tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11937081215685141842024-03-13T14:55:51.759-04:00Overthinking EverythingJenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.comBlogger683125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-20811458334688889022018-05-13T12:02:00.000-04:002018-05-13T12:02:55.177-04:00"That Is Not Acceptable."I have almost completed 1000 hours of answering phones for Alaska Airlines. These hours I have spent on the phone are a huge part of my day. Sometimes, long after my shift is over I am still mulling over a conversation I had or a situation I simply could not fix.<br />
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Think about the reasons that you get on an airplane. You are going on a long-awaited and carefully planned vacation. You are going to a reunion, a funeral, a milestone birthday, an important anniversary, a graduation, a job interview. Sometimes you are going to support someone who is not doing well. Sometimes it is just to simply reconnect. All of my calls every day are connected to one of these reasons. I am drawn into people's lives for however long my call with them is. It never escapes my notice that I will never know the end of their story. Will they make that tight connection between the two flights they have? Did they ever retrieve that homework they left on the plane? Did the doctor's appt they were going to turn out okay? Were the agents at the airport able to help them get their seats together since I could not? How was the honeymoon in Hawaii? Did TSA let them take that brain in the jar of formaldehyde through security?<br />
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Some of the people who call are in a hurry they barely wait for me to get my greeting out of my mouth and they are demanding things as fast as they can. Some are not very patient with my learning curve they want someone experienced to give them the information. That always makes me feel sad. I want to be able to handle their requests quickly and know the answers but there is no way to know it all sometimes I have to put them on hold for awhile while I research. Some people are incredibly gracious and patient. Some people want to chat. You have no idea how many people want to share all about their lives with me. They tell me about restaurants I should go to in Boise. They tell me about the place I should stay when I go to Cabo. They give me these glimpses into their lives as they fight with their significant other over which form of payment they want to use.<br />
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It continues to amaze me how many different parts there are to getting someone on an airplane and to their destination. I wish there was a way to help people understand we are not out to make their lives hard. We do not control the weather. Although that would be cool, right? We do not love it when a plane has a mechanical issue that causes you to sit on the tarmac. We have to rely on so many things to go right to get your airplane into the sky. We have to work with air traffic control. We have to follow the rules. We have to work with the airports. We have to make sure you are traveling safely. We hate schedule changes as much as you do and we also hate that we have to charge you a change fee and a cancellation fee but what would happen if we did not charge those fees?<br />
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The hardest part of my job is the people who do not think anything applies to them. They are confident you can waive their fees. They insist that you can take someone else out of the seat they want. There is one phrase these people have in common. They use this phrase almost the second I answer the phone. They tell me their problem and emphatically declare "This is not acceptable." The minute I hear those words I know I have a tough call. And immediately in my mind, I wander over to the list of things in my life that are not acceptable and I wonder do I dare tell them about all the things in my life that are not acceptable? I know all about not acceptable. I think we all do. I wonder if they think if they use this phrase I can magically fix everything? I wonder if they know that I hear this phrase a gazillion times a day? They say it like they are the only person in the world who says it.<br />
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I wish I could call up all the problems in my life and tell them, "Um, yeah this is not acceptable, please fix it now."<br />
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It is not acceptable that I cannot reach the top shelf in the grocery store.<br />
It is not acceptable that I had to move from a 2500 square foot house to an apartment.<br />
It is definitely not acceptable that I am alone.<br />
It is not acceptable that I do not have a yard of my own to garden in.<br />
It is not acceptable that I cannot eat carbs all day.<br />
It is not acceptable that everything worth having requires hard work.<br />
It is not acceptable that I cannot ever find the color of sea glass that I want when I go to the beach.<br />
It is not acceptable that my sister's cancer is back.<br />
It is not acceptable that my work hours are 5pm to 1:30am<br />
It is not acceptable that the daffodil bulbs that I tried to force did not come up<br />
It is not acceptable that I have to work to lose weight.<br />
It is not acceptable that it is too expensive to live where I want to live.<br />
It is not acceptable that I can not find someone to simply love me.<br />
It is not acceptable that I make mistakes.<br />
It is not acceptable that Oreos have that strange opening that makes it hard to get to the cookies in the rows on the sides of the package.<br />
It is not acceptable that I have due dates in my school classes.<br />
It is not acceptable that I am afraid of doing hard things.<br />
It is not acceptable that I cannot find grown-up looking shoes in my shoe size.<br />
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Should I go on? We all want things to go smoothly. But that is not life. What can you do when air traffic control tells you that you cannot fly your airplane into the airport at the time that you planned to? Well, you have to move the landing to a different time and then you have to tell everyone on the flight that there has been a change. What about when a plane has a mechanical issue? What about when the computer randomly glitches and drops your seat? What about the fees that you are required to pay when you cancel or change a ticket. What about when not enough people fly a certain route to justify keeping it so you have to drop that route? All totally unacceptable. I wholeheartedly agree. We want to make you happy but sometimes we just can't. I feel bad when I get these particular calls. These people try everything possible to manipulate me. They threaten to fly another airline. They threaten to tell all their friends. They bully me. There honestly is nothing I can do. I have rules I have to follow. There is so much that goes on behind that confirmation code on your ticket.<br />
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My mind has been very full of thoughts about all the different kinds of people that come into my life every day. All the different ways they deal with the not acceptable things in their lives. What they expect. And how they ask for what they expect. Some days it is a hard job and then somedays I get someone who is appreciative and acknowledges that my job can surely not be easy and they simply and graciously thank me and accept what life has handed them and move on.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-26835957098796503882018-05-13T11:57:00.002-04:002018-05-13T11:57:38.012-04:00Exceptional Responder?So a few months ago my sister Rebecca found out her darling cancer is back. She had breast cancer several years ago, now it is back and in her bones...pretty much everywhere. To keep people informed of how things are going she decided to start a blog and at least once a week she frankly posts about what is going on in her cancer life. She shares her thoughts, struggles, faith, and concerns. It is very inspiring, my sister is a very inspiring sort of girl. As I read through the miles of comments on her blog from people who have known her throughout the years and love her it is a little overwhelming to observe how one person touched so many lives. These people are all watching, praying, and waiting with bated breath.<br />
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This week in her cancer update she shared about a conversation she had with her oncologist about a study that is being done to try and determine the common denominators in people who beat the odds and survive cancer much longer than expected. They have a name for these people, "exceptional responders." These words just reached out and grabbed my attention and I immediately wrote them down on a pink sticky note and I stuck it in my planner. I noticed that everyone that replied to my sister's post declared that she was already an exceptional responder. I have been thinking about the word exceptional I have been mulling over the word responder ever since then. Every time I open my planner to April there is that sticky note with those words written on it. I do not have cancer but I have been wondering if I would be an exceptional responder if I did have it? For that matter am I an exceptional responder right now in my every day non-cancer struggles? Am I beating the odds? What are the odds against a 4'10" divorcee who cannot resist Reeses? What are the odds against someone who makes the same mistakes over and over again and does not seem to learn from them? Are the odds ever in my favor?<br />
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If something is exceptional it is unprecedented, unusual, extraordinary, excellent, basically not typical. And if you are a responder you are a person or a thing that responds. So simply put, do you respond in an excellent way to what is happening to you? Um yeah, if we are being honest here I am not an exceptional responder at this particular moment in my adorable life. I have this shining, shimmering example of my diligent strong amazing exceptional sister right here in the same town as I am in and yet something will happen to me and I will find myself responding like a teenager or maybe it is a toddler, sigh maybe it is both? It mortifies me. I am not really sure where it has come from but I am not proud of my behavior. Definitely not responding exceptionally. I am frankly not even sure if I have ever been an exceptional responder. I think responding exceptionally means you have to have faith and I need to fill my faith tank. All of that aside I am grateful for the challenge to explore this idea about responding exceptionally. I am finding myself thinking about it in all my relationships. I even find myself noticing how it feels if someone responds exceptionally to me. It is strengthening my resolve to pull myself together as I think of all the exceptional responders I know. Where would my life be without them?Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-49463257138230178442018-04-30T01:56:00.002-04:002018-04-30T02:00:37.388-04:00The Notebook....Not the Movie, Silly.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So I have a confession, I carry a notebook with me everywhere I go. Not just any notebook mind you. This notebook cannot be too big and it cannot be too small. It needs to fit in my small hands easily. I need to be able to bend the pages back. It needs to be spiral bound. The lines on the pages have to be narrow. The paper has to be special paper. You know, the kind of paper that your pen or pencil glides across. No glaringly white paper. This paper is an antique white color. The weight of this paper that is just perfect. Not too light and not too heavy. This perfect notebook is only found in the notebook aisle in Target. My life was forever changed when I finally found it. I sometimes buy two or three when I am there and then I store them in my house because I am afraid some buyer at Target will decide to stop stocking them. Then what will I do?<br />
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I save the notebooks in a box when I have used every last page. I figure someday my kids will get a chuckle out of what I have written. I often wonder when I read through my ancestor's histories what their day to day life was really like? What were they really thinking? That is what these notebooks are; my day to day life. What my life is really like. When my great grandchildren happen upon these notebooks there will be no question in their minds where their issues came from :)<br />
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Every Sunday I sit in church and make a list in my notebook about what is coming up the next week. I write thoughts I have. I write passwords, (I know, I know do not scold me.) I write things I need to buy. I write phone numbers. I write classes I need to take next semester. I write how to get places. I copy quotes I hear. All my information for resumes happens to be in this particular notebook. Notes about moving. I write down places I want to go. I keep track of jobs I have applied for. Recipes are there. Plans for parties. There really is nothing that does not go into these notebooks of mine. I love having all my information in these notebooks. It is comforting to me that I have one place I can go that has everything I need.<br />
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I have often thought about what I would do if I lost one. There is so much information in these notebooks. I have had a few close calls. A few moments of panic when I could not find my notebook. I am not a purse carrying sort of girl so it makes keeping track of this notebook very tricky.<br />
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The other day I carefully measured some walls and spaces in my new apartment and wrote down the measurements in my trusty notebook and headed to Lowes to look at shelves. I loved that I could look at my notes and then look at the sizes on the boxes and know if the finished product would fit in my space. The box containing the cube organizer that I wanted was wedged in a spot that was simply up to high for me to reach so I honestly ran all over the store looking for an associate to help me. I finally found someone and when he plopped the box into my cart it pushed the seat part forward very effectively trapping my notebook between the folded seat and the front of the card. I made a mental note to myself that this had happened and that I needed to remember to grab it when I got to the car.<br />
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Fast forward to Sunday morning and I was looking all over for my notebook as I was heading out the door to church. Remember, I make my list for the week when I am in church. I also take notes on things. Sometimes people ask me questions and the answers are in my notebook. What would I do if I did not have it?<br />
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I searched everywhere. I could feel my panic rising. I checked the car. I checked my basket of papers. I checked my backpack. No notebook. I stopped and I thought. Then I realized I needed to call Lowe's. So, in a bit of a panic on the way to church, I quickly called. The lady who answered thought I was describing something serious I lost. When she finally realized that it was "just" a notebook she was a little taken aback but she checked and sure enough, my black notebook with gold polka dots was there. I told her I would be there to pick it up as soon as church was over.<br />
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When I picked it up my imagination told me that every body who worked at this store had looked in my notebook and they were all staring at me. I mean what would you think if you found someone's notebook full of all these fabulously personal things. This is the sort of thing that you hope and pray someone honest and kind-hearted finds and returns. I wonder what the person thought when they looked in this notebook and saw my:<br />
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Bus washing schedules from when I lived in Cottage Grove and drove buses.<br />
My homework schedule for the week?<br />
What about all the questions I wrote to ask myself when I was trying to figure out what I was going to be when I grow up?<br />
My list of strengths?<br />
My list of weaknesses?<br />
There is a page with a list of my 17-year-olds complaints about our move to Idaho<br />
All the details of our trip to Europe last year are in there.<br />
My lists of bills to pay.<br />
Places I want to go are sprinkled throughout.<br />
Birthday lists for children.<br />
There is a list of what I needed to refinish my kitchen table.<br />
Directions on how I was teaching a song to my Primary kids.<br />
Notes I took from talks at church<br />
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You do not have to look far in my notebook to figure out who I am. I could not help wondering who<br />
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found my notebook? Were they young or old? Male or female? Was it a couple? They obviously realized they were holding my life in their hands and knew I would be desperate without it because they returned it. Can I tell you how vulnerable I felt knowing all my thoughts, not to mention my passwords were out there for someone else to read? I look back through these notebooks to remind me what I was thinking. To remind me of how many times I have set certain goals. To remind myself of things I wanted to accomplish. When I look back through them they stir up my memory so quickly. Yeah, they are very important and I am so glad I have it back.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-2766315588972307582018-03-29T21:38:00.001-04:002018-03-29T21:38:50.997-04:00Going In CirclesWhy do I love airports?<br />
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I am sitting in Seattle airport waiting for my flight back to Boise. I found this very cozy seat. It is a lime green color, it is the length of a pretty decent sized couch but it snakes around, like a bunch of S's all hooked together and where ever the seat curves there is a seat. The sides of the seating are up to the height of my shoulders and I fit perfectly in the provided space. If I look just over my left shoulder there is a guy in a flannel shirt right next to me. I peeked to see what he was reading since I could, and it is some dramatic book with a character named El. The lady in the next curve of the couch is talking on her phone. I may have listened in for a minute. I am way too early to go sit at my gate and I am meeting my daughter Amanda here so I am sitting outside a booth selling very colorful macaroons called "Macaroons and Mischief." I wonder what sort of mischief macaroon eaters could get into? There are all sorts of people walking by where I am. I am trying to focus on my blogging but I can catch bits of their conversations as they walk past. I look at them all and I wonder about their lives. </div>
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Where are they traveling to?</div>
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Where have they been?</div>
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Does someone love them?</div>
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Did I book one of their tickets for them?<br />
Is one of them someone who called me to try to switch seats?<br />
Is that one running one that I assured that he had enough time to get to his next flight?<br />
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Some have crying kids. Some are moving fast. Some are moving slow. Every kind of person imaginable. It makes me feel lonely. They all seem to have someone.<br />
I wonder if they see me watching them?<br />
I wonder if they are watching me?<br />
Wondering what I am writing on my computer?<br />
Can they tell I have a feeling of pensive sadness with no obvious cause?<br />
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I love my trips to Seattle. I have not been back here in 15 months. But emotionally they drain me. I always try to choose a few old friends to connect with when I come. Sometimes it is Erin. Sometimes it is Loretta. Sometimes, Mr. Castro. Other times it is Shelley. Once I tried to let a group of high school friends know I was coming thinking people would surely come meet me and hang out...but yeah that did not turn out the way I imagined it would, a little embarrassing. This time I managed to see Loretta and Mr.Castro. I love reconnecting. I am not sure why I love that these people have known me so many years. There is something comforting in a friendship that has existed forever. Something comforting about a perspective from someone who knew me when I was 16 and now when I am almost 49.<br />
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As I drove to all the familiar places that I always go to on these trips it got me thinking about circles. I am not particularly fond of circles. Well, I guess I never met a donut, snowball, or cookie that I did not like. And roundabouts are very useful. But oh how I hate the feeling of going in circles. Whether it is one of those playground merry go rounds, or a road, or a relationship they make me feel nauseous literally and figuratively. Have you ever been stuck in a circle? You cannot break out? The same thing keeps happening over and over and you are not sure how to stop it? Sometimes we are stuck in a circle on our own. Sometimes we are stuck in a circle with someone else. You want to move forward. You want to know what is ahead but no matter what you try you find things looping back around again. Sting sings this great song that I heard years ago about circles called Windmills In My Mind. Check out the lyrics and then go check it out on YouTube. The song is very mesmerizing.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;">Round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;">Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;">Like a snowball down a mountain, or a carnival balloon</span></div>
