tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8166743369079106542024-03-18T22:49:10.714-04:00Magnolias & Mimosas Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.comBlogger412125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-82392550891773877682018-08-20T17:07:00.000-04:002018-08-21T13:01:02.626-04:00Metamorphosis <br />
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For the past 3 years Blue has received a "Cup O' Caterpillars Grow Your Own Butterfly Kit" for his birthday, which is in August. This has always been an amazing, thoughtful gift that took into consideration Blue's equal parts passion for science and animals. But we could never get started right away because I felt it was too hot for the butterflies. Then, once fall finally arrived, I feared it would get too cold for them at night. By the time I remembered to do it the following spring, day time temperatures were already soaring into the 90's. I don't really know what optimum butterfly temps are, but I feel like I may have been a butterfly in a former life and I prefer something in the mid-70's. Too cold in April, too hot in May. Too hot in August, too cold in September. It just never seemed like the right time.<br />
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And that, in a nutshell, has been the story of my life.<br />
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Not that the "wrong time" has prevented me just plowing through, especially as an Army wife and a mom. If I've learned anything since starting this blog 9 years ago, it's that sometimes you just gotta tuck and roll. And we've almost always managed to land on something soft.<br />
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It helps to have a steadfast, laid-back partner in crime; one who will support you unconditionally, as long as you are happy. I've asked a lot of Neal in the past 13 years and he has never failed to deliver...even on Blue's first day of first grade (when I incorrectly accused him of forgetting to take pictures while I was volunteering on base). He comes through every time and usually exceeds every expectation I may have had. So, our timing has never been perfect, but that hasn't kept us from growing, learning and evolving.<br />
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I will turn 40 in a couple of weeks and that has given me cause to re-evaluate some things. Like how much I obsess over some mysterious new spot on my body and how much time I spend around negative people and what I want from this blog. My first post was published right after Neal returned from his second deployment and I was looking for some way to establish my presence in this world. Then we lost a child, Neal lost his job, he was given the chance to go Active Duty, he deployed <i>again</i>, we had another child and then we started moving. A lot. Six times in 8 years. On my very first day of blogging I had to choose a name for my little space on the Internet. I looked out the window at our front yard, at the magnolia tree that hugged the corner of the house.<i> </i>I swirled my glass, my Sunday morning breakfast drink. <i>Magnolias & Mimosas</i>. It was a succinct description of my life in that moment...and how I thought my life would remain. I couldn't foresee anything past the relief of a recent homecoming and falling back into the routine of being married without kids.<br />
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That feels like a lifetime ago.<br />
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I was 31 and naive about so much. I had traveled but only to destinations detailed by Frommer's and Rick Steves. I believed what people told me, trusted what I saw with my own eyes and judged everyone by what they said and did.<br />
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I changed the name of my blog. I started a new blog when Neal deployed a 3rd time. I changed the name of the first blog again and then again. I spent most of my 30's trying to find where I fit in, what I believed, who I was. We had 2 sons and I learned about grief, joy, patience, malleability, unconditional love and forgiveness. I am not the same person as I was 9 years ago.<br />
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<i>I am better</i>.<br />
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I have never understood why people lament birthdays. Why they hide from them, downplay or even ignore them. They have always been a cause for celebration for me because, as the cliche goes, what's the alternative? As I look at where I've been, how far I've come in almost every way, I think it's time to start fresh. A new blog with a new purpose. I don't plan to dismantle this one. It's a recorded history of the miles I've traveled, the people I've met, the incredible adventures we've had along the way. But I'm ready to emerge from my chrysalis, stretch my wings, take to the sky and, if you're game, take you with me.<br />
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I've started a new blog titled, <a href="https://theneighborgood.wordpress.com/">The NeighborGood</a>, inspired by a street market of the same name in South Africa. It was featured on an episode during the first season of Anthony Bourdain's <i>Parts Unknown</i>. I see a lot of myself in Mr. Bourdain, minus the hopeless despair that washed over him. I see a man who didn't just stumble upon, but actively sought out, the good in this world. He traveled to Mississippi and Los Angeles, but also to Bhutan and Myanmar. He found the good food, the good people with the good stories. And then he shared it with us.<br />
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Many of my friends have commented on how well I can blend in with my surroundings, whether we are milking cows on a dairy farm in Paradise, Pennsylvania or shopping the Goodwill on Cary Street in Richmond, Virginia or marketing our church's Christkindlmarkt in the Country Club area of Kansas City. One of my closest friends compared me to a chameleon. I'm not sure I'll ever lose my Kentucky twang, but I do take a certain amount of pride in the fact that we can find a home wherever the Army sends us. It may take 3 months and a fair amount of grumbling, but we do eventually settle in. And then we get to enjoy seeing America as few others do, from the inside, out. There is good in Lititz, Pennsylvania and Petersburg, Virginia and Winterset, Iowa and Perry, Georgia and yes...in Los Angeles County, California. There is good in every holler, corner store, suburb, public park and food truck in between...from sea to shining sea. We have always sought out these places and the people who make them good and I've always shared our experiences with you. Now that will be my focus as I ride this train to 40, blowing the whistle all the way. It's not the end of the line, just a different track.<br />
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You can find me<a href="https://theneighborgood.wordpress.com/"> here</a>. And if you give me a day or 2, that silly default <i>journey</i> (that word should be taken out to a field and used for target practice) post will be replaced by what we found at The Grove last weekend. <br />
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-84266759528399856432018-08-17T16:48:00.003-04:002018-08-17T16:58:31.844-04:00Champagne Friday: Sharing the AwesomeWe haven't had a <i>true</i> Champagne Friday around here in a while. We are due. Screw that..we are <i>past </i>due. So, while I pour my new favorite concoction: a Fever Tree Ginger Beer + Tito's vodka + a squeeze of lime, let me show you a little bit of what I'm loving from this week.<br />
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<a href="https://www.pietroclemente.com/">via </a></div>
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This billboard popped up on either the 110 or the 405 (I'm on so many freeways everyday that I lose track) and it makes me giggle every time. It is totally ridiculous, just like L.A. can be. I appreciate that just outside of Hollywood there is a billboard that is pretty much mocking Hollywood. I don't drink Vitamin Water but if I did, this would make me a fan for life.<br />
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Y'ALL. This was my lunch today. It is bacon and kimchi fried rice, garnished with slivers of seaweed and topped with an egg over easy. <i>And it was at an indoor kids playground! </i>When my tribe said I should come to a kids play place without my kid because the food is just that good, they weren't joking. So, while Blue was eating a turkey dog and having recess, I totally noshed on this, surrounded by dozens of screaming kids who were not screaming for me. It was slightly bizarre, but mostly fabulous.<br />
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And one thing that made me scratch my head...<br />
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This was on our trash can this week. I don't mind that they are changing the collection day but the second paragraph has me totally stumped. Why it would be safer to collect trash on Fridays as opposed to Wednesdays? I'm certainly open to anyone's hypothesis on why this would be.<br />
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Have a lovely weekend, friends! It's almost the end of "summer" so this calls for some outdoor time...and by "outdoor" I mean drinks on the patio. <i>Cheers</i>! <br />
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-85989909448351445142018-08-16T14:42:00.000-04:002018-08-16T14:42:43.457-04:00Ally & the Israelites The first week of school always has me like<br />
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simultaneously...all week. Mountains of paperwork...and we only have one kid. But blissful peace and quiet for 6 hours everyday. The hurry and scurry routine of breakfast (Throw away your trash, please), brushing teeth (I don't believe you, let me smell your mouth. No, go do it again.) and getting shoes on (they go on the <i>other</i> feet). But blissful peace and quiet for 6 hours everyday.<br />
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Wait. Did I say that already?<br />
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Blue talks a lot. And at one point over the summer if he said, "Hey MOM" one more time, my head was going to shatter into a million tiny pieces all over the driveway.<br />
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So, yes. Peace and quiet. At the Commissary. At the dentist. While I write blog posts.<br />
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I miss him a little. But mostly I'm super excited to see him at the end of school everyday, which makes me feel like a better Mom. And less like my entire body is burning after being peppered with the same questions all day.<br />
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But at the same time I feel like the summer flew by. Like <i>flew</i>. I do usually feel that way after a summer when we move, but we arrived in May. There's no reason I should feel like we were shorted a summer. And yet the barely touched bucket list says otherwise. <i>What the hell did we do all summer?</i> I don't even know.<br />
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I think, maybe, I've spent a lot of time complaining.<br />
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Have you ever sat through a sermon on Sunday morning and thought, "Well, that was uncomfortably relevant to my life right now?" I don't know if that's a God thing or if pastors are taught to preach on wide-ranging topics that could apply to 90% of their congregation on any given Sunday, but that happened to me this week. We weren't going to go, but we had skipped 2 Sunday mornings in a row and I was feeling guilty. So, I dropped Blue in child care and found a seat in the middle of the middle.<br />
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I like our pastor. He reminds me of Nadia Bolz-Weber. On our first Sunday his sermon included a reference to <i>wham bam thank you ma'am</i> and while I was sort of appalled at first, I decided that his preaching style is a mix of relaxed Californian with the filter switched off. I think he's the type of person who is honest and sincere, if not always totally politically correct, and I'm good with that for the next 2 years.<br />
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Anyway, this week he talked about the Israelites...and how they <i>loved</i> to complain; in Exodus 5 (when they blamed Moses for how Pharaoh was treating them), in Exodus 16 and 17 (when they were hungry and thirsty), in Numbers 14 (when entering the Promise Land looked <i>too hard</i>) and then more about no water, Moses sucks as a leader, etc, etc, etc. Our pastor encouraged us to <i>trust</i> God and to trust the journey. He suggested we stop grumbling and start living.<br />
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I think I've been grumbling. If not on here, at least to <i>everyone</i> around me. It's hard to imagine a more drastic change than from the fertile fields of Dutch Amish Pennsylvania to the concrete jungle of Los Angeles. And we had ranked this duty station somewhere near the bottom because I've never had any desire to <i>live</i> in L.A. Visit? Absolutely! But I hate crowds. I consistently choose national parks over Disney World because...<i>crowds</i>. For the love of all things Amish, please don't make me move to L.A.<br />
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And yet...here we be.<br />
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So, yes...there has been some (or a lot of) grumbling. The traffic. The cost of dining out. The crappy service we've gotten <i>every time</i> we've eaten out. The wall-to-wall people regardless of where you go and when. The homeless on every corner and everywhere in between. The trash on freeways, in yards, in parking lots, on the sidewalks. The cost of gas. The high crime. The "all-about-me" attitudes of the natives in this area. The air quality. The water quality. The quality of life.<br />
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Grumble. Grumble. Grumble. Grumble. I am an Israelite.<br />
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In my spiritual life I do believe that God has a plan for me. Sure there is some free will, but for the most part, there is a reason why things happen. Lately, I have spent entirely too much time fighting when I should be following. Neal will tell you I've always had trust issues. He would probably be the least surprised by this sudden lack of faith in the future. God brought us here for a reason. We are going to the Promise Land, but we are going to be "hungry", we are going to be "thirsty" and there are going to be challenges. For the record, I have no idea what the Promise Land looks like. If it's just a bunch of milk and honey, I will probably complain about that, too. I would like some sweetened almond milk with a dash of locally sourced honey, please. But maybe it's retirement with a higher rank pay, maybe it's living in a historical home in a historical city. Maybe it's simply being able to look at Neal and know that we did the best we could with what we had and we tried to help others along the way. Whatever it is, God is taking us there. I just need to stop complaining about the trip.<br />
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So, beginning next week, I will be reviewing some of the activities we've done so far. I will focus more on the positives with a sprinkling of <i>keepin it real </i>for good measure (y'all should know that something is only 5 miles away but it will take you 30 minutes to get there and you're going to have arm wrestle some guy named Bobo to get a parking space). I'm done grumbling. I'm ready to trust. <br />
<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-24107147683331280842018-08-10T13:02:00.001-04:002018-08-10T13:02:05.953-04:00Where Art Intersects With Life: Our Customized Narrative Illustration (a Review) Last Christmas we received the most unique Christmas card from my friend, Brooke.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAxGILDmmbzIBsW2MGOatngg6mM9R7G5RNyc4KBP_s0V6cfJnQhKuisrp7gVCmJI4YVAaQ59MWdtL9dun8DwFdhD0m7-RfspL0HRKtnBHr5-OUFWoyRqu0HmiCwJFkTP8eLnqb-sPVps/s1600/25348623_10107024751274032_7153914924647615170_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAxGILDmmbzIBsW2MGOatngg6mM9R7G5RNyc4KBP_s0V6cfJnQhKuisrp7gVCmJI4YVAaQ59MWdtL9dun8DwFdhD0m7-RfspL0HRKtnBHr5-OUFWoyRqu0HmiCwJFkTP8eLnqb-sPVps/s320/25348623_10107024751274032_7153914924647615170_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I stared at it for a long time, trying to absorb the combination of details, all of which embody Brooke and her family; her husband's tattoos, Brooke's appreciation for a nice glass of red and the color purple, their three furbabies with three very distinct personalities. "I took thorough pictures of my husband's tattoos and the house is perfect, right down to the metal art between the windows," Brooke mentioned. "And Clover barks at the TV. I think that's the big detail that made me cry when I saw it. Like <i>YES! That's my family!</i>" <br />
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Then I had a thought. <i>I must have one of these</i>. It was the perfect 50th birthday gift for the man who now owns a Big
Green Egg and all the accessories, a complete beer-making kit and a
subscription to Audible. <br />
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I texted Brooke immediately and she put me in touch with the artist, Jarrett Rutland, a Maryland Institute College of Art graduate and Asheville, North Carolina resident who illustrated the children's book<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Alligator-Wedding-Nancy-Jewell/dp/0805068198/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1533881660&sr=8-1&keywords=alligator+wedding"> Alligator Wedding</a> <br />
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before writing and illustrating 2 children's books of his own: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Love-You-No-Matter-What/dp/1400321956/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1533881687&sr=1-1&keywords=prince+chirpio">I Love You No Matter What: A Prince Chirpio Story </a><br />
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and <a href="https://northsouth.com/our-latest-catalog/">Chilly da Vinci </a>(due out December 4th, but you can pre-order <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Chilly-Vinci-Jarrett-Rutland/dp/0735842833/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1533911434&sr=8-1&keywords=chilly+da+vinci">here</a>).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmaUqpTXZuLS7GG-iHti9bGIyEyEXqDqJbFcwLHm0X9T7kVinLcnm_BKki4xr7V4ZjHU39zS_YzSzSM4ktXn4Vc9-Fq76rgNYB3wsfrZJZHP25SdqjIlMOL3y643wqzG7jS-qwJThp5E/s1600/IMG950622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEmaUqpTXZuLS7GG-iHti9bGIyEyEXqDqJbFcwLHm0X9T7kVinLcnm_BKki4xr7V4ZjHU39zS_YzSzSM4ktXn4Vc9-Fq76rgNYB3wsfrZJZHP25SdqjIlMOL3y643wqzG7jS-qwJThp5E/s320/IMG950622.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Jarrett is also the creator behind <a href="https://www.facebook.com/escapistcomix/">Escapist Comix</a> (or click <a href="https://www.patreon.com/escapistcomix">here</a> for non-Facebook folks), home of the Robot Samurai Penguins comic book series. And now he is creating customized narrative illustrations for families worldwide.<br />
<br />
I had no idea what to expect regarding Jarrett's process, but Brooke
mentioned that he communicates mostly through text messaging and he may
friend request me on Facebook so he can develop a sense of our
personalities and interests. I readily agreed to the first, I had to
think for a minute about the second. Admittedly, my Facebook friend
group isn't exactly restricted to the inner circle, but I had
reservations about granting access to a complete stranger. Isn't that
how <i>Dateline</i> starts? It also gave me pause to think that someone
could learn more about me through my Facebook page than from my answers
on a questionnaire. But for about 90% of us, this is our truth. We live
online and if you are hiring an artist to draw an accurate impression of
your family, something that exceeds caricature, you should let him in.<br />
<br />
My first text conversation with Jarrett discussed, naturally, his
prices. After all, it is a custom piece of artwork by a published
artist. How much was this going to set me back? Jarrett charges $260 for
a 10"x12.5" piece and $290 for an 11"x15" piece. As anyone with a
Business 101 class under their belt will tell you, charge just slightly
more for the bigger product and people will almost always veer in that
direction. I was already spending $250+...what's another $30? Also, that was still within my <i>This is a big birthday</i> budget. And as I type this post, when I glance at our artwork hanging on the wall,
I can't imagine it being anything but what it is, which is perfect.<br />
<br />
But I'm getting ahead of myself.<br />
<br />
After I sent a deposit to Jarrett through PayPal
(which officially placed our order in his queue), he emailed me a
questionnaire. It included fairly basic questions like <i>Describe the members of your family</i> and <i>What are some of your interests</i>?
