tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53567582638040133782024-03-05T12:19:47.402-07:00Life's Casual ObserverLiving Life "out loud" requires taking off your blinders, opening your eyes and heart, and allowing your senses to experience everything life throws at you. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-83316592316335284542015-05-06T17:17:00.003-06:002018-03-22T10:17:05.549-06:00The Path<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
I already have about three stories (future books) going at once, but when an idea for a new story rushes through my brain refusing to leave until noticed, I have to start writing. Here is a new piece of writing that will turn into a full blown story soon. The working title is <b><i>The Path</i></b>; I have to wait for it to name itself. The good news is that it won't stay this dark. It's about hope, healing, and the power of friendship and love.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</span></div>
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It always happens
when everything seems to be going well, when everything is “right” and good.
That’s when the depression grabs hold with both fists, latching on to the
neurons in my brain with such force as to block out everything else worth
thinking and feeling. I’ve tried in the past to hold on to the positive and
happy thoughts, but they melt away leaving only a faint residue of hope behind.
Life had been better these past few weeks. I found a job, an apartment, and a
new friend all in the matter of a few days, but that’s when everything turned
as sour as a rotting lemon. I might as well sprinkle some salt on for good
measure. </div>
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The self-doubt and
loathing settle in and take comfort in my misery. The more the hate builds, the
more comfortable the depression. My mother’s voice comes back to me often,
“Just think happy thoughts.” Her voice is sweet and confident. Her resolute
determination to fix me with those simple words is like acid being poured on my
bleeding heart. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Just go to hell!</i> She
has no idea how damaging those simple words are. She doesn’t know depression.
She has never had intimate dates with despair or kissed its hot, hungry lips.
She has never lost herself in the depths of its soul-searing gaze or had her
body succumb to its devouring touch. She has never nestled in its warm,
welcoming embrace to have all reason melt away and vanish, leaving a vacant
soul behind.</div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">So many times I
walk in a haze of dark loneliness. I stumble along the sidewalk oblivious to
all around me but the shroud of darkness that looms above my head and lingers
around my heart. I know what he wants. I know what he is demanding of me. He
wants me to tell his story.</span><span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">How do
I do that when I don’t even know my own? My story began years ago and has been
a tangled mass of here and there, regrets and hopes, pain and joy, but when
will I see it take shape in linear form.</span><span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">My path has been a tangled labyrinth of single events detached from the
continuity of a life story.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-81028546119646508252015-03-07T12:53:00.002-07:002018-03-22T10:17:05.448-06:00A little phrase that can cripple a piece of writing<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I have been reading <u>Stephen King on Writing</u>. This
fascinating book has brought attention to my overuse of certain phrases. Mr. King suggested the use of William
Strunk Jr's and E.B.White’s <u>The Elements of Style</u>. I owned a copy when I
attended college twenty-seven years ago, but I gave it away thinking it would be superfluous after graduation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Yesterday, traveling through Georgetown, Colorado, my kids
and I stumbled upon a book sale at the Georgetown Library.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being huge book fanatics, we couldn’t
pass up the opportunity to browse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> My plan was to simply browse and resist the urge to buy. </span>We
left the library an hour later with a new collection of 40 used books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Depositing our treasure in the car, we continued
on our way to Denver. It was a long 13 hours before we were back home and able
to browse through our collective trove. My prize, of the 13 books I purchased,
was a third edition <u>The Elements of Style</u>. I devoured the 85 pages in
two hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read and reread
sections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took mental
notes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I revised my manuscript, <u>Lost
Among the Trees</u>. What I discovered was a dreadful overuse of the term “a
little”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Slow down a little!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“…that made navigating a little easier.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“I had a little more breathing room.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“…closed in a little tighter.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Uneven steps made climbing a little more difficult.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“This dream was a little different from her usual…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">To be more concise I revised each sentence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Slow down!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“…that made navigating easier.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“…closed in tighter.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“Uneven steps made climbing more difficult.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">“This dream was different from her usual…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The revisions are more concise and direct. I am far from completing the revision process. I am even further from completing the manuscript, but I'm loving the process.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I love the progress
I am making in my writing. Thank you, Mr. King, William Strunk Jr., and E.B.
White. A refresher in elements of style will continue to strengthen my writing.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-72275036628106494522015-03-01T19:48:00.000-07:002018-03-22T10:17:05.340-06:00A Dilemma I'm happy to have<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">This Blog is going under renovation. Right now! This very moment! </span><br>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">From today forward, <b>Life's Casual Observer </b>Blog is forevermore my writing blog. I will create a new blog for <b>In Life Art Studio</b> that will showcase my art, provide thoughts on the art process, and present random writings about art in general.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">As a youth and young adult, I loved to write poetry. As I've grown older, life writing and fiction have become my devices for expression. I love to write.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">These past several months, I have started writing three different stories (Yes, three). Taking advice from published authors, I know that writing every day is critical to improvement, but even more so is reading volumes upon volumes of books. Reading; however, has become somewhat more difficult lately. I will be reading along in one of the three books I'm reading (there might be a pattern here) and suddenly have an idea for one of my own stories slap me in the face so hard, that I have to write the idea down immediately. Needless to say, I'm not making a lot of progress in my reading. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My daughter, Shenandoah, and I went to the public library recently. I had no intention of checking out a single book, as I was already reading three. Books just seemed to jump off the library shelves into my arms and I departed with 8 volumes of various genres! How many have I read? Half of one book. I now have a library fine due to the 8 volumes collecting dust on the piano in my living room. I do have great intentions, but suck at follow through.</span><br>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I keep thinking that I need to focus on one story, but the ideas come randomly and one idea leads to another for a totally different story. I find it impossible to focus on writing only one story, just as I find it hard to focus on reading only one book. Such a dilemma. But, one I am happy to have.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-37237199648364945002015-02-28T14:58:00.000-07:002018-03-22T10:17:05.245-06:00Follow Your Dreams... here's mineI'm so proud of my youngest girl, Shenandoah. She is on a mission! She has found something that she is passionate about and is working hard every day to be able to follow this dream, no matter what obstacles are in her way. She has been told on several occasions by family and school personnel that she can not be a Marine Biologist. Yet, that is her passion. <br />
<br />
My oldest daughter, Meghan, is following her dream as well. She has started her own business, which is growing steadily every month. It is so amazing to see their dedication and determination in spite of all the obstacles thrown at them. <br />
<br />
My middle daughter, Tristana, is finally becoming the person she was always meant to be. Her dream is becoming a reality this year as well. Overcoming obstacles along the way has been heart wrenching and painful, but she didn't let them get in her way. Pure joy radiates from her now.<br />
<br />
So, my greatest passion? Some of you think you know. Some of you may be wrong.<br />
My greatest passion in life as a kid and young adult was to be a published author. Yep, I know. Some of you are saying, "What??? Not art?" That's right. Not art. Art was a passion I found much later in life. But, writing, that's been the BIG one all along. It wasn't others who got in the way of this dream, but the worst obstacle of all, myself! I told myself over and over that I would never be able to write that well. I didn't have any stories to tell. I didn't have the creativity to write. I wasn't smart enough.<br />
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Those are all the stupid things I told myself over the years. Ludicrous, I know! Here I am at 46 years old starting not just one, but three different books. I have SO many stories to tell and so little time. It is time for me to follow through with my dream, and time for me to get out of my own damn way. I don't even care if they are ever published. I just need to get my stories written down. <br />
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Today, I want to share the very beginnings of one of those stories with you. Please remember that this is unedited and far from finished. Any feedback you can give would be amazing. Thank you.<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Chapter 1<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
Jeep bounced along the boulder-strewn ground, through a dense forest of massive
trees. Similar to the California sequoia, the trees were more gnarled and
knotted from roots to upmost branches. Many of the tree trunks were easily as
thick as a house. Deep grooves made their long, twisted way along the trunks
creating fascinating patterns, knots, and curves. The tops of the giant trees
disappeared in the heavy growth and dense forest. Over the centuries, as
colossal roots grew and emerged through the soft earth, they created knotted
archways below the trees. Some were large enough to drive through and others just
big enough to crawl under. Average sized pine trees, aspen, and an array of shrubs
created a gentle contrast and filled the space between the monstrous trees. An
occasional clearing broke the monotony of the forest and made the way for the
Jeep slightly easier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I felt like a tiny mouse maneuvering
through a complex maze in search of the prize, a yummy slice of cheese.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A large rock sent the Jeep jostling and
sent me off the back seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oww!”
