tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40925387494013620582024-03-20T03:55:00.451-04:00Popcorn and M&MsSavoring the sweet and salty bits of life.Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.comBlogger394125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-40217110076716423502018-11-09T06:17:00.001-05:002018-11-09T06:22:52.602-05:00Remembering Aunt Sandy <div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
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<b><i>In Loving Memory of "Sandy"</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Sandra Sue Smith Higdon</i></b><br />
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<b><i>July 24, 1944 - November 3, 2018 </i></b><br />
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<b><i>Unity Church, Tallahassee, Florida </i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Good afternoon. We are Sandy’s nieces, our dad is her brother, Tommy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Whether you played with Sandy as a child, raised your children with hers, worked in real estate with her, knew her in recovery, or knew her in some other way, we are grateful you’re here because Sandy treasured her friends – many of whom were just like family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We’ve loved reading and hearing people’s tributes in recent days, with people commenting on Sandy’s wit and love of a good laugh. Her friends remember Sandy as a believer in fighting the good fight for the causes she believed in, with a big grin, a sassy attitude, and a hearty laugh. She was brilliant, funny, generous and loving. She used those gifts in her work as well, and someone called Sandy “the finest realtor they’d ever known.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And what might be our favorite post this week from Aunt Sandy’s beloved Facebook: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Even though we’ve never met, I will miss you. Please know you were loved and admired by many. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">If you’re here today, you already know Aunt Sandy was a person with lots of opinions. Her physical trainer loved her even though he said, “She wouldn’t listen to any of the workouts I had planned. She just would do what SHE wanted to do.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Maybe you saw the pillow she had in her living room: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">YOU CAN AGREE WITH ME…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">OR…YOU CAN BE WRONG <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">If you ever met either of her parents, you know Sandy came by those strong opinions honestly. Her mother liked to say that she raised four chiefs and no braves. As a little girl, Aunt Sandy was quite the tomboy, and her favorite playmate at home was often our dad. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">One day, after a long afternoon of playing cowboys and Indians in the yard with Dad, Aunt Sandy sat down for supper. Her mother looked around the table. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“Where’s Tommy?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“Oh, no!” Sandy said. She hopped up from the table and took off running to release Dad from the pine tree she’d left him tied to for HOURS. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We had to ask Aunt Tillie what on earth it meant in the obituary when it said Sandy liked “bottling snakes.” We heard some of you were curious about that also. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Well, Sandy and her buddy Glenn Brandon would roam the woods together, going into the creek closest to the house, reaching their hands up into the roots under the water to find snakes and put them in a bottle or a jar to study them. One of her classmates said they laughed at their 55</span><sup style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">reunion last year about the way Sandy was one of the boys until about 7</span><sup style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">grade, playing kickball and tackle throwback ball right alongside them.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Another boy Sandy liked to hang around with was Max Fletcher, who was about 15 years older than her. He was her kite-flying buddy at the beach. She was a little girl when he got married, but that didn’t stop her from knocking on the door and asking his new bride could Max please come out to play? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">She was a daredevil and loved a challenge. Once, some kids were jumping from the rafters of a barn and catching each other. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Unfortunately, the girl who was supposed to catch Sandy backed up – and there was a board with a nail sticking up out of it right where Sandy landed.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">She split her tongue but proudly called it her “snake tongue” – and showed off the squiggly line from where it grew back together for the rest of her life.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Aunt Sandy continued to put her country roots to good use when she became a mother to Ashley and Susy. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">One day, Ashley came inside the house to tell her there was some kind of big ol’ rattlesnake or a copperhead out in the yard.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Well, like any good mama would do, she went and got her shotgun.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">She had Ashley clinging to one leg, and Susy the other, but she aimed and tried her best to shoot that snake dead without blowing a hole in the side of her house.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And when she did it, Ashley hopped down and ran over. “You got it, Mama! You really got it!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">But another time, things didn’t work out quite so well. In the mid-1970s, Sandy and her friend Judy were fishing on Saint George Island. Sandy was proud to show off her new Chevy Blazer, with its indestructible four-wheel drive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">While the women fished, Ashley entertained himself digging holes in front of and behind every single wheel in that vehicle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Susy ran to her mama and tattled. “Mama, Ashley’s digging holes in front of the wheels to get you stuck on the beach.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“I’m not worried,” Sandy said, focusing on her fishing pole. “You can’t get that thing stuck.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">When they got loaded up and ready to leave, she pulled forward, and BOOF. The truck was sitting in the sand on its axles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Ashley still remembers how furious his mama was that day. But he also remembers she wasn’t mad at him, since she told him there was no way she could get that thing stuck! We think that might be one of the few times she actually had to admit she was wrong about something… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">We all know Aunt Sandy could be quick tempered. Some of her longtime colleagues said as bad as Sandy was about blowing up, she was just as good about apologizing. Although one of her apologies was extremely short and soon moved on to, “I have a listing with a decomposing squirrel I need you to take care of.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">One of her friends said she was confident Aunt Sandy went straight into heaven. There were no penalty points for the colorful language she was known to use. But -- just in case that’s not true, since we are in the house of the Lord, as we share some work stories, we’ll be using the words “GOOD DAY” instead of another expression with a “G” and a “D” you might have known Aunt Sandy to use. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Realtors often ask each other for feedback to help sell houses, but Aunt Sandy wasn’t a big fan of that process. One time a newbie realtor who was unaware of Aunt Sandy’s dislike for feedback called her to ask about a house Aunt Sandy had shown that day. Sandy cut to the chase. “Did I submit to you a good day offer? Well, then, there’s your good day feedback!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">If Sandy toured a house that she didn’t like at all, her feedback would be short and to the point: “Two things -- Kerosene… and a match.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">A colleague said Sandy would give you the shirt right off of her back – until you made her mad. Then she would TAKE the shirt off of YOUR back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">But she would always look out for her clients. Someone who worked with Sandy on the sale of a very small house told us it didn’t seem to matter if you were selling a $50,000 house or a million-dollar house, she was going to help you the same way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">For years, Aunt Sandy had two phones – one for business calls, one for personal calls. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">One day, she was talking on both phones at the same time and got confused which call was which. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">To the business associate who had the nerve to call her personal line, she said, “How did you get this number?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“You gave it to me,” the woman said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">“OH.” Aunt Sandy said. “Well, you must be closer to me than I think you are.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Aunt Sandy finally gave up the infamous duct-taped blackberry and switched to an iPhone. Late one evening, her friend Sandy was surprised to receive a FaceTime video call. Staring back at her was a half-dressed, makeup-free Aunt Sandy, wandering around her bedroom. “What are you doing here?” Aunt Sandy said. “How did you get in there? Can you see everything? Have I been doing that to everybody?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Technology might not have been Sandy’s gift, but she was a talented mentor, with a generous spirit for helping others. She helped numerous people as they got started in real estate – family, friends and colleagues like our cousin Mary Beth said they learned from Sandy’s counsel and treasured any chance to talk real estate with her. Sandy’s generous spirit for helping others also led her to sponsor people in recovery, and to support causes and organizations that touched her enormous heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">There was a place for many of us inside that big heart, but there was no one she loved more generously and abundantly than her three grandsons: Austin, Corey and Maison. At Christmas, Sandy transformed into Gammy-Claus, and she loved to make their dreams come true. She loved spending time with them, especially when that time was in her beautiful beachfront condo in Seagrove Beach. It was decorated with a sign Sandy loved to quote: “If you’re lucky enough to be at the beach, you’re lucky enough”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Seagrove and Saint Marks were her happiest places, and she loved pulling the slots at the Beau Rivage or any other casino, but her travels took her far and wide, from cruising to Bermuda with friends, seeing the Panama Canal with her brother, exploring Spain and Portugal, sweating her way through an eco-lodge in the Amazon, collecting stamps in her Florida parks passport, and too many others to count. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Her most recent trip was three weeks on the road with her sister Tillie. Before their departure, the cousins were placing bets whether they would make it, and who might fly home early – Thelma or Louise. Instead, as we all saw on Facebook, it was a beautiful trip, full of special memories for both of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And…speaking of Facebook… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Aunt Sandy wasn’t shy about sharing her opinions, either in person or on social media. She joked at a Memorial Day cookout that she figured even her family members were hiding her posts on Facebook. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Now – if you are on Facebook -- we imagine y’all had the same reaction we did when you heard she had died so suddenly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Oh, Lord – what was her last post? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">No matter how you felt about her politics or opinions, you couldn’t help seeing she was a big-hearted, caring person who stood up for what she believed in and did not hold back in voicing her concerns. No wonder the b</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">umper sticker on her car reads: Choose the path of most persistence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">As her longtime friend Sue wrote, “Anyone believing she will rest in peace is forgetting her humor, energy, passions, love of life, and her desire to right wrongs and always help others. She had the courage of her convictions. She will be with us always.