tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42983526046340750642024-03-19T04:20:16.816-07:00It's a Long StoryBecause, with me, it usually is...Random musings on everything.Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.comBlogger157125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-77987541948396616802020-01-25T17:14:00.001-08:002020-01-27T10:15:21.690-08:00Housekeeping, and Other Health Hazards Ever have one of those days where you're just doing a random chore at home, and one thing goes wrong, which leads to another, and then suddenly you're contemplating the meaning of life and wondering if your will is up to date?<br />
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Here's how today went, over here... Via text convo with our oldest at some point this afternoon:<br />
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Am I the only one who can start with sweeping and end up with a freshly scrubbed kitchen, a bandaged hand, and shopping online for a new olive oil dispenser? That glass was SO sharp, and it definitely seemed like a bad time to... not have secure footing. </div>
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Suddenly I was hearing that old Blondie song in my head ONE DAY. OR THE OTHER. I'M GONNA GET YA. I'M GONNA GETCHA GETCHA GETCHA GETCHA, ONE DAY - </div>
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(Also huge wail about the fact that I've had that beautiful oil bottle for like 20 YEARS). </div>
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*facepalm*</div>
Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-18776012170860993592019-03-18T13:16:00.000-07:002020-01-25T22:34:54.379-08:00Solving World Problems, One Train Crossing at a Time<div data-test-id="message-body-container">
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I'm pretty much convinced that society will not advance one iota until we have people who can figure out the simple science behind putting a railroad fueling depot 1/4 mile from a major traffic crossing and then allowing trains to pull in AND STOP at said fueling depot, which are exactly 1/4 mile, PLUS THREE TRAIN CARS, long.</div>
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What the actual heck. I mean, I'm no engineer, but I'm pretty sure this is simple math.</div>
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Not to toot my own horn (rim shot), but seriously. If I'm reading it right, judging by the interpretive dance and/or gestures of the people parked next to me, this is beyond annoying. When I'm driving, I like to keep moving. I like to think of that as a basic goal of driving:<i> Arrive At Destination Without Unnecessary Delay. </i> If I have to stop and wait for a train, that's fine--it happens. BUT to watch a train slowly crawl to a stop, and then sit stopped, blocking the crossing, and then actually back UP a little bit, I can feel parts of my brain kind of ...shorting out. I need all the parts of my brain. And I need to keep moving. What usually happens in this situation is that I will actually duck out of the line of stopped cars and double back <i>like six miles out of my way,</i> to go around and back up to the railroad in an attempt to cross somewhere else. And yes, I have done this, arrived at the next crossing, and found another train coming in the other direction. <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Internal screaming intensifies*</span></i>.</div>
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The other day, I couldn't escape, so since I had the time, and in case this is hard for the nice folks at the BNSF Company to figure out, I decided to lay out the solution and make our world A Better Place. </div>
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Ready?</div>
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Get a measuring tape. Have one dude walk from the fueling depot back to highway crossing. Look at the measuring tape. Have another dude walk down the length of the nearest train and look at HIS measuring tape. Write BOTH NUMBERS DOWN and compare. If the train number is greater than or equal to (>/=) the crossing number, detach several train cars until the train measurement is significantly LESS than the crossing measurement. So, <i>x </= z - 3 cars. </i> Put away the measuring tapes, fire up the train, and move. out. of. the way.</div>
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The two dozen cars parked on both sides of the closed traffic crossing will thank you, and you'll get a lot less "one finger" waves, especially that suburban full of BNSF employees trapped in line directly behind me in line at this particular crossing.</div>
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*Inhales*</div>
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Option B: Please pull 250 permits, hold 1,000 meetings, take half a million votes, have 19 years' worth of discussion, write 10,000 memos, invite The Public's opinion (but definitely don't listen to it), and then finally decide NOT to build an overpass at the crossing.</div>
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See? Problem solved. That took me like 5 minutes. </div>
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Next.</div>
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Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-48064791217440095282019-03-13T12:59:00.002-07:002019-03-14T10:08:00.179-07:00Let's Get A Mastiff, I Said...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Round up the usual suspect</td></tr>
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Okay, I'm <i>aware</i> that some people are going to read this and then chime in and be all <i>You don't deserve such a beautiful dog. You shouldn't have gotten a dog if you weren't prepared to give it your whole heart. You suck as a person. You *fill in the blank*</i><br />
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Just...don't.<br />
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She <b>has</b> our whole hearts, but there's a caveat.<br />
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I'm about to disclose one of the secrets of mastiff ownership that many of us miss or willfully ignore or downplay, when deciding to take on one of these gentle but slobbery giants for a lifetime.<br />
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Yes, I'm talking about the slobber.<br />
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For the love.<br />
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Guys. I did the homework. So, so much of it. Believe me, if there's anyone who's more RESEARCH ORIENTED than me, I haven't met them yet. I research the <b>heck</b> out of things. Pros and cons. Blogs. Lists. Talk to people with experience. Wiki-pedia, *yourtopic*.com, "what to know before <i>xyz", ALL of it.</i> And I still somehow missed it.<br />
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We got our beautiful English Mastiff when she was 10 months old; she is now 4+ years old. She is considered a "dry mouth" dog, which means she isn't drooling <i>all</i> the time (win!), but she IS definitely a drool-y mess EVERY SINGLE TIME SHE DRINKS FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE FOREVER AND EVER AMEN. No breaks. Oh, and there's also lots of drool whenever she gets excited or nervous, or eats snow. (*cough* <i>snowiest-winter-ever</i>). We knew this would be a thing, and we knew that, sure, we'd need some 'drool rags' around at the door and by her food area. We literally told ourselves "How hard can it be? You just wipe their mouth now and then."<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">hahahahahahaahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaasoNOTtrue</span></i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seems perfect...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">....until you zoom in a little</td></tr>
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What we were NOT ready for was the fact that every time she gets up from a nap, (or sometimes just randomly, because she's a dog) she does that head-shake move that you might recognize from either famous big-dog film -<u>Turner And Hootch</u> or <u>Beethoven</u> - and even from another room, you can literally hear the *smack* of slobber slinging onto the walls, doors, floor, bookshelves, framed open photos, windows, ceiling and anything else within 10 feet. I've had her do it while I was in the room, and literally had it fly past my face to hit the wall above my head. You also learn to cover your drink. <b>Fast.</b><br />
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So, yeah...not as excited about that.<br />
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Here's the drink routine. Every time she needs a drink, (and I mean, every.single.time), one of us (and when I say us, I mean ME) needs to drop what we're doing and rush into the kitchen and stand there until she comes up for air, like a moose in a swamp, then swoop in quickly before she can swing her head around and fling the mess onto the kitchen cabinets, wipe all the drool off, take the slimy bowl back to the laundry room utility sink, rinse it out (it's ...stretchy??? ewwwwwwwww) refill it, and let her do it again. This usually needs to happen about three times in a row. Every time she drinks. Every DAY of your life. Once she's done drinking, you'll need to wipe her mouth <i>really well</i> two more times before she walks out through the kitchen, then go and repeat the bowl rinse-gag-refill procedure. By that time, she's wandered back to the living room and is already usually dangling another 6" line of goo that needs wiped, a third time, before it drips on the floor or gets dragged across the arm of our new couch or the sleeping cat. Unless she shakes her head, then you're too late.<br />
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*muffled gagging sound*<br />
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For the rest of the time when you're <b>not</b> waiting for her to finish drinking water, if you chose to ignore the several-times-a-day sound of the post-nap and/or random head-shake of the slobber, you also get to spend however long it takes using HOT water, a high concentrate of a strong cleaner, and more elbow grease than you'd expect, to scrub off the caked-on combo of saliva, dirt, and hair that bonds almost permanently to glass and paint and anything else. I'm literally going to need to repaint my office walls and ceiling (where she sleeps), because I have almost scrubbed the paint OFF in some places.<br />
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Exhibit A - what I deal with about once a week in my office...<br />
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Also, don't forget that you need to be OK with bringing a ladder INSIDE your house, so you can scrub your high living room ceilings and try not to drip Simple Green in your own eyes while scrubbing hard, directly overhead. Not that I've done that <span style="font-size: x-small;">(<i>much)</i></span>.<br />
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To their everloving credit, though, mastiffs ARE everything else you hear about. Loving and sweet, gentle and kind, completely and unashamedly just IN LOVE with you (especially if you happen to be Shane--she's got an almost creepy crush on him). They are sensitive and smart and dorky and fun to play with. They just want to lay on your feet (not "at" your feet.. "<b>ON</b>" them). They are beautiful to look at, majestic and classic. They don't require lots of exercise. They only bark when there's something to bark AT, and then they sound totally badass. They aren't aggressive and generally accept other animals well, and can be sweetly loving with their much smaller kitty friends. They give great dog 'hugs' (when they're not covering you in slime). They want to be wherever you are, no matter where that is. Best dog ever. Seriously.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh988SzkXhnwu9feY5bImMo_dZW1-P41AX1DZVErs6R1s7-Jzj_3nFuSeyw32leVMtt486wRduXyYgxzA2Xn7G920Pu994OLVLJxLSidBuFJNn6WkGYCstU7zx0kTk_TkR1I2jfcGznZw/s1600/IMG_20190305_141120966%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1393" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh988SzkXhnwu9feY5bImMo_dZW1-P41AX1DZVErs6R1s7-Jzj_3nFuSeyw32leVMtt486wRduXyYgxzA2Xn7G920Pu994OLVLJxLSidBuFJNn6WkGYCstU7zx0kTk_TkR1I2jfcGznZw/s320/IMG_20190305_141120966%257E2.jpg" width="277" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I mean...how could we resist that face?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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So there you have it. A real-life tale from a real-life mastiff owner.<br />
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<br />Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-85818780268999369582019-03-08T10:09:00.000-08:002019-03-08T10:10:23.466-08:00Embracing Almost 50 and Falling In Love With My Real HairGuys. I turn 49 in ten days, even though on the inside I'm still about...um, 17. Maybe it's a normal turning point for all of us, when we're staring at the front side of 50 candles on a not-so-distant future birthday cake, but it definitely does seem like this is the time in life when everyone is looking around, reassessing everything, and wondering <i>what the heck? Am I old now? Is it time to get rid of those cropped tops and polka dot wedges? </i><br />
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Well, no. Sort of. I mean YES, it is time to toss the cropped tops and possibly the shoes, and <a href="https://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2013/12/leggings-are-not-pantsand-other-fashion.html" target="_blank">we should all pay attention to how we dress</a>, but no, it doesn't mean we're "old". That's what has surprised me the most about approaching *gasp* middle age (in case I live to be 100). I don't feel any different. I have my health, which I'm more and more grateful for every day. I have a body that, although <a href="https://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/search/label/diet" target="_blank">I've fought it to lose weight</a> for a decade and a half, has served me well and given me no complaints along the way (other than <i>whyyyy can't I lose 35 pounds?</i><b style="font-style: italic;">)</b>. Even though my teenaged self thought of 40 (or at least 45) as "like, TOTALLY OLD", I don't feel that way now at all. I have loved my 40s. They've been probably my favorite decade so far, and I'm feeling like our 50s will be the best decade yet. I can't believe I even just said that...<br />
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During our 30s and even early 40s, we were buried (and I mean <i>buried</i>) in debt. We were raising kids, paying for private school, getting all of our business equipment paid for, trying to manage keeping our financial head above water from one month to the next and wondering DOES THIS EVER END OR ARE WE JUST ON A TREADMILL TIL WE DIE? Turns out, it does end--or it will. The kids are raised; one is married, the other is engaged. We're <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/search/label/empty%20nest" target="_blank">empty nesting,</a> and we <b>freaking love it.</b><i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>We put in the hard time with our business, and we finally have room to breathe and to travel (more on that later, but omg YES). Our bills are all paid <i>on the due date</i> for a change, and there are actually gaps where we can just chill and not worry about how to pay All The Things. We even go out to dinner now and then, even though it comes with <a href="https://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/search/label/restaurant%20rants" target="_blank">the accompanying annoyances</a>, or maybe I'm just super intolerant. Probably that. I'm definitely super intolerant...#sorrynotsorry<br />
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The other huge thing that has sort of suddenly changed for me personally in the last six months is that I've decided to see what my real hair color is. My family goes grey early, and I think I found my first greys late in my teens to early 20s. I started dyeing my hair to keep my brown fresh when I was about 26, and I never stopped. Of course over the years, the grow-out when I go too long (3 weeks, then 2 weeks, ugh) would look like OMG MY HAIR IS WHITE. I can't. I was sure I'd dye it until I was 90. I never wanted to be out to dinner with Shane and have someone tell him "Aw, that's sweet...You're taking your mom out for dinner." So, I'd grimace at it and quickly spend an hour dyeing it and trying not get brown stain on the walls, counters, sink, floor tiles, carpet, and my shirt, face, ears, and fingers. Good times.<br />
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Then, wonder of wonders (to us *old* people), I started seeing all these younger women dyeing their hair silver. On purpose. Just-- what?? You're 20 and you want to have silver hair? Don't you know you're going to have silver hair later anyway? Why would you do that? But it started me thinking...OK, these women WANT grey hair, and they're paying to get it. I HAVE grey hair, and I'm paying to cover it up... hmmm. I randomly started following some ultra cool women on Instagram and the hashtag #silversisters, and I realized--it's just a hair color. People find greys starting as early as childhood. Why are we so worried about what color the hair is that grows out of our heads? Silver and grey (and blends of the same) in animals are beautiful. Grey horses? Awesome. White cats? Beautiful. Silver fish. Dogs. Elephants. How about snow leopards? Rare and exotic. What is with us humans? Time to be done.<br />
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To be fair, the mindset is starting to change. Revlon named "silver" the Hair Color of the Year for 2019, so I feel like it's time to get ON a bandwagon for a change...Like I'm at the right age, right time, right place, to do this.<br />
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I've always thought (and so have most women alive since the invention of hair dye) that it seems, I don't know..UNFAIR...that men go grey at whatever age it happens to them, and they never even think twice about it. They just rock it. They're called silver foxes. Distinguished. Sexy. Mature. But when a women allows her grey to just *happen*, she's called old. Letting herself go. Too young to go grey. Granny hair. Invisible. Obsolete. Out to pasture. Unattractive, boring, plain. The heck?? No. Also, I realized that our mothers' (and grandmothers') generations strongly believe that "Once you go grey, you better go short hair too. You can't have long grey hair; that's just ugly." Also not true. Google "long silver hair" and prepare to be amazed at how beautiful these women are, at all ages. Follow @annikavonholdt on Instagram and be prepared to never see silver hair the same way again. I love that she has long silver hair (although she'd be drop-dead gorgeous no matter what's on her head <i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">*insert jealous side-eye here*</span>). </i>My hair is almost long enough to sit on, and if you (or your grandma) think I'm going to chop it short once it's grey, you are oh-so-mistaken.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for mortianna robin hood" src="data:image/jpeg;base64,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" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">what people tell us we'll look like (<span style="font-size: xx-small;">courtesy of Google)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
vs.</div>
<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;"><img alt="Image result for annika von holdt" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQCOL-f-lluCGxhaArMvv_JP96VsNgkVAY6TSLc151HvMJ2WLVJ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">what it *can* look like (courtesy of annikavonholdt.com)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I mean... HOW IS THAT NOT BEAUTIFUL?<br />
<br />
Anyhoo. There I was after Christmas, in the bathroom with a box of dye, getting ready to cover my roots for the millionth time, and I looked at the metallic threads peeking out at my part line, and suddenly I was just like NOPE. I'm done. I want to see what my real hair looks like. I may be covering up something really gorgeous. I may have metallic silver hair. Or stripes. Or Cruella DeVille hair. Who knows? I may BE the hair all these women are paying fortunes to have and maintain. And with that, I was just finished. I returned the box dye to the store. The cashier took it from me and literally gave my 1/2" silver line of new growth on top of my head the side eye, <i>hard</i>, and was like, "Okayyyy."<br />