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Like a carousel that's turning running rings around the moon</div>
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Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face</div>
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And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space</div>
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Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind!</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;">Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;">Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone</span></div>
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Like a door that keeps revolving in a half forgotten dream</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face</div>
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And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind!</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;">Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;">Why did summer go so quickly, was it something that you said?</span></div>
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Lovers walking along a shore and leave their footprints in the sand</div>
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Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand?</div>
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Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragment of a song</div>
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Half remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
When you knew that it was over you were suddenly aware</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
That the autumn leaves were turning to the color of her hair!</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel</div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
As the images unwind, like the circles that you find </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "droidsansregular" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.747px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
In the windmills of your mind!<br />
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I know all about circles in your mind. I am pretty sure I wrote the book. I wonder if Sting got the idea for his song from me? Even as I read his lyrics I find my mind going in circles around the words analyzing what they mean. At least windmills have a purpose as they go around and around. One definition of a circle is to move all the way around someone or something especially more than once, another that is equally disheartening is to move in a wide loop back to ones starting point. Who likes to go back to the starting point? I want to move forward. Just gotta find the strength to break off on a tangent :) And to convince the peeps in some of my circles with me to have the courage to do the same.</div>
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Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-53495686931968649802017-12-04T15:17:00.003-05:002017-12-04T15:24:06.518-05:00The Cold Hard Truth.Well, here I am. Wednesday before Thanksgiving 2018. Sitting in my bed, eating honey nut cheerios, trying not to cry while I think about hard things. Thinking about that silly saying, "that which does not kill you makes you stronger." Thinking about that annoying story about how coal becomes a diamond. Thinking about that cat poster with the cat hanging on with its claws to something, just hanging there with some encouraging quote underneath it. Thinking about the poster with the silhouette of a climber on the top of a mountain at sunrise or sunset, you choose which one you prefer, with yet another inspiring quote about how you can do anything. Thinking about the footprints in the sand poster, yeah, you know the one. Thinking about Frodo. Thinking about going to the Olympics. Thinking about how I am failing miserably at being a grown up.<br />
<br />
When was the last time you did something hard? How did it go? Did you stay with it? Did you give up? How did you know when to give up? Are you glad you stuck with it? Did you learn something from it? Are you better because it was the worst time of your life?<br />
<br />
If something is hard it means it is firm, solid, rigid, resistant, unbreakable, inflexible, unyielding, and last but not least impenetrable. You get the picture. We all do hard things. We have to. It is life. Darn it.<br />
<br />
I always thought I was pretty decent at doing hard things. I have had this belief through most of my life that I was a hard worker. I drove a school bus and washed school buses. I raised 7 kids. I had kids that had weird ailments that no doctors could figure out. I spent a week in the childrens hospital in Kansas City with one child. I moved a large family from state to state. I ran early morning paper routes to bring in a little extra money. I broke up my family with a decision to ask for a divorce. I walked backward in the snow to the store (a lie). But it turns out, after all that, and more, I may be a spoiled brat, prima donna, princess. For the first time in my life, I have to work 8 hours a day and I am miserable. And I am mortified that I am strongly disliking this adult thing. My schedules at Alaska Airlines have been so hard. Right now I work 6:15pm to 2:45am in the morning. I had heard this would happen. Alaska did not sugar coat it. They were very upfront. Funny, when you hear something and then have to actually do it it is completely different. I declared to almost everyone when I got this job "I will be paying my dues but it will be worth it." The amount of information I have to know to effectively do this job has been overwhelming. And I am finding myself asking myself every single day will it be worth it?<br />
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Add school, homework, children, and a multitude of other things to the pot and stir it all up and you have "hot mess Jennifer." I will spare you the gruesome details of the daily sobbing of the daily wondering if I can do it.<br />
<br />
I find myself looking at all the other people in their cars driving to and from work and wonder to myself do they love what they are doing? How did they end up where they are? Was it hard? Do they laugh about it now?<br />
<br />
Maybe part of it is that I am doing what college kids do but I am doing it at 49. Everyone my age knows what they are going to be when they grow up. They make enough money to have a house. They have a significant other to bounce ideas off of and go to Costco with. I understand that I made all the choices that led me to this moment. Yes, it is my own fault. I also understand that this experience will make me insufferable at some point in the future because I will definitely have confidence if I can survive this.<br />
<br />
The truths I am learning about myself are a bit painful and very uncomfortable. And the worst part? Yes, there is a worst part. Is that no one can tell me what to do. No one can see three years down the road and tell me that staying with Alaska airlines will be a good thing for me. No one can look down the road and say "oh yeah finishing school will be worth it." No one can even see my beach house with a hammock. I have to trudge forward. I have to bump into dead ends on my own. While you all avert your eyes and sigh.<br />
<br />
I have to slay the jabberwocky. I have to believe that I will not be given more than I can handle. I have to dream the impossible dream. I have to look for sunshine through clouds. I have to dance in the rain. I have to think about Rocky running up all those steps. I have to have faith. I have to put on my big girl panties. I have to pull myself up by the bootstraps. I have to fake it until I make it. I have to want it more. You get the idea. I have to somehow see what all of you confidently see. I need to get a first class seat on an airplane and fly over my life just so I can have a view. Just one fly by and then I got this. My oldest daughter keeps saying to me "You do you, mom." I would love nothing more I just cannot figure out what exactly me doing me looks like.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-37651599625804108742017-09-20T14:33:00.001-04:002017-09-20T14:51:46.075-04:00Take A Chance On Me.For 25 years I was a mom. Even in high school, I knew it was what I always wanted to be. If we ever needed extra money during my, "married with seven kids" years I ran paper routes early in the morning, babysat other people's kids, cleaned other people's houses, did yard work, and sometimes I even got paid to organize.<br />
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My first real-world job was when I moved up from volunteering at the Westfield Athenaeum to being a library assistant at the Westfield Athenaeum. I can not find the words to tell you how much I loved that library job. I loved it so much that I had two of them. One at Holyoke community college and one at the town library. I did not want to leave Massachusetts because of my love for these jobs but after my divorce, I finally had to admit defeat and head across the country to regroup at my parent's house in Oregon.<br />
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Even when I got my school bus driving job in Oregon I did not have to convince anyone that they would not regret hiring me. They desperately needed school bus drivers and the transportation supervisor knew my father well. It was a no-brainer, I got the job.<br />
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This brings me to the first time in my life that I have had to have an official resume, cover letter, letters of recommendation, and serious convincing skills. I had to convince people to take a chance on me. I had a meager three semesters worth of business classes under my belt so that I had a little bit of knowledge about the process. Having a daughter in the Marriott School of Business at BYU was a blessing. I cannot tell you how many times she edited cover letters and resumes for me and told me what to say in interviews.<br />
<br />
I always knew school bus driving was not helping me with what I wanted to be when I grew up. There are a ton of skills required to be a school bus driver. Sadly, most of them no one even knows about which is why I needed to move on. If I had been providing a second income for a two-parent family I would have stayed with school bus driving. It paid over $17.00 an hour, the hours were very flexible, and the stories were priceless. But my degree will be in Applied Management and I was stuck in the vortex of no experience, a few semesters of school under my belt, oh and did I mention 48 years old?<br />
<br />
When my parents announced they were moving to Idaho I felt like it was an answer to my wondering about what to do. There were a lot more opportunities for jobs in what I was actually studying. It was a little bit closer to my kids in Utah. I could actually find an apartment that was in my price range. For as much as I loved Oregon, I seemed to be constantly hitting dead ends and that was making me sad.<br />
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I am sure you already know that job hunting is hard work. I am probably the only person left on the planet who was naive about this fact. I have never spent so many hours trying to figure out how to convince people to take a chance on me. I actually feel like that is all my life has been the last three years, trying to convince someone to take a chance on me and give me a job. And trying to convince someone to take a chance on me and date me. I am so tired of begging people to notice how awesome I am. I read these entry-level job descriptions and I know without a doubt that I can do them. I see dating profiles online and I know without a doubt that I could make these boys supremely happy. And yet I seem to be in the rejection phase of my life no one wants to take a chance on me. But do not worry I keep plugging along. I have brief moments where I feel sorry for myself and decide to give up but I know better and I usually recover within the hour.<br />
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I have applied for at least 25 jobs and had about 5 interviews. And every single job has seemed so perfect for me. I imagine myself driving to it and home from it as I am applying. I have no doubt I will at least get an interview. Yeah, silly, hopeful me. The problem with all the opportunities in the Boise/Meridian area is that everyone else is also applying. One receptionist job I applied for had 100 applicants. Every single morning I wake up and search Indeed.com for a job. Honestly, every job looks interesting to me. I have no focus. I applied mostly for office type stuff from medical offices to accounting offices, to law firms, podiatrists, Scentsy headquarters, Boise State, an enormous meat packing company, OnTrac, libraries and so much more. I truly felt qualified and confident about every single thing I applied for...did I already mention that?<br />
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Way back in July while I was still in Oregon I was looking on Indeed.com one day and saw a job posting for Alaska Airlines. Can I tell you a secret? I have always wanted to work for an airline. I think it is the crisp white button-up shirt, the pencil skirt, and the scarves that get me every time :) I applied and within an hour got a friendly computer-generated "thanks but no thanks letter." I was not impressed. They had made me fill out a very generic application with no opportunities to even say who I was, they knew nothing about Jennifer from this generic application. How could they? I stewed about it but I finally just let it go because there was nothing I could do. Fast forward 6 weeks later when I am sitting at my kitchen table in Idaho on Indeed.com and I see the Alaska Airlines posting again. I am frustrated enough with the job hunting process at this point that I decide to write them a sassy letter sharing my feelings about the injustices in the world. So I sit down and fire off a letter to Alaska Airlines telling them how really great I am, how I notice they are still hiring for the position, and how I think their process did not even give me a chance. Lo and behold the next day I get a very personal email from Ms. Rainwater in Seattle at Alaska Airlines headquarters saying she wants to interview me. Of course, you do :)<br />
<br />
I have to do a video interview. The kind where you answer the questions while videoing yourself. I had never done anything like this before. Can I tell you how awkward it is to sit at your kitchen table and talk to your computer? They only gave you a certain amount of time to answer the questions and that is a little stressful. I had delved deep into the Alaska Airlines company and had carefully gone through the job description and matched my experience with what they wanted. I was rather pleased with myself that I figured all the technology out on my own. It distressed me a little to watch myself talk on a video. Why did not one of you tell me my eyebrows go up and down a lot when I talk? Nevertheless, I submitted the video and the next day Ms. Rainwater, in Seattle called me and said they wanted me to go to a hotel downtown Boise on Friday for more interviews, in spite of the eyebrows :)<br />
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I showed up for the interviews that Friday an hour early because I am just that way. It was 6 in the morning so I sat in my car and watched the sun creep up on the city from the 4th floor of a parking garage until it was time to walk to the hotel.<br />
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There were about 60 people in the convention room. I watched them all. I listened to them all. I surmised to myself about which ones were in and which ones were going to be out as I observed their questions and comments. The Alaska Airlines people educated us all about the job. They spelled everything out. They described the pros and they described the cons. I made a mental note that all of the people who were here doing the hiring told us that they had started in the call center and moved up. That was exactly what I wanted to hear. I definitely want to be the CEO.<br />
<br />
They finally started the interviewing and I ended up interviewing with three different people. I noticed more and more people were not coming back to the main room. I had to place a reservation for a flight for one of my interviews. That was very fun. I had to tell them what I learned in bus driving that would apply to being a booking agent. I had to assure them of my customer service skills.<br />
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At one point a lady came and called my name and two other peoples names, she gathered us in the hallway and told us all that we had been hired. I had imagined it a little differently but it will do. I think they hired maybe 20 of us that day. I had another interview booked for right after the Alaska Airlines interview and now I was confused. What did I want? Do I go the other interview? The commitment to the Alaska Airlines job was a little intimidating. I would definitely have to pay my dues. Was I ready for that? I texted my college kids and called a dear friend and they all told me that I was not cheating on Alaska Airlines to go to the other interview I had scheduled. So I went, I loved the company and what I would be doing for them. Sigh, I think I may be the sort of girl that could be happy anywhere.<br />
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For the next three weeks after getting offered the Alaska Airlines job I kept diligently applying for jobs, just in case. I had some interviews but nothing else worked out as clearly and easily as the Alaska Airlines job so I finally conceded that it must be what is right for me at this moment in my life.<br />
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So on October 2nd, I start my training to become a reservation agent for Alaska Airlines. It is going to be about 46 hours a week. The benefits are incredible. Twenty free flights a year just to name one. The hours are going to be really yucky for a while. I will not have holidays and weekends off like I have had my whole life. Airlines are open 24/7/365. But everyone has to pay their dues and I am ready to pay mine. I am going to keep going to school my degree is very important to me. And as soon as I can I am hoping to move up in Alaska Airlines.<br />
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When I sit and think carefully about who I am and what I value I think this job will be good for me. I love to help people. I love to help them find answers. I do not get irritated easily. And I can handle it if you are angry (hello, seven kids :) I love to travel and this will give me opportunities to travel that I would not have otherwise. I dream of eventually working in an airport or even the Alaska Airlines headquarters in Seattle.<br />
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So next time you call Alaska Airlines to ask if you can bring your pet scorpion on the plane you may get to talk to me.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-33438023712810099842017-07-01T15:03:00.000-04:002017-07-01T15:29:52.870-04:00Trips.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijfHg_Gg6gJ8nYX8pvQZXr5zbf1W9Z9nicyPvppfhJ5mtvL8Qtq_YkFAtvXAajrJHXqK4zOWYs-FobFP5-x2Ybodc-chzQkYpq0c9C13tTT74Tduzk8SXpAX4mana5GxGCxKrd1psy-pU/s1600/20170621_072810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijfHg_Gg6gJ8nYX8pvQZXr5zbf1W9Z9nicyPvppfhJ5mtvL8Qtq_YkFAtvXAajrJHXqK4zOWYs-FobFP5-x2Ybodc-chzQkYpq0c9C13tTT74Tduzk8SXpAX4mana5GxGCxKrd1psy-pU/s200/20170621_072810.jpg" width="112" /></a></div>
Have you ever gone on a trip? This trip I am on at this very minute I have been anticipating and planning for for 10 months. It often felt like it would never come. Now it is here, going by way too fast, causing me distress because I am not keeping up with blogs about what I am experiencing. Each day more and more views and observations crowd into my mind and push the ones from yesterday back further. I hate the "getting behind" feeling. My eighteen days here are almost gone and I have so many blogs I want to write it is overwhelming. So overwhelming I am doing nothing but starting blogs and not finishing them as I realize how much my words will never do justice to what I have seen and done. I want to write about every little detail and view but it is not realistic at this point and I am sad about that. The first impressions are not fresh anymore.<br />
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<b><u>I want to tell you about:</u></b></div>
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<ul>
<li>Jet lag.</li>
<li>Nights that never get dark.</li>
<li>Going to church and not understanding a word.</li>
<li>Endless hours using public transportation; buses, trains, trams, ferries.</li>
<li>The thrill I felt when we happened to be in Estonia on two big holidays; Victory Day and Midsummer's Eve.</li>