Initially, I was going to surprise Neal with this gift so I was going
to answer all of the questions on my own. But as I thought about it
hanging in our house, I decided we should do this together. So, one
night after Blue went to bed, we sat down with a bottle of wine and a
pen and answered each question with excessive (bordering on obnoxious)
detail. I wanted to cover <i>all</i> of our bases. Brown paper packages tied up with string, these are a few of our favorite things...<br />
<br />
Seriously, it was at least 2 paragraphs for each answer. But I write a
blog and no one has ever accused me of being shy, humble, or brief. <br />
<br />
And
then I sent a ton of pictures; 20, to be exact. Pictures of our RV and
my hair and Blue's bike and Neal's uniform (with close-up pictures of
his patches). I sent pictures of my favorite Birkenstock sandals and the
Little Free Library Neal built in Leavenworth and my favorite UK
hoodie. Jarrett asked for clearer pictures of Blue's Cub Scout hat,
which I had to go looking for because it had fallen behind the bookshelf
after the last den meeting. And then I asked him to please include our
angel baby, but not in an obvious way because I was still not ready to
answer a 5 year-old's questions about the son that came before him. I
mentioned that Mom and I both have blue butterfly tattoos to symbolize
Shepherd's life and that he could use that somewhere in his narrative.<br />
<br />
And then I waited.<br />
<br />
One morning I got a text. "What do you think?"<br />
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I didn't answer right away. I sat
down for a minute and just took it all in. It wasn't at all what I was
expecting. <i>It was so much better</i>. There we were, perched atop
Delicate Arch at Arches National Park, where we had dragged Blue on a 5
AM hike up a rock face so we could see this icon before the Moab heat
overwhelmed us. The Big Green Egg was smoking meat below and Blue was
feeding the wildife. A beer, a bourbon and our precious butterfly. It
was almost perfect.<br />
<br />
"I LOVE IT! But, um, can you add
our cats? Lulu is the Tortoise Siamese and Poppy is our angel kitty," I
asked Jarrett. He answered immediately. "Of course!" I understood how
important it is to be happy with the first draft. Everything builds
from this and it is sometimes impossible to make changes after the ink is on. I needed to be sure this is what I wanted. Jarrett sent a second proof with both
kitties depicted and I was sure...now it was perfect. Time to paint!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.breakthemoldphoto.com/">Photo courtesy of Break the Mold Photo </a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.breakthemoldphoto.com/">Photo courtesy of Break the Mold Photo </a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.breakthemoldphoto.com/">Photo courtesy of Break the Mold Photo </a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I waited and Jarrett worked. </div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
I had to do a lot of things to distract me because the anticipation
was almost too much. I didn't get any of these updates until after the
piece was completed and I mentioned to Jarrett that I would like to
write a review for my blog. So, in the meantime, I knitted a triangular
washcloth and watched old Mr. Rogers episodes on YouTube with Blue.<br />
<br />
Then one morning I got a text. "What do you think?"<br />
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Yes. Yes. Holy crap how did you do that? YES!<br />
Although...could
you add a little more brown to Lulu's fur...and maybe give my pants a
hem? I felt it was risky to even question, considering the paint was already
dry, but you never know until you ask. The worst he could say was <i>no, I'm sorry</i> and I was OK with that, too. <br />
<br />
Jarrett managed to adjust the hem and he added a little mottling to Lulu's fur. He even added some stars and
connected them, forming constellations out of all our previous duty
stations. I actually cried.<br />
<br />
People may see this piece
hanging above our couch and think it's a fun depiction of our family; a
unique piece of art that illustrates our appetite for smoked meat, Blue's
obsession with animals and my love of reading, but the more subtle details are precisely what make it so special. There
is an inside joke (about the squirrel), a big brother keeping watch over
baby brother, and dawn breaking behind us, which is exactly how it
looked when we rounded the final turn to Delicate Arch. And who could
know when we received the completed piece that Blue would be catching
lizards in Southern California just 6 months later? This duty station
wasn't even on our radar at that time. He has yet to try to feed one
baked goods. I think it just hasn't occurred to him.<br />
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Of all the things in our house that spark joy, this is at the top. It is our family: a family of 4 with 2 furbabies.<br />
<br />
Here is the genius behind Jarrett's talent: this could have easily become a painting
that featured us in the middle, surrounded by all of our favorite
things. And I sent him a <i>lengthy</i> list of our favorite things. He
didn't include all of them. He used about 1/3 of what I sent him, but he
chose the perfect 1/3. I couldn't narrow it down, but he could. He
didn't include my camera or the RV or our bikes or the map of all the
places where we've been. I was picturing a campground scene with us
huddled around a fire roasting s'mores, while the lights of the RV
glowed from a distance. Obviously, this is nothing like what I imagined.
But depicting us lounging on top of Delicate Arch lends a magical quality to the entire piece. We would never realistically sit in this
particular spot, but it certainly represents how relaxed we feel in
nature, especially in our national parks, and how accomplished we felt
after conquering this hike with a 3 year old at 5 AM. It isn't a collage
of interests, it's a snapshot of this moment in time. Neal won't always
be in the Army, Blue won't always be fascinated by lizards and someday
Lulu will cross the rainbow bridge, but right now, this is our life
together. It was intended for Neal, but it ended up being a gift to all of us. <br />
<br />
Since completing our narrative illustration, Jarrett has finished dozens more, most of which can be seen on his Facebook page under the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jarrett.rutland/media_set?set=a.10154597466201548.1073741832.547086547&type=3"><i>Customs</i> <i>Album</i></a>. These are just a few of my favorites from his recent work:<br />
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This last one...that <i>sky</i>. Don't you just want to pull up a chair and watch the sunset?<br />
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<i>Many thanks to Jarrett for capturing the absolute essence of Team Miller. If you would like your own customized narrative illustration, mention this blog post when you book and get 10% off your order! </i><br />
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<i>You can email Jarrett at jarrettrutland@gmail.com or message him on his <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jarrett.rutland">Facebook page</a>. If you are interested in checking out exclusive, behind-the-scenes footage of Jarrett's work, you can subscribe to his Patreon page <a href="https://www.patreon.com/escapistcomix">here</a>. </i> <br />
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Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-71410123094753440192018-08-01T13:13:00.000-04:002018-08-01T13:13:35.674-04:00Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City (a sort of book review)I wake up every morning to a kiss on the forehead from my husband. I get out of bed, rinse out my $400 bite guard that keeps me from grinding my teeth to dust in my sleep, pour on a few drops of Clary Sage to help balance my hormones and go downstairs to make a cup of coffee from locally sourced beans. I watch whatever Blue is watching on Netflix while I scroll through Facebook, check Pinterest, text my neighbors to see what they have planned for the day. I hard boil some eggs, make some toast for Blue, give the cat her thyroid medication, turn on the AC if the humidity is creeping up to 70%. Another summer day stretches out before us, just waiting to be filled with a Target run, some laundry, a picnic at the beach, flying kites on the hill, a sunset stroll after a casserole dinner.<br />
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Five miles away, a mom unzips the tent door, peeks out to see the sun rising over a steady stream of early commuters. The 405 is already getting jammed up and it's not even rush hour proper yet. I don't know what follows next. They go to look for food or scrounge to find leftovers stashed in the corner of the tent? Maybe they know of a soup kitchen or church that offers breakfast once a week. Then another summer day stretches out before them, waiting to be filled with what must be done just to meet their most basic of needs.<br />
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It's hard to not think about the homeless population in Los Angeles. While we could avert our eyes from the panhandlers in Richmond or the huddled masses of homeless men on the MLK Jr. Boulevard of almost any city, L.A. is a labyrinth of homes, apartments, tents, RVs and vans. Everyone here has an opinion on how to address this issue and they will tell you...in barber shops, grocery stores, on the local radio stations. Everyone wants to fix it, no one knows where to start. It is the result of decades of poor decisions, exacerbated by the law they passed in 2007, which allows the homeless to set up camp on the city's sidewalks. Meant to offset the shelter shortage L.A. was experiencing at the time, it has become a permanent solution to a rapidly growing population's most basic need. A temporary fix has become an eyesore and, in many cases, dangerous. The city officials have scurried to construct or renovate shelters, but no self-respecting resident wants a homeless shelter in their neighborhood.<br />
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Can you blame them?<br />
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It's the very reason why Australia was colonized. Send them over <i>there</i>.<br />
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Except the only potentially habitable frontier is exoplanets so, for now, we must find a place for them here.<br />
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I will, begrudgingly, admit that I have echoed the likes of Ebenezer Scrooge when talking about the homeless population. With firsthand knowledge of homelessness limited to the one time I moved in with my grandmother when my best friend ended her lease and moved (I was living in her entryway at the time), I have often found myself exclaiming, "Why don't they go to the shelters? Why can't the churches take them in?" But some life experience and <i>Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City</i> by Matthew Desmond (a sociology professor at Princeton University) are teaching me that the issue is infinitely more complex.<br />
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Neal and I are part of a book club that chooses books based on what they will teach us about different populations living in the United States. From <i>Girl in Translation</i> to <i>The Distance Between Us</i> to <i>Negroland</i> to <i>Evicted</i>, we have exposed ourselves to the wide range of cultures living all around us. But <i>Evicted</i> has shaken me the most, so far. Perhaps it's because a novel that explores homelessness feels so relevant right now, much more than when we lived in Dutch Amish Pennsylvania.<br />
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In recommending <i>Evicted</i> (which is set in Milwaukee) to someone, I may go so far as to suggest reading the epilogue first. In it, Desmond explains that to truly immerse himself in the homeless experience, he moved into the trailer park where some of the individuals in his book lived. And then when the trailer park was condemned, he moved to Milwaukee's north side, into a rooming house with a security guard he knew. But, of course, he has 2 degrees, has taught at Harvard and everyone around him knew he was writing a book. He didn't have the <i>true</i> experience. But I suspect he got pretty darn close.<br />
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<i>Evicted</i> compares and contrasts two worlds: the one where tenants are scraping Social Security benefits and pocket change together to make rent (or at least try to keep from getting evicted) while landlords express concerns about how many times the police are called to their properties or what to do about late rent payments. Throughout the book, someone is hustling and someone is getting hustled, but who is doing what is constantly shifting. Because Desmond wore a recording device the entire time he lived among his subjects, he has included verbatim conversations throughout the book, especially once his neighbors relaxed their guard around him. Although one woman was convinced he was undercover with Child Protective Services the entire time, even asking again when he saw her again after a couple of years.<br />
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Desmond spends much of his time following individuals and families around as they seek to secure housing, which is challenging because of their previous evictions, arrest records and what they can afford to pay versus what most landlords are charging, even for substandard housing. Some landlords won't rent to African Americans, some refuse to rent to a single mom of 4 kids, many will turn a blind eye to all of that, but the evictions come swiftly as soon as the police are called for a noise violation. Although the book only follows the stories of about 10 people, the number of times they are able to procure housing and then find themselves on the street again in just a few months' time is dizzying. It is the vicious cycle I always assumed it was, but with a million more motives driving the actions of everyone involved. And I never knew there is a mathematical calculation for what it <i>should</i> cost for housing: 30% of your income. More than that and something will give. It isn't sustainable. When someone is completely dependent on disability and SSI, 30% isn't much.<br />
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There are shelters. But they only allow people to stay for so long and if it's a shelter for women and children, perhaps your 16-year old son won't be welcomed. So, Desmond offers a housing allowance, a kind of voucher system, as a partial solution. He explains it better than I can but, needless to say, it involves some government assistance to span the chasm between 30% of a homeless person's income and what the landlord is charging.<br />
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And there are other factors, too...mental health and drug or alcohol abuse problems, the loss of a job, death of a spouse, a serious national financial crash. When the law allowing homeless people to sleep on the sidewalks was passed in 2007, it actually set the stage for the tent cities that are now commonplace all over Los Angeles, even in Beverly Hills and Bel Air. Massive foreclosures in 2008 pushed people into the streets, mortgages skyrocketed which sent rents soaring...which pushed more people into the streets. Skid row bled into every artery around Los Angeles. Eventually, the markets stabilized but the housing shortage in L.A. continues. The cost of living is still climbing. It is a wonder how anyone can afford a roof and a bathroom out here. Even at the bank across the street from our house there is a banner reading, "Apartment loans available." That isn't an invitation to become a landlord; it is so people can afford the first and last month's rent, plus the security deposit, which could easily total $12,000.<br />
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During our book club meeting, one of the participants suggested that the best way to begin helping the homeless is to start closest to home. That may mean helping someone in the family or a neighbor. As she spoke, my mind was drawn back to Lancaster, Pennsylvania. When we toured the Amish countryside last fall, our guide took a moment to point out the Amish homes, which sprawl across an acre or more of their family farms. The Amish don't sell their homes; they build an addition when an elderly family member is no longer able to live alone. Multiple generations living under one roof, caring for each other. For the record, Lancaster has a homeless population that hovers around 320 people while Los Angeles weighs in around 50,000. I understand that one city is significantly larger than the other but the difference in city size does not justify the difference in the size of the homeless population.<br />
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I enjoyed reading <i>Evicted</i> and discussing it with others who all brought a different perspective to the conversation. I don't know that it solves the crisis, but it certainly opens up the dialogue, which is what our book club is all about. Even after I turned the last page, I continue to contemplate the issue, reading article after article about homelessness in towns from Los Angeles to Lancaster. And that is, to me, what makes a book worth reading. Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-46669729984176348012018-07-27T03:28:00.001-04:002018-07-27T03:33:02.847-04:00Roadtripping to Des Moines Part 2: This Town is Ready for a Political Candidate, a Zombie Apocalypse or Both Just so you know, there's more to Des Moines than covered bridges and shearing sheep. Like this, for example...<br />
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<i>Yes, politicians will pause for an interview with CNN in the middle of an Iowa cornfield. I give Iowans a lot of credit for not letting it go to their heads. </i></div>
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But also, the <a href="https://www.dsmpartnership.com/desmoinesfarmersmarket/">Downtown Farmer's Market</a>, where you can eat your way through, starting with a gooner at 9 AM and ending with a papusa and a train ride.<br />
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Oh...<i>What is a gooner</i>, you ask? It is like a crab rangoon, filled with sweet and savory options. You can get 4 for $5 and that's 2 more than you can really eat all by yourself, especially if you want to save room for the gourmet doughnut booth on your way back through.<br />
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But about that barrel train ride...<br />
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I think it was about $2 and around and around he went for several minutes. It's the perfect kid-friendly activity for parents who just want to eat their gooners in peace.<br />
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Plus, there are other things to see at the Saturday market...<br />
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like the World's Furriest Hawkeye fan. I'm pretty sure if I started drinking at the beginning of a football game, I would think this was Sean Connery by the 4th quarter.<br />
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Also, belly dancers because...why not?<br />
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And all manner of unique, handcrafted goodies at every turn. I bought a pair of mitten gloves from the very hands that knitted them. <br />
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If you happen to be visiting Des Moines in the fall, you can also have your pick of fall festivals hosted by the local farms. They usually include a petting area, apple cider doughnuts, train rides, sliding down a half-pipe on a potato sack, bounce pillows...<br />
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and, of course, the infamous corn pool.<br />
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To be honest, I couldn't remember which farm we visited so I thought I would just Google "Des Moines farm festival corn pool" and get my answer. But, no. As it turns out, there is more than one farm offering a pool o' corn for kids to stomp and swim in freely for the entire month of October. But getcha some of this. It's entirely worth the bra full of corn you'll have to dump out that night. And it's significantly better than that one time in Kansas when I dumped all of Blue's sand out of his sand table, bought a 20 pound bag of feed corn at the farm and tractor store and dumped that in his sand table. The squirrels loved us and the neighbors had corn stuck in their tires for weeks. <br />
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If the fall festival is worth two cents, it will have other activities, like the <a href="http://flyinghoundzfrizbee.com/">Flying Houndz Frizbee Trick Dog Show</a>, where pups leap and twirl to the oohs and ahhs of folks like us.<br />
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And the racing pigs. There's always racing pigs. I don't know why this entertains me so.<br />
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When your belly is full of apple slushie and freshly baked pumpkin bread, head back over to the covered bridges to check out what you missed last time.<br />
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Maybe stop to do a handstand<br />
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and pick up some astroturf flip-flops. <br />
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Then swing by <a href="http://www.zombieburgershakelab.com/">Zombie Burger + Shake Lab</a> (don't worry, they have multiple locations in Des Moines but we hit up the one downtown) and grab the Trailer Trash Zombie burger with a Chocolate Nutella Marshmallow shake on the side. Make it boozy for a little extra.<br />
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Bonus points if you can manage to not look like a tourist in here. I failed miserably.<br />
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If, after all of this, you are down for a little more adventure, drive 3 hours northeast to Dyersville, Iowa...otherwise known as The Home of The Field of Dreams. We actually drove like six hours from Kansas to Dyersville and then swung through Des Moines on our way home. When we left Kansas City, it was a balmy spring day in May, with temperatures reaching in the mid-70's. But someone forgot to tell Dyersville that winter was over. It was freaking freezing. And we were utterly unprepared. We stopped at the Target in Dyersville and I bought a scarf while Shana found the very last rain coat in the store because they had already made room for the bikinis and floppy hats. I promised Blue I would wrap him in the picnic blanket from the trunk. We drove with the heat on and then leaped out to see the baseball field surrounded by, naturally, rows and rows of corn.<br />
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How can you spot 2 city girls at the Field of Dreams baseball field? They are looking for corn. In May. And this is how we came to learn the snappy farmer's rhyme: <i>knee-high by July</i>. There is no rhyme about May. <br />
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Do we look cold? We took one selfie as Blue ran in the opposite direction in total defiance. He is not up for our shenanigans on a good day, never mind when he's getting chapped by the wind while we take a thousand pictures of a house and a corn-less field. Apparently, even if you don't grow it, they will still come.<br />
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But I loved the movie and we enjoyed the 20 minutes we spent wandering the grounds. Next time, though, we'll plan our trip around a Ghost Sunday baseball game. I'll gladly pay my $90 to reserve a seat on the swing on the front porch of the farmhouse, just as Ray would want us to.<br />
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This is all we could squeeze into 48 hours in Des Moines, but rest assured my DSM bucket list grows by the day. In addition to touring <a href="https://www.facebook.com/fortDSMmuseum/">Fort Des Moines</a>, I would also like to swing through in February for the <a href="http://www.blueribbonbaconfestival.com/">Blue Ribbon Bacon Festival</a>, stop back by <a href="https://fongspizza.com/">Fong's Pizza</a> (yes, the crab rangoon pizza is everything you think it is) and play a few games at <a href="http://www.updowndsm.com/">Up-Down</a>, an arcade featuring our favorite video games from the 80's and 90's (I could hold my own with some Mario Brothers).<br />