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It has now been 13 weeks today since I dyed my hair. I spent the first few weeks using a combination of coconut oil masks, and vitamin C mixed with shampoo on my hair under a wrap, to try to fade some of the existing remaining dye. I can now see my real hair color, for the first time since forever, and it's gorgeous! I'm not as white as I thought, or even as silver. My real hair turns out to be a super dark iron-blue-steel blackish color, but there is an ultra-white stripe at my temple, and some heavy silver stripes here are there in the dark hair. The back has almost no grey at all yet, but oh my goodness it's so DARK. I've become obsessed with seeing it grow. It's the slowest process imaginable, especially for my length of hair, but I'm excited to have started. I always wear it up, and I'm ALWAYS at home, so it's not like I have to worry about going in to work and looking "funny" for awhile during the initial months. I'm giving it about six months, and then I may (or may not) go in and have a salon who specializes in color correction, strip the dye from my ends and basically re-dye them to match my grown out hair. But I'm not at all sold on that either, because that involves bleaching and dyeing, and everyone I've seen who has done that has had so much damage that they have to cut off their hair anyway.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I'm sporting so many different colors on my head. They range from nearly blond, caramel, chocolate brown, to walnut, with my nearly blue-steel-grey and white grow-out (which is fun to watch but also alarmingly odd). *gulp* It's starting to look intentional, and it has also suddenly opened my eyes to all the women out there, when I go to the store, who are doing the same thing. I don't know why I never noticed them, or maybe it's a new trend, but there are so many beautiful women who I can tell have just stopped dyeing their hair and are in all the various stages of growing it out. I feel like we make eye contact and sort give each other a tiny wink and a smile, like "good for you!"<br />
<br />
I need to also point out the other giant change that has come of this ditching-the-dye. Oh. My. Gosh. You guys. My hair stopped falling out. Not just "sort of" quit--I mean, it has STOPPED FALLING OUT. I thought it was hereditary or something, and I used to lose so much hair that I was literally getting thinning (*gasp* <i>balding?</i>) spots on my head. And then, almost immediately, I started noticing that when I combed it out with conditioner in it after showering, and ran my hand down the length to the end, there were...NO hairs on my hand. Usually I'd pull off quite a few and have to hang them on the soap rack until I got out, because ewww. My hair is fuller and bouncier, and <b>definitely</b> noticeably thicker. My braid literally feels almost twice as thick as it used to. I'm constantly playing with it, because it doesn't even feel like MY hair. So, no matter what my real hair color is, I'm keeping it, because the trade-off is truly healthy hair. And nope, it's not wiry, like everyone keeps warning me. It's silky and sleek and thick and wonderful.<br />
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I should point out here, too, that this sort of ties in with my <a href="https://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2019/03/sorry-its-been-minute.html" target="_blank">last post on signing up </a>for a serious keto diet protocol with a coach. I guess I was like, "If I'm going to be grey, I need to have a fit body." I know, it's vain, but I had the thought that I don't want to be grey AND overweight. Ugh. No. So, my hair is motivation? Or my age? Or both? Whatever it is, I'm enjoying the new make-over I've started of my outward self, and I'm super excited to see my new improved body to go along with my real, authentic, ultra-cool, on-trend striped hair.<br />
<br />
If you're considering embracing your grey hair, no matter what your age, I can't encourage you enough to DO IT. It's just hair. You might love it, and there's a great community of #silversisters to meet out there who are on the same path. And if you don't love it, you can always just dye it back, so where's the harm? It's time to realize that it's just another hair color, and it doesn't make us old, or un-sexy, or boring.<br />
<br />
What a time to be alive, right?<br />
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Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-81935215213463397142019-03-06T17:41:00.002-08:002020-01-25T17:26:25.331-08:00Sorry It's Been a Minute-Whoa, that was a long break. I'm still here, but you know, <i>life.</i><br>
<i><br></i>
To recap, the Etsy shop took off after I started it last June and was SO MUCH FUN. Like, why didn't I do this sooner? What a perfect way to combine my gardening hobby, my crafting homemade things, and my overflow of herbs into someplace to actually sell them! I love it, and it's been a nice little side income pretty consistently since. Once I got started, I thought I'd just jot down a quick list of what I could possibly sell, and the list went to several pages. Like almost 100 different listings. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">whoa</span><br>
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<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/AVvXsEgPvO2m1SpoV00hHiIJJpZ4-oZQxlFrsKH8o1c6sRM-V1KeVKn_781TBScSYD6lenjnbB8mdG6MK3Jj3At6JeN6nQ1Rw3buv2IzXJROGUWdumnDZBZ-lKWUPMUSS46R-Fgj0uezHDx-Pw/s1600/2018-06-07+17.41.39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPvO2m1SpoV00hHiIJJpZ4-oZQxlFrsKH8o1c6sRM-V1KeVKn_781TBScSYD6lenjnbB8mdG6MK3Jj3At6JeN6nQ1Rw3buv2IzXJROGUWdumnDZBZ-lKWUPMUSS46R-Fgj0uezHDx-Pw/s320/2018-06-07+17.41.39.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The overflow herb garden last summer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUqCQpXSFOGCvLtrXvBIPMun118jwQgIekW9VBy1aDT4_8owm2i2WzbLlFtgxGZg0Ugg2UCUPmuGUtLi0bfzYIoDs19As4hHsAFfeIyBOqrpdfjFSaDhSp2bjnsSyb7JPIQJcL_gfow/s1600/2018-06-07+17.42.42.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQUqCQpXSFOGCvLtrXvBIPMun118jwQgIekW9VBy1aDT4_8owm2i2WzbLlFtgxGZg0Ugg2UCUPmuGUtLi0bfzYIoDs19As4hHsAFfeIyBOqrpdfjFSaDhSp2bjnsSyb7JPIQJcL_gfow/s320/2018-06-07+17.42.42.jpg" width="320"></a></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br></span>
<i><br></i>
The garden, preserving, and Etsy shipping stuff took up most of my spare time last summer and fall, then we did the family Christmas party for, um, (counts on fingers) 64 of our family again at our house, which was just a blast. It's always lovely to see everyone crowded into our living room/dining room/kitchen and overflow areas, enjoying food and catching up with each other. We are probably skipping hosting it next winter, because every once in awhile someone else hosts, which is lovely, and I get to just show up with a watermelon or something. <br>
<br>So much else...but my most recent news is this.<br><br>
I went on a Whole30 diet for a few months and lost 16 pounds last spring. (hold your applause though)... And then, of course, I regained it through the summer with a bit of bread here and a bite of cheese there... because OF COURSE I DID. I got so pissed about being back at my "Highest Weight Ever" that I angrily jumped back on our exercise bike back in January, thinking I'd kick my own butt into shape. Not true, fellow bikers. Not. True. After riding 30-60 minutes a day at 12 mph, uphill, <i>six days a week</i>, I...gained 2 pounds. *insert sound of gnashing teeth here*<br>
<br>
SO. Since Shane was a tiny bit tired of listening to me being super down on myself about it and being frustrated with my general lack of not-having-the body-I-had-15-years-ago, he talked me into signing up for an actual diet plan with an actual diet coach, as a birthday gift. I was against it, because I've always been all, "If I can't drive myself to exercise more and eat less, then I guess I DESERVE TO BE FAT," which is kind of a bad attitude, apparently. After a bit of arguing about spending that much money on my bod, I finally agreed to trust him that it will definitely be good for me. I've proven that I can rock maintaining a weight (sort of), since I've been basically THE SAME DAMN WEIGHT for the last decade, so I guess that's good, right?<br>
<br>
I started it today, so I'll keep you all posted, but don't expect before and after pictures, though, because 1) belly rolls aren't fun to look at and 2) <i>I don't know you that well.</i><br>
<br>
Anyhoo, not that any of this matters, but I'm bored and I need something to do to keep busy, so I don't wander into the kitchen and <i>eat all the things. </i><br>
<br>
I'll probably keep busy by trying to write more often again. I keep thinking I'm fresh out of funny stories, but oh my gosh, there are so many new things I could tell you...Plus, I haven't finished with my <a href="https://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/search/label/time%20traveler" target="_blank">Hippie Childhood</a> saga yet, so stay tuned.<br>
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<br>Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-13532000491626636772018-06-09T17:00:00.004-07:002018-06-09T17:05:09.033-07:00Exciting News and other Rainy Day Projects<br />
So I finally did it.<br />
<br />
You guys know I've been making stuff, and growing stuff, and preserving stuff, and knitting stuff, and baking stuff, for like (counts on fingers) A LOT OF YEARS, and of course everyone's always all, "you should totally sell things", but I've always shied away from doing a farmer's market because they have to get up at like 3 a.m. to pick herbs and veggies and then package everything and put them in the car and drive across town and set up a booth and load and unload and sell and explain and count change and all that, and <i>I'm just too lazy for all of that.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
In the back of my mind has always been the thought that, yeah, the whole 'homestead' thing is kind of a big deal right now, and since I've been living the homesteady life since as long as I can remember, I'm fairly qualified to profit from my experience, right? Right. I feel like I've been living this way since way before it was a cool new Movement or a trend or a YouTube lifestyle. I've even milked goats! I mean, I don't feel like I want to start filming my whole life and doing a YouTube channel, (although I <i>could</i> and it would probably be awesome, but again--lazy), but I do have the time to set up an online shop at Etsy, and that seems to be a good outlet for All The Things, and since I have such a wide variety of things I could market, I never wanted to be limited to a single stream. Like, how confusing would it be to go to a farmer's market booth that sells honey and wax, candles, soap, knit hats and socks, possibly sweaters, garden seeds, dried herbs, infused oils, elixirs, body lotion and wound salve, AND jam and jellies?<br />
<br />
So- what I DID do was go and open a shop on Etsy, which is still very much not filled out yet because when I sat down to jot down a few things that we grow here that I could sell, (like dried herbs), I ended up with a <i>three-page list</i> of products, just off the top of my head. And since we're doing bees and honey now, we can add that to the list, so anyway yeah-- I'm on Etsy now.<br />
<br />
Bear with me if you want to order things there, and I promise I'm not going to change this blog and suddenly be all-- BUY MY STUFF GUYS-- because I like this blog as it is, and I hate when blogs change and become all sales-y, so don't worry, this is probably the only post I'm going to yak about Etsy, unless I run into funny or weird things there to wisecrack about. <i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">could happen</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></i>
Excuse me now, while I spend the rest of the week trying to get decent photos and information up at the online store, because I've been on there all day and it's a lot more time-consuming that I thought it would be. At least it's raining out today and I have some time to fool around with it, so - wish me luck.<br />
<br />
Oh, PS, I'm on Etsy at <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/NorthIdahoHomestead">https://www.etsy.com/shop/NorthIdahoHomestead</a><br />
<br />
...and on instagram @northidahohomestead<br />
<br />
...and on Twitter @nihomestead<br />
<br />
(not doing Facebook, and <a href="https://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/search/label/facebook" target="_blank">you can see why here</a>)<br />
<br />
See you there,<br />
<br />
toodles-<br />
<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></i>
<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/AVvXsEj6bWw2W2jBNLi5e1qh5LOlkPtKdBCiDkxGWK6tLixxZtSQNkWmxAU_oEZax2vSBgr4FbB7mLDePGGdcGa01Y0eELQ71KGo7Nq3Ryozassahpm-1vI21F5oLjoPUCx1R_9YcPX4T5t12A/s1600/IMG_20180607_174138193.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6bWw2W2jBNLi5e1qh5LOlkPtKdBCiDkxGWK6tLixxZtSQNkWmxAU_oEZax2vSBgr4FbB7mLDePGGdcGa01Y0eELQ71KGo7Nq3Ryozassahpm-1vI21F5oLjoPUCx1R_9YcPX4T5t12A/s320/IMG_20180607_174138193.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The herb garden this spring--TOO MANY THINGS for two people</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<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/AVvXsEgLNwmwB9mi_niim9Rgcqx8CljsnkgreQ-WDsgRDkH2IF1lyiGNVmptyEHBBB73fhUtiO4lgkasNO5r5vcT8khX8GmNuxoDXEKRiXBD1NMjzFB7qKm6c9INEeCcGLPlQZcbfsaB-VLoNg/s1600/IMG_20180608_150618298.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLNwmwB9mi_niim9Rgcqx8CljsnkgreQ-WDsgRDkH2IF1lyiGNVmptyEHBBB73fhUtiO4lgkasNO5r5vcT8khX8GmNuxoDXEKRiXBD1NMjzFB7qKm6c9INEeCcGLPlQZcbfsaB-VLoNg/s320/IMG_20180608_150618298.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful chamomile picked yesterday</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<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/AVvXsEjZ8xg-d4PLS69M4e1gXMp9iHcoUXFWRkdCwYzwZix2gi5-kZaYRkK3leKoyfNq8X8hu1BIBsPMUH5fo6KAEv9rmiNxB5TlxGNsRiDJP4WMlhKpKeOw1iETvInElg-P03nnWIeV-3uOYA/s1600/IMG_20180607_174002044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ8xg-d4PLS69M4e1gXMp9iHcoUXFWRkdCwYzwZix2gi5-kZaYRkK3leKoyfNq8X8hu1BIBsPMUH5fo6KAEv9rmiNxB5TlxGNsRiDJP4WMlhKpKeOw1iETvInElg-P03nnWIeV-3uOYA/s320/IMG_20180607_174002044.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chamomile, arnica and sage. Again--too much, so why not sell it?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></i>Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-49250368143503253572018-05-24T13:37:00.000-07:002020-02-22T23:44:48.232-08:00You Too Can Cook Like Me...Now, With Updated Contents...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</a>
</div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Cookbook Update, from my prior <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2018/03/live-and-learn-finally-published-that.html" target="_blank">post where I finally finished the book</a>. I finally also got around to adding a Contents section, which is not to say I indexed the whole thing, because no, I'm not doing that. <i>Because I have a life and stuff. </i> But I DID go through it and add a "Contents" section where at least you can find the general pages in the book where the different recipes will be. Because on my first four copies for us, I totally <i>spaced it</i> and now I get to thumb through it, in "meal order" to find what I'm looking for. Which is fine, because I wrote the damn thing so I think I can find my way around. But for someone who isn't...me, yeah-- some kind of index would be nice, right? Right.<br></div>
<br>
Also, IN CASE you really want to know all my secret family recipes, the Blurb website gave me an embedded boat-load of HTML garble that should embed in my blog as a link so you can go buy a copy for a million skillion dollars (okay, like $70.00 ish but still), but I can <i>not</i> figure out the embed thing, so it ends up looking like this...<br>
<br>
<div class='share-on-blog' style='margin: 2px;vertical-align: top; font-size: 14px; font-family: arial; color: #000; max-width:300px;padding: 20px;border: 1px solid #f5f5f5; text-align: center; display: block;margin: 5px auto;'><br>
<a href="http://www.blurb.com/bookshare/app/index.html?bookId=8754025" data-bindattr-144="144" target='_blank'><br>
<img src="http://bookshow.blurb.com/bookshow/cache/P13835946/md/cover_2.jpeg" data-bindattr-145="145" alt='' style='max-height:300px; max-width:300px;border:0;zoom: 50%;box-shadow: 3px 3px 10px 1px #999;' /><br>
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></a><br>
<p style='margin: 5px;'><a target='_blank' style='text-decoration: none; font-size: 18px; color: #00c0be; text-transform: uppercase; border-bottom: 0;'><script id='metamorph-652-start' type='text/x-placeholder'></script>The Book<script id='metamorph-652-end' type='text/x-placeholder'></script></a></p><br>
<p style='margin: 5px;'>By <a style='text-decoration: none; color: #00c0be; order-bottom: 0;'><script id='metamorph-653-start' type='text/x-placeholder'></script>Stefanie Smith<script id='metamorph-653-end' type='text/x-placeholder'></script></a></p><br>
</div><br>
<br>
<i>Whatever the heck THAT all means.</i><br>
<i><br></i>
<br>
Anyhoo, to make it easier, you can go here - <a href="http://www.blurb.com/b/8754025-the-book">http://www.blurb.com/b/8754025-the-book</a> instead and buy a bunch of copies right now because I'm pretty sure we're gonna be so rich now, muahahaaaa.<br>
<br>
That's all, byeee.Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-52930423195691556182018-04-09T11:04:00.002-07:002018-04-09T11:09:29.249-07:00"Cell Phone Etiquette" - MORE STUFF I SHOULD NOT HAVE TO TELL YOUDude.<br />
<br />
Put your phones DOWN.<br />
<br />
Just oh. my. gosh.<br />
<br />
I know it's <i>been said before </i>(a lot), but I figured that having reached nearly 50 years (which qualifies as "super old" to my 80s-teenager brain), I should add my voice, as part of that generation who has the distinction of being able to say we <i>remember when</i> people used to just have a phone at their house. Tethered to the actual damn wall, by a cord...usually in the living room, where everyone in the house and possibly the neighborhood (if you had a party line, like us bumpkins), could hear every word you said.<br />
<br />
We also remember, even further back in the mists of time, when -- if someone you loved was far away -- we'd get out a piece of paper, a pen, and an envelope and WRITE THEM A LETTER. Then we had to swipe a stamp from mom's purse and walk it all the way out to the actual mailbox. Clear Outside. And then go inside and wait for <i>like 2-4 weeks</i> to get an answer, unless the person decided not to write back, or didn't have time, or forgot about you (kind of like texting nonresponders nowadays, only way more depressing and time-consuming).<br />
<br />
Anyhoooo<br />
<br />
What was my point?<br />
<br />
Oh, right. Cell phones.<br />
<br />
So, having said all that, what the heck, you guys. We need some guidelines about when is, and when is NOT, an okay time to have your cell phone in front of your face. I'll go first, and we'll see how long the list gets. I'm not promising you "Top Ten" or anything, I'm just gonna go, in order of how they come to me. Ready?<br />
<br />
*inhales*<br />
<br />
1. NO CELL PHONES ON DATES. Ever. Not with boyfriends, husbands, acquaintances, friends, blind dates, lunch meetings, happy hour, or any other time where you are sitting with actual humans who drove in a car to a place to meet you, in person. Phones need to stay, turned OFF and out of sight, for the whole time. Not on the table. Not in your lap. Not in your hand. Unless you have an elderly or young person who may or may not be bleeding out their eyes from a kitchen-related incident caused by your absence, you do NOT need to hear from anyone for that hour. I mean it. There is not one single damn thing that can't wait another half hour until you get back in your car to check your messages, texts, emails, Facebook, Instagram, and Snapchat. And if you check those things while I happen to be sitting across from you, I reserve the right to throw a drink in your face. And you're buying. That should be the new rule. Check your phone = picking up the tab for the whole table. Or maybe that's been done already. I have no idea- <a href="https://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2015/10/my-disconnected-life.html" target="_blank">I gave up on Internet news and Facebook like 3 years ago.</a><br />
<br />
2. NO CELL PHONES WHEN VISITING SOMEONE'S HOUSE. Not for a party, not for a hangout, not for the Superbowl, and <i>certainly</i> not for a meal. No phones. Leave them in your car, and go outside to check them if you're that interested in what everyone who <i>isn't</i> at this place is doing right exactly now.<br />
<br />
3. NO CELL PHONES WHILE CONVERSING WITH A PERSON IN PERSON.<i> </i>Oh, no, you did <i>not</i> just actually glance at your phone while I was talking, did you? DID YOU?? *smack* No. Do not do that. I promise you that stupid Vine video will still be there in ten minutes when we're done interacting in person. You look at that screen one more time while I'm talking and I will pull a hammer out of my purse and give it a good bash. See if Instagram can filter <i>that </i>mess.<br />
<br />
4. NO CELL PHONES IN AIRPORT WAITING AREAS OR SHOPPING LINES (or any other place people congregate to wait). Oh...my...<i>GOSH</i>. So much no right here. No one wants to sit across from you while you yack loudly on your phone about your date last night, your current Facebook fight with some troll, your new Samsung product, your business meeting this morning, that one party (<i> 'member that one time...?</i>), or how you spent the morning cleaning cat puke off the kitchen floor. Stand up and <i>go somewhere else</i>, for the love. How in the world have we become a society who thinks it's OK to force everyone around you to listen to your convo at top volume. I can't tell you how many times I have had to get up and walk to another place to sit, because some dumbass won't stop shouting into his phone, sitting right against me in an airport waiting area. Good Lord. Do you actually not notice the other humans around you right now? Go away.<br />
<br />
5. NO CELL PHONES ON SPEAKERPHONE UNLESS YOU ARE DISABLED AND HAVE LOST THE USE OF YOUR ELBOWS IN A FREAK HAY BALING ACCIDENT. This is for all you super-cool hotties out there who walk around holding your phone in front of your mouth like it's a piece of pizza you're about to bite into...speaking into it from a distance and forcing everyone else within a grocery-store-sized radius to listen in to every word of your oh-so-important chat about that girl last night with those <i>pants, what was she thinking, omg girl, IKR, WTH. </i>I'd love to accidentally ram these people from behind with a shopping cart and knock their iphone 17.5 into the frozen foods exhaust fan. Why in the heck must we listen to that?<br />