<li>When I happened upon a small town celebrating these holidays and watched them carrying Estonian Flags, listened to them sing songs in Estonian and observed that the food they served at their town celebration was bread and pea soup (nary a hot dog or hamburger in sight.)</li>
<li>How often people buy flowers here for occasions and carry them home on the buses wrapped in newspaper.</li>
<li>The refreshing lack of fast food and drive thru's here.</li>
<li>The richness of the traditions and history.</li>
<li>Standing on the edge of a spot where a meteorite fell thousands of years ago. </li>
<li>Happening upon a beautiful field of red poppies on the island of Saaremaa.</li>
<li>Renting one of the three rental cars available in the town of Kuresarre.</li>
<li>Searching for the Panga Cliffs</li>
<li>Hearing a grand son call you grandma, lots of times.</li>
<li>Having a grand daughter that observes asks as many questions as you do.</li>
<li>Hearing a grand son singing to himself in the other room.</li>
<li>Seeing a castle moat.</li>
<li>Asking an employee where the bathroom was in a store and the sadness when I realized they did not understand me and I did not understand them.</li>
<li>Buying a handmade hat from a sweet old lady in Finland.</li>
<li>Remembering you are using military time, the metric system, euros, and kroons.</li>
<li>Staring at the Baltic Sea.</li>
<li>Not recognizing any brands around me as I ride thru a town.</li>
<li>Buying mayonnaise in a tube that looks like toothpaste.</li>
<li>Walking, walking, walking until you are sure you cannot walk anymore but you have to because you are telling your kids they have to.</li>
<li>The gratitude I feel for my son and his wife who entertained us and let us hang out for almost 13 days. They are truly saints.</li>
<li>Seeing things I never thought I would see.</li>
<li>The joy of seeing my children experience things for the first time.</li>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05m-iUMJdyvVYCS2VIsFLb8yifTuHVTIlrnMWZ8jP_dc7QEHdJi3RR03XTkOxNy4cKAbokezrWoLzW4w_u1GqAKKsy0PKx7_qD8BEU0p2utNsSa-vKCz6geGi8HQ8Hv_912XNdJGxv34/s1600/DSCF0087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05m-iUMJdyvVYCS2VIsFLb8yifTuHVTIlrnMWZ8jP_dc7QEHdJi3RR03XTkOxNy4cKAbokezrWoLzW4w_u1GqAKKsy0PKx7_qD8BEU0p2utNsSa-vKCz6geGi8HQ8Hv_912XNdJGxv34/s320/DSCF0087.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My girls running down a path that ended up taking us nowhere.</td></tr>
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Going on a trip is a lot of work. The logistics can be overwhelming. The brain power that goes into figuring out train, bus, tram, and ferry schedules and stops. Keeping track of the proper currency. Awkwardly carrying your possessions in backpacks for miles. Discovering there was something you did not account for and there is nothing you can do about it now. Doing it all while you are sleeping differently, eating differently, seeing and hearing different languages, seeing unfamiliar things, smelling unfamiliar smells. Having your phone on airplane mode most of the time. Keeping your teenagers from falling apart when you want to fall apart yourself. There are times I have not managed any of this well. There are a few times I have thought to myself I cannot do this anymore. And those are the times I post beautiful pictures on Facebook so you think things are going well.<br />
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I finally had a small moment of quiet alone time yesterday. I was just sitting back behind our Mormon temple here in Helsinki thinking about how overwhelming, all I had done and continue to do to make sure this trip goes as well as it can, felt.<br />
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I found myself sheepishly realizing that I do not plan as fastidiously for my real life near the way I plan for a trip and I should. I should put as much work into researching and figuring out my future as I do these trips. I have googled every detail of this trip. I have read blogs. I have read reviews. I have spent hours on MapQuest writing down routes and bus stops. Researching tourist options. Making sure I know all I can. If you know where you are going and what you are doing you are so much more efficient, so much more productive, and things are less stressful. Yes, I understand that life refuses to be perfectly planned. It will never happen perfectly no matter what I do. I know you need to be open to change and the possibilities it can bring you. But I have let my life meander for too long and this realization has given me some determination. The new focused Jennifer will come back to America with me. She will make a plan for her life just like she is going on a trip because we all know we are all here on am epic journey. We also all know that if you have a map you get where you are going so much easier and if you get stuck along the way, at least you know where you are.</div>
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Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-89676388337597903352017-06-23T13:35:00.000-04:002017-06-23T13:35:06.570-04:00Across the Atlantic Ocean.I started planning for this trip I am on right now in August 2016. When I purchased those airplane tickets for June 19, 2017 I had no idea where my life would be at that time. Ten months seemed eons away. But before I knew it it was here. Apparently everything else that could possibly happen in my life did not want to miss out on the fun and it all decided to crash the last two months leading up to my trip. These last few months are months I am not going to tell you about just suffice it to say I have probably won a gold medal in surviving and do not be surprised if you see me posing in fetal position with my medal on a box of cereal in a grocery store near you. It would just be to painful for you to have to listen to me tell you about the emotions, decisions, and eternal packing in all forms that have gone into the last few months leading up to this trip.<br />
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But I am really blogging today to tell you about day three of my trip.<br />
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Day one was driving up to Seattle and staging ourselves to be ready.<br />
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Day two was driving to the parking lot where our car will sit for 18 days and going through numerous checkpoints at the airport to get into the waiting area for an international departure. The blessing in day two was a sweet British Airways employee who graciously offered to give us the 4th piece of luggage we had for free. So there we were barely an hour into our epic trip and you can already take $100 dollars off of our trip. Nice, right? The rest of this day consisted of an airplane ride from Seattle to London. Nine hours and 20 minutes on an airplane. I obsessively used the trip checker on the screen in front of my seat. I love that feature. It shows you when you are over the North Sea. When you are over Greenland. When you are over Manitoba, Canada. When you are finally over London. When I was not checking what we were currently flying over I watched way too many episodes of the British baking show.<br />
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We did not sleep on the airplane. We left at one o'clock Seattle time. So our bodies did not feel like sleeping during the flight, which was not so great. We arrived in London at 6:15 in the morning. Our bodies were a little confused and we were starting to feel it. At the airport in London they do not post the gate your flight is leaving from until about 40 minutes before it leaves so everyone in the entire world sits in this enormous holding area waiting for their flights to be posted. I spent some time finding a electronic device charging area for us. I was exceedingly proud of myself for having thought to have adapters in my backpack for those different shaped European electrical outlets.<br />
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Finally it was 8:25 am and we got to head to our gate. The last time I checked the departure board a sweet lady from Zambia approached me and asked me in broken English to help her. She showed me her ticket and very carefully explained that this was the first time that she was flying. What are the odds that she was on the same flight that we were? She had never flown before and was concerned about getting where she needed to get. We invited her to join us on our trek to the gate. The flight to Stockholm was a tad bumpy. We all slept like logs until the last 45 minutes and then all of us felt sick. Both the girls held the throw up bags in their hands, ready until we touched down.<br />
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It was around noon in Stockholm and the hard part of the trip was upon us. The logistics of this part of our trip had worried me for quite awhile. My son and his wife and I had spent a lot of time on the phone discussing the details of all that had to happen between noon and about 4:30 pm. I needed to get off the plane, onto a train, onto a subway, and then walk a mile to our ferry/cruise ship all in Swedish. Which I do not know. There were options to read English on the machine where you purchase train tickets. But it was still hard to know which tickets I needed to buy. Once I bought my tickets I had 75 minutes to get through a 40 minute train ride, walk to the subway, and ride three stops before our tickets expired. It should be plenty of time, But in the middle of all the figuring out of tickets, dragging 4 big, heavy suitcases and going through customs I am also in the middle of having a 14 year old who is still recovering from the flight and is randomly needing to throw up. We figured it out and the train ride was uneventful. It even turned out that I got a refund on two of my tickets because the two girls did not need tickets since I had bought one.<br />
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We got off of the train in Central Station downtown Stockholm. The 14 year old is still randomly throwing up and I cannot figure out why. We still have 4 heavy, big suitcases and we have not slept or eaten a good meal. Things are starting to feel out of balance. It happens on trips. I want to take my time and adsorb what is happening around me but I have time and some unknowns pressing on me.<br />
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We now needed to figure out where the subway was. Everyone I asked kept giving directions in kilometers. My Tatiana mentioned she felt like we were in the Amazing Race. I felt that way as well. We had a certain amount of time to accomplish what we needed to accomplish and no matter how many times I had looked at this part of the trip on google maps nothing was the same as being there and seeing how it really works. We ended up dragging our suitcases down the tall, steep steps to the Subway train. The line for the one elevator was long, the aforementioned elevator was very small and different from our elevators in America....probably using the word sketchy would help to paint a picture for you. Remember, Natalie is still throwing up at random moments and I am not adoring the idea of her throwing up in the elevator. (Note to self bring throw up bucket on next trip. Why do they not sell throw up buckets next to the magazines in the stores in the airport?) Tatiana was in charge of the two little suitcases. I had the two 50 lb suitcases, and Natalie was in charge of stopping her throwing up. I cannot imagine what the people who saw us thought. Finally, two very nice fellows happened by and grabbed our suitcases and carried them to the bottom of the steps. This was my grateful moment in this day. We finally rode our three stops on the subway and found our way out of the Central Station maze. The last part was dragging our suitcases down a path for a mile to our ferry. By the time we got to the ferry terminal we were exhausted. We got our tickets found a place to sit and all stared into space assimilating what we had just been through.<br />
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They call it a ferry and it does carry cars but it looks like a cruise ship. I had known all along that as soon as I got to this part of the trip I would be able to relax. There would be no more unknowns. Well you know at least traveling wise unknowns. We all know there are still the unknowns of what I am going to be when I grow up and who the lucky guy is who will decide he can love me forever. But that is another blog.<br />
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We explored our teeny, tiny, very clean, and well thought out berth, with beds that folded down from the wall. We reviewed our favorite parts in the movie Titanic and discussed being on the 8th floor. Natalie got her clothes changed (remember the throwing up part) and took a shower. Then I needed to see the rest of the ship. I did not encourage my children to embrace the hunker down and relax mode. When I am curious I cannot wait. We explored for about an hour and then found some seats by some windows where we could sit and we just zoned looking out the windows at the endless islands we were passing. Finally Natalie announced that she could not stay awake. Remember the no sleep thing? It finally really caught up with us. So by 7:30 pm somewhere on the Baltic Sea between Stockholm and Tallinn the three Baird girls crashed. We slept 12 hours straight. I do not think any of us moved in that 12 hours.<br />
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The next morning we could not wait to get up on deck and see where we were. There is nothing like coming out of a dark, windowless berth to a view of a deep blue endless sea in every direction. The sun was up. The sky was blue. It was an amazing feeling. One we all feel at many times in our lives when things just feel free and light. It made me get a little lump in my throat when I realized how much I had been missing moments like this in my life. When you have an endless view and things are light and clear. We did some snooping around and figured out how to get up on the very top deck of the ship by the disco. No one was there because they had partied at the disco and the casino into the early morning hours while we were snoozing away. So they were still sleeping. We bought a container of cheese cubes, a bag of carrots and one bottle of orange juice and sat on a bench on this top deck enjoying the sunshine, air and waves. The only thing that could have made the moment better would have been a whale sighting.<br />
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We finally arrived in Tallinn at about 10 am in the morning. I would do it all again and I will do it all again in July when I go home. Traveling never goes perfectly. Sigh, nothing ever does. There were a few moments that I was not sure I was going to be able to do what was required of me but we figured it out.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-82517211633261980412017-06-13T14:07:00.002-04:002017-06-13T14:07:23.457-04:00An IRS Story.Once upon a time I was enrolled in online classes at BYU-Idaho. When I got accepted to attend BYU-Idaho's online college I decided to live large and also applied for financial aid. In due time I was approved for financial aid for my first year of college. The grass was green, the sky was blue with clouds in it, the birds were singing. Me? I was wearing a long flow-y dress while I rode horses across fields with handsome boys who adored answering my questions. Things were going so well in the kingdom of Jennifer that I applied for financial aid for the second year of school. I was so organized that I applied very early. I waited, and waited, and waited but no reply from BYU-Idaho.<br />
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Finally, one fair day in the beginning of May I get an email from the well meaning, yet evil, Financial Aid office at BYU-Idaho. They need copies of documents from me. Because I made money on some GE stock and some Merck stock in 2015 and filed an amendment to my tax return they have noticed me.I am not normal. They have questions.<br />
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I run around in my flow-y dress like a crazy lady, find the documents, quickly upload them, send them, and check all the appropriate boxes. I hear nothing. My Spring semester starts and my Financial aid is still sitting at the school. They cannot pay my tuition with it. They cannot pay for my books with it. They cannot give it to me. They have questions. I call. I wait on hold for an hour and 20 minutes one time and an hour and 17 minutes another time. I make appointments to have phone calls with them. I send desperate, dramatic emails that may or may not sound like decrees. I even think about riding my horse (I really do not have a horse just in case you did not know that) to the college campus. Once they see me face to face in my beautiful flow-y dress surely they will realize this is all a big mistake. But I refrain. I wait patiently, it is what girls in flow-y dresses do.<br />
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Every two or three weeks since the first week of May I have received another request for new documents. I run around like a crazy lady gathering what the Financial Aid office bids me to bring. I call my tech savvy children to make sure I am sending them properly. My days of meadows, green, flow-y dresses are long gone. I am sad. This has been the most in-efficient process I have ever been through in my life. The hardest part is knowing that the Financial Aid office needs my help. They need me to organize them. They need me to help them be efficient. This keeps happening to me I keep seeing how awesome I am and how people or places really need me but they never see it and miss out. I digress, that is another blog.<br />
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So two days ago I get yet another request from the powers that be at BYU-Idaho. I have paid my tuition out of my own money so that I can unfreeze my account and register for Fall semester. I have waited. I have begged. I have called. I am almost broken. This time they need me to please send the documents all together and they need me to procure some tax transcripts. WHAT? Now I have to play with the IRS? I need a new flow-y dress for this.<br />
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I get online and go to the formidable IRS website. I find the button that tells me I can request transcripts. They tell me I can get them in a mere days if I can answer all the appropriate questions perfectly. Otherwise the transcripts will be sealed in a bottle and dropped over the Atlantic Ocean and get to me in 6-8 weeks. Am I up to the task? I get a package of fruit snacks and take a deep breath and hope I can pass this quest. I get past my birthday, my SS#, my current address. I get another package of fruit snacks. I tell them how much money I made in 2015. I tell them I filed as Head of Household and then everything crashes, they need my phone number. I give it to them. They say um, NO. I realize I changed my phone number in February and forgot to send the IRS an announcement. Geesh, I will never leave them out of the loop again. So because my new phone number did not match my old phone number I was kicked off and sent to option B. I do not have time for option B. I am moving. I am going to Europe. I paid for my own tuition. I have homework. I am packing. I am trying to find someone to love me. I felt despair trying to open the door into my life.<br />
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Luckily, my daughter Madeline called about now and I told her my woes and guess what she had the same woes about 5 months ago. Exact same woes. Minus the flow-y dress. And in Salt Lake City not in Oregon. She quickly finds out where the closest IRS office is to me and tells me to go there and to take everything I own with me.<br />
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The next morning I quickly wash buses and then head for Eugene to the IRS office. Something stops me and encourages me to call just to make sure I can truly walk in to the IRS office. I listen to that something and I pull over at the Saginaw exit and call the IRS. I am on hold for about 5 minutes and then someone in Iceland (Exaggeration) answers and confirms that I indeed need an appointment at the IRS office. I mention my flow-y dress but that will not get me in. She asks me to hold for 5-7 minutes while she calls the Eugene office to see when they can appointment with me. She gets back on the phone with me and says June 19th. I feel myself sinking into a deep hole as I explain to her I will be on an airplane to Europe at that time and when I get back from Europe I am moving to Idaho. She was very sweet and put me on hold again and came back and said tomorrow at 8:30 am. I did not tell her I was a bus driver. I did not tell her anything else about my life, I said I will take it. I figured out my route so that I could be in Eugene at 8:15 the next morning to get copies of my transcripts from the IRS.<br />
