tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59284142960969307942024-03-13T08:01:24.475-05:00elmering<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/6372053/?claim=meebvpft26n">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05004572598886466257noreply@blogger.comBlogger98125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-42493732829606780232014-12-18T10:31:00.000-06:002014-12-18T10:31:54.992-06:00A Surprise in the Familiar<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes, I will reread a passage in a book or I will rewatch a movie, and it will resonate with me in a completely new way. I'm sure you know this feeling - an unexpected "ah-ha" in a familiar place that can take your breath away. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like this week when I was rewatching <i>The Holiday</i>, I had to catch my breath as <a href="http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0011881/quotes" target="_blank">Arthur </a>made it up the stairs alone. Why? As I watched my 93-year-old grandmother suffering from Parkinson's over Thanksgiving, I saw her determination as she slowly steered her fork towards her mouth, not wanting anyone to notice the effort it took not to spill on her holiday attire and, of course, never retreating to the idea of having someone else feed her. While rewatching </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Holiday</i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, Arthur's determination to take on those 4 stairs felt so real and so Everest-like in the context of my own life, I was teary.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a similar way, I was knocked over this morning by the story of Mary and Elizabeth in<a href="http://www.esvbible.org/Luke%201%3A26-56/" target="_blank"> Luke 1</a>. Yeah, yeah. It's always the same. They're both pregnant with super babies - one, John the Baptist, and two, JESUS. I don't mean to be sacrilegious here, but woah, those are power pregnancies. </span><br />
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<a href="https://www.1000museums.com/art_works/philippe-de-champaigne-the-visitation-ca-1643" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheiBJ_z3X9Ftrv9O20bbaKZs2HfodkjGprTv1SQo-PiUvaFUjIp-paE_QDBzTJeW72BSDAWKj1iL0NE7Ho4ij53Y22ydzpBbdSuCZEdOFXY39U7NMlm0o3zvzvEyEOAJ58Sic1Q-zSUYw/s1600/Mary+and+Elizabeth.JPG" height="587" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyways, I guess that's how I always thought of it. Super women following amazing callings. But this morning, I thought about this pregnant woman traveling to see her cousin for real. I thought about Mary...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A woman who everyone believes cheated on her fiance, a woman who's probably sick in her first trimester, and a woman who knows she has God on her side but who is probably feeling pretty lonely. A woman probably desperate for a friend.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then, there's Elizabeth. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Elizabeth's husband is, well, mute at this point, so that means no encouragement, no conversation, no way of really explaining this whole late-in-life pregnancy thing. Luke 1 also says she hid herself for 5 months. Not to mention, before she was pregnant, they had been dealing with years of infertility. God is doing really cool, wonderful things in their lives, but they are not necessarily easy things, and they're certainly not things I would want to be doing alone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, I am not a theologian by any means, so I'm humbly processing what I read, but it seems to me that God does this really neat thing where He puts these two women together, experiencing really hard, really different but similar things. We know that the Angel tips Mary off about Elizabeth's situation. Then, the minute Mary enters the house, Elizabeth is</span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> filled with the Holy Spirit</i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and she starts not only worshiping God, but also points out the blessings in this crazy situation. And th</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">en what do they do? They start singing! </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Okay, so you're probably like, yeah there's nothing new for me about this story, but I guess this morning I cannot get over the fact that God KNEW how tough their circumstances would be and gave them each other's companionship.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">COMMUNITY. It is a deal-breaker. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Both of these women have recently had experiences with Angels, both of these women are following hard after the Lord's call on their lives, but the gift of each other's company is still a major encouragement. God uses Elizabeth as an instrument of His blessing and grace the moment Mary walks in the door, and having those in our lives that can help us understand what God is doing and point out His goodness is important and awesome. Gosh, the idea is just so simple, and yet so great. Think back to the garden - the only thing "not good" about God's creation before the fall was that Adam was alone. And in this instance, Mary probably can't live with Joseph yet, and she's probably been rejected by most people. So, where does she go in haste? The Lord gives her a confidant in her cousin. Heck, she ends up <i>living</i> with Elizabeth for a whole stinkin' trimester. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe I'm having this ah-ha because of where I am in my life today... Walking with lots of friends through hard stuff, some of that stuff being pregnancies and infertility. Or maybe it's because I'm writing this on the eve of my first year in Rome, GA, and I really do feel like I've have been dropped into an incredible community of people who have made following God's call to live here that much more enjoyable. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Sunday, we had a Christmas party at our house, and friends crowded around our piano to sing. We sang everything from songs about kissing under mistletoe to the good news of Christmas. But as I sat on the piano bench basically shouting the lyrics to familiar tunes, I felt so encouraged to be surrounded by this chorus of voices, evidence of people doing every day life with us. Our singing wasn't the magificat or anything, but reading about Mary and Elizabeth this morning made me acutely aware of the power of our community in our lives. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyways, just had to process these thoughts in writing this morning. As you reread the good news of Christmas this year, I hope you too have a mind-blowing moment with this familiar story. Merry Christmas.</span>Laura Elmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14976016129349817690noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-37815149268098310042014-10-23T11:04:00.000-05:002014-10-23T13:05:27.214-05:00It comes in stages...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you are reading this for insight or wisdom, I'm probably not your girl. I've gotten to a point where writing in this space is therapy, confession, a way to remember and learn from my mistakes. It's a written version of those homemade growth charts. Like sharpie marks on a door frame, I can come back to this space and go, "Wow. I've grown. Look what the Lord has done OR holy cow, every year around this time I'm acting like a chicken with my head cut off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm at the chicken-with-my-head-cut-off stage right now. I know this is a common phrase that people use to describe busy life, but really, it's not the busyness that I'm trying to get at but the idea that my body is in one place and my mind is in another entirely. I find myself driving somewhere thinking so hard about something else that I end up at the wrong place. I make myself lunch/to-go coffee and leave it on the counter. I have a treasure trove of other people's things in my car right now with the full intention of returning them, but when I finally see the person, I totally forget to get that book/sweater/movie/etc. out of my car and hand it over. Not to mention, I have lost both my car keys and my sunglasses this week. Are you getting the picture? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Chicken-with-my-head-cut-off-edness:</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>STAGE ONE - </b>The interesting thing about this version of myself is that at stage one I try to play it cool. I try to pretend I'm that super laid back chick where I'm kind of a hot mess and I'm proud of it. Laura enters, "Hi friends, I'mm hereee (sing-songy)! And I'm a mess and it's hilarious! LOVE ME ANYWAYS. Yesterday, I wore my dress backwards to work accidentally, and it looked awesome. YALL, I actually walked into the boys' bathroom without thinking today. That happened."</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>STAGE TWO - </b>Then, I slowly move from "this is hilarious and awesome" to total self-loathing. I find myself giving that "get your sh*t together" talk in the mirror every five minutes, and then most of my actual conversations with other people consist of apologies. "I'm sorry I'm late... I'm so sorry I forgot...I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry"</span></li>
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<li><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>STAGE THREE -</b> Then comes the darkest of darks, where I feel like a total failure, cry, and bake cookies. I don't actually want to eat them, I just know when I mix sugars and add flour, I can make things come out okay. A last hope for control. </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Chicken-with-my-head-cut-off-edness. Doesn't it sound a lot like a dumb sheep without a shepherd? A human trying to play God? I was brought to my knees in the quiet of the morning when I experienced the most beautiful, foggy sunrise. It was an awakening; a reminder that there IS a God who has a plan and doesn't need me, that I don't have to be the perfect one, <b>that I am not loved for keeping it all together. </b>It made me feel so small and yet so comforted to know that the day is new and the sun keeps on shining whether I do my job or not. I know all these things, but in my </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">chicken-with-my-head-cut-off-edness and pride I don't live like I know them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't know who you are reading this, and you probably never put on your clothes backwards, but from a girl who often tries to control everything - rest in the knowledge that you don't have to be anyone's savior today, tomorrow, or ever.</span><br />
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">PS - If this post had a soundtrack, it would probably be the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2iSQGWpy0qY" target="_blank">chorus of this song.</a></span></div>