<i><br /></i>
I seriously remember when we used to leave the house, drive to town, go to school, the post office (yes), the grocery store, or go out for the whole night, <i> </i>and our only phone was still back at the house, <i>tethered to the wall.</i> And we were FINE. We learned how to navigate with maps. We learned to be responsible and tell someone "I'll meet you in the parking lot, by the big tree, at 4 p.m.", and we'd actually just <i>be there. </i>No one got lost. No one got left (<i>well, sometimes we did, but that was only that one time when Mom was just <b>done</b> with our BS). </i>We could go to the fair with a big group and split up, and no one got lost, or trampled by a rampaging alpaca, or starved to death wandering hopelessly with no idea what to eat for lunch. We didn't take 45 selfies for posterity, in our fake cowgirl outfits. We'd separate and make a plan (you remember those?), and we'd all meet back up, in the parking lot, by the big tree, at 4 p.m.<br />
<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;"><img alt="Image result for cell phone meme" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRF3k3n_hOMdVI4gpLW43BLxuCAGzsVQ3A_xuRDWlkEauT6zUcyXg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where's Waldo...80's Edition.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And when we got home, if we were richie-rich enough to afford one of those cool new answering machines, we could check our messages by pressing a button, and see who, if anyone, had tried to reach us while we were <i>not at home</i>. And if there was an emergency, well, yeah, they happened. But the world didn't stop turning because we missed the call.<br />
<br />
I remember taking whole entire road trips, across a whole entire state, with nothing but a suitcase and the car keys. We thought it was a stretch to have to <i>tell someone</i> "Hey, we're driving to Seattle tonight, should be home Sunday." It was enough. Conversely, if we didn't make it home, from wherever, the people who loved us knew when that time-frame had elapsed where it was time to jump in the car and go looking around for us, or start calling our friends or their parents or our work, to see who'd seen us last, and where. And that was enough, too. We all survived.<br />
<br />
We also did NOT need to see what everyone in our entire high school was doing, in real-time, every minute of the weekend. Oh my gosh, that would have ruined life. If you liked a boy, and you didn't see him at the local hangout on Saturday night...you didn't have the option to stalk him and several girls you hate on Facebook, only to find out (<i>wailing</i>) ...that they're all <i>together right now omgwhyyyyy</i>. You'd have to fret and wonder <b>all weekend</b>, and then at school on Monday, you'd hear from a girl who heard from her sister, who heard from her boyfriend, who was friends with that guy you like, that he was at so-and-so's house this weekend and it looked like he was talking to whatshername and they may have left together and now your high school life is overrrrrrrr.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Also, we didn't <b>commit crimes</b> over these facts, but that's another topic...)</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
Ok, that's my basic list of, ummm, five cell phone etiquette rules. Feel free to add on from there...<br />
<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/AVvXsEjOw_ZuYVVFUbBRv8dJbs1BIEa1IdvVlGYga3-LEI64R_UaxeIuXnJ4adXddidtQZZNPFUDP07ROftkqHqPktZS1-8-Kp54zzBwfsNCgbZC4RqofxcmbiQqvUIOpYucXTVz6XF7xf6MAA/s1600/no+cell+phones.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="640" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOw_ZuYVVFUbBRv8dJbs1BIEa1IdvVlGYga3-LEI64R_UaxeIuXnJ4adXddidtQZZNPFUDP07ROftkqHqPktZS1-8-Kp54zzBwfsNCgbZC4RqofxcmbiQqvUIOpYucXTVz6XF7xf6MAA/s320/no+cell+phones.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm crazy about the lady in front. Just...taking it in. Love it. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Images courtesy of smash.com and google images.</span><br />
<br />
<br />Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-61894915238217530182018-03-29T14:36:00.003-07:002018-03-30T10:44:49.310-07:00Spring Garden (de-) PlanningWell, spring is finally here. Or it seems like it should be. Because, even though, yes, it was <i>snowing</i> on Monday, it didn't stick, and it's warmed up to like 50 (ok 46) and the sun is...<i>sort of</i> out, so I'm calling that a win.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I actually went out and spread some more black plastic on the last bit of empty dirt at the back side of the vegetable garden, and I'm ready to drag out our grow lights and plant vegetable seeds indoors next week. That is...just as soon as we drag out the <i>ten thousand carefully puzzle-stacked boxes </i>of Christmas decorations in the hall closet to get under the house where the grow lights are stored. Which will mean, I'll get in the middle of THAT and find something wrong with the tub of all the winter gloves and hats, and I'll go off all organizing THOSE, and then the coats will need to be rotated (winter in the back, light jackets to the front), and then I'll probably find that my scarves are in need of updating, and then--<br />
<br />
<i>anyway</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Garden vegetable seeds will be happening next week.<br />
<br />
The only thing about this year that will be a major change for us is that, if you read <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/search/label/empty%20nest" target="_blank">my empty nest post</a>s awhile back...there's just two of us here now. And our garden is, after just a hair over a decade of waiting for the fence <i>around</i> it to be finished...an enclosure of 5,000 square feet. 50' X 100' of enclosed potting soil. It's like my own summer play area. When there were four of us to feed, that space was great, and I've had years where I filled the whole thing to capacity with everysinglevariety of vegetables you can grow here (and some you can't). I've filled it with things we eat (corn, carrots, beans) and things we don't (radishes/kale/okra/brussels sprouts). I've wasted space on 46 tomato plants that I know will never fruit until Thanksgiving week, under my redneck-greenhouse covering of clear painter's plastic held down with pavers, no matter how early I plant them inside.<br />
<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/AVvXsEjR4sdVvh2YmErRQswyNrjwkCLm_p5D7ZBP-Hcu2TSatdiS1XmTwE5xH75d-F6f0d-sRgCty4pqBCMKs2ElORraGJascMn36vV4Xgs_ett_DX3OJH8eJoV251t-zSj-ehK2XmlIIOHshQ/s1600/May+2016+020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR4sdVvh2YmErRQswyNrjwkCLm_p5D7ZBP-Hcu2TSatdiS1XmTwE5xH75d-F6f0d-sRgCty4pqBCMKs2ElORraGJascMn36vV4Xgs_ett_DX3OJH8eJoV251t-zSj-ehK2XmlIIOHshQ/s320/May+2016+020.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">spring--covered with plastic and straw</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOR9kpCACxi1aOvh7ESIWIOczRHCTsRJOiVvp_Powfz4ilf1KDFCQXfpFPUyXm14-eJOgGvAxYMoFdeKYkKBY8kYuUdceIdyGpk_LT4z2kamEFo906JnaAJ1GvytvupVDDmTfO_VWk5Q/s1600/Junen+2016+need+sorted+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOR9kpCACxi1aOvh7ESIWIOczRHCTsRJOiVvp_Powfz4ilf1KDFCQXfpFPUyXm14-eJOgGvAxYMoFdeKYkKBY8kYuUdceIdyGpk_LT4z2kamEFo906JnaAJ1GvytvupVDDmTfO_VWk5Q/s320/Junen+2016+need+sorted+007.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Umm, yeah, lots of room here...</td></tr>
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Now, suddenly, there's all this space, and there's just two of us. I don't know how to un-plan my garden. De-plan? Downsize? I don't know what to do with less than half of a 25' row of carrots, 46 tomato plants, and 250 square feet of corn. Two 25' x 4' rows of green beans. 12 mounds of potatoes. A 20 x 24' area of pumpkins. <i>aieeeee</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Most people's vegetable garden space would fit in the <i>front corner</i> where I grow medicinal herbs.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOnJHVxU2y3YcRMsWQ56cN3RV19nAHpSp2z_FAXg8aJqX43Qus5ZuUMOJlSBS_JsiexJxPoNlSWxQY-i0P7k6Bynb0Y-2E7xreEg_WNz4AsR3jtm4wT9mIaO9wQUC2HuXcDcPoNbRJFQ/s1600/Junen+2016+need+sorted+067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOnJHVxU2y3YcRMsWQ56cN3RV19nAHpSp2z_FAXg8aJqX43Qus5ZuUMOJlSBS_JsiexJxPoNlSWxQY-i0P7k6Bynb0Y-2E7xreEg_WNz4AsR3jtm4wT9mIaO9wQUC2HuXcDcPoNbRJFQ/s320/Junen+2016+need+sorted+067.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kale seeding overdose. Because yeah, no one eats kale. Just saying-</td></tr>
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<br />
Hmm.<br />
<br />
Well...I have thought about adding more berries. But God forbid, NOT more currants...those things are one of those plants where ONE is probably too many. I mean, seriously, what do you DO with currants? Sure, I make jelly (not jam, because they are basically composed of solid <i>seeds</i>), so now we have two bushes that fruit like crazy, and I have to sit there for hours picking them and THEN bring the racemes in and pick off the individual berries until I wish I'd never <i>heard</i> of currants, so yeah...no more currants.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijZIjVK3Fmrvc_FDWy1TlbxgFwVMe_KKJhoirVrFwO1a1E-_wC7ZVid1UpDG_zjl9JcNLg4-qdOky7ah8t5iha96z5zI7BXLB-SbwO2KjK3g6NJIVYCw6b2oWRciRncdTxe19i74mNXw/s1600/July+2016+183.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="752" data-original-width="564" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijZIjVK3Fmrvc_FDWy1TlbxgFwVMe_KKJhoirVrFwO1a1E-_wC7ZVid1UpDG_zjl9JcNLg4-qdOky7ah8t5iha96z5zI7BXLB-SbwO2KjK3g6NJIVYCw6b2oWRciRncdTxe19i74mNXw/s320/July+2016+183.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sam, helping with the currant situation. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
More blueberries would be nice. Maybe I'll do that---add a bunch more blueberry bushes. And lavender. Or a cutting flower area, with just annual flowers for picking. Hahahaaaa yeah right-- even with 85 or so roses here, I basically never cut flowers for inside. Go figure... So what would I do with a patch of cosmos and dahlias? It'd be pretty though, even if I only see it from the window.<br />
<br />
Or..since last year we added beekeeping to our list of Things We Do Now, But Not Entirely Together, I could add a bee-garden in part of it. Not that they aren't already on flower-visiting overdrive with all the flowers and fruit we have blooming here all season. But still, a bee corner would be cool. Except no stinging. I am anti-sting. Like, Shane will go out and do the hive maintenance stuff, and I stay inside behind the windows and I <i>still</i> get little adrenaline rush chills thinking about 80 million bees (or however many in 5 hives) swarming all up in your stuff like "what's UP"...*shudder*<br />
<br />
Actually our honeybees are pretty "mellow" (which is "bee speak" for "they don't swarm out and kill you when you approach"), but still. I just don't like stings. Not even one from a cranky guard bee who forgets herself and is all "whoops sorry, had to do that".<br />
<br />
So, I guess...stay tuned and see how we make use of our now-overly-large garden space, and I'll try not to can 115 pints of corn/beans/carrots/beets/tomatoes etc this fall, like I've done every year since like 1996.<br />
<br />
I'd love to hear what you do with any excess garden space-- more fruit? cutting gardens? Bee sanctuary? And no...I'm not into selling at farmer's markets. I'm too lazy to get up at 4 a.m. to pick, clean, and bundle, then drive to town, set up a booth, nicely display everything, then haggle with the uber-cool out-of-towners (<i>I'm looking at you, Californians</i>), who want to know if that's my "best price" for organic corn. No thanks. Actually, I don't get up at 4 a.m. for ANY reason...<br />
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<br />Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-42166759296587262432018-03-28T14:38:00.000-07:002018-03-29T16:22:10.223-07:00Live and Learn--Finally Published That Cookbook<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILsnqD-A9QzwKRd2iJwbyy5zkoOgxRfAnssPjYXOCWEwCy0eLUiuLyZqkRGRPA8-xFps6x-iWGT7nhHn4sme1d3VGlaj-nupZkjfhLL39RwRmUp3ySg8uee5JQ_11hEakv5VW_l5GHA/s1600/PicsArt_03-26-05.15.07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhILsnqD-A9QzwKRd2iJwbyy5zkoOgxRfAnssPjYXOCWEwCy0eLUiuLyZqkRGRPA8-xFps6x-iWGT7nhHn4sme1d3VGlaj-nupZkjfhLL39RwRmUp3ySg8uee5JQ_11hEakv5VW_l5GHA/s320/PicsArt_03-26-05.15.07.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br />
Like I mentioned<a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2018/03/and-hearty-goodbye-to-2017.html" target="_blank"> in my last post, </a>way back like...yesterday, I think it was...I finally <i>finally</i> FINALLY did finish <a href="https://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/search/label/cookbook%20project" target="_blank">the Cookbook Project </a>that I started, back in another life, which was supposed to be a graduation gift. For our oldest daughter. Who graduated in 2014.<br />
<br />
So, yeah... Goals and stuff.<br />
<br />
She actually got married last April, AND our youngest daughter graduated high school in June, so I did get off my gimlit butt and get it finished. I feel very adult and accomplished about this, and I was able to get my first several copies delivered into my hands in time to give it to both of them as a wedding and graduation gift, respectively. Barely. Like, the day of the wedding.<br />
<br />
Since it's been so long, I'll tell you a little about the process; the good, the bad, and the downright ugly.<br />
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Upside: It's gorgeous! Hard cover, with a photo on the front, and beautiful heavyweight pages with beautiful photos, and there are all of our family's recipes, right there in one place, like I always dreamed of. I absolutely love it!<br />
<br />
Downside: Program faults that make you want to create new curse words and write massive complaints to the program developers.<br />
<br />
Let's call this Exhibit A. I created and published my cookbook with a program called Blurb. I believe it was a free download, through which you create your dream book, and simply pay for your book at the time it's published (we'll call that part...Exhibit B...) *ahem* back to the program. I love Blurb, except for one mind-blowing glitch, where you type too much text to fit in the first of two column text boxes on a page, and suddenly the overflow text <i>disappears into a wrapped-text alternative universe.</i> Normally--<i>normally</i>--in a perfect world, the "wrapped text" feature (to me) implies that the text will automatically bump from the too-full text box into the next text box. On the same page. Because that would be WHERE IT BELONGS.<br />
<br />
But, no.<br />
<br />
Instead, the overflow text is sent literally pretty much into outer space, and it pops up in the NEXT AVAILABLE TEXT BOX ON ANY FOLLOWING PAGE THAT ISN'T ALREADY FULL.<br />
<br />
Meaning?<br />
<br />
Say I'm typing in Column 1 of page 10, and there are two empty columns ON that page. I fill up Column 1 and expect the wrapping to automatically put the overflow text into Column 2, the empty column <i>right next to Column 1 on the same page</i>. No. Instead, I find that the overflow text, and a good portion of the prior sentence, have been slashed off the page entirely and have popped up on, say, PAGE 23, at the <i>beginning</i> of Column 1 on THAT page. Which in turn causes all the existing text on page 23 to go wonky and out of order, and possibly cause some innocent bystander to be cooking an omelet and wondering why the first line of the recipe says "<i>fold in dry ingredients, add cinnamon, nutmeg, and baking powder; beat until stiff peaks form, then drop one inch apart onto a greased cookie sheet" </i>or some such nonsense.<br />
<br />
What makes it even <i>more</i> fun, is that the carryover location is not easy to find, so you're left sorting out "Where did it go?" and "How <i>much</i> text is incorrectly pasted on the front end of the recipe on the recipient page?" Seriously. I think I actually created new phrases and/or some interpretive dance to adequately describe how this fun feature really made me feel.<br />
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Aside from that, I loved Blurb.<br />
<br />
Oh, and there was that nagging little issue about copyright photos, which meant that I originally went through the book, pasting in gorgeous pictures of recipes and food that I found online here and there <span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>*cough* Google images *cough*</i></span>, that were perfect representations of my food--as long as they looked exactly like my dishes. Then, of course, (silly me) I realized that the photos would have to BELONG to me, in order to go in the book written BY ME, so that sucked, and I spent some more time interpretive dancing around my office before deleting all the "not-mine" photos, and starting over, by actually cooking some (but not all) of the recipes in the book and <i>remembering to take a photo</i> for the book each time.<br />
<br />
So, that was another hold-up...for like a year...<br />
<br />
Aside from that, I loved Blurb.<br />
<br />
Oh wait, Exhibit B. Yes. Pricing...<br />
<br />
*clears throat and shuffles some papers around*<br />
<br />
You know when you think about writing a book, and then it's like, "Hey, cool, I'll have a book published, and people can then hopefully BUY the book, and then everyone can use my recipes and I might actually make a little money and the world will be a better place in general." Yeah...that's not how it really works, with Blurb anyway.<br />
<br />
How it really works is, you decide how you want the book laid out and choose all the expensive paper and binding and layout before you start working on the design, and then you work on it for like ten thousand years, and then hit the "publish my book" button, and THEN you realize that it's charged by the page (212 pages), PER book. So-- my book, finished, hardbound and delivered...cost like $96.00. EACH. <br />
<br />
<i>Each?</i><br />
<br />
I paid almost $100 each for the first two copies of my own book. Well, <i>someone's</i> making money.<br />
<br />
Yes, there's an option for an e-book to be available and people could buy it for like $10, but I hate e-books a little bit so I haven't chosen that as an option for publication, yet. And there's an option to sell it on Amazon and set my own markup percentage, but honestly even as a paperback, they charge $74.00 each, so where is there room for markup? Really? A $74.00 <i>paperback</i>?<br />
<br />
Friends: "OMG I love your cooking. I would <i>totally</i> buy your cookbook! How much is it?"<br />
<br />
Me: "Uhh, $86.95 plus shipping".<br />
<br />
Friends: *nothing*<br />
<br />
Hear that?.... That's the sound of profitability crashing and burning.<br />
<br />
So, yeah. It's not for sale, although I did score a sale on a purchase the week after I ordered my first two copies, where it was on sale plus a BOGO or something and I got two copies for like $126.00. But dang.<br />
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<br /></div>
Anyway. YES I did get the book done, and it's beautiful. But NO, it's not for public consumption. Even Martha Herself doesn't charge $85.00 for a book. I mean, come on...<br />
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<br />Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-57553548859928367292018-03-26T13:29:00.000-07:002018-03-27T20:15:15.251-07:00And a Hearty GOODBYE to 2017 You guys. SO MUCH has gone on since ...um...(counts on fingers) last June. Let's review, shall we? You can also almost just zoom through and see the pictures, for a quick update on my life, but if you like to read my scattered off-the-hip updates, well, yeah...there's that, too.<br>
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We've had: *inhales* ...A bunch of yard renovation, a wedding followed by a beautiful reception, a graduation followed by a gift Jetta, an empty nest, a funeral, my first first-class seat on a plane (OMG THE FRONT OF THE PLANE, what is even happening?), a great Christmas party, <a href="https://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/search/label/cookbook%20project" target="_blank">a cookbook published(!)</a>, a hip replacement, an amazing vacation, and...a wrecked gift Jetta. <span style="font-size: x-small;">*insert super-annoyed-mom eye roll here*</span><br>
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Oh, and I managed to crochet our newly on-her-own graduated youngest daughter a super cool afghan in February, and knitted a new scarf for myself this weekend, in between cross-stitching everysingledayevenonvacation on my giant recreation of the Lady and the Unicorn tapestry. See?<br>
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<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/AVvXsEjy3kw3GdR7NOxHS9c53uBWCYtV1TXfmxJI5eTRKFMaPYPzhfg_e0AOh4Jg-GMFfOnp7qLr5STgz8SROn64wdrFN-KCwrmJ9vGP16LNejaRR6QKhxM5nnc_IvE1P4QiHIMmJqVPRMxqdw/s1600/_20180304_153159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3kw3GdR7NOxHS9c53uBWCYtV1TXfmxJI5eTRKFMaPYPzhfg_e0AOh4Jg-GMFfOnp7qLr5STgz8SROn64wdrFN-KCwrmJ9vGP16LNejaRR6QKhxM5nnc_IvE1P4QiHIMmJqVPRMxqdw/s320/_20180304_153159.JPG" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've literally taken this across the country in my carry-on, twice.</td></tr>