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We had a blast living in the Midwest and would have no qualms about retiring there...if it weren't so far away from an ocean in every single direction. But Midwesterners are some of my favorite people, ever. They are hard-working, honest, generous and kind. They take pride and joy in their homes and towns, which shines through in everything they do. I'm looking forward to the next time I get to land in this "fly-over" state!<br />
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-70990995369194595752018-07-25T02:20:00.000-04:002018-07-25T02:20:20.147-04:00Roadtripping to Des Moines: Part 1 - We'll Cross That Bridge When We Get to It I can't remember how I came to have a copy of <i>The Bridges of Madison County</i> in my hands, but I think it may have had something to do with the women in my family. Most likely, one of them read it and the copy got passed around until it was my turn. I zipped through it in about a week, relishing every steamy, forbidden love scene. Yes, her husband and children were away at the State Fair with their prize pigs or whatever when the main character fell in love (into bed) with a National Geographic photographer who just happened to be passing through. And no, now that I'm married with a kid I probably wouldn't read more than 3 pages of a book where the wife cheats on the husband. But I read this book when I was in high school and, oh lawsy, it set the fires a-burnin'.<br />
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And then the movie came out.<br />
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And then they cast Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep as the two star-crossed lovers and all of us who grew up thinking they were old when we were babies just rolled our eyes and gagged a little. Really? Matt Damon wasn't available? What about Tom Cruise? Truly, I would have even settled for Keanu Reeves. And what about Francesca? The most popular actresses in 1995 included Nicole Kidman, Elisabeth Shue and Mira Sorvino. I would have chosen any of them over Meryl Streep. Well, maybe not Mira Sorvino. She has a weird face that makes her look like she just stabbed either your gerbil or your grandmother...a little hard to tell which.<br />
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My point is, I had just finished my junior year of high school when the movie premiered and I was completely grossed out by 2 very old people chasing each other around the kitchen while trying to get naked. I gave up halfway through and went back to watching <i>While You Were Sleeping</i>.<br />
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But...I have always loved the actual <i>bridges</i> of Madison County...which are, as a matter of fact, in Iowa. Most of them dot the landscape around Winterset, Iowa and are so close together that if you visit the area during the <a href="http://www.madisoncounty.com/covered-bridge-festival/">Bridges of Madison County Festival</a> in October, you can board a Winterset school bus that will take you to several of them.<br />
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And that is exactly what Blue and I did. We drove from Fort Leavenworth, KS to Des Moines, IA just to attend this festival and walk the bridges where Francesca and Robert flirted and fell in love. (Although in my head, Francesca is played by Sandra Bullock and Robert is played by Robert Downey, Jr.) And we visited with our friend, Holly, an Iowan who loves random adventures as much as we do...especially when it involves a school bus full of people who are at least 30 years older than any of us.<br />
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But before we could go here, we had to get on the bus...<br />
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Holly is kind of a creeper. She's like Mira Sorvino in that way. Actually, she photobombed our picture and I said, "You better be careful. You'll end up on my blog." Three years later...<br />
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So, we got on the bus with a lot of people who probably thought Clint Eastwood was perfectly cast as a sex symbol (which is going to be me someday when I talk about how profoundly hot Patrick Swayze was in <i>Dirty Dancing</i>) and rode out to our first stop, Roseman Bridge.<br />
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For the record, Blue was 3 years old when we did this and was completely bored by touring covered bridges. But I promised him ice cream at the end so he wasn't a total nightmare. He still refused to smile or even look at the camera, though.<br />
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I spent a lot of time checking him for ticks.<br />
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Someone just couldn't resist jotting down a lyric from <i>The Bridges of Madison County, the Musical</i> on the inside of the bridge. Don't let them near the Titanic exhibit. They'll be scribbling "I'll never let go, Jack" across a glass case before you can call security.<br />
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It's like a painting. The red bridge contrasting with the green landscape and the blue sky...this <i>is</i> God's country.<br />
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I would have renamed that road, too. Why not cash in on some of the fame? Iowa was due. <br />
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The bus then brought us to North River Schoolhouse, a one-room school built in 1874. It is on the National Register of Historic Places and has been impeccably maintained. There was even some sand to keep Blue entertained while we listened to the guide.<br />
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We saw Cedar Bridge from the bus, but it's accessible through Cedar Bridge Park.<br />
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One more drive-by. There isn't enough time on the tour to get out and walk through each bridge, but you can always come back - which is exactly what I did 7 months later. <br /><br />
When we returned to Winterset, there were food trucks and arts & crafts waiting for us in the town square. We stopped to watch a farmer shear his sheep (which is a much rougher affair than I was expecting but the sheep didn't seem to mind).<br />
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And a place to sit and ponder how much you would love to own this place where you are sitting.<br />
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There is even a mini covered bridge where you can get a selfie (or a normal picture where you actually ask some random person to hold your phone and try not to crop anyone's head off).<br />
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By the way, if you don't understand my shirt, you and Neal will have something to talk about. He didn't get it, either. Meanwhile, Holly and I were laughing to the point of making a scene while we looked for my size at RAYGUN.<br />
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As we ate our street food on the lawn of the square and listened to live music, we decided this was well worth the price of admission. The bridges of Madison County are charming. I can see why someone wrote a book about them. And it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility to spot a photographer from National Geographic, wading through the creeks with his camera over his head, trying to capture all of this simple beauty in just one frame. The bridges are a treasure, tucked away in the outskirts of Des Moines and waiting for you to cross them, whether you are with a Robert, a Francesca or a good friend and your toddler.<br />
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-75273138575176792312018-07-23T11:16:00.001-04:002018-07-23T11:41:36.874-04:00Saving Fort Des Moines A couple of weeks ago, Neal and I had the honor of meeting and shaking hands with 2 Tuskegee Airmen, one is 93 years old and the other is 95. With each passing year, our opportunities to meet any Servicemembers from World War II are dwindling significantly. These days, we are lucky to meet their children. As our parents pass on, we are left to tell our grandparents' stories, <i>if</i> we can remember them. But their service, their sacrifices are important and their memories should be shared, one way or another. Our visit with the Airmen was far too brief. I wanted to have them over for dinner; cook lasagna and let them talk until we all nod off over our desert plates. I wanted to hear about how the world has changed, how it is remarkably still the same, what changed their lives and what they hope for the future.<br />
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To hear the stories of previous generations, we must often turn to books and museums with curated collections that give the memories shape and context. My favorite Civil War museum is Pamplin Historical Park in Petersburg, Virginia. It is a privately owned museum that has always made Civil War history accessible and interesting. Visitors must engage with exhibits and that leaves an indelible mark on even the most apathetic guest. My initial thought was, "I wish the people who work here had been my high school history teachers."<br />
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Indeed, Jeff Kluever, the former Education Supervisor of Pamplin Historical Park, would make an <i>excellent</i> high school history teacher. But he has set his sights on something equally as important: saving Fort Des Moines, an Army training facility on the south side of Des Moines, Iowa. I've known Jeff and his wife, Holly, since we were stationed at Fort Lee in 2013. We would sometimes spend Friday evenings huddled around a bucket of chicken wings with a side of mambo sauce and laugh at all of the nerdy, historical tours we've taken over the years. So, it was no surprise that Jeff found significance in this struggling landmark. But as he began to share its stories with me, I was also overcome with a sense of obligation to the men and women who made Fort Des Moines a notable chapter in history. I don't know if Jeff, who now serves on the Fort Des Moines board of directors, will be able to spark enough interest to save this national treasure, but y'know what? <i>We have to try</i>. So, he came to me and said, "Can you help me get the word out?" Absolutely. Truly, it's the least I can do. <br />
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<b>M&M: What makes Fort Des Moines historically significant?</b><br />
<i>Jeff:</i> The fort is important because it is the site of the first Officer Candidate School for African-American men in United States Army history. The first (and only) cadet class of 1917 graduated 639 men as commissioned officers to serve in World War I and included college graduates, non-commissioned officers, 9th and 10th cavalry "Buffalo Soldiers" and men from the 24th and 25th infantry. Several cadets were already established leaders in the black community. By 1911, Elder Watson Diggs had co-founded Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity while Frank Coleman and Edgar Love had co-founded Omega Psi Phi Fraternity. <br />
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Other cadets reached notoriety after graduation. Samuel Joe Brown, Charles Howard and James Morris went on to found the Iowa Negro Bar Association (now the National Bar Association) in 1925. Charles Hamilton Houston became a lawyer and argued 8 cases in front of the Supreme Court, winning 7 of them. He mentored Thurgood Marshall and played a significant role in dismantling the Jim Crow laws, which earned him the moniker, "The Man Who Killed Jim Crow".<br />
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<a href="https://www.loc.gov/resource/ppmsca.50565/">Courtesy of The Library of Congress </a></div>
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<i>The African-American Cadet Class of 1917</i></div>
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The women's legacy is less represented by individuals, but seen more in the
rapidity (relatively speaking) of the incorporation of women into the
Army. The first women recruits arrived at Fort Des Moines on July 20, 1942. They trained there as WAACs (Women's Auxiliary Army Corp), but became WACs (Women's Army Corps) when President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed legislation which integrated women into the U.S. Army in 1943. That's a pretty fast transition, especially for the military. </div>
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<a href="https://www.loc.gov/item/2017695066/">Courtesy of The Library of Congress </a></div>
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<i>WAACs, answering the call to assembly, Fort Des Moines, 1942</i></div>
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<a href="https://www.loc.gov/resource/fsa.8b05079/">Courtesy of The Library of Congress</a></div>
<i>Auxiliary Doris Johnson, of Leipic, Ohio, is shown washing down a jeep, which was considered "heavier work", Fort Des Moines, 1942</i><br />
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<a href="https://www.loc.gov/resource/fsa.8b05035/">Courtesy of The Library of Congress</a></div>
<i>WAAC officer candidates, studying Organization of the Army in the classroom after their march drill, Fort Des Moines, 1942</i><br />
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<a href="https://www.loc.gov/item/2017695065/">Courtesy of The Library of Congress</a></div>
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<i>The first graduating class of WAACs at Fort Des Moines, 1942</i></div>
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The stories of these men and women are pretty remarkable. Obviously,
both groups faced significant discrimination. Both groups were
used mostly for manual work/clerical work, though a few African-American
regiments saw combat in World War I.</div>
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<b>M&M: How and why did you get involved with Fort Des Moines? </b></div>
<i>Jeff</i> : <b></b>My involvement in the museum began in November 2017, when I read a
<a href="https://www.desmoinesregister.com/story/news/2017/11/09/historic-fort-des-moines-museum-could-forced-close/761191001/">newspaper article</a> about the financial struggles facing the museum. I
thought, given my previous museum experience, that I might be able to
help - despite the fact that I can't write really big checks. I was
elected to the board in December and have been working since that time
to establish a foothold so that we can create a strategic plan that
enables the museum to be financially sustainable. What's remarkable is
that the museum, the collection and the exhibits are in really good shape. We
have deferred maintenance that needs to be addressed, but we could open
tomorrow and have a decent display. What we lack are financial
resources. The board is trying to piece together enough funding to give
ourselves the breathing room we need to pursue grant funding,
sponsorships/partnerships, etc., but to this point we are expending all
of our energy on paying the utility and insurance bills.<br />
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I
suppose the biggest reason I got involved is that this is a story that
needs to be told, and I'm afraid that if we close our doors there won't
be anyone telling those stories. The stories of these men and women are
not only meaningful in a historical sense, but relevant to
conversations we are still addressing today.<br />
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<a href="http://www.ullerysmith.com/fort-des-moines/">Courtesy of Ullery Smith, graphic designer for Fort Des Moines</a></div>
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Saving Fort Des Moines is a daunting project. Jeff and the rest of the board of directors must rebound from years of financial struggles, even though enough money was raised in 2004 to renovate a former bachelor's barracks and add informational displays. The president of the board of directors complained to the Iowa Register last November that the community either doesn't care or has forgotten about the significance of Fort Des Moines. </div>
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What I find most ironic is that the very reason Fort Des Moines was chosen to host its first and only class of African-American commissioned officers could be the precise cause of its financial distress: it is in the middle of "nowhere". The government, assuming the cadets would fail, wanted them as far from the east coast media as possible. Fort Des Moines, at that point, was an abandoned cavalry base and available for use and it was far, far away. While many fine people live in and around Des Moines, it is not a tourist destination. Even though Fort Des Moines has been designated as a National Historic Landmark, it does not receive the steady flow of cash that other National Historic Landmarks such as Hoover Dam, Alcatraz and the USS Arizona do every summer. We don't vacation in Des Moines (although I've been there and<i> </i>everyone should visit) and the fort falls into further disrepair.<br />
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Since December, though, the board of directors has worked to create a strategic plan for the museum and has started to look for grants and other funding opportunities, even though they don't qualify for some because of the museum's current financial situation. But Fort Des Moines remains open, with 100% volunteer support, every Saturday during the summer. On November 3, the museum will host a Passing of the Colors event. You can keep up with Fort Des Moines on its <a href="https://www.facebook.com/fortDSMmuseum/">Facebook page</a> and take a peek inside the museum with this <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UAx7ImWG0xQ">Youtube video</a>. <br />
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So, I know my readers and I know you are asking yourself right now: What can we do to help? First and foremost (and perhaps most obvious) is to give. Jeff has set up a Go Fund Me account <a href="https://www.gofundme.com/save-fort-des-moines-museum">here</a> and has set a goal of $50,000. We can also share this story on social media. You never know who it might reach...a news outlet, a wealthy donor, a thousand someones who know a thousand more someones. And lastly, we can visit our local National Historic Landmarks and Heritage Sites, which have earned that distinction from the National Parks Service. They are not always the sexiest or most Instagrammable places to visit, but they are recognized as historically significant and worthy of our time and dollars. </div>
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Any time you see an African-American or female Servicemember, remember that Fort Des Moines helped pave the way for their service. Supporting Fort Des Moines is a way of saying thank you to those who have sacrificed for this country. </div>
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-20984750526462713862018-07-20T18:13:00.000-04:002018-07-21T22:39:56.369-04:00The Year of Living More With Less: a SoCal Update Sometimes I feel like the universe hears my warrior cries of promised self-improvement and says, "Oh yeah? Hold my beer."<br />
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Southern California is making it really hard to adhere to The Year of Living More With Less.<br />
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Mostly because everything out here is all about more. More things to do, more foods to try, more blogs on Pinterest dedicated to L.A. photo op bucket lists, more hidden spots to check out, more exotic places to be seen. And it has been <i>really</i> hard to ignore all of that. In the first month we were here, we visited the Hollywood sign (twice), went to 3 beaches in Laguna, visited the Channel Islands, attended a red carpet premiere, ate our way through Hollywood (including one cupcake from an ATM) and bought a bracelet from the wardrobe department at <i>Days of Our Lives</i>. And really, that is only the beginning. To be fair, we've been entertaining company for a lot of that, but some if it was just us wanting to do <i>all. the. things. </i>And that doesn't even include the Blue Star Museums that are free to us until Labor Day: The Velveteria (yes, it is an entire museum devoted to velvet paintings), the Western Museum of Flight, the Automobile Museum (which features life-size Hot Wheels cars on display a few times throughout the year).<br />
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Don't even get me started on the grocery stores. Do I go to Albertson's, Von's, Sprout's, Ralph's, Whole Foods or the butcher across the street? It's not a question of which one is closest. They are all 2 miles from each other. There is a farmer's market every day of the week and one farm down in Irvine that delivers fresh produce to the area once a week.<br />
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In fact, the only thing I have to drive any great distance for is a church, which sort of seems fitting. It's in Downey, about 45 minutes from here. It's not that there aren't churches here. There are. There are Baptist churches on the beach and Buddhist temples in downtown L.A. But to find the Moravians (which have merged with the Episcopalians) we have to drive.<br />
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There are more people (the only people I've seen more than once are the families in our neighborhood), more cars, more options for things to do, places to go and things to see than we've ever had. Ever.<br />
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Right smack dab in the middle of The Year of Living More With Less.<br />
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What's that sound? Oh it's the universe laughing its ass off. Well-played.<br />
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But what's the point of doing a challenge if you aren't...<i>challenged</i>? So, here we are: having the Come to Jesus that I never saw coming but desperately need. Where is the less in all of this?<br />
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I went back to Seventh Generation clothing and dishwasher detergent because the water here is so frickin hard. The thrift stores are hard to resist, not because something may have been worn by Catherine Zeta-Jones but because it's the only stuff that's reasonably priced. And how do I say "no" to an entire museum filled with velvet paintings? I just spent an hour spray painting Cadillacs in the desert not 2 months ago; you know resistance is futile.<br />
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So, now I have some soul searching to do. I have to get my book and my highlighter back out and start all over again. Not from the quiet, uncomplicated fields of the Keystone state, but from a place where the sun always shines and the bucket list overflows. I could absolutely keep going at this pace, but <i>should</i> I? Is it healthy? Does it allow for time to reflect? Is it shortening my attention span? Is it feeding my need for more? What does it teach our son?<br />
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I know that when Blue starts back to school in a few weeks some things will change. I will be hindered by a drop-off/pick-up schedule. You can't spend the entire day hiking Runyon Canyon and expect to be back by the end of school. And I will start my volunteer work with the International Bird Rescue, as well as in Blue's school. Plus I'll be back at my desk creating jewelry. So, all of that will keep me from running the roads. Maybe this is how summer is <i>supposed</i> to be. Mach 10 on the 405 with the wind in our hair and gelato smeared on our faces. Or maybe I'm making excuses because the idea of leaving here without checking everything off the list is what keeps me up at night.<br />
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But there will always be one more thing. One more live taping to see. One more taco truck to try. One more pop-up boutique. One more graffiti art walk. One more photo to take. One more distraction from the goal at hand. I can live more with less. I can do this. I can. Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-89209896457470541952018-07-18T10:33:00.002-04:002018-07-18T10:59:32.024-04:00In Defense of Nature On Monday, I committed a cardinal California sin.<br />
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I allowed Blue to keep a lizard in captivity, inside of a plastic bin with flowers, grass, fresh water and the lid wide open, for 8 hours. Actually, when we arrived home from Vacation Bible School, the lizard had blown that popsicle stand so it may have been closer to 5 hours. It is not a lizard on the endangered list. In fact, some other kid had already "tagged" this particular lizard with blue marker on his belly and throat. I did not let Blue color his lizard. He examined his body, made notes about distinguishing features, examined how it moved about the enclosure and was extremely gentle when handling it.<br />