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This morning was crazy. I got up at 4:50 to register for my Fall semester since registration opened in Idaho at 6 am. Five my time :) I drove my route. Handed off my high school kids to another bus driver so I could get my bus back to transportation in time. I ran in. I ran out. I drove fast. I found a parking spot a block away from the Federal building. It was 8:17 when I parked. I grabbed my heavy back pack. I brought every document and every piece of evidence of who I am that I could find. Yes, even my first blanket came along. (exaggeration). I ran. I even did that weird thing runners do at stop lights and jogged in place. I ran all the way to the door of the federal building. Wrong door. Ran out ran to the other door. Oh no. I have to go through security. I am going to be late and the IRS is going to laugh me out of the building. I am not obeying rules. But I smile and small talk with security while they move like snails. I fast walk down the hall to the .....very, empty and quiet IRS office. There is literally no one there. I see a sign that says "take a number". I take one but I am wondering if you have an appointment do you need a number? Yes, folks I am an over thinker. I catch a glimpse of this guy behind a partition. I peek around and ask him if I need a number he does not answer he just motions to me to come in.<br />
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He is wearing a black t-shirt with skulls all over it. It surprised me. I thought IRS meant button down shirt, at least. He just says "What do you need?" I quickly identify that this is a short and sweet kind of guy so I spare him the details of the meadows, and the horse, and the flow-y dress, and I just blurt out I need a tax transcript....please. He asks for my ID. I lug my enormous back pack on my lap and dig past my computer, my passport, my past 3 years of journals, my blanket from childhood, elementary school pictures and hand him my drivers license. Whew, so glad I had what he needed. He asks which year I need and I decide to push it and ask for 2015 and 2016. He punches some keys on the computer and then without getting out of his chair he scoots backwards around a partition to the copier. I cannot see him but I can hear him scooting in his chair. Then I hear the copier and then he scoots back and staples my transcript #1 and hands it to me. Then he punches more buttons on the computer and scoots in his chair backwards around the partition to get my transcript #2 and scoots back. I am sitting there observing and loving every minute of this. I notice he has pictures of raccoons on his bulletin board. No family members. I read all the IRS warning signs about conversations are being recorded, do not use your cell phone etc. It all took 5 minutes of my life. It stressed me out to the max to imagine all the scenarios that could happen at this "appointment" but none of them came true I left with my tax transcripts.<br />
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I rushed back to cottage grove and scanned them and sent them on their way to the evil, wicked Financial aid office. everyone cross your fingers that they finally know everything about me that they need to know and will release my financial aid so that I can go back to my meadows, and horses and adoring boys.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-55864693032897536082017-06-04T21:22:00.002-04:002017-06-04T21:29:11.460-04:00Causing or Producing Motion.The Little Mermaid moved out of the sea to land. Snow White "moved" from her castle to the dwarves house in the woods. The Mormon pioneers were forced to move from beautiful Nauvoo to the West (Utah). Laura Ingalls moved...a lot. I mean we are talking eight books worth of moving stories. Mowgli had to leave the jungle and go back to the man village. Each of these moves was different. The Little Mermaid gave up her voice to move she felt that sure of it. Snow White was "encouraged" by the evil queen's huntsman to not go back. Mormon pioneers were chased by mobs out of their town across the frozen Mississippi in February. Laura's pa went where there was work or promises of free land. And the man village was the best place for Mowgli, he just did not believe it.<br />
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I have moved a fair amount in my life:<br />
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Provo, Utah<br />
Princeton, New Jersey<br />
Huntington, Indiana<br />
Lawrence, Kansas<br />
Snohomish, Washington<br />
Sedro Woolley, Washington<br />
Seattle, Washington<br />
Vista, California<br />
Visalia, California<br />
Del Mar, California<br />
Westfield, Massachusetts<br />
Cottage Grove, Oregon<br />
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At the end of the month of April I made the decision to move again. This time to Meridian, Idaho. Moving is not easy, we all can agree on that. So many emotions. So much work. So many logistics. I did not sign away my voice to make this move happen. No evil stepmother needs my heart delivered to her in a box. Mobs are not chasing me, yet. The reasons for this move that I am going to confess to probably come closest to Pa's reasons in The Little House on The Prairie books and Mowgli's reasons in Jungle Book. My opportunities will be better in the Boise area and it is probably the best place for me. Do I want to move? No. I do not.<br />
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I do not want to leave all the enormous trees. I do not want to leave the rain. I do not want to leave gray. I do not want to leave my hour and a half drive to the ocean. I do not want to leave every shade of green imaginable. Endless hikes. Endless waterfalls. The smell of the sun warmed wild blackberries growing along the side of the road in August. The ease of jumping in the car and being in Seattle in five hours. The Redwoods. My kids that I teach singing to every Sunday. Today was my last Sunday with them and it was so hard to imagine someone else teaching them the 8 songs they need to learn for their program in the Fall. I love singing with them.<br />
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Once you know you are leaving somewhere you start to gather memories. You start to look at things differently. You start to say to yourself, "this is the last time I will do this here with this person." This is the last time I will see this. My sweet little kids on my bus route are begging me to stay. It is nice to feel needed and loved. Is it weird that I will miss them as well? I know way too much about each of them and their lives.<br />
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Missing is normal. Every move I have made I have had to leave things I love and consequently miss them. You would think it would get easier. But my my heart still aches for the dear friends I have left scattered across the United States in the past 48 years. I miss the New England colors. I miss being close to New York City. I miss fields of sunflowers. I miss standing on my porch watching storms with lightening flashing every second. I miss the alive-ness of downtown Lawrence. I miss the traditions each different area had.<br />
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I am moving my 17 year old right before her senior year. Every person who realizes I am doing that looks at me with pity and I see them wondering how I missed the memo about that being a huge no no. How could I be handing out hard things to my child on top of everything else?<br />
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I am trying to keep up my homework, pack, work, make a gazillion decisions by myself, find a new job, find a new place to live, take a trip to Europe that I bought tickets for last August, just to name a few things. Sometimes I wonder if there is a limit to how much people are supposed to have pressing on their mind. You know how the airlines charge you extra if you want to take more weight on the plane than you are supposed to I wish that worked with life. I would be able to be collecting a ton of money from life because it is definitely exceeding the weight limit I have set. I keep telling life to back off a little but it seems to think it is good for me to be stretched and good for me to go through hard things so it is not showing me any mercy. Funny how I can know that but yet have multiple moments in a week that I find myself up in the night making lists and doing some good old fashioned sobbing.<br />
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So wish me luck. Send me a message if you know of anyone in the Boise area who needs a short, hard working, sassy girl named Jennifer to work for them. Send me a message if you want to go on a hike and help me take my mind off of my life.<br />
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Moving means causing or producing motion. It is instigating, impelling, or actuating. Things will stay the same if you do not move and sometimes you know things cannot stay the same even though you want them to so you take a really deep breath and you move. The antonyms of moving are fixed, permanent, stationary, unmoving. Someday I would love those words to be in my life but until then I am moving.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-71439075084155216052017-04-14T14:10:00.002-04:002017-04-14T23:56:12.732-04:00Six Impossible Things.<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">"Alice laughed There's no use trying, she said. "One can't believe impossible things." I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Lewis Carroll</span></i></b></div>
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Do you believe impossible things? Have you ever even tried? I love to believe impossible things. You know things that our dear friend Webster says are "not able to occur, exist, or be done." Things that are, "utterly impracticable." </div>
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I cannot describe to you the frustration and bewilderment that wells up inside of me when someone says something cannot happen. It honestly feels like they are talking another language when they say things to me like;</div>
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Oh, you do not have enough time for that.</div>
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Oh, that is too far.</div>
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Oh, that will never work.</div>
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Oh, I think that is going to be too hard to figure out.</div>
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Oh, the weather will be bad.</div>
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Oh, aliens will come.</div>
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I smile at them when they say it. I carefully listen and acknowledge their very logical and good reasons. But I really hate hearing it all. As I am giving them my very best interested, kind, benevolent look, I am thinking to myself how sorry I feel for them, how I wish I could change their mind, and how I cannot wait to prove them wrong. I often wonder if something is wrong with me because I am pretty confident that whatever it is is possible. I guess that means that I am on team, anything is possible. Is it just a matter of if there is a will there a way? I think of impossible things all day long, it is probably why I am alone most of the time. I am not sure that believing in impossible things is a good thing. It is most likely not something you would put on your resume. Maybe I annoy the team reality crew?</div>
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Lest you think I am always accomplishing impossible things let me tell you of a recent moment when I second guessed and ruined things. Before spring break a few weeks ago I thought about something that seemed very possible to me, going to Fort Bragg in California to see the Glass Beach. I desperately wanted this to be possible. I had two free nights and a full day and a half to work with. I kept double checking the time it took to get there and the mileage. I kept gathering information and voraciously reading about it. I kept asking my dad, who is an expert on where things are in California, hoping his answer and belief that it could happen would change.</div>
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My resolve wavered but I booked an Airbnb in Crescent City, California anyway. I told my girls that we would have to wake up pretty early in the morning if this was going to happen. It was 4 hours and 28 minutes from where we were. We had one day to drive there and back and still enjoy the Glass Beach. It was going to be tight. NOT IMPOSSIBLE, just tight. The morning of the aforementioned attempt of the impossible my girls slept in and I let them. Before spring break our lives were out of control and it was so nice to have this lazy morning in an Airbnb in Crescent City California that I just let them sleep. By the time they got up the plan truly was impossible by all accounts. I did not give up and we still gave it our best shot. We got past Eureka before my nemesis reality appeared and I knew I could not push any further. It was not going to happen. I am not sure if I have recovered from this blow to my little world. I keep muttering to myself that I should have kept going.</div>
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I have something to tell you that is going to make you shake your head in wonder. So quick run to the bathroom before I make you laugh too much. For my profile on the dating website I wrote that I need someone who can think of 6 impossible things before breakfast. Yeah, I should probably change that to something like, I love to clean the house, snuggle, fix meals, and exercise all day long. Surprisingly, I have had boys from the dating website show interest in me but interestingly they all have some "impossible wall" that stops the relationship at some point and they declare:</div>
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Oh, we live to far apart.</div>
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Oh, I am too old for you.</div>
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Oh, you are too old for me.</div>
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Oh, it is too hard to blend families.</div>
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Oh, no one could really love me I have too much baggage.</div>
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Oh, we need more money to be happy. </div>
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Oh, are families will think we are crazy.</div>
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Sigh. Reasons, reasons, reasons why things cannot happen. Can you tell it makes me grumpy? There, I said it, reality makes me grumpy. We have never been that great of friends.</div>
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If something is impossible it is;</div>
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futile</div>
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hopeless</div>
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unattainable</div>
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and my personal favorite, unreasonable.</div>
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The opposite of impossible are all these soothing words like; </div>
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logical</div>
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believable</div>
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hopeful</div>
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sensible</div>
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practical</div>
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All the quotes in the world (well at least all the ones on google images) claim nothing is impossible. Anything can happen.So why do we even have the word impossible? My 17 year old nags me every day for a kitten, a car of her own, and our own place to live. All these things feel fairly impossible right now. So, maybe we just have moments where things are impossible.</div>
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What six futile, hopeless, unattainable, unreasonable things you think of before breakfast?</div>
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My 17 year old's list is:</div>
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her own car</div>
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a kitten</div>
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and our own place to live</div>
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My 14 year old's list is;</div>
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a horse</div>
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a horse</div>
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a horse</div>
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My list is;</div>
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my own house</div>
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Someone who likes me just the way I am right now</div>
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teaching high school business classes</div>
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hiking the applachian trail</div>
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going on a cruise once a year</div>
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Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-515895585206985662017-04-10T23:22:00.002-04:002017-04-10T23:24:07.112-04:00Mind Over Matter. <br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: roboto, arial, sans-serif;">Placebo Effect</span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: roboto, arial, sans-serif;">"A beneficial effect, produced by a placebo drug or treatment, that cannot be attributed to the properties of the placebo itself, and must therefore be due to the patient's belief in that treatment."</span></div>
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So this last semester, during week 10 of my Math class we were talking about basic statistics and we were given an assignment to watch a six minute video clip about the Placebo Effect. Of course I had heard about the Placebo Effect and basically knew what it was but I had never pondered much about it. I did not have any feelings about it either way.<br />
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This video clip was a follow up on a most fascinating three year study done at the Houston Veterans Affairs Medical Center. A doctor named Dr. Bruce Moseley and many of his helpers were trying to study the effectiveness of arthroscopic surgery for osteoarthritis of the knee. They very randomly divided the 180 patients that qualified and consented for this surgery into groups for the study. Two groups of patients actually had the surgery and one group did not have the surgery. They took great care to make sure that the study was very random and that not even the doctor performing the surgeries knew which patients were actually getting the surgery until he opened an envelope after the patient was under anesthesia and on the operating table. They wanted to do their best to make sure all the patients had the same experience with no bias at all. The patients knew there was a chance that they would not get the surgery when they consented to be part of the study.<br />
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What stunned me was that seven years later the people who did not have the surgery were still convinced they were better. You watch them being interviewed, crying about the pain that they had been in. Then you see them so grateful, happy that they are able to function again even though they did not even have the surgery. After watching the video clip we were asked to read the article written about the study in the New England Journal of Medicine and it was very interesting. The very last sentence of the study says, "Finally, health care researchers should not underestimate the placebo effect, regardless of its mechanism."<br />
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Ever since this information from this study entered my brain I cannot stop thinking about our minds and how powerful they are. I am painfully aware that most of us do not use our minds to their full potential. Does this study mean if my brain believes something then it is so? How many times have my kids said to me;<br />
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"Oh I can't do that, I hate the way it feels.<br />
"Oh I can't do that, it makes me sick."<br />
"Oh I can't so that, it is too hard."<br />
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So many of us have things we simply cannot or will not do and we are sure we have very valid reasons for why. What if those reasons are not true? What if someone just told us that and we decided it sounded good, we convinced ourselves of it, and never really looked back? We all flippantly say to each other, "Oh you can do anything you put your mind to." Do we believe it? Is it true? Did you know that when we say that we are quoting Benjamin Franklin?<br />
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I have always been the kind of girl that gets extremely car sick if I ride in the back of a car. Ever since I was very little I have always had a throw up bag within reach when in the back of any car. My ex husband used to always casually mention that he felt like car sickness was just in my head. That used to make me a little sad. Is he right? If I worked really hard, told myself that I am not car sick, told people I am not car sick, and emphatically decided I do not get car sick would it work? Would I not get car sick? Is mind over matter true? If someone says "mind over matter" they are suggesting that you use willpower to overcome physical problems.<br />