Laura Elmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14976016129349817690noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-27584050320486972802014-06-03T18:24:00.000-05:002014-06-03T19:53:20.592-05:00Have you ever felt this?<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes we just do things that don't make sense.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since David and I moved to Rome, we sometimes walk to the grocery store closest to us. Most of the time, it's for essentials like beer and cookie dough, and a stroll can be a nice way to end the day. Today, however, I was just feeling cooped up and hungry, so I decide, despite the look of the ominous sky, it was time for a walk. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have you ever experienced summer rain that feels like relief? I'm not talking about when it's been dry and blisteringly hot outside, but the other kind of pre-storm that feels pregnant with moisture and pressure. Like a lid on a jar that just won't give in, just won't, and then suddenly, it does.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's the kind of rain that makes the whole world feel wet, and the raindrops sound and feel more like a water balloon ambush. This was the kind of rain that started coming down just as I decided to walk to the grocery store. It ran every where, and it was so all at once that the ground couldn't lap it up quick enough. Little puddles were quickly big puddles, and the rain kept coming so hard and fast that soon I wasn't sure what was bouncing off the ground and what was falling from the sky. At first I tried to cover up with my rain jacket, but soon the world was so wet and soggy that the wispy pieces of hair that escaped my jacket were dewy cobwebs across my face. So, I pulled down my hood and bathed in it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It wasn't a cold and refreshing rain, but a steamy one that tasted like the green, summery June it frolicked with. In those minutes, I time-travelled. I no longer worked at a college, paid a mortgage, or cared whether the laundry was put away. I was approximately 9, freckled, and free. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then it was over. The grocery store's </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">fluorescent lights and </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">motion-censored doors released an attack of cold air, and I came to my senses, dripping. A large, middle-aged woman at a nearby check-out counter let out a cackle and hollered over, "Honey, you pick the wr-awww-ng tiiime to walk." "Yes, yes, I did mumbled back," trying to stifle my grin. I had definitely not picked the wrong time to walk. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I began to walk back, pretty waterlogged and now carrying groceries, the novelty of the moment began to wear off, that is, until I saw three children sitting at the end of their driveway sprawled out in the nastiest of puddles. One had a cup and was dumping the water on the other, and they were singing. I waved and yelled, "Y'all having fun?" "YEAH!" They yelled in unison. "Me too," I replied.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From somewhere came giggling, and I looked up at the house to see two mothers huddled in the front door, witnessing all the glee. I waved and they waved back.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And now I sit here, not sure what to make of this moment, but knowing I want to capture it before it's swallowed up as a yesterday. And I know if I say or think too much, it might start sounding like some sappy, made-up country song. But I will say this, it's been a really strange and really beautiful summer afternoon.</span></div>
Laura Elmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14976016129349817690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-32302167302605347402014-02-06T11:03:00.000-06:002014-02-06T11:03:02.611-06:00"What's in a name?"<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Recently, I have written a lot of drafts and not posts. I get halfway through a post and get distracted by a paint job or just the busyness of life. I think my drafts-and-not-posts have also had a lot to do with the fact that I don't really know what to make of this new phase. I sort of feel like I've just come off the tea-cup ride at Disney, and I still don't quite have my bearings. Not to say that I haven't enjoyed the tea-cups. As a matter of fact, I was probably spinning the wheel with all my might trying to make it a more interesting ride. But with that said, I'm still feeling a bit dizzy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or maybe it's the fact that I have been reading a lot of articles out there about blogging and social media that have made me want to be extra careful when considering my motive for blogging. For me, writing in this sphere has always been about telling stories that makes someone else say "me too" or "I'm with ya." I do think that sometimes (like now), I just begin reflecting and try to get somewhere by the end. It's not the kind of writing I was coached to do in grad school, but that's what I kind of love about blogs - the messy, reflective nature of them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, where am I exactly as I write today? I have just moved to a new town and to a new job, and I am back living with my hubby again (<a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2013/03/our-life-tale-of-two-cities.html" target="_blank">full story here</a>). I cannot help but laugh at my ridiculous self as I read back over that list of blessings - job, husband, etc. - and I write knowing that I have been feeling unsettled and fidgety even with all those blessings in tow. The fidgety part is probably just a case of the January/Februarys, but what is the rest? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After walking through shifting communities a few times now, I have come to recognize a serious craving in my nature. I like to be known. Not just the "Hi, how are you" kind of knowing. I like for people to know my name, to know my history, to really <b>get me</b>, to recognize my worth. I don't think this is an introvert vs.extrovert struggle really. I just find myself saying the same thing on the phone to long-time friends, "I just don't want to do freshman year of college conversations over again."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And maybe this is not one of those moments where all readers are saying, "Yeah, me too. I totally get that feeling." But let me put it this way...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will never forget going to the Titanic exhibit when I was 12 years old. I had heard about the unsinkable boat that sank, but at 12, I still wasn't sure what the big deal was - boats and planes crash. But at the beginning of the tour, I was given a passport of a little girl just my age to walk through the story of the Titanic with. I touched the iceberg as this little girl. I saw her living quarters and her toys. And at the very end of the tour, I looked for her name among the survivors. It wasn't there. I was stunned. Mary Burns had not made it. I began to cry for a long lost girl I never knew. Maybe you have been to a similar exhibit where an unfathomable tragedy was made personal with a name. It really begs us to ask Shakespeare's tragic question, "What's in a name?" And I guess too, we see life experiences so differently when we walk through them with someone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Throughout history and literature, names are repeatedly significant. It's what has people searching for their family trees, and it's what keeps people "name-dropping." It is what's so endearing about nicknames and knowing your best friend's middle name when other people don't. Names hold cultural significance and intimacy. There is really something to knowing someone and being known.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it is this very fact that makes a God that searches and <i><b>knows</b></i> me so very comforting; a God that has "written my name on the palms of His hands." And I guess that's where I've been headed all along tonight; I am working on resting in the comfort of a God who knows me and has plans for me instead of feeling the need to find my identity in being "known." Truth be told though, I think <i>Cheers </i>might have been on to something:</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And they're always glad you came</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You wanna be where you can see our troubles are all the same</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>You wanna be where everybody knows your name.</i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just a little food for thought.</span>Laura Elmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14976016129349817690noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-87096261298370366572013-09-25T20:19:00.000-05:002013-09-25T21:17:00.487-05:00A shout out.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWgHiJNFf18sIaVRZoD_u1hUzvg-nOVIGNjFt7-8jrontdMIJXLobScoghENgn5wBW7JrG_rn0KCRKrfHHSfpVh1NaiHzQUK6ctG4RqxXM-gfdtiZmmixWlgJtCzcqBprQpbEdW1pDL6s/s640/rain.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">By <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/8495857@N04/3391215195/in/photolist-6aES8v-5um7bK-aQZ5Mx-cttjch-bxKwRg-4yhTk4-2nnYEb-9deCWb-fAMzJY-a9WgeR-5keikR-7V9mid-55ounL-bjQFsA-ccdrvf-8XWb8G-FLAt1-697g4B-dSAuPu-L9Vuw-Lab2p-6SaWBJ-dReFB-Afm7r-cX56Vq-fh9Ser-9XQTX4-9nCuH-7355g2-uv9vu-94Haa7-a9A2qu-5TceBF-58hKCa-5ZJ4GP-5YybWq-bjZk-RYz8h-6DGwDW-6qnJPZ-5QqRqq-8GtRXX-8kFmzZ-6AXjG6-g3bqDy-9SQukm-4KDUw2-ah26bG-fc2Ad2-7yjhfv-aDKLrg" target="_blank">Sarah Horrigan</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have you ever had one of those moments that seems quite normal at the time, but as you look back on it, it becomes unforgettable? I have this one simple memory that I keep reliving from the past few weeks. A friend of my came over for the afternoon for a good, long walk. We hadn't gotten to hang out one-on-one in awhile, and we had both been going through a lot, she more than I. But this was the amazing thing, even in the rough road she was facing, she was quietly listening and encouraging me as we strolled. After walking for a bit and talking my guts out, I suddenly realized how selfish and one-sided the conversation had been. I began to apologize, but my friend stopped me and began telling me a story: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"One day," she said, "my mother was sitting in a hospital with a sick friend, and she was going on about how horrible my teacher was at the time (or something to that effect). And suddenly, just as you stopped, my mother stopped talking and burst into tears, 'Listen to me rambling about teachers when you are battling cancer,' mom cried. And Laura, do you know what her friend said? Lying there sick in bed, my mom's friend said, 'We all have our cancers.' So, don't apologize - <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2013/09/an-update.html" target="_blank">this</a> is your cancer right now."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was astonished. What grace and <a href="http://maryannacaldwell.blogspot.com/2013/09/its-ok.html" target="_blank">empathy</a> to understand and care about my mole hill next to her mountain! And as we continued walking and talking, unexpected dark clouds rolled in and unleashed their fury upon our walk. The downpour had a movie-like quality, mimicking our unbridled emotions and making the moment feel so private. We were completely separate from the world, only able to hear each other in the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fgjmc_n_CsM" target="_blank">shroud of rain.</a> And then it eased up as quickly as it came. We both began to laugh. We had walked through the rain like it was sunshine, almost unknowingly, and our clothes stuck to us, hanging heavy and unflattering. Whatever this was, it was friendship; it was a God-send. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, now a shout out to a girl who really knows how to love people well and who has just started her own blog chronicling, ironically, a very different kind of walk... Check out <a href="http://maryannacaldwell.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Keep Walking</a>: The Story of Mary Anna Caldwell by <a href="http://maryannacaldwell.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Kari Caldwell.</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I guess too this is a blog to say, treasure those little memories and the sweet nuggets of wisdom that come from friends. I certainly don't do that often enough.</span></div>
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Laura Elmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14976016129349817690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-76747621023306382012013-09-24T17:23:00.000-05:002013-09-24T17:23:28.531-05:00An Update<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's funny to write a post on a blog that was created to <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2010/10/truth.html" target="_blank">tell the story </a>about two people beginning life together, and now, after 3 years, it's a the same story with a new chapter - those same two people <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2013/03/our-life-tale-of-two-cities.html" target="_blank">living apart</a>. I haven't written in awhile because I haven't known what to write. I think I've been trying to process this whole <i>only-get-one-coffee-cup-out-of-the-cabinet</i> lifestyle. But I decided tonight that sometimes the best way to process is to write:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i></i></span><br /><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i></i>