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Yet, when I asked on our local Facebook page if anyone had a wardrobe box leftover from a move, one that I could have to cut up and use as a home for this lizard for the next 24 hours, you would think I had just shot a Bald Eagle out of the sky and was going to use it to bludgeon a California Brown Pelican to death while the newly hatched sea turtles looked on. And then use a plastic, grocery store bag to bury the bodies. <br />
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No, we will not be retiring in California.<br />
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But this is not really about a boy and his lizard or even about the passion for animals that radiates from Blue's every pore, every day. This doesn't even have anything to do with the fact that shows like <i>Wild Kratts</i> and <i>Jack Hanna</i> are specifically scripted to help children learn to care about all animals, not just the ones who get top billing at the biggest zoos. Blue knows what a Banded Archer Fish is, the difference between a Sloth Bear and a Sun Bear, and he can do a spot-on imitation of a capuchin. Thanks to PBS and the many hours we've spent in zoos all over the country, watching animals, talking with zookeepers and supplementing all of that with a library of animal books, Blue <i>loves</i> animals. He refers to our cat as his sister and I can drag him to the most boring event in the world, as long as there's at least a squirrel or a bird that stops by so he can study it for a few minutes. I don't doubt that he will grow up to be someone who rescues injured pets from the side of the road and keeps the bird feeder filled, even during the abundance of summer. But I fully expect him to go further; to become a zookeeper or a veterinarian or work with a wildlife rescue agency. That is the intensity of the flame that burns inside of him at this young age. And it shows no sign of flickering out.<br />
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So, yes...when he <i>finally</i> caught a lizard after 8 weeks of trying, we called my friend in San Diego to ask her what it likes to eat, what kind of environment it likes to live in and then we did our best to re-create it, even though we both understood this to be a temporary arrangement. But I wanted his home to be bigger, hence my request for the wardrobe box. Those things are huge and unwieldy. I thought I would be doing someone a favor. Instead, I was told that what I was doing was illegal (but by all means, go on down to Pacific Coast Highway and score a dime bag because, hey, it's <i>California</i>!!) and I believe I may have been loosely compared to Hitler. I don't know. The guy made some comment about how humanity had killed more than one thing within 24 hours so my time frame was unreasonable. Apparently, anything longer than 24 seconds was going to give the lizard PTSD.<br />
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OK, look...I get it. We are all hyper-sensitive these days...about a lot of things. We don't force the tigers to jump through rings of fire. Elephants no longer have to dance on hind legs just to prove they can do it. Zoos continue to catch flack everyday, for everything from the size of their enclosures to their breeding programs. I worked at a nature preserve in Lexington one summer and more than once we had people threaten to break into our visitor's center so they could free the red-eared slider turtle and the box turtle that had been happily crawling around in their huge tanks for years. No one wants to see an animal in captivity but we are more than happy to breed Labradors with Poodles so we can get a dog that is hypo-allergenic, doesn't shed and looks cute in a bow. I don't care about your Labradoodle. I would love to have one myself. But get off my ass about going to the zoo and catching a lizard. If you aren't biking to work, wearing the same cotton toga everyday and living in a bush by the river, you are probably contributing to the downfall of an animal's habitat in some way. But maybe you recycle, use cloth grocery bags, plant flowers for the butterflies, preach about saving the bees' hives and encourage your children to engage with nature in a way that makes them care about what happens to it as they grow up. <i>And that is what matters</i>.<br />
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To be fair, I used to not feel this way. I scolded Blue every time he picked a leaf from a tree to study its edges or wandered off the path and trampled the wildflowers as he excitedly searched for the Chickadee, whose call he recognized. Nature is fragile and we mustn't touch it. Just look at it from afar. We may damage it and then we'll lose it forever. Sort of an "if everyone picked just one flower there wouldn't be any left" kind of mentality.<br />
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But then I read <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/health_and_science/science/2014/05/kid_play_zones_in_parks_leave_no_trace_inhibits_fun_and_bonding_with_nature.html">THIS</a> amazing article on Slate about kids and nature and it changed <i>everything</i> for me. I wanted to raise a child who engaged so much with nature that he became territorial of it, rushing to protect it when he saw others abusing it. And there is only one way to engage with nature. Pick the leaf, turn over the rock, climb the tree, temporarily re-home the lizard. Not every lizard in Southern California. Just one. They evolved from the dinosaurs. They can take it.<br />
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And y'know what? On the way home from Vacation Bible School that night we started talking about how the lizard's family felt when he didn't return home that evening. Yes, I may have equated Blue's captivity of his new reptile friend to kidnapping, but it got his attention. We talked about how Blue would feel if someone just ripped him away from us one day and took him to a new home; how scared he would be, regardless of how nice that new home was. We talked about what it would be like to not know where he was, who he was with, when he would see us again, if he was safe, if he would be fed or cared for. And then Blue said, "If I free the lizard tonight, will you put me to bed for the rest of the week?" He needed an out. He wanted to be Jack Hanna without being Ted Bundy. I looked in the mirror and said, "Of course."<br />
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When we got home, the lizard had made his escape, but Blue didn't cry the way he would have if we hadn't talked on the way home. He said, "I loved that lizard. I wish I had gotten his picture. I hope he got home OK." He's going to make a great animal caretaker someday.<br />
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I should also mention that I didn't write this so someone will comment about how wrong I am to take this opinion. You can quote your PETA facts but it isn't going to change my mind. This is for all the parents out there who worry that they will be ostracized for allowing their children to catch a minnow or tickle a sea anemone in the tide pools. Don't hold your breath and hope that no one noticed. We are carefully crafting great humans who will protect this earth with unwavering dedication. Don't ever apologize for that.<br />
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Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-79933332866741637082018-07-16T00:46:00.001-04:002018-07-16T00:46:41.543-04:00How We Fared at the Orange County Fair The day after the PA Farm Show closed this year, Blue began asking when we could go back. And it's been like that, off and on, for 6 months. I finally had to break the obvious, yet still devastating, news that we don't live in Pennsylvania anymore. The Farm Show will have to wait. But until then...we have the Orange County Fair!<br />
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I started seeing billboards around town for the OC Fair about a week after we moved here and my first mistake was thinking it would be like any other county fair. I mean, we aren't judging. Many a wonderful night has been spent riding the tilt-a-whirl and eating funnel cakes at my hometown fair (which has, in years past, awarded the 3rd winner up in the beauty pageant a burrito from Qdoba and the winner a $25 gift certificate to Merle Norman...so I guess I'm saying the bar hasn't been set unfathomably high for this KY girl). But...no...this is <i>Orange County, California</i>. Just as everything is bigger in Texas, everything is a production in California.<br />
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When you put the address, 88 Fair Drive, into Waze, it brings you right to the Yellow Gate, which also happens to be the farm animal area. This was unplanned perfection as the only thing Blue expressed any interest in seeing was the livestock. But first... <br />
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the FFA/4H turkey judging competition.<br />
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This kid ended up winning and maybe it's the California rubbing off on me, but he reminds me of a Disney character. Like Aladdin or Hector from <i>Coco</i>. I can't put my finger on it, but someone...<br />
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Those poor turkeys hung suspended for at least 5 minutes while the judge made her way down the line, inspecting...well...whatever it is they look for when judging a turkey. And this is no small feat because, apparently, they are heavy as heck. I wouldn't challenge any turkey farmer to a push-up contest. If all this makes you hungry, they'll be auctioned off next Saturday, the 21st. Getcha some!<br />
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From there, we grabbed some turkey leg tacos (sorry...how could we <i>not</i>?) and headed over to watch the pig races.<br />
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The next time Neal wants to smoke a pork butt, this image will be the first one in my head. Sorry, piggies.<br />
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The rest of the livestock is in this area, as well. Cattle, goats, sheep, pigs, rabbits, lambs and chickens are all in various stages of preparing to be judged. From bathing the goats and babysitting the herd...<br />
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to feeding the pigs and walking the turkeys,<br />
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everyone was getting ready for their close-up, Mr. DeMille.<br />
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Especially this lady...<br />
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and these two.<br />
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When we had had all we could take of pigs smiling in their sleep,<br />
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we ventured over to the Main Mall area for the arts and crafts competition, as well as an Irish band giving a free concert in "The Hangar".<br />
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While Blue makes a bee line for the farm animals every year, my first stop is the cake competition. And it never fails to amaze and inspire. Although I am still waiting for <i>Nailed It</i> to call about the blueberry murder scene I tried to pass off as snowman pancakes last Christmas, I can't help but look for a way to recreate these beauties.<br />
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Maybe...<br />
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I could...<br />
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possibly...<br />
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Oh forget it. Where is the wine tasting?<br />
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Some of my other favorites from the arts & crafts competitions (and events I've never seen at a fair before, such as the table decorating contest, which judges the participant based on accuracy of the theme and correctly placed utensils on the table. How very Downton Abby of them.).<br />
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This one got my vote. <i>Up</i> is one of my favorite movies and this table won an award for accuracy.<br />
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But there was more amazingness to be found in the Promenade building.<br />
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And then there was the wedding of James Irvine (of Irvine, California...yes, <i>that </i>Irvine family) and Susan Jeske (the first Ms. America and current CEO of the Ms. America Pageant) last month. As you can imagine, it was quite the storybook affair. So much so, as it turns out, that the wedding dress, shoes, cake, champagne glasses and the brooch bouquet were on display at the fair. Sort of unusual as far as fair exhibits go, but they are the darlings of Orange County.<br />
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And for my next DIY project, I will be bedazzling our champagne flutes from 2006 and submitting them to the fair back home.<br />
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Don't miss an opportunity to "Free Your Inner Farmer" by Instagramming your kitchen gadget angel wings <br />
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or snapping a pic of that one time your son was being a brat but it actually worked out perfectly, <i>much</i> to his chagrin...<br />
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After all that, we needed ice cream. Blue settled on a boring blended cone, but I had to have the cow patty.<br />
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It's simple to make but I couldn't resist dining on something named after a steaming pile of cow poo. Happy cows poop sprinkles.<br />
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We skipped the carnival rides and games and headed to "Centennial Farm", where the milking demonstration was held and we missed our chance to walk right up and order a Pink's hotdog.<br />
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Seriously. Not a single person in line. This makes me weep a little for the 40 minutes we stood in line in L.A. a few weeks ago.<br />
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I also nearly had a 5-year old fit when the tween working the register at Pignotti's told me they hadn't started making the spaghetti doughnuts yet. I mean, how do you advertise a spaghetti doughnut and then not deliver on the second day of the fair? I think I've figured out how to make them at home, but if someone goes and has one, please Skype me before you dig in.<br />
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We finally wandered over to the "Family Fairway" after watching the cows being milked, just in time for the Russell Brothers Circus show. After buying the $2 (6-page) coloring book they were hawking (Neal pointed out it was the cheapest way to buy a souvenir from the fair, especially since we had nixed the stuffed pig Blue was begging for after the pig races), we settled in for a fun demonstration of magic and human talent. Neal seems to think this is a 3-generation affair, with the father being the magician...<br />
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(he won a fan for life when he turned a dove into a house cat)<br />
the son performing feats of human strength and balance<br />
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and the grandson juggling oranges and plastic bats.<br />
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Whatever the relationship of the cast, it was a cute show and I'm glad it was free.<br />
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After the disappointment of the spaghetti doughnut, I was further convinced that I needed to try the peanut butter & jelly & sriracha funnel cake being offered just outside the big top. Neal tried to pretend like he wasn't going to have any, but I grabbed 3 forks because I'm not an idiot. It was sweet, spicy and just a little nutty. It was perfection on a plate.<br />
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Also, nothing says <i>SoCal fair</i> like a churro, some cotton candy in a party hat, an ice cream cone, an orange and a corn cob posing for pictures with the guests... <br />
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I just keep thinking of that line in <i>Hope Floats</i> when they are driving back to Texas and the daughter says, "Is this where you were Cream of Corn?" and Sandra Bullock says, "QUEEN of Corn, honey."<br />
Three years runnin'...<br />
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There is also a petting zoo in this area. Nothing too exotic. Well, except for these guys.<br />
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and sleeping baby pigs<br />
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and freshly hatched baby chicks.<br />
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When the cute-o-meter maxed out, we headed over to the Heroes Hall to color postcards for Servicemembers in the VA hospital in Long Beach.<br />
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By this point, we had been at the fair for about 7 1/2 hours. The sun was starting to set and people were arriving by the hundreds, with a line forming at the ticket stands and traffic backing up onto the freeway from the off-ramp. It was time for us to go. Thank you, Orange County Fair. It was the real deal.<br />
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<i> Y'all come back now, ya here? </i><br />
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If you go:<br />
1. Parking is $10/vehicle, cash.<br />
2. There are bathrooms EVERYWHERE. If there is a line, don't even stand there. You'll find another one in about 50 feet.<br />
3. Most food vendors accept credit cards, some do not.<br />
4. Active duty Servicemembers get in free, they can buy 1/2 price tickets for their family members. I don't think the family members get this rate if the Servicemember isn't with them.<br />
5. There is a gigantic stand of daily maps/schedules when you enter the gate. They are free. Grab one. Use it.<br />
6. Some events are scheduled at certain times, such as the Peking Acrobats (which I highly recommend seeing - we caught the very end but it looked like a great show), the pig racing and the animal judging.<br />
7. There are annoying vendors trying to sell time shares in exotic locales like Hawaii. Ignore them like the folks trying to sell phones at the entrance of Costco and you'll be fine.<br />
8. If you want to pay $2/person to go into a trailer to see a live alligator in the livestock area, go for it. But we skipped it and I think that's OK, too.<br />
9. If something looks interesting, go check it out. As we were meandering around the ice cream truck, we stumbled upon the Irish band and while on our way to the petting zoo, we came across a brass band. You literally never know what will be around the next corner.<br />
10. The earlier the better to beat the crowds. I thought coming in when the doors opened at 11 would be a challenge, but as it turns out, most people don't start really showing up until 7 hours later. I'm sure the fair is magical like Disneyland at night, but just know you won't be the only one with that idea.<br />
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Also...the orange trees aren't real.<br />
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Unless they've started dangling by wires. <br /><br />
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Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-55531927888890291732018-07-09T10:25:00.001-04:002018-07-09T10:25:37.831-04:00What It's Really Like to Live in L.A. I've often seen the piece of advice on Pinterest: <i>Writers write. If you're a writer, write.</i> As the summer got busier with guests, sightseeing and keeping a 5 year old entertained, I have forgotten this advice...again. But my friend, Karen, who writes <a href="https://andthenwelaughed.company/">And Then We Laughed</a>, keeps up with 2 littles, the stresses of this Army life and her blog. Even while she and her family are having high tea in the Cotswalds right now, she's making sure her blog is covered. And today is my turn! Pop over to read my guest post about my impressions after living in L.A. for 6 weeks - the myths I'm busting and the ones that just won't die. Find me <a href="https://andthenwelaughed.company/2018/07/09/a-newcomers-guide-to-life-in-southern-california/">HERE</a>! Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-64916966805299051472018-06-04T14:22:00.000-04:002018-06-04T14:45:56.909-04:00The Year of Living More With Less: Worldly Possessions I decided it was high time for a TYLMWL update. Also, ironically, I can't post a trip review of our boat tour along the Channel Islands yesterday because I'm still sorting through 855 pictures. And that doesn't count the ones on my phone. Clearly, I have some work to do in that department before we ring in 2019.<br />
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But I can talk about what it was like to complete the Konmari Challenge in PA and what it has been like to unpack what remained in CA.<br />
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First of all, if the moving company's weight coming from Kansas to Pennsylvania was correct (and who really knows because our moving company was so shady), then I sold/donated 13,000 pounds of stuff. As the garbage bags of donations started flying out the door right after Ash Wednesday, I would say it certainly felt like 13,000 pounds, even in the first week. But as the days turned to weeks, progress slowed and eventually ground to a halt while I searched for housing options in CA. With the exception of Neal's belongings, I did eventually finish holding every item we own in my hands and asking myself if it sparked joy. I didn't do Neal's things because I'm not Neal and only he knows if they spark joy or not. And he's not one to ask that question as he is more focused on whether it serves a purpose.<br />
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Which is why we have not 1, not 2, not 3, but FOUR containers of cords. My husband is a cord hoarder and he makes no apologies for it. However, I must admit that there has never been a time when I needed a cord and he didn't have it.<br />
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Although I was still finishing Konmari'ing the house as I pre-bagged items, I <i>did</i> finish and I learned some things about myself:<br />
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1. I have an art/photo/frame addiction. The more hyperlocal the art is to a place where we've been stationed, the better chance I have of owning it. It took 23 boxes to pack all of my art, canvas prints, framed photos and posters. That's a little bit embarrassing because we will never have enough walls to display everything I kept. But sometimes we have more wall space than other times so I'm going to keep it because it all sparked joy.<br />
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2. I seem to have a bit of a "soft gray t-shirt with some kind of design" addiction. They fade, they pill, they are all a bit too big...but I keep buying them. Gray tshirt and black yoga pants - that's my uniform these days.<br />
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3. If the small kitchen appliances ever decide to gang up and wage war on us, we don't have a fighting chance. Because...there are a lot of them. We can: make sushi, make cheese, make beer, pop popcorn, make paninis, dehydrate stuff, grind coffee, make margaritas, slow cook things, slice, dice, peel an apple, make ice cream, juice a beet and make soup. And that's just what I can see from the couch. The problem is, I love that I can decide at 2 PM on a Tuesday afternoon that we are going to make beef jerky that day or spend an hour making ice cream on a Thursday night. So, they all have to find a place to live because they are all staying. I just hope they don't decide to unionize.<br />
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4. Books and throw pillows. I don't think I need to say anything more because I believe most of you know and are nodding your heads in absolute agreement.<br />