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I think of the things that I think I cannot do. I wonder what would happen if I simply started thinking that I could do them and then eventually actually believed that I could do them. How much power do I have? Is it like having the force? Yoda says that, "Many of the truths that we cling to depend on our point of view." So I am afraid of what I am afraid of because of my point of view and that is it? That is all that is holding me back? Do I love rain and gray days because of my point of view? And do you hate them because of your point of view? I see my kids declare that they cannot do things or they hate certain things, or something simply will not work and I wonder is it true? I guess it is true for them therefore it is true.<br />
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The doctor who performed the surgeries in the study says in the video that he went from being a skeptic about the placebo effect to a believer and that it is as much or more the patients belief about the surgery that influences the result as much as it is the actual surgery. This doctor had seen people get better purely because of what was in their minds.<br />
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Just what we all need is an over thinker thinking about her mind and what she believes. If I believe you hate me, do you? If I believe you love me do you? If I believe I am skinny am I? If I believe Reese's eggs are a vital food group are they? I told myself I could get a B in my Math class and I did what would have happened if I told my mind I could get an A?<br />
<br />Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-24660557490137717932017-04-02T19:35:00.000-04:002017-04-02T19:35:01.313-04:00Grit.Well here it is. The closing days of winter break. I feel incredibly guilty at how indulgent I have been over this break. My trip to Port Townsend. The views. Lincoln City. The beach. Barking sea lions. Long thoughtful drives. A ferry ride. Days of doing literally nothing. Blogging. Incredible hiking. A dance. Seeing an old friend. Shopping. Sleeping in until 8. Finishing all 5 seasons of Suits. I honestly cannot remember the last time I reveled so much in my free time. I did no homework. I did no piano practicing. I did not wash one school bus. I did make my bed, take showers, and do my laundry just in case you long to start rumors about me.<br />
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Tomorrow real life must start again and I confess I am deeply afraid of it. More than I am afraid of spiders. Which is a lot. My two online classes for next semester have been uploaded and I peeked at them and I am worried. Math and Finance in the same semester. Can I do this? Do I have what this requires? Am I smart enough? Am I strong enough? Is there an end? Will I recognize the end? What if I fail? Is this the right choice? Am I brave? Can I follow through?<br />
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Everything has seemed so clear since my divorce. I was astonished at the ease that I figured out how to go back to school. Surprised at how I got a job that worked with being in school and with my children's lives. Thrilled at my ability to get my school paid for. Hopeful about the potential for a relationship. Grateful to my parents who have been so supportive and sacrificed their peaceful, blissful retirement so me and my girls could come here to regroup.<br />
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Yet, I cannot describe the worry and doubts that have plagued my mind lately about my decision to go back to school. My decision to give up on finding a relationship. My wondering about whether I should just quit school and get a full time job that I can support myself and my two girls with. Everything had been so clear and then all of a sudden, almost overnight, it wasn't. Doubt and everything that comes along with it have been stalking me for at least a month and a half. Not a day has gone by that I did not ask myself the question, "What is wrong with me?"<br />
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Tonight as I was methodically delving into my classes for this semester hidden among the syllabus's, course instructions, grading policies, and announcements was a seemingly innocent suggestion from my new Math teacher to follow a link to a TED talk. I have a goal to follow every link in my classes this semester and to read everything very carefully so I clicked on the link. Not that it was hard because, hello,TED Talk. Who does not love those?<br />
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It was short but it was exactly what I needed. It was Angela Duckworth the author of Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance. As I listened to her talk about how grit is what makes the difference in who succeeds and who does not I felt the heavy "I am scared about my life" feeling fade away. I had not realized how incredibly heavy things have been. Thinking about grit made me find my resolve and helped me pull out of this feeling that I cannot do anything right. Grit grabbed my determination and said pull yourself together.<br />
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I am not sure when I first noticed the book <i>Grit:The Power of Passion and Perseverance</i> by Angela Duckworth. I love to frequently check up on the New York Times Bestseller list maybe I saw it there. Maybe it was one of those times that I treated myself to wandering through Barnes and Noble? Knowing me it was probably that article about the book in The Wall Street Journal last May. I honestly do not know for sure. I do know that I have almost bought the book a few times but that spending money thing always stopped me. The title fascinated me. I tried to justify the purchase by saying it would be for one of my kids. But I never bought it.<br />
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Grit is such an odd word. We rarely use it in everyday conversation. When I hear it I immediately think about the different types of sandpaper there are. You know, fine grit. coarse grit, medium grit. Cowboys definitely have grit. Some people eat grits. Some people grit their teeth. Yeah, a lot of things come to mind when you hear the word grit. What is the opposite of grit? Soft? What is in the middle between grit and soft? If you have grit you have firmness of character. if you have grit you are not afraid to fail.<br />
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So I am sure you noticed that I started this blog at the end of Christmas break and...ahem... never finished it. Today happens to be the end of Spring Break and I have come up for air. The semester I dreaded ends this week. I survived my 14 week semester of Math and Finance together. It even looks like I have an A and a B in my classes, but that is not official yet. It was a hard semester, I was right to be afraid of it and wonder if I could do it. I had no idea I could do what I just did. I did not do it alone. I had a tutor. I spent countless hours on the phone with my son in Estonia going over Math problems. I often did not answer the phone when people called this semester I just did not have time. I did not parent anyone the whole semester. I cried and wrung my hands in despair a lot.<br />
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If you have grit you have courage, you are conscientious, you follow through, you have endurance, and resilience is there as well. Basically you are a dream team of amazing personality traits. I want to have grit when I grow up. Angela thinks we need to teach it to our children more, stop coddling them. Sigh, I wish someone would coddle me. Do my homework for me. Tell me it is okay to sit and read a book all day. Maybe even give me a certificate acknowledging how well I can do nothing :)Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-50499897490001393942017-02-17T15:24:00.001-05:002017-02-17T15:30:37.572-05:00Unlimited.Unlimited. What does it mean? How often does unlimited even happen to us as human beings? I have been searching my brain today for moments when there has been a sentence with the word unlimited in it in my life.<br />
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I have heard people talk about unlimited food at buffets.<br />
Unlimited refills of your drink?<br />
Numbers are unlimited, right?<br />
What about unlimited pets? My kids would love that one.<br />
Unlimited cars? Too complicated and most likely comes with needing insurance for all of them.<br />
Unlimited love? Yeah, we all dream of this one. I think it is also referred to as unconditional love. Unlimited time? I am afraid I would just waste it.<br />
Unlimited chocolate? Bad idea.<br />
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How many times can you use the word unlimited in your life? This word that means "no limits, no bounds." What do you want to be unlimited in your life? Can you ever have too much of something? You know what they say. Too much of a good thing....blah blah blah. Remember the story about King Midas? Golden touch? Unlimited? Did not work out. I remember when I was a kid I had a friend whose mom limited how many squares of toilet paper you could use. I prefer unlimited toilet paper.<br />
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Last night I signed up for the brand spanking new Verizon <b><u>unlimited</u></b> data plan. Not only did I sign up for it but it turns out my monthly bill is going to be $10.00 lower as well. You have no idea how careful my girls and I have had to be with our data usage for the past 2 and a half years. When we have ended up going over on our data it has been painful. More times than I care to talk about we have ended up in town sitting in the car outside one of the schools or our church using public wifi to do our homework. Sacrifice never hurt anyone and I am sure that my girls and I are stronger and somehow better because of the shortage of data in our lives. But can I tell you what a relief it was to walk out of that Verizon store knowing that I do not have to worry about our data usage anymore?<br />
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I can watch The Crown. I can watch Studio C. I can catch up on Master Chef Junior. Episodes of Suits are definitely in my future. I can watch the videos for my homework over and over again when I do not understand something. I can use google maps on my phone without guilt. I can be the one to offer to Google something when I am out in public with only my phone. Oh man, I can watch James Corden's Carpool Karaoke. The giddy reality is sinking in. I can Skype with my grand babies anytime I want. Now if my kids send me a Youtube video with a song they know I will love I can actually watch it. The possibilities are endless....or unlimited :)<br />
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Is it weird that the more I think about the endless possibilities of unlimited data the more I realize I like limits? You know, boundaries, rules. I am not a fan of "anything goes." Is that what unlimited could mean? Yesterday on the school bus I asked a middle school girl for the hundredth time to please hold on to her back pack and stop leaving it in other seats. She said to me why do we have to? And I said because it is a rule. She said you don't have to follow it. I smiled and said "oh sister I am a serious rule follower." She predictably said, "That is dumb." I tried to explain to her that rules and boundaries actually make us happy but she was not going there with me. So I think that unlimited data will make me happy but having that set amount kept us from excess. Does that make sense? I laid awake last night thinking about the rules and guidelines we will need to have in place so that unlimited does not consume our lives. I bet my kids can hardly wait to hear this evil plan of mine.<br />
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So,do not get me wrong, I am thrilled about my recently acquired unlimited data. I sit here and try to comprehend unlimited. Never ending. There are so many things in our lives that we need to stop. So many things we need to limit. We have to be vigilant. Then all of a sudden there is something unlimited. Overthinking? Who me?Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-12613497356984640552017-01-04T15:49:00.002-05:002017-01-04T16:18:36.911-05:00Lincoln City Glass Floats and Hiking Cascade Head.I am usually not a last minute kind of girl. I make plans so far in advance people have been known to enjoy teasing me about it. But last week on Tuesday my 17 year old and I were sitting smack in the middle of an incredibly lazy day when we realized my parents were going to be gone to California for a few days. Natalie was going to be at her cousins. We should have a plan. It was easy to decide on the beach but which one?<br />
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Two of our biggest unfulfilled dreams about the coast have been the glass float drops on Lincoln City beach and whale watching. Wouldn't you know it? This happened to be Whale Watching Week and a glass float drop was happening. Two dreams in one week. How do things work out so perfectly? It was definitely a sign.<br />
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From October through May they choose random weekends to hide glass floats on the seven mile stretch of Lincoln City beach. By the end of the "glass float season" they have hidden over 2000 of glass floats. They are all handcrafted and amazing. Tatiana and I have had huge dreams of finding one or two of them. We confirmed that on Dec 31 and January 1 they would indeed be hiding 100 of these glass floats so it was decided, we were going to Lincoln City. I took the first Airbnb we looked at and the deal was sealed. I know I have already had my relaxation and adventure this Christmas break but trust me I really needed the chance to clear my head and take my mind off of some hard decisions I had to recently make.<br />
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Early Friday morning we headed out. We dropped Natalie and her cousin off in Lebanon and then headed west to Newport, Oregon. After about 43 miles of driving on Route 20 you finally come to the top of a hill on your way into Newport and you can look out in front of you and catch your first glimpse of the ocean. This view never ceases to fill me with happiness.<br />
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Our plan was to just do whatever we fancied. Our first "fancy" was historic downtown Newport. We wandered around looking in shops and galleries. We said hello to the incredibly loud and lazy male sea lions that hang out on the pier during the winter months. We even ate fish and chips. We are on an eternal quest to find the perfect fish and chips.<br />
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I knew there was a hike on the coast that I had been wanting to accomplish but I could not for the life of me remember the name of the hike. While we were waiting for our food I checked up on Facebook and there happened to be a comment from my friend Carrie reminding me that the hike was Cascade Head and that I was close to it. I quickly googled the hike, read about it, and all of a sudden Newport was no longer interesting. We jumped in the car and headed North on Highway 101. Who wants to shop when there is an epic hike?<br />
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Google maps said we had about an hour drive to the trail head and that we would arrive about 1:49 pm. I was a little concerned about how early the sun sets on a winter day and how much hiking we had to accomplish in the time before it set so I was focused on our goal, It is hard to be focused as you are driving past fabulous views of the ocean and you know it is also whale watching week on the Oregon coast. But we made it with no stopping.<br />
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Sometimes finding where the actual trail starts on a hike is tricky and this hike was one of those kinds of hikes.Thankfully, I know how to roll down my window and ask questions so with only one turn around we made it to the parking lot for the Cascade Head hike. The people we asked about where the trail started casually mentioned to us that the trail was very muddy. I am so glad they did.<br />
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Thankfully, I always have my yellow rubber boots in the car and Tatiana had thought to wear her red rubber boots. You cannot live in Oregon and not have your trunk full of things that you might need to handle the weather conditions in this darling state. It is safe to assume that water and mud will often be involved in your day. This trail was incredibly muddy most of the way up and we were so grateful for our boots. I would have hated to have to be worrying about where I had to step if I was trying to protect my shoes. I am so glad we could just walk right through the middle of anything.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out of the woods.</td></tr>
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The hike to the top was 3.4 miles. The trail is on the road for a minute. It crosses the road. Then is goes up. And up. And up. Through forest. Some of the trail has steps. Some of the trail is wide but most of it is very narrow and did I mention muddy? I had no idea what to expect at the top. As we came out of the forest into a meadow I was so anxious to see what our view was going to be. I was not disappointed. The ocean, the mountains, a herd of elk, clear sky, the blues, the greens, the beach miles below, the snow on the distant mountains, miles of pine trees, there was a view everywhere I looked. I thought okay, this is it. So fabulous.<br />
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But the trail kept heading across the meadow so we just kept following it. We stopped to admire the views and take pictures often. I kept deciding no this is the best view, would walk some more and then decide, no this is the best view. Honestly, you could have stopped anywhere on this mountain and been done with your hike but I could see the trail still going and knew I would always wonder what was at the end.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you see her?</td></tr>
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The trail started to head straight up. Tatiana easily moved ahead of me. She would stop and look back and holler "Keep coming mom." I swallowed down the thoughts that her words made me feel old. I kept trying to think of how I could capture what we were doing and seeing in pictures and words. How could I describe this? I stopped frequently to catch my breath, survey the view, take a picture and then press on. If you look at the picture to the left there you can see I was several switchbacks behind her.<br />
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I smiled at the people I passed who had already made it to the top and were on the way down. I saw the look of empathy in their eyes as their struggle to the top was still fresh in their minds. A few of them reassured me the end was coming. I asked a young couple how much further and was a little confused when they declared they did not know they had come from another trail and had only been hiking a mile so they were not sure. What? I chose the hard way? Of course I did. It turns out there are three different trails and we took the longest and hardest trail but I am glad we did and would never do it any other way. It was an amazing hike with huge rewards. I had to resist the urge to burst into the Carpenter's song On Top Of The World a few times. "Such a feeling's coming over me. There is wonder in most everything I see. Not a cloud in the sky got the sun in my eyes and I won't be surprised if its a dream." Yeah,that song and I go way back.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1GQmnBbhOk5SOzKpTusbgR130_MTkkoPD-CVWDEte9mcgi52jhlVdewMS4gTfGBLMEc5LnyuoGsEiNzDKy9wMSt5uJG_jB-wkNxGoASPkmlno-IbB5I8c4PMZzuv1u9xDr0qNFz703zc/s1600/20161230_152407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1GQmnBbhOk5SOzKpTusbgR130_MTkkoPD-CVWDEte9mcgi52jhlVdewMS4gTfGBLMEc5LnyuoGsEiNzDKy9wMSt5uJG_jB-wkNxGoASPkmlno-IbB5I8c4PMZzuv1u9xDr0qNFz703zc/s320/20161230_152407.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View to the South </td></tr>
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Going down was much more delightful even though there was a constant chance of slipping in the mud. There is just something about knowing what is coming that makes the hike go faster and seem easier. I longed to watch the sun set behind the Pacific Ocean from the top but I knew that was irresponsible. Even though I had packed my flashlight. We got back to our car at about 3:50 pm.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvseDh7N5B3HNjCEbaiHu0ah_gpTWsttZWrwoqodd6KXz-jRWoU9gk3LAPju90QGgCu6lFPZQXIUMgsttyKUa7ip717VDqRaNaSn-CzSYrE7fJwGx1y8CQfZ4MfJTHkZzBZkENnv9Bhw4/s1600/20161230_144649.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvseDh7N5B3HNjCEbaiHu0ah_gpTWsttZWrwoqodd6KXz-jRWoU9gk3LAPju90QGgCu6lFPZQXIUMgsttyKUa7ip717VDqRaNaSn-CzSYrE7fJwGx1y8CQfZ4MfJTHkZzBZkENnv9Bhw4/s320/20161230_144649.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View to the West.</td></tr>
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Round trip the hike is 6.8 miles. It gains 1310 feet of elevation. And is categorized as a moderate hike. I saw all different sorts of people hiking the trail. Old people. Young people. People hauling young kids. Couples in love. Groups stopping to smoke marijuana. Hikers on cell phones chatting away. It was definitely a popular hike despite the mud and that it was December 30th. I was so glad we did it and will definitely do it again.<br />
