftWnorv39uaGtPV3orS9IOYVk8wYJIm0Emjm1Fm8M34SEoBUnsmogmHSX6UXh036TUMjJdRKasyg6bSbVEXSfmmffGj7pX3hFb3e7fyhq6mnGafqOcYZcuO0A/w480-h640/Moab%20with%20Bill.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>I tried to go slowly, but you have to have some momentum to ride the rocks. I rode a little longer, and then decided to let the boys ride the harder trails while I chilled out in the van. I was getting out of breath on the climbs, and I didn't have to look at my sports watch stats to know I had gone way over the 140 beats per minute, my doctor told me I had to stay under in order not to die of a heart attack or stroke.<br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSiBUo-sIOxn2lkL2D8h6uILe3BXGDIwsVWc9cARd69d3gNXJmux3Ev3uvA8nRqhrR1KPNoZ5sWwgZenIk7lsQ6rKemnWV-KUoE8_lxeFfQNoLxbtJN7JAUDQUFDqKzh0U1tvU_xAGJk7MRZpDIox3K1gDtXJbvzwqSoSL2eQjF6bQP0s6_w/s4032/moab%20dinosaurs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSiBUo-sIOxn2lkL2D8h6uILe3BXGDIwsVWc9cARd69d3gNXJmux3Ev3uvA8nRqhrR1KPNoZ5sWwgZenIk7lsQ6rKemnWV-KUoE8_lxeFfQNoLxbtJN7JAUDQUFDqKzh0U1tvU_xAGJk7MRZpDIox3K1gDtXJbvzwqSoSL2eQjF6bQP0s6_w/w640-h480/moab%20dinosaurs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>When they finished mountain biking, John suggested that we ride the bike trail back to where we found the giant dinosaurs. If you've ever met me, you probably know that I love all of the cheesy things: Dinosaurs, aliens, Big Foots (feet?), Bat Boys... They all amuse me. So, when we were driving to the trails, I saw the giant dinosaurs, and I wanted to get closer.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQW_yaG5xTG3Drz6f54gkSTGvnkPJJQog4IfNomEWi04niFTF0TT5hsp1FMSIEuHXxHWng6LaDjf4hoH6O6N0gzx3ZqOJ29VjgFi1oF8nKR4tEiMOjgz5eTVhbuNZGgN_lLFr6j3Tb25-XPOTRN3RN4YrUVDh-MPwWhlP93sW_JdeT-3lmaA/s1350/moab%20dinosaur.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1013" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQW_yaG5xTG3Drz6f54gkSTGvnkPJJQog4IfNomEWi04niFTF0TT5hsp1FMSIEuHXxHWng6LaDjf4hoH6O6N0gzx3ZqOJ29VjgFi1oF8nKR4tEiMOjgz5eTVhbuNZGgN_lLFr6j3Tb25-XPOTRN3RN4YrUVDh-MPwWhlP93sW_JdeT-3lmaA/w480-h640/moab%20dinosaur.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /> I was very happy to meet the fake dinosaurs. We looked at buying tickets to get even closer and see even more, but they were $18 a person, and even I couldn't reconcile that cost to hang around with some sculptures. I did buy a "Philosraptor" t-shirt from the gift shop, though.<br /><p></p><p>We finally got to our campsite by around three in the afternoon. I'll write more tomorrow, hopefully, but the first day and a half of our trip was fun and very educational. It was instructional for me to figure out how I was going to navigate this stupid Hyperthyroidism/Grave's Disease. It was annoying to see how many things it affected. I found myself talking about it way too much, but I was learning about it as I went, and limited by it and I had to remind my traveling companions why I was so tired, and irritable, and anxious, and all the other annoying things my body was doing to me. Believe me, I felt VERY lucky to get to go to Moab, I just had a lot to figure out with my new condition while I was there.<br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-82887325075243520172022-09-14T16:20:00.002-05:002022-09-14T22:57:18.845-05:00Doctor, Doctor, Can't You See I'm Burning, Burning<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvmz0qhdjgi65XxtrF8IIq5cOCJ8WEC-dFmInMrQf-nJrboWJNeh0RhQAttwVI6_EyiLUeHHi-5SS9JIepSSJU4u_JcpF1mXG01ZDUEtUgvYtJ58Xb2ob-duKzsKsbeUYG3aCHm1cB473FCXB3VcWYg0vdkg6Ul2zNLABYXNjRp5JWbSJa1A/s1621/dahlia.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1621" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvmz0qhdjgi65XxtrF8IIq5cOCJ8WEC-dFmInMrQf-nJrboWJNeh0RhQAttwVI6_EyiLUeHHi-5SS9JIepSSJU4u_JcpF1mXG01ZDUEtUgvYtJ58Xb2ob-duKzsKsbeUYG3aCHm1cB473FCXB3VcWYg0vdkg6Ul2zNLABYXNjRp5JWbSJa1A/w568-h640/dahlia.jpg" width="568" /></a></div><br /> Well, okay. I finally got a treatment plan for my hyperthyroidism. I got my most recent blood work back a week and a half ago, but since my doctor was at a conference in Scotland, I never had anyone let me know what any of this meant. I looked online at the numbers, so I was pretty sure I had Graves Disease, but I still wasn't sure exactly what that meant for me. So, I messaged the doctor who was filling in for my physician, and told him I would love to have more information about everything. All