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So, I know that I had an amazing crew of packers, but I also think the reason they were able to get it done in one day has something to do with my efforts to declutter and organize the house. Here's what no one has said yet, though. When you move as often as we do and you complete the Konmari Method, now <i>everything that sparks joy is on that moving truck</i>. For the last 5 moves, if something sparked joy and I would be devastated to lose it, I hand carried it in the car/truck/RV to the next duty station. But now I would have to hand carry <i>everything</i>. That resulted in a lot more anxiety around the packing and moving process than I had anticipated. When I voiced my concerns to some fellow Army wives, although they were understanding and appreciated the dilemma, they also answered with, "it's just stuff and it's all replaceable. And what's irreplaceable, you hand carry." And I did. I had 6 plastic bins full of Blue's original art, gifts from faraway places and handwritten letters/cards from war. But what can't be ignored is the fact that everything that went on the truck was still stuff I held in my hands and felt joy. It is <i>just stuff</i> but it's joyful stuff. And I had a hard time letting it go with someone else. Even the ice cream maker and the lap desk and the IKEA throw pillows. I struggled with all of it and tried not to think about it getting lost or destroyed along the way.<br />
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I think that's what needs to be said about what happens when a military spouse uses the Konmari Method. Every few years, some people who just want to get a job done and get paid will come into your house and throw everything that sparks joy into boxes and then attempt to move it some distance. And that will be stressful because now it's not <i>just stuff</i>. <br />
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It also needs to be said that even though Marie Kondo says you will only need to go through this process once, I disagree. Tastes change (I joyfully sold my heavy-as-lead Pier One drinking glasses at the yard sale because they were gorgeous to me in 2006 but cumbersome and outdated in 2018) and kids grow out of things. They grow out of sippy cups and Thomas the Train and blue jeans. We mature and evolve so just as our taste buds change every 7 years, I think that's a reasonable time frame for another pass through the worldly possessions.<br />
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I also decided to do a home inventory for this move, meaning that I grouped like items together (as many as I could squeeze into a photo) and documented their existence and condition before the move. This took longer than I thought originally but went quickly once I established a process. Although it didn't help with knowing what was in each box, if a box (or like PA, <i>multiple</i> boxes) went missing, I could deduce what had been lost. Every single item made it on this move. I wish I had done this before the PA crew lost half of my grandmother's fine china.<br />
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As for unpacking (and perhaps it was the care and attention paid during packing), it went remarkably smoothly. Boxes were mostly labeled and, once the furniture was in place, I could unpack and put away one room per day. We have been here for 20 days and every box is unpacked. The house is set up with pictures on the walls and floors cleared of packing material - which is unprecedented considering we didn't have Mom and Anna (a dynamite duo with a work ethic that we vastly underestimated) to help this time. And, <i>most importantly</i>, I have one paper bag, which is half-full, of items that I decided to get rid of after unpacking the house. That has never happened. I usually have another large purge after the house is unpacked. This one paper bag tells me that the Konmari Method was especially effective.<br />
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So, I can only say good things about taking the time to look at what you own, ask yourself why you own it and if it is something you love/sparks joy/can't live without. Although the question may be different for you, whatever it is, ask it and decide whether your worldly possessions are lifting you up or dragging you down. Because we can't take them with us when we die and most likely, our kids will drop it all off at Goodwill on the way out of town. Love it or leave it behind. Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-49102843651168236262018-05-23T13:41:00.001-04:002018-05-23T13:51:14.401-04:00Fort Mac Firsts California has been a bit of a culture shock, although probably more for me than anyone else in the family. Blue is just excited that we can run down to the beach for an hour if the mood arises and Neal has been working nearly every waking hour since our first Monday here. But I've had to make some...adjustments.<br />
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1. Traffic is terrible here.<br />
I can't even imagine what it's like as you get closer to Los Angeles. Although we technically live in LA county, it isn't like you're sitting at a dead stop on the 405. But you should double (and sometimes triple) how long it would normally take you to get somewhere. My new rule of thumb for appointments: number of miles x 3 = bring a book and the phone number of the place where you're going because you may need to kill time or call and tell them you're en route.<br />
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2. Port of LA is breathtaking every. single. time.<br />
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These pictures don't even do it justice. Neal had tried to warn me before I got here. "To go south, you have to cross 2 huge bridges that go way up into the sky." After watching a documentary about that bridge in Arkansas that broke apart and half of it fell into the river, I've been a bit of a <span class="ILfuVd yZ8quc">gephyrophobe ever since. So driving into the clouds on a bridge loaded with truckers coming from the docks sounded <i>awesome</i>. After a week, I've grown fairly numb to it. I just drive in the right lane with my Pennsylvania tags and know that I will get where I'm going, eventually. But the <i>view</i>...there is no way to accurately describe what it's like to see thousands of containers, stacked on top of each other, for miles along the waterfront. This country has a serious shopping addiction. One day, as we drove across the Vincent Bridge, I was trying to explain to Blue that many of those containers hold Amazon orders (look at me, driving across an enormous bridge in the sky AND talking to a 5 year old). Kind of like knowing where your produce comes from, it's equally as important to know where your Legos come from. </span><span class="ILfuVd yZ8quc"><br /></span>
<span class="ILfuVd yZ8quc">3. Free range peacocks have the right-of-way. </span><br />
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We first noticed these fellas as we walked to Blue's new school (right on the freaking Pacific Ocean, I might add. The dog park is right next door. The pups and kids have the best view around here). They chat to each other from roof tops and, occasionally, cross the road. (Why did the peacock cross the road? He thought he could do it better than the chicken.) Yesterday, I had to stop my car and wait for a peacock to decide if he was going to go left, right, or down the middle. They respond somewhat to honking but, like chickens, generally seem to stroll whichever way the wind carries them. Maybe I'll get tired of seeing a peacock, feathers fanned and strutting around someone's front yard, but the shiny hasn't worn off yet.<br />
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4. You know what they say about assumptions. <br />
<span class="ILfuVd yZ8quc">It's no shock that homelessness is a bit of a problem in LA. I mean, if I was homeless, I would probably want to be in LA too. The temperature hasn't varied more than 3 degrees since we got here. And this is why, when I was at Smart & Final (which is a chain of fairly nice, reasonably priced grocery stores that I ignored the first week we were here because I thought it was like salvaged food) last week, I naturally assumed they were scanning my cart before it left the store to make sure it didn't go missing. I finally Googled it and saw on a Mystery Shoppers' website that they do that to make sure there's nothing left on the bottom of the cart. What a pain in the butt for the cashier, but I'm sure it saves the company a boatload in unpaid items every year. </span><br />
<span class="ILfuVd yZ8quc"><br /></span>
<span class="ILfuVd yZ8quc">5. They are serious about infestations. </span><br />
<span class="ILfuVd yZ8quc">When we crossed from Arizona into California, we were stopped by border patrol. They asked us if we were carrying any produce or plants. All I had was fruit gummies and a banana. He waved us through. But I called Neal because he was carrying a plumeria, a rose bush, one stalk of bamboo and a cache of fruit I had picked up before trekking into the Grand Canyon. They ended up waving him through, too, but we were stopped because they are trying to prevent a re-infestation of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1989_California_medfly_attack">medflies</a> (Mediterranean Fruit Fly). California has also been attacked by <a href="http://www.newsweek.com/bug-ate-california-201786">Poinsettia White Flies</a> in the Imperial Valley and <a href="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2012/07/oriental-fruit-flies-found-in-laguna.html">Oriental Fruit Flies</a> in Laguna Beach, among many other pests. We were contacted about 20 minutes after we moved in about receiving a Gypsy Moth Inspection since our outdoor patio furniture was moving in from out of state. And when Neal was at work yesterday, he learned more than he probably ever wanted to know about the Medflies. Controlling them is a 24-7 job and I feel there is a lot of stuff like that going on in California - we have no idea it's happening and just how complex it is. </span><br />
<span class="ILfuVd yZ8quc"><br /></span>
<span class="ILfuVd yZ8quc">6. This town has about 3 stoplights but 73625282937464 stop signs. Some of the intersections have 4-way, some 2-way. It's almost impossible to talk and drive at the same time. It's a miracle more people don't get t-boned around here. </span><br />
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7. June Gloom<br />
I've met 736229373 moms (well, like 7 but it felt like at least 20 billion last week) and they were all chatting about "June Gloom" and how it seems to have descended upon us a bit early this year. Apparently, June Gloom is when the sun doesn't come out for basically the entire month of June and is the closest SoCal gets to "winter". I will say, we have been freezing since we got here (and by freezing I mean I had to unpack a couple pairs of jeans and some hoodies on day one) and in the past 4 days, we've only seen the sun from 3-8 PM. Yes, it seems June Gloom is upon us, which is unfortunate for everyone who was antsy pants about visiting us and booked their flights for next month. I hear July is a return to the sunny SoCal we've all expected. <br />
<span class="ILfuVd yZ8quc"><br /></span>
<span class="ILfuVd yZ8quc">I will say...I have yet to see a horse and buggy. I kind of miss them. And Utz Dill Pickle potato chips. SoCal just doesn't have the corner on the snack market the way PA does. But I do know where you can pick up octopus for dinner, so there's that. </span><br />
<span class="ILfuVd yZ8quc"><br /></span>Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-25307598127595036532018-05-22T17:13:00.000-04:002018-05-22T17:13:09.315-04:00The Rabbit Hole of My MindAfter 4 weeks of chaos, life is <i>mostly</i> back to normal. And by normal, I mean Neal has added 30 minutes each way to his commute, Blue cries every morning about not wanting to go to school and I have managed to navigate the busiest Costco I've ever seen. And we haven't even ventured into Los Angeles proper yet.<br />
<br />
We miss Pennsylvania and we miss our friends. That's not to say we aren't finding our way out here, but it is just so so <i>so</i> different, in almost every way imaginable. So, while I price shop the 4 major grocery stores and 4863927 different farmer's markets and plan out our summer activities, I'm also going to get caught up on the blog. I have some posts about the move, a few about our trip out here and then I'll get started with what we've done here so far. I've miss y'all and I couldn't be happier to be back!<br />
<br />
So...this happened the day the packers came:<br />
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A team of 6 women showed up at our door step at 8 AM on the dot and proceeded to <i>work</i>, y'all. They took one 15-minute break and one lunch break. They packed our entire house in one day. IN ONE DAY. That has never happened. NEEEEVVVVVEEEERRRRR. Naturally, I was a little concerned about the state of everything after being packed that quickly and then moved into storage and out of storage. But I'm here to tell you, I've unpacked the entire kitchen, both bedrooms and the living room and the only thing that busted was a plastic bin from the Dollar Tree, which was probably living on borrowed time anyway. Not a single chip in the fine china, not a crack in the crystal, every piece is just as it was in Pennsylvania and all is accounted for. If you hire a packing crew and you get these ladies, <br />
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welcome them warmly and just sit back. They totally got this. Oh...and maybe feed them lunch. They like deli sandwiches, chips, fresh fruit and chocolate chip cookies. Had I known their mad packing skills, I would have let them take the antique Cosco stool instead of hand-carrying it in our RV for 3800 miles.<br />
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But then...2 days later, the men showed up. Now, to be fair, I gave them all (including the driver) a hard time from the get-go about marking furniture as damaged when it isn't...yet...and getting stickers on everything that wasn't packed in box. The driver, an older gentleman who was probably used to dealing with high strung military spouses, took most of it in stride. He probably rolled his eyes behind my back but to my face he was courteous and patient. His crew (and one gentleman in particular), didn't care for me much and had no problem letting me know. I got so flustered that at one point during the day I muttered, "I'm doing the best I can. I got no male back-up right now", which meant that Neal was gone to California while I was getting the house packed out. Except I didn't intend for anyone to know that, especially a group of 20-something, burly, men who carried incredibly heavy furniture down a flight of stairs on their backs. No, I didn't mean to say that at all. They were going to make mincemeat of me.<br />
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So, even though I tried to be much nicer the rest of the afternoon and I tipped them all once the truck was loaded, as they headed out of the neighborhood my constant thought was, "Crap. They are going to come back in the middle of the night and murder me on my RV mattress."<br />
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So, I got Blue off the bus and hung out with the neighbors until bath time. We brushed teeth and read stories and then I double-checked every door and window in the house. But that house didn't have an alarm system so then I decided that I would have to nap until about 2 AM. Because if I was hatching a plan to murder someone for being obnoxious, I would do it at the bars downtown until closing time. And then I would head out with my buddies and a baseball bat around 1:45 AM. <br />
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I didn't have to set an alarm. I tossed and turned and dozed until 1:50. Then I played on Pinterest and listened for any sound of intrusion...until 4:30. Because 4:30 is basically 5, which is basically morning and nothing really bad happens at 5 AM. However, as my mother always says, nothing good happens after midnight. So I napped from 5-7 AM, when Blue woke up and we started our day. Neal was coming home that night so I would actually get to sleep that evening.<br />
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Even to this day, a month later, this was a totally logical way to approach the situation, which explains a lot about what Neal has had to live with for the past 13 years. I had no escape plan for if they did decide to attack, but I guess I would have been awake for it and that was going to be enough?<br />
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Thank you, moving crew, for not hatching a plan to return and murder me. Ending up on Dateline is not how I want to go out. <br />
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-69675879317083051202018-04-19T23:42:00.000-04:002018-04-19T23:42:50.901-04:00Champagne Friday: A Toast to Our Military Kid Because April is, among <i>many</i> other things, the Month of the Military Child, tomorrow afternoon our unit will gather to recognize and celebrate our military children. I've spent this week preparing gifts and buying the ice cream for our little party. But even as we don our purple (the chosen color to represent military kids as it is a combination of the colors from each branch of service) and dish out the treats, somehow it still doesn't feel like enough. As I tossed and turned until 2 AM on Wednesday night, I thought about what life has been like for the past 6 years. This doesn't describe every military kid, but it does tell the story of ours.<br />
<br />
Sweet boy, since your first day here,<br />
this life is all you've known.<br />
Though we may live far and wide,<br />
we'll make this place your home.<br />
<br />
As a baby when you napped,<br />
the jets crossed overhead.<br />
And at night when they played Taps,<br />
we snuggled you in bed.<br />
<br />
Your first steps were on a battlefield,<br />
where men laid down their lives.<br />
You squealed with joy as Daddy kneeled,<br />
teetering, tottering, then a nosedive.<br />
<br />
You've reached for a stranger's desert boots,<br />
and tried on Daddy's dog tags for size.<br />
You've stopped during Retreat to salute,<br />
as pride welled up in our eyes.<br />
<br />
You've moved five times in five years,<br />
said goodbye to everyone you knew.<br />
Acknowledged then faced all your fears,<br />
You're brave even when you feel blue. <br />
<br />
You never signed up for this,<br />
it was something you were born into.<br />
We talk about the friends that we'll miss,<br />
and the new ones we know we'll meet, too.<br />
<br />
There's much to be learned from a mil-kid;<br />
our "dandelions", they're considered.<br />
Teaching us to bloom like they did,<br />
resilient and hardy, not withered.<br />
<br />
Today we packed up his toys,<br />
his stuffies, games and the books.<br />
We made some notes for his teachers,<br />
took the coats down off of the hooks.<br />
<br />
We're checking each box off the list,<br />
taking pictures to help us remember.<br />
Squeezing in the things we've missed,<br />
Wishing we had until September.<br />
<br />
On the hard days he still stops to ask,<br />
When can we not move anymore?<br />
When can this be the last?<br />
Can we live in the woods by the shore?<br />
<br />
Then I distract him with stories<br />
of generations who came before him.<br />
Soldiers who fought for Old Glory,<br />
a family tree of honorable men.<br />
<br />
When it's all said and done he will know,<br />
he will have more than a thought or a clue.<br />
That we are all in this together, <br />
because he has served honorably, too.<br />
<br />
To all of our military children, who serve involuntarily in an all-volunteer force, we love you!<br />
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-54314012860941851272018-04-17T08:54:00.001-04:002018-04-17T09:18:44.178-04:00The Year of Living More With Less: How to Rock Your Yard Sale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Although The Year of Living More With Less is supposed to be all-inclusive; less stuff, less stress, less waste, less negativity, less fat, etc., it has become more focused on the material things we lug around with us from duty station to duty station. That sort of happened last year, too. The Year of Living Better evolved into a quest to cut chemicals from our home and replace them with non-toxic cleaners and essential oils. I never really know how these things will play out when I start in January.<br />
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In March, Neal and I decided to have a yard sale before we moved. That's not to say that we have more stuff this time, but that I had more time and energy to prepare for a yard sale this go round. I've said it before, I will say it again: Yay, Kindergarten! Children are amazing creatures but their propensity for keeping every little bread tie and broken toy does not create an environment that is conducive to selling all of your worldly possessions. Ultimately, we told Blue that he would get the money from everything he sold and that's when he finally starting unloading the goods. Unfortunately, he's 5 and has no idea that we only gave him about 1/500th of his actual profit. But he has yet to hold down a job so he's basically still freeloading from us. I think it all evens out in the end.<br />
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I made a pretty good chunk of change at my little yard sale last weekend. More than I thought, considering most items were priced at $1.00 or below. I think that directly correlates to how much joyless stuff we had. I had never held a yard sale before so I read about 10 blog posts on Pinterest about how to have really successful yard sales. And then I began. It took about 4 full days of sorting, pricing, arranging and rearranging but Neal and I agreed that it was worth the effort. So, I'm going to share with you what I did. In the Army they call this an AAR - After Action Review. It's not good, it's not bad...it's just what went right, what could be improved upon and what you'll do differently next time. AAR sounds a little too much like AARP so I'm going to call mine<br />
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THE YARD SALE RUNDOWN - HOW TO ROCK YOUR YARD SALE<br />
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<b>1. Let it Go</b><br />
Look, Elsa, you can't be clinging to that bread maker with your icy grip unless you are actually going to make some bread. And if you aren't going to make some bread, come to terms with the fact that you are someone who wants to make some pumpkin spice bread in a loaf pan in October and buy the sliced stuff at Weis the rest of the year. You can't have any attachment to what you're selling or it's going to affect your entire yard sale. I would refrain from advertising your yard sale with signs that say "come put my junk in your trunk" but that's pretty much how you have to feel about it. If you aren't sure how to do this, read <a href="http://magnoliasandmimosas.blogspot.com/2018/03/the-year-of-living-more-with-less_28.html">this piece I wrote</a> about sparking joy. No joy = detachment and you're ready to let it go (thanking it for the role it played in your life is optional).<br />
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<i>Everything we let go. I no longer feel frozen in stuff. Sorry...I'm done now. I love warm hugs. </i></div>
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<b>2. The Price is Right </b><br />
To be honest, the necessary step of pricing my stuff has kept me from having a yard sale for a long time. It seemed like an impossible task. I have an incredible memory for prices. I know what I paid for my Chi flat iron and the scarf I bought at the airport in Rome and the Edward Hopper print I found at a yard sale. <i>You can't get caught up in what you paid for something</i>. Being detached is especially important in this step because most people suggest pricing yard sale items at 10% of what you paid. Not 10% <i>off</i> of what you paid. 10% OF WHAT YOU PAID. So that entertainment center we paid $2500 for? It absolutely sold for $250. And the bicycle helmet that Blue <i>had</i> to have? The one with Lightning McQueen? We paid $10. It sold for $1. This kind of pricing is key to a successful yard sale because people cannot freaking resist getting something for $1. The founders of The Dollar Tree have known this for years. And if folks can get something for 25 or 50 cents? All the better. They don't need it, but it only costs a quarter. They'll find something to do with it. What they do with it isn't your concern because you're detached, remember? What matters is that you now have their 2 quarters to rub together. And trust me, those quarters and dollar bills add up. Just ask an exotic dancer. <i>You are going to make it rain</i>.<br />
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If you are pricing something that was a gift or you can't remember how much you paid for it, ask yourself, <i>If I was at this yard sale, what would I be willing to pay for it?</i> You might be surprised at how quickly you will drop the price from what you <i>think</i> it should be to what you would actually pay. And know that the item's condition will affect how much someone will pay. If it's damaged or broken, 5% of your original cost may be more realistic. <br />