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And her final Facebook post was one to treasure. She put a beautiful sunrise picture taken at her beloved Seagrove Beach, Old Glory flying high, and she gave us a challenge to carry forward. These were some of her last words to us, and they’ll be the last words we’ll leave with you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">There is so much beauty in the world. We must continue to seek it ....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">There is so much beauty in the world. We must continue to seek it ....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">There is so much beauty in the world. We must continue to seek it ....<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-13490122384827351072016-11-14T19:37:00.001-05:002016-11-14T19:43:00.156-05:00Taj Mahal<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Last day in India, and we saved the best for last! Unfortunately the weather didn't fully cooperate - morning smog necessitated use of these lovely masks.<br></span><p x-apple-mail="wrapper"><br></p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5utwOhXSVlBaHU4koiyhw8TA-SbiPMnw9mS8JNILrDJnUxEcCK3ZeNC5dy7HrRPwPfgz1Kv3TZ_R5-Vtc8YrkGyF8_1_WU19P9PSPOkhgnKw1W4e9D1LctXZTyu6h-u202A2HxNfqLk/s640/blogger-image--1847704003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5utwOhXSVlBaHU4koiyhw8TA-SbiPMnw9mS8JNILrDJnUxEcCK3ZeNC5dy7HrRPwPfgz1Kv3TZ_R5-Vtc8YrkGyF8_1_WU19P9PSPOkhgnKw1W4e9D1LctXZTyu6h-u202A2HxNfqLk/s640/blogger-image--1847704003.jpg"></a></div><br><br><br>The Taj Mahal mausoleum itself is actually part of a complex with a number of impressive buildings including this mosque. <br><br><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwowx5dN0KhhsjlJ40Urj_Tm6Du8tqr_hRRIxPEyvoFpHjcXCtZ6GBO5Qlhx63wdxVXWloXY9sJkXbLEh55js2uklOhMhQwKgahU1ykZdh40Hqt19nLm7NRDqzxJPyjsGhFWJV3V6Omv8/s640/blogger-image-2038137693.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwowx5dN0KhhsjlJ40Urj_Tm6Du8tqr_hRRIxPEyvoFpHjcXCtZ6GBO5Qlhx63wdxVXWloXY9sJkXbLEh55js2uklOhMhQwKgahU1ykZdh40Hqt19nLm7NRDqzxJPyjsGhFWJV3V6Omv8/s640/blogger-image-2038137693.jpg"></a></div><br>Many folks say the Taj Mahal is a tribute to love, but Bhivou says it is also a lesson that too much of anything will kill you. Too much alcohol, too much tobacco or in this case, too much sex since the wife died giving birth to kid #14 in 17 years. 😜 Regardless, it is a spectacular building and certainly worthy of all its fame. The marble inlay work is gorgeous. While we didn't get the celebrity solo tour that Kate and Will got, here's the Cmas card photo! <br></span><p x-apple-mail="wrapper"><br></p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlGVHS_euP9H7SnCfcycjuaEBAFsF30UXGpf1aXXq6QivOV7OmmdXI2S-R55KTCdEByANzlX48fBsSUbZbVzYXZwJN4bU6hbTrI-uXZA4vdFGFJg-kuROVvBscM-mAg8dM8jrBKGQZdI0/s640/blogger-image--32437618.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlGVHS_euP9H7SnCfcycjuaEBAFsF30UXGpf1aXXq6QivOV7OmmdXI2S-R55KTCdEByANzlX48fBsSUbZbVzYXZwJN4bU6hbTrI-uXZA4vdFGFJg-kuROVvBscM-mAg8dM8jrBKGQZdI0/s640/blogger-image--32437618.jpg"></a></div><br><br><br>After the Taj, we went to the fort at Agra where the Moghul emperors, including the one who built the Taj lived. In the case of the Taj builder, it was also his prison when his son overthrew him and he got to gaze out the window at the Taj. The sandstone fort and palaces inside were quite impressive. <br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTNFkRNlCXmuLy00NxxS2wJHFHzmKl4a8ZkLaTRoJPAapH8wlAPzsTjtKTa7yrY3RdrmfLuYCn6yNvxOIWI-WccdmcVT9p-wp92hvaG7U6vKQJh_HStkbVDskgk8PhS4Ftj6YFRBI2fhI/s640/blogger-image-168654715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTNFkRNlCXmuLy00NxxS2wJHFHzmKl4a8ZkLaTRoJPAapH8wlAPzsTjtKTa7yrY3RdrmfLuYCn6yNvxOIWI-WccdmcVT9p-wp92hvaG7U6vKQJh_HStkbVDskgk8PhS4Ftj6YFRBI2fhI/s640/blogger-image-168654715.jpg"></a></div><br><br><br>There were an incredible number of tourists from India as well as other countries, many of whom asked to take photos with us. I'm sure I will feature in this family's holiday card. <br><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5lGpomx9t1ZFLPqKbsts76u2kYw_EvdJ4X6pImOCGccj_52zqP_tsUILS-zA45IQ5LTBAWPMKeNpYXWmP8WQrKYduu4pX0bgV6E819kPWEMZfqVv2-Y6_8BG27j-uYVehWbtNxsh_vw/s640/blogger-image--569281555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5lGpomx9t1ZFLPqKbsts76u2kYw_EvdJ4X6pImOCGccj_52zqP_tsUILS-zA45IQ5LTBAWPMKeNpYXWmP8WQrKYduu4pX0bgV6E819kPWEMZfqVv2-Y6_8BG27j-uYVehWbtNxsh_vw/s640/blogger-image--569281555.jpg"></a></div><br><br>I continue to enjoy taking pics of the women in their colorful saris\sarees.