I knew about my new disease was what I had read online, and some of it was confusing. <p></p><p>I sent the new guy a bunch of questions, so he would have time to find the answers before he wrote back: Could I go on vacation? Was there a certain heart rate I should try not to go above? Did I read the latest result right, and do I have Graves Disease? If so, what was my treatment? If they weren't able to start treatment right away, could they give me something for the insane anxiety I suddenly started having the last few days? One of the things I read when I was doing my scary internet searches was that if my disease wasn't treated, I could have this thing called "Thyroid Storm". Contrary to what you might think, it isn't just a great name for a classic rock cover band, it's a life threatening situation. Imagine me reading all of the possible issues, and not having any medical professional to talk to about them, and being a spaz to begin with, but then having severe anxiety on top of that. Oh, the scenario storms I can create in my head...</p><p>Anyway, the substitute doctor messaged me back and said he would text Endocrinology and get back to me as soon as he heard back from them. Then he called me at work and was very kind and patient and answered every question I had. He told me they were going to start me on Methimazole. I told him that I am pretty sensitive to any drug or alcohol (they don't call me two beer Churly for nothin'!), so he might want to start me on a fairly low dose to see how I reacted. He told me that my thyroid levels were so high they would have to start me on a big dose, but that he'd use the lower tier of it. Most importantly, he said that I could go on vacation, but just to really watch my heart rate, not to ride or hike alone, and to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. So, we leave this weekend, and Jaysus, Mary and Joseph! do I need a vacation.</p><p> I started taking my new meds on Saturday morning. They can take up to 4 - 6 weeks to really start working, but I have noticed a slight change or two already, and some side-effects too. I've been having some joint pain now, but my anxiety has calmed down a bit. I actually woke up cold last night. Between hot flashes and the hyperthryroidism, I can't remember when the last time the whole world didn't seem to be burning up. I also had a horrible nightmare for the first time in years, and I'm hoping that's not some kind of awful side-effect too.</p><p>So it is that I have a treatment plan finally. I've read that there could be a lot of medicine dose adjustments in the first year, but sometime after being on the drugs, the symptoms go away, so I am crossing my fingers, and my eyes,and my legs and whatever else I can, that that is the case for me. I have a follow-up appointment in October, and when we get back from vacation, I have to swallow irradiated dye, so they can scan my thyroid. I have so many things to look forward to. Sigh.<br /></p><p>We have excellent house and cat sitters at the ready, and I will get to go to my beloved Southwest. Don't worry...Or do, depending if you want to be inundated with pictures, I will take a million photos and obsessively document that whole trip. Most importantly, I will be careful and keep any storms (thyroid or anxious scenarios) at bay.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-42148993929800455372022-08-27T15:03:00.001-05:002022-08-27T15:07:13.532-05:00It's Another Day, Another Chance. I Wake Up, I Wanna Dance<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSEro62kkFhaZYmtQTu6P20WbkLgLerunxXf6NTdQTIbxq53JaqnaIV1ZObP7KBws8l2yJmEzWJrRmKiQMIrO3xLKOA_KvxjWnpJYfbCPK_sj91mnnuue5ACDkaL2PnsnUvWSqIa9RGXK8J0vJpDPHYwbRRJXyqrHMeRxYaMeEJGtCU3FUow/s960/mesa3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSEro62kkFhaZYmtQTu6P20WbkLgLerunxXf6NTdQTIbxq53JaqnaIV1ZObP7KBws8l2yJmEzWJrRmKiQMIrO3xLKOA_KvxjWnpJYfbCPK_sj91mnnuue5ACDkaL2PnsnUvWSqIa9RGXK8J0vJpDPHYwbRRJXyqrHMeRxYaMeEJGtCU3FUow/w640-h480/mesa3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /> Well, kids. It's been a challenging Summer. I know listening to people talk about their health problems is about as interesting as listening to someone go into great deal about their dreams or complain about their jobs, but I'm sure I've already subjected you all to that before, and now I'm going to subject you to having to read about my health problems. I promise that if you want to go into great deal about your health problems or how much you hate your job, I'll be there to listen. If, however, you want to go into great detail about the dream you had last night, I may only pretend to listen while my eyes glaze over. Fair warning.