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<b>3. Did I Mention Detachment? </b><br />
I only come back to this because it's really that important. Let me give you an example. On my 3rd engagement (the one where my ex-fiance couldn't decide if he wanted to marry me but let it get so far down the road that I actually had a bridal shower), I was given a set of <i>beautiful</i> wooden salad bowls. I wanted them, I registered for them. And on that glorious day in August, I got them. But when I moved out of his house, I took the bowls with me. Because, at the time, I didn't have much and they were necessary if I didn't want to sip tomato soup out of my hand. But Neal and I have been married for almost 12 years now and I had only used them once and that was probably 11 years ago. They've been moved all over this country but never made it out of the box. So, I decided to sell them. I broke my 10% rule because I wasn't 100% detached. I priced them at $5. They were beautiful but they weren't $50 to begin with. They sat on the shelf for 3 hours when I finally decided that I was being ridiculous...and worse, attached. I knocked it down to $2. They sold 5 minutes later. At the end of the day, I could have $2 or some bad juju salad bowls in my hand. I think I did the right thing.<br />
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<b>4. When the Stickers Don't Stick</b><br />
One of the best pieces of advice that I gleaned from those bloggers about their own yard sales was how to attach the price to the item. In this Age of Amazon there are about 3374 ways to affix a price sticker to your worldly possessions. All you really need is a roll of masking tape and a Sharpie. Seriously. Those little brightly colored dots will fall off. And they are small which means if your average shopper is like my husband, who forgets his reading glasses half the time, they won't be able to read the price. And if they can't read the price, they aren't going to buy. Masking tape is sticky, durable and doesn't have to be torn with your teeth. Plus, it's comparatively cheap. Make your price big and legible and watch the items fly off the shelves.<br />
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<b>5. Everything Gets a Price</b><br />
The other super helpful piece of information I got from Pinterest was that I needed to price everything. Yes, Vern, I know what you mean....that is a giant pain in the ass. But...necessary. You will have some shoppers who don't mind to ask you what stuff costs but most people will not, especially if you are busy helping other shoppers. Again, if I was at a yard sale where nothing was priced, I wouldn't stick around. It's too much work. And the burden of the work is on the person making the money, not the person spending the money.<br />
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<b>6. Groupies</b><br />
Pricing every single stupid little thing gets tedious. I had these jars from Michael's that were like $1 each. I bought them at Christmas because I was going to make sugar scrubs for each jar and give them as gifts. That was 4 years ago. They've moved twice. They had dust <i>on the inside of the jars</i>. So I put them all in a gallon bag and priced it at 50 cents. They sold by 9 AM. Group it, put it in a bag or wrap masking tape around it a couple of times and call it done. The same is true for books, DVDs, jewelry, shoes, or any like item. I bought an entire set of Jewish children's paperback books at a consignment sale last month just because I wanted the one about gefilte fish.<br />
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<i>Drill Sargent Blue keeps the groupies in line. </i></div>
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<b>7. Tables Need Not Apply</b><br />
We don't have many tables. Make that <i>any</i>. We don't have any tables besides our dining room table. So, having a yard sale where everything was laid out on tables wasn't going to happen. But what we <i>do </i>have is a lot of shelving. It's the kind they sell at Lowe's that you put in your garage to organize your Christmas decorations. We have a ton of that stuff. So, instead of laying it all out on tables, I just laid it out on the shelves. We secured broom handles to the shelving with zip ties and used that to hang clothes. The point is: use what you have. I even used plastic bins and cardboard boxes to display books and DVDs. It helps if stuff isn't stacked on top of each other and if it's a bit cluttered to begin, as soon as people start buying, take a moment to spread it out as the space opens up. But you don't need to rent or buy a bunch of tables to make a yard sale work. Even a door laid across 2 saw horses makes a flat space that is perfect for a yard sale.<br />
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<i>Who needs tables? Bust out the shelves! </i></div>
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<b>8. Hang It Up</b><br />
Clothes sell better when they are hung up. It's easier to slide a hanger across a broom handle than it is to bend over and search through sizes. I understand that unless you are a Lularoe consultant, you probably don't have a clothing rack laying around, but improvise. Find something that will support the clothes you want to sell and make it work. I tossed clothes with stains and holes in the "free" box - but they were still there at the end of the day...meaning that people don't want that stuff, even when it's free. I also used hangers with clips to pair pajama bottoms with tops and any matching sets. You could separate your clothes by size but I only had Blue's 5T stuff and my size 16 stuff so there wasn't anything to separate.<br />
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<i>Prices posted above each group of clothes keep me from having to price every single piece. </i></div>
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<b>9. Make Some Change</b><br />
I have heard horror stories about someone walking up to a yard sale first thing in the morning and handing the person a $20 for a 25 cent item. I decided that if I prepared for that scenario, everything else would be easy. So I made change for $100. I got $60 in $5s, $30 in $1s and $10 in quarters. I also gathered up the spare dimes and nickels we had in the cars and around the house. This was plenty of change for the entire day.<br />
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<b>10. Think Like Target</b><br />
I arranged my yard sale like a department store. Kitchen items were grouped together, as were toys, clothes, household items, books, rugs and jewelry. I also kept clothing hanging in the garage so the hot sun wouldn't fade them. (Side note: pray for hot sun on your yard sale day. It was rainy and 40 degrees the day <i>after</i> my yard sale. I'm pretty sure that would have affected the bottom line.) <br />
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<b>11. Stock Your Station</b><br />
I used a patio table and chair as a cashier station. As a frequent yard sale shopper myself, it feels awkward if the person is pacing as you're shopping. I played a little 70's music on my phone, answered questions as needed and hung out in my chair until someone was ready to pay. I also had a notepad, pen, calculator, a ton of plastic bags from the grocery and Target (that I've been saving up for months because I'm generally a resuable bag kind of girl but I knew this day was coming), a little bubble wrap for fragile items, a measuring tape, extra masking tape and a Sharpie and extension cords for testing electronics. I made sure all battery-operated toys were functioning before the sale started.<br />
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<b>12. Advertise on Social Media</b><br />
This works really well if you have lived in an area for a really long time and know half the county. But even being here for just under 2 years, I still pre-sold a lot of big pieces just by posting a photo of my garage on Facebook. You can also post to a local buy/sell/trade page to get more interest.<br />
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<b>13. Speaking of Pre-Sales</b><br />
Get in good with the neighbors by offering a preview night to your neighborhood. I posted to our neighborhood Facebook page that I was opening the door to neighbors on Friday afternoon from 4:30-6:30. And then we went out to dinner with some folks who stopped by! They appreciated the early shopping and I was able to make a little space for the next day. As Blue says, it's a win-win! <br />
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<b>14. Adjust </b><br />
My yard sale lasted 6 hours but by the second hour I could see what was working and what wasn't. I was selling a pup tent and a rooftop carrier but they were both in their carrying bags. People weren't unzipping the bags to look. So, I pulled them out and laid them on the grass. I also had a lot of shoppers checking out the La-Z-Boy chair. They were sitting on it, reclining in it, enjoying it immensely. But not paying the $25.00 I priced it at. So, I dropped it to $15. Watch your shoppers to see what they are picking up, what's getting ignored and what needs to be more visible. If something isn't selling, move it or drop the price slightly. It doesn't hurt to try something different.<br />
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<i>A well-loved but still fully functional water table gets dropped to $1. </i></div>
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<b>15. Signs, Signs, Everywhere are Signs</b><i> </i><br />
So, this was my biggest mistake. I didn't put up enough signs. Mainly I was concerned about annoying my neighbors with my fluorescent posterboard all over the neighborhood, but I needed 2 and maybe 3 more signs to help guide shoppers to the house. I made very clear, concise signs that simply read:<br />
YARD SALE<br />
SAT 4/14 7 AM - 1 PM<br />
MY ADDRESS (which was my actual address but this being the internet and all..)<br />
I taped them with packing tape to some wooden stakes I found in the yard sale aisle at Walmart. Walmart sells fancy "yard sale signs" for $4.50 per sign. You don't need that. And I was concerned that putting them up on Friday morning wasn't enough of a heads up, but it was going to rain so I waited. As it turns out, yard sale shoppers really don't need more than 24 hours notice, but they <i>do </i>need some trail markers. I just assumed that everyone out there is using Google Maps or Waze to get around in this world. Don't assume that because it's not true. I was told multiple times on Saturday that people were driving around looking for our house and that they almost gave up when they finally found it. So, I'm sure some did give up. Don't make this mistake. Put enough signs up so that someone can find your house, even without a smart phone.<br />
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<b>16. Sticky Fingers</b><br />
I've been told by my neighbors, who are veterans of the annual neighborhood yard sale that much of the city looks forward to every spring, that some shoppers have sticky fingers. And that things will get stolen. The worst case scenario is your change box (I used a waitress bib from when I was Sookie Stackhouse for Halloween a few years ago), but it isn't uncommon for other, less valuable items to disappear. I only noticed that some of the jewelry was gone, but considering it was 25 cents per piece, if you are stealing the jewelry from my yard sale, you have bigger problems than I do and probably need Jesus. Peace be with you.<br />
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<b>17. Send 'Em Away With Something Free</b><br />
On the advice of several bloggers, I had a free box. This was mostly filled with happy meal toys, Dollar Tree party decor, a box of oven bags that I don't remember buying and some of Blue's pants that had holes in the knees. My Mennonite shoppers grabbed these right up as they know their way around a needle and a thread. It gave the kids something to look through while their parents shopped and several people found something free first but then shopped until they found something to buy.<br />
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<i>This bin was still half full at the end of the day, proving that sometimes folks don't even want your free stuff. </i></div>
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<b>18. The Extras That I Skipped</b><br />
There are people who say you should have snacks on hand or bottled water, or even treats for sale. They also suggest that kids set up a lemonade stand. First of all, unless they are super helpful or entertained by a device, kids underfoot while you are trying to tally and make change is extremely distracting. I lent my husband to the neighbors so they had help hauling off a fence and in exchange, their kids watched Blue. It was a lovely arrangement. Also, while I do feed the people who come to pack our house, I don't feel it is necessary to feed the people who are coming to pay a quarter for a scarf. So, sorry...you will not find rice krispie treats or lemonade at our yard sale. But Sheetz is right down the street and they make a killer cappuccino.<br />
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<i>Before...</i></div>
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<i> After...</i></div>
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<i>Not pictured is the giant entertainment center and 2 matching end tables or the washer & dryer we sold.</i></div>
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There are a lot of great blog posts out there about how to host a successful yard sale (sometimes I feel deep pity for our parents who never had Pinterest to turn to) but <a href="http://www.organizinghomelife.com/how-to-have-a-very-successful-yard-sale-organizing-your-sale-other-tips/">this lady</a> is pretty great. And she's way more succinct than I am. Someday I'm going to get paid per word and then<i> I'm</i> going to make it rain. Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-13484848919797015152018-04-13T14:38:00.000-04:002018-04-13T14:38:27.790-04:00The Little Couch That Could As y'all know, we are chin-deep in getting ready for another move. I started Kon-mari'ing the house in January (with apologies to Marie Kondo for turning her method into a verb, but to say that I'm "decluttering" or "tidying up" really doesn't do justice to what is going on around here...it's significantly more serious than that). And now our garage is plum full of items that sparked no joy when I held them all those months ago.<br />
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Except one of the Keurigs and a microwave managed to make it back into the house. To be fair, the movers busted our last Keurig and it was a whole new level of Dante's hell as I waited for the reimbursement check to come in so we could replace it. Also, I'm fairly certain that the CA house doesn't have a microwave (because it's the military and they figure they are giving you a roof, some rooms and a refrigerator, you can figure out the rest).<br />
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Also...this couch.<br />
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A quick story about this couch. It was our first furniture purchase as an active duty family when we were stationed in Georgia. We already had a beautiful Haverty's leather sectional, with recliners at each end, but...it didn't fit in the base housing. So, we scooted on down to the AAFES furniture store one afternoon and bought something that was comfy, leather and fit perfectly in our shotgun living room.<br />
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(Selfie maternity photos. All you need is a tripod, some props and a baby bump.) </div>
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Well, I take that back. It wasn't SUPER comfortable. It sat REALLLLLLLY low to the floor. Like...on the floor. Our knees were never at a 90 degree angle when we were sitting on it and we had to hoist every grandparent (as well as my 9 month pregnant self) off of it when it was time to get up. </div>
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Eventually the too-low couch was excommunicated to the playroom, where it lived until last week. I didn't hold it in my hands but the fact that just looking at it made my knees hurt, told me all I needed to know about how much joy it sparked. Neal hoisted it on his shoulders and hauled it out to the garage, destined to be someone's yard sale bargain. </div>
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As he lowered the couch to set it on the ground, I heard him say, "Huh. Maybe we should put the feet on it if we're going to sell it." </div>
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Wait. What? It has FEET?? As in, it doesn't HAVE to be the world's shortest couch? </div>
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He put the feet on. </div>
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I loved the couch. It was comfortable and one can rise with ease. </div>
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We carried it back into the house, where it will stay until the movers put it on the truck to CA. It has earned a spot in the living room and given us one extra place to sit when company comes to visit. </div>
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I guess the lesson here is if you have your furniture delivered, it's always a good idea to look under it before using it for 8 years. There may be something useful stapled to the bottom. </div>
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-37622963733925076502018-04-09T11:44:00.000-04:002018-04-09T11:44:02.830-04:00Breakfast of Champions <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't know who started it, probably my maternal grandmother considering her insatiable appetite for sweets at <i>any</i> time of the day, but cake & coffee (or chocolate milk in my decaffeinated days) has always been an acceptable breakfast. Pie is a decent substitute but there was always more cake than pie when I was growing up. Whenever our family gathered for a birthday (which seemed to happen about 3 times a year as the birthdays were unintentionally clustered into March, September and October), you could bet that everyone would finish the cake the morning after the party.<br />
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I think my husband was justifiably appalled by this when he married into the family, especially considering our family dies from diabetes and cardiovascular disease. You would think we would always have veggie omelettes and turkey bacon, but no...the sweet tooth gene is alive and well (and has been passed down yet again).<br />
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It has been awhile since I had cake & coffee for breakfast, but this is a special cake from some truly exceptional folks.<br />
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Yesterday afternoon, a group of families from our children's missions group at church gave us a going away party, complete with yummy food (I may have declared to Blue at one point, "THIS is dinner! Eat it or starve later!"), thoughtful gifts and delightful conversation. For 4 hours we gathered, shared a meal and swapped stories about our children, home ownership and how we came to be Moravians. The kids, being hearty Pennsylvanian stock (our own son could now pass for a native) played outside, although the wind chill had to be below freezing. And the littlest of our crew toddled around our feet or sat in laps while we chatted.<br />
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It was the warmest I've felt since the last days of summer.<br />
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When Neal was assigned to a National Guard post with no on-post housing and very few active duty families nearby, I...well...I had what my friend, Carrie, calls a <i>complete come-apart</i>. I came unglued, unhinged, consumed by the idea that I wasn't going to make any friends because we were going into a place where everyone had known each other for a hundred years and one new, transient face was never going to break through the ice.<br />
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And for about 6 months, I wasn't wrong.<br />
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But it had everything to do with my attitude.<br />
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I assumed these people would have no interest in me, so I had no interest in them. Consequently, they had no interest in me. But I was lonely and Blue was, too. We had gone from being completely immersed in Army life and engaging daily (sometimes multiple times a day) with our neighbors and friends as we passed each other on the street or chatted at the playground or met for coffee after our morning workout to a civilian suburban life where we would see 1 or 2 kids on bikes after school and a parent or 2 checking the mail before closing the garage door behind them. In Kansas, we lived in barracks that had been renovated into spacious apartments so, we were, literally, on top of each other. We sometimes disagreed and there was occasional drama, but we had become a tribe, more than that...a <i>family</i>. We all cried when it was time to leave. We had become completely enmeshed in each other's lives.<br />
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And then we scattered...to Korea, Texas, Louisiana, Germany, Florida and Pennsylvania. It was devastating and I wanted to quit all of this. It was too hard, too emotionally draining. I can deal with finding a new dentist, new doctor, new school, new everything every 24 months. But finding new friends was too much to ask. I almost asked Neal if we could just be done.<br />
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But if I had, we would have never found our Pennsylvania family. And I can't imagine my life without these people in it. Not just our church family, but our neighbors and friends we've met along the way. I think about the night of my birthday last year when we gathered with neighbors in the backyard for a potluck dinner and to watch <i>Captain Underpants</i> (I let Blue pick my birthday movie. I'll know better for next year.) on the big screen. And driving a carload of kids to the Farm Show every January to see the chicks hatch in front of our eyes and the just-born calves struggle to their feet for the first time. And to drink our weight in PA Dairy Association milkshakes. And the epic pre-trick-or-treating party our neighbors throw every Halloween night. Last year they had 3 tables full of food and inflatable party decorations.<br />
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And I think about all of the mission work we've been able to participate in through the children's missions program at the church: decorating pumpkins and passing out valentines at the nursing home, crafting gifts for the Father's Day worship service, gathering and packing supplies to send to Soldiers deployed overseas, preparing the Lenten meal for a Wednesday night service. These children are learning from their parents and their church how to serve others and I feel lucky and blessed that we've been a part of that. What if I had given up after Kansas? Look at all we would have missed.<br />
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Palm Sunday. We had obviously temporarily lost our minds when we sat down with all of the kids between us. I mean...what could go wrong? </div>
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This is just a few from the hoards of photos I have from the past 2 years...favorite teachers, city parades (PA loves a good parade), church services on the front lawn, trick-or-treating in the neighborhood and a little of what makes our church unique. And not a single person in these photos is in the military. They were just living their lives, going to church and soccer games and swim lessons. And then we showed up. Strangers. Gypsies. Temporary. They loved us anyway. </div>
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They knew we couldn't stay. They loved us anyway.</div>
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They knew the goodbyes would be hard. They loved us anyway.</div>
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They didn't know our story, where we came from, what kind of friends we would be. They loved us anyway. </div>
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They knew nothing about military families or what our lives are like. They loved us anyway. </div>
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They don't know if we'll ever be back. (We will.) They loved us anyway. </div>