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I also petted a MOOSE. Yes, I know. Dangerousssss. I'm crazy. Shouldn't have done that. Etcetera. But yeah, I totally did, and I was up on the porch safe behind a big pillar when I did it, and she couldn't get me, and she didn't seem like she cared, so I just went with it. Since no one believes me that we had a totally tame-ish wild moose in our actual front yard (for like weeks, actually--the bushes barely survived it), I did manage to video the whole thing with my free hand while simultaneously watching her for signs of attack-moose mode so I could duck back inside and avoid being trampled or pummeled or beaten to death by her hooves, or whatever happens when mooses attack you. Is "mooses" a word in that case? No idea. When "moose" attack you...that doesn't sound right either. Whatever. Anyway, I totally petted her. And I'm making "petted" a word, too. I'd post the video but apparently it's not in the right format to upload, and I'm too lazy to figure that out, so here are some photos. Maybe sometime I'll post the video in a separate moose-related post...<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPxPk38H8mIG1zXdemCCl4LxzF7dj5Qxb0lYQLyiERHAv1SJ2OnzJIPn5SkUlO7Y5zkeHsidXC47eKy59sQ0h-bReG4HCZfHjBjpps_WRt6BDs6-5CvTmfNStTApA1IsMegSViydRxZQ/s1600/february+092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPxPk38H8mIG1zXdemCCl4LxzF7dj5Qxb0lYQLyiERHAv1SJ2OnzJIPn5SkUlO7Y5zkeHsidXC47eKy59sQ0h-bReG4HCZfHjBjpps_WRt6BDs6-5CvTmfNStTApA1IsMegSViydRxZQ/s320/february+092.jpg" width="240"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">what are you doing?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitwUZuyyowtStmN_JLJdpmfXzRP_f6t8g43QpkurhSPVzOiplA4TC5G12bqRDSugQAD-qan1U7yZhQ1OuADgYuE_7zt4M9i7KgFrfLcjlXFDsI4izAGIKJ-1MIwTVYdY9z2e5pjDz6AA/s1600/february+095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitwUZuyyowtStmN_JLJdpmfXzRP_f6t8g43QpkurhSPVzOiplA4TC5G12bqRDSugQAD-qan1U7yZhQ1OuADgYuE_7zt4M9i7KgFrfLcjlXFDsI4izAGIKJ-1MIwTVYdY9z2e5pjDz6AA/s320/february+095.jpg" width="240"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not sure that's a good idea...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivj3kocI0ILcqMVFGQfixCU4wekAoa1m9bhhAO7GgNJKepYLHnIbKwmcV5seKcyv6xL172V4-BbtkWaCwwVgxKuPrCUdhSTAE8xx1N1N9xtL7WWU1Zz23NHW_a2qiHu_jYxQMiRwO-oA/s1600/february+099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivj3kocI0ILcqMVFGQfixCU4wekAoa1m9bhhAO7GgNJKepYLHnIbKwmcV5seKcyv6xL172V4-BbtkWaCwwVgxKuPrCUdhSTAE8xx1N1N9xtL7WWU1Zz23NHW_a2qiHu_jYxQMiRwO-oA/s320/february+099.jpg" width="240"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ok, whatev. These bushes are too delicious.</td></tr>
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We also had an orphaned baby hanging around a lot. And, a whole other one (I hope!) who decided that our garden fence line would be a good place to...lie down and <i>die</i>. (no photos of *that* but omg what do you do with a dead baby moose? <i>No one</i> wants to help you with that...)<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQg-pN7waaTvpkXJeZu-zDyeC-hxykMPMo1piyZgf1ZD1tG12650O1Kgm3_todjPm8x40QNuBuItwKdaqLgKOPmgYcQ2fO0yX3pYwJQJ44nC6gvqpHduxgLi3oiqSYK2kMLyKCCqFhgQ/s1600/jan2016+176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="188" data-original-width="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQg-pN7waaTvpkXJeZu-zDyeC-hxykMPMo1piyZgf1ZD1tG12650O1Kgm3_todjPm8x40QNuBuItwKdaqLgKOPmgYcQ2fO0yX3pYwJQJ44nC6gvqpHduxgLi3oiqSYK2kMLyKCCqFhgQ/s1600/jan2016+176.jpg"></a></div>
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Anyhoo...we're EMPTY NESTERS now, and it's hilarious how many people use that whispery-concerned voice when we tell them that, like we've just suffered a bereavement, and they ask "Soooo, how's *that* going? Are you guys, you know, <i>doing ok?</i>" And we're like, "Ummm, yeah. We're <i>fine with it</i>." Why wouldn't we be? We raised our girls to be independent, smart, capable women, and, voila---there they are; doing life, and rocking it. Our oldest got married last April, and we hosted a beautiful evening reception in our back yard in June for them, followed by our youngest graduating from high school in June and moving to her own apartment in July.<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjkgAkyljG6HuxE_ZxYq5q7s4cpJgjwOVjkqLUjob-eN0KskxW4tllNUAjoRORiFTxbzuwI6DfoMbr_o2UEi9QzvL1FSTJtGf7WTnioquMGcxImpEXuXqgNuIooSqhb3LOMY5j4WMjnw/s1600/wedding+075.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjkgAkyljG6HuxE_ZxYq5q7s4cpJgjwOVjkqLUjob-eN0KskxW4tllNUAjoRORiFTxbzuwI6DfoMbr_o2UEi9QzvL1FSTJtGf7WTnioquMGcxImpEXuXqgNuIooSqhb3LOMY5j4WMjnw/s320/wedding+075.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Are they sweet or what?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindJQDgDpNSl0HVAgRTl-ChotYN8TLw46haNwooKg0whOSnXsmB1FGkFNiyYkX-QAVV6ULnREcqgcWGRRnD_PpHdDux3NQ1njGb2Gp7SZlLC-P97BjoqIOItvy1fMX5uORkHphi_NceQ/s1600/wedding+102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEindJQDgDpNSl0HVAgRTl-ChotYN8TLw46haNwooKg0whOSnXsmB1FGkFNiyYkX-QAVV6ULnREcqgcWGRRnD_PpHdDux3NQ1njGb2Gp7SZlLC-P97BjoqIOItvy1fMX5uORkHphi_NceQ/s320/wedding+102.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Purple sky unedited and just...amazing! What a beautiful night!!</td></tr>
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On a side note, I did totally finally manage to get that cookbook project published, which I promise I will write about in another post.<br>
<br>
And, since Shane and I started out as best friends who also find each other incredibly hot (I know, awkward TMI), then took a detour into parenthood, we now find ourselves with all this empty house and free time together and, wait--what? --possibly some discretionary money that's just...for us? What's THAT about? When I find extra money in the bank account, I'm immediately glancing over my shoulder and wondering "Wait-what bill did I <i>miss?</i>" Still adjusting to that. And guess what? IT'S FREAKING AWESOME. It's like when we were in our 20s and we could just...get up and go out if we felt like it. Out to dinner. To the bookstore. To Home Depot (yes, girls, we <i>still do that on Sundays</i>). We may even take a road trip sometime. <br>
<br>
I know. Crazy.<br>
<br>
It helps that we <b>still</b> are best friends who find each other incredibly hot (even though we qualify as what my 80s-highschool self would call "totally super old"), and we still love to do everysinglething together and enjoy each other's company immensely. I <i>love</i> that we have the place to ourselves. I do love when our girls come and visit, and we have a houseful of young people hanging around, relaxing, eating and visiting (and yes, playing on their phones). But then I love that they all <i>leave and go home</i> at the end of the weekend, too. So, yeah. Empty nesting is a revelation.<br>
<br>
Ok, what else? Oh, yeah-- I'll just state once for the record that 2017 MORE OR LESS SUCKED, in spite of some terrific bright spots. In general, it was just like one punch in the junk after another. Like, <i>can we get a break here yet? </i>And apparently the answer to *that* question was a resounding "no", for most of 2017. Oh sure, it had its good moments, but seriously...2017 will be remembered as the Year From Hell, more or less. Our youngest graduated and moved out, and we had about ONE WEEK of "whoopie, we're empty-nesters" before Shane was diagnosed with a destroyed hip joint that was rapidly deteriorating and would require a total hip replacement as soon as possible. *cue Jaws music here*<br>
<br>
For a guy who works outside, on his feet, in and out of equipment all day every day, this was bad news. Bad, bad. It also meant we skipped all the things last summer that meant walking anywhere. No hunting. No walking around the fair. No wandering around Home Depot. No walking ANYwhere that wasn't 100% necessary, because he was in so . much . pain. And the narcotics and even the non-narcotics that they gave him for the pain made him depressed and super...cranky...to be honest. Even he noticed it. The hydrocodones also gave him terrifying nightmares along with the depression, so he mainly just powered through with Tylenol and Ibuprofen. Not fun-- <i>at all.</i> For either of us.<br>
<br>
He dragged his leg around from June through December, barely able to walk some days because of the pain, plus his hip would randomly give out and he'd fall. He did manage to work until December 13th, when he went in for a total hip replacement. To make a long (long, long, painful) story shorter...he came through it with absolute flying colors and was back at work 3 weeks later, on his feet, outside, in the snow, moving logs. My brother actually moved out and stayed with us for most of the winter, and was a huge help at the log yard and as a backup watchdog for Shane, which made me feel a little more at ease watching him go out in the snow to work. I'd send them off to work in the morning and be mouthing to Jesse behind Shane's back "do NOT let him fall down!!" So yeah...that's behind us, thank God. I'm not posting any surgical photos, though. <span style="font-size: x-small;">You're welcome.</span><br>
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THEN we took a amazing and much-needed Disney trip to DisneyWorld with a cruise to the Bahamas and back, which was almost literally just what the doctor ordered. Somehow we also rolled the dice with letting them assign our room category, and we scored the BEST stateroom ever, with like 40' of private deck at the back corner of the ship. It was absolute heaven. We've always gotten an inside-mushrooms-in-the-dark stateroom, but this was so worth it, just......so much yes.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZFWpfOaUiWkpuHHJ03ozITokgq0SvT5YFwlY9GHMhxYWF5zBs46ZwYe97b7f6xujFEWfsOOV1a3XcSQFdW7nFNwrDYtDHDGfb1PtkBHJBiqcycMIf0EacKZrmjfb562whQ4SjUcIAg/s1600/2018-01-31+09.44.41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZFWpfOaUiWkpuHHJ03ozITokgq0SvT5YFwlY9GHMhxYWF5zBs46ZwYe97b7f6xujFEWfsOOV1a3XcSQFdW7nFNwrDYtDHDGfb1PtkBHJBiqcycMIf0EacKZrmjfb562whQ4SjUcIAg/s320/2018-01-31+09.44.41.jpg" width="320"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgStcHd5PoQekQGRWFzYGRfdDlZG1c-ta9v3Bdsdy04CKr4LccgaPL0b87SFq20Q5s63NnIMWw5fzmjKBrIXvqELpYS0vty6_jamt5mGLSQmeH_7FakANwlKmeNX5rtYQ_7RYC8_MjMGw/s1600/2018-01-31+17.04.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgStcHd5PoQekQGRWFzYGRfdDlZG1c-ta9v3Bdsdy04CKr4LccgaPL0b87SFq20Q5s63NnIMWw5fzmjKBrIXvqELpYS0vty6_jamt5mGLSQmeH_7FakANwlKmeNX5rtYQ_7RYC8_MjMGw/s320/2018-01-31+17.04.56.jpg" width="320"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePMRYU3jhLbcHZ5Uz5WHVfHtiLRQu-uuMRoBt2TPNW3yKa3xt3uQKibKWwPthjdU7RlIaF6zH9vLDMAHd_17wYAawMBcabwoDe2GFtfwKw3LvmPki_62dnQo87SXtkTSOfPfBMRM5lQ/s1600/2018-01-31+15.01.45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePMRYU3jhLbcHZ5Uz5WHVfHtiLRQu-uuMRoBt2TPNW3yKa3xt3uQKibKWwPthjdU7RlIaF6zH9vLDMAHd_17wYAawMBcabwoDe2GFtfwKw3LvmPki_62dnQo87SXtkTSOfPfBMRM5lQ/s320/2018-01-31+15.01.45.jpg" width="320"></a></div>
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<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/AVvXsEihFbqIwkIha24sc4iBITi3NoKLiUXc7Q_ACCjAyD_nUIagcLBm95OLvazuU0tKDaZS7w1iDvxU2TKKx7W8Iik7srafsADss-xdBZDvMLDG394SyG8IUVrcMDGHxyJkf8tDPdiKFbqWMg/s1600/2018-01-31+15.54.08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihFbqIwkIha24sc4iBITi3NoKLiUXc7Q_ACCjAyD_nUIagcLBm95OLvazuU0tKDaZS7w1iDvxU2TKKx7W8Iik7srafsADss-xdBZDvMLDG394SyG8IUVrcMDGHxyJkf8tDPdiKFbqWMg/s320/2018-01-31+15.54.08.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our room was about 3 decks from the top, right side, upper corner. HUGE wraparound deck...</td></tr>
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And of course, I always get home from Florida and immediately start already planning the next time I can see palm trees because - duh - Idaho - palm trees.<br>
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As I write this, it is still cold enough to snow here (March 26th) and <strike>too early</strike> too cold to go outside and start on any garden stuff yet, though I do have my seeds and potting soil and trowel all at the ready, so I can get our vegetables started for this year.<br>
<br>
We also bought a meat smoker, and I didn't think I would, but I've officially fallen in love with smoking our own meat! So far we've smoked some salmon, <i>our own bacon</i>, and <i>our own ham</i>, and omg-- the taste...can't.even. I die. IT'S SO YUMMY.<br>
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<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/AVvXsEhs-Wg6R7a4WBxUf3KlmZevT9SI1eqcGgC64zRoCmD6n31XSlPXGwI16V13KiiFi-Q-kWV1QiI8EgSYu3Eq6umL5ZPQkQJLvAWlAUtYJcPrACjmVX3IG4UyLAYP3G57wl0UzJ84lIcuVw/s1600/IMG_20180316_124126815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs-Wg6R7a4WBxUf3KlmZevT9SI1eqcGgC64zRoCmD6n31XSlPXGwI16V13KiiFi-Q-kWV1QiI8EgSYu3Eq6umL5ZPQkQJLvAWlAUtYJcPrACjmVX3IG4UyLAYP3G57wl0UzJ84lIcuVw/s320/IMG_20180316_124126815.jpg" width="240"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first smoked ham</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Oh, and if you're still wondering about the wrecked-gift-Jetta from the opening, well, yeah...everyone's fine. The Jetta's not. So, that's probably about all we need to say about that...<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/AVvXsEjCnISSp-796cuYOaEpIteQn0UkiwZul4r0eX1lEkcqWU247VOsDT4-mCPrOmucb4kk0ec19NMk0dnvWU8tJuNnwCfWclKN4ms7UiVgqehawTbasXgU35j9pw11Jj9-4ht0paZS24bBTA/s1600/IMG_20180313_121334657.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCnISSp-796cuYOaEpIteQn0UkiwZul4r0eX1lEkcqWU247VOsDT4-mCPrOmucb4kk0ec19NMk0dnvWU8tJuNnwCfWclKN4ms7UiVgqehawTbasXgU35j9pw11Jj9-4ht0paZS24bBTA/s320/IMG_20180313_121334657.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boyfriend: 1. Jetta: 0.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Oh, and the Christmas party we sometimes host, where I make like 45 different appetizers that don't need a fork (no matter what Aunt Alice says..), and start baking in like October, was AWESOME. We squeezed something like 64 people in our downstairs, and it was just a lovely time with everyone. Shane's surgery was the following Tuesday, so we wanted to see everyone before he was down for recovery. I'm already looking forward to doing it again this year.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtFYb-n4GK10D03lpopqcGRw02OKFhdjPE-Zdbv6_BJjvMupNYXhcfKDofYKYgqRFnGdDhV8969wwTbF4APH0sM-7ZK22cXjxqsmqy9qm7NTwSRFGlOtaSe8amEhj8KArmp8KZMa2oUQ/s1600/2017-12-09+20.15.03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtFYb-n4GK10D03lpopqcGRw02OKFhdjPE-Zdbv6_BJjvMupNYXhcfKDofYKYgqRFnGdDhV8969wwTbF4APH0sM-7ZK22cXjxqsmqy9qm7NTwSRFGlOtaSe8amEhj8KArmp8KZMa2oUQ/s320/2017-12-09+20.15.03.jpg" width="320"></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7W6iPmhv3m4ZvlY58jUbaF0CsYd5WByBLvAeJYvTXL1iiub0DKt8YW5MU-RNxqNDqUirreqYePtGYCMZ1wYO2od5BGI2FX0xdtl9JuKrzQxU9Cy_iOYpdkRFVvUbyBsqjvxUllIvu1g/s1600/october+247.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7W6iPmhv3m4ZvlY58jUbaF0CsYd5WByBLvAeJYvTXL1iiub0DKt8YW5MU-RNxqNDqUirreqYePtGYCMZ1wYO2od5BGI2FX0xdtl9JuKrzQxU9Cy_iOYpdkRFVvUbyBsqjvxUllIvu1g/s320/october+247.jpg" width="240"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The List</td></tr>
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<br>
Anyway, I just thought I'd do a quick(ish) update. Hopefully I'll start writing more often, now that 2017 is over and done, and it took its black cloud/punch-you-in-the-junk mood with it.<br>
<br>
Plus, there are more of <a href="https://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/search/label/hippie%20child" target="_blank">my hippie childhood stories</a> that are too good not to share, so stay tuned.<br>
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Thanks for reading, and hope you're all having a lovely start to 2018. It's gotta be better, right?<br>
<br>Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-77232250119623228892017-06-13T15:27:00.000-07:002018-03-29T14:00:22.145-07:00No Freestyling. Or, Something Like That...Omg you guys.<br />
<br />
I am literally the queen of saying awkward things today...<br />
<br />
I won't go into too much detail, but I spent this last weekend out of town, so I have spent all day today answering the zillion emails and voicemails for our business, scheduling people, rescheduling people, etc.<br />
<br />
I returned a call to a new customer a little while ago, and set him up with an order. He decided that instead of having firewood delivered (by us), he would come pick it up himself. I'm always very professional on the phone, but of course, I'm also pretty casual in general, so you <i>never know what I might say. Apparently.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Here's how it went down:</b><br />
<br />
Him: Can I just come pick up the firewood myself?<br />
<br />
Me: Sure! You also save $15.00 per load when you pick up, but bear in mind that <i>you</i> are loading it yourself, so it's up to you...save money and do more work, or spend more and save some time.<br />
<br />
Him: Sounds good. I'm all about saving money. I'll pick it up.<br />
<br />
Me: And, you can use the $15.00 to buy some gloves (for all the wood-stacking). <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I should have stopped HERE.</span><br />
<br />
Him: Ok. Wait...do I <i>have </i>to buy gloves, or can I just... <span style="font-size: x-small;">(he's kidding)</span><br />
<br />
Me: <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(here's where it gets awkward)</span> Nope. You can totally freeball it if you want.<br />
<br />
*claps hand over mouth* <br />
<br />
Him: *bursts out laughing*<br />
<br />
Me: Oh. my. god. I did <b>NOT</b> just say that out loud. Pretend I didn't just say that.<br />
<br />
Him: *choking on laughter*<br />
<br />
Me: I'm hanging up now seeyouonmondaythe17thforthatpickupthanksbyeee<br />
<br />
<br />
*facepalm* I MEANT TO SAY "FREE <b>STYLE.</b> You can totally <b>freeSTYLE </b>if you want..."<br />
<br />
I'm such a dork.<br />
<br />
What's your latest faux pas? Ever say the exactly most awkward thing possible in a conversation with a stranger, or worse, a customer?<br />
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Or WORSE...the reason this guy's name rang a bell when I added him to our customer list is (wait for it), because he was Shane's BOSS about 25 years ago. Oh. my. lord. Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-19120011959742845662017-03-20T14:15:00.000-07:002017-03-20T14:21:59.485-07:00More Parenting Tips I Should NOT Have to Point Out. But I Will.*<i>clears throat and assumes Andy Rooney voice*</i><br />
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<img alt="😒" class="CToWUd" data-goomoji="1f612" goomoji="1f612" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/e/1f612" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px; margin: 0px 0.2ex; max-height: 24px; vertical-align: middle;" /><br />
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I'll try and keep this short. <br />
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Hahahahahaaaajustkidding. You know I totally won't.<br />
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For my birthday last weekend, we decided to go out for a nice dinner at our favorite local steakhouse, where I happened to have a coupon for a free entree (<i>up to $20.99 or less, and good luck finding a steak for </i><b style="font-style: italic;">that price)</b>. My standing joke at ALL restaurants any more is just, please, don't let there be anyone there <b>wearing a tiara.</b> Which is kind of another post, but picture, if you will--that group of over-done, over-made-up, over-dressed, overly-loud 40-something divorcees who've had that onnnne too many glasses of wine and it's somebody's birthday so WOO-HOOO I'M WEARING A TIARA Y'ALL. *clinks glass*<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for ladies night out" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRctUndJMbXWdFpRP3VplC6W07T5HipGK9yt-bFeuYLAJyHLoghVg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This bunch...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Yeah. Usually the table next to them is...us.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*eye roll*</span><br />
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Anyway, it's gotten so that when I make reservations somewhere, I specifically request to NOT be seated by any large tables or any large parties or <b>any</b>one wearing a tiara, because just once I'd like to get through a meal without being forced to listen to the above too-loud ladies <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2014/04/no-name-dropping-in-restaurants-and.html" target="_blank">discussing life at too many decibels </a>and with way too many "woo-hoos", plus the sudden random group of servers who come out, clapping and singing and sometimes wearing sombreros and/or carrying sparklers.<br />
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Guys. I just want to enjoy a quiet dinner, k?<br />
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So, last weekend's dinner was going great until dessert-menu time. I had actually <i>just</i> mentioned, "Hey...no tiaras so far" and kind of *high-fived* Shane. Then, the servers started unfolding the table extensions at two tables next to us and sliding two smaller tables...together. Uh-oh. <br />
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Sure enough, as soon as the tables merged into one big 10-seat table, a pile of gifts and balloons suddenly materialized in the center. Me and Shane started giving each other the side-eye. <br />
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The family arrived, comprised of maybe 4 adults and about 300 small children. Ok, it was more like 5 + one in a car seat, but still. Me and Shane started giving <i>them</i> the side-eye.<br />