</p><p>Sooooo, anyway. In late June I started having migraines too often again. Then on July 10th I got more of a period than I've had for a couple of years. Like, I didn't bleed a bunch, but it went on for six days, and there were more migraines, and lots of feelings, and I hated everything and everyone, but wanted to eat the whole world. Then it was over and I had more migraines.</p><p>Then John and I took a week of vacation where we stayed in town but rode bikes, and JUST as my migraines were finally starting to dissipate, I lost like seven pounds in about a week. Which wasn't a bad thing for me, since my doctor says I need to try and lose about 20 pounds to get to some kind of "ideal" weight which may not be all that realistic for me. It was also really hot and humid, so I figured it was just water weight from not having air conditioning and sweating for 24 hours of every day. I started doing this thing where we'd go on bike rides, and I would get to some point where I was suddenly overheated and I felt dizzy and I'd have to either turn around and go straight back, or one time I got a ride halfway through our bike ride when we met friends for lunch in Kalona. Then last Friday I woke up with really bad dry eye and scratched my cornea just by opening my eye when I woke up. I have had all of these symptoms before (except for the easy weight loss) and so I just figured they were all from the lovely perimenopause I have been going through for the last 700 years, (or at least that's what it feels like).</p><p>Lucky for me, my annual doctor's appointment had originally been scheduled for December, but my doctor had a cancellation and so it was rescheduled to last Monday. I went in and told her my usual complaints. I talked about the dry eye and asked if there was some shot of lubricant they could give me in my arm, that would help with my dry eye, my peeling skin, and horrible muscle cramps, or at least some kind of HRT (hormone replacement therapy) that I could use, but she said no on account of my stupid breast cancer. Oh, I almost forgot, my blood pressure was up, just the systolic, but I'm a spaz, so I didn't think that much of it. </p><p>My doctor decided to do a little blood work. They did a TSH and free T4, just to make sure my thyroid was doing what it should. I was like, "whatever". I'm sure it's fine. But I was wrong. My TSH level was .01, which in laywomen's terms means I have hyperthyroidism. As if I needed to be any more hyper...Since the symptoms are almost exactly the same as those of perimenopause, I wouldn't have even thought anything about them, and just be glad I was finally losing a little weight. Apparently, that would have been dangerous. The biggest issues for untreated hyperthyroidism is heart attack and stroke risk. Awesome. I already have a HUGE genetic disadvantage there. </p><p>My next step is getting my blood drawn again on Tuesdays to check for antibodies that will let me know if this is caused by Grave's Disease - an autoimmune disorder that is one of the main causes for hyperthyroidism. It also causes eye issues (think Marty Feldman). They will probably do a scan of my thyroid too. There are some treatment options. One is a beta blocker. There are also meds. If neither of those work, then they do the radioactive iodine thing, and if that doesn't work, then they just take the damn thing out. No matter what, it probably means I'll be on meds for the rest of my life. I suppose most people get there with blood pressure meds, HRT, cholesterol meds, blood thinners, anti-anxiety/anti-depressants, or what have you. I've been lucky so far, is how I look at it.</p><p>Because this is usually easily treatable, the biggest drag is just for the immediate future. Until we get this thing figured out and started on a treatment plan, I'm not allowed to get my heart rate up - no running, no swimming, no biking (except I'm allowed to bike to work and back as long as I don't go too fast. Which means I can't be late for work ever), and no lifting weights. Of course, we had this great, fun, vacation planned at the end of September to go hiking, white water rafting, and mountain biking in Moab, and we might have to reschedule it. I'm waiting until at least next week to pull the plug on it. We'll see what they say after the antibody test. The reality is, that it could take four months for the thyroid meds to kick in. Can you imagine how hard I will be to live with if I can't play outside for FOUR WHOLE MONTHS? I can go for walks, and hikes, so that's at least something. But you may want to send love and your best wishes to John in his time of need.