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Whenever I meet a new military spouse, I tell him/her, "You will get out of it exactly what you put into it." That's true for most things in life. But taking the time to engage with your community and its culture can seem like an unnecessary burden when you are always the new family. What's the point? And it's easy to assume that they are thinking the same thing. But what if they aren't? What if you enrich each other's lives; you help them to understand the sacrifices that a military family makes and they help you to understand what makes their community so vibrant and distinct? What if you are looking for a church and end up finding a family? It is often said that it takes a village and we must not be afraid to ask our neighbors and our friends to be our village when we have moved so far from family. Every military spouse knows that finding your tribe when you live on post or on base happens fairly easily and quickly. But finding them in a civilian setting feels overwhelming and pointless. I'm here to tell you it can happen and that it's worth trying. </div>
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And to everyone who has taken us in, shared a meal with us, come over for a chat or welcomed us into their circle, <i>thank you</i>. Thank you for loving us anyway. It is, by far, the best way to support military families. And it makes us want to continue doing what we're doing. Even though we have to say good-bye, we are grateful for every memory and the chance that when we meet again, it is as friends instead of strangers. Until next time....</div>
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-50542565702720917292018-04-02T19:16:00.001-04:002018-04-02T19:44:19.572-04:00Lucky 13 and the Last Surviving CD <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>How did you and Neal meet?</i><br />
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It's hard to answer that without sounding like a total nutcase. Um...a coworker gave me a photo of him, deployed to Iraq, in which I could only see how straight and white his teeth were and, based on that, we began a string of emails that resulted in him inviting me to spend his R&R with him in London, England? Yeah...that sounds like a completely lucid answer from a responsible adult. <br />
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<i> The picture that started it all. </i></div>
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My first email to Neal began with me thanking him profusely for being brave enough to go to war and briefly mentioned my love for Jimmy Buffett and peel-and-eat shrimp and I may have quoted a little Rupert Holmes, just for funsies. For some unknown reason, he decided to reply to that. </div>
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Blue and I are so glad he did. </div>
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We emailed from October until the end of November when, out of nowhere, Neal invited me on his week-long R&R to London in April. I don't remember much about the rest of that day, but I do vaguely recall stumbling into my co-worker's office (the one who started the whole thing) and declaring, "YOUR BOY JUST INVITED ME TO SPEND A WEEK WITH HIM IN ENGLAND!" </div>
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At that point, I decided I should move out of my ex-fiance's house. </div>
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So, I did what any good almost-but-not-quite-daughter-in-law would do: I made Thanksgiving dinner for my almost-but-not-quite-in-laws and as soon as they pulled out of the driveway, I started packing boxes. I was completely moved out a couple of days later. And I never looked back. I walked away from one man who never could quite decide if he wanted to marry me and toward one who wanted to fly me halfway across the world just so we could meet. </div>
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But first, the Soldier had no clothes. No civilian clothes, that is. He asked, in probably the most casual way possible, if I could swing by his house where his mom was living and pack him a bag. Well, sure. I mean...it's the least I could do for someone who had just bought me a plane ticket to England. And so, on one uncharacteristically warm day in March, I rang the doorbell and met his mom. </div>
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And then I packed his underwear. </div>
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You really get to know a person when you pack his underwear....while his mom looks on. </div>
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I grabbed an array of jeans and sweaters, as it had not quite warmed up in the U.K. yet, either. And then, on the advice of my sister (who lived for several years in Scotland when her daughters were infants), I packed his Adidas soccer shoes - because apparently the only people who walk around in running shoes are Americans. Europeans and the English wear their Nikes to the gym and their "trainers" everywhere else. Neal's soccer shoes looked like "trainers" to me. So, I threw them in the bag, gave the mom the most normal hug I could muster after a fairly awkward introduction and headed home to pack my own bags. </div>
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The U.S. Customs agents find it very hard to believe that someone would fly around the world to meet someone for the first time <i>and</i> bring his luggage to him. Just a heads up in case you want to try this at home. You will need a better story than "I have been emailing this guy at war and he wants to meet so we're going to London and those are a week's worth of henleys plus some soccer shoes that we are going to pass off as trainers." Had I been anyone but a white girl in my 20's with pole-swinger hair, I'm sure I would have been detained. </div>
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But I wasn't and on April 1st (April Fool's - which caused unnecessary concern for my mother) I stepped up to the baggage carousel in the Heathrow Airport and hugged my future husband. We collected our bags, hailed a taxi and took our first picture together; a selfie, proving that even in 2005 we were cutting edge, even if we hide it extremely well. </div>
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He brought me back to our room at The Waldorf, which was quite a change of scenery for this Hampton Inn girl. Coupled with the fact that I mistook his Pathfinder for an Infinity in a picture he had sent over Christmas, I came to believe that the Army was a lucrative career choice. And that maybe I was just a little bit out of my league. But what was the harm in seeing a wee bit of the Mother Land before heading back? (As it turns out, he had a <i>lot</i> of Hilton points and The Waldorf is owned by Hilton. And when he had used as many consecutive points as he could there, we moved across town to the Hilton Hyde Park for the rest of the time. So, no...the Army is not the way to make your millions.) <br />
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On the first day, we slept. A lot. We slept in the same bed, but only because they had given us a room with 2 twin beds anchored to the same headboard.<br />
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Had I not already been well-versed in the way it is across the pond, I would have thought he was gearing up for some shady shiz, but I knew this wasn't an uncommon practice since the hotel rooms are so small. That's <i>not</i> to say he was disappointed by this development but even to this day, he will not admit to anything other than honorable intentions. I think he might be a little bit scared of my mom.<br />
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We did make it out to hear the Choral Evensong at St. Paul's Cathedral that evening.<br />
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And then Mom called...presumably to make sure I wasn't on the run from a rapist or a serial killer. Neal left the room so I could talk to Mom in private and I assured her that there were 2 beds and he had opened every door for me. If he was going to tie me up and kill me, it hadn't happened yet and maybe I would at least get to see London first.<br />
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The next 7 days flew by in a blur of laughter, stories and more than a little bit of wine. We learned you <i>can</i> uncork a bottle of red using only a hotel teaspoon and if you get drunk and miss the party bus that you booked a month in advance, perhaps it was meant to be.<br />
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<i>Drunken debauchery after we missed the party bus. We were there 2 hours early. I don't know what happened. </i><br />
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<i>Corkscrews are for less resourceful folk. </i></div>
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But we also stayed busy sightseeing in a city that invited us to explore. </div>
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<i>The gardens of Windsor are breathtaking. Although the public bathrooms are in a tractor trailer. I have a hard time picturing the Queen Mum squatting in one of these.</i><br />
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<i>Paddleboating in Hyde Park on a day when it had threatened to either rain, snow, or both all day. We threw caution to the wind, handed over our money and huddled to stay warm. </i><br />
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<i>Second row seats at The Producers, in London's theater district. </i></div>
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<i>A 3-hour drive to Stonehenge, followed by a stop in Bath (where I bought fancy soap and got unexpectedly licked).</i></div>
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<i>First row seats to The Lion King and another chance to practice our selfie game. </i></div>
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<i>A walking tour where we learned about the bubonic plague and all the dead people under our feet, as well as the St. Bride Institute, which is the inspiration behind the first wedding cake design. </i><br />
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<i>Watching The Ring 2 at a swank movie theater in the Notting Hill neighborhood. We almost didn't find the place, but when we did, we were rewarded with a fully stocked bar in the back and reclining chairs. Copious amounts of alcohol is the only way I survived that movie. </i><br />
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<i>And we found Madame Tussaud's because...well...why the hell not? </i></div>
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<i>A nighttime pub crawl and a chance to hear all about Jack the Ripper. </i></div>
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<i>A daytime pub crawl and a chance to rest our feet...because I was the only one wearing nonsensible shoes. (As Neal unpacked his bags, he looked up and asked, "Why on earth did you bring my indoor soccer shoes?" He wore his Nikes all week and I suffered in Skechers.)</i><br />
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We strolled through gardens (and I rocked a Kangol hat like impersonating Samuel L. Jackson was my job)...<br />
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rode the Underground everywhere,<br />
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ate a lot of pub food (except for this one time when Neal wanted to introduce me to Indian food and I drank an entire pitcher of water with my 1-star curry),<br />
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and walked a lot, at different times of the day, so we could really experience the city.<br />
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On our last evening together, we took a dinner cruise down the Thames River while reviewing the list of things we wanted to know more about from each other.<br />
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But I already knew everything I needed to know. After 7 straight days with someone, it's either going to work out or it's not.<br />
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This was going to work. I just had to survive saying goodbye at the airport.<br />
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The night before we headed our separate ways, Neal handed me a mix CD. It included all of the background music from our week in London; "Neal's favorites" that he played on his laptop whenever we were in the hotel room. Kylie Minogue, Luther Vandross, Rascal Flatts, George Michael and, of course, a little Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. I brought it home and those songs sustained me until August, when Neal returned home from Iraq. The music he chose reminded me of our first kiss, of our first night together, of falling in love; hard and fast and, hopefully, forever.<br />
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I found that CD last week while I was Konmari'ing the entertainment center. It was buried in a CD case that I had shoved to the back of a cabinet. I took it out, swiped it across my sweatshirt and stuck it in my car CD player. The first notes of <i>Fall Into Me</i> by Emerson Drive lifted me up and dropped me right back in The Waldorf Hotel. It was like falling in love all over again. I kept that CD. I got rid of 47 others, but I kept that one. And it lives in my car. It is the last surviving CD and I hope I always have a way to play it.<br />
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It has been 13 years, almost to this very moment, that I first laid down on the twin bed next to the man of my dreams. It's hard to beat a week-long first date, but he manages to make each year better than the last. I am, as Alison Krauss sings on my CD, The Lucky One.<br />
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Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-47094606245073754922018-03-28T12:00:00.001-04:002018-03-28T12:25:25.173-04:00The Year of Living More With Less: Catching Fire A couple of months ago, I mentioned that I was going to try the Konmari Method of sorting and "tidying" the house. Now, here's my disclaimer: I did not read <i>The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up</i> by Marie Kondo. No...I read about 6 blog posts by people who did read the book. I got the gist and ran with it. Essentially you:<br />
1. Print the list of categories that she provides in the book. <br />
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*This has been shared so many times on Pinterest, I can't find the original pinner or know who to credit.<br />
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2. Start with clothes (and according to this list, tops, specifically). Gather all of your tops. This is a little more complicated than it sounds. It involves doing the laundry first so that the tops (and really <i>all</i> of your clothes) are clean and ready to be sorted. The Konmari Method suggests gathering <i>all</i> of one category - whether it's books that are in every room of the house or laundry that is clean/dirty/laying on the floor of various closets. Bring all of one category together before starting and it really does help, although admittedly, it is a giant pain in the butt. Resist the urge to just start going room by room instead of gathering all of one category. Seeing ALL of your books in a pile instead of all of the books from one room will really help give you a sense of how many you have and which ones truly spark joy...which brings me to #3.<br />
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3. Sparking joy. So, even though I grew up with a psychologist mom, I still found the idea of holding something in my hands and asking myself if it sparked joy to be a pretty big pile of quackery. <i>There is no way that makes any difference in whether I decide to keep or toss something</i>. Except, IT TOTALLY DID. How do I know? I make a major purge before and after every move. This will be our 6th move in 8 years. That's a LOT of purging - more than most non-active duty households, I would presume. And there are items that I've carried with me since our first move and some things I've moved since high school. That is something like 23 moves. Like this...<br />
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A bin of journals that I wrote in between 1990 and 2000. There are no profound words of wisdom in there. They do not contain the next great American novel. They are filled with teenage/college angst and over-analyzed conversations with boys (this was mostly before <i>He's Just Not That Into You</i> was written...what a blessing that book would have been to my teenage self). I only had to hold one journal while asking myself if it sparked joy to know that they decidedly did not. In fact, it sparked anxiety and sadness. I tossed every single one of them in the trash.<br />
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I can't explain <i>why</i> the question <i>Does this spark joy? </i>works. It just does. It shouldn't be any different than looking at something and wondering if you like it enough to keep it. But asking yourself if something sparks joy overrides the 2 reasons I've kept a lot of stuff: I paid money (sometimes a lot) for it and someone gave it to me. Spending money on an item or the idea that someone else spent money on it has been the deciding factor for keeping a lot of what I've lugged around since I was 17. But when I hold it in my hands and ask the question, I know <i>immediately;</i> yes this sparks joy, or no it doesn't. It doesn't have anything to do with whether I *like* an item. <i>DOES IT SPARK JOY?</i> It has to be that question. (And it helps if you are doing this in silence, although I've had to keep working, even on snow days and weekends, so if there's some 5-year old chatter in the background, it is still possible to hear your own answer.)<br />
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Now, I've been mocked somewhat ruthlessly for adhering to this aspect of the method. And that's probably fair because I've ruthlessly mocked others for the same thing. But if you are serious about scaling down, whether you want to live in a tiny house or just clear physical space so that the mental space can be cleared as well, this step is imperative.<br />
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My first category, per the list, was my tops and it looked something like this:<br />
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Step 1: Gather all the tops in one place. </div>
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Step 2: Hold each one and ask yourself if it sparks joy. Here are some things I learned regarding my tops:<br />
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1. I have a shirt from one of the last times I saw my friend, Traci, during a Making Strides for Breast Cancer walk. It says "Traci's Pink Brigade". When I hold it, I don't think of the fun we had at that event; I think of saying goodbye to her as she passed and how deeply I feel her absence from my life. I never wear this shirt because it just makes me too sad. And Traci would be pissed if she knew I was keeping something that made me so heartbroken that I couldn't even bring myself to wear it. Worse, I had shoved it to the back of the drawer because I couldn't even bear to look at it. So, I donated that shirt. And I didn't feel bad about donating it because then I made a little album of photos I took of us, from the time we met until the Oztoberfest in Kansas. And that album sparks so much joy that I actually feel her sitting next to me as I flip through it. I still miss her, but I feel so blessed to have those memories with an amazing woman of God.<br />
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2. I own one black shirt, which I bought in Kentucky on one of my trips home. It says something about Kentucky girls and bourbon, but I never wear it because the neck is tight and it's black and black makes me look like I've been rode hard and put up wet. So, even though it appears in this "sorted" picture, it didn't make the final final cut. And now I don't buy black t-shirts...not even the school carnival one last week - even though the money was going to a good cause. I would rather just give them the money. <br />
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3. Even I was a little surprised by which shirts sparked joy and which ones did not. I haven't been able to participate in a Wings for our Troops event for quite some time, but I still love wearing the American flag angel wings and thinking of everything my friend, Tami, is doing to help Servicemembers see family members before and after a deployment. But I have to reiterate, holding a shirt and asking myself if it sparked joy resulted in an immediate and <i>strong</i> reaction: either it did or it didn't. It was really that easy. Whether I had gotten my money's worth out of a shirt or whether I would offend someone by getting rid of it really didn't factor into my decision at all...and <i>that's</i> how you declutter a house.<br />
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And that left me with this:<br />
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Except that's only 1/2 the pile. In that stack are not only clothes that are worn out, but also sweaters that I've only worn once and a few that still have the tags on them. Getting dressed in the morning is so much easier now that my eyes don't have to block out the clothes I don't love. And I have worn more clothes that I love but had forgotten about because they were pushed to the back of the drawer. (Like my "Not everything that starts in Missouri ends in dysentery" t-shirt. If you get that reference, we can absolutely be friends.)<br />
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The next step is to decide what to do about the discard pile. In general, if I bought it at Goodwill, back it goes. If it still has the tags or is in excellent condition, it goes to the yard sale (which I am DREADING but is, I suppose, a fact of life if you ever want to get<i> any </i>money back). Some things were so far past their prime that they just went into the trash. It would be an incredibly thrifty thing for me to cut them up and make them into rags but I have actual rags for that. At this point, the KonMari Method says I should thank each item for the role it played in my life.<br />
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Yeah. I didn't do that. I barely thank my husband. I'm certainly not thanking a Mossimo v-neck.<br />
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Lastly, #4...putting away what's left. The KonMari Method suggests a certain folding method that involves standing up your clothes so you can see them better. I found that I actually prefer rolling them, which is still a change from my previous practice of folding everything. Rolling my shirts, especially my t-shirts, allows me to see them quickly, side-by-side, and choose the one I'm most in the mood to wear.<br />
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Although I didn't photograph the entire process, so far I've completed the list up to "office supplies". I even took a week and went through my crafting supplies. I'm serious. It took a week. Scrapbook paper, stamps, pens, embossing powder, beads, Cricut cartridges...I almost gave up. But I kept what sparked joy and donated the rest to a local crafting store. That alone probably makes this move 50 pounds lighter. I also found some lost gems...<br />
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Proof that I was a University of Louisville Cardinal before I was a University of Kentucky Wildcat. I vaguely remember making this ID but I can't remember why, except possibly because we were bored and looking for some way to entertain ourselves that didn't involve illegal drugs or pulling a fire alarm. <br />
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And...<br />
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My Muscular System Manual from massage school, complete with tabs for easy access. A lot of our tests in massage school were open-book, but also timed, hence the tabs. I removed the tabs and kept the book because a lot of things in this world change constantly, but the skeletal system does not.<br />
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I'm still working through the rest of the list and I'll show the complete pile of stuff that we are getting rid of when I'm done. I have less than 3 weeks. I should probably get back to work. <br />
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-14307625840655369272018-03-23T11:06:00.000-04:002018-03-23T11:11:59.187-04:00Bringing Up the Boy <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This week has been brutal. Winter storm Toby dropped 8" of snow on Wednesday, resulting in a day off for all of us. Normally, that would mean snow ball fights and hot chocolate but all it meant this week was that Blue was underfoot for 8 hours, trying to salvage everything I was trying to get rid of. Packers will be here in 31 days and we are losing 1600 square feet and a basement. Some stuff has to go. I lost count of how many times I said, <i>No, you don't need 17 leis from your first birthday party. We will get rid of 16, you can keep ONE.</i> This was followed by a lot of foot stomping, yelling about what a terrible mother I am and general huffing and puffing. Replay that scenario about 39 more times and you have a pretty good idea of how my Wednesday went.<br />