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They got seated and the small boy in the chair closest to our table immediately whips out an iPhone 12.5 or whatever and starts playing a video game, because <i>of course</i> a birthday party with balloons and streamers and gifts isn't nearly interesting enough to hold his attention for 3 minutes. We start hearing <i>pew-pew-pew-pew </i><i style="font-weight: bold;">peeeewwwwwww PEW PEWPEWPEWPEW. </i> Since they were close enough to hear <b>and</b> see our response, I stopped mid-sentence and stared at them and said "REALLY?? HE'S PLAYING A VIDEO GAME? AT A BIRTHDAY PARTY? WITH THE VOLUME <b>ON</b>??" Mom let it go for a minute, but she did start asking Little Boy to turn down his volume. Not OFF, mind you, but...down. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
me:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbmgMUhXex2C8Yl6dXaYqvne6mpgwIguBXiFTq7O_MsDtNJEZMEOpLIR22MYdLSkHPAdN1jfMSTCJrDrPFplfliPrnIbxkSU9fvLSBAbKtEYWOh2xeEe80Psj9TvoIRRFNT8b5Za-DkQ/s1600/side+eye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbmgMUhXex2C8Yl6dXaYqvne6mpgwIguBXiFTq7O_MsDtNJEZMEOpLIR22MYdLSkHPAdN1jfMSTCJrDrPFplfliPrnIbxkSU9fvLSBAbKtEYWOh2xeEe80Psj9TvoIRRFNT8b5Za-DkQ/s320/side+eye.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Really?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We spent the rest of the meal trying to finish sen-<i>pewpewpew-</i>tences about whether we <i>pewpew</i> wanted to eat dess<i>pewpewpewpewPEW-</i>ert or just take it <i>PEWPEWBEEPBOOOAWWP</i> home with us. And of course opted for "to-go please".<br />
<br />
Still, though, seriously-- I had to stop talking like five times and give this mom my best "Really?" stare, along with that obvious pantomine of looking around and saying loudly "Is someone seriously watching CARTOONS IN HERE?' before she would try to get him to turn the volume down. Again.<br />
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</div>
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So my question is this: WHAT THE HECK, PEOPLE??? Everywhere we go any more, kids are not expected to be quiet and/or focus on actual reality for more than a few minutes at a time before they freak out and insist on having a phone or an iPad or a TV screen shoved in front of them. <br />
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<u>Everywhere. We. GO.</u><br />
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At the grocery store: Kids in the cart are playing on phones.<br />
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The car in front of me: TV screens in front of the baby car seats.<br />
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In restaurants: They're on a phone or a game, or <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2017/03/oh-good-more-technology.html" target="_blank">those *cool* new tabletop notebook screens</a>, in case anyone <i>forgets</i> their phone in the car, or God forbid, wants to actually inter<i>act</i> with their family over dinner.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for tv in car" 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" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're going to the STORE, not across the country. This is ridiculous.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
And don't tell me that your kids are "too much of a handful" or that they are so hard for you to control that this is the <i>only</i> way you can go out in public. They're only TWO FEET TALL; you <i>can too </i>control them, although if you're the mom from the restaurant, you've probably already waited too long. Quit shoving stupid technology in their face 24/7, and teach your kids to BEHAVE. If you don't know <i>how</i>, ask your mom how <i>her</i> parents did it, because believe me, for the older generations, this was NOT a problem, and no one grew up "warped" because of strict discipline, although I shudder to think of what this next generation will be like. <br />
<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;"><img alt="Image result for noisy kids at dinner" 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" 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Get it together, parents. There are other people out here, trying to eat.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">images courtesy of Google images</span></i><br />
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<br />Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-86743932681427640942017-03-14T15:37:00.000-07:002019-03-06T23:30:29.762-08:00Oh Good. More Technology.Ok, don't get me wrong. I LOVE technology. I'm<i> all about</i> cool new techie things and the latest updates of whatever programs our phones can download, and I even learned how to use the filters on Snapchat, so I am now totally able to reply to my daughter's snaps, in about the same amount of time it takes her to grow up, get married, raise a family, get old, and retire. <br>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">why can't we just text each other? </span></i><br>
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What I am NOT with you on (or *them*, since I doubt that this was *your* idea...) is this Cool New Technology that Shane and I accidentally collided with recently at a well-known restaurant who will remain "Olive Garden". <br>
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First let me preface this with, yeah, I KNOW. We haven't been eating out very often for....um...(stares at ceiling...counts on fingers...scrolls through calendar years...) Ok, like <b>three or four years. </b>We haven't eaten out much for 3-4 years, except at our favorite local <i>family-owned</i> restaurant, where everything is still very low-tech, in the sense that actual people come to the table and ask you verbally what you would like to eat, and you tell them, to their face, and they disappear to go on a lunch break and/or leave to go check their laundry, and you sit waiting for what seems like too long to get anyone to come back and refill the water that you both already guzzled and whyhasn'tshenoticedthisyet, but eventually she DOES, and then your food comes out, and everything's OK again, and we're all still friends.<br>
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HowEVER.<br>
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We hadn't been to a chain restaurant in awhile, so the other night, we were aimlessly driving around after watching a super-slow-ok-that-was-SO-not-a-sports-movie-Denzel film, and we just kind of <i>ended up</i> at Olive Garden. Which is fine, because I love Olive Garden. Or I used to...back when I was still allowing myself to eat carbs and stuff. Anyway, I sucked it up and decided I was game for trying to find something on their menu that wasn't bread, or pasta, or breaded, or breaded pasta. (<i>good luck)</i><br>
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At first, it all seemed pretty much business as usual. We were seated after a normal wait time. We had a normal hostess give us menus and take our drink orders. We politely nodded in disinterest when she pointed out the new little gadget on the table that looked like a small TV flatscreen thing and told us that we can "sign up for rewards" or something...I never sign up for ANYthing, so...yeah-no. As soon as she left, I turned the TV gadget thingie around, facing <i>out</i>, because the LAST thing I want is a screen flashing in my face while I'm trying to enjoy a full-service restaurant dinner. <br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for olive garden tabletop screens" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/4f/6a/da/4f6ada93af3fdbde0ef9591c9ecc8521.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">oh. my. gosh. SERIOUSLY? <i>no</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Anyhoo.<br>
<br>
We had a normal college-age boy come and say he'd be our waiter, and he did take our orders. I'll call him Josh. So..."Josh" brought out that big bowl of lettuce with oil and vinegar on it that doubles as "salad" at Olive Garden, and we more or less finished it. He came back fairly soon and asked if we wanted it refilled, so we were like, "sure" because how filling can <i>lettuce </i>be? And, could he also please refill the waters when he gets a chance? <i>Sure!</i><br>
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And--Here's where it gets weird.<br>
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That was pretty much it. Josh basically never came back. Ever.<br>
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We sat forEVer, wondering what the heck. Slid the empty water glasses way out to the edggggggggge of the table. Looked around obviously like we're waiting for service, or a waiter, or ANYone to notice that we're still there. Made choking sounds and slurped loudly from the empty glasses, trying to survive on the water we could suck off the ice cubes. Stirred ice with our straws. <br>
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Finally a whole <i>other</i> guy, who seemed like the floor manager, showed up with our entrees. We told him we'd love some water, and oh, <i>could you also tell Josh not to worry about that salad refill? 'Cause we've moved on to dinner now.</i> Him: Sure. <br>
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We finished our dinner and sat there, waiting for Josh to reappear. Forever. I think I actually gained some more wrinkles while we waited. We decided, since it's been so long, maybe we should check out desserts. Oh, wait, there's no menu on the table for desserts except....<i>wait. What about </i><b style="font-style: italic;">this? </b>I turned the stupid little TV thing back around to face us, and lo and behold, there were hi-def pictures of their desserts <i>right there on this little screen. </i><br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for olive garden tabletop screens" 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" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exactly like this</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
THEN I noticed that not only was it an <b>ad</b> for their desserts, it had a touch screen button that said something like "order now" or "add to cart" or something, and another button that said "more water" and another one that said "call server" or something, and then it hit me.<br>
<br>
ARE YOU KIDDING ME? <br>
<br>
We're supposed to figure out this stupid gizmo/tablet/ipad thingie <i>on our dinner table, during dinner, in order to make these things happen</i>??? <i>Is </i><b><i>that</i> </b>why Josh never came back? He's crouched somewhere in the back, on a headset, waiting to be <b>paged</b> <b>by a computer</b>? <br>
<br>
*hard eye roll*<br>
<br>
I set the little screen thing back down, facing away, crossed my arms, and refused to buy into their new program. We waited some more. Looked around, obviously searching for our waiter. Nothing.<br>
<br>
After another eon passed and we both aged even further, and/or possibly cashed in our Roth/IRAs, "Josh"--the actual dude, who must have realized we were not "on board" with the kiosk or ziosk or whatever--finally materialized, and we were able to communicate directly to him, using words and some basic hand gestures, what we wanted for dessert and that we'd like it to-go, and that we were ready to pay. <br>
<br>
I handed him my debit card, which he handed <i>back to me</i> and said "Oh, no, you check your<i>self</i> out." <br>
<br>
Me: -- *eyebrows go up*<br>
<br>
Him: *turns the little TV screen back around to face us* You swipe your card right <i>here</i> and do your purchase on the screen.<br>
<br>
Me: -- *holding debit card in midair with eyebrows still up* Are you joking?<br>
<br>
Him: No. *pointing to screen, which is now configured with our sales receipt* See? Right here.<br>
<br>
He's looking at me like I'm visiting on a special outing from the Alzheimer's wing of a nursing home.<br>
<br>
I notice that the TV thing has suddenly apparently sprouted a card-reader swipe thing on one side, so I swipe my card and the screen takes me to the "tip" portion of the transaction, which is like a slide-rule thing that you can touch to change the tip percentage, but I notice that it is conveniently set to like an automatic 20+ percent tip. I slide it to the left...20-18-15-13-12-10---- <i>slide, slide, sliiiideee c'mon where's the 0%? </i>I'm out of luck. It stops me at a MINIMUM of 10% for Josh, who has done basically NOT A DAMN THING for us except bring out our salad and to-go boxes. A whole other guy did the job of bringing our entrees, and no one ever did refill the waters. <br>
<br>
So I kind of sneakily clicked on the <u>lowest possible</u> tip, because "Josh" hadn't done anything tip-worthy, while noting that <i>ok, so there's also no way to NOT give a tip? Or any way to leave a comment, like "You guys need to work on your customer service or we won't be back"? </i>Interesting.<br>
<br>
I hit <print receipt> for a printout, right out of the little TV thing, and we were on our way. <br>
<br>
On the way out, we finally noticed that, yep, most of the tables of diners were all totally enjoying their meals with their family and friends, but instead of being focused on each <b>other</b>, they were all <i>totally engrossed </i>in these stupid little screens on the tables. There were kids playing games on them. There were groups of girls snapping selfies and posting them to Facebook or wherever. There were old people trying to figure out <i>how the hell to get more water</i>. I half expected to see people tuning in to their favorite TV shows or for commercials to start flashing across the screens.<br>
<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/AVvXsEiWdybquBd1HUQS31XGSZ_HE9Ukh6Ozp_Wbhap5HlRnL_XhpDG3xJyEobNqI2_ox7fIWTQnRcHlwjhApeyLXiUmrKHxrx5R1lenV5351sbK82uLkUmv9iyl_lRlhE045LcDHf0RcgUZzQ/s1600/olivegarden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWdybquBd1HUQS31XGSZ_HE9Ukh6Ozp_Wbhap5HlRnL_XhpDG3xJyEobNqI2_ox7fIWTQnRcHlwjhApeyLXiUmrKHxrx5R1lenV5351sbK82uLkUmv9iyl_lRlhE045LcDHf0RcgUZzQ/s320/olivegarden.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this just screams "relaxing with family", doesn't it?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
<br>
Just. Wow.<br>
<br>
Let's review, shall we?<br>
<br>
Now, when you go out to dinner, where you used to be expected to, I don't know, <i>actually interact face to face</i> with your dinner companions, you can now spend the ENTIRE time fiddling around with learning how to use and/or play with another whole new device, <i>just like the ones you should have left in your car and/or at home before you left to go OUT to dinner, </i>while ALSO very minimally interacting with anyone in the service end of the restaurant. <br>
<br>
So, basically, dining out is now almost exactly like dining at home, except you don't have to cook or get your own plate, although I half-expected to see those bins on the way out like at a food court, where you dump your trash and leave your tray. <br>
<br>
On the way home, I got out my <strike>own tiny link to the whole world</strike> phone and googled this new technology, only to find that it's been in place for a couple of years now, at a lot of restaurants. I also read the many many many complaints, exactly like mine...<br>
<br>
Shane and I made a secret pack and pinkie swore to never go out for a "nice" dinner again at ANY restaurant that wants you to order your food through a touch screen at the table. I can see it being handy to pay at the table, in case you're the type who is afraid the waitress is taking your credit card in the back and snapping photos of it to secretly charge you for her next trip to Mexico or whatever, but...trying to force diners to figure out more screens so we can "call server" or for "more water"?? Seriously?<br>
<div>
<br></div>
Like I said, I'm a huge fan of technology, but guys. Huge, double thumbs way way down for this one.<br>
<br>
...and yes, I <b>have</b> been living under a rock.<br>
<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;"><img alt="Image result for living under a rock" height="197" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT-JEtrtl8UKUcizUU6AaO8MteXRlv1exkfMEiovaX4TeJ6MTBJGg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">byeeee</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photos on this post all courtesy of Google images. </span><br>
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<br>Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-47442269725774264372017-03-09T13:31:00.000-08:002018-03-26T13:52:31.509-07:00So--What's Next? <br />
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I know, I know. I haven't posted for a minute. I've been missing writing, but also feeling like maybe I've already said All The Things, but then I've also been having a sudden urge to ramble/journal for no apparent reason. So I thought I'd pop back in and see if anyone's still out there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSlFt2knLDwWjUMtLuSC6uTwxn1Zwd_h21bppq09y_VjYhpidrc" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Image result for you still here?" border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSlFt2knLDwWjUMtLuSC6uTwxn1Zwd_h21bppq09y_VjYhpidrc" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You still here??</td></tr>
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Having basically broken up with the internet and FB in October 2015, it's been lovely and quiet and fun and REAL around here, ever since. Here are a few updates, because I KNOW you've been wondering:<br />
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1--We finished our garden fence last year, after just a shade under a decade of working on it...<i>high fives all around</i>. Now the deer can only stand on the outside and wish.<br />
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2--We started traveling again...omg YES. Just, so much yes. That sentence will eventually morph into some thoughts on snow-bird lifestyles and <i>not</i> living in Idaho in the winter when we're old.<br />
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3--Our oldest is getting married, omg, yes, <i>married. </i>In like three weeks. So <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2013/06/you-should-write-cookbook-they-said.html" target="_blank">that cookbook project </a>has taken on a whole new meaning and urgency.<br />
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4--Our youngest is graduating in June and already looking for her own apartment, because "omg mahm I can't WAIT to be on my own," which is kind of music to my ears, because (sorry) I am super against people being a crutch for their kids and talking babytalk to them when they're 19 years old and being all "ohhhnooomywittlebaaaayybeee...mommy doesn't want her little babyboo to leave her!" What the heck is that? Stop it. Let them get their life started already. Make their own budget. Make their own mistakes. Make their own dinner. All of it. <br />
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Maybe that's what this post is warming up to be...a rant about parents who refuse to let go. I tell people that our youngest is excited to get out on her own this summer, and I get this look: <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for sad surprised face" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRGLv6DFXj0nEBA2s0E57VaXFUy2VHwDNcIjN22lg3Y9nN6IitmOQ" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"She's moving OUT? RIGHT AFTER GRAD<span style="font-size: small;">UAT</span>ION??"</td></tr>
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And they're like, "Oh my gosh. So soon? Isn't that kind of young? Aren't you so sad? Won't you miss all this?" And I'm all, "Not really. We loved it all, but they're grown up now. Shane and I are actually really FINE with the idea of having the house to ourselves. We might even hang out semi-naked in the living room, drinking vodka and playing strip poker." Wait-- of course I don't say that out LOUD, but you get the idea. We're ready to be on OUR own, too. We started as a couple of kids in love with each other. We got married. We spent about 9 and a half years hanging out doing all kinds of dumb stuff together, and then we decided, hey, this has been fun, but--why not <i>have kids</i> too, so we took a side trip to do that, and spent the next 20 years spending all of our time, energy, and every extra dime we ever could make or dream of making, on them and their needs.<br />
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Now it's our turn again. We can go back to being those two crazy-in-love people doing dumb stuff together and finishing each other's sentences and thinking that hanging out in bed together on a Sunday morning is <i>just fine with us. </i>We might even start spending our money on things <i>we</i> want to do again.<br />
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So, I'm sorry if this is you, but I'll never understand the people who are ooey gooey about having their grown kids move out of the house. They are grown ups...let them go, and enjoy what's next.<br />
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*exhales*<br />
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It's good to be back, guys. <br />
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<br />Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-61385450012859331042016-06-14T13:17:00.001-07:002016-06-14T13:23:39.914-07:00Staring at the Ceiling That's what I'm doing today. <br />