So, I'll start with the question, "How are you?" It's a question that I've had a hard time answering recently. I can't even believe it, but David will have been living in Rome, Ga for 6 weeks as of this coming Friday. And maybe the weirdest part is that I'm still figuring out "how I am." There are days where I miss him, all of him - piles of clothes beside the bed that he swears he will rewear tomorrow, <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-snapshot.html" target="_blank">impromptu concerts in pjs</a>, and bike parts everywhere. And there are days when I'm frustrated, almost jealous, that I'm not with him, but these feelings are a lot more complicated than just feeling sad or lonely.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbHdccTSPVbJ5H7ca1qYWqnLD3PH-d9zcxxszPl5BW-H__s19EZ2IN7bHtxaB0r8Ug9RaVm3m7WT7GQaJfjw1wYaxsrR-YqLNjCIS8392DTO6SdoVK2GUC35nTdIkouJCfJutrSiY2PI/s1600/David+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbHdccTSPVbJ5H7ca1qYWqnLD3PH-d9zcxxszPl5BW-H__s19EZ2IN7bHtxaB0r8Ug9RaVm3m7WT7GQaJfjw1wYaxsrR-YqLNjCIS8392DTO6SdoVK2GUC35nTdIkouJCfJutrSiY2PI/s320/David+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coosa River Bridge at sunset</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And maybe the truth is that I haven't really been sad or lonely. As a matter of fact, I think there's a part of me that's been feeling more guilty than anything - guilty that I haven't been sadder or lonelier. Satan has a weird way of twisting the peace that the Lord gives into something else. I have these ridiculous thoughts like, "You're not lonely? You must be a terrible wife. You must not love him enough. BE LONELY!" How in the world does peace turn into such turmoil? I know it's not true, but I hear this small, sick voice in my head every time someone says to me, "I bet you're SO lonely. I don't know how you're doing it." I should smile and respond, "Some Jesus, exercise, </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">New Girl, </i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me,</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">" but I always feel too guilty to admit that loneliness has not been my biggest struggle this far.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Okay, so if I'm not feeling lonely, maybe you are wondering what I am feeling. I think for the first time in 6 weeks I have an answer to those </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">how-are-you</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> questions. As I sit here trying to express it, I'm realizing I never could have guessed that I would feel this way. The truth is, more than anything, I think I feel empty. I'm empty, spent, bedraggled. The whole thing feel like an endless game of tag where we are running back and forth saying, "You're it!" And in that quick moment where we catch each other, it's wonderful and fun, but the rest of the time I feel like I'm running around trying not to get caught by the rest of life, trying to catch up to the next Friday when I can stop the world again to be with David. I guess that actually makes David more like "home base."</span><br />
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It's funny though, when I wake up late on these Saturdays, all lazy and snuggly, I feel whole and satisfied. It's almost like I don't realize how I feel during the week until I'm back with him feeling like the "real Laura." Then, I look back at my week, and it's like I see things clearly. I was happy all week, but there were pieces of me missing. My <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2010/10/this-is-my-life.html" target="_blank">jokes</a> didn't land because I wasn't telling them to David. I wasn't sure about my shoes with my outfit because he was not there to nod in approval before I headed out the door, and I can't blame the fact that Louie ate something AGAIN on David this time, because, well, he wasn't there. It was entirely my fault haha.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And as I write this half-smiling, half-teary confession, finally able to put my finger on it, I realize again that THAT is why I married him. It would be stupid to say that I could not live without him. I did for 19 years. But being apart has helped me remember why I married him, why I didn't want to spend another day without him, why he is my best friend. And as cheesy and mushy as this damn post is turning out to be (cuss words = less mushy, right?), I really do understand at some new, weird level that marriage makes two people one. </span><br />
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So, how am I? I'm good. I'm feeling a little like I'm running on empty, and I really miss my best friend, but I really am alright. Oh, and by the way, I can't wait til Friday. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">----</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">PS - Sorry for few and low quality pics these days. It's just not how we're spending our time.</span>Laura Elmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14976016129349817690noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-40785151117214791492013-07-06T17:09:00.000-05:002013-07-06T17:09:23.348-05:00#Nofilter<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why do I always talk about the same things? </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do it. Every time.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm at a wedding, a shower, a bar, a restaurant, etc., and I start asking those questions... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"How's the job? What'd you do today? What's new? How's so-and-so? What's new with them? Have you seen that new show? Did you see that new movie?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not that these are bad questions and not that they couldn't lead to good conversation, but over the past six months when I have had really <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2013/03/our-life-tale-of-two-cities.html" target="_blank">complicated answers</a> to those very questions, I've found myself attempting to make up really short answers. Why? Because somewhere deep down I tell myself that the person asking doesn't really care about the complicated stuff going on with me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And here's the even stranger part. When there IS nothing going on, I try to come up with a more exciting answer. It's true. The fact that I went home after work, watched an episode of <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1475582/?ref_=sr_1" target="_blank">Sherlock</a></i>, and made tacos/pizza again, just doesn't seem interesting enough. What is this bizarre struggle that echoes through my social interactions? </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLaFZm-3FWFxW2vUlwiTOSDfbuz34CxEv1dk6zZzmQEvUUXDaLPg2MEbz2LrHmu75aBLlHfmrhD-agMs_V50h2hIUiE8Fi-HXbgzMtnIfinAZwmnztD86JkcWxViN2ucdl-8GDVD4SkrE/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-07-06+at+4.38.09+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLaFZm-3FWFxW2vUlwiTOSDfbuz34CxEv1dk6zZzmQEvUUXDaLPg2MEbz2LrHmu75aBLlHfmrhD-agMs_V50h2hIUiE8Fi-HXbgzMtnIfinAZwmnztD86JkcWxViN2ucdl-8GDVD4SkrE/s320/Screen+Shot+2013-07-06+at+4.38.09+PM.png" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why do I downplay the hard parts of life, and then feel like I have to make those peaceful moments when life isn't a drama-filled episode of <i>Days of Our Lives </i>more interesting? I admit it. Last night, we played cards and watched <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0193676/?ref_=sr_1" target="_blank">Freaks and Geeks</a> </i>on a Friday night. It was fun, but probably very boring to an outsider. And then, I proceeded to <a href="http://instagram.com/laurabelmer" target="_blank">Instagram</a> a wonderfully filtered picture of my dog lying on the cards. Was it because it made our evening look a little more interesting? Maybe not, but you get my point (PS - Read <a href="http://www.relevantmagazine.com/culture/tech/stop-instagramming-your-perfect-life" target="_blank">this</a> too).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I reflect on this, I wonder, "Why do I feel the need to live a life that is exotically-interesting and perfectly normal all at the same time?" I know this life does not exist. I know that everyone has ups and downs and in the middles. And I expect these ups and downs and middles from others, and yet I try to make my life fit this weird mold when sharing with them. I'm reminding myself of a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=15QuHygLwFU" target="_blank">Wemmick</a> (Never heard of a wemmick? It's from this <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56728.You_Are_Special" target="_blank">children's book</a>).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, hold that thought for a minute. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've started a book club. (Do I get interesting or boring points for this I wonder?) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've always wanted to be in a book club, but when I started one I had no clue what to do. I did a little research, got some tips from Oprah, and voila! <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/105845-bookish-friends" target="_blank">Book club!</a> We're only reading our <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15810860-call-the-midwife" target="_blank">second book now</a>, but I realized as we sat through our very first meeting why I wanted to be a part of a book club so very badly. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Books are really the lives of others clothed in paper and binding, and when we sit around talking about a life that is not our own, suddenly, we are <i>drawn </i>to talking about our own experiences. As we read, we try on other people's stories, like borrowing clothes from a friend, but we still see the world with our personal perspective. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, there we were, a group of women who sort of knew each other, friends of friends and such, and we were talking about <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1331653.Salmon_Fishing_in_the_Yemen" target="_blank">our book</a>. We laughed and recounted our favorite parts, but what struck me most was that we seamlessly moved between serious and fun conversation. The pretend marriages of a few characters had us openly talking about our own relationships whether we hated or enjoyed the book. That's what I loved. I don't know if it was the book we read or if it was the women in the room, but we moved past the, "How's the job? The job search? The baby? The new house?" and got to laughter and honesty.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, back to the original thought, or really, the same thought behind the book club. I want to stay there in my daily conversations; a place of honestly sharing stories, a place where there's no pressure to impress or suppress. That's where real friendship grows. I'm not asking people to "get serious" all the time or weep their hearts out. I think I'm just asking for <b>unfiltered.</b> The real question will be whether I can live up to my own challenge. </span><br />
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<br />Laura Elmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14976016129349817690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-12563740035339614252013-04-29T00:20:00.000-05:002013-07-06T17:09:43.253-05:00A Snapshot.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8i8olQ_fk_djSRw8FnrChk5X-PYUucQ7EjYWJGGrYgFLz5iDuoV31AfgLWUszVDv8lQlOM_68ysSalkxAbzum5E4OA5mZDE4CW1-pLuLaP7tfK_42FFMUPUVs_3qTmHJNZEWK14u1cI/s1600/photo+%25285%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8i8olQ_fk_djSRw8FnrChk5X-PYUucQ7EjYWJGGrYgFLz5iDuoV31AfgLWUszVDv8lQlOM_68ysSalkxAbzum5E4OA5mZDE4CW1-pLuLaP7tfK_42FFMUPUVs_3qTmHJNZEWK14u1cI/s640/photo+%25285%2529.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #181818; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #181818;">David has a far from empty garage
without a single car in it, and nights when I sit working on my computer, he
often disappears to his land of hobbies. David collects projects like stray
cats. Three of the six bikes that hang from the ceiling of the garage
were "rescued" and "nursed" back to health. Among the bikes
are tools of every shape and size, bits of wood he's scavenged, and an
assortment of other random treasures that one day he might make into
something. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #181818;">Since we've lived here, many interesting <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2011/03/diy-cornhole.html" target="_blank">creations</a> have emerged
from the man-cave: a clock made of bike parts, a bedside table, and tonight, a
refurbished guitar. It was a guitar he found in a closet in his parents' house,
and it was missing most of the front pieces, all the strings, and it was
scratched to hell. But after an hour of piddling, he came tromping back in the
house grinning from ear to ear, declaring he'd drilled holes into it until it
was playable. "You've just got to hear this wonderful, trashy sound,"