<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkAZnuoSM3vYtSvJ5Ztor_8aV0mzeU1NLP_hcBpOA2NX1TouEsiuV8P7_eE3PkjB6UJ7n-Qh5wgXeLjeoKwjB4vQyG18HCilyA4228HbN-ZnsgFw456XOWVMvJ38tmW1tVec5W7bvK5z0/s640/blogger-image-385496006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkAZnuoSM3vYtSvJ5Ztor_8aV0mzeU1NLP_hcBpOA2NX1TouEsiuV8P7_eE3PkjB6UJ7n-Qh5wgXeLjeoKwjB4vQyG18HCilyA4228HbN-ZnsgFw456XOWVMvJ38tmW1tVec5W7bvK5z0/s640/blogger-image-385496006.jpg"></a></div><br><br><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ihrKVDNl_20BXvQY5KGQ1401mki2r4qmq0eKmRt7Hdg2e62zy7oLpG1QYkpF16xd9M6k0sFgkQG5hZLrun0bnRV8kAnUCNmRm-WTxJbxdeBaQhPy-mSnvUfbHp8lVr9VMI-4dCDNU6w/s640/blogger-image--1276948356.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ihrKVDNl_20BXvQY5KGQ1401mki2r4qmq0eKmRt7Hdg2e62zy7oLpG1QYkpF16xd9M6k0sFgkQG5hZLrun0bnRV8kAnUCNmRm-WTxJbxdeBaQhPy-mSnvUfbHp8lVr9VMI-4dCDNU6w/s640/blogger-image--1276948356.jpg"></a></div><br><br><br>The afternoon was spent on the bus back to Delhi. Incredibly, I managed to sit on the side where the sun was AGAIN despite having thought I'd finally figured the Southern Hemisphere sun pattern out. Nope. Astronomy is clearly not my gift! We had late lunch on the road - Bhivou provided bananas and Lays potato chips for everyone. Good thing I had my slim jims! Mid-way we stopped at a public roadside restroom and had an unfortunate bathroom experience. We were politely queued up behind some Indian women waiting for the toilets. Then another group of Indians came up behind us, pushed through on the right and jumped in front of our ladies who were stunned silent. So then a couple of us had to perform another bootie block to keep the line single file and keep it from happening again. It is an annoying cultural difference. Indians push through that way in other lines as well, at the monuments for example and certainly at the bank, which is really frustrating. It reminds me of China, and I guess in a country of more than 1 billion people, you have to push to get anywhere. But it is hard to reconcile this behavior with the individuals who are just so lovely, polite and peaceful in individual interactions.<br><br>The other interesting cultural experience was driving by two cremations happening along the riverside. Bhivou said one of them was likely a child based on the size of the bonfire. Bodies are supposed to be cremated on the same day as a death. <br><br>We got back to Delhi around 6, dropped some folks off at the airport and then went to a nearby hotel for a farewell dinner. Unfortunately we only ate two non-hotel dinners this trip, and that made a big difference in the enjoyment of the Indian food since it was typical hotel food - not great but not awful. The good news is with buffets you get to sample lots of items, so I expanded my palate of items I know I like a little bit beyond chicken tikka! <br><br>After dinner, we hung out in the hotel bar for a while before coming to the airport for our flights. Unfortunately mine isn't until <a dir="ltr" href="x-apple-data-detectors://0" x-apple-data-detectors="true" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0">3:20am</a> and it is only a little after midnight now. So waiting up this long is a killer. <br><br>For the final wrap-up, I'll say that I'm really glad to have come to India. I think it is a fascinating culture - roughly 1/7 of the worlds population lives here, and the civilization has been around for thousands of years. There is a depth of culture that we just don't have in the USA. At the same time, while India is a emerging global power, this is definitely a third world country which makes life here difficult. The poverty level is deep and omnipresent. The infrastructure around sanitation is horrendous - there are piles of garbage thrown everywhere, and men regularly urinate publicly such that a walk down any city street smells like Bourbon St <a dir="ltr" href="x-apple-data-detectors://2" x-apple-data-detectors="true" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors-result="2">on Sunday morning</a>. Women's public toilets aren't much better. In both the Hindu and Islamic communities, women are second class citizens. There are even gender-segregated X-ray machines at the airport. There is no way I could live here, but I'm still glad to have seen it and happy to be on my way home. <br><br>Oh, here's how the henna tattoo turned out along with those from some who had a