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Somewhere in our packing/loading/unloading for camp over Memorial Day (see camping <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2014/07/hammers-at-dawn.html" target="_blank">posts here </a>and <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2015/06/is-it-me-or-are-we-getting-too-old-for.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2015/05/im-retiring-as-irrigation-goddess.html" target="_blank">here</a>), I felt like I *might have* strained my back. Until three days ago, I was still gardening and planting the vegetables, and thinking <i>damn, my back is kind of sore.</i> Two days ago I took the time to look down at my belly button, which somehow was aligned more with my foot than my chin, which means my usual low back slippage has occurred.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3uGLkzkqQpungToztjOL-XM_B8bd5XYG75x3MsqWBeyYBBy49p7KbDY3fNcdb_r6bXs_Ovl6BDOGKkH39B8QpIwGamI5Zun5A71ZSuqStwHr5krDNxdNS8rcNRXB7QZPO2JoOqvgAQ/s1600/xray.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw3uGLkzkqQpungToztjOL-XM_B8bd5XYG75x3MsqWBeyYBBy49p7KbDY3fNcdb_r6bXs_Ovl6BDOGKkH39B8QpIwGamI5Zun5A71ZSuqStwHr5krDNxdNS8rcNRXB7QZPO2JoOqvgAQ/s1600/xray.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Usually my x-rays look like this, only worse...(image from google--not my actual back)</span></td></tr>
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I tried the hot tub. I almost <i>moved into</i> the hot tub, I was out there so much, but it didn't help, other than feeling great because water. I tried Motrin, but even at 800 mg, it didn't help either. I tried different positions, but nothing relieved it.<br />
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By yesterday morning I was in close to the most severe discomfort (barring childbirth) that I've ever been in, so I called my chiropractor. He is, of course, out of town, so I went to the doctor filling in for him, who is this awesome semi-retired chiropractor who you'd wish was your dad or at least your father-in-law, and I always end up visiting with him forever about gardens and real life stuff. I love him. Unfortunately I can't switch doctors, because of the loyalty code with physicians, which means that if they <strike>steal</strike> take a patient from each other, they are branded with a red letter T on their forehead and forced to walk barefoot through -- no, wait... Anyway, he wouldn't let me switch.<br />
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So, I got out of the hot tub long enough to drive in yesterday, and he did some <strike>painful </strike> helpful testing, and told me that yes, my low back is in its usual S-configuration, shifted over to the right, so I look like a grumpy sidewinder. But the aching down my leg is also pointing to a pinched femoral nerve, so that's new.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yay, new areas to hurt</td></tr>
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I love when people cheerfully try to help, and they're all,"Just think of something else to take your mind off the pain". When there's this much discomfort, there ISN'T ANYTHING ELSE. *scowls* You know what <i>would</i> help me forget the pain? Slapping that chipper helpful smile off your face. <br />
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Ok, that was uncalled for, but damn. If you aren't in pain, you can at least be quiet. And I don't want to hear how "more sit-ups" would help, either. Just-- be quiet.<br />
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Long story short, he adjusted my back and did some pressure point stuff and used an ultrasonic heat thing that I wanted to sneak in after hours and steal from him, and told me "Try to stand or lie down as much as possible. No lifting, bending, or sitting." Which is pretty much what I do all day--sit, lift, bend. So I spent yesterday and today, pretty much lying on my back on the couch watching The White Queen (on Starz.com) episodes and trying to finish a cup of coffee without having to reheat it 50,000 times. I'm still really sore, but it's bearable, so I guess I should get up and pretend to do some laundry...<br />
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It's kind of amazing how boring it can get, when you *have* to lie around, rather than when you are just being all couch potato-y for a day. I'm typing this while lying down, and it turns out, it's not as easy as it sounds...<br />
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At least I'm not missing anything in the garden, because it's cold and rainy out, which it <i>always is in June. What the heck. WHY do we live where summer is just July and August??? </i><br />
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meh<br />
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Sorry to ramble, this isn't even that interesting...but it gave me something to do, so thanks for listening. <br />
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<br />Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-37070522001176003322016-06-10T12:10:00.000-07:002016-06-10T12:13:20.944-07:00Our Newest Get-Rich Quick IdeaShane loves candle light and lanterns, so last night he lit our little propane Coleman camp lamp, because we just got a new base for it, so it won't tip over and burn down the ...tent...when we're camping, or possibly start a forest fire and/or leave broken glass everywhere for me to clean up, because that is SO not relaxing.<br />
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Anyway--he turned on the lamp and was trying to put it next to my chair.<br />
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Our conversation went like this:<br />
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Me: Turn that off, it's too noisy, and it reminds me of <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/search/label/hippie%20child" target="_blank">my childhood</a>. All we HAD was a stupid gas light in the <b>whole </b>downstairs. Turn it off.<br />
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Him: No, it's awesome. Turn out the other lights, and we can sit around it...<br />
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Me: No. I'm trying to cross stitch and I can't see, plus the noise is driving me crazy. Take it somewhere else.<br />
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Him: Come on... See? *turns on Crosby, Stills and Nash from my 70's Spotify playlist and sits by the glow of the Coleman lamp* We ARE hippies now.<br />
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Me: Ummm.<br />
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Him: Well, or we're...working hippies. Because we work. A lot.<br />
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Me: Uh, yeah, that wouldn't fly. We're like...workaholic hippies.<br />
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<i>both laughing our heads off</i><br />
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Him: Yeah. We should write a book. Everyone would buy it because they'd be like <i>what is THIS? I need to read it.</i><br />
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Me: <u>The Workaholic Hippie</u>. That could totally be a book. <i>We're gonna be so rich.</i><br />
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That's how our evenings usually go.<br />
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And, I suppose if we write it and get rich, we'll have defeated the purpose, because aren't hippies supposed to be ...not rich? <br />
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Food for thought, anyway. Peace out, man.<br />
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<br />Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-80468719701109794812016-06-09T15:02:00.000-07:002016-06-09T15:14:10.007-07:00My Gluten-Free (ish) Life. Sort of.If you've read <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2015/08/great-more-things-to-cut-out-of-my-diet.html" target="_blank">my prior posts about diet and exercise</a> (or lack and distaste thereof), you know I started taking a thyroid med last fall, which hasn't made any difference that I can tell, other than...I take a pill every morning.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img src="data:image/jpeg;base64,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" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ummm...?</td></tr>
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<br />
To make a long story slightly shorter and less mind-numbingly boring, I will update to say that the only thing that has worked for me, in terms of losing any weight (and I have lost 9 of 30 needed pounds so far, which is good, but it comes back immediately if I let up) is this:<br />
<br />
Cut out gluten. Cut out all processed carbs. Cut out all carbs in general, except vegetables, but not eating much of potatoes or corn. Cut out alcohol (umm...kind of). Cut out sugar (except my sour patch because no). Cut out ---<br />
<br />
Ok nevermind.<br />
<br />
Basically what I CAN have is: Fruit. Vegetables. Meat. And of those, I have to weigh my portions and limit myself to 1200 calories a day. THEN I lose weight. Slowly. <br />
<br />
Very cool. <i>VERY EFFING COOL.</i> Thanks, body.<br />
<br />
What I <b>have</b> noticed, after cutting out gluten and as many sneaky ingredients that contain gluten as possible, is that if I *do* have something with gluten in it, the next day I have a headache and I feel like a useless hangover rolled up in a foggy influenza-like coma. I've never had an alcohol hangover, but now I can say I get gluten hangovers I guess. I literally can waste the whole day curled up on the couch reading, or alternately painting my nails and scrolling through Instagram, and then it's like (glances at clock) 2:52 p.m., and I realize "Hey, I should do something today besides nothing. Or maybe I could just take a nap."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://data.whicdn.com/images/142574324/large.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">seems legit</td></tr>
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Today I feel a little bit that way again. I did manage to get rid of the headache earlier with some Motrin, but it is 2:52 p.m., and here I am, writing a blog post. OK, I totally did do some laundry earlier, and I may or may not have painted my nails several times, which matters to a strangely large number of Instagram followers...But I have all these other things I'm supposed to be doing, like planting the garden, or hiking Nepal or solving world peace and stuff, and so far none of THAT is getting done.<br />
<br />
*sigh*<br />
<br />
But at least my NAILS look great.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCadCPEJquicLSSapi4jHxnwSzeybj0nvOURpj6hxCLysF7MJMi9_juP78CRhwuYiB8NCycQwzeinkwBImBHHlSuDgW7fvqcLKuTnyzeNtvFXKig1e95I3zcZqMN39yMjnU1-Iy0NHMw/s1600/june2016+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCadCPEJquicLSSapi4jHxnwSzeybj0nvOURpj6hxCLysF7MJMi9_juP78CRhwuYiB8NCycQwzeinkwBImBHHlSuDgW7fvqcLKuTnyzeNtvFXKig1e95I3zcZqMN39yMjnU1-Iy0NHMw/s320/june2016+002.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My accomplishment for today. Oh, and I totally solved world hunger.</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
Well, there's still time to plant today...it's supposed to rain tomorrow and Saturday so that gives me an excuse to REALLY hang out inside and play with nail polish and cross stitch, so I suppose I should go out and try and accomplish something today besides <i>not napping.</i> (Yay, I didn't fall asleep? Is that a thing?)<br />
<br />
Thanks for listening. Love to hear how any of you have overcome the weird disconnected hungover feeling that fogs up a lot of my days lately...Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-49848191650602281992016-06-07T13:44:00.003-07:002016-06-07T13:49:48.634-07:00Of Nail Polish, Dead Chickens, and Garden FencesIn case you recall, I mentioned in one of my last (long ago) posts that I'd fallen down the rabbit freaking HOLE that is <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2015/11/nothing-to-report.html" target="_blank">Instagram, and into the world of indie nail polishes</a>, so I got side tracked for like six months doing all <i>that. </i>And, posting to Instagram every morning with a fun/funny caption has totally sapped my mojo for blogging, and then I realized <i>what the heck am I doing? I should be <b>blogging</b> this stuff.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKtzpsDuQ6cBNxqp5pJRhcUwx5pSwaJyFvl7d7Uy8ICSF2kbRkAtc3M4pKCnKXyJNN0KaYaX-bKdRsbkSRFWZSHPxiXsrxFkM5cB15BAoY7afMJEsskg1Rz3cqr3ZuaP-w2DvJB2jhQ/s1600/May+2016+032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKtzpsDuQ6cBNxqp5pJRhcUwx5pSwaJyFvl7d7Uy8ICSF2kbRkAtc3M4pKCnKXyJNN0KaYaX-bKdRsbkSRFWZSHPxiXsrxFkM5cB15BAoY7afMJEsskg1Rz3cqr3ZuaP-w2DvJB2jhQ/s320/May+2016+032.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See? Omg, they CAN grow.</td></tr>
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So, yeah.<br />
<br />
ANYhoo....<br />
<br />
Gosh, where to even start? If you've read <a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/search/label/gardening" target="_blank">my garden posts </a>along the way, you might know that we started building a fence around our vegetable garden about <strike>one thousand years ago</strike> <strike>back when Lincoln was President</strike> OK NINE, NINE YEARS AGO WE STARTED ON THE FENCE. And we screwed in the Very Last Bolt...last...<i>night</i>. *clinks glass* <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_M6q8d-xGJKXihz9jgh4LbLyumfCrhlVIMolxTyBuQeOvcXb17hkUiY8vXuTFMS9giwM_bHNRBck_eNMjTRsET49He2AAIQ9jUG9PfThv86iqvFyIBoIiK9mXm-PPo1CiNjOZXgAuw/s1600/May+2016+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_M6q8d-xGJKXihz9jgh4LbLyumfCrhlVIMolxTyBuQeOvcXb17hkUiY8vXuTFMS9giwM_bHNRBck_eNMjTRsET49He2AAIQ9jUG9PfThv86iqvFyIBoIiK9mXm-PPo1CiNjOZXgAuw/s320/May+2016+008.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the deck. Finally (hopefully) NO DEER</td></tr>
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<br />
Which means, it's time to start planting vegetables for real, even though right now, today, is the hottest day we have had in like the last 80 years of June weather, (93 degrees does <i>not</i> happen here in June, people, just...why). So, I spent yesterday outside, lurking from shady spot to shady spot and pretending to rake rocks out of the new area we uncovered to plant in, and trying to pretend like a headache, dizzy spells, and cold sweats are normal for planting season. They're not, I'm pretty sure...<br />
<br />
I did manage to get a lot of things planted, but there is still the whole other side of the garden to plant, and THAT side doesn't get any shade at all, so maybe tomorrow I'll do that. Because tomorrow turns out to be the best time to do a lot of things, as it turns out.<br />
<br />
This morning I decided to chuck any pretense of gardening and spent the morning painting my nails (which have, yes, survived for six month, due to my finally learning that <i>oil</i> is the secret--more on that some other time), making laundry soap, paying bills, and disposing of dead chicken bodies. Wait--you didn't have dead chicken bodies in your morning routine? You should totally try it. I don't even know why this one died...she was acting all "I'm not feeling too hot" yesterday, which is probably a bad pun, because it was effing HOT yesterday, and I kept moving her into the shade because she was being all wilty and lethargic. I knew this morning that she'd probably not have made it, and sadly, she hadn't, so I had a little ceremony where I grimace a lot and use gloves and several garbage bags and a lot of wishing there was someone else to do this right now, and removed the body. <i>ewww</i><br />
<br />
Actually, we had some unknown mystery predator break into our main hen coop about a week ago and violently kill three of my favorite hens, including Pearl, my white Americauna, who was like a pet, so possibly this one yesterday had been injured then, and only just now died? They weren't eaten, just had their necks stretched to oblivion and left lying around the pen, and there was a fairly small opening pushed up on the roof line wire where whatever it was, climbed UP the fence and pushed out through the top. I had ten, and now I'm suddenly down to six hens in that coop... wah... <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CSG5NhpWNn4_B6Txvf-J9UNQ59hcp5eykqSGS-BA9H93mJR74398yECUWB1bSBrycg8DQev6NEcKfg98ahRxF240XngfO2CWHhQGf7B8gRye6Y8_7gCUEOj60ageEneQ9RZ1QD47zA/s1600/may+2016+140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CSG5NhpWNn4_B6Txvf-J9UNQ59hcp5eykqSGS-BA9H93mJR74398yECUWB1bSBrycg8DQev6NEcKfg98ahRxF240XngfO2CWHhQGf7B8gRye6Y8_7gCUEOj60ageEneQ9RZ1QD47zA/s320/may+2016+140.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wondering who's next? Hopefully no one...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So, now I'm inside waiting for it to finish getting all the way hot for the day, so I can go outside and pretend to rake rocks and plant more vegetables again while trying not to pass out in the garden. Or possibly not. I could just be going to take a nap or work on my latest giant undertaking, which is a 3 x 4' cross-stitched tapestry replica of an actual giant medieval tapestry that I hope to have finished before I <strike>die</strike> retire.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk8uLdA8JpRwzYd3gbtLS0C1SYl38ck4zE9A7Yq3ARlIFkfS6I-ToPu2W0kiz6z7mFMQvgYgjGHuosh-YInaInxWZYb78d6XRAKjltqBlSISt8HuTe4hsIxLVXtMhDsaxOyZ7qqfyGew/s1600/a+full+pic+of+tapestry.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk8uLdA8JpRwzYd3gbtLS0C1SYl38ck4zE9A7Yq3ARlIFkfS6I-ToPu2W0kiz6z7mFMQvgYgjGHuosh-YInaInxWZYb78d6XRAKjltqBlSISt8HuTe4hsIxLVXtMhDsaxOyZ7qqfyGew/s320/a+full+pic+of+tapestry.png" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What the finished product will be...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4oZZY5zze_l-_Kog3v5yRvXBebParjBAIP_SdvCbPcb_vV11KoQEiZhdcBjel3X3jdPsotuDT1LJX2DhaUutc_okLTrYX6P5XHzyK0m2oEokWoJJpDWv_Eydo1lj1xr7x8xE9yHpExQ/s1600/finished+page+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4oZZY5zze_l-_Kog3v5yRvXBebParjBAIP_SdvCbPcb_vV11KoQEiZhdcBjel3X3jdPsotuDT1LJX2DhaUutc_okLTrYX6P5XHzyK0m2oEokWoJJpDWv_Eydo1lj1xr7x8xE9yHpExQ/s320/finished+page+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where I'm at right now...</td></tr>
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So there you have it. And I promise or pinkie swear or whatever, to try to write more often than every four or six months, because you KNOW so many stupid/interesting/funny/randomly awkward things happen around here way more often than that...I just forget to write them down. <br />
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Or you could just get on Instagram and see what I've actually been up to... *sorry*!<br />
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Ok, go back to whatever you were doing.Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-58177677347533904192016-03-17T12:56:00.001-07:002016-03-17T13:01:50.236-07:00So...Spring and StuffWhoa...I keep remembering that I haven't written anything since like November, and then I'm all <i>you're such a dork. You better write something. People will think this blog is dead.</i><br />
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Well it's not (dead), and I am (kind of a dork) most of the time, but I thought I'd pop in and say hi and yes, I'm still here. A lot has happened this winter that was decidedly NOT funny, ranging from the truly seriously bad, to some semi-bad/karma-ish "so THAT just happened" events, but most of it was not funny or interesting enough to write about for complete strangers to read. I should clarify by saying that yes, we have TOTALLY LAUGHED at a LOT of stuff this winter, because we basically don't take anything too seriously. It's just that most of it is completely inappropriate, and we'd probably get banned from both our families if I wrote it all down, so just never-you-mind about all that. Besides, you probably wouldn't get any of it.<br />
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So I'll just stick to the fun stuff, k?<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*inhales*</span></i><br />
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On the bright side, we have had some very good times since Thanksgiving, like hosting about 60 family members here for our Christmas party, which was a blast, and totally proved that you can put pretty much <i>as many people as you want in any house, as long as no one needs a chair. </i>It just..works.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOicr8ygllKp_btTR96BSMmgfIs9us7kjIcZcnxyp2pUrpmwyLTa1yWNZFHG4PO72SwPTFxYHS5Fqk3kK-iCr6QB9M1VcHL2VWbs51NdyyHWghNAdBtJJ8jWyrEDmnJbaZ48nuj_qJQ/s1600/holiday+party+2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOicr8ygllKp_btTR96BSMmgfIs9us7kjIcZcnxyp2pUrpmwyLTa1yWNZFHG4PO72SwPTFxYHS5Fqk3kK-iCr6QB9M1VcHL2VWbs51NdyyHWghNAdBtJJ8jWyrEDmnJbaZ48nuj_qJQ/s320/holiday+party+2015.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And hey, I *do* still know how to MAKE ALL THE THINGS</td></tr>