he said as strummed, marching around the room.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #181818;">Now, he sits in the other room, tuning, picking, and writing
melodies that fit the personality of this new guitar. We don't need a new
guitar, and the guitar is far from new, but I can't let go of that image. It's
such a wonderful snapshot of David - sweaty, covered in dust, grinning and
coaxing sweet nothings out of a no longer broken guitar. He is like that. He
can dream up beauty. Make something out of nothing.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #181818;">One of his closest friends likes to tease me when I start
writing like this, always saying, " I bet that <i>means </i>something
doesn't it, Miss Writer." So, yeah, I think in analogies - cars are
freedom - <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2010/10/blanks-walls-and-leaves-on-ground.html" target="_blank">leaves</a> are change - etc. etc. In a way, I'm making something out of
nothing too, but here it goes:</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #181818;">As we live our lives in turmoil, in transition, in loss, in
uncertainty, I take comfort in that grinning man who saw the broken guitar not
for what it was, but for the instrument it could be. What a picture. Even in my
chaos and brokenness, I am not a <a href="http://www.esvbible.org/2+Corinthians+4%3A7-18/" target="_blank">wrecked instrument</a>. I won't beat the analogy
to death here, but the man that walked in my door tonight strumming a guitar
reminded me a whole lot of another Creator... Oh boy, now Creedence Clearwater
Revival is filling the house, and David will probably kill me for writing this
post haha.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #181818;">It's a little more than an instagram, but it's a snapsnot of my thoughts and the
Elmer house tonight.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Laura Elmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14976016129349817690noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-55764982651114834502013-03-28T07:56:00.000-05:002013-03-28T11:57:32.578-05:00Our Life: A Tale of Two Cities<br />
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span id="goog_1439502344"></span><span id="goog_1439502347"></span><span id="goog_1439502353"></span><span id="goog_1439502357"></span><span id="goog_1439502361"></span><span id="goog_1439502362"></span><span id="goog_1439502365"></span><span id="goog_721493240"></span><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjchnAEi0V0N3daFJo09XpXibI2agEEY-fqWOTeq4_llvbqbXHzsxskqXR-0GLVmOblwAobbd-oszAot4ISdDe462szs7_vcBQ6EH3clx05t2n44AUnXs4NPUoMmB6F11oFlyCAk58e-EM/s400/AL:GA.jpg" width="400" /><span id="goog_721493241"></span><span id="goog_1439502366"></span><span id="goog_1439502359"></span><span id="goog_1439502360"></span><span id="goog_1439502358"></span><span id="goog_1439502354"></span><span id="goog_1439502348"></span><span id="goog_1439502345"></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Once upon a time, I finally decided to graduate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Fact: I have been in school since age 2, meaning that 23 years of my life have been spent in a classroom. And in all of this schooling, I have been blessed not to have to work any kind of real world job outside of my school or University while studying. I have taught classes, worked in offices, but never had a "real" job, and that's all about to change. <i>This is a story about very real jobs.</i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In case you missed the background story, David is in his fourth year of a PhD program in <a href="http://elmerdj.wix.com/portfolio" target="_blank">Kinesiology</a>, and I am in my third year of a English Master's program, both headed towards graduation. And both headed towards the job market (dun-dun-dun). As many other graduates have, we felt the pull of the "big, black hole </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">of not knowing"</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> looming before us, and we were constantly asking ourselves, "Where do we go next? What do we do? And how do we do it together?" As we talked about what we would do this past fall, we decided that David would begin applying for jobs to be a professor first, and I would wait to apply for jobs until we heard where he was headed, </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">but then something interesting happened.</i><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I had been very invested in a project at Auburn, and the project was hiring a faculty member. I was encouraged to apply with the notion that it would be "good practice." The job was a faculty position, one I never thought I would be competitive for, but from the very beginning, it was a job would have been honored to have. I made it through the first round of interviews and was on to the second. Suddenly, I realized I was really applying for this job. David was still furiously applying every where and his process was much slower and much more frustrating than what I was experiencing at Auburn. Still, he encouraged me to go through second round interviews especially since this was the only place I was applying.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Interviews ensued and then we waited. Really we were waiting to hear from colleges David had applied to... I honestly didn't think I would get this job. <a href="http://wireeagle.auburn.edu/news/4983" target="_blank">And then I did</a>. When I answered the phone, I was so shocked I could hardly speak. I couldn't figure out whether I was happy or sad. This was wonderful, <i>but it wasn't the plan.</i> </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Unlike me, David was cheering and hugging me, so proud. This man - brilliant - talented - worn out from human research and hearing silence, at that moment, on the job front - was gleeful. And I, on the other hand, could only think was, "What does this mean?" </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">After much prayer, council, consideration and of course, <span id="goog_721493246"></span><a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2011/03/interesting-afternoon.html" target="_blank">tears</a><span id="goog_721493247"></span>, David encouraged me to take the job. Then, right before I had to make the decision, suddenly he received his first job nibbles. I panicked. What would we do if David was offered a job too? Should I just forget this opportunity? And why did having an opportunity feel so similar to the giant black hole? Still, David couldn't imagine asking me to turn down a job that I would love and that would change my career for only the possibility of a job. So, following his lead, I signed all the papers... Only a few weeks later David was offer a job at as a professor at <a href="http://www.berry.edu/" target="_blank">Berry College</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Now this is where the story gets interesting.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNEJH5P3jFAQogU-8M_2AoV4YPo71jESUxlf-y78ShLz1kypH2iGx_zddjC2PUDE1dBLV-Y9foks4SYIQ-XVtcJ82u12Fw3F9BM_gm1mwAhlgxoJxzYhIzgvZ3kQUAGw2B8g1-9Lp-CyY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-03-27+at+11.21.08+PM.png" 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/AVvXsEiNEJH5P3jFAQogU-8M_2AoV4YPo71jESUxlf-y78ShLz1kypH2iGx_zddjC2PUDE1dBLV-Y9foks4SYIQ-XVtcJ82u12Fw3F9BM_gm1mwAhlgxoJxzYhIzgvZ3kQUAGw2B8g1-9Lp-CyY/s320/Screen+Shot+2013-03-27+at+11.21.08+PM.png" width="317" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">{David off to interview}</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He had been so happy for me. He had been so strong and encouraging. I had to rejoice with him even though it meant major changes in our lives. I knew this was a possibility. We had talked these scenarios in circles until we were reciting the same conversations over and over. And this is where we are today: one foot in Rome, GA and one foot in Auburn, AL starting in August.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So, this is the other context for coming back to the blog - To process this new stage of life. To document is exciting/hard/interesting/</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">challenging/crazy/chaotic adventure we are about to embark upon. Two new jobs, two new cities, and two people who truly believe they are one (cheesy but whatever). We will be living in both Auburn and Rome, traveling back and forth, seeing each other 4 out of 7 days. To those of you (especially the families of flight attendants, academics, construction workers, those traveling in ministry, doctors, etc.) who have encouraged us that we can do this and have endured similar situations, I thank you. And to those of you for whom this is news, pray for us. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>And there's one more little secret.</i> I'm writing partially to confess my insecurities, to admit that I'm nervous about not appearing to be the "perfect happy couple." It's hard to explain this situation at a baby shower or a Saturday night wedding. Our jobs have become deep, complicated, personal conversations. But if I'm even more honest with myself, aren't most situations deep, complicated and utterly personal? Feeling the need to seem perfect is not a new struggle for me. And I wonder if I am really alone in feeling the need to have a short version of my life story to tell at weekend parties. Isn't your life a little bit more complicated than where you work or what you're up to these days? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So, once upon a time, there was a tale of two cities... It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I guess we'll see. Welcome to a very different phase of "Elmering" and thanks for reading.</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: xx-small;">--</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: xx-small;">Image from: <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/100345897916958117/">http://pinterest.com/pin/100345897916958117/</a></span></div>
Laura Elmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14976016129349817690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-34506934131871865042013-03-24T16:19:00.002-05:002013-03-24T22:56:18.866-05:00Back in the Game<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg64gC90u93f2NgZ6Vbl0KFLtfd4qPKvBz7SueL1l3loj3PeYZK6skfDtr_NQkmSvOFyw2hlSstddlWlkTIMQD1EpM3pjNhGJTQ2hLNoj5Vgqtj69tiXN4sKoJJJqZ3ttWdv42JDS4AeYg/s1600/DSC_0547.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg64gC90u93f2NgZ6Vbl0KFLtfd4qPKvBz7SueL1l3loj3PeYZK6skfDtr_NQkmSvOFyw2hlSstddlWlkTIMQD1EpM3pjNhGJTQ2hLNoj5Vgqtj69tiXN4sKoJJJqZ3ttWdv42JDS4AeYg/s640/DSC_0547.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Lately, I've
been wondering whether I should begin blogging again, but there has been one
thought that often kept me from writing, "What's the point?" I began
to ask myself, "Why exactly did I blog? Is this a narcissistic exercise in <i>let me tell you about me</i>? And who exactly am I writing to?" Considering the many blogs out there,
I realized I do not belong among the experts, the advice-givers or the internet
excavators, so again I had to ask myself, "What is this space
exactly?" And as I pondered this, these were the words that led me back to
the blinking cursor: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"We write to taste life twice, in moment
and in retrospection." (Anais Nin) <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">To taste
life twice - that's what blogging has been for me over the years. I recently
came back to this blog after receiving a very odd email. I was notified that my even <i><a href="http://donteattheflowers.wordpress.com/?ref=spelling" target="_blank">older</a></i> blog had received a comment from a
London advertising agency asking permission to use a photo from my wedding. I
clicked on the blog to see which photo they were inquiring about, but I soon
found myself rereading my experiences leading up to getting married. The entire
experience was like flipping through an old yearbook, laughing at bad haircuts
and remembering old crushes. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the same, but it was
fascinating to watch myself grow through a blog. As a matter of fact, I ended
up jumping to an even older and uglier <a href="http://laurabarron.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">blog</a> from my time in Spain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">“<i>We tell ourselves stories in order to live…
We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a
narrative line upon our disparate images, by the ‘ideas’ with which we have
learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience.”