I yelled as I grabbed my sore head with both hands. “Slow down a little!” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A soft covered top would be great right
about now</i>, I thought ruefully.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
two men sitting in the front seat continued their conversation, oblivious to my
discomfort. The music blaring from the CD drowned out any recognizable words. Rolling
my eyes, I turned back to the forest with a sense of anticipation. The Jeep cut
through thick undergrowth and crushed plant life in its path. The forest was quiet
except for the rumble of the engine. I had not seen a single animal or bird
since entering this quixotic maze. The Jeep careened around boulders and enormous
trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">As we turned a corner around a house-sized boulder,
I felt a sudden change in mood. Gripping apprehension pulled at my gut. I
looked around the forest for the source of this new and unwanted emotion. Patches
of blue sky flashed brightly between the tangle of limbs. The forest itself lacked
a sense of doom. The size of the trees was overwhelming, but not menacing. The
forest floor was a tangle of pine needles, rotting tree trunks, patches of
moss, and decomposing organics, but maintained a sense of peaceful solitude. Tree
roots, twisted and tangled, wound their way into masses of snake-like balls and
long ropes that made their way through and around objects on the forest floor. Mosses
and lichen grew along tree roots exposed along the ground. Bright orange
mushrooms peeked from underneath a blanket of moss.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span><!--EndFragment--></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
we drove deeper and deeper into the forest, the feeling of dread; heavy and
almost painful, enveloped me like ice water. I shivered uncontrollably and
wrapped my arms around my shoulders. I had never experienced anything as
intense and fierce. Surprisingly, we drove through a curtain of growth and into
a small clearing where not a single sapling grew. My heart racing, I looked
around the clearing. The ground was covered in a fine, soft layer of bright
green grass. Out my window, to the right of the clearing was a mass of trees
that were so thick as to hide any light that might have tried squeezing through
the trunks, branches, and growth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">My eyes were drawn upward and fell upon
an unexpected wonder. I blinked my eyes a few times, rubbed them and looked
back out my window. Sure enough, it stood there hidden behind years of growth. Several
hundred feet above the forest floor, supported by a labyrinth of tree limbs,
was what appeared to be an abandoned Victorian home. Broken windows stared out
into the world, lifeless, and empty. A tower of bay windows stood majestic and
on guard, a maze of long, twisted vines creeping their way up to the top. Old
dusty curtains, torn and faded, hung in the windows. The house was shrouded in
vines that gave the home the look of a forest dwelling from a fairy world. Wooden
shingles were missing from the roof in many places. The house was cloaked in
decay and decomposition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Impossible! I blinked and felt faint. I
looked at the men in the front seat to find them oblivious to what I was
seeing. I looked up to the house, visible through the limbs and leaves. The
Jeep veered to the right and the main tree supporting this marvel was along our
path. Time and rot had made a tunnel beneath the gnarled massive tree trunk. As
the Jeep neared the tunnel, the house disappeared from view.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Going through the tunnel felt like a rebirth,
a cleansing of the soul. The shade of the tunnel muted the light slightly, but
the yawning roots and rotting wood looked like a complex spider’s web. A scene
from “The Hobbit” flashed through my mind and I wished at that moment that I
had a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sting</i> of my own to fend off any
monster spiders that popped out of the web. The feeling of dread started fading
as quickly as it had started and by the time we drove out the other side of the
tree trunk, I felt refreshed, but curious as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Abruptly, the image of an old woman in a
dusty, torn gown staring out one of the sightless windows of the house struck
me with such force, I gasped. I spun around on the back seat and looked out the
back window, anxious to see the house again and to see if I could catch a glimpse
of the lost soul within. I knew that she was there, waiting, lonely, and solemn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another
clearing lay on the other side of the giant sentinel. Bright green grass met my
gaze. My eyes followed the trunk of the tree upward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tangle of limbs seemed impenetrable and impossibly stable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the Jeep bounced along, the house
again came into view. The home looked like it sat upon flat earth with not a
single tree in the yard. I was overcome with fear, loss, anger, and deep
loneliness. I knew she was long dead along with the house, forgotten and
alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was eternally waiting
and wondering. As wood rotted and fell from the house, pieces of her slowly
fell away leaving an empty shell, all but the intense feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
loneliness consumed me and tears ran down my cheeks. We approached the edge of
the forest and, as the trees closed in around us, the feelings faded as the
house slipped from view. I turned in my seat feeling as if weeks of emotion had
passed in what I knew had only been seconds, seconds of my life that would
forever change me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
drone of voices and music drifting from the front seat penetrated the quiet
turmoil of my world. I looked around the inside of the Jeep for traces of the
time warp or black hole I must have just passed into, through, and out of so
completely. I felt drained, exhausted and emotionally ragged. A bounce over a
large rock jolted me from the trance I was emerging from. Instead of relief
from emotional stress, I hoped for, the jostling of the Jeep made me feel even
more exhausted and I quickly fell asleep before my brain could really process
what had happened and despite the rough bouncing of the Jeep. Never before had
I fallen asleep so quickly and completely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Chapter
2</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">CiCi rubbed her eyes, stretched, and sat
up on the side of the bed. The sun clawed at the edges of the dark curtains
fighting to enter the gloomy realm.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">A
shower would be good this morning</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">;
a fleeting thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> But,
that would require energy</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">,
she thought as her shoulders sank lower. Hands pressed into the edge of the
bed, arms straight, shoulders slumped, and head dropped, CiCi didn’t know what
to do next. Defeated by the hostile rays of sunshine sneaking their way through
the dark room, CiCi sighed heavily. She looked at the rays of sun where fine
particles of dust were floating softly and going nowhere important. They were
mesmerizing, floating through the air like jellyfish drifting in the ocean. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Dreams.
Dreams were one of the few comforts CiCi had in life. She looked forward to her
dreams. Always full color and packed with sensation, they brought life into CiCi’s
otherwise dull existence. This dream was a little different from her usual. The
emotional roller coaster was so much more intense and real. CiCi walked to her
desk, sat heavily, and pulled out her sketchpad and pencil. She wanted to
capture the essence of the dream before it dissipated into the murky edges of
her memory. There was just enough light pushing its way around the curtain to
light her work. She quickly laid out lines and started shading in the form of
the trees with their twisted roots, trunks, and branches. Working quickly, she
used her fingers to blend and drag graphite across the paper. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">As she started in on the house high above
the trees, she slowed down, contemplating every nook and</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> cranny. She wanted to capture
the upmost detail. Pausing, she gazed dreamily at the house.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">This was the one skill she was most proud
of. Carrying a sketchpad around with her at all times was the only thing that
kept her on the rational side of sanity. There were stacks of them in her
closet from her earliest memories of drawing, through her childhood, where elephants
and puppies were her favorites. A faint smile touched her lips. She glanced at
the closed closet door, picturing the dozens of sketchpads. She hadn’t ventured
through the stack in a while, but could remember with great clarity the
sketches that lay within each and the evolution of her work. The tattered and
torn edges of each book marked its age and history of use. The older ones were
more mangled and some were no more than spiral notebooks. There was an assortment
of sizes and colors. And each one had its own special quality, memory. Stick
figures and houses were her first subjects. As times passed, the sketchbooks
had more and more variety of content:
sketches, class notes, tic-tac-toe games with classmates, glued in
leaves and other memorabilia from her life. She even had sketches that others
drew for her. One particularly special addition was that of a watercolor her
grandmother painted directly into her sketchbook. It was a mountain scene with
pine trees and a field of flowers. Her eyes welled with tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Memories of her grandmother came crashing
in around her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">NO!