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We headed to our Airbnb which was 10 minutes away and had an amazing view of the coast. We grabbed Taco Bell and watched a ton of episodes of Studio C. The next morning we drove less than a mile to a parking lot by the beach and started our search for the glass fishing floats.<br />
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It was disheartening to notice lots of people already searching for the floats. They do not hide the floats all at once they hide them throughout the day. So in my head I divided the 100 floats into 50 floats per day and then figured out the daylight hours and tried to determine how many floats they would hide within an hour. Yeah, who does that? I also spent way too much time trying to notice who might be hiding them. I was shamefully looking for an easy way. But there was no easy way. It was just endless walking and looking along the bluffs, through the driftwood, and above the high tide line for an elusive glass float.<br />
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We had a time deadline for when we had to head back inland. I had a dance in Portland to attend and Tatiana had possible New Years Eve plans. We stayed as long as we could and walked at least 4 miles on the beach but never found a float. The day started out clear and sunny but within a few hours the clouds rolled in. It was very hard to be at the beach and not be walking out by the ocean so a few times I deviated and headed out to the shoreline.One of those times a sneaker wave caught me and filled my rubber boots with salt water and sand which made me smile. You could hear me coming from a mile away with all the noise wet socks and wet pants inside rubber boots makes.<br />
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As much as I loved living in Kansas and Indiana I cannot imagine living where I do not have the freedom to jump in the car, drive two hours and be at the ocean. It makes me so happy to be able to do that. I marvel at the ease of it every single time I do it.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-16771435682886433462016-12-28T14:59:00.002-05:002016-12-28T15:39:31.653-05:00Support and Resistance.For several years now I have had a burning curiosity about the stock market. No one has really had the time or the patience to sit down and explain and answer all my questions about it so I have gathered bits of information here and there. With the help of my father I purchased some shares of Merck and GE last year. As soon as they went above what I bought them for I sold them. Chicken out, much?<br />
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Ever since my divorce I have had a chunk of money that has needed some attention and for about 4 months now I have been making and canceling appointments with Rob at Schwab. Yes, I am thrilled beyond words that Rob and Schwab rhyme. It is the little things that delight me.<br />
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Finally, last Friday nothing interfered and I was able to keep my appointment with him. It was a rainy, gray day and my appointment was in Eugene at 10:00. Last time I met with Rob at Schwab we transferred money from some TIAA/CREF accounts into my Schwab account. But we just left it all sitting there because it would take more time than we had at that appointment to allocate it. As you all know ever since November 8th the markets have been doing nothing but going up in a weird unsupported sort of way. So the minute I sat down with Rob he started a discussion about this and about how it made him feel nervous about how fast 20,000 was approaching. It is fascinating to me to attempt to understand how much affects the price of a share of a company. I naively thought we would do some divvying up and spreading out and call it a day. But Rob (at Schwab) suggested just taking a small amount and placing it in an intelligent portfolio (the opposite of a dumb portfolio). He suggested waiting on allocating the rest of the money until February when reality may have started to settle in and the picture will be clearer. The stock market is riding on hope right now. I totally understand riding on hope I have been known to ride on hope myself. You know when you are sure change is coming, it is exciting, you are happy, and it is so welcome. Your life feels light and it is exactly like you are walking on sunshine (yes, I just quoted a song. Thanks for noticing.) I am in the process of crashing from hope so maybe the stock market will be heading down as well.<br />
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The more Rob from Schwab explained the stock market to me the more I realized the stock market is a lot like my life. I guess I had so many questions and was such a well behaved audience that he could not resist educating me more. I deeply appreciated it and cannot stop thinking about what I learned.</div>
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First he pulled up AT&T's portfolio on his computer and found a graph that gave me an overview of what their stock had been doing over the last year, He used his mouse to draw some lines on the graph in various places. Some of the the lines were marking the tops of mountains and some were marking dips. He explained to me that the tops of the mountains were called resistance and the dips were affectionately referred to as support. The stock would head down to a certain predetermined level, stop, and then turn around to get a running start back up to possibly find a new resistance point. When the stock gets to that low point that is a good time to purchase some. Sometimes the stock price would break through to make a new resistance level and sometimes it did not. Regardless the stock would predictably head back down to its support level before it tried again. If you know it is going to do this you do not have fear when you are investing.<br />
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I had just spent an entire semester studying Costco so I asked him to show me the support and resistance for Costco's stock so we switched to their graph and it was so interesting to be able to see what Costco stock had done in the past three years. I began to understand that up and down was healthy and you want to see that happening. I did not really understand that when I owned my Merck and my GE, which I sort of wish I still owned at this moment. Yes, you were right I was wrong.<br />
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If I could pull up a graph of the last three years of my life you would easily see my support level and the places where I took a running start to attempt to break through some resistance and make a change. Sometimes I broke through my resistance level and set a new high but other times I did not. I have definitely broken through to new levels as I have started school. But when it comes to relationships I seem to not be able to figure out what it takes to break through the resistance. You would be able to see the divorce crash of 2013. You would see the spikes when I got A's in school or met someone who appeared to think I was worth the time. You would undoubtedly see when I ate Reeses. When I saw a great view. When I did something wrong. Yeah, you would see it all. But the question is would you feel like it was worth it to buy shares in my life? And when would you sell?<br />
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I guess a healthy life has dips and mountains just like a healthy stock. Life steadily but slowly with lots of support and good reasons usually works its way up. Since January 2015 Costco's support is in the $140.00 dollar range and their resistance level has been around $169.00. Before that it's resistance level was around $110.00. So if you bought Costco stock years ago and was patient just imagine. It appears to be the same with life. so the earlier you invest in me the better? Ugh, that means it is too late.<br />
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Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-88175052360491567332016-12-27T14:44:00.001-05:002016-12-27T14:44:36.246-05:00Make Good Choices.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijtbM9m84i1jPVGYJpN_jOrjXkJ-9i-Y89YO3SbTxNRq9o2q5lXqj9R-lNYoWVcXddRbyIMNMYqO64PK2F_EnqVFi1oPqqR_os1Soj0KxQKGwP6-y9FKgzyf3K_SWmS2zLk_D53GDTVQY/s1600/choices.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijtbM9m84i1jPVGYJpN_jOrjXkJ-9i-Y89YO3SbTxNRq9o2q5lXqj9R-lNYoWVcXddRbyIMNMYqO64PK2F_EnqVFi1oPqqR_os1Soj0KxQKGwP6-y9FKgzyf3K_SWmS2zLk_D53GDTVQY/s320/choices.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I am not sure why it started or even when it started but for quite awhile now I have found myself regularly advising people to "Make good choices." It just comes out of my mouth naturally as a part of any goodbye routine. I say it to kids getting off of the bus. I say it to my co-workers. I say it to friends. I may have even said it to a squirrel who was thinking about crossing in front of my car one day.<br />
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I have noticed that my daughter Madeline says it to me when we are closing phone conversations and I have wondered to myself, "Did I get it from her?" A little while ago I was re-watching the movie Pitch Perfect and the character Becca said to another character, "Make good choices." I wondered to myself, "Is this where I got it from?" Have I been quoting a movie and did not know it?<br />
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Do I really know what it means as I flippantly say it to almost everyone? And even worse do I practice what I preach? Do I make good choices? A choice is "an alternative, option, or a preference," all words that suggest the power of choosing. I like the idea of choosing being a power. What if my super power was to make good choices? What kind of life would that be? At this very moment when I have so many choices swirling all around me I am really liking the idea of being "Choose The Right Girl." Definitely emerald green leggings, skirt and cape for my superhero costume...did I come up with that outfit too fast? Would it be too much to ask to be able to fly and make good choices? Then I could get to my good choices faster :) Are there any drawbacks to having the power to know that the choice you are making is the right one?<br />
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I have a talent for making bad choices. I know I would not be who I am without those bad choices. Every time I wrestle through one I come out on the other side a better person. They have undoubtedly taught me more than good choices and smooth sailing ever could have but I still long for the ability to make just one good choice. Just to know what it feels like.<br />
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Just for fun I made the choice to google, "how do you make good choices" and without even having to click on any link the most amazing list appeared from the Frank Sonnenberg online blog. Seven steps to making a good choice:<br />
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#1. Manage the big stuff<br />
#2. Values Matter<br />
#3. Learn from the past<br />
#4. Know what you know and what you don't know.<br />
#5. Keep the right perspective.<br />
#6. Don't Procrastinate<br />
#7 Once you make a choice do not look back and make it work.<br />
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I should have known there would be a list out there. Seeing the steps all written out is strangely comforting. "Good choices keep you heading in the direction you want to be going. Bad choices are counter-productive and quickly can make you feel despair, stress and confusion." The minute I read this definition I realized I have been making bad choices. I keep having hope that these choices will head me in the direction I want to go but it is time to admit they are never going to move anywhere and I need to abandon them.<br />
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Maybe I want my super power to be not looking back. "Not Looking Back girl." Oh man now I have to make a choice.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-56183378907848814362016-12-21T00:25:00.002-05:002016-12-23T11:09:43.791-05:00Hiking the Dungeness Spit.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I knew when I woke up this morning and opened the blinds in my little cottage that I am staying in that I needed to do something ambitious with my day. The water and the mountains were definitely calling my name. I am embarrassed to say that I brought my textbooks for next semester with me on my little "get away." Not only that, I had plans to organize the songs I am teaching to my Primary kids for the entire next year (yeah, a whole year). I do know how to vacation don't I? :) But don't be too hard on me because I grabbed my bag of clementines, bunch of bananas, wallet, scarf, hat and gloves and headed out. left the textbooks in my cottage.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In a folder in the cottage I am staying in there is a list of outdoor things to do on the Olympic Peninsula. I have stared longingly at the description of the Dungeness Spit the last two times I stayed here and it was finally time to act. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I do love records, so the minute I found out the Dungeness Spit was the longest, natural, sand spit in the United States I knew I had to check it out. But there are some logistics involved in hiking this sand spit. The tide has to be low or on its way to low. I knew when I went to bed last night that high tide would be at 9 in the morning and low tide would not be until 4 in the afternoon. And even at that low tide was not really going to be that fabulous of a low tide. I also had the small problem that I am the sort of girl that gets up early and goes. I am not the sort of girl who waits around....not even for tides. I told myself I would head towards Dungeness Spit but I could just drive by and head out to the Cape Flattery hike again or follow highway 101 until it ended in LaPush. You know, do something until the tide was low enough for me to check out the Dungeness Spit. As I got closer to Sequim (don't you dare pronounce the e in Sequim. It is pronounced Squim) I could not resist and I set the Google map app on my phone up to take me to Dungeness Spit. But the app conspired against me and directed me to another sand spit so I figured it was a sign. This impostor sand pit was not a complete waste of time because there was the most amazingly huge barge stacked with containers heading out to sea down the Strait of Juan de Fuca. I watched it for awhile. But then I decided to head to LaPush on Highway 101. I got just outside of Port Angeles and turned around. I am not really sure why but I did.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This time I found the Dungeness Spit without using my Google maps app. I just deduced where it would be and voila. Something I never do. I was very excited to check this place out. You have to pay $3.00 to hike out to the sand spit and all I had was a $50 and there was no one there to give change so I scrounged in my change drawer in my car and found $3.00. The trail was empty, well maintained, and surrounded by woods. I did my best to not think about meeting Bigfoot, or the wolves and vampires from Twilight and headed bravely down the trail, alone. At the edge of the woods the trail goes down a hill to get you down to the sand spit. Are you wondering if sand spits? yeah, Why do they call it a spit? Does sand spit? This sand spit is 5.2 miles long so the sand spit more than it should have. I had to know so I looked it up and a spit is a land form, It is a "deposition bar or beach land form found off coasts or lake shores. It develops in places where re-entrance occurs, such as at a cove's headlands, by the process of long shore drift by long shore currents. ... These currents are caused by the same waves that cause the drift." Whew, did you get that?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As I came down the trail I had no idea what I would see when I first got a glimpse of the Stait of Juan de Fuca. There was a little platform and when you walked to the edge of it you could see this strip of sand going, going, going out into the water. It really was amazing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I got to the bottom of the hill there was a ranger there and she was giving instructions. Waves were relentlessly crashing on the left side of the spit and the right side was calm...it was like being in the middle of a split personality. The wind was fiercely blowing. The waves were big. The spit was littered with driftwood. Not just small pieces of wood. Enormous trees just tossed year after year on this sand spit all 5 miles of it. Walking on the side without waves was the obvious choice to me but the ranger crushed my dreams when she said the calm side was for the birds (lucky birds) and people had to walk on the wave side. I asked a few more times to be sure I had heard her. She did not even flinch when she advised me to be careful of the waves and to remember that sometimes the driftwood can appear stable but it could have water under it and may not be stable. What? I was not turning back now so I smiled at her and headed off. The wind whipped my scarf out to the side of me. The waves raced right up to the edge of the driftwood and every 50 feet or so there was a metal post with a sign posted reminding me that I could not cross the line onto the bird side. I confess, I stepped behind the sign a few times. I would be walking on the logs, avoiding the waves, climbing over the logs and I would look up and realize that I was on the wrong side of the signs. I am a rule follower. I would furtively look around to see if anyone saw me but not many people think that hiking the Dungeness Spit on the 20th of December is a great idea so I was alone in the knowledge of my crime. I finally stopped and looked back and was overwhelmed at the view. The Olympic Mountains were looming with snow on them. The water was this amazing green color but where the waves were breaking it was brown and muddy. The contrast between the colors was very cool. The wind was taking the spray from the ocean and the foam from the waves and flinging it everywhere. It was exhilarating. The spit seemed to stretch on forever. But I decided I was going to the end to the lighthouse I could see way out in the distance. I had to. It was slow going. Around, over, walking along logs. All of a sudden I found myself facing a row of signs telling me I could not go any further..... you know, the birds. Not going to lie. I would have kept going but I was okay with turning back. When I got back to the trail going into the woods I stopped and read the sign about the trail and saw that from October until March you cannot hike all the way to the lighthouse.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I will be back. I have to hike to the end. But maybe I will think about another month when it does not get dark around low tide. But don't get your hopes up.</span>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-90586790911463468262016-12-18T14:45:00.002-05:002016-12-19T00:16:39.767-05:00ReflectionCaptains Log<br />
Star date December 18, 2016<br />
10:52 AM<br />
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My first semester of being back at college is over.<br />
My girls are gone for five days to be with their dad in Utah.<br />
Holiday Season<br />
I have nothing to do?<br />
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I am sitting in my cozy bed in my church clothes waiting for the appropriate time to leave for church and I realized I could blog. Actually, I should blog just in case posterity ever wonders what I could possibly been thinking when I made the choices I am bound to make. The sun is reflecting off of the water drops on the trees outside so the day looks sparkly. And I am sitting here doing some reflecting of my own. Nothing sparkly, just some good old fashioned pondering and meditating.<br />
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I am reflecting on this first semester of online classes that I just completed. I got A's in both my classes. One teacher had no problem handing A's to me like candy. He seemed to just be grateful that I did the work. Which made me sad for his life. My other teacher was very hard on me and I learned an enormous amount from her because of this. She refined my writing. I grumbled about her all semester. I shed tears. I agonized. When she actually gave me A's I wondered if she had just given up fighting with me. She insisted that I figure out how to say things in a concise manner. Yeah, we all know that there is nothing concise about me. She never really "got" me. She seemed to be relentlessly hunting for those of us on the planet who use smiley faces after every sentence. She considered it her job to give us a reality check. She never reviewed my work without adding in her comments "less words," not:<br />
<br />
"Could you please use less words?"<br />
"It would make me eternally happy if you would use less words."<br />
"Jennifer, using less words could make your life better."<br />
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Just a cold, heartless "less words."<br />
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I refrained from telling her I talked early and profusely and did not know a single thing about the word "less." The A's I got from her are treasures to me and they came more and more often as I figured out how to play her game. Yeah, talkative but smart am I.<br />