(Joan Didion)<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">After
finishing <i><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1898.Into_Thin_Air" target="_blank">Into Thin Air</a> </i>(quite a
story), I haven’t been able to get this quote out of my mind. As the quote describes, stories help us
make sense of our lives; help us connect with one another (see <i><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/196430.The_Truth_About_Stories" target="_blank">T</a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/196430.The_Truth_About_Stories" target="_blank">he Truth About Stories</a>)</i>. But are they
stories if they are never told? So, I’ve decided that when I have time, I will
go back to telling our story. And the audience will be – well – whoever wants
to walk along side us. So, here is a promise of more entries, but with a
cautionary note: I am not a designer or artist, a poet or prodigy; I am no
expert at all. I am simply a humble collector of moments, and you've stumbled
upon my keepsake drawer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And there may have been one more reason I decided to start blogging again, but I'll have to save that story for next time...</span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Laura Elmerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14976016129349817690noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-84364131159338224582012-03-01T11:28:00.000-06:002013-03-25T06:58:52.565-05:00NEED YOUR HELP!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If you know me, you know I love to read and write. But what you may not know is that my romance with reading and writing is not academic-based. Although I have officially spent 6 years in school studying reading and writing, my love for books began when I was very young.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But it was not so much the thinking or the written words that I was in love with. I was in love with meeting new people (characters), traveling without ever leaving a room and seeing the world in ways I never had before. I was in love with the way <i>The Giver </i>showed me everything wasn't black and white, the way <i>Matilda</i> talked back to authority (like I was afraid to do), and the way <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2010/11/friday-see-you-at-midnight.html" target="_blank">Harry Potter</a> helped me understand love and sacrifice.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But what if you had never read a book or had the opportunity to? Would your life be different? Someone once told me (probably quoting someone famous), "You are the same person you will be in five years except for 3 things: the people you meet, the places you go and the books you read." I know this has been so very true in my own life, but what about you? Well, these kids you're about to meet can hardly get their little hands on a book much less have opportunities to travel and meet people they've never met before. So, think about how you could help change lives with the click of a button:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/zm0M3yL5Sp8" width="420"></iframe></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If you are interested in getting books in the hand of these kids, there is a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/registry/wishlist/2P4A7EN6INYPZ/ref=cm_wl_sortbar_v_n_page_3?_encoding=UTF8&page=3" target="_blank">wish list</a> online through amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/registry/wishlist/2P4A7EN6INYPZ/ref=cm_wl_sortbar_v_n_page_3?_encoding=UTF8&page=3" target="_blank">WISH LIST</a>, put five books in your cart (5 books sponsors 1 kid), copy and paste in the shipping address below and click buy! They will be under my friend, Megan Forrester's name, who will be working on this project over her spring break. Then, go fill out <a href="http://tinyurl.com/75xh9as" target="_blank">this quick form </a>so that <a href="http://www.ms223.org/labschool/" target="_blank">MS 223</a> can keep up with the amount that's been donated. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>The written word changes lives. Don't you want to be a part of that?</b></span><br />
<blockquote type="cite">
<div>
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">MS 223<br />Mr. Ohl - Shoebox Library<br />360 E 145th Street<br />Bronx, NY 10454</span></i></div>
</blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">*For more information, email me @ laura.barron.elmer@gmail.com</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-7724550576533033532012-02-26T23:43:00.000-06:002013-03-25T06:58:31.520-05:00Obsessions...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here are some things I'm really liking today if you're in a clip-watching mood:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1) The cutest, tiniest printer in the world</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/32796535?byline=0&portrait=0&color=ffffff" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="400"></iframe></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://vimeo.com/32796535">Hello Little Printer, available 2012</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/bergstudio">BERG</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2) An inspiring list.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/24302498?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="400"></iframe></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://vimeo.com/24302498">29 WAYS TO STAY CREATIVE</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/tofudesign">TO-FU</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3) And this voice...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YYkrtSp8baE" width="560"></iframe></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Enjoy and Happy Sunday! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-48851043653434123822012-02-14T11:11:00.000-06:002013-03-25T06:58:08.964-05:00Hunger Games Valentines & "Slogging"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE6XVbHGVWtDzgdlEi8ui-Z6goTDJ29eD6woDcaMA-Og9O3oCSLdJaaeNmDjdQVX7eZyMioAC9VxYCfRv-SlIzgnV48Mxli5Exkeo3u4Hp6axt5MPYTQw-u4es3rTnhXBZasbwS2seKhA/s200/Screen+Shot+2012-02-14+at+10.48.16+AM.png" width="119" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdbNyZ3lqy_DF-cRBh6YkUbw6UxZnRGNF7gM4A8UNNideWRLyyPHA1VZHXLI8N-MoXqwrhG6HO_c8QpR74LZ7wPy7m2tyy_SIqfh_9mDlUNCLqhKpQdr-IfijZxEqEoi_WJiRxG3BmX2c/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-02-14+at+10.48.06+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdbNyZ3lqy_DF-cRBh6YkUbw6UxZnRGNF7gM4A8UNNideWRLyyPHA1VZHXLI8N-MoXqwrhG6HO_c8QpR74LZ7wPy7m2tyy_SIqfh_9mDlUNCLqhKpQdr-IfijZxEqEoi_WJiRxG3BmX2c/s200/Screen+Shot+2012-02-14+at+10.48.06+AM.png" width="116" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEV2lmQudlmUop5O4gnlUvL6U7qc1f-CSQIN0G6taRRe6zOKPLkRrW-u5P_yeZxugvkKK831C-HgrfU63MqaahnrIKqn8l5nRBmyDyRFF5gG7rN5H1qciqjhyUgj-W4s44ck94QLLnwf4/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-02-14+at+10.48.38+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEV2lmQudlmUop5O4gnlUvL6U7qc1f-CSQIN0G6taRRe6zOKPLkRrW-u5P_yeZxugvkKK831C-HgrfU63MqaahnrIKqn8l5nRBmyDyRFF5gG7rN5H1qciqjhyUgj-W4s44ck94QLLnwf4/s200/Screen+Shot+2012-02-14+at+10.48.38+AM.png" width="119" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXxZihxA3MILZhjeU53DSfAU_gR56y0l6JewHAfrqs5QfmWpHFxh_id2iBH8eTnOq3QYCZoA3Jr8o16FxQUCAWxtY1WWFwxhVo3BwYPwsy_FVUBt4ta_swByX_6QgUHYZXcwwSo260WOA/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-02-14+at+10.48.48+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXxZihxA3MILZhjeU53DSfAU_gR56y0l6JewHAfrqs5QfmWpHFxh_id2iBH8eTnOq3QYCZoA3Jr8o16FxQUCAWxtY1WWFwxhVo3BwYPwsy_FVUBt4ta_swByX_6QgUHYZXcwwSo260WOA/s200/Screen+Shot+2012-02-14+at+10.48.48+AM.png" width="127" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">(<a href="http://butthorn.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Just for fun</a>)</span></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have recently learned the term "Slogger," and I'm pretty sure it exactly defines me and my recent blogging habits (Thank you, Jennifer). I admit it - I am a slow blogger (or slogger), and it has been forever since I wrote a real blog about the Elmer household, but the truth is, recently, I have felt guilty about spending time blogging because there is always something else I should be doing (like grading papers or maybe reading the two articles I have left for my 12:00 class). However, I truly don't mean to write to complain, but to explain my sloppy, slogging habits. Forgive me, and here for your enjoyment is a pretty accurate diagram of the life as a Freshman Composition Teacher: </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi88dFh0aONJtZYHsMpOzKRhNu7_fgnZJ903ubArc6mXohf4xd8X0szsxKeF_XniKb-OR3zsxNcVhLShp6vViGbcFuGR6TPfANsq8_kUUjHLKs7wV5875ew62YFkRhh7Z3vSzmKVLTNiNg/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-02-14+at+10.15.32+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi88dFh0aONJtZYHsMpOzKRhNu7_fgnZJ903ubArc6mXohf4xd8X0szsxKeF_XniKb-OR3zsxNcVhLShp6vViGbcFuGR6TPfANsq8_kUUjHLKs7wV5875ew62YFkRhh7Z3vSzmKVLTNiNg/s640/Screen+Shot+2012-02-14+at+10.15.32+AM.png" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I especially think 1, 5 and 6 apply, and #1 in particular since now I'm officially on "Rate My Professor," which can only lead to no good. However, other than school, life at the Elmer house has truly changed. There is a new member of the family...</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCyVXMDoDsTDwTrga50zzAzyGLK-bfy4Fak5g9ur51gyZsJOEB1PKxHqHIFCPcJt29DuieU1FhctdGcwWj904ltfJbw-RZBNewO7uQ2Pq0gA3RNjyBEMYw-HQ15cdkP2TUYt6YSXWUmv0/s1600/DSC_0207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCyVXMDoDsTDwTrga50zzAzyGLK-bfy4Fak5g9ur51gyZsJOEB1PKxHqHIFCPcJt29DuieU1FhctdGcwWj904ltfJbw-RZBNewO7uQ2Pq0gA3RNjyBEMYw-HQ15cdkP2TUYt6YSXWUmv0/s320/DSC_0207.jpg" width="214" /></a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Meet Louis, adorable dog who thinks hair dryers are delicious, who can actually detect farts and who loves to turn off the lights...<i> if only we could get that last one on command I think I'd have a new topic for my sustainability students: </i><b>Energy-saving dogs! </b>Louis is a <a href="http://animal.discovery.com/videos/dogs-101-brittany.html" target="_blank">Brittany</a> who helps David teach frisbee and keeps me awake while I read Shakespeare. He's been a blast and will definitely lead to interesting stories in the future. Well, anyways, better head back to work! I might be a slogger, but I'll try to promise a little entertainment now and then. If you're spending Valentine's Day at desk, celebrate with one of my recent addictions, <a href="http://8tracks.com/" target="_blank">8tracks</a> (free iPhone app too) where there's a "<a href="http://8tracks.com/mixes/valentine's_day" target="_blank">mix tape</a>" for every occasion. Have a Happy <a href="http://8tracks.com/mixes/valentine%27s_day">Valentine's Day!!</a></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-60163694063949152452011-11-09T23:44:00.000-06:002013-03-25T06:57:52.140-05:00Streets of Gold?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBuU7cNkIJMfy5sopTiPZYgICEBZ7AuWLWOY5BNppzvPYoFqrWWxFgBdxoyVbWTf2TwOIgC8BErbP38vl0OnTUARhrITNdt0VyM1dKgz5uO2h-4ylqrnZk0VgopHcXCEtJe3Cg73yQNyk/s1600/DSC_1296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBuU7cNkIJMfy5sopTiPZYgICEBZ7AuWLWOY5BNppzvPYoFqrWWxFgBdxoyVbWTf2TwOIgC8BErbP38vl0OnTUARhrITNdt0VyM1dKgz5uO2h-4ylqrnZk0VgopHcXCEtJe3Cg73yQNyk/s640/DSC_1296.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">seeking the successive autumns. ~George Eliot</span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-55129847068297742982011-11-06T17:59:00.000-06:002013-03-25T06:57:26.400-05:00Proud Flesh<div align="center">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This weekend, I had the pleasure of hearing a poet named Jane Hirschfield speak. As she read one of her poems, one of the images in a line stuck in my mind, and I have been thinking about it ever since I heard it. <i><b>Proud Flesh</b>. </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The poem reads, </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and see how the flesh grows back</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">across a wound, with a great vehemence,<br />