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Aaaaand because we saved some yard sale money from a giant downsizing we did last July, we were able to go on a Disney cruise BY OURSELVES for our 25th anniversary in February. First time we've been away alone together on an actual airplane in 21 years, so it was totally worth it to get rid of all that random household stuff filling all the closets! And Shane finally got a window seat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDOyp5dF3DbvswcCxc3nmI5rt8GpW5VCZVdX10SQ8GfJm2YY-sI8V4lOIy_j1vZ99Ftb0JlSl5gmPIs1nwY-SokaeFLkS2h0k2MXQLSAyxR010O1kHZXh1-87tU6CoK4K0-ZRfmzWbQ/s1600/CRUISE+FEB+2016+020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDOyp5dF3DbvswcCxc3nmI5rt8GpW5VCZVdX10SQ8GfJm2YY-sI8V4lOIy_j1vZ99Ftb0JlSl5gmPIs1nwY-SokaeFLkS2h0k2MXQLSAyxR010O1kHZXh1-87tU6CoK4K0-ZRfmzWbQ/s320/CRUISE+FEB+2016+020.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best. Trip. Ever. If you ever consider cruising, go Disney. Even without kids, it's the most magical way to go. Maybe <i>espECially</i> without kids...heehee</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjENoNXGWxE59rXKObks0RZQpRyQX-ZxPg0-XuIpi7IKP7HJRSzNFAmMwlgR6FG4H_DMk5_5pkCN0UPbJjTEje-8SOtEq9Kk1vCkbUlJjXDVWUxVxEvkY9PFe3OF7esAoV3FA5VTw2rkg/s1600/CRUISE+FEB+2016+043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjENoNXGWxE59rXKObks0RZQpRyQX-ZxPg0-XuIpi7IKP7HJRSzNFAmMwlgR6FG4H_DMk5_5pkCN0UPbJjTEje-8SOtEq9Kk1vCkbUlJjXDVWUxVxEvkY9PFe3OF7esAoV3FA5VTw2rkg/s320/CRUISE+FEB+2016+043.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Disney's private island adults-only beach, Wish I was still *there* </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8vHDgHLdsCGXC5klrk5eusJEplwsInoe280W2y0sPkNKgKUfCXgwZ7mJWrRWBiEdX4ZIS8djNsUvRooYMopAmDdhXGl3YzerzO1O2ezzFHuSA-NLA_dDSiMSPqiEDhtNLTFd71nL1Q/s1600/CRUISE+FEB+2016+059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN8vHDgHLdsCGXC5klrk5eusJEplwsInoe280W2y0sPkNKgKUfCXgwZ7mJWrRWBiEdX4ZIS8djNsUvRooYMopAmDdhXGl3YzerzO1O2ezzFHuSA-NLA_dDSiMSPqiEDhtNLTFd71nL1Q/s320/CRUISE+FEB+2016+059.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We did NOT want to come home. Not even kidding.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPlBjDdxZEOlqT7RZ2ZPicnHqByDIe1d35FHIygFbx_u5JuxU2e2JhK_u12b4e9L8tR9rsNb6moi3-Ne5CGygui5xr5hRuNaZdH0Is6uZdrhxX2skqWcO-5kRHb-Kjk0hA3e88aMUdg/s1600/feb+2016+and+new+car+043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPlBjDdxZEOlqT7RZ2ZPicnHqByDIe1d35FHIygFbx_u5JuxU2e2JhK_u12b4e9L8tR9rsNb6moi3-Ne5CGygui5xr5hRuNaZdH0Is6uZdrhxX2skqWcO-5kRHb-Kjk0hA3e88aMUdg/s320/feb+2016+and+new+car+043.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guys. After 3 years, 3 months, 4 days and a tax refund, WE FINALLY GOT A CAR AGAIN. O.M.G. I may or may not have actually sat in the garage and cried a little. And possibly drank a bottle of champagne in the front seat. </td></tr>
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Anyhoo...several very nice friends have emailed me separately to see how I'm doing, because the blog's been so quiet. By which they kind of meant WRITE SOMETHING ALREADY, WE'RE BORED, which is totally sweet. I'm all about making everyone happy, and it's nice to have responsibilities and stuff, so <i>here you go.</i><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>You're welcome.</b></span><br />
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Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-87319136364935694872015-11-13T09:52:00.002-08:002015-11-14T12:47:59.430-08:00Nothing (Much) To ReportI'm still here, just not around online as much (<a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2015/10/my-disconnected-life.html" target="_blank">as I explained here</a>). Not that it hasn't been a little slice of heaven (<i>because it hasn't)</i>, but I guess you should know what's new here. So...let's see. <br />
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I finally was started on two thyroid medications, which did...<i>nothing</i>. I took them for two months, and when the nurse called to see how I was feeling, I was like, "I don't feel any better. In fact...I think I feel worse, because now I just sit around my house watching it rain and listening to the clock tick while I wait to <i>grow old and </i><b style="font-style: italic;">die</b>." No, wait. I <i>did</i> play endless games of Solitaire on my phone, too.<br />
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So...yeah. <i>Not an improvement.</i><br />
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They immediately took me off those (I feel a little better now, and a lot less like I should just move to a retirement home and take up bingo), and they called in a <i>different</i> prescription, which my pharmacy has taken 10 days to get right. The first two times I drove the 15 minutes over there, <i>just to get the prescription, </i>they "didn't have it" (in the building?), even though when I CALLED them beforehand, they were like, "Yep, we're working on it; it will be ready in 30 minutes". Then they finally DID have it this week, but when I went in yesterday after 10 days, the line was so long, I'd have had time to grow old and die anyway, so I left. Maybe today I'll try again. <br />
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<b>(edited: I DID go over today, and the girl was like, "Uhh, yeah, I don't show anything for that name". I had a small meltdown. Right there at the counter. THIS IS THE FOURTH TIME I HAVE STOOD HERE AND HAD SOMEONE TELL ME THAT YOU DON'T HAVE THIS MEDICATION THAT I DON'T KNOW THE NAME OF AFTER YOU SAID IT WAS READY FOR PICKUP AND WHY IN THE NAME OF EVER LOVING EFF *</b>claps hand over mouth* <b>She said they had it yesterday, but they had put it BACK on the shelf because they said it'd been<u> out for 9 days. Waiting to be picked up</u>.. I just...what. the. heck. </b><br />
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This makes no sense.<br />
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I smiled and said I <i>would WAIT</i> and tried to remind myself through gritted teeth that it was in no way this particular cashier's fault that I have done this FOUR times. Not at all her fault. Zip it. <i>shhhhhh</i><br />
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All I could think was <i>Well, it's a good thing I'm not dying of some disease while waiting for this med. *eye roll* Because hello, Wal-Mart, you could have just killed me and I'm pretty sure I'd have a case if I had the energy to be annoyed.</i><br />
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Actually, that's about the only energy I *do* have lately. Every sentence lately seems to start with "WHY IN THE NAME OF EVER-LOVING EFF ..." *insert whatever detail here*. <br />
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I <i>did </i>lose 5 pounds in a month, but I counted that as due to the fact that we went on the South Beach Diet, which means NO carbs of any kind, and NO sugar. But yes...cheese. So I've been living on mozarella and tomatoes and actually some pretty yummy dinners. Shane lost 24 pounds. I lost 5. I'd say that sounds about right. <br />
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Plus, I've been busy because you GUYS. <br />
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Nail polish.<br />
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Nail polish has taken over my life, and I blame Instagram. Once a year, when I <strike>give up on</strike> stop working outside, my nails actually grow, and I go a little crazy. So I gave myself permission to get on Instagram to look at nail art inspiration, and then I found out about indie nail polishes, so I also gave myself permission to BUY ALL THE POLISHES, which I pretty much did. So now I paint my nails every day, which gives me something to look forward to while I wait for my prescription to be ready.<br />
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If you love nail polish and you haven't heard of "indie polish", buckle up and go check out my new obsession: <a href="http://www.delushpolish.com/" target="_blank">Delush polish</a>, <a href="http://color4nails.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=85" target="_blank"> A-England polish</a>, <a href="http://www.livelovepolish.com/" target="_blank"> Live-Love-Polish</a>, <a href="http://cupcakepolish.bigcartel.com/" target="_blank">Cupcake Polish</a>, <a href="http://www.zoya.com/" target="_blank">Zoya polish</a>, <a href="http://www.frenzypolish.com/" target="_blank">Frenzy polish</a>. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">I die. </span><br />
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Oh, and in other news--The other day, I looked out at the pond and I was SURE there was something floating in it, but I couldn't really tell, so I ignored it. Because, why not? My coffee was getting cold, so, whatever it was, <b>it could wait</b>. Unfortunately, later that day, I went outside, and yes there WAS something floating in the pond.<br />
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It was..(ready?) a <i>dead deer with an arrow sticking out of its back.</i> Floating. In our pond. *gags* I called Fish and Game and was like, "Guys. There's a dead deer floating in our pond. You should probably come get it." And the helpful girl on the other end of the phone was like, "Oh, we don't do that sort of thing, but I'll let the officer-in-charge know." Which was totally not helpful. She <i>did</i> mention that it IS hunting season, so it's legal for there to be dead deer right now, even if they're floating in your pond, which I guess is good, because I didn't get put on a new list of possible criminals or anything. <br />
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(I did take a picture, but it's just too icky, so you'll have to just imagine it, because EW).<br />
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Sorry if this sounds more...<i>down </i>than usual.<i> </i>I'm not really that down, just having a downish month, but coming back UP, so it's all good. <br />
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I have to go run some errands now, get my prescription, and come back and paint my nails because I have like 20 new colors that I haven't tried yet. And there is a guy coming here this afternoon with parts that will fix a basically-still-new dishwasher that we quit using when it broke 8 years ago (<i>just one month out of warranty, sorry)</i>, so I won't have to wash dishes by hand anymore every day, which means my life is probably as close to perfect, with some weeds, as it has been in a long time. Like 8 years.<br />
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bye-Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-19692179089851073212015-10-16T11:23:00.000-07:002016-06-07T16:45:53.401-07:00My "Disconnected" Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Guys. I have a confession to make. Well, more like a statement to make. Or maybe it's just like a memo that you didn't get yet, which totally hasn't mattered, because you're sitting there all living your life and not really knowing that I've been over here going through all kinds of <i>epiphanies and stuff.</i> And since I may or may not have lots of words to say about all of it, I also compiled a bunch of fun photos to make this more like a photographic memo, which should make it more fun <strike>for me</strike> for you. </div>
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So here goes-</div>
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I don't remember what the date was, but it was maybe two weeks ago now, when I turned on the internet news and saw that there had been a(nother) college campus shooting by a(nother) demented...I don't even know the word. For the sake of clarity, we'll just call him a terrorist. He doesn't deserve any attention. Anyway, of course I read the story, because the whole entire world drops everything and reads these stories. And something in me just snapped.</div>
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This happened in Oregon, where I have lived before. I adore Oregon. Roseburg is one of the towns we always drove through and said "Hey, we should totally MOVE here, because it's gorgeous and quiet". So, for this to happen <i>there</i>, really just got me. Plus, he targeted Christians. Blatantly. Executed. Christians. Which is what I am. Which means, if we'd moved to Roseburg and sent our oldest to that college (could happen), our family could have been living through this nightmare right now, with all those other families who are living through it. </div>
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I won't try to wax eloquent on <i>that</i>, but I read the first day's worth of news on that story, and I just...cracked. I'm done. I don't want to know what's going on out there any more. I don't want to hear how evil people can be. I don't want to see the endless debates about whether this was or was not a terrorist attack or how it revolves around gun control or not. I don't want to see a constant stream of photos of loved ones grieving the sudden loss of a child/husband/fiance/friend. I'm just...done.</div>
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I turned off the internet and walked away from my desk. I spent a <i>solid week</i> avoiding my desk, except to work. I had to use the internet connection to run customer credit card transactions and answer emails, but other than that, when I opened the Google main page with that search bar and all my saved page tabs at the top of the screen, I just stared at it for a minute, then clicked it *off* and walked away. <br />
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Actually, it gave me kind of a satisfyingly wicked sense of control to decline the invitation of that blinking mouse cursor, waiting for me to click my way back into the harsh reality that is the world today. Kind of like that feeling you get when you <i>really want </i>a piece of cake but you're on a diet so you grab a carrot stick instead, and you feel all strong and grown up and girl power-ish.</div>
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So, I read more books. I worked on a crochet Christmas gift. I played with the dog. I got re-obsessed with nail polish because why not? I adore nail polish. I continued with our South Beach diet, which is working and is a story for another post because yay, weight loss! <br />
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We went camping, even further from the world of internet and terrorists and in-your-face angst and online trolls (what is <i>with</i> the comments online? Are they even <i>people?</i>). No cell service for 3 days was heaven. I sat by the lake with the dog. We sat around campfires with our large extended family of in-laws, cousins, nephews, nieces, and parents and just enjoyed each other and the mountains. I read some more. On the way up, I had to call a sister-in-law to ask her why all the flags were at half-mast, because I hadn't heard any news for over a week, and God forbid...what's happened <b><i>now</i>?</b> She wasn't sure, so I took that as a good sign that hopefully nothing earth-shattering had happened. (I think it was for the funerals from the above event).</div>
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When we got home, I did get back online to keep my French lessons current, because that's just a goal I want to accomplish. I have enjoyed my Instagram account just for nail art and nail polish because, again, why not? I haven't checked Twitter. I haven't checked Facebook. No, wait--I <i>did</i> log on accidentally and see my feed once, and the first thing I saw was a comment by a loved one that just made me want to scream "REALLY??!? You're saying <i>that</i>? ONLINE?" I composed a message to elaborate my point, then deleted it and logged out. Walked away shaking my head. I went back outside with my coffee and shook it off by listening to the waterfall and the birds, watched the yellow leaves rain down from our birch tree, and enjoyed that only-in-the-fall juxtaposition of sun on my face and cool nip in the breeze.<br />
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<i>Ahh, much better.</i></div>
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OK, in all fairness to the internet and the goodness thereof, I <i>do </i>have a few blogs that I still read, because they show up in my email in box, and this morning I *did* have to Google "<i>how to get the smell of dirty socks out of clean dried laundry</i>" (which is probably self-explanatory, and also gives you a peek into my laundry life that is possibly TMI).</div>
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Other than that, I haven't been back online. I just don't even care any more. If any good news comes along, I'd be happy to hear about it. Other than that, I'm just done. Not hiding from reality, just...blocking it out of our house, which is our haven from the world, and I'm going to keep it that way.</div>
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Wow, that <i>was</i> a lot of words. But then, if you're reading this, you're probably not surprised. <br />
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<b>In case you skimmed this just to look at the pictures, here's a pictorial essay that says the same thing, but with less words.</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<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/AVvXsEh8XglSCVEtL9srPjJzX1Aeuga2z8ndCEAyxzIXITRDDcxJMh8uHDN0dXXDM8aT8bnPsMmKESwHRjmKRlCm-PyjxsaF7SD9yGnpF6OVuY4l0YCYZ-kfrBq-brjwIIIwskdKBV9jtzEX_g/s1600/no+internet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8XglSCVEtL9srPjJzX1Aeuga2z8ndCEAyxzIXITRDDcxJMh8uHDN0dXXDM8aT8bnPsMmKESwHRjmKRlCm-PyjxsaF7SD9yGnpF6OVuY4l0YCYZ-kfrBq-brjwIIIwskdKBV9jtzEX_g/s320/no+internet.jpg" width="283" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So I turned off my internet...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<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;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<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/AVvXsEiJpuhxGZgf4gU1t0ByDKXYvkwonawcVLIidiItnLhziydk4Gh_rMnn8btnqNPXH3-SPH6NQCTUVQI0_yuHfHCRRNKX7RJmSFEP8M5OFwkdbh_sCczYjXoRH34m3kb9gesD6BaEpRrSMw/s1600/like.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJpuhxGZgf4gU1t0ByDKXYvkwonawcVLIidiItnLhziydk4Gh_rMnn8btnqNPXH3-SPH6NQCTUVQI0_yuHfHCRRNKX7RJmSFEP8M5OFwkdbh_sCczYjXoRH34m3kb9gesD6BaEpRrSMw/s1600/like.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...AND social media, because <b>NO ONE</b> CARES WHAT YOU'RE HAVING FOR DINNER</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigzIdCmBgZzLOcmzMxAU-YxmbLWngDCqyeUoKuBAa-fOfZuY-M53zMdugoMYfobVRLkWj3OXM_iwkK4yPEN_fB3Nx3doRI2aoJrG7QQ15g3FAckvCs6Md5YV2ZP3hCfe6GXsITA_O03w/s1600/goat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigzIdCmBgZzLOcmzMxAU-YxmbLWngDCqyeUoKuBAa-fOfZuY-M53zMdugoMYfobVRLkWj3OXM_iwkK4yPEN_fB3Nx3doRI2aoJrG7QQ15g3FAckvCs6Md5YV2ZP3hCfe6GXsITA_O03w/s1600/goat.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Yo. Stop.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEgQ0YHhsoNIvs7yJGWZPNmasxMFFWhfNoqRiOqViU08-oU1rZzDP7MStD7Y3jgjMGJoLqJhGz37CM1pfjk_t1R51Zw2H1XPTVX6JMWESOejLDnyw39LXtiOAdkJrc3tOaioGgLqU6wbQA/s1600/no+way.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ0YHhsoNIvs7yJGWZPNmasxMFFWhfNoqRiOqViU08-oU1rZzDP7MStD7Y3jgjMGJoLqJhGz37CM1pfjk_t1R51Zw2H1XPTVX6JMWESOejLDnyw39LXtiOAdkJrc3tOaioGgLqU6wbQA/s1600/no+way.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friends, when I tell them I haven't been online for 10 DAYS..."Whaaat?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEiLGImdnT3-2VmNqrfA-vxgTYCbIYtDEkTr2e_FJ4z8kX1ICw0nbCi0MV23_55s_Hb4-0xf-gcvdFvsfb7pK0mM0mqzZd6a5Tm-WodTlP-neYCj4DBsexDOlhGmgk9HJQVuG80EWZEmXg/s1600/neanderthals_thumb%255B3%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLGImdnT3-2VmNqrfA-vxgTYCbIYtDEkTr2e_FJ4z8kX1ICw0nbCi0MV23_55s_Hb4-0xf-gcvdFvsfb7pK0mM0mqzZd6a5Tm-WodTlP-neYCj4DBsexDOlhGmgk9HJQVuG80EWZEmXg/s320/neanderthals_thumb%255B3%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Them: "Doesn't that feel like you're living in a CAVE? How can you TURN OFF THE INTERNET?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhf4xx_HjMwS-hKziEettpCyqkX5YvvniUAECvjnhdiJh-qzfYWwUCDMqoGCf-erYIFb0kaWTpvvde8NmkZJR5VBhGeOMjKFX1bWXa2nAJXu8u6RS8vfm-p385tZKJISzF3AcsSSHzhfg/s1600/whatdontyouget.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4xx_HjMwS-hKziEettpCyqkX5YvvniUAECvjnhdiJh-qzfYWwUCDMqoGCf-erYIFb0kaWTpvvde8NmkZJR5VBhGeOMjKFX1bWXa2nAJXu8u6RS8vfm-p385tZKJISzF3AcsSSHzhfg/s320/whatdontyouget.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me: I already explained this. WITH PICTURES.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<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/AVvXsEi-aEfrtyvUdTvKf6jmN2i_r_jEQlO9_ZMaBf2K6XfhMfmSb8t8ihqQr9uwx48e7rG6spjmvnNWVzGFtgAD69c_bFg6fro-ksddve5lGN_2M18u5em4NzWr7858ZoJPnWHcVHBwGwCaBw/s1600/yoga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-aEfrtyvUdTvKf6jmN2i_r_jEQlO9_ZMaBf2K6XfhMfmSb8t8ihqQr9uwx48e7rG6spjmvnNWVzGFtgAD69c_bFg6fro-ksddve5lGN_2M18u5em4NzWr7858ZoJPnWHcVHBwGwCaBw/s1600/yoga.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It feels kind of like this...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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;"><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCOkFqGtAfYjciqYFCZRHfD_me-WX9Uvjgs0E1ihyWdBvY15oLWSH65FImWdUfJPeh06Beao9fUuQ7Su3TF_lGq9Kupg-DlSOqzzmDk7pec45xEL-tJwHrV1_nm9tuZIMEbUMfPOUpFA/s1600/bahamas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCOkFqGtAfYjciqYFCZRHfD_me-WX9Uvjgs0E1ihyWdBvY15oLWSH65FImWdUfJPeh06Beao9fUuQ7Su3TF_lGq9Kupg-DlSOqzzmDk7pec45xEL-tJwHrV1_nm9tuZIMEbUMfPOUpFA/s1600/bahamas.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">...And THIS. But with more laundry and dishes. And less beach</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<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/AVvXsEhgJO-TfyDwHvPuZCrpheLF5Rmorcse3RchkIp1DA-y-gDvGiZlwX-TirokqVF91GC2KVEgYO57NdAJTr4vdMy8vHPwKIoSEF0-WCtq7M2EYE0sbS5LVyLFuv_4nMEmDKqKXbSCfimLnA/s1600/satisfied.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJO-TfyDwHvPuZCrpheLF5Rmorcse3RchkIp1DA-y-gDvGiZlwX-TirokqVF91GC2KVEgYO57NdAJTr4vdMy8vHPwKIoSEF0-WCtq7M2EYE0sbS5LVyLFuv_4nMEmDKqKXbSCfimLnA/s1600/satisfied.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still. No internet = Very little negative crap in my life.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhLuzGgw0vdCXWrzblgo_dVdnXMIcx3SMetYMLRAQ0IMXl80xAhbA8qa5o_5Br_R1CmWcoUSiJ0WVLhH24075sypjdELkOTjhfSN14-Oqv1oCPX46C-1-E9AmmY_BBkspDHLBkZ0Ci0pQ/s1600/woopah2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLuzGgw0vdCXWrzblgo_dVdnXMIcx3SMetYMLRAQ0IMXl80xAhbA8qa5o_5Br_R1CmWcoUSiJ0WVLhH24075sypjdELkOTjhfSN14-Oqv1oCPX46C-1-E9AmmY_BBkspDHLBkZ0Ci0pQ/s320/woopah2.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I WIN.<br />