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I learned so many things this semester about myself and about learning. I learned that I love to use adverbs. I learned that semi colons and colons are tough customers. I learned I have high expectations. (that is a whole other blog.)<br />
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I am also reflecting on being alone. My two girls left for Utah on Friday and will be gone for 6 days and it is the weirdest feeling in the world. I realized that very soon this will be my life. Can I handle alone? It was so weird to go from having 7 kids and a spouse. To walking into the ward Christmas party all alone. Realizing you have no one to sit by. Realizing everyone else at least has a spouse or someone they came with. Realizing you need to be a big girl. And worst of all realizing that there may have been someone in your past that felt exactly the same way and you did not not know it and did not reach out to them.<br />
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I am reflecting on what I want to do with my life. Both of my classes required me to write a personal mission statement, a resume, a cover letter, a request for a letter of recommendation, goals, lists of how I could advance in my career. It was a lot of reflecting and a lot of reality. Reality and I never really understood each other.<br />
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Here is my personal mission statement I finally ended up submitting in both my classes. If I post it then you can all call me out on my moments off of the path. And my posterity can decide if it truly was my mission statement. Be sure to notice I squeezed a smiley face into my Personal Mission Statement. My B320 teacher had given up at this point and did not mention it.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Alice came
to a crossroads in the woods and she asks the Cheshire cat which way she ought
to go from there and he tells her that it depends on where she wants to go. She
tells him that she does not care much where she goes. The cat informs her that
it does not matter much which way she goes then. I am determined to care where
I go so that when those crossroads appear I have a clear idea of which road I
want to take.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 107%;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">A simple
modest house of my own close to water, views, and hiking, with land to garden
on, bookshelves, and a hammock is something I want to accomplish. I long for a
job with a school district so that I have summers off to travel and visit
friends and family. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Doing hard things with diligence and integrity<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Being genuine and focused <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Being the same on the outside as I am on the
inside.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Having courage to do hard things<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Being grateful<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Are all characteristics I am struggling to grow as I
pray, study, and make sticker charts<span style="font-family: "wingdings"; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">My relationships are a priority to me and this priority drives
my actions. My belief in an eternal life after this life with my Heavenly
Father drives my behavior. </span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
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I noticed my personal mission statement was a little bit different from my classmates statements but I did not fret about it I mean it is personal, right?<br />
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To top it all off this is the time of year that we all naturally reflect. We are almost to the end of another 365 day cycle in our lives and about to begin another one. What can we do different? I am trying to embrace the reflecting and hope it just improves my situation and determination to figure out my Plan B.</div>
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<br />Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-54217273055023313312016-11-20T12:53:00.000-05:002016-11-20T12:53:16.021-05:00Listen To Me.I have a very dear friend who spends an enormous amount of time accusing me of not listening. Usually when this friend decides to accuse me of not listening I simply do not listen. Sometimes I laugh it off. Sometimes I quickly agree with him to get him off the topic. But for some reason the other day when he for the gazillion-th time accused me of not listening, something happened, I suddenly found myself deeply concerned about this idea that I do not listen. I realized I needed to figure out if it is true because I honestly thought I was a good listener.<br />
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So I found a quiet spot, sat down with myself, and searched every corner of my brain for the truth, Am I truly a bad listener? No one wants to be labeled as a bad listener. No one goes to a dinner party and brags to his friends, "Yeah, I have some pretty bad listening skills."<br />
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Has being interrupted and distracted constantly for the last twenty five years as a mother of seven kids caused this? Did I listen when I was born? Did I listen when I was a teenager? What does it mean to listen? Who even listens anymore? It takes so much time and sacrifice to be a good listener.<br />
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I decided that the next step in figuring out if the accusation was true or not was to remember a moment when I knew I was being listened to, so that I was sure I understood what listening was. You know when you are in the presence of a good listener because:<br />
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They sit down with you and look at you.<br />
They do not check their watch<br />
They do not check their phone<br />
They do not turn to look at other noises in the room<br />
They ask you questions,<br />
They never act like time matters<br />
The television is never on,<br />
They clear their brain and are seriously focused on you.<br />
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Not many people have time for all that but when you meet someone who does it it makes an amazing difference in your life. I love that feeling when you are with someone who is a good listener they make you feel special and important and who does not appreciate that feeling?<br />
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You know I googled, "What is a good listener?" I knew Google would not let me down. In the results I saw an article published in the Huffington Post called,<i> "9 Things Good Listeners Do Differently." </i>I immediately clicked on the link and read every word. The article listed nine things a good listener does and here they are:<br />
<br />
<b>1. They are present.</b> Need to work on this one.<br />
<b>2. They are empathetic</b>. Got this one.<br />
<b>3. They realize their shortcomings</b>. I find new ones daily.<br />
<b>4. They have an open mind</b>. I think it is open until I realize it is not.<br />
<b>5. They are emotionally intelligent.</b> I wish<br />
<b>6. They pose significant questions.</b> I do not have a problem with asking questions as you all know.<br />
<b>7. They are not on the defensive.</b> I am not a bad listener :)<br />
<b>8. They are okay with being uncomfortable</b>. I think my whole life is uncomfortable.<br />
<b>9. They are good leaders</b>. I adore following.<br />
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As I have pondered and pondered on this topic I wondered if what this friend meant to say to me was that I am not a good remember-er? Because that is true. I often have a hard time remembering which may cause you to think I did not listen.<br />
<br />
Or maybe because I am not very good at completely agreeing with everything he says he thinks I am not a good listener? :)<br />
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Maybe it is that I have this annoying habit of asking you about something we talked about earlier even though I already know your answer. My own father calls me out on this habit I have often.<br />
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Sometimes I want to have the conversation again.....yeah, I may or may not have issues :)<br />
Sometimes, I just want to confirm I heard it right. I guess it could be called double checking?<br />
Or maybe I am trying to show you that I do listen by bringing it up again and you think it means I did not listen?<br />
<br />
I have been known to listen to my music loud does that count as listening? :) It embarrasses my children immensely. They get in the car and quickly turn it down exclaiming, "Mom, you can hear the music outside." I just like to feel it all around me.<br />
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The 14 year old tells me at least 100 times a day that I do not listen but what she means to say is that I am not responding to her requests the way she wants me to so her opinion does not count :)<br />
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The kids on my bus wish I did not listen so well. Last Friday I heard a kid say a word that it is not okay to say on my bus and I made him come and sit by me and as he plopped himself in the seat behind me he grumpily asked me why I listen.<br />
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Not to brag but my listening skills have helped me catch teenagers trying to sneak out of the house.<br />
<br />
So I have decided I am not the best listener and this friend may be right. Being still and focused is sometimes hard for me. My brain is always moving. So I am adding to my "Making Jennifer Great" list:<br />
Being still,<br />
Being in the moment<br />
and not thinking ahead.<br />
Oh yeah, and listening.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-84700255426919580602016-08-16T12:19:00.001-04:002016-08-16T12:19:20.430-04:00Making It Fit.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Have you ever been shopping for shoes? My whole life shoe shopping has been a challenge. My feet are little, I actually wear a kid size shoe. It is extremely difficult for me to find grownup looking shoes in my size. When I was a teenager I would regularly buy shoes that did not fit me, they would be so pretty and I would want them so badly that I would just convince myself that they fit me even though they really didn't. My deep dark secret is that I would stuff the toes of these shoes with enormous amounts of Kleenex or toilet paper to make them fit me. It really was not comfortable but I did not care. Even though the truth was staring me in the face I would ignore it and convince myself I could make these shoes work.<div>
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Maybe it was after one too many people saw the wad of Kleenex in the toe of my shoe? Maybe I finally got tired of uncomfortably walking in shoes that flopped? I am just not sure when I stopped buying shoes that did not fit me but eventually I did. I had to embrace my true shoe size and just be happy with what I could find in my size that looked close enough to grown up....you know, avoiding flashing lights, neon colors, Dora, or Velcro. </div>
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There is this fabulous shoe store in Eugene called Burch's. The shoes in this store are truly beautiful. Every time I go in the store I head for the smallest size in women's and stare longingly at the amazing shoes that I know would make all my dreams come true. I always try them on hoping they may fit, but they never, ever, ever do and after about ten minutes of diligently trying to convince myself that they fit I dejectedly head over to the kid section to find size 3 shoes for me. So many times I have had to leave a pair of shoes on the shelf that I am sure would change my life if they only fit.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9SzqGWrAyoPC88yPtm8uOrQrosRGDMmnakB4yI4zf62Zw4ZM_MwFZbLy64gjTbSEe0DiRZejpJoKgKrhFjieRymlEEdx-ZNhlQivqyUiMzU5v5gvqLxyNC88egdkF08LZLHwELHfKAc/s1600/fit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9SzqGWrAyoPC88yPtm8uOrQrosRGDMmnakB4yI4zf62Zw4ZM_MwFZbLy64gjTbSEe0DiRZejpJoKgKrhFjieRymlEEdx-ZNhlQivqyUiMzU5v5gvqLxyNC88egdkF08LZLHwELHfKAc/s320/fit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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What about puzzles? I can vividly remember times in my life when I have been working on a puzzle and I find a piece that has all the right colors and shapes to match the surrounding pieces. I put the piece in it's spot fully expecting the satisfying feeling that comes from a perfect fit but something just does not seem right and inevitably someone doing the puzzle with me will doubtfully say "I don't think that fits there." I will ask back, "Are you sure?" I will give it few confident pushes and wiggles to show that I am confident with my decision. But then they try another piece there and I see how smoothly it fits and I have to bravely admit, no matter how hard I tried, it did not fit.</div>
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Natalie my thirteen year old is growing like crazy right now and every single piece of clothing she puts on does not fit. Every time she comes out of her room I have to say, "Oh honey that does not fit." She looks at me like I am crazy. Then looks down at the high water pants or the tight shirt and looks at me with complete confidence and declare flippantly, "Yes, it does." We see what we want to see.</div>
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I was laying in my bed last night thinking about making things fit and how it appears that I am the kind of girl that is always ignoring the fact that something does not fit. (I have no idea where Natalie got it from :) If I really want something to fit whether it is clothes, shoes, or even...gasp... a relationship I will figuratively stuff Kleenex or toilet paper everywhere I can, trying with all my might to make it fit because I really, really, really, really, want it to. I can not tell you how many times I have embarrassed myself fighting for a relationship that I needed to just admit did not fit. Or wearing a dress that was too long or not long enough, or pants that needed a belt. Because I am petite I need to wear things that fit perfectly and yet sometimes I find something in the store that is so not fitting me right but I refuse to see it and decide I can MAKE IT WORK. I am not sure what made me this way but lately I am seeing that this darling tendency I have may someday be the death of me. I need to learn how to stop pushing and wiggling on the piece and just.... let it go and move on. Maybe if I find a mountain with beautifully smooth snow on it and I run up it wearing my cape (that fits) singing at the top of my lungs, "Let it go. Let it go it will help me :)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-5326860530245256452016-08-14T23:23:00.002-04:002016-08-14T23:23:46.001-04:00Have You Seen My Spark?<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So today I was going through my folder of blog drafts that I had not posted and this one caught my eye. I am not sure why I did not post it but when I read it today I realized I needed to post it so do not get to tangled up in the time just sit back and enjoy :)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cloudy, rainy Saturday morning. I have a pile of homework. I need to get my singing time ready for church tomorrow. I have a list a mile long of things I seem to never be able to catch up on. I have relationships that I can not figure out that are weighing so heavy on me. I have so much on my mind. I need to write and write so I can feel better but how to do that and not freak everyone out with my oversharing, possible complaining, and wondering. So bear with me as I ramble and attempt to help myself to feel better and make sense of things. I need someone to talk to and it is going to have to be handsome, fabulous listener, Mr. Blog.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I spent the day yesterday in Seattle. I have a eency weency, teeny tiny assignment for my 30th class reunion that will be in August and I needed to pick up some things from some class members for it. Since I was already going to be there I scheduled play dates with a few of my favorite Snohomish/high school peeps who had time to play. I was really looking forward to the day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I left Oregon at 3 in the morning. My alarm rang at 2:40 am and I decided not to think too much about getting ready for my day. I grabbed the first clothes I saw. I put on minimal makeup. Put my hair in a side ponytail. Got a box of granola bars, water bottle, grapes, and headed out. There is something very therapeutic about flying along the freeway in your car in the dark. I did not turn on any music. I just rode in complete silence. I thought and thought about so many things. I tend to imagine that I have always been a "glass overflowing" happy, energized, positive kind of girl. I have been known to unhealthily power through my days without stopping to acknowledge the immense things that are happening around me that could be affecting me....but who doesn't do that? :) I actually did not even realize this was happening until my dear friend Gail came to visit me a few weeks ago. Gail knows me so well and happens to have been through all my huge life events with me. Yeah, lucky her :) Within 12 hours of being back together with me she confidently and correctly declared to me, "Something is wrong. Your spark is gone." A spark by definition, "is a trace of life or vitality." I am confident it makes me who I am. I had not even realized it but as I thought about it I knew she was right. Mr. Spark was gone. I have not given enough credit to all I have been through the past two years and so my spark just left. I have no idea where it has run off to. I wonder if I will recognize it? I wonder if it misses me? How do I get it to come back? These are the things I thought about as I was driving.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was a gray morning and I love those sort of mornings. The skyline of Seattle always thrills me when I came around the corner on I-5 and see it looming ahead. I immediately pick out the space needle. And I often think about how many times I have rounded that corner. I smile to myself as I realize I am almost always thinking about the same thing. Going to Seattle is my favorite thing but there is a small price to pay for these visits the memories are everywhere, very thick, and tend to make me feel a little melancholy as I drive past places I have met friends or done fun things with my family or friends.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I stopped in Snohomish to pick up a poster from a friend. I was very proud of myself because I used google maps on my phone to find where this friend's parents house was. I felt like quite the tech savvy girl as I figured out how to get the voice on google maps to tell me the directions out loud. Yes, I am bragging :)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then I worked my way up I-5 towards Camano Island. This is where my dear friend Shelley lives. The views are spectacular and I love to visit Shelley. She and I immediately head out to take an enormous walk whenever I show up....no matter the weather. We catch up. We attempt to solve the worlds problems and we reminisce. We never really have the answers but it is fun to commiserate.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After spending an hour and a half with Shelley I got in my car and headed towards Marysville for lunch with my favorite teacher from high school, Mr. Castro. Mr Castro taught me in jazz and concert choir. He gave me chances like nobody's business and I will always be grateful to him for that. I love to connect with him when I can and I always have a great time learning from him and listening to his experiences.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After lunch I headed out to Monroe to meet Loretta. She was Lorre in high school. We do the same thing Shelley and I do, we walk and talk our guts out. We always meet at Lake Tye in Monroe. Lorre and I both have seven kids so we have a lot to talk about. She and I spent lots of time when we were in our teens talking about how life would surely turn out when we grew up and now we sheepishly smile to each other when we remember those dreams :) The talking and walking is so needed and every time I do this with these friends I feel so overwhelmingly grateful for where they fit in my life and that we have kept in touch and of course wish we lived closer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All the reminiscing and talking in one day does tend to wear me out so by the end of the day I feel satisfied but my mind is so full. Verbalizing what is going on in your life. Bringing it up and talking about it makes you think about it more. Which is good but also means it needs to be dealt with. Everyone is dealing with things. Some are better at it than others. Some figure it our sooner than others do. Because I am an over thinker the plan for the dealing part often comes later than sooner.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">P.S I did not find my spark on this trip. I hope wherever it is it is safe. It will be such a relief to get it back and be me once again. If you find it please feed it Reeses and give it a hug....I am not much of a hugger that is probably why it left :)</span><br />