</p><p>Soooo, that's how my week went, how about yours? I hope you all have good health, and any issues you do have are easily treatable. <br /></p><p></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-72226563816465200532022-06-30T22:45:00.007-05:002022-07-01T10:14:17.869-05:00How's it Feel to be at the Center of Magic, to Linger in Tones and Words?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRV6ahGAQwakHd2wi0N1IpgMHpkOw6r-RCJFuVKYcTL56AjjWODdxc-gZ8EtdKx77pubdD_xC4s3tA_wWL2pXgmQKE62E52PrQk67XAgm8jnCq0IKY5VUWu_G-LkldVNC2Ok61BpkhokrSalrPgInRIItA7ASehlIdxUYS1ScygdqsYVCeyA/s4032/IMG_7423.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRV6ahGAQwakHd2wi0N1IpgMHpkOw6r-RCJFuVKYcTL56AjjWODdxc-gZ8EtdKx77pubdD_xC4s3tA_wWL2pXgmQKE62E52PrQk67XAgm8jnCq0IKY5VUWu_G-LkldVNC2Ok61BpkhokrSalrPgInRIItA7ASehlIdxUYS1ScygdqsYVCeyA/w480-h640/IMG_7423.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>Okay. Well, Since it's the end of June and I'm already two months behind, I thought I would finally write a post about the books I read in April and May.</p><p>I read six books in April. Since it was still pretty chilly this April, I wasn't yet in Summer reading mode. Which means I actually read things other than escapist, beach books, and lady detective novels.</p><p>1.) The first book I read, was "Matrix", by Lauren Groff. It told the story of a young girl who was cast out of the court of Eleanor of Aquitaine, and sent to a poverty stricken nunnery, where most of the women were starving. She uses her smarts and creativity to make the convent prosper, and to protect the women under her charge. I did like this book, I just didn't love it. It was uneven for me. I was really engrossed in some parts, and others, I found myself a little bored. </p><p>2.) "The Consequences of Fear", by Jacqueline Winspear was my second book for April. It was on the new books shelf at Prairie Lights, and it had a plucky woman detective in it, and you know how I feel about books with plucky woman detectives. It takes place in 1941, and it follows Maisie Dobbs. What I didn't know until after I read it, is that it is the 16th book in a series of Maisie Dobbs stories. So, I did what any intelligent person would do, and bought the first six books in the series, that I will try and stretch out for the next several months. Believe me, I know this book is unrealistic and cheesy, but that's the fun in reading them for me. ESCAPISM!</p><p>3.) Because April is Earth Day month, I finally read Rachel Carson's "Silent Spring". It was getting passed around to all of my co-workers when I was in the California Conservation Corps in 1985, but I moved to Big Bear Lake to work at a ski resort before my turn came. It is depressing, and scary, and all of that stuff. but it was also one of the reasons people started thinking about the dangers of pesticides and DDT. Too bad people aren't smart enough to stop the wide spread use of pesticides altogether, but at least it got DDT banned, and that is why we get to see so many eagles again.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrOyWmWR91lujZujSI1TzRZYkZU5yQ4Ib_WZiIPrHU-z4TTWxLro59hRaOAK0WzSdW-usz7kW5zadHrS33C_F7-1GfHsfE5ukknAlGV2n_nLqsaxTwlaKCuLYNCkl9o4NjUQ-I-NXaG_nvIDqDkiudjGKrIHTQquPfXZURQhw5oIi3YW9X0w/s4032/IMG_7614.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrOyWmWR91lujZujSI1TzRZYkZU5yQ4Ib_WZiIPrHU-z4TTWxLro59hRaOAK0WzSdW-usz7kW5zadHrS33C_F7-1GfHsfE5ukknAlGV2n_nLqsaxTwlaKCuLYNCkl9o4NjUQ-I-NXaG_nvIDqDkiudjGKrIHTQquPfXZURQhw5oIi3YW9X0w/w480-h640/IMG_7614.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />4.) My fourth book is a reread from a book I LOVED as a kid. I texted my sister to tell her I bought it, in case she hadn't thought of the book in a while, and of course she said she already owned a copy. Duh. "From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler", by E. L. Konigburg is a book I hadn't read since I was a kid, and it didn't really lose anything for me when I read it as an adult. A brother and sister runaway to live in an art museum? There's a little mystery to solve? Whats not to like?