more strong<br />
than the simple, untested surface before.<br />
There's a name for it on horses,<br />
when it comes back darker and raised: <i><b>proud flesh</b></i>,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">as all flesh<br />
is proud of its wounds, wears them<br />
as honors given out after battle,<br />
small triumphs pinned to the chest --</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(<a href="http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20439">For What Bind Us</a>)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Not being a horse person, I did not know exactly what it meant, but frankly, it sounded beautiful. But truth be told, it sounded beautiful because I knew I myself have proud flesh, outside and in. When I was a kid, I loved to tell the stories of my battle-scars; I thought of them as life-trophies.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But then I thought of my<i> other</i> proud flesh, the scar tissue of my hardened heart, the locked closets of my soul. Those were the callouses that kept me from believing the promises of the Gospel sometimes, and those callouses gave me a right (in my head) to keep people at a distance. Suddenly, thinking about it this way, <b><i>proud</i></b> seemed to be the perfect word for my flesh. That was when I googled the term. I had to know what proud flesh really was, and let me tell you, it is not pretty. Proud flesh is a horrible disfiguring for a horse, and it can significantly lower the animal's abilities. Wow, their proud flesh was just like mine - hard to get rid of, stubborn and crippling.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, why are we so attached to our scars? Why do we let them define us? Why don't we want healing sometimes? Why are we so proud? Unable to answer my own questions, I was reminded of Jesus's words in <a href="http://www.esvbible.org/John+5/">John 5</a>, when He looks at the crippled man and asks, "Do you want to be healed?" </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For years I've read that verse and thought Jesus was crazy for asking. Of course he wanted to walk, Jesus! And yet, here I am, clinging to my proud flesh, not sure I want to walk... are you scarred too?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"And I will give them one heart, and a new spirit I will put within them. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I will remove the heart of stone from their flesh and give them a heart of flesh." </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(Ezekiel 11:19 ESV)</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-46286695239551397162011-10-12T00:18:00.000-05:002011-10-12T15:01:00.549-05:00Hello World!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_RtOl931-lBi7bEu1JMy1GYSZtExaAwN8nq-MnGI2qjUmFEuWs4nxq7RYe_dSs4hxs-erh0HwYxqG7PEo8GsCWKZ5komVjOLUjMLea-1FsX7SFWP9PDpSzTRZ3g2fShLkG101QBJrM4/s1600/DSC_0520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_RtOl931-lBi7bEu1JMy1GYSZtExaAwN8nq-MnGI2qjUmFEuWs4nxq7RYe_dSs4hxs-erh0HwYxqG7PEo8GsCWKZ5komVjOLUjMLea-1FsX7SFWP9PDpSzTRZ3g2fShLkG101QBJrM4/s640/DSC_0520.jpg" width="425" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_RtOl931-lBi7bEu1JMy1GYSZtExaAwN8nq-MnGI2qjUmFEuWs4nxq7RYe_dSs4hxs-erh0HwYxqG7PEo8GsCWKZ5komVjOLUjMLea-1FsX7SFWP9PDpSzTRZ3g2fShLkG101QBJrM4/s1600/DSC_0520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Well, hello blog world! It has been awhile - almost three months - since I've seen you. And honestly, at the moment there is no reason I should be writing to you. Maybe it's that 5-hour energy drink I took or just the need to feel in touch with the outside world, but here I am writing while I still have 11 papers to grade.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The past three months have been wonderful, but full to the brim with student emails, papers and glorious freshmen drama (a teacher's bird's-eye view of it). Not to mention, weekends full of football and weddings - Oh, how I love a southern fall! But I am here to say - and if I say it, maybe it will come true - I will be back soon! Right now, this is where I am sitting day after day. But soon enough, I will make time to record the entertaining/sometimes-boring/rarely-slow/ever-changing happenings of the Elmer household. So ta-ta for now, and no, I am not dead. Blogging - it's on that 'I want to-do' list by my bed along with other fun things like: carve a<a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2010/10/happy-weekend-winter-is-etching-spring.html"> pumpkin</a>, buy a "bouquet of freshly-sharpened pencils," collect <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2010/10/blanks-walls-and-leaves-on-ground.html">fall leaves</a>, write some letters, and listen to that new <a href="http://www.npr.org/2011/09/25/140640429/first-listen-ryan-adams-ashes-and-fire?sc=fb&cc=fp">Ryan Adams CD</a>. One day.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The desk may look wild, but there's a strange organization to it. <i>Notice</i> the wrapper of the inspirational godiva chocolates, Real Simple and Pecans strategically placed to entice me to finish my work, green pen b/c students think red is scary, and a watch to remind me how much time I've wasted. Good-night!</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-83601844539100247002011-08-16T22:35:00.000-05:002011-08-16T22:35:39.040-05:00Food for thought:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJHMNqWQZurIzYz-uFHfXtQKy_haNjoye71vjCKpjOcEaexTsj66qY6cXYlxEy_s0r_W5dcu4OgOHCXQDm5pG0MA-aie8hSPGBD8gP_CeDj91_7IhIE6LaVRD2Eaqf12cHqVM3b20IYOI/s1600/saltwater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJHMNqWQZurIzYz-uFHfXtQKy_haNjoye71vjCKpjOcEaexTsj66qY6cXYlxEy_s0r_W5dcu4OgOHCXQDm5pG0MA-aie8hSPGBD8gP_CeDj91_7IhIE6LaVRD2Eaqf12cHqVM3b20IYOI/s1600/saltwater.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJHMNqWQZurIzYz-uFHfXtQKy_haNjoye71vjCKpjOcEaexTsj66qY6cXYlxEy_s0r_W5dcu4OgOHCXQDm5pG0MA-aie8hSPGBD8gP_CeDj91_7IhIE6LaVRD2Eaqf12cHqVM3b20IYOI/s1600/saltwater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><i><a href="http://www.elementsofstyleblog.com/2011/07/shingles-stripes-and-salt.html">image here</a></i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-88108203196671873292011-08-15T08:10:00.000-05:002011-11-07T11:04:12.361-06:00Camp Elmer: Night Two<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Written a few days ago...</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">almost</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> disastrous night among the ferns, David and I were off the next day after coffee over the fire and some strawberry-sprinked pop-tarts (awesome, I know). And I must say, the day was pretty fun, but not too eventful. Beautiful sites, a few snakes, a bunny or two... David swears he saw a black bear cub in the distance at one point. But probably the most eventful happening on the hike was the creation of our trail names. Apparently, every </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">serious </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">AT hiker has some sweet trail handle. So, of course, we spent a few hours debating our trail names. They went from John Smith & Pocahontas - David, of course being the wilderness guide, Pocahontas - to Budweiser Hat & the "braided fury" - to Daddy Long-legs and Black-eyed Susan (Notice: David was very into "themes" - characters, 'things-on-our-heads' - and nature names). </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Finally, we made it to camp pretty worn out. However, night two we stayed in a very different campsite. It was a spot called "Wolf-laurel Overlook," and it was at the very top of one of the mountains. The ground was soft, completely flat and grassy until it hit the rocky ledges overlooking the surrounding valley. After taking in the view and just lying on our backs for a while in the grass, we set up camp: the tent, a much needed clothesline for our sweaty </span><i><s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">socks</span></s></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><s><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">shirts</span></i></s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> everything, and a big fire to cook some Ramen noodles over. As we remade our life from the night before, I was struck by how unbelievably beautiful our new location was. There wasn't a bubbling brook, and it wasn't quite as secluded (for we were literally on top of the mountain), but the view was stunning and the air was refreshingly cool.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(View of camp)</span></i></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mqje8O9HdWMwKWc5ESC64KI429ZgICByucWZCRg8xxx1-grMlxM2JdLxekr1HC8lvRPmsNHqeYslQMmqecRekYAh5hxcy-sCFPgFntVipRzQ5OQ2fFrKPqWx-co0otsbo6q1kP3zh8g/s1600/CIMG0062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mqje8O9HdWMwKWc5ESC64KI429ZgICByucWZCRg8xxx1-grMlxM2JdLxekr1HC8lvRPmsNHqeYslQMmqecRekYAh5hxcy-sCFPgFntVipRzQ5OQ2fFrKPqWx-co0otsbo6q1kP3zh8g/s640/CIMG0062.JPG" width="640" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>(View from tent)</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_9061M-wexgm0w6g70Ng9amxtYesvjSBhz-Mrv8s10Y-pJrTVXzjRQfqf7868NQbAffzwB-21Frh19elW5EWvgNtFcW7ja9X9quMyvHoy94oSf460ffFrINT41SgSVxJELqzDKZLIPk/s1600/CIMG0068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ_9061M-wexgm0w6g70Ng9amxtYesvjSBhz-Mrv8s10Y-pJrTVXzjRQfqf7868NQbAffzwB-21Frh19elW5EWvgNtFcW7ja9X9quMyvHoy94oSf460ffFrINT41SgSVxJELqzDKZLIPk/s640/CIMG0068.