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Still need more?<br />
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</tbody></table>
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<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/AVvXsEhhOQnZRMYx7vgMZXPxgHZHejxxquZ4dspGp0S9o6Qf23ATHqjMEnlXSNw6fKKtNeAnwu902-mbG52bObeSVV8Ynyk3kxnjuuFF5wyp9gidWECfOIkVOXaXqlTB247FLnvK674W85fSBw/s1600/feb+2016+and+new+car+041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhOQnZRMYx7vgMZXPxgHZHejxxquZ4dspGp0S9o6Qf23ATHqjMEnlXSNw6fKKtNeAnwu902-mbG52bObeSVV8Ynyk3kxnjuuFF5wyp9gidWECfOIkVOXaXqlTB247FLnvK674W85fSBw/s320/feb+2016+and+new+car+041.JPG" width="281" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hold my calls. I'll be outside painting my nails.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-85349631089508511722015-09-16T11:11:00.002-07:002015-09-16T11:40:47.845-07:00Still Here, Just Busy (A Fall Update)It's suddenly Fall here, and that means DO ALL THE THINGS RIGHT NOW BECAUSE WINTER.<br />
<br />
So, of course we did the back-to-school thing, which means volleyball season, which means practices and games, which means me driving to school and back <i>at least</i> 4 times a day until our youngest gets her full driver's license and can drive <i>herself </i>to school. <br />
<br />
And...I used up our last beautiful 90-degree day to go kayaking with some friends, which was awesome and beautiful. Except that I missed our daughter's first pre-season volleyball tournament, which I have never done. So the whole time I'm out on the lake, the back of my mom-brain is telling me that I <i>suck</i> because my kid is playing at a tournament, and here I am, <i>kayaking with friends like I have no responsibilities.</i> It really was a great day to be out, but the fun was tempered by my constantly checking the time and re-calculating how soon I'd have to leave to get back for her last two games. Which I DID, because that's the kind of mom I am. And they won, which was awesome. :)<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/AVvXsEi0G-5ywf0fyTgJMghgg815Rtjt5TDB0DUrSaQECR6wNIaxmoGGCVwzYEGpdmZ7SA9JKObbQgg6v5WaMMmcdjw7780IbWuLe3l4prQxyOcfnJEyM5dAoWOw_e7s4R0Js_rEC3JJBtA1Tg/s1600/sept+2015+128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0G-5ywf0fyTgJMghgg815Rtjt5TDB0DUrSaQECR6wNIaxmoGGCVwzYEGpdmZ7SA9JKObbQgg6v5WaMMmcdjw7780IbWuLe3l4prQxyOcfnJEyM5dAoWOw_e7s4R0Js_rEC3JJBtA1Tg/s320/sept+2015+128.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How could I pass this up? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEisrP9Re5_AVjRNu8er4IWKf7heso5t-dCsWTtC9udyMUSG_5K5FD6HJasam5aT8RYXxXVwPqxe1u2EfWF9JtR2aU9XgzEgqgrQyWEarPLS3h9w0uXHzTwytgNpeWr883UGNSTdtF5kFg/s1600/sept+again+019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisrP9Re5_AVjRNu8er4IWKf7heso5t-dCsWTtC9udyMUSG_5K5FD6HJasam5aT8RYXxXVwPqxe1u2EfWF9JtR2aU9XgzEgqgrQyWEarPLS3h9w0uXHzTwytgNpeWr883UGNSTdtF5kFg/s320/sept+again+019.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proof that I did NOT pass it up...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEgrFlsiljwg7tqHLT4FhYul6a-3BCfCVJEKlD4mrRKDZycKQMwd7YFq7kd0oxSklMmTIswef9XEPnRObKFeejIiTqDy_8WqT4P77cmJSwdwRLMiWZV8hXWfFdoP5ryKQvXWzx7GfBkPBw/s1600/sept+again+021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrFlsiljwg7tqHLT4FhYul6a-3BCfCVJEKlD4mrRKDZycKQMwd7YFq7kd0oxSklMmTIswef9XEPnRObKFeejIiTqDy_8WqT4P77cmJSwdwRLMiWZV8hXWfFdoP5ryKQvXWzx7GfBkPBw/s320/sept+again+021.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Driving out, so hard to leave. Goodbyyyyyeeee summer. <i>aiieeeee</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And...there is an orchard full of apples and plums to still pick, and they aren't going to <i>pick themselves. <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/AVvXsEguqizCp0jMuVEpM3MO_4XuDpLb2AFv9U7ZGS8dC2SnpC6Cxgq3ULK82BP_4yCFt_H28V2BI98r8oIygHNnotzru3xDKK3et9-yM0xCic528ZuMaDEAMvSf4xSPH4bgHodQQVpdbSWXFA/s1600/sept+2015+112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqizCp0jMuVEpM3MO_4XuDpLb2AFv9U7ZGS8dC2SnpC6Cxgq3ULK82BP_4yCFt_H28V2BI98r8oIygHNnotzru3xDKK3et9-yM0xCic528ZuMaDEAMvSf4xSPH4bgHodQQVpdbSWXFA/s320/sept+2015+112.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like it when *this* is the amount I can bring up to the house. Not by the <i>wheelbarrow load</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And...the garden still looks like crap, more or less, because I just never got around to so many things, but this late in the year it's easy to just say <i>Nevermind. I'll fix that mess in the spring. </i>Because I'd rather be inside knitting or messing around online or reading.<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/AVvXsEjELKHR4TsBcbB7pOcQPzJBXQMStAsKgp9FzfftRjGvKDEkNm8vnq9tkuGjHegVyCsIcerlonR5I2g_TfswFaiHYntbnoPGtgtjjrlE1sfsEPdV0bPeQi714Nw_uQ1MSDHAB_0ZarRnug/s1600/sept+2015+042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjELKHR4TsBcbB7pOcQPzJBXQMStAsKgp9FzfftRjGvKDEkNm8vnq9tkuGjHegVyCsIcerlonR5I2g_TfswFaiHYntbnoPGtgtjjrlE1sfsEPdV0bPeQi714Nw_uQ1MSDHAB_0ZarRnug/s320/sept+2015+042.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you stand back and squint, cover one eye, it almost looks ok. Well. No...not really</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And...the tomatoes are all still green. All. 40. plants. worth. Just...why. So now I'm having to cover them with clear plastic because the nights suddenly (and I mean <b>overnight</b>) dropped from 60 to 41 degrees. I start my tomatoes every year inside, earlier and earlier, and I still never pick a ripe tomato before August 24th. My gardening friends start picking in like July. No idea what it is with me and tomatoes. Maybe next year I'll start my plants on like <b>Christmas Eve, </b>because apparently February 15th is just way, way too late.<br />
<br />
And the DEER. Oh my ever loving.. Why, deer? <i>Why</i> do you need to come down off the hill, cross the road, tiptoe through a 10-acre field, wade through an acre of deep lush grass and plush clover, ignore the scent of giant <b>dog</b><i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>everywhere, jump our fence, navigate through the raised boxes, walk across the crackly black plastic that we have on the ground to smother the weeds, stand in knee deep oxalis, and force your head UNDER the black plastic that I have held down with bricks, to <i>eat my little 4x4 patch of green beans??</i> Have mercy.<br />
<br />
Even with the dog here to scare the deer off, they are not deterred. They relentlessly have eaten all the apples they can reach in the orchard, by standing on each other's backs and/or possibly using my step-ladder. They stand defiantly in my garden every night at 11 p.m., staring at my flashlight AND the dog like, "If we don't move, you can't see us."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFYETl6lBAZQkhJHmnx4AHLmNXimZQt58rU8urljr7YJJxbR5chCzMo9FO8XGOXCPLyIf6UYArXUGbDQMA4988UnA31lQT4Ed3zJmhId9UZL581CPvdajn6udYUP3KqmwkINHHFJYBA/s1600/sept+2015+068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFYETl6lBAZQkhJHmnx4AHLmNXimZQt58rU8urljr7YJJxbR5chCzMo9FO8XGOXCPLyIf6UYArXUGbDQMA4988UnA31lQT4Ed3zJmhId9UZL581CPvdajn6udYUP3KqmwkINHHFJYBA/s320/sept+2015+068.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apparently *not* doing her job. But we love her anyway :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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My neighbors probably think I'm a madwoman, because it's not unusual for me to be running around waving a flashlight and yelling at deer at 12 a.m., barefoot, in my bathrobe. <i>What is she </i><b><i>doing</i>? </b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">freak</span></i><br />
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Also, this year I have spent more time on Twitter, because that is where I connect with all my rose and gardening friends (well, we're not friends in the sense that we <i>know</i> each other. More like, in the sense that we share an obsession (and lots of photos). Plus it's easier to just tweet out a photo and a one-line thing than to write a whole post, especially when I haven't had much to say, and I think my funny stories are on hiatus or something. Or I'm just really lazy. Or both. Probably both.<br />
<i></i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnEppGlXcRne4e0SEshLAJorWNaKRUcw94hj-trJdjcJ0ajwEyjl8XvBP1fU7hrsx0aRiEyLTE2nGOl7kqcCnCrG26yS8Fc8ctpNd0HN5cruXbmZGHXnLY15agokKwMNdEdP2xb_Bs1g/s1600/sept+2015+092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnEppGlXcRne4e0SEshLAJorWNaKRUcw94hj-trJdjcJ0ajwEyjl8XvBP1fU7hrsx0aRiEyLTE2nGOl7kqcCnCrG26yS8Fc8ctpNd0HN5cruXbmZGHXnLY15agokKwMNdEdP2xb_Bs1g/s320/sept+2015+092.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My kind of Twitter post. Just happy roses. With conveniently cropped photos, so you can't see the weeds...!</td></tr>
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And fall also means I can get away from being so hard on my hands with all the weeding and yard stuff, because my other selfish indulgence is nail polish...so I started an Instagram account just for <i>that. </i>Even though I swore to my teen that I would *never* sink so low as to get on Instagram. I caved. Because omg, the nail art. *sigh* I always thought I might blog about nail stuff, but it just doesn't fit in here, and Lord knows I can't manage <b>two</b> blogs. I barely manage ONE.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr-H9b6EzjbN9wPS-WFNkFk780CmXtvwVI3FAs7THcCSK8VuMtIMFVoiC4xO5CV19jrmScITC39IeU4E9vFKNQ09nQcBDFTvdW5azgTlptHwgqc_gciD2z1ZV1eXlRIqALw14nCQFb-w/s1600/sept+2015+058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr-H9b6EzjbN9wPS-WFNkFk780CmXtvwVI3FAs7THcCSK8VuMtIMFVoiC4xO5CV19jrmScITC39IeU4E9vFKNQ09nQcBDFTvdW5azgTlptHwgqc_gciD2z1ZV1eXlRIqALw14nCQFb-w/s320/sept+2015+058.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turned this disgusting mess around. But, not a good day for my hands...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUdvUPHVtHgKW_b182FmsMWw1tDH_SOjVyBuWTia6E0Y2Gj9ry2TC458ExEYqx1T4_7CZU50rHlnFe60yLm_KHrg-kVjPUDz4BWG12vIlgSVKcIO5IyEy0PaJ9V5C2vc3c2oNjBpbmQ/s1600/5+Purple+Pizzaz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUdvUPHVtHgKW_b182FmsMWw1tDH_SOjVyBuWTia6E0Y2Gj9ry2TC458ExEYqx1T4_7CZU50rHlnFe60yLm_KHrg-kVjPUDz4BWG12vIlgSVKcIO5IyEy0PaJ9V5C2vc3c2oNjBpbmQ/s320/5+Purple+Pizzaz.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gardening and nail polish don't mix, but about once a year, I manage to grow them out and become obsessed with nail polish.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So, now I feel like I've become a social-media split personality. Check Facebook for my friends and family. Check Twitter for news and gardening stuff. Jump on <a href="https://instagram.com/mynailpolishpix/" target="_blank">Instagram for nail polish inspiration</a> (and to remind myself that I am a REALLY BAD PHOTOGRAPHER). Work on<a href="http://itsa-long-story.blogspot.com/2013/06/you-should-write-cookbook-they-said.html" target="_blank"> the cookbook I started like 3 years ago</a>, so it might be done before we all grow old and die. Get on Google to catch up on blogs I read but haven't read in weeks and weeks. Write blog for my own amusement and to escape above garden chores, laundry, and bills. <i>Yes, but which one AM I? *</i>crazy laughter in background*<br />
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Also, the colder the nights get, the more I realize I need to win the lottery and buy a house in the Bahamas. I totally *get* the snow bird thing. People aren't furry. We obviously weren't made to live where the air can kill you. The whole north should just be <i>closed</i> in the winter, like an out-of-season campground.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for closed for the season" 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" 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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Come back when you can't see your breath</td></tr>
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Anyway. That's the random ramblings from around here today. Hope you're all having a great Fall.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgumASESuaHLEFrT0zG-y-QypmKDNr6kJr1WRJrY_t2j_Hnxo9XQK_QREl8YcQ_s5IHgnFIP6UUfITk15sfJrNjyq98KaF887UXoOUdX695mo54WZcTpX-kVOBULd7tZFdxmvlLMkQvUQ/s1600/sept+2015+114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgumASESuaHLEFrT0zG-y-QypmKDNr6kJr1WRJrY_t2j_Hnxo9XQK_QREl8YcQ_s5IHgnFIP6UUfITk15sfJrNjyq98KaF887UXoOUdX695mo54WZcTpX-kVOBULd7tZFdxmvlLMkQvUQ/s320/sept+2015+114.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sam, sitting out a rainy afternoon</td></tr>
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And if you have a house in the Bahamas, we should totally house swap. Soon. Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-60950776481340282742015-08-29T17:37:00.001-07:002015-08-29T18:07:09.566-07:00Yes, You Can Imagine It...<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">Not a funny post, because too many people here in the northwest are dealing with horrendous fires right now. Where we live, we are surrounded on almost all four sides by some of the largest fires ever recorded, though our valley is safe.</span><br />
<br />
One small and very dear town where Shane and I lived for four years is possibly evacuating today due to the Okanogan complex fire and others bearing down on the town from all sides. Some of our friends are on standby to evacuate, some already have. Our oldest was born there, and now both homes we lived in there...are possibly gone. We won't know until the areas are opened back up.<br />
<br />
The town where we both grew up has a giant fire still burning, which has caused evacuations throughout many places we remember from our past. The neighborhood where my best friend lived, where we took long walks down the dyke and taught ourselves to type in her parents' camper. The area where Shane's grandparents lived when his dad was a kid, and probably all the landmarks from that era, are possibly gone--again, we won't know until they let people back into the areas.<br />
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So many sad stories. Every one is its own private tragedy, and every one means a family starting over.<br />
<br />
The firestorm photos are hard for me to look at. They take my breath away and bring instant tears, because I know what it's like. My family's home burned to the ground on October 21, 1986, when I was 16. The house we had built from the dirt up, that my parents designed and our friends helped build. The house that was our sanctuary and our whole world for 7 years, a lifetime to a child.<br />
<br />
My mom was out of town on an extended trip to Washington, D.C. that month, so I had put out the cats, said good-bye to my dad, and my brother and I had gone off to school. <br />
<br />
By 9:30 that morning, I was called into the gym, where the whole highschool was taking their SAT tests, to take a phone call from the sheriff's office telling me that our house was on fire and was a total loss. They couldn't find my dad, so I got the news first. I looked outside and saw the billowing smoke from 20 miles away, and I knew that cloud was our home.<br />
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I will save the *whole* story for another time, but I wanted to share something.<br />
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For those who see the posts of devastation in the news, social media, etc., and say "So sorry, I can't imagine your loss," it struck me that yes, you <i>can</i> imagine what a house fire is like. Here's how:<br />
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Look down at what you're wearing right now. Jewelry. Clothes. Underwear. Socks/shoes. Anything you are carrying. <br />
<br />
Ready?<br />
<br />
Now, close your eyes and imagine that those items are <i>all that you now possess on this earth.</i><br />
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<i><br /></i>
Now open your eyes.<br />
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Makes you appreciate everything a little more, doesn't it?<br />
<br />
And yes, many people in the fire areas have been fortunate (and I use the term loosely) enough to have some warning and time to plan and evacuate, time to pack what is, and what is not, necessary. Time to move livestock, or just open the gates and hope for the best. Time to take a picture and a long look and say goodbye to the house and the landscape, and leave. And yes, it <i>is</i> "just a house", but until you've been through it, you can't really fathom the loss.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBSGceOXmgsExNKi3Y_EchSJ0dqtMKHkyquBZsAj4j5C5CKesfIiBeieVw81HAWpOIhN_CZ33zb967xO_Wc1tsUrlEf23UoKxfAAoZQKkP0Ainy2EoEISgez0q_bloqREovl6aU7MRw/s1600/from+west1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>A peek at my story...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjxcfUbk05OeC7nmCfTLl1GgRni7d8wh0BOk1KDzXD_v1RtZuZ2ke8KJpgaLLIUGQapoc5MulKgyGc095JqKkTgtMgZVveVGGPPJ2mxK1QZUZ-iRuSRFMgNNBBackjT6cbnO-GHjZTw/s1600/from+southwest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjxcfUbk05OeC7nmCfTLl1GgRni7d8wh0BOk1KDzXD_v1RtZuZ2ke8KJpgaLLIUGQapoc5MulKgyGc095JqKkTgtMgZVveVGGPPJ2mxK1QZUZ-iRuSRFMgNNBBackjT6cbnO-GHjZTw/s320/from+southwest.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our house in the beginning-- 1978</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJML4i6efEuywVQxAmgMezamAPqgvJmbLQw82yIOMIxDzaTCYSBcOEjQ7Ik889G2qwlXwOu0JnnNyNMpIatfUbG0ehPVFvyjY5qElJMXpaYn9ABdsQ4c3ckOFoSlbU0N8LsXgPBFGDxw/s1600/from+south+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJML4i6efEuywVQxAmgMezamAPqgvJmbLQw82yIOMIxDzaTCYSBcOEjQ7Ik889G2qwlXwOu0JnnNyNMpIatfUbG0ehPVFvyjY5qElJMXpaYn9ABdsQ4c3ckOFoSlbU0N8LsXgPBFGDxw/s320/from+south+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">After much adding on, almost finished, early 80s.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBSGceOXmgsExNKi3Y_EchSJ0dqtMKHkyquBZsAj4j5C5CKesfIiBeieVw81HAWpOIhN_CZ33zb967xO_Wc1tsUrlEf23UoKxfAAoZQKkP0Ainy2EoEISgez0q_bloqREovl6aU7MRw/s1600/from+west1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBSGceOXmgsExNKi3Y_EchSJ0dqtMKHkyquBZsAj4j5C5CKesfIiBeieVw81HAWpOIhN_CZ33zb967xO_Wc1tsUrlEf23UoKxfAAoZQKkP0Ainy2EoEISgez0q_bloqREovl6aU7MRw/s320/from+west1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from driveway, 1982</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJeMc-4XrduykcqnWTExlcpje7O2FBHWx0wfIlhYbRSB6YrnR3Okw2LzShyphenhyphen3QusoYm9uosYFABTXg5Ddi02qUeA89T93Vq02-03dA2-UyTfZpVSk9pa1EANUeMDVg0bfW7hesQ5v69Q/s1600/from+west2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJeMc-4XrduykcqnWTExlcpje7O2FBHWx0wfIlhYbRSB6YrnR3Okw2LzShyphenhyphen3QusoYm9uosYFABTXg5Ddi02qUeA89T93Vq02-03dA2-UyTfZpVSk9pa1EANUeMDVg0bfW7hesQ5v69Q/s320/from+west2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Same view from driveway, total loss. Sometime in 1988. My whole life was in there.</td></tr>
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Please keep the northwest in your thoughts and prayers. So many people are hurting right now.</div>
Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4298352604634075064.post-77883384657481558682015-08-17T10:43:00.000-07:002015-08-17T17:10:28.926-07:00Panhandling in the PanhandleThe other day, I was driving with our youngest, and there was this guy standing on one of the corners by our mall, holding one of those cardboard signs that said something along the lines of <i> I don't have any money. Can I have some of <b>yours</b>?</i><br />
<br />
I won't bore you with a monologue on how I *feel* about panhandling versus busting your ass working for a living 6+ days a week, because then you might disagree and be like <i>wow, you're really judgey</i>, and I'd have to be all, <i>well, don't read my blog, then</i>, and then there'd be all this angst and we'd both think the other was being a jerk.<br />
<br />
ANYWAY, there was this <b>guy</b>, for whatever reason, and it caused the following funny conversation in our car, after we went by.<br />
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<br />
Me: Dude, seriously? I thought panhandling was illegal in Idaho.<br />
<br />
Teenager: Isn't that why it's called The Panhandle State?<br />
<br />
Me: *laughing* No. We live in the Panhandle <b>OF</b> Idaho. <br />
<br />
Teenager: Oh. Why is it called the Panhandle, then? I thought it was because of panhandlers.<br />
<br />
Me: Because Idaho is kind of shaped like a pan, and this is like the pan <i>handle.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Teenager: Idaho is the least pannish thing I've ever seen. It totally does <b>not</b><i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>look like a pan.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fIHeOPVdvB9J_geaDSl8O1F2qnAPpGUxSHMQ_Tv0-EL3V5StxSFW3iDwjMe6RZ3zHX9f52NUIcByyj2NzPdqQ3mowlQY5vBjPtR7Zy0_bSL_k_gfNSvTo7h5NZtIWAE2QhlLDptiWw/s1600/panhandle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7fIHeOPVdvB9J_geaDSl8O1F2qnAPpGUxSHMQ_Tv0-EL3V5StxSFW3iDwjMe6RZ3zHX9f52NUIcByyj2NzPdqQ3mowlQY5vBjPtR7Zy0_bSL_k_gfNSvTo7h5NZtIWAE2QhlLDptiWw/s320/panhandle.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Come to think of it...she's right</td></tr>
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<br />Stef Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16896266254286597453noreply@blogger.com2