<p></p><p>5.) I read Barack Obama's memoir, "Dreams of My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance" as my fifth book. It was a very honest look at his issues (and America's issues) growing up as a biracial man in the USA. I really enjoyed this book. I also thought, "Man, he wasn't thinking he was going to run for president when he wrote it." There was no bullshit about not inhaling anywhere in it. I also had a couple of things in common with him. His father left him IN Hawaii, and my father left us FOR Hawaii. I didn't realize that he went to Occidental College either. I lived in Eagle Rock for a little while when I was in Los Angeles, and house sat for the head of the theater department on the Occidental College Campus. Anyway, I thought it was a great book, if not a little long in spots, much to my ADHD's chagrin.</p><p>6.) The last book I read in April, was Jhumpa Lahiri's "Whereabouts". It was a short book, about a woman living in Italy, and her musings and experiences and anxiety and isolation. Of course, it was well written, and each chapter was a different experience. The big deal with this book, is that it was the first book that she wrote in Italian and then translated into English. I thought it was beautiful, and sad, and thoughtful.<br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TxeidcoAevEZxCYa0HMMx4_y-4Kq49d9GexKyhR8GmoRn8fwgPfW8VzW-ZFpg5ktdu3lYq7mmVyUKhJ7ANQwPB5zNOjgMCfR0qURG2yM27R7sfoPkrfLDLLTjDzDUASymA_mjKiGLvabeNEnhm5eb1idZhl-fah4ZbpWMhHvshb5AXFtyg/s4032/IMG_8946.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TxeidcoAevEZxCYa0HMMx4_y-4Kq49d9GexKyhR8GmoRn8fwgPfW8VzW-ZFpg5ktdu3lYq7mmVyUKhJ7ANQwPB5zNOjgMCfR0qURG2yM27R7sfoPkrfLDLLTjDzDUASymA_mjKiGLvabeNEnhm5eb1idZhl-fah4ZbpWMhHvshb5AXFtyg/w480-h640/IMG_8946.JPG" width="480" /></a></div> <p></p><p>With May comes my Summer reading attention span...Or lack thereof. Like I said, lots of escapist reading. </p><p>1.) The first book I read in May was "The Last Report of the Miracles of Little No Horse", by Louise Erdrich. I will just say this, I love Louise Erdrich. I have read almost everything she has ever written. This book is about a white woman who changes her gender, and becomes a priest on a reservation. He is being interviewed by another priest about whether one of the nun's of his congregation should be considered for sainthood. There is magic, and amazing storytelling, and everything you could want in a Louise Erdrich novel. </p><p>2.) I read the first Maisie Dobbs book for my second book for May. It starts before World War I, and you get to read her origin story, and meet all of her friends, and find out their relationships. All of those things I was clueless about when I read the 16th book in the series in April. Again, it's not in any way believable, but who the hell cares? It's a fun Summer read, and I have no eff's to give if you want to try and judge me for reading crap.</p><p>3.) The last book I read in May was Michelle Zauner's "Crying in H Mart". If you want to know what I thought about it? I loved it. It was a memoir about her relationship with her mother (and her father too) that she wrote after her mother died of cancer. He mother was from Korea, so there were cultural, as well as generational differences between them, There was also anger, and guilt, and finally, some understanding, and cutting both herself and her mother some slack. </p><p>Okay, since I have about two hours until July, I can already say that I only read two books in June. It's okay. They were fun books, and I will tell you all about how I felt about them in another post. But now, I want to wish you all good reading, and tell anyone to f*ck off who judges you for reading escapist books in the Summer...Or any other time of the year for that matter.<br /></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35934196.post-21293213025256910122022-06-16T23:14:00.011-05:002022-06-17T08:41:10.464-05:00Well, I Wish I Was In New Orleans, I Can See It In My Dreams<p></p><p></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHvexdzPrsMkSLpMAEhhUGljtVt7z6zSsZ1IzD7lg7HgTEEH9JQdnj8KU78lwz8e6xAemXHQmIIGm19pa3pVFWWyurBLSzSPEtJIUIX1X5QSGK4VkjD2L6BWlazTGBI_PdOOI4fB5kFaeZMKsJl3UKAQbEvDa50oU4N0lMfYIUPltAv9dzkQ/s4032/IMG_8320.