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As I sat eating GORP (good ole' raisins and peanuts) and playing scrabble on the rock face </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(we're nerds, I know)</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, I looked into the valley and out at the other surrounding mountains and thought, "Where were we yesterday? Where was that little fire and vicious rain storm?" And I was suddenly struck by how happy I could be in such <b>different</b> places. I had gone from a luscious, green gap to a windy rock face, and I couldn't make up my mind which was better. Looking back now, it is a great picture of our lives. So often it's hard to leave a certain moment/period and turn the page, but if we had stayed in that valley forever, we would have missed the beauty of the mountain top. Not to mention, a key part of the journey was the scrabble-playing, Ramen-eating, fire-</span><s><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">breathing</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></s><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">making partner by my side. So, I guess I'm ending Camp Elmer - Night Two saying this: Hiking truly is the most amazing analogy for living, nearly perfect for an anniversary. And don't be afraid to leave your valley because the hike may be hard, but the mountain top is beautiful.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqMbAs2eN2SFNoAIl6TtyTrVESaZNfaAezfstO93HX3m-YdlqxJSCodzhPZDybNKpCM4fAEAgMNKdoyq34btR-kkpFbPllpfm0Tgg68FPNSidvf1rrZ9qV5aBSKhn77sL6hvcR5pNi09Q/s1600/CIMG0020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqMbAs2eN2SFNoAIl6TtyTrVESaZNfaAezfstO93HX3m-YdlqxJSCodzhPZDybNKpCM4fAEAgMNKdoyq34btR-kkpFbPllpfm0Tgg68FPNSidvf1rrZ9qV5aBSKhn77sL6hvcR5pNi09Q/s640/CIMG0020.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> PS: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Did I mention we were sore? We woke up wishing someone/anyone would come rescue us in a helicopter, so we wouldn't have to walk the last two miles. Pitiful. We also woke up in a cloud. I guess that happens when you're sleeping on top of a mountain...</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-61505670400106091552011-08-09T13:16:00.000-05:002011-08-09T13:16:03.130-05:00Fern Gully<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEo-vcoR0FhBZ-EJj78TlzRlO9khvg91gFWdnc0v_nAsvZ3A8cOG8qck3s0JHdjDBjc3srj7v0vE0z2leqgAUfGqMs-cWo_DMA4XvudsP4risUayi2QXHJE3een_6kp9TklmdAKYAb0kw/s1600/CIMG0053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEo-vcoR0FhBZ-EJj78TlzRlO9khvg91gFWdnc0v_nAsvZ3A8cOG8qck3s0JHdjDBjc3srj7v0vE0z2leqgAUfGqMs-cWo_DMA4XvudsP4risUayi2QXHJE3een_6kp9TklmdAKYAb0kw/s640/CIMG0053.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3 days on the trail means 2 nights camping, and in my opinion, making camp is the very best part of "camping." The first night we were out in the woods, we hiked down into a gap between mountain peaks. Imagine tall trees scattered about a valley carpeted by baby ferns, but the trees themselves acts as the pillars holding up the ceiling of leaves - this was our gap. There, in between the trees, I felt like children in a gigantic room playing house. It was beautiful, secluded, cool, and as the wind came and went, it made all the miniature ferns nod up and down simultaneously so the whole forest looked alive. In the living carpet, there was a clearing just the right size for a tent beside a fire ring left by other hikers. And a step from the clearing, a stream trickled down gently cascading rocks (more to come about this water). In all seriousness, it looked like something from a fairytale.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixc3GC-pZqoG96hdr43pwPqYzUf_IidD-xowmaSnPvXmJT-zS6XTX6Sa1zgoJDnowEu00ibO761gNM4sVIwjgI59NWSGG6HYE78igAwUYolcaVkqCmZ2FXh1WgAtOLvU1tgMb-zd6I8YQ/s1600/CIMG0055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixc3GC-pZqoG96hdr43pwPqYzUf_IidD-xowmaSnPvXmJT-zS6XTX6Sa1zgoJDnowEu00ibO761gNM4sVIwjgI59NWSGG6HYE78igAwUYolcaVkqCmZ2FXh1WgAtOLvU1tgMb-zd6I8YQ/s400/CIMG0055.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, when we started off to bed, we decided to leave the rain tarp off our tent because, without the tarp, our tent is entirely see-through. When we turned off our flashlights, we could barely tell we were inside a tent and felt a part of the magical gap. After awhile, we fell asleep this way... until the howling began. The howling and the thunder. I awoke suddenly to heat lightening filling the sky over and over, encroaching thunder and some horrible creature crying (which David thinks was a coyote). Then, it hit me, no rain tarp meant we and <b>EVERYTHING</b> we owned and had to carry for 2 more days were about to be <i>very</i> wet. I frantically shook David, and we, very confused, half-asleep, half-dressed, stumbled around in the dark desperately trying to put up and tie down our tarp. And I kid not when I say literally seconds after we ducked into our tent, I thought the second flood had begun. Our tent swayed with the weight of the water, and the rain roared in our ears. We even thought the wind pulled up one of our stakes, but later found out a branch fell on the tent nearly hitting us. Safe, dry, cuddled together, we fell asleep taking turns giving each other back-rubs as the rain pounded the tent. Needless to say, we were two very fortunate people - dry and uncrushed. Night one is Camp Elmer.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-37723899910382053952011-08-09T01:04:00.001-05:002011-08-09T01:39:20.023-05:00Happy Trails.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLuVLX4CiTvylTuaG1U5FoYpATH7Ye1ZYMFGcog2Iur0WEve0MWX02GVdM1fac3dxrQOYxRGcdJT8yms5T-sQyVJKmjyz6ezqEv3O9NAGN3m9YwYOrqYxxZlTHrf9mhpmqybHuNn1ULas/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-08-09+at+12.17.32+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLuVLX4CiTvylTuaG1U5FoYpATH7Ye1ZYMFGcog2Iur0WEve0MWX02GVdM1fac3dxrQOYxRGcdJT8yms5T-sQyVJKmjyz6ezqEv3O9NAGN3m9YwYOrqYxxZlTHrf9mhpmqybHuNn1ULas/s640/Screen+shot+2011-08-09+at+12.17.32+AM.png" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>"There will be uphills. There will be downhills. And there will be glorious views. Only cling to what you need most, and best of all, stick to the plan until the plan sucks."</i></span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I wish I could say this is the wisdom I have learned over my first year of marriage, but instead these were the words that were coming out of my mouth after three days backpacking on the Appalachian Trail for our one year anniversary. 1342 ft. elevation increase, a little over 20 miles, 3 mountains, and heavy packs - that is what we conquered in three days. And yet as I sit here thinking, trying to decide which stories to tell, trying to put into words 3 days without the world - no phones, no internet, just nature and us - I am at a loss for words except for those first ones. Because, in fact, they do sum up the first year together brilliantly. Hiking is just us walking step-by-step together, and we can only see a little trail ahead. We remind each other, "Look left - look right; don't miss the beauty all around by staring at your feet or the incline." We were dirty, we were </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">tired, and we were happy. There's so much more to tell, but for now this seems appropriate:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbXYX2ekWiL_Kj9QiZTagd30EHRmsOikGwycgOdULa80NlHSDMYKVSGvOkVhMPBZhP0T69f-GcBT48oymKmfup7gTcHG1fX5SLxUDZpsr_daX7Rjl4_BgYFdM6BdkdqmOg3jy876KMzo/s1600/CIMG0033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbXYX2ekWiL_Kj9QiZTagd30EHRmsOikGwycgOdULa80NlHSDMYKVSGvOkVhMPBZhP0T69f-GcBT48oymKmfup7gTcHG1fX5SLxUDZpsr_daX7Rjl4_BgYFdM6BdkdqmOg3jy876KMzo/s640/CIMG0033.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>"There will be uphills. There will be downhills. And there will be glorious views. Only cling to what you need most, and best of all, stick to the plan until the plan sucks." </i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><b>Words of hiking or marriage? Take your pick.</b></i></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-60062033227062317682011-07-31T20:59:00.001-05:002013-03-23T15:46:43.863-05:00A YEAR AGO:<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Today, I looked back at my calendar from a year ago, and this was written in July: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(By the way, a week from today - ONE YEAR OF MARRIAGE!)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4F5lsGsdx4qvU2BUezuzZn4Kvs0NV5sZHG_OofRQ56au47suGc0X-Iq6j2EUL1KO_BTXq2hCBPmtCKXVNvW0z1indM0rak9zrQcjo7zRHGoZc9v7FA2KGeV57XgRyGNFdQGYzTtXpEuA/s640/DSC_0360.JPG" width="640" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="http://donteattheflowers.wordpress.com/2010/07/05/love-shack-baby-love-shack/">Moving EVERYTHING</a> to Auburn (Annie and me playing in the tissue paper hehe).</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0x1CE7nhcZMPgzWqZd4lA0Nv2YKA9T6vmU5SQqTAwTYDUjSrJ2KbaHrKf8ftcysTjTxGcodFcbZ78RbRfyCGqaMuESUql0HhrnnvanQ3HsTpByUMpGxjRWJDaHPmnMVCrdbhWzm5CyI/s1600/DSCN1782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0x1CE7nhcZMPgzWqZd4lA0Nv2YKA9T6vmU5SQqTAwTYDUjSrJ2KbaHrKf8ftcysTjTxGcodFcbZ78RbRfyCGqaMuESUql0HhrnnvanQ3HsTpByUMpGxjRWJDaHPmnMVCrdbhWzm5CyI/s640/DSCN1782.JPG" width="480" /></span></a></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwrKM18wgtxhFs4CUpELSpIc13vCSI2ZVf4W9dYrF3XXpHkAoOEAGQmEb9UvVKfoaXsPg72OL7z-SpjMH_GwsRzEvB5_yTqzneVe1QEIEPMFEQZrVUrpiXB8-DqRve3yTSJzao3wA-5XQ/s640/DSCN1794.JPG" width="480" /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">FINAL DRESS <a href="http://donteattheflowers.wordpress.com/2010/08/30/prepare-yourself/">FITTING</a>!!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC_ULSUTBmwOv4FCCEY_Yg0g1g_zAs5bKc3LqmcbyDzhyT_zEHcwXJbESxOIqCg-NdAyDwmHOQ0rj7fWB4cnVm7yYPAqiC_TSaonjpH1tbFxVGSWekr21Yr3u9qy5Ldo7OxsNI7yKG8tc/s1600/P7240933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC_ULSUTBmwOv4FCCEY_Yg0g1g_zAs5bKc3LqmcbyDzhyT_zEHcwXJbESxOIqCg-NdAyDwmHOQ0rj7fWB4cnVm7yYPAqiC_TSaonjpH1tbFxVGSWekr21Yr3u9qy5Ldo7OxsNI7yKG8tc/s640/P7240933.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">AND the <a href="http://donteattheflowers.wordpress.com/2010/08/01/bachelorette-wkend-in-a-nutshell/">Bachelorette Weekend</a>.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I just cannot fathom that it's almost been a year since we got married, and I must say, I wish I could do it all over again; Good thing I get to keep walking through it with friends. As cheesy as it is, this quote about memories sums it up:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the things you are, the things you never want to lose." </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Wonder Years</span></i>)</span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-58796230278246566282011-07-29T11:58:00.001-05:002011-07-29T12:01:52.095-05:00A Dark Little Secret.