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But life with Blue has been rough lately. Neal and I were ready to blame it on 5-year old testosterone, but one of our neighbors mentioned yesterday that her kids just need to get outside and play. It's been so cold and snowy for so long (really since November) and this area of PA only has a few indoor places where cooped up kids can run it off. Even a jump and bounce place is a sorry substitute for God's playground. But Blue hates the cold and hates to layer. We can't get to CA fast enough. I'm hoping by the time we move back to PA, he'll be a fan of winter.<br />
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So, there have been a lot of time-outs, a lot of screaming and slamming of doors and yesterday at the farmer's market, Blue kicked me in the shin while I was chatting with the family who runs the produce stand. He's angry, aggressive and making terrible choices. I've hugged him, disciplined him, got down on his level to talk, put him in time-out, taken away toys and TV tickets and tried to love him through it. But I can only take so much. When Mom's patience tank dings <i>empty</i>, it's probably best for everyone if they just step away slowly. Neal brought home a liter of Cabernet last night. That works, too.<br />
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And perhaps it really is just a fierce case of cabin fever. But what if it's not? As a first-time mom of a boy (a mom, I remind you, who really wasn't around kids - much less boys - until I had one), I'm constantly second-guessing the situation. It feels like every phase is going to last forever. I worry that my parenting is going to come back to bite me when he's in middle or high school. We don't have cable but we do have AirTV so we've been watching some ME TV at night and on the weekends. That means he's now familiar with Andy Griffith and Beaver, but he also knows about Bonanza. There's a lot of "shoot em up" in Westerns, but my general belief is that my husband grew up watching it and he turned out just fine. But we had to have a long talk with Blue about how he can't act out scenes from Bonanza at school. I was hoping Marcia Brady and Opie Taylor would offset the adventures at Ponderosa Ranch. That may have been wishful thinking.<br />
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All we were doing was trying to find entertaining TV to watch during an especially blustery winter but what we've got now is a shit storm of pent-up energy and aggressive behavior that he's picked up from the likes of John Wayne and the Cartwright family.<br />
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Parenting is hard. I probably deserved that kick in the shin.<br />
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<i>I did not deserve that kick in the shin and he was swiftly disciplined which resulted in him making a scene of epic proportions on the floor of the farmer's market, but they're all Mennonites so at least I know the floor is clean</i>.<br />
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As luck would have it, this is all fortuitously timed with Blue's first intruder drill at school and the March for Life happening this weekend. All week I've swung wildly from heartbreak about how our child is growing up in a world where intruder and active shooter drills are routine to wondering how someone who is barely over 4' tall can slam a door so hard it rattles on the hinges<i>.</i> (I would take the door off the hinges but then we just have to put in on again in 30 days. And by "we" I mean "Neal".)<br />
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This morning I happened to see a video posted on Facebook that featured a young woman who had the courage to stand up in front of her classmates and speak during a school walk-out. She acknowledged that many of her classmates were only walking out to get out of class. So, she took a breath, threw all of her f*&cks to the wind and said what needed to be said. She called out the bullies for creating a situation where kids finally strike back, but with bullets. And she pleaded for her classmates to simply accept one another for who they are, to just be nice. It was an impassioned plea that may have reached a few, may have fallen on a few deaf ears. Regardless, during a time of life when kids are the most cruel to one another, it was an incredibly courageous act. And it occurred to me in that moment...I want Blue to be kind...<i>and</i> brave.<br />
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We have ten years (or less) to shape Blue into someone who will stand on the steps and plead for his classmates to be kind to one another. When we held our hours-old baby in our arms, it felt like a lifetime. Now it feels like the blink of an eye. The active shooter drills have already started. He can barely spell gun but now he must know how to run from one. And this is how he will grow up. Our parents feared Russia's nuclear attack. We are buying bullet-proof backpacks. What did we fear growing up? I can only remember the earthquake drills.<br />
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I've been told that when Blue is out from under our watchful (and perhaps overly critical) eye, he is a helper and a friend. His teachers have told us that he's inclusive and kind. Maybe we are doing something right after all. Maybe he's building his brave and I'm taking the brunt of it. Kids should come with manuals.<br />
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As much as I want to march in DC, or even locally, tomorrow, all three of us have made commitments. Neal and Blue have the Boy Scouts awards banquet and I'm helping with his school carnival. These decisions were made months ago and while I 100% support everyone who is marching, I also don't want to set the example that prior commitments can take a backseat when something better comes along. These are the kinds of difficult decisions parents make everyday - what example am I setting? What will my child learn from this? A million tiny decisions will create a child that is brave or a bully, kind or self-centered. Yesterday, Blue proclaimed, "I'm so tired of you telling me what to do!" To which I replied, "Well, get used to it. Big Mama still tells me what to do." He thought about this for a minute and said, "When you're dead, you won't be able to tell me what to do." That's true, son. And hopefully by then, you won't need me anymore.<br />
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Also, UK lost to Kansas State last night so March has been a bit of a bust around here. I think we are all ready for April. <br />
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-69854786406236148072018-03-19T13:12:00.000-04:002018-03-19T13:12:55.183-04:00The Year of Living More With Less: Winter Becomes Me When spring finally sprung in PA last year, Neal and I looked at each other and breathed a sigh of relief. <i>Well, that wasn't so bad</i>. But many a native Pennsylvanian was quick to point out that the winter of 2017 was mild...a little <i>too</i> mild. So, when double-lined ski pants, <i>32 Degree Heat</i> silks and touch-sensitive gloves went on sale at Costco last October, I stocked up. They also sold this quilted coat with a fur hood that is, without a doubt, the warmest piece of outwear I've ever had on my body. The CC brand beanies are, it would seem, <i>everywhere </i>this year, but with good reason. Maybe it's the knitted style or just the simple fact that the noggin is now covered, but it has made a big difference in how warm I stay. I also picked up a knitted wool/fleece neck wrap from TJ Maxx and finished off my winter shopping with some $5 snow bibs for Blue at one of the fall consignment sales. We were ready for the arctic winds to blow. <br />
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I've been mocked ruthlessly (mostly by Neal) for my layering technique, but it has allowed me to enjoy...<br />
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Christmas caroling in the town square in Lititz (I <i>know</i>...how very Christmas Hallmark movie of us!)</div>
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taking in the Christmas windows in NYC </div>
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watching the groundhog emerge at sunrise on Gobbler's Knob (which has a weather all its own. 24 degrees and 20 mph winds. If there's ever a cold day in Hell, I'm sure that is what it will feel like.)</div>
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riding to the top of Pittsburgh on the Duquesne Incline at the beginning of February</div>
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having a cup of coffee at the world's largest coffee pot </div>
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watching the snow geese migration at sunrise </div>
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and visiting the Philly Zoo before the most recent snow had a chance to melt. </div>
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Occasionally, I've been overdressed, as was the case last month when I layered up to make a snowman after the storm. Except it was 42 degrees and even in just my ski pants and hoodie I was still sweating. </div>
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(This is Edna. She arrived on Sunday, lost her hat on Monday morning, her celery ears on Monday afternoon and was just a wet spot by Monday night.)<br />
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Alfred Wainwright, a British author and illustrator of nature guides, is credited as saying, "There's no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing." I have taken this quote to heart over the past 4 months. And it has allowed me to balk at the wind, snow and ice. Although it continues to try, even at this moment, Old Man Winter can't keep me from enjoying all that Pennsylvania has to offer. It has been brutal and we are all anxiously awaiting warmer weather, but until then, all we have to do is dress for it. More year-round outdoor adventures, less cabin fever. <br />
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-23065173547400380772018-03-13T23:25:00.000-04:002018-03-13T23:25:59.967-04:00Wednesday Review: Happy Birthday, Honey. Have Some Flowers I am not known for my green thumb. I have killed at least 3 pots of basil every year since Neal and I got married. And my best friend finally convinced me to trash the crispy orchid I had forgotten about in the guest room. I've managed to keep one shoot of bamboo from IKEA alive through 2 moves, but I don't know that it's living its best life under my care. I love to look at flowers and, someday, I hope to learn how to keep them alive for more than 3 weeks. Until then, there's the Philadelphia Flower Show.<br />
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One of Blue's preschool teachers offered us tickets last year but it always falls around Neal's birthday and by that point, we already had plans. But I had made myself a note so when it rolled around this year, I was ready. Unfortunately, it fell directly on Neal's 50th birthday this year. And if there's one thing he hates more than war, it's crowds of people in a convention hall. So, naturally I bought our tickets and then asked him to "run" into Reading Market Terminal for cheesesteaks afterward. He came back out, cheesesteaks in hands...45 minutes later. Clearly I owe him a do-over for this birthday that involves a deserted brewery in the middle of a Monday and a matinee showing of some historical fiction flick. But we both agreed...this was not your average flower show.<br />
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Once you get over the sticker shock of $35/person (with other "experiences" like the butterfly exhibit and preview days costing extra), plus parking in Chinatown, it is easier to appreciate the scale of work that goes into a production of this magnitude. Just the entrance alone felt like being dropped in the middle of the Amazon, complete with bird call sound effects.<br />
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The theme this year was Wonders of Water and while some exhibits simply used water to keep the flowers alive in their vases, some of them incorporated full-on waterfalls. But my favorite was this example of reusing rainwater for the garden.<br />
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Even the front of this landscape was breathtaking. Not only did the designers work with the theme, but they paid more attention to color than many other exhibitors.<br />
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If this was in my backyard, I would probably never leave the house.<br />
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One of my other favorites was the interior/exterior display. One side of the partition featured interior rooms (like a study or an office) decorated with plants and flowers. On the opposite side was a series of stoops, much like what you see in the Philadelphia area, landscaped by various groups. One was designed by the Orchid Society while the porch "next door" was constructed by a collection of high school students.<br />
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The Orchid Society took a more minimalist approach, but everyone around us stopped to admire the fish-shaped rain chain next to the door. What an unexpected way to move rainwater from the roof to the ground! <br />
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The Philadelphia Convention Center is massive and not only did they fit a full-size shipwreck in there<br />
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but also multiple landscaped gardens and courtyards,<br />
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a life-sized elephant decked out in moss and umbrellas,<br />
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several dedicated spaces for individual competitions (like this "fairy garden" area) <br />
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and an entire art gallery with works created using pressed flowers and plants.<br />
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By this point, we had gotten our $35 worth. On the other side of the convention hall, vendors from all over the country were selling everything from seeds to entire outdoor spaces. We did some window shopping and made some notes for handcrafted goods we want to buy in a few years when we come back and settle down. Just this past year alone I've already added an incredibly fragile piece of art that is about 20 layers of fused glass, plus a vintage clear hobnail punch bowl and platter - all of which will be hand carried 2600 miles to California. (That doesn't include my Derby mint julep glass collection, the hand-painted portrait from our wedding day done by a Kuwaiti artist in 2008 and everything from Blue's birth that is, literally, priceless.) So this exquisite blue heron bell from <a href="http://www.oldtownwindbells.com/">Old Town Wind Bells</a>?<br />
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Will have to wait a few years. But we'll be back for you, my pretty.<br />
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At the exit of the flower show was a photo op<br />
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(clearly this was non-negotiable as it was a chance for me to finally be the fragile flower I've always felt I was AND it was sponsored by the AARP on Neal's 50th birthday) and...<br />
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a place to purchase that Hobbit Hole we've had our eye on. I'm not sure this could ever be more than a place to take a nap in the sun but if we had a few acres of land in the woods, I would just hand over my credit card, no questions asked. I feel like I could write the next great American novel in a place like a hobbit hole. That's obviously the only thing holding me back.<br />
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I'm not sure I would make the Philly Flower Show an annual affair, unless I was unconstrained by time or school bus schedule. Their target market, the AARP crowd, had the entire day to stroll down the aisles, stopping often to chat about what they liked, didn't like and would completely re-design. It is not a place that is easily navigable if you need to be in and out in 120 minutes. But we hit the highlights and I'm glad we went. It certainly gave me a new appreciation for the many ways people view flowers and how they should be displayed most creatively. And when we came out, we walked right into Chinatown, which tempted us with its smells and its sale on strawberries. 2 for $1.00 in March? Who has ever heard of such a thing? <br />
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-816674336907910654.post-50649031291886229722018-02-28T11:33:00.000-05:002018-02-28T11:47:27.097-05:00Wednesday Review: Pick a Peck of Pretzels <i>Blogging is such a perilous endeavor sometimes, especially if you are blogging for income (which I am not). If you are attentive to how it is perceived (which I am), you find yourself scooting along the fine line between pigeon-holing your blog (even if it is temporary and the result of current events) and risking the abandonment of important topics at hand. Make no mistake, I am still engulfed by the flame of anger after yet another school shooting and feel myself burning even hotter after reading pieces by students like Emma Gonzalez. I have joined local chapters of Moms Demand Action and I'm sharing insightful articles from Parkland students, as well as teachers nationwide. But using my blog to voice the opinions I have formed regarding gun legislation would not only echo more well-written pieces already published, but is a little dangerous as I don't yet feel like I have all the information. And the last thing I want to be is a box fan, blowing misinformation around the room. I take pride in the fact that my blog is seen as an authentic, genuine and informed voice. I may have been quick to pass my assumptions along as fact in my younger days, but I hope that as I round the corner to 40, I'm outgrowing such carelessness. So, until I have something educated to say about gun regulation, military life, Supreme Court decisions, a woman's right to choose, sexual harassment or any other topic that floats to the top of a news cycle, I am reserving this space for discussing more mundane matters: book and travel reviews, going chemical-free and, of course, living more with less. I'm always happy to discuss the other with you on Facebook or email, but I will not use my platform for that until I feel like a fresh voice and not just another echo chamber.</i><br />
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The first time we drove through Lititz (pronounced LIT-its, not Le-TITS...the city is named after a castle in Bohemia after all, not a sticky, French night club with dancers named Dees Leeps), we were on our way to Target. We meant to go to the store in Harrisburg but Waze took me to the closest Target. Thirty minutes later we were barreling down Broad St., marveling at a town that must have been the basis for Mayberry. Six months later we joined a church in Lititz, stumbled upon the <i>best</i> consignment store and toured Julius Sturgis Pretzel Bakery. <br />
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Julius Sturgis prides itself on being "America's first commercial pretzel bakery", founded in 1861. <br />
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And, as luck would have it, you can tour the original pretzel factory (although I need to manage your expectations here a bit - it's essentially one room and the pretzels are now made off-site). I've toured the factory three times (it's a popular place to bring our out-of-town guests) and I've had three different tour guides give three very different tours. They were all interesting and informative, although one was given by a college-aged gentleman whose delivery was a little rougher than the rest. It begins with some history about the family and how they shifted from making bread to making pretzels. It's followed by a hands-on demonstration using something resembling play-doh to roll out and shape a pretzel. (Someone once told me that when the ovens were still in use, visitors used actual dough and staff would bake the pretzels as the tour finished. Then guests could eat their creations. I'm not sure how true that is as I can't find anything online that corroborates that comment.)<br />
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The first time Blue rolled a pretzel, the dough clung to his sweaty little palms so badly that I ended up having to duck out of the tour so we could scrub his hands in the bathroom. I paid very little attention to the proper pretzel-making technique and thus ended up with a twisted wad, which in no way resembled children in prayer. Fortunately, I was able to redeem myself a couple of days later at the children's museum.<br />
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After everyone learns the trick behind twisting pretzels and what each twist signifies, guests are awarded an Official Pretzel Twister Certificate.<br />
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<i>I made that pretzel. I am the World's Okayest Mom but I'm a pretty great pretzel twister. </i></div>
After the awards are handed out, the tour moves on to the heart of the bakery. The ovens are cold but visitors can get an idea of what it sounded like when the guide turns on the pretzel twisting machine that was in use for many years.<br />
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<i>Suddenly Hansel and Gretel doesn't seem like such a leap of the imagination. </i></div>
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The tour concludes with any questions visitors may have and a chance to purchase a fresh-out-of-the-oven soft pretzel in the gift shop. You can also pick up bags of Julius Sturgis or Tom Sturgis pretzels (they sell horse-and-buggy shaped pretzels...I'm not even kidding), t-shirts, magnets and books. Before leaving, make sure you stop to snap a selfie in front of the life-sized pretzel. Don't lean on it, though. It wobbles and I thought for a hot second that I was going down. </div>
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<i>Those two in the middle are my nieces and as spunky as they were as kids, they are flat out hysterical as teens. Dry witted and sarcastic...I'm proud to call them family. </i><br />
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Up until about a month ago, I assumed that touring the pretzel factory was simply a bucket list item to be checked off since we were attending church right across the street. But then I was dipping Julius Sturgis pretzels in Wilbur chocolate (more on that nectar of the gods later) for a church fundraiser when our group started talking about the pretzel factory. Come to find out, Mr. Rogers toured the factory during an episode (in which he later talks about how Prince Tuesday thinks his parents might get a divorce because they are fighting - admittedly an awkward finish to the pretzel factory show). Besides gaining a little history about the pretzel baking process, perhaps the best reason for watching this clip is to see the baker (who may or may not be a Sturgis...they never say) casually mention how much weight Fred has gained while sliding in a comment about how pretzels are fat-free. Mr. Rogers was obviously Teflon because had it been anyone else, Mr. Baker would have found himself shoved full of dough where the sun don't shine. </div>
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If you are going to find yourself in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country soon or simply want to know more about the Julius Sturgis family history, check out their <a href="http://www.juliussturgis.com/index.html">website</a> for tour times and prices. Their online store also has a wider variety of pretzels and paraphernalia than the on-site gift shop, including these by the case:</div>
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Perfect for your next baby shower or Easter brunch!<br />
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Pennsylvania has truly cornered the market in snack foods. Hershey kisses, Wilbur buds, sweet bologna, shoefly pie, Utz/Herr's/Dieffenbach's/Martin's potato chips and pretzels by the Philly Pretzel Factory. But Julius Sturgis is my favorite. And Mr. Rogers agrees! <br />
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<br />Allysonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05536029582533052135noreply@blogger.com1