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHvexdzPrsMkSLpMAEhhUGljtVt7z6zSsZ1IzD7lg7HgTEEH9JQdnj8KU78lwz8e6xAemXHQmIIGm19pa3pVFWWyurBLSzSPEtJIUIX1X5QSGK4VkjD2L6BWlazTGBI_PdOOI4fB5kFaeZMKsJl3UKAQbEvDa50oU4N0lMfYIUPltAv9dzkQ/w480-h640/IMG_8320.JPG" width="480" /></a></div> <p></p><p>I sure suck as a Blogger these days. I keep trying to be better, and then I end up doing a bunch of other stuff and not getting around to it. Jeanne Parsons, one of my favorite teachers in high school told me, "you always make time for the things you love." So, I am doing my damnedest to try and make time to write more. Sorry to all of you who have to read my babbling.</p><p>Okay, so anyway. I'm still writing about our vacation in May. On Saturday, Stinky's husband was there to hang out with us as well. He flew in the night before, and after delays, he finally made it to new Orleans around 12:00 that night. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLTMp8dyWtNmecJIKYS3mlFHZHp5A9diUfTLl-DPBUV8VT3rfYe7Ink25fnX11DHHIOVtNRytls7M-07x-vMUTJ3VjQMA1PgvL84uQqhr_AxLJiNaU7v0luISZ1y28KIj25TsWTxGmhn3J86T-FuTXuhEmOW06HtkTq4yVy9KX8TeqjnXIw/s4032/IMG_8332.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNLTMp8dyWtNmecJIKYS3mlFHZHp5A9diUfTLl-DPBUV8VT3rfYe7Ink25fnX11DHHIOVtNRytls7M-07x-vMUTJ3VjQMA1PgvL84uQqhr_AxLJiNaU7v0luISZ1y28KIj25TsWTxGmhn3J86T-FuTXuhEmOW06HtkTq4yVy9KX8TeqjnXIw/w480-h640/IMG_8332.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>After getting some fuel at our favorite neighborhood coffee shop, we walked the Crescent Park Trail to the French Quarter. It's about a mile and a half walk, and it takes you right to the French Market.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsblXNmKHQVKBMEq2vkTuEG-RA_OaEwqIMQnIWoR-fgPGWH2CFSupFBfT1gU8LosrhSb1IF0EqblqHdFaG4bJRaxUBe4BSU-IuvIjOfPO6bkqmihvHT85AeWmJo8E5b-yehmCopN8w8ckd766HkpI0OxhlMMRxWKIMvXBDE8JSDJa8EiPRug/s4032/IMG_8344.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsblXNmKHQVKBMEq2vkTuEG-RA_OaEwqIMQnIWoR-fgPGWH2CFSupFBfT1gU8LosrhSb1IF0EqblqHdFaG4bJRaxUBe4BSU-IuvIjOfPO6bkqmihvHT85AeWmJo8E5b-yehmCopN8w8ckd766HkpI0OxhlMMRxWKIMvXBDE8JSDJa8EiPRug/w640-h480/IMG_8344.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>It has a dog park, beautiful gardens, and sculptures. If it hadn't been so hot and humid, it would have been the perfect little jaunt.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKco1vc5JrtjMuCgD4ktjgFNs0Mis5fB0FTdA29PXtvLop0aN1X0zhEThFCVuBh8ukEaQBCAK49o0HJ6W57qvgrpY0YOKdiLuSAtLufbzT0dkO5JP0iVCABcFPYM07gTwWlfV3UEW0fXEbUsA1VntzDR6NugDgUz8IkWAikO0TmfCEhA5R0g/s4032/IMG_8354.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKco1vc5JrtjMuCgD4ktjgFNs0Mis5fB0FTdA29PXtvLop0aN1X0zhEThFCVuBh8ukEaQBCAK49o0HJ6W57qvgrpY0YOKdiLuSAtLufbzT0dkO5JP0iVCABcFPYM07gTwWlfV3UEW0fXEbUsA1VntzDR6NugDgUz8IkWAikO0TmfCEhA5R0g/w640-h480/IMG_8354.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>We even found some Happy Birthday graffiti for our special girl.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANB1xN7tQgaNGjO_zaOirE5YXTaXzD7Hest0YL8so3kRqoZY2fX1nO2xaYtEIFMYYlDLULBVqa_hqp2P9zRb8VoRDUmA8Hkh1nsLuRxvaZmNk5gFhPs-4YpYNkW9xZ9iZEUavIL4wOL2yniXWNzfa3VLE9y0bVLYvCsyiVpX8C_J0bcnbsg/s4032/IMG_8426.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANB1xN7tQgaNGjO_zaOirE5YXTaXzD7Hest0YL8so3kRqoZY2fX1nO2xaYtEIFMYYlDLULBVqa_hqp2P9zRb8VoRDUmA8Hkh1nsLuRxvaZmNk5gFhPs-4YpYNkW9xZ9iZEUavIL4wOL2yniXWNzfa3VLE9y0bVLYvCsyiVpX8C_J0bcnbsg/w640-h480/IMG_8426.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>We wandered around the French Market, and I ended up buying an African mask and a little carved sculpture of three people all entwined. The guy who sold it to me told me it meant UNITY. Which I thought sounded cool, until my son-in-law said, "So, you bought a statue of an orgy?" Um, I honestly didn't see that. I guess if it really is an orgy, that could be some kind of unity too, right? As long as everyone is consenting and having fun? Whatever. So, I bought a carving of an orgy. So what. I'm sure the guy who sold it to me is still laughing at the old, white, Midwestern, mom who bought an orgy sculpture from him. I'm here to amuse people, apparently.<br /></p><p>After buying all of our touristy stuff, we had a great lunch together, before we went our separate ways. Stinky and her husband went back to the house to secretly decorate the outdoor space with black balloons and streamers for The Oldest's birthday, and we went with The Oldest and her boyfriend to the WWII museum.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigXpqzipJwj5Ta5easNEK3s5-tiReF_Bqo1g0OW3QKEC7HDHoRhdP31uACYAqvuCIVqZ3MdzI5oHi3o_07b-4SrR9UZ4kBiVG5YPn5bYNZl8T5nfXzk5u5Z78T33vFmFmPoQnh-vxRxgg3MbCj-IBdfgxhm0ZhYH3f4ymR8QfvPsPiHALivw/s4032/IMG_8447.