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIUWgQVFCnoaz0_PUgUS0dVBK5Pxyg18D3bSWcfJFKlKMXhuaZQDt4_dejvbTe0PHrc-1LU7pOJ2Q2jCGOQ2K33ChxxSx6cGFBgH8TpPiXY-nURe9SpgHCJZOQzTYynllYlTT8xcqXBk/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-07-29+at+11.37.17+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIUWgQVFCnoaz0_PUgUS0dVBK5Pxyg18D3bSWcfJFKlKMXhuaZQDt4_dejvbTe0PHrc-1LU7pOJ2Q2jCGOQ2K33ChxxSx6cGFBgH8TpPiXY-nURe9SpgHCJZOQzTYynllYlTT8xcqXBk/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-07-29+at+11.37.17+AM.png" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I will never forget the first time I held one in my hand. It is the strangest feeling in the world, holding a piece of something that is a part of such lore and terror. But then, when it rests on the palm of your hand, tiny and overlooked by so many, it feels all at once like you're in possession of a dangerous secret. </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sharks teeth. </span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Like four-leaf clovers and shooting stars, these dark treasures are something you can miss entirely if you don't know how to look for them.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Every summer when my family goes to the beach, my dad wakes up early and walks the beach at low-tide to find them. Usually he has success at the water's edge where broken shells have washed up. Because shark's teeth are nearly impossible to break, they are easy to find there amidst the shards of ocean life. He will squat in the surf, and brush his fingers through the shell pieces and sand until he sees the gleamy treasure. Dad will return with a handful of teeth; Each one, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">shiny and strong, no bigger than a nickel.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But the best part of the treasure hunt is the awe. Throughout the week, dad will collect the teeth in a bottle. When our trip ends, often he gives his loot to a kid. When children see the teeth, its always the same. Their eyes glow, and they cautiously touch the sharp, black teeth - slightly afraid. They look at Dad and back at the teeth, completely in awe of him. And I think that's just it - to hold what makes a shark so powerful, and yet it is so small and powerless - it's confusing, it's bizarre. But really, it's perspective. What is danger? What is death? The ocean, <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2011/07/coastal-dreaming.html">ever-moving, ever-changing</a>, washing up reminders of life's cycle onto shore. I want to live with those awe-filled eyes.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5s-WcI0StMIpmcgSvNHbNaMQ9E-e8MXjPY8IrgM2hFbOS7exdfeorz3iVT0pYR48vRqD9BsbJKGed8141C4ZjbPTks2nbZ8IZqaoVxktlEOD9w84YZdShr6ySmF4rNSzYam45qy73vM/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-07-29+at+11.36.54+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5s-WcI0StMIpmcgSvNHbNaMQ9E-e8MXjPY8IrgM2hFbOS7exdfeorz3iVT0pYR48vRqD9BsbJKGed8141C4ZjbPTks2nbZ8IZqaoVxktlEOD9w84YZdShr6ySmF4rNSzYam45qy73vM/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-07-29+at+11.36.54+AM.png" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-pictures </span><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79922724/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">here</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://myrevelment.com/post/8153461501">here</a> - <i>we're home from the beach</i> - </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-77336337771416325432011-07-25T23:14:00.000-05:002011-07-25T23:14:13.316-05:00Heat Wave.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeJQEnsnSccRya-ftQddagjE-hAT8IYGHXnNPvyhTpBI2ZC96bHiySPZTr__hpSS1wkp9nQoOtxD6Sd3sBhOmjONBYSkDE83opUPWb88NsjbsDmXgaWYbuvWjZsIBoKLgZU5Bg7J72Ako/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-07-25+at+10.47.33+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeJQEnsnSccRya-ftQddagjE-hAT8IYGHXnNPvyhTpBI2ZC96bHiySPZTr__hpSS1wkp9nQoOtxD6Sd3sBhOmjONBYSkDE83opUPWb88NsjbsDmXgaWYbuvWjZsIBoKLgZU5Bg7J72Ako/s640/Screen+shot+2011-07-25+at+10.47.33+PM.png" width="471" /></a></div>
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((<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/79987018/">here</a>)) </div>
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Feels like 112. That's what my computer has been telling me before I walk out the door in the morning, but Alabama heat is more than just a temperature; it is a presence:</div>
<ul style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<li>"... like walking through gauze or inhaling damaged silk."
—
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6942.Pat_Conroy">Pat Conroy</a> </li>
<li>"... like an obscene phone call from nature. The
air - moist, sultry, secretive, and far from fresh - felt as if it were
being exhaled into one's face. Sometimes it even sounded like heavy
breathing." —
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/197.Tom_Robbins">Tom Robbins</a>
(<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1105831">Jitterbug Perfume</a>) </li>
<li>"Summer in the deep South is not only a season, a climate, it's a
dimension. Floating in it, one must be either proud or submerged." —
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/272718.Eugene_Walter">Eugene Walter</a>
(<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/476518">The Untidy Pilgrim</a>) </li>
<li>"Somehow, it was hotter then. Men's stiff collars wilted by nine in the
morning. Ladies bathed before noon after their three o'clock naps. And
by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frosting from sweating and
sweet talcum. The day was twenty-four hours long, but it seemed longer." —
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1825.Harper_Lee">Harper Lee</a>
(<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/3275794">To Kill a Mockingbird</a>) </li>
<li>"Mississippi (or the south) is like my mother. I am allowed to complain about her all
I want, but God help the person who raises an ill word about her around
me, unless she is their mother too." —
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1943477.Kathryn_Stockett">Kathryn Stockett</a>
(<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/4717423">The Help</a>)
</li>
</ul>
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Sweet, southern summer. My hair sits on top of my head allll afternoon long, like tangled bramble, and I end the day eyes-closed in an ice-cold shower til I'm covered in goose-bumps. That'll keep me just cool enough to fall asleep under the humming fan. How are you beating the heat?</div>
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-16743048869944221942011-07-19T00:32:00.001-05:002011-07-19T00:36:40.599-05:00What I learned at Midnight.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_lAHzHYSbV6FnTrmyYLBcd_yat3sb_4l-plOKpTbkbFBtU_psZwCT6r_RzBf7OfTQdHqP7y8IgNgJzQbufpq3Sa-iXTlTljJmHGB93uqsbNvOzlJyWutYB41x2HqDS3NxoM_3dRpafGM/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-07-19+at+12.19.33+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="388" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_lAHzHYSbV6FnTrmyYLBcd_yat3sb_4l-plOKpTbkbFBtU_psZwCT6r_RzBf7OfTQdHqP7y8IgNgJzQbufpq3Sa-iXTlTljJmHGB93uqsbNvOzlJyWutYB41x2HqDS3NxoM_3dRpafGM/s640/Screen+shot+2011-07-19+at+12.19.33+AM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">"<a href="http://www.wordle.net/">Words</a>," said Albus Dumbledore, "are our most inexhaustible source of magic."</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">(The last Harry Potter post, I swear!!!)</span></div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5928414296096930794.post-74590357137792241852011-07-14T12:37:00.000-05:002013-03-23T15:52:15.648-05:00Mischief Managed.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />So, I have never claimed to be perfect, but since I have revealed a lot about living with David, I figured it was time to do some confessing of my own ...</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sometimes I barely make it out of my pjs before David comes home for lunch. I'll rush to put on clothes when he says he's coming home so I look like I've been productive all day.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I act like I like a really clean house, but typically at the end of the day the den is full of my scattered shoes and books.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And when I do clean things up, really I just hide them. We keep losing things because I've "cleaned them up </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">so well</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">." The truth is I keep shoving things in weird places only to find them two months after they are needed.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sometimes, I end up cooking a "three course meal," but this does not mean what you think. It means first the meat or main dish is ready, so I make David eat it before it's cold. Then the side dishes finish, followed finally by the rolls. I just can't get my timing down. </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And finally, this confession may make some say "duh," but I am a little bit of a drama queen. Example: All along I have been "okay" with going to see <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2011/06/office-decor.html">Harry Potter</a> </span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">not</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> at midnight <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2010/11/friday-see-you-at-midnight.html">this time</a>. "Logically" it would be cheaper to go to the matinee the next day. "Logically" it would be easier not to fight the crowds. But suddenly, yesterday morning, I was in tears because never ever again would there be a midnight showing of Harry, and I wouldn't be able to tell my children I celebrated </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the last Harry Potter at midnight </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">with the world. Truthfully, I wanted to fight the crowd, cheer when the movie began, the works.</span></li>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So, tonight we will <a href="http://elmering.blogspot.com/2011/05/whats-all-hype-about.html">fight the crowds</a>, pay too much money and celebrate! And here's the truth: I'm not very clean, I'm not a great cook, and sometimes, I may be slightly illogical, but I sure am thankful for David who puts up with me - </span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mischief Managed </span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">:)</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2