technician with a little lighter touch. Wonder how long it will last... <br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaivzbx88IW3AukmenTDZEAd1AxynPudBrF9sHMsBszZoIZqWOJk6PQM8Q4f-TTMZP57UfndkY4TglP44-bKzc-JNmpOE2-E0UHf37gyzhD2tr6yXWiLN_Hbv4iqhBN512h9iTrPb66_A/s640/blogger-image--390586225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaivzbx88IW3AukmenTDZEAd1AxynPudBrF9sHMsBszZoIZqWOJk6PQM8Q4f-TTMZP57UfndkY4TglP44-bKzc-JNmpOE2-E0UHf37gyzhD2tr6yXWiLN_Hbv4iqhBN512h9iTrPb66_A/s640/blogger-image--390586225.jpg"></a></div><br><br><br><br>LA<br><br><br><br>Sent from my iPhone</span>Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-19173699591509466042016-11-13T16:21:00.001-05:002016-11-14T19:45:23.393-05:00Jaipur to Agra<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">After leaving the hotel in Jaipur this morning, we made a quick stop by the Sulman orphanage. The woman who started it 17 years ago was a fashion designer in Delhi who came home and saw a nearly naked child digging in the garbage for food. "For whom am I going to design fashion when people don't have clothes? I will design lives," she told us. So she started selling paintings to raise money to feed and house children, and it has grown to a program where her family including her 3 biological children live in the orphanage of 105 boys and girls. "I am the happiest mama in the world with all my children." They were some cute kiddos.<br><br><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGA0LeGl1PqASFjHLqAjiogp_hHV7g_F5XqNPVtfvoaNhGsirYWcFkC18hRAguG7vyGvySGHTRkEyYlkDnNkFbMHNsBdafIQ7-XCwRvGt26p1C-f3r9m_Hve3Y9IFp0DuWWDpAl5nwHHk/s640/blogger-image--641311753.jpg"><br><br><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia-HGy1trMNvnoy_oxbWe3crm0NtJtjOKBZ4GY3czGj1vPgblCb5hds82JP-wIq3_RmkNd9WfNzoiucVhgmgF44gF95eVEFgZoScV3R8tx6sCgMbHSv3mMNUalE7K-dHp2MzgDI3hEvpU/s640/blogger-image-1023241072.jpg"><br><br><br><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD4wlKGbV0QNDFXr843TFsaUAGHr04gzo0Pss7lOViDFLHgT5e30LMbBEfwvowIGhPe43dv1ow5aBsFUxGzbGK4_vVvTACbV0IVDvPC3Mxk0-yR7nesGwwaWE0XuP7oI6k_l_vZXr_DsA/s640/blogger-image-1038872289.jpg"><br><br>Interestingly there is not a culture of foreign adoption here, so these children will stay until they are adults. It was especially touching to see them in a safe place when you could see children in the slum across the road who weren't so lucky.<br><br><br><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDvqYRX1IM-Quxf675Kno8oc7RLZxw_jMv-kwy5LUzX0isrMXWO0bp6OeGYdD9qnOx2BdrPWEYlw5-DDdzkgBV9_TuBZyvHI8sb9RY5towbBCeF2xeRUblLSMhpoMzrGgUmrgRfRsxjfc/s640/blogger-image-1169365839.jpg"><br><br>We spent most of the day in the bus riding to Jaipur. Another random fact I need to figure out is why the sun does not move across the horizon here. I sat on the eastern side of the bus, and we were in the sun all day long. I swear it never moved up in the sky!<br><br>In every town we passed through, we saw lines of people, sometimes hundreds of them, at banks (which were open even though it is Sunday). The currency issues in India are getting worse. Indians are spending 5-7 hours in line at banks every day to get money exchanged. ATMs get refilled and are out of money in an hour, particularly since they aren't set up to hold lots of singles which is all that the central bank is distributing right now. We heard stories of children who died when the doctor in one case and ambulance driver in the other refused to accept the old currency for treatment (the doctor was subsequently beaten by a mob). This is a cash-based economy (almost 85% of transactions done that way), so most of the lower class folks don't have credit cards to use. Thankfully our cards work and some of us brought cash. I will say that while conventional travel wisdom has become "don't bring cash or travelers checks, just use the ATMs", I'll never go abroad without a couple hundred dollars of Uncle Sam's cash again. Travelers checks would be worthless here since you can't even get into a bank to cash them.<br><br>The woman at the orphanage said the positive of the financial situation is eliminating the black market will help curtail child trafficking. <br><br>We stopped along the way to Agra at a roadside cafe for lunch, and I had a grilled cheese sandwich. I also love how Lay's offers up locally flavored chips!<br><br><br><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5KUIrdluwXoYmlXBuGq939-AVQyIacG-kcn_n_wwGumeOMB2lUcQUNycB6Qcyqi50ihy4-TVMn4SRIjqOW05ikIlCX6