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigXpqzipJwj5Ta5easNEK3s5-tiReF_Bqo1g0OW3QKEC7HDHoRhdP31uACYAqvuCIVqZ3MdzI5oHi3o_07b-4SrR9UZ4kBiVG5YPn5bYNZl8T5nfXzk5u5Z78T33vFmFmPoQnh-vxRxgg3MbCj-IBdfgxhm0ZhYH3f4ymR8QfvPsPiHALivw/w480-h640/IMG_8447.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>Let me say this, I would probably not have gone to the World War II Museum on my own volition, BUT holy hell, it was really cool and well done, and I'm so glad that Coadster asked us to join her there.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGxEmGawX0E2NQkHu5wrqAgKehjmTvQ2cFHFNTfNy-sSEtFFrbQW_BpFiRyOssyGOjO5cqdzHWMi4HuouHQD5v06sbjJ-zhqifyb9nbYogY1KBdXLOHC6nNd_ZuoapcUgYoPY8h58w6yGXLrMNrMpVbBzkYnHGYRXkeI81nRIBdt6nMiTZw/s4032/IMG_8518.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGxEmGawX0E2NQkHu5wrqAgKehjmTvQ2cFHFNTfNy-sSEtFFrbQW_BpFiRyOssyGOjO5cqdzHWMi4HuouHQD5v06sbjJ-zhqifyb9nbYogY1KBdXLOHC6nNd_ZuoapcUgYoPY8h58w6yGXLrMNrMpVbBzkYnHGYRXkeI81nRIBdt6nMiTZw/w640-h480/IMG_8518.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Coadster is a history nerd. She loves to research and read all about different times. She would also love to argue with you until she proves to you how RIGHT she is, and that is why I think she should be a lawyer, but anyway...She loves reading about World War II, on the battle front, and the home front. I have learned so much from her.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0f-c70oF256yws_T3doNoO_NrMq0XlQV_tJlVE63DyI0pNzDFNvVkiBIRk-fEaCb-MQMGU9OVd_5kYJISTkq3W5bZ0gpaupq0nLqE5DS9jPd7Vp24gplMKw77vZJJ1um4mwmu1Al6P6yC2IG8sxiX-3hZe2Nhk9pyF8HD4Cck4s7MABu0w/s4032/IMG_8553.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0f-c70oF256yws_T3doNoO_NrMq0XlQV_tJlVE63DyI0pNzDFNvVkiBIRk-fEaCb-MQMGU9OVd_5kYJISTkq3W5bZ0gpaupq0nLqE5DS9jPd7Vp24gplMKw77vZJJ1um4mwmu1Al6P6yC2IG8sxiX-3hZe2Nhk9pyF8HD4Cck4s7MABu0w/w640-h480/IMG_8553.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Sooooo, we went to the World War II museum, and really, everyone should check it out. They talk about all of the different theaters of it, and have testimonies by the people who were involved, and each area is set up like it was from the view of the soldiers. For instance, the Pacific theater starts in a room that feels like being on a ship, and then you walk into the next room that feels like you are on a tropical island, and meanwhile there are TV's with videos playing around each area. It was pretty damn cool and interesting.</p><p>They talked about the prejudice that happened for people of color, and there were three current soldiers in army fatigues walking through it at the same time we did. Two of them were white and one was black. It was great to hear them discussing and asking questions of the black soldier about his current experiences in the military. And that's what I mean about this museum. It really makes you think and ask questions and relate it all to how things are now.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4EPH0UQXGcw5c727aOAVH_CWUScZPYXgXLpXUrQn5ZeSXaBp8xdDprqu00t9ieOL-O9ZGEt-etUc4SUEyZG9Y0GGBfxm5ga0W36Yf8rMH0RKBA3poQQYVXmk9izZ7wByzNQFh0MHuGsf0jQwzR1RUVl0owzklMMx3rxLLUfpu4YfAmZyFeA/s4032/IMG_8582.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4EPH0UQXGcw5c727aOAVH_CWUScZPYXgXLpXUrQn5ZeSXaBp8xdDprqu00t9ieOL-O9ZGEt-etUc4SUEyZG9Y0GGBfxm5ga0W36Yf8rMH0RKBA3poQQYVXmk9izZ7wByzNQFh0MHuGsf0jQwzR1RUVl0owzklMMx3rxLLUfpu4YfAmZyFeA/w480-h640/IMG_8582.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>At the beginning of our museum tour, a woman told us that we really needed 6 to 8 hours to see everything, and my poor, minuscule, attention span almost hightailed it out of my brain at the thought. Lucky for us, we saw a lot of what we wanted to see in just a few hours.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1cPJzfXL_OhrewJbDulucqM9MXDdpUGqosZfjcN3E1ZlYie9ABaMd6yzT8MN0nPq9SNwXNvp3gJtTXwCm-nIUxiZtR-dlrnHeHKaoLlp6l1OFkOcuRrtFxsgUJ8lnLqPtgHSvZDoNWvhv84guWL7gyxSwTP1NLqPq6tOUWNFijNB-oZa9g/s4032/IMG_8593.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1cPJzfXL_OhrewJbDulucqM9MXDdpUGqosZfjcN3E1ZlYie9ABaMd6yzT8MN0nPq9SNwXNvp3gJtTXwCm-nIUxiZtR-dlrnHeHKaoLlp6l1OFkOcuRrtFxsgUJ8lnLqPtgHSvZDoNWvhv84guWL7gyxSwTP1NLqPq6tOUWNFijNB-oZa9g/w480-h640/IMG_8593.