<br />Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-4227610373671537572016-08-14T02:48:00.003-04:002016-08-14T03:08:38.548-04:00ReunionYou get all sorts of reactions when you declare to someone that you are going to a reunion. For some reason the reactions are most interesting when you admit it is a high school reunion. I know this because my thirtieth high school reunion was this weekend and most people I told I was going have had a pretty intense opinion about whether reunions are a priority or not. Some people think it is living in the past but the past is what made me who I am and I do adore going back to visit it and see if I learned anything :)<br />
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A reunion is defined as an "act of uniting again." So when things/people have been apart for a long time and they come back together again it is called a reunion...a gathering after a separation. I spent at least four of my very formative years with these same 300 or so people. Some I was closer with than others. Some I kept in touch with more than others. But no matter that, the truth is that our lives were all tangled together for at least those four years even if it was just a passing smile in the hall or someone loaning you a pencil. We definitely affected each other for good or bad. Most of our identity is forged in high school, it is a most fascinating thing.<br />
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Some people love to go to reunions others don't. I have thought about that a few times this weekend as I observed the classmates of mine that did decide to come to the reunion. What made them decide this was a priority? What makes others cringe at the thought and stay away? I go because I love people. I love to see what they have learned and what they have become. I don't care how they look. I don't care if they are successful or not. I just like them. It delights me beyond belief to see them loving to see each other again. If you administered a personality test to people who go to high school reunions would there be a commonality? Some piece that all those people have that makes them value re-connecting at any cost? I wonder if all the people who could not come realize that we all wondered where they were? How they are? And that we genuinely miss seeing them at our reunions?<br />
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It is not really possible to get a high school age kid recognize the value of each of these people they are going to school with, individually. And it was simply not possible for all of us to really know each other when we were in high school. It is sad but true. I am so grateful for the opportunity to reconnect with these people and hear about their lives, smile at the mannerisms they have that are still "so them." I felt an overwhelming gratefulness for how kind my classmates are. I saw them all talk to each other, reach out, and laugh about not recognizing each other. I deeply hoped everyone had a good time and got what they hoped they would get out of reuniting.<br />
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As I think about the definition of reunion I realized that there are lots of sorts of reunions in our lives. Times when we unite again.<br />
I have had children leave on missions and be gone for 2 years and then they come back and we reunite.<br />
I have had old friends come back into my life after years of being apart and we reunite.<br />
I have given up Reeses and then ....we reunite :)<br />
I have lost weight and then...we reunite :)<br />
I had friends I watched years of the television show Survivor with and we used to reunite years after we all moved away.<br />
What about when I find a missing match to a sock? Yep, reunion.<br />
I had my darling old college roommates come to Massachusetts a few years ago and we reunited and it was so fun.<br />
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I remember the first time I experienced the joy of reuniting. (You have to have lived awhile to get to the point that you recognize the power of reunion.) I was living in Indiana at the time and my high school choir teacher in Washington was retiring. I had been out of high school 19 years. All of a sudden everyone who was in choir was reconnecting. This retirement was big, we had all been touched by this teacher and his life, we all wanted to acknowledge him. I had been knee deep in raising my seven children and had not had a moment to stop and think about high school, let alone the people who were part of my life then. But before I knew it I was reuniting with friends from choir and my high school choir teacher. All of a sudden there were people back in my life who had known me before I was...gasp... a mom. It was a most surreal feeling to hear what they remembered about me and to ponder on how they had affected my life. I really needed it at this time in my life. It really helped me to get some much needed perspective on who I was and where I was going. I was so grateful.<br />
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So in the end even though we know it may not end up to be the best thing we have ever done, going our high school reunion. I it is still so amazing to see what the ending is turning out to be. How can you not want to know what the end is? I loved spending the last two days watching and listening to my old classmates from the class of 1986 form Snohomish high School. To admire what they have become. To marvel at what they are figuring out and how they are learning from hard things in their lives. We are such better versions of ourselves now.<br />
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<br />Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-66223634909201013292016-07-17T13:56:00.001-04:002016-07-17T13:56:26.926-04:00Personal Narrative<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So this week is my last week of my online classes until September. For my last paper I was required to write a personal narrative. This was harder than I thought it would be. I mean I have a lot of experiences that have happened to me that taught me valuable lessons but when it came right down to writing about them I was surprised that most of them I was reluctant to share. Yeah, me reluctant to share? Be sure to make a note of that somewhere. Believe it or not my teacher had to coax me to add more details and dig deeper into the feelings of the experience I chose to write about. When all was said and done it was not my most favorite paper I have written this year but I am still going to post it ...you know for posterity :)</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ever
since I moved into my parent’s home nineteen months ago I have been engaged in a
mortal battle with the gate at the top of their driveway. This gate is the only
entrance into the 6.3 acres my parents own in Cottage Grove, Oregon. This gate
diligently protects 18 years of hard work that has created a Garden of Eden, minus
the Adam and Eve. It carefully protects pruned fruit trees, multiple weed free
vegetable gardens, perfectly trimmed shrubs, exquisitely edged lawns, many
varieties of flowers, carefully laid pathways, rock creek beds, and last but
not least strawberries, blueberries, and boysenberries. My parents have done it
all by themselves, slowly, day after day, year after year, piece by piece; it
is a very peaceful and beautiful sight. The neighborhood deer desperately long
to partake of it, which is what brings us back to the gate. This gate is what
protects those years of hard work from the tame, very entitled, destructive
gang of deer. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This
gate is not the kind that opens and closes on its own. This gate is not the
kind of gate that you drive up to, push buttons, or name drop, and it magically
opens. This gate requires diligence from anyone trying to get through it. It is
nothing short of a laborious process to open and close this gate. You drive your
car to the top of the driveway and no matter what the weather may be, you have
to open the car door, get out, and walk to the gate. Then you need to lift up
the latch, and separate the two sides of the gate. One part of the gate you can
just let go but the other half needs to be set behind the perfectly placed
medium sized rock sitting on the edge of the driveway. It is very important to
make sure that the gate is resting behind this rock because nothing is more frustrating
than getting back in the car all ready to proceed and realize the gate followed
you back to the middle of the driveway and is blocking your way. So once you
are sure the gate is staying put walk back to the car and drive through. Wait!
You are not done yet, stop the car again and go gather the left side of the
gate from its spot behind the rock and bring it back to the middle of the
driveway. This is the moment where you must carefully search on the ground to
find the small inch wide hole in the driveway. This hole is where the long
cylindrical metal part of the gate fits. If it is dark outside do not forget to
grab your flashlight when you get out of the car otherwise you will never find
that darn hole; it blends in perfectly with the gray, gravel driveway.
Sometimes there is gravel stuck in the hole preventing you from securing the
gate but no matter the obstacle you must make sure the cylindrical metal piece
is secure and happy in that hole. Then go get the other half of the gate, bring
it to the middle of the driveway, and slide the latch down on the side that is
already in place. Now trudge back to the car over the frustrating, medium sized
gravel pieces. It is tiring just to write about it let alone do it every single
time you leave the house or come to the house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes
I have teenagers in the car with me that I ask to get out and open the gate. They
hate the process just as much as I do. More than I care to admit it is just too
much work to assign one of my daughters to do it so I just do it myself. Other
times I tell them reassuringly that someday they will be grateful for the gate
and the diligence it is teaching them and I make them get out and open it so I
don’t have to learn about diligence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
really do believe that as our lives go on we will look back and realize over
and over again all the lessons this gate is teaching us. I roll this thought
around in my mind every time I am begrudgingly getting out of the car to open
or close it. Even though I am aware that this gate has so many parallels to
life I can still be found murmuring, being frustrated, and declaring my eternal
hate for it. Diligence is, “Constant and earnest effort to accomplish what is
undertaken, persistent exertion of body or mind.” This gate definitely involves
the words constant, earnest, persistent and exertion. One day I learned what happens
when you are doing the opposite of diligence which is known as carelessness.
The gate finally got me to pay attention to what it had been trying to teach
me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> A few months ago I managed to talk myself into
the okay-ness of leaving the gate open after I drove through in the morning. You
see on weekdays I leave home at 6:00 in the morning. I am often running late
because of my darling teenage daughter who rides with me. So before I knew it I
had convinced myself that soon after I left my early rising, routine loving
parents surely walked down the driveway to get their Wall Street Journal, and
obviously they closed the gate on their way back. For a few weeks I lived this luscious dream of
carelessness. It was so amazing to just open the gate and drive merrily through
without having to stop. No one mentioned what was going on so I figured it was
all good. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then
came that seemingly innocent Friday morning that started with my usual routine
of not closing the gate. It turns out my parents do not get down the driveway
as early I thought they did and the deer had finally figured out the time lapse
and sauntered right through. They destroyed flowers, ate the lower branches of
fruit trees, frolicked in the garden, and snacked on pretty much everything
they could for at least an hour, or two. My vigilant mother never even knew
that they were in the yard until she saw them lounging, with incredibly full
and content bellies on her perfectly manicured lawn without a care in the
world. My poor seventy year old mother had to chase those tame, reluctant to
obey deer out of her yard. I felt horrible when I heard the news. I had made my
parents think I did not care about their hard work and I caused damage to a lot
of their yard. I wished I could take it back. But we all know how well taking
things back works out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
had been trying to call both my parents all that Friday morning and was having
no luck. Finally I received a text from my mother declaring in a most direct
way that the deer had been in the yard and it was my fault. I quickly called
her to find out what had happened and we had a very hard conversation that left
me crying like I had not cried in years. In my whole 47 years I had never
remembered my mother being so frustrated with me. There I was sitting in the
parking lot of my Schwab office in Eugene waiting for my 10:00 appointment with
Rob to move some investments around, sobbing and sobbing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">For
many days after, “Deer-maggeddon” I had lots of questions and berating
thoughts. What was wrong with me? Why did I not want to stop and take the time
to do something I knew was important? Why do we resent things that take our
time? Why was being diligent so hard? I was most definitely a failure at the diligence/enduring
thing. I would have never made a good pioneer. Diligence requires being
constant, attentive, and persistent- all three words that never seem describe
me no matter how much I want them to. It took something very bad happening to
get me to change and now I cheerfully open and close that gate a gazillion
times a day as I take my kids places, go to work, go to the store, and the
church. It is a very small step for diligence in my life. But I feel so much
better doing this the right way. I am so aware that if you want something
protected, kept special and safe in this day and age you have to be diligent
and never let carelessness creep in. Life is always waiting for you to leave
your gate open so that you can be taught.</span></div>
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Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1193708121568514184.post-55104353412155507812016-07-10T14:37:00.003-04:002016-07-10T14:46:23.234-04:00Before and AfterSo for book club a few weeks ago we discussed the book <i>Miss Peregrines's Home For Peculiar Children.</i> In the prologue for the book the author writes this seemingly innocent sentence,<br />
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"Then a few years later, when I was fifteen, an extraordinary and terrible thing happened, and there was only Before and After."</div>
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The reviewer of our book ended our discussion by bringing up this sentence and we discussed it for a little while. Were there before and after's in our lives? Some defining moment? A line? A change?</div>
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My mind has been thinking about this question ever since I left book club. What are the before and after events in my life?</div>
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There is definitely a before I had Reeses peanut butter cups and an after I had Reeses.</div>
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Before I had my first kiss and after my first kiss.</div>
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Before I graduated from high school and after.</div>
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Before I was friends with certain people and after.</div>
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Before I had fresh asparagus and after.</div>
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Before the divorce and after.</div>
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Before I had kids and after I had kids.</div>
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Before I was a school bus driver and after.</div>
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Before I found certain things out and after.</div>
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Before I grew my own potatoes and after.</div>
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Before I knew about M-80 firecrackers and after.</div>
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Before I rode in a BMW over 100 mph and after.</div>
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Before I had a child stay in the hospital for a week and after.</div>
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Before I got my drivers license and after.</div>
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Before I watched Star Trek and after.</div>
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Before I knew about Airbnb and after.</div>
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Before I read Middlemarch and after.</div>
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Before I worked at the circulation desk at the library and after (still sad there is an after to this)</div>
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Before I sat around a fire on the beach and after.<br />
Before I found out that I make the same mistakes over and over again and after.</div>
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So many before's and after's. I seem to not be able to live anything but before and after. These before and after's always change my life, either for the better or the not so better. Sometimes I am not even sure when they happen which way it will go, <b>sometimes it is up to me how they will go</b>. I have been working for the last few months on a silly goal I have made to memorize a poem. It took awhile to find the perfect poem and trust me I did. It is <i>Invictus</i> by William Ernest Henley and I realized as I just told you a few sentences ago that "<b>sometimes it is up to me how they will go</b>" that this poem goes perfectly with that idea....<br />
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Out of the night that covers me<br />
Black as the pit from pole to pole<br />
I thank whatever God's may be<br />
For my unconquerable soul.<br />
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In the fell clutch of circumstance<br />
I have not winced or cried aloud.<br />
Under the bludgeonings of chance<br />
my head is bloody, but unbowed<br />
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Beyond this place of wrath and tears<br />
Looms but the horror of the shade,<br />
and yet the menace of the years<br />
Finds and shall find me unafraid<br />
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It matters not how strait the gate,<br />
How charged with punishments the scroll,<br />
I am the master of my fate,<br />
I am the captain of my soul.<br />
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I am the captain of my soul. I decide. It is a most laborious process to fight some of the circumstances that grab me and try to control what I will become. I have had many chances to be bitter and resentful and angry but I am the captain of my before and after's :) Not near as eloquent as soul huh? :) I am in the process of assimilating and evaluating several brand spanking new before and after's. I now can add to my list;</div>
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Before I was enrolled as a BYUI online student and after.</div>
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Before I filled out my own FAFSA form and after.</div>
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Before I knew I was a "know it all" and after.</div>
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Before I no longer had it all together and after.</div>
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Before I could admit I was dramatic and after.</div>
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Before I realized I was not a priority to someone and after.<br />
Before I was married and after.<br />
Before my kids were affected by a divorce and after.<br />
Before I had a child who I had not talked to for 2 years and....no after yet.<br />
Before I had three children married and after.<br />
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Can you imagine life without the words before and after? It is just not possible. I am sure you got the picture and now you are tormenting yourself with your own endless list of before and after's. You can thank me later :)<br />
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I googled before and after images to find a cute little picture to jazz up this post and UGH never google before and after.....everyone on the planet who has lost weight or had braces or some sort of surgery are all in images. I was thinking of something more rainbow and unicorns like :) Seriously, now there is before I googled images "before and after" and after :)<br />
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Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08913449603878934813noreply@blogger.com1