I won’t think of her. It’s just too painful. Better to push it all away and
never think of her or the pain of her loss. </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">It had been nine years since her grandmother passed. There
were no pictures of her in CiCi’s room or anywhere in the house to remind her
of what she had lost. Memories of that gentle, loving woman were kept locked
away in the darkest recesses of her mind. Memories were no good if all they
brought was pain. Memories were best forgotten. Unfortunately, they were never forgotten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">CiCi turned back to her sketch. <i>Looking good</i>, she thought as she began
adding more shading and highlights to the house. Images of the dream began
fading, but the emotions would be with her for a long time, she knew. Her
pencil hovered above the top tower window. She sat contemplating that space. Not
sure why, she moved her pencil away from the tower window. The house looked
Victorian in style and had a tower of bay windows three stories high. She tried
to capture the decay and ruin of the home by adding fine lines and details to
the window frames, wood siding, and eaves of the roof. The front porch
stretched just ten feet across the front of the house. The heavy wooden door
was a massive slab of ancient wood, gnarled, with deep grooves weathered over
time. The faster she drew, the quicker details were fading from her memory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">There was something missing. She could
feel it, but couldn’t pinpoint what it might be. She continued with the details
of the sketch hoping an image would come in sharp and clear, but she knew, as
did with all of her dreams, that the images faded quickly and were impossible
to bring back. A nagging feeling that she was missing something wouldn’t go
away as she closed her sketchbook and put it in her backpack along with her
pencil case. She had things to do today and didn’t want to be late. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Walking the short distance to her mirror,
CiCi glanced at her wrinkled clothing. Black jeans, black t-shirt and black
hair that hung in front of her eyes and down her neck. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Emo</i>. That’s what others called it. CiCi just called it “not
caring”. She slept in her clothes every night and changed only when she took a
shower every other day. She raked fingers through her shoulder length hair and
turned to grab her backpack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-64796711733220458012015-02-23T19:28:00.000-07:002018-03-22T10:17:05.297-06:00Share a mud pie with someone you love.<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">How do you know you're on the right track in life?</span></b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5T6zZsfHGBR5LfBMGAHIPMoU154tOabwrQLxC_nmc8o0xfkxHZdDHugIO88k_mt8nUbie34qZBh6uaAJH8QpLX5leEhu5jlTinoQiYrIw0Q_M1I80jW4_0wVE35zVXtDJwlIQk3yQIJ4/s1600/Rainy+Day+4-7-02+051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5T6zZsfHGBR5LfBMGAHIPMoU154tOabwrQLxC_nmc8o0xfkxHZdDHugIO88k_mt8nUbie34qZBh6uaAJH8QpLX5leEhu5jlTinoQiYrIw0Q_M1I80jW4_0wVE35zVXtDJwlIQk3yQIJ4/s1600/Rainy+Day+4-7-02+051.jpg" height="320" width="194" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
You don't! Not really.</div>
<br />
What feels good and right today, may not in a few years. What felt good and right twenty years ago is obsolete. Every time my life took a new direction, I would ask myself, "Is this the right move? Is this what I'm supposed to be doing?"<br />
<br />
Is what you are "supposed" to be doing what destiny has laid out for you? <br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.” </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">― </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/947.William_Shakespeare" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">William Shakespeare</a><br />
<br />
I stopped asking those questions several years ago when I decided that life is too safe, structured, planned. I didn't want to plan anymore. I wanted to jump into every aspect of life with both feet, splashing in the mud, knowing that I have control over how I will react and the choices that I will make. <br />
<br />
How do I know I'm on the right track in life? Because it feels good, right, and it allows me to splash in the mud without fear of staining my clothes or ruining my hair. Be carefree. Splash in the mud. Dance in the rain. Stand in the quiet stillness of the snow as it drifts down and places tiny, wet kisses all over. This, of course, is best accomplished without a coat on. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyi10ou1gxgyY_ThGssmcoUi0iojJrU28ypUiYZRiE2Gxgre2B9yAsG8RB_26mywLog1Jgsw3coUaGX-s3jG_KOfJ5DIBR1aWYuPHYZRgE49i36CYfu8BaDUOB138HkEo9J33mxJ1XvYo/s1600/Rainy+Day+4-7-02+047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyi10ou1gxgyY_ThGssmcoUi0iojJrU28ypUiYZRiE2Gxgre2B9yAsG8RB_26mywLog1Jgsw3coUaGX-s3jG_KOfJ5DIBR1aWYuPHYZRgE49i36CYfu8BaDUOB138HkEo9J33mxJ1XvYo/s1600/Rainy+Day+4-7-02+047.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a>I stood in the snow twice this weekend. The quiet stillness wrapped me in a blanket of wonder and peace. I can forget all my worries standing in the snow. There are times that I have to force myself to take these moments. I allow my busy life to have too much control over me and the decisions I make. This weekend, when I noticed it was snowing, I thought, <i>I can stand in the snow later</i>. I knew, deep down, that if I didn't take the opportunity to enjoy the snow, it would be gone. I stopped what I was doing and stepped out into the front yard. I closed my eyes and enjoyed all those tiny snowflake kisses bringing love from the heavens.<br />
<br />
<br />
Tranquil solitude once a day is a profound way to gift yourself with absolute bliss. Be child-like when seeking out your moments of solitude. Children know exactly how to disconnect from the world and bask in the simple joys of playing in the mud and dancing in the rain. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJdG6bZVvheK-8qaIWjwm6k0KL38f7XITfAR4u_qh1GQ3oor0Bq9TiVNRfK0OMQ0CfPFv-HrdhyxtYAeOA6Mvbw70c2wJKRTu_0QnqUscgBUDPeX_T-qW6q5a6a-GOrje1rtSRT73X7Y4/s1600/Muddy+Day+034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJdG6bZVvheK-8qaIWjwm6k0KL38f7XITfAR4u_qh1GQ3oor0Bq9TiVNRfK0OMQ0CfPFv-HrdhyxtYAeOA6Mvbw70c2wJKRTu_0QnqUscgBUDPeX_T-qW6q5a6a-GOrje1rtSRT73X7Y4/s1600/Muddy+Day+034.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
My moment of quiet peace today? I haven't taken it yet. It is what I will do once this blog is finished. I will go to my art studio and stare at my works in progress, simply enjoying being present in my creative space without giving a thought to the next brush stroke or color choice.<br />
<br />
It won't be easy, because my artistic mind is constantly seeing the limitless possibilities of a blank canvas. How does one paint snowflake kisses? When in solitude, my mind will remain blank and that is when all the answers to my questions become extraordinarily clear. It is in times of solitude that my greatest ideas come to fruition, and it is in times of quiet reverie that my mind is able to let go and float in the peaceful waters of existence.<br />
<br />
Be bold enough and brave enough to let go. <br />
Make a mud pie and share it with someone you love.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-74197559394095885842013-06-06T09:10:00.004-06:002018-03-22T10:17:05.396-06:00Bowling Ball Garden Art... Who knew it could be so fun??<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">B</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">owling</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"> B</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">all</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"> A</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">rt</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">f</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">or</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"> t</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">he</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"> GARDEN</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2xCDggjyORSR4dGnLzRCMH9pSZwgfVHCPSOZqU4C_r5CqWaco_c0zCmvCOPCOuLdd6DrKnPUs3CsTwSiAi73i7zO5oloCbr_KV-yLgOBXUDLoDX7_Su56zDK0exshiVwcAhd_N_5qFo/s1600/The+Four+Gentlemen+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2xCDggjyORSR4dGnLzRCMH9pSZwgfVHCPSOZqU4C_r5CqWaco_c0zCmvCOPCOuLdd6DrKnPUs3CsTwSiAi73i7zO5oloCbr_KV-yLgOBXUDLoDX7_Su56zDK0exshiVwcAhd_N_5qFo/s400/The+Four+Gentlemen+4.jpg" title="Bowling Ball Garden Art" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bowling Ball Garden Art: The Four Gentlemen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">by</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Lauren Espinoza</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">About two years ago, I began collecting old, worn-out bowling balls to create my own garden art. Glass covered balls and adorable lady bugs were the norm for bowling ball garden art on the internet. I wanted something different, something unique. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The hunt was on! However, bowling balls were hard to find. I found a few in garage sales, traded a nice one for one that was old and cracked, and found one in a pile of rubbish. I plopped my treasures down in my garden waiting for inspiration to transform my "trash" into works of art. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEbsPqmtzv0KQU2R5iSVmwkxlaJxuyUb60XYVIoslafAd6NjFTmzlNVbmtdbQHe8NqcPQg4cwm34yDmz4Wxne0XF-1lPTD1c3vQQXao2qSj0QTrfkuTtZIh8V_iQg1A88WNZAx7-I7gk/s1600/554739_4753834455129_390202435_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvEbsPqmtzv0KQU2R5iSVmwkxlaJxuyUb60XYVIoslafAd6NjFTmzlNVbmtdbQHe8NqcPQg4cwm34yDmz4Wxne0XF-1lPTD1c3vQQXao2qSj0QTrfkuTtZIh8V_iQg1A88WNZAx7-I7gk/s400/554739_4753834455129_390202435_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Trash Treasures</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Inspiration was not a frequent guest at my home for an entire year! When my family decided to move from Texas to Colorado, my husband was very patient as I packed up my lovely bowling balls for the long trip. My blank canvases went from adorning one garden to another. There they sat for another 9 months. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF4DOVXDiTCN0ZdqhqVBT690jEdtTVOxsrIJuyv2GpmBu0CV439zMDpAxscNH5pTBfjNzUXd7FmcvqQqGqtLfaWMWs97d0K2ffJGynSNl5Xi2z7suPaYzUoRvECOBaFsqOygb9CrVTHhw/s1600/399903_4753834815138_1064427293_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF4DOVXDiTCN0ZdqhqVBT690jEdtTVOxsrIJuyv2GpmBu0CV439zMDpAxscNH5pTBfjNzUXd7FmcvqQqGqtLfaWMWs97d0K2ffJGynSNl5Xi2z7suPaYzUoRvECOBaFsqOygb9CrVTHhw/s400/399903_4753834815138_1064427293_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Primed and ready for some paint and creativity</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Inspiration has a funny way of tracking me down and asserting itself when I least expect it. It was a beautiful, crisp Saturday morning when I stepped outside to survey my yard and porch. Spring had arrived and it was time to make plans. Inspiration was waiting for me that day as I glanced down at my bowling balls in the front garden bed. Spring Fever and Inspiration met and my new project was set into motion. I ran downstairs and found some exterior primer among the collection of left over paint cans. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Knowing that these works of art would adorn someone's garden, I looked for a garden theme and realized that the four seasons would be perfect. I started researching the four seasons and found The Four Gentlemen. <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px; text-align: center;">The Four Gentlemen represent the four seasons (orchid for spring, the bamboo for summer, the chrysanthemum for autumn, and the plum blossom for winter) and have been used in Chinese art for centuries. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0QlDInquzoNl0F-w0vwGeAfck5EBPHFb1MhuHXIOy3AmKRvmY2wkdXzFgTjYqSgA85QfCiEf6l5R22lrHOAahMqYGOYa9w9U8zVeNaZ7X6wCgc_9Z1Oths3sqsQobgRJ9ITJ5f1soUA/s1600/164600_4754301786812_1411658485_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0QlDInquzoNl0F-w0vwGeAfck5EBPHFb1MhuHXIOy3AmKRvmY2wkdXzFgTjYqSgA85QfCiEf6l5R22lrHOAahMqYGOYa9w9U8zVeNaZ7X6wCgc_9Z1Oths3sqsQobgRJ9ITJ5f1soUA/s200/164600_4754301786812_1411658485_n.jpg" width="151" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mounted on candle holders and texture added</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Most of my artwork contains texture in some form. My garden art was no exception. I used Flexible Modeling Paste to create an interesting texture on the bowling balls. Three of the balls were mounted on bamboo candle holders. These gave the bowling balls a great variance in height and added some interesting perspective once the balls were placed in a garden.</span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0eo0uJyE8v97d6cW1-pcdSPd5UG3rmnoAU350Mauf5WWAQbBCBa6faVFzK-NpLr80XvmVu1tsIgAAXtNzX-92ktvVSfpDMl3Uurzz5cOtj1_eBNZJi1QMMYca9g7yjIpWPttPZQnOjjU/s1600/465041_4755047925465_389420729_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0eo0uJyE8v97d6cW1-pcdSPd5UG3rmnoAU350Mauf5WWAQbBCBa6faVFzK-NpLr80XvmVu1tsIgAAXtNzX-92ktvVSfpDMl3Uurzz5cOtj1_eBNZJi1QMMYca9g7yjIpWPttPZQnOjjU/s320/465041_4755047925465_389420729_o.jpg" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Base colors</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I wanted to start with a good marbleized color. The next step was to pain each of The Four Gentlemen symbols on the balls. This took some more research, as the symbols online had slight variations depending on the artist. Not knowing Chinese, I wanted to make sure my art was as accurate as possible. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_awe4iQeqyZQrKDV0zCy0ehAbrbMInzYpx078bGpejN-DY8z1kQoizqXNNE-ThCpVWOz-82o90bPBDTmWLD0QBZItR7WHymTN9uktPE6lPUinD2Sgy7mcEwIOqouJEarPXlGQdJfNaI/s1600/537996_4755662460828_322743209_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_awe4iQeqyZQrKDV0zCy0ehAbrbMInzYpx078bGpejN-DY8z1kQoizqXNNE-ThCpVWOz-82o90bPBDTmWLD0QBZItR7WHymTN9uktPE6lPUinD2Sgy7mcEwIOqouJEarPXlGQdJfNaI/s200/537996_4755662460828_322743209_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0pHvbipT8wYWkb1cBw-Gv2V46_osYF-FNkid1cLTFJ1653m3dPQOUvZJyhyphenhyphen5Q_wNuHhL-SlWzuHYJkSoit2-mSJM0bAWzVf_oCh67ubLoF7zON05k8yy8HQIkTxj1ylHpzAUYvZ5sXKE/s1600/466989_4789542107798_1829883934_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0pHvbipT8wYWkb1cBw-Gv2V46_osYF-FNkid1cLTFJ1653m3dPQOUvZJyhyphenhyphen5Q_wNuHhL-SlWzuHYJkSoit2-mSJM0bAWzVf_oCh67ubLoF7zON05k8yy8HQIkTxj1ylHpzAUYvZ5sXKE/s200/466989_4789542107798_1829883934_o.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Bamboo - Summer</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="text-align: center;">I started with the bamboo. It was fun to paint and gave me the opportunity to establish the style of the pieces. The Chrysanthemum, Plum Blossom, and Orchid followed. Each piece had its own challenges. Each of the paintings was then covered in a high gloss glaze. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFl950VzxKtjofAjRZdiHIQG6olSCcRE6BeWZNtEpeG2h8O-kQptP_tJHp_eSFsFREUxAl2uY9EEWA-KNcM6orXWYHsNWpGvcwzVUjoTxHmDwDkWDC42CGrh2CIAJ6qw02e5ZobvSiZw/s1600/Orchid+finished+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFl950VzxKtjofAjRZdiHIQG6olSCcRE6BeWZNtEpeG2h8O-kQptP_tJHp_eSFsFREUxAl2uY9EEWA-KNcM6orXWYHsNWpGvcwzVUjoTxHmDwDkWDC42CGrh2CIAJ6qw02e5ZobvSiZw/s200/Orchid+finished+4.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orchid - Spring</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq8stg_9bmnBvrAeb2l9MVWCL9gRNYtEeuvvwSKtVK1KBe8X70iCU23T3freu9KuHV4cp_7Ta4oPYl_U1QqfliRs4a9uYmcNLPb6CAWAakr0I9PGIJklRMb0vhixKn2OVxhSrQrtQZL2I/s1600/944674_4848308616924_1439332239_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq8stg_9bmnBvrAeb2l9MVWCL9gRNYtEeuvvwSKtVK1KBe8X70iCU23T3freu9KuHV4cp_7Ta4oPYl_U1QqfliRs4a9uYmcNLPb6CAWAakr0I9PGIJklRMb0vhixKn2OVxhSrQrtQZL2I/s200/944674_4848308616924_1439332239_n.jpg" width="173" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chrysanthemum - Autumn</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVO1fQckgImoFgAvOOu3XqdgX9h2QgRkD0TCqRYv5GVnmuOV9eUHImDna2e1UpWzmVVetICeyd-9N8GXHgccTLh0ti3y36i5pDPW2R5ivlpv70K_ZV1dGuyd4zRMyggErDhrWibyIr1sc/s1600/935761_4849474486070_1851642552_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVO1fQckgImoFgAvOOu3XqdgX9h2QgRkD0TCqRYv5GVnmuOV9eUHImDna2e1UpWzmVVetICeyd-9N8GXHgccTLh0ti3y36i5pDPW2R5ivlpv70K_ZV1dGuyd4zRMyggErDhrWibyIr1sc/s200/935761_4849474486070_1851642552_n.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plum Blossom - Winter</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The final step was to cover each in a clear, protective polyurethane to protect them against the elements. The final product was gorgeous. These bowling balls are on sale through my Facebook page: </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/In-Life-Art-Studio/108226305878413?ref=hl">https://www.facebook.com/pages/In-Life-Art-Studio/</a><br />
Commissions are also welcome. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOFsSqCbZhzm-c_A5EBVHJ2Ug0WKycKFuugkim3nFEK2BpAck6QorevlacZNakeMJM_-bY7mEBTgmFDVL-Y0T_X9OA_opej2ciU3QuCM_h5dFCWP9PYh6hBB8F7hrLwGvq9NGa3z72Pw/s1600/The+Four+Gentlemen+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVOFsSqCbZhzm-c_A5EBVHJ2Ug0WKycKFuugkim3nFEK2BpAck6QorevlacZNakeMJM_-bY7mEBTgmFDVL-Y0T_X9OA_opej2ciU3QuCM_h5dFCWP9PYh6hBB8F7hrLwGvq9NGa3z72Pw/s320/The+Four+Gentlemen+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">The Four Gentlemen represent the four seasons (orchid for spring, the bamboo for summer, the chrysanthemum for autumn, and the plum blossom for winter).</span></td></tr>
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<b style="background-color: white; color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: center;">Copyright <span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">© 2013 Life's Casual Observer blog, Lauren Espinoza</span></b><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com0New Castle, CO, USA39.5727585 -107.5364442999999739.523806 -107.61712529999997 39.621711 -107.45576329999997tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-78338032837254424802012-11-17T20:31:00.002-07:002018-03-22T10:17:05.430-06:00This is My Life... Welcome.<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">This was no Quixotic endeavor; although, there are those who would disagree with me. It may have seemed a bit foolish, impractical, rash, and possibly characterized by lofty romantic ideas. I like to call it spontaneous, creative, fearless, and living out loud and boldly.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglXFiOpIUVI2QV3yi6J1_EoGr3G0ajvfu-V3kppGs3uNATOEXgBdRXkpPrDmjgDJUqalkV5mbGvHuQVBcXMPz2tjzb4hOvkE4bMISpAB7KznhcsTLCvbBTD23vy-vAAKVPs3oLEA2hfzw/s1600/Yellow+trees.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglXFiOpIUVI2QV3yi6J1_EoGr3G0ajvfu-V3kppGs3uNATOEXgBdRXkpPrDmjgDJUqalkV5mbGvHuQVBcXMPz2tjzb4hOvkE4bMISpAB7KznhcsTLCvbBTD23vy-vAAKVPs3oLEA2hfzw/s640/Yellow+trees.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">2012 is close to an end. Only 44 days left of this year of learning to be Bold. This has been one of the Most impressionable years of my life. It was a year of struggle, learning, discovery, and spontaneity.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">A great friend of mine once told me, in the midst of great depression and self loathing, to be Bold; to be courageous and face my doubts and fears with a bold and confident air. How had my mind and soul become so knotted, gasping for air, straining against the confines of their imprisonment? The dark, oppressive air of a lifeless and lost soul constricted my thoughts, my desires, my dreams, and my ability to discern basic emotions. The labyrinth of my soul led straight to the center of a desolate and melancholy void. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">A beautifully adorned mask with glittering jewels and polished gold concealed my tormented soul, but I neglected to see the fragile fissures and their elaborate web in the substructure. I wore my mask daily in an attempt to conceal the albatross that closed about my throat tighter and tighter still, strangling me till the light in my eyes had almost been snuffed out. The only thing that kept that glimmer of hope was my family and friends. They were my anchors.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">This was NOT the life I wanted to live. This was NOT the path I wanted to continue on. This was NOT my destiny and the more I fought to break free, the more the chains tightened. </span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYXvDTkUCXCoLVzk1BzNXo7lzuGELKGyzFQioOzrGDyxV9rsG1HNrdZBhPVo5TvwBzAyT4dzMEsNwORaURU77kiJBtDZpoYpBkQgKIJf07HIxGcwV3mbxDL6xi8mk23ghhRuWHetGYYY/s1600/The+Path+I+took.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYXvDTkUCXCoLVzk1BzNXo7lzuGELKGyzFQioOzrGDyxV9rsG1HNrdZBhPVo5TvwBzAyT4dzMEsNwORaURU77kiJBtDZpoYpBkQgKIJf07HIxGcwV3mbxDL6xi8mk23ghhRuWHetGYYY/s400/The+Path+I+took.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Be Bold. Two simple words. Once spoken that night while we sat under the stars, talking about our lives and the changes we needed to make, it suddenly hit me. Be Bold. I had some work to do. I pondered her words for a month or so; letting them filter through my brain, seep into my soul, and trickle into my heart. I practiced being bold; small things here and there. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">I realized all too soon, that to be Bold, I had to face my fears, make life-altering changes, and find a new path. No, that's not right. I didn't need a new path; I just needed to take the path I was on and make some changes, reroute. I no longer wanted to be on a single path. I didn't want to take the road less traveled. I wanted to take multiple roads less traveled. I wanted to create my own roads and discover what lay ahead. I was now on a journey to create my own road map. It was time to be BOLD! </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Babe, do you want to move to Colorado?" With that simple question, the chains began falling from my soul. I was starting to breathe again; not shallow, painful breaths, but deep, cleansing breaths. The gold mask fell heavily from my fingers and landed in the dust as I walked boldly toward my new life. I was not running away, but embracing a dream. It was time to live my life boldly. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbAX0LmmONMp8rYhxUqlVy3UR04w8nv6d_2e4OEtGRPwHhw-6MIL0LQlEy-8A8KEGsy1DYkOrHh4YgTTyeN9aHm-Fmcxofvn5cd9O61EFAKvx2tFD0DJVnrKj7Mz-xHTEfi5lolS48Ak/s1600/Mountains+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbAX0LmmONMp8rYhxUqlVy3UR04w8nv6d_2e4OEtGRPwHhw-6MIL0LQlEy-8A8KEGsy1DYkOrHh4YgTTyeN9aHm-Fmcxofvn5cd9O61EFAKvx2tFD0DJVnrKj7Mz-xHTEfi5lolS48Ak/s640/Mountains+1.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">I have been living boldly for 4 months. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">My road map continues to grow. It's not about where you live either, but that you live your life boldly. I am living my life. I want to see as much as I can of this beautiful country that God created. I want to discover, explore, and Live. I don't want to have any regrets or wish that I had done more; seen more. I am busy living life boldly and enjoying every second. </span></span><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Copyright <span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">© 2012 Life's Casual Observer blog, Lauren Espinoza</span></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-36751936544482102082012-06-27T21:32:00.006-06:002018-03-22T10:17:05.200-06:00"Leap... there will be a net"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEievhQpcb5BpYUSnE1Ok-QVDus9aQH83GAqrhPgEUQHJmgLm3TmD58GrbD_AZ56iebaIFJ9nrVN9jLsfL6kB-Zp2GAShXjXkhK9TSTXA98AFenCcZ9TlVN1qG_j7VQQmZSlmwR8U7ChHHE/s1600/Colorado.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEievhQpcb5BpYUSnE1Ok-QVDus9aQH83GAqrhPgEUQHJmgLm3TmD58GrbD_AZ56iebaIFJ9nrVN9jLsfL6kB-Zp2GAShXjXkhK9TSTXA98AFenCcZ9TlVN1qG_j7VQQmZSlmwR8U7ChHHE/s320/Colorado.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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It's Way more than just dismantling the chicken coop. It's SO much more than just another chapter of my life. When I stop long enough to think about the impact of that one little, seemingly innocent, question, "Babe, do you want to move to Colorado?", I realize that this is more like a Cosmic shifting of planets, an El Nino of Epic proportions, A "Holy Crap, are we Really doing this?"<br />
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Someone told me recently, "Leap... there will be a net." Yes, that may be true, but she didn't tell me that between that Leap of Faith and the net on the other side, was one Hell of a bumpy ride! Now, I have to say that I have no one to blame but myself and I'm not complaining either. I'm so excited about this Leap of Faith and so very ready for new adventure in our lives. It didn't even Hit me until I walked into the Chicken Coop the other day and stood looking at the emptiness, taking in the silence, watching tiny particles of dust sift through rays of sunlight. This was Epic!<br />
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Ok, I'm the first to admit that being a "tad bit" spontaneous and a "little" impulsive can make for a BIG change. I like change, I welcome change, I embrace it with enthusiasm and excitement. I'm typically a very shy person who plays it safe and follows the rules, but once in a while I like to shake things up; see what fun chemical reaction I'll get if I mix a little of this, a little of that, and a lot of these. And here I have an experiment that has evolved into more than this adventurer was expecting. </div>
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First, I really didn't mean to shock people. I have that effect at times, I know, but it seemed like such a simple little thing: We're moving to Colorado. I had to grab a helmet and run for cover. Ok, so it wasn't that bad. Most of our friends and family were DEFINITELY Shocked, but most responded with support and love. I was a bit baffled by those who were angry at us. But, upon reflection can see where they were coming from. </div>
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As I stood in the chicken coop the other day, it suddenly dawned on me that this was more than "just" moving. I definitely was NOT prepared for the tears that started flowing. This building was more than just a chicken coop. It was a building built with love, sweat, and dreams. We had poured our hearts into this place. We had made so many plans and had so many dreams of what our lives would be living here the rest of our lives. Being the strong person that I am, the tears were quickly squelched. There was no time for tears. There's just too much to do and plan and organize and decide and ..... I'll just cry later. And later I shall!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ymjZK4b7UGIjQL2wIVgVceQhPpQ5r1njWrQH5NsigLgpsc66kWtYz320ba44M7sFM4CiQNE3WLNy2g_ivC84pIoX7HVO_0fyenTvWJqGh2lriCDei8GbMTvwXQZ3sjLhO0KA3Eakg2w/s1600/Meghan's+Prom+025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ymjZK4b7UGIjQL2wIVgVceQhPpQ5r1njWrQH5NsigLgpsc66kWtYz320ba44M7sFM4CiQNE3WLNy2g_ivC84pIoX7HVO_0fyenTvWJqGh2lriCDei8GbMTvwXQZ3sjLhO0KA3Eakg2w/s200/Meghan's+Prom+025.jpg" width="161" /></a><br />
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Not only was I going on faith, without a job, but I was also changing, forever, the lives of my husband and children. I'm not worried about Fredo. He's tough and is even more excited about this new adventure than I am. He's like a little boy on Christmas morning who got everything on his Christmas list. His eyes sparkle and his face lights up when we talk about the move. </div>
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I'm not so worried about Shenandoah either. She's a tough little cookie. We asked her about moving to Colorado and her response was, "Yay! Snow!!!" She'll be fine wherever she goes. She'll make new friends and live a fun, new adventure. She is, after all, my adventurous one. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv47tmqcCT8cSYYtHLNdh2A5uN3oIKppH_0DkKwhjraVXREAVLUayx-AAZTtTo3TzL8Ybw45sqvLXk-zMGCaPoYlN0lfi7IpJ55tguI2jLqfzaMIwtEfc8DEiVcHepPCkzwVK5VJ4aS8I/s1600/IMG_4371.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv47tmqcCT8cSYYtHLNdh2A5uN3oIKppH_0DkKwhjraVXREAVLUayx-AAZTtTo3TzL8Ybw45sqvLXk-zMGCaPoYlN0lfi7IpJ55tguI2jLqfzaMIwtEfc8DEiVcHepPCkzwVK5VJ4aS8I/s200/IMG_4371.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Merlin will be fine too. He gets more and more excited each day about our move to Colorado. He's tough and resilient. He will make new friends and have so many new experiences. His PRIDE will shine brightly and he will blossom!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Here's where it gets a little tough! My Meghan! Instead of a gentle move into adulthood and independence, I feel that I'm kicking her out the door with her bags packed. Oh wait, I forgot her toothbrush and toothpaste! She doesn't see it that way, of course. To her this is also a new adventure. She's staying in Bryan and will be an independent adult! THIS is what I was NOT prepared for!!!</span></div>
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She's on the hunt for a place to call her own. She's going to be approximately 1044 miles, 18 hours and 44 minutes away from ME!!!!! Right now, she's reading this and rolling her eyes. I can't blame her... It is pretty sappy! </div>
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But, but, but.... I wasn't ready for THIS. I was ready for her living in a small place 7 to 15 miles away. A hop, skip, and jump away. What happens if she stubs her toe? What happens when she gets a flat tire? What happens when she needs a shoulder to cry on? </div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I used to say, when they were toddlers, that I would jump for joy the day they turned 18. I'd open the door and say, "There you go, the world is waiting."</span></div>
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Now I want to scream, "Wait, don't go, the world is too big!" Ok, I don't really want to scream that.</div>
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The Counselor in me says, "Meghan, welcome to your new life. Embrace it. Experience it. Enjoy every second. Take it slow and easy. There's no rush. Have fun. Be open to new experiences. Be Bold. Be Honest. Live each day to its fullest.</div>
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The Mom in me is struggling to accept that it's time for her to roll out a new and fresh canvas, whip out her colorful Prisma pencils, and create one Hell of a Great new Adventure for herself. </div>
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Phew. I feel better now. I just needed to get it all out. Thanks for listening. </div>
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Just be warned... You do NOT want to be around the day our U Haul pulls out of the driveway headed North. The floodgates are going to open and Maintenance won't be able to shut them off!</div>
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Faith. Yep, that's what I was going on. Monday I said, "Let's move to Colorado." Wednesday I resigned from my job. Thursday I began the hunt for a new one. By Faith, I knew that I would find something. I would shovel snow from driveways if it meant that we were finally going to Colorado and starting a new life. I took a Huge Leap and there WAS a net! It was Awesome. I had two job offers in 4 days. </div>
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We have a few more "small" things to figure out, like where we're going to land when we get there and finding a job for Fredo. House hunting is NOT fun, but we'll find something. We'll have plenty of cardboard boxes once we unpack, and Fredo is a super creative builder. We could have an amazing cardboard home in no time at all. ;o)</div>
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It's time; Time to file all those fears and worries away and pull out the Master plan. It's Time to leap and leap again... Like Frogger getting across the busy road. We are master's of this game. It is our game; of our own design. "<span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">We are the music makers, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">And we are the dreamers of dreams..." ~ Arthur O'Shaughnessy </span>~</div>
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It's time to Dream and Dream Big! Colorado, Here we come! </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-4798420230368426602012-05-21T21:03:00.002-06:002018-03-22T10:17:05.280-06:00Fun Garden BedsI have a tremendous amount of amusement creating fun and new decorative garden beds in our garden. Today, I wanted to share a simple "How-To" of building a very cool flower/garden bed.<br />
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We obtained a great supply of old, heavy fencing that is weathered and worn. This lumber made the perfect material for one of my favorite garden beds. I started by cutting the fence posts into varying sizes from 6" to 14" in length.<br />
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">I then started digging a design in the yard in the shape I wanted my garden bed. </span></div>
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Once the garden border has been completed, it is time to lay a layer of newspapers... not too thick. You want enough that it helps with weed control but not too much so that it decomposes and allows the plant roots to grow below. I put about three to four sheets thick. I have read on other blog sites and internet sites that some people put the newspaper as thick as 8 sheets thick.<br />
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It's important to water the newspaper thouroughly... making sure the newspaper is good and wet!<br />
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It's then time to put down the gardening soil. We usually put in our own home grown compost, but had run out. We bought some good Vegetable/garden soil at Lowe's. Be sure to put a thick amount of soil to allow for root growth. We put 6-8 inches.<br />
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The garden bed is now ready for planting. We planted cauliflower, cilantro, spinach, and broccoli in this garden bed<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="background-color: white; color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Copyright <span style="line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">© 2012 Life's Casual Observer blog, Lauren Espinoza</span></b></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-31004064229787613912012-04-19T23:04:00.000-06:002018-03-22T10:17:05.150-06:00A Police lineup!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has been safely locked away in a vintage, sea green
suitcase. The edges of the case are
frayed, the stitching worn, and the handle nothing more than rusted, cold
metal. I know it’s still there, resting
between fragmentary, faded memories.
Every few years I pull it down from the top shelf of the closet; lonely,
half-forgotten. The dust filters through
the air and invades my nose as I breathe in the musty odor of antiquity. The rusty locks are intact, secure, and
untouched. It has not moved, has not
been touched by another, nor has it been freed from its confines. But how can that be? Years have passed; ages it seems, but, still
it finds its way back to me more often than I care for. I thought, in my foggy, weak state of mind,
that locking it away would keep it from coming back time after time. I thought I was freed, but I know; I’ve
always known that it cannot be contained, controlled. It slips out of its confines to make its way
back to torment me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My head is whirling in the darkness, yet it’s not dark but
an overwhelming void. I search
frantically through the void, groping, stumbling on the corpses of others who
could not find the light. It is a heavy
quilt suffocating the innocent sleeper. Self-loathing
wraps its long, writhing tendrils through my soul, squeezes my heart, injects its
dark, heavy ink into my veins. My heart
aches from the wound I made with a sword molded and fired by the Devil
himself. I tear my heart desperately
trying to ease the awful pain. I want to
stop the pain! PLEASE STOP THE
PAIN!!! The void tightens its grip,
squeezing life from my body and mind; leaving me in nothingness. Nothing.
Darkness has won another victory.
I was its prey and it overcame.
Victory to the darkness, its victim has fallen. Nothingness consumes my mind. I feel and see nothing. The darkness has control. No pain, no fear, no regrets. The darkness has won yet another battle.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t panic, don’t worry… This blog is about Hope, Love, and
Recovery! If you have never suffered
from depression, please keep reading.
Knowledge and understanding breed compassion. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Depression is an ugly shroud of deception! It takes over an otherwise logical and contented
mind and fills it with doubt, paranoia, anger, defeat, self-loathing, fatigue,
worry, and uncertainty. I have lived 43
years with Depression and it has been a battle that has not yet been completely
won, but I am one hell of a fighter! I
don’t give in easily and I won’t lose this battle! As a matter of fact, I’m ahead on the
brightly lit scoreboard. The Home team
is in the lead and the visiting team is struggling to stay in the game.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Depression is a fog that creeps across the soul and into the
mind; slowly and deliberately. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s a fist that slams you in the stomach swiftly and
unexpectedly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has no playbook, no coach, no offensive coordinator, no
specials team. It’s a rogue out to steal
your sanity and happiness! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It shocks me sometimes how stealth depression can be. Life is moving along just fine and suddenly
one tiny, little thing happens and Depression attacks full force, without
notice, without compassion. Then there are those times when you suddenly realize
that depression has slept with you, walked with you, stalked you for weeks and
even months and you were clueless to its presence. It was soaking in, seeping into every pore,
every cell, and every atom ever so slowly saturating your core.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And, I have to say, one of my Pet Peeves is when people say:
“You don’t look depressed or act depressed.”
Everyone’s depression is their own unique experience. It’s not quantifiable. It’s a police lineup and every person in that
line is guilty. Every one of them has a
different face, a different MO, a different victim, but they are all called by
the same name: Depression.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know people whose souls and hearts are suffering greatly
from depression, but their outward appearance is one of smiles and positive
expression. We have great actors in this
world and they are not all on the silver screen. They do not all win Oscars for their stellar
performances. They are sitting next to
you in class, they eat potluck with you at church, they live in the same house,
and they work in the office next to you.
They suffer every second of every day in silence. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of my favorite quotes I’ve seen on Facebook is: “Sometimes when I say, “I’m ok”, I want
someone to look me in the eyes, hug me tight and say, “I know you’re not”.” My burden, so often, seems too heavy for me
to bear; I couldn’t stand knowing that I might have passed my burden on to
someone else. That is why so many suffer
in silence. I know it’s not the ONLY
reason, but it is one. There are times I’m
ready to burst with the pressure of holding in so much depression. There are times I want to talk to someone and
let it all unload, but I don’t. The
thought of sharing my burden with someone else makes me even that much more
depressed. I don’t want to be the next
dump truck unloading on an unsuspecting, innocent person. I’m tough, I can handle the load, I can carry
it further, longer, I can suffer some more.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or at least that’s what I tell myself. It’s the lie that
springs too easily from my lips, travels the highway of neurotransmitters in my
overwhelmed brain, and sears itself in my limbic system. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">To Be Continued…<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><b style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Copyright <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">© 2012 Life's Casual Observer blog, Lauren Espinoza</span></b></span></b></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-83968111363461232652012-04-11T21:16:00.003-06:002018-03-22T10:17:05.589-06:00Awakening of the Senses<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEGlZOkPkOPLBxcpFRioqiclClC5T4v1BtJPatoAlEiZvQcn4LCqBqNKK-Dtk3Zw0UusDNYXjIa_drpgbL_o3DndN_ZMmBWGAhua6QLN9-ZFjyYqDrj7OBRByYpN0cKQSfuBZWmhiN0k/s1600/26279_108251969209180_108226305878413_108212_7281604_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEGlZOkPkOPLBxcpFRioqiclClC5T4v1BtJPatoAlEiZvQcn4LCqBqNKK-Dtk3Zw0UusDNYXjIa_drpgbL_o3DndN_ZMmBWGAhua6QLN9-ZFjyYqDrj7OBRByYpN0cKQSfuBZWmhiN0k/s200/26279_108251969209180_108226305878413_108212_7281604_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>I am not typically a very observant person... I miss lots of small details that others catch. I rush around life going here and there, thinking of 50 things at once, planning my next day, worrying that I might have said the wrong thing in a conversation, wondering if the penny I just picked up will give luck to the person I pass it to next, worrying about my garden, missing my kids while they are out and about during their busy day... It's nonstop! Do you dream in full color, epic length, 3-D? I do... most nights. My brain doesn't know when to or how to shut down. I have seriously considered picking up Transcendental meditation! <br />
<br />
Today I was rushing downtown; rushing because I had a million things to do back at the office before my day ended (which reminds me of yesterday when Merlin walked into my office, which usually puts a smile on my face to see my son after a long day... but yesterday my mind was going a million miles a minute of all the things I still had to do before my day ended... I looked up, saw Merlin, and this horrific look passed over my face... for just a moment... a look that said "Holy Crap, Really? Really?"... I actually said, "It's 4:00 already???" ... It Couldn't be 4:00! It just couldn't... I had too many things to do before my day ended. I immediately caught myself and profusely apologized to Merlin. I told him I loved him, hugged him, and apologized 50 times... I felt so horrible that he saw that look of horror when he should have been met with a look of love!... Ok, so back to today and rushing downtown...<br />
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I picked up a package at Central office, rushing in and out as quickly as I could... so many things to do back at the office!!! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9iLSajFQFC7fFQyukI1gdNx8azqI5GJOHU0zA6skmpoLaxUYr4V9Ulnu1LWPTCxgewE_Crn82E2b5N6ToInaoCwTorxA1OkJiliGmQQmwlYLfTo1gkCiDA54tmq2X3Fe5TSQ6NV3GJBA/s1600/FH000024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9iLSajFQFC7fFQyukI1gdNx8azqI5GJOHU0zA6skmpoLaxUYr4V9Ulnu1LWPTCxgewE_Crn82E2b5N6ToInaoCwTorxA1OkJiliGmQQmwlYLfTo1gkCiDA54tmq2X3Fe5TSQ6NV3GJBA/s320/FH000024.jpg" width="320" /></a>As I came down the steps at Central office, a fragrant scent reached out to me beckoning a rendezvous ... seeking a courtship with my senses, a love affair with my nose. It was a sweet combination of honeysuckle and rose. For just a moment I considered an RSVP, but No... so many things to do! I walked through the fragrant mist ... as I rushed past the outer edge and caught the faint tendrils of love as they grasped longingly at my senses, I couldn't help but to turn around to locate the source of this love affair! <br />
<br />
There by the steps was a large, luscious rose bush... not the typical Red Rose kind of rose, but more of a climbing rose... I obviously know Nothing about roses except they are pretty to look at and smell great.<br />
<br />
For a second I thought, "I don't have time to stop and smell the roses"... and then realization hit... I Must stop to smell the roses. I go through life (truth be told... this only happens when I'm in town... at home I'm going about 3 mph) at 100 mph and don't give enough time or thought to the simple pleasures in life. By God, I was going to stop and smell the bloomin' roses!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNtQdnjBt2bi-o-aBr-UQzqUbFGRxujP6Itrn49OpR7RLYM4mtcGwuUFMNtq3oUZkjHgq4MLWw0LW1_rjze7nvxLHxLdwae7JfpjyonT80qtcGZ_ThVXZXzKai6H6U2M9jDrSvPAEVCMM/s1600/FL000007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNtQdnjBt2bi-o-aBr-UQzqUbFGRxujP6Itrn49OpR7RLYM4mtcGwuUFMNtq3oUZkjHgq4MLWw0LW1_rjze7nvxLHxLdwae7JfpjyonT80qtcGZ_ThVXZXzKai6H6U2M9jDrSvPAEVCMM/s320/FL000007.jpg" width="320" /></a>I leaned closer and as my nose hovered over a sweet, enticing bloom, the sound of passing cars faded away. Cheerful birds sang as they flitted about from tree to tree. A strong breeze sent tendrils of hair across my face. The aroma was a warm blanket full of memories wrapped around my shoulders and cradling me as a lullaby played ever so softly in my ear. The birds sang, leaves rustled, the breeze soothed my tired muscles. I pulled away, but another fragrant bloom bid hello and I engaged in another love affair ... my nose and the bloom... mingling for only a few seconds and then parting again. <br />
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I stepped away from the rose bush and the world came crashing back around me... cars zoomed by, thoughts of work came flooding back.. but there still lingered on my lips the sweet memory of soft caresses of a scent that took me for a spin. A smile played at the corners of my mouth as I got in my truck. The big, wide, crazy world was back full force, but the sweet memory of that short lived affair with a lovely rose bush changed my entire perspective. I was so damn grateful the temptation won over and pulled me in to it's sweet embrace and awakened my senses if even for a moment.<br />
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<b style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;">Copyright <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">© 2012 Life's Casual Observer blog, Lauren Espinoza</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-83184403927903454282012-03-31T18:14:00.004-06:002018-03-22T10:17:05.501-06:00Totally Violated!!!!!<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Awww... look at the cute little duck.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><span id="goog_1505821993"></span><span id="goog_1505821994"></span></b></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3w30DrmV4XTwmzKUtt3mbwWACI4rdMLTD40gdsQ_8btDSEk2nkEaTmcqOAuoUsyA_hagRQQurLkQeccx5Y804qN5LyYMwzF1dwXrkeOZGmHaztCcIpqXBce5bQOvtvDgb3H2pAazirAo/s1600/172386_1628227956920_1573226603_31291393_6463788_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3w30DrmV4XTwmzKUtt3mbwWACI4rdMLTD40gdsQ_8btDSEk2nkEaTmcqOAuoUsyA_hagRQQurLkQeccx5Y804qN5LyYMwzF1dwXrkeOZGmHaztCcIpqXBce5bQOvtvDgb3H2pAazirAo/s200/172386_1628227956920_1573226603_31291393_6463788_o.jpg" width="134" /></b></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><br /></b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguRKiCLUHRlmVAV12NXb7gXyhLq__w_O7yaqRuGZ5h9OHFDLmACC8f2KYloEEXm7pEQ8g7Q0j167YAjuwobVRtoihAJcX7ktW-KbCmfi4QexQJYa-Mx1AMnm5nrGbiCqvlwA_fDwxowD0/s1600/209504_1661812356509_1573226603_31316410_3110628_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguRKiCLUHRlmVAV12NXb7gXyhLq__w_O7yaqRuGZ5h9OHFDLmACC8f2KYloEEXm7pEQ8g7Q0j167YAjuwobVRtoihAJcX7ktW-KbCmfi4QexQJYa-Mx1AMnm5nrGbiCqvlwA_fDwxowD0/s200/209504_1661812356509_1573226603_31316410_3110628_o.jpg" width="197" /></b></span></a><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>His name is Star and he was the cutest little duck ever! I fell in love with him at first site. I'll never forget the day we brought him home ... the day he stole our hearts! Soft, yellow, cuddly, precious little ball of joy. That was our Star.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>As he grew, he became quite the ladies man... a charmer... stealing the hearts of the local ladies</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>He was a born leader... a role model like no other... The other drakes looked up to him ... emulated his every move...</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>But there was trouble brewing in this young duck's heart. He became agitated, angry, and restless. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Let me clarify that mating season is in full swing! Our four drakes chase each other around the pasture vying for Top Duck... A literal pecking order ...waiting for the day when we finally get some hens and they can impress the heck out of the ladies!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Let me just say now, We need some Hens! </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Here is my story...</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>The other day I was walking in the pasture having just fed our chickens. It was a bright, sunny day with a gentle breeze that lifted tender tendrils of hair from the nape of my neck. The sun kissed the crown of my head; the warmth making its way to my shoulders. Our alpha male duck, Star, was viciously attacking Sam-I-Am, a younger drake who struggled to keep one step ahead of his attacker. I picked Star up to protect Sam and calm our agitated drake. He stood, struggling to maintain his balance, on my arm. I started to sooth him with a soft voice when he suddenly and totally unexpectedly raced up my arm to my shoulder and back of my neck, grabbed a thick lock of my hair in his beak and starting flapping his wings wildly while beginning, what became evidently clear in a matter of one second, a mating behavior!!!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>I guarantee that if anyone else had been in the pasture at that moment or in a passing car on the road, they would have thought I was fighting off a dozen venomous snakes or covered in flesh-eating ants. I can't vouch for the words that escaped my mouth during those few moments! All I know is that I felt Totally Violated! He had a death grip on my hair and as he was on the back of my neck, I couldn't reach around to grab him. His wings were flapping wildly and I couldn't get a grip on anything! The seconds seemed to turn to minutes... minutes to hours as I tried to fight off this very active Duck! I was spinning in circles trying to shake him off! There was no one to call to for help, there was no one to call 911, there was no one but me and that STUPID duck attacking me! I was finally able to grab my hair and rip it free from his grip (losing some hair in the process). As he reached for my hair again, he bit my fingers that were desperately fighting him off! I was finally able to dislodge him from my neck and as he flew to the ground, I turned on him with such outrage and disbelief! </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>He looked up at me with those little duck eyes, all innocent and sweet... I swear there was a smirk on his beak! </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>I wanted to kick him square in his stupid beak and give him a piece of my mind, but I turned and raced out of the pasture. I had been violated! I guarantee that he is no longer and will never again be "that cute wittle ducky"! </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>In preparation for writing this blog, I did some research on the mating behaviors of ducks and this is what I found:</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>In an article titled, </b></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><i style="color: #6e5e00; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 22px; font-weight: bold;">Duck Mating, the sex lives of ducks </i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>by Sally Schloss, her first sentence reads, "</b></span></span><b><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Rape is not typically something you associate with those darling “duckies” who bob along the surface of the water to the delight of children and adults at the local pond.</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"> " - </span></span></b><a href="http://www.webvet.com/main/2009/01/09/duck-mating-sex-lives-ducks">http://www.webvet.com/main/2009/01/09/duck-mating-sex-lives-ducks</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">No KIDDING! </span>I learned more from this article than I ever wanted to know about my pet ducks!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Well, needless to say, Star is my duck and I still love him (No, you can't have him, Morgan Allen!) I may not approve of his recent behavior, but like any of my other children, he needs to learn a good lesson!!! </b></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-7391263197425544422012-03-29T19:48:00.001-06:002018-03-22T10:17:05.362-06:00A Kick-Ass Adventure<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i>"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." ~~ Henry David Thoreau</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have you Lived? Really Lived? How does one live their Life to the fullest? How does one determine the value of the life they lived? How do you determine if it was a life well lived or not? As a child I thought having lots and lots of people at my funeral showed the value of the life I had lived, the number of people who loved me, and if people cried for me the more the better. Didn't that mean that my life was Awesome if people cried over my passing? Childish views!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What do I need to do in my life to make sure it is Lived Well and Good and Deliberate? Maybe I need a really long bucket list. Isn't that the "In" thing right now. Now, don't get me wrong, I'd love to have the job of "Idiot Abroad"... What I wouldn't give to be able to experience the things he has experienced. Of course, I would be terrible for that show because I wouldn't complain and whine enough. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe I need to participate in death-defying stunts or high adrenaline extreme sports like sky-diving. I need to go on grand adventures around the world, or at least around the contiguous United States. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps I can determine the value of my life lived by the house I have built, the money I have saved, my investments, my accomplishments, my awards and accolades. Or better yet, by the spiritual life I have lived. Having lived a healthy, wholesome life would also be a great determination of the value of my life lived.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ummmmm... NO! That's just it, my idea of living a Great life is not determined by how risky, how lavish, how experienced, how long, how spiritual a life I live. My life is based on what I value... your life is based on what you value. Others will critique my life once I am gone. Some will find it necessary to put a value to the life I lived. They will give me a thumbs up or a thumbs down, but it won't matter because I won't be there anymore. I will be in a better place and starting on new adventures and a new life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am, right now, at this very moment, living a Great life. Now I might not feel the same way 6 months from now if a major life change happens that takes me by surprise. Something unexpected happens to tilt my cozy little world on end and jumble up the balance I have maintained. But isn't that what life is best at? Life is great at tumbling things around, adding that extra weight or two or three to one side of my scale. It's what is the most frustrating, most expected, and most exciting part of life: That tipping of the balance we have worked so hard to create. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have I Lived? I have lived deliberately at many different times of my life. I have watched as my carefully balanced scale has been disrupted and tipped horrendously to one side. I have reacted to situations in life, and I have deliberately made decisions to regain balance. I have lived 43 years of life and plan on living at least 42 more. That means that I am halfway there. I will not be a world adventurer, I will not live wealthy, I will not be in newspapers and magazines, I will not live a particularly healthy life, I will not have dozens and dozens of people at my funeral, and I will not die a martyr. But, I will have lived a life that I am pleased with, a life I feel was lived and lived well, a life I will be proud of, and when it is time for me to leave this world, I will be ready to move on to new adventures knowing that this life lived here on earth was one Kick Ass Adventure!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the way, if you are planning on attending my funeral 40-some-odd years from now, don't be shocked when my children play "Highway To Hell" by ACDC at my funeral. It is a family joke and they Absolutely plan on playing that song at my funeral. When you hear it, just laugh and enjoy. Let me share a little secret with you... I plan on going to a better place ;o)</span><br />
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<b style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;">Copyright <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">© 2012 Life's Casual Observer blog, Lauren Espinoza</span></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07071068883604762670noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5356758263804013378.post-70636419284986939702012-03-25T22:23:00.000-06:002018-03-22T10:17:05.313-06:00And so it begins... Casual Observations of Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This blog is dedicated to my Grandmother, Gamma (Jane Menefee Schutt). One thing she taught me early in life is the importance of being a casual observer. She sent a wonderful book to me because she noticed that I was a Casual Observer. Along with the book came an amazing flowered bonnet much like the little girl in the book. I wore that thing like crazy wandering around outside being the best casual observer of nature as I could be. I spent the next 33 years being life's casual observer.<br />
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As a Casual Observer, I have maintained my image as a loner in school, a wall flower in social situations, a quiet thinker instead of a social butterfly. I have been an introvert all my life and fought the image that introverts are weak, undesirable, and no fun! Not true!!! I am Strong, Desirable, and Fun when and if you take the time to get to know the real me... The me that is hiding quietly behind the wall observing the rest of the world... the me that is lovable, free spirited, open minded, giving, caring, spiritual, and so much more. <br />
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I recently read an intriguing article about the power of introversion in Time Magazine: "<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 27px; text-align: left;">The Upside Of Being An Introvert (And Why Extroverts Are Overrated) </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif; text-align: left;">By </span><span class="name" style="background-color: white; border-width: 0px; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="http://www.time.com/time/letters/email_letter.html" id="emailWriter" style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; color: black; cursor: pointer; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-style: none; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Bryan Walsh</a> </span><span class="date" style="background-color: white; border-width: 0px; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;">Monday, Feb. 06, 2012". I highly recommend this article to all Introverts and extroverts alike. It definitely gives a different take on the image of both and why being an introvert is a powerful thing. <span style="font-family: inherit;">I have been an introvert, to the extreme, all my life. I was the wall flower, the loner, the social misfit. I am incredibly uncomfortable in social situations. I avoid social gatherings unless I know there is at least one other person I can cling to, follow around, and talk to. I have to say though, that being an educator has definitely cured a great deal of my introversion when I am around kids. I feel 100% comfortable talking to an auditorium full of students. I am absolutely at home in a classroom teaching. When it comes to being an educator... I am at home and an extrovert.</span></span><br />
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<span class="date" style="background-color: white; border-width: 0px; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What I have learned during my many casual observations of life is that Living life "out loud" doesn't require a person who is the life of the party. Living Life "out loud" requires taking off your blinders, opening your eyes and heart, and allowing your senses to experience everything life throws at you. Introversion is a blessing and my Grandmother knew that. She passed on the most important thing I have learned in life: Being a Casual Observer of life is a strength, a benefit, a blessing. </span></span><br />
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I will continue my work as Life's Casual Observer... not for anyone else but myself. I am on a journey, an adventure. I am not seeking answers or trying to find myself. I know who I am, I know what I want from life, I know where I am going. I am on a journey of observing life at it's best and at it's worst. I am in search of nothing more than seeing life with blinders off, eyes wide open, heart and mind waiting to learn all that I can. I will share my observations along the way and I truly hope you learn something from these observations, after all, I am an educator.<br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Copyright <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">© 2012 Life's Casual Observer blog, Lauren Espinoza</span></b></span><br />
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