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>We made it back to our place, and The Oldest loved the birthday decorations her sister put up for her. We all rested at least a couple of minutes before we headed out again for the evening. </p><p>We had all heard that if we wanted to eat BBQ in New Orleans, we needed to hit up The Joint. we were very lucky that it was just a few blocks away from where we were staying. I got chicken, and coleslaw, and mac and cheese, and it was delicious and made me very, very happy.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqxPj5VglXMDJHd0VQ820S45C8GNb2JmqK5iD37EjN08kQQikC0oY7yLNHlp9cjvRRVTPWExwPjkyByXkFsD_bS6FspFwrCo0999h2GbAq0EFbCxvlEtUMQUPlYcglh7Xvo2gTMKdYpVEzCyRrys2iOuVyBATikWrQXi-ea4dCFvM2yb9Xw/s4032/IMG_8602.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqxPj5VglXMDJHd0VQ820S45C8GNb2JmqK5iD37EjN08kQQikC0oY7yLNHlp9cjvRRVTPWExwPjkyByXkFsD_bS6FspFwrCo0999h2GbAq0EFbCxvlEtUMQUPlYcglh7Xvo2gTMKdYpVEzCyRrys2iOuVyBATikWrQXi-ea4dCFvM2yb9Xw/w640-h480/IMG_8602.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p>The Bywater neighborhood is also where they have all of the murals. If you know me at all, you know how much I love murals, and the one in the photo above was probably my favorite from our trip.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZV6ZRBIFtx0v1L8ZzVUqvEEyFprV0jhj5RKfGkS6mgXbbKk8msKff9WfLLEXz0z3xNbYwX9p36XFtGMGqrZFWyXuNhzy9OXbT_Nn5BwAlwQFSzqUCLnthOX5ssNnHhF_cMeiEYrQAJpKLrTH36ORKei6BfBqamYEI1VOQE7mjjvLoLuePQ/s4032/IMG_8626.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZV6ZRBIFtx0v1L8ZzVUqvEEyFprV0jhj5RKfGkS6mgXbbKk8msKff9WfLLEXz0z3xNbYwX9p36XFtGMGqrZFWyXuNhzy9OXbT_Nn5BwAlwQFSzqUCLnthOX5ssNnHhF_cMeiEYrQAJpKLrTH36ORKei6BfBqamYEI1VOQE7mjjvLoLuePQ/w640-h480/IMG_8626.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>After dinner, we walked toward the French Quarter. My brother-in-law messaged us from Ottumwa to tell us that a band called Tuba Skinny was playing at a bar for free that night and we decided to check them out. Boy, were we glad we did. They play kind of 1920's style jazz, and there were tons of people dancing to it. I LOVE to watch people dance like they know what they're doing, and that's what we had there. All of these people swinging their partners and practically jitterbugging. I was in heaven.<br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRllu_gPYKplm0ClCKRKqCvCqRpxpfy-VgWHamoDLk7hiee1TJ_tYAv8OQgZN2LTMRuAqipgJUzU2V-cxAJ858w10YMKcZAwCHXfVsEZaFYkavTHm8AJmkoaxoMg2_D3RQG-nZmq8bXiQ2E-xFgDtmFQ78x1In-4Alb-x5JxUUf4pEiPsZZw/s4032/IMG_8656.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRllu_gPYKplm0ClCKRKqCvCqRpxpfy-VgWHamoDLk7hiee1TJ_tYAv8OQgZN2LTMRuAqipgJUzU2V-cxAJ858w10YMKcZAwCHXfVsEZaFYkavTHm8AJmkoaxoMg2_D3RQG-nZmq8bXiQ2E-xFgDtmFQ78x1In-4Alb-x5JxUUf4pEiPsZZw/w480-h640/IMG_8656.JPG" width="480" /></a></p><p>We finally made it back to the French Quarter again. John and Stinky and I didn't last too long, because we had been there the night before, and Bourbon Street is fun to check out and people watch, but once every ten years is probably enough for me. Stinky's husband, however, wasn't with us the night before, so we went with him to see it. He wanted to go to some bar that was on the show, "Fix My Bar". Is that really the name of the show? Oh, well. It's something like that. So, we checked that out, and Stinky wanted to go to Channing Tatum's bar, which was fine. It just would have been a lot more appealing to me if Channing Tatum had actually been there, instead of just his cut-out.</p><p>Anyway, the whole trip was lovely. We had a few instances where one or all of us got cranky, and a couple of times where I disappointed my kids by not being able to read their minds, or maybe they told me they wanted to do something, and I didn't listen to them, or whatever. We had the whole family trapped in a car for a long time, and then hanging out in a house together for a long time, and we all have our own PERSONALITIES, and yes, I'm yelling that word at you, because that's what all of our personalities would do to you if you met us in person. So, we all spent a LOT of time together and we didn't kill each other, and we're all still talking to each other, and we all had a lot of fun together. So, Coadster's 30th birthday trip to New Orleans was a smashing success. Seriously, if I were rich, and there weren't scary hurricanes, or climate change raising the ocean levels, I would move to New Orleans in a minute, I loved it so much.<br /></p><p></p>Churlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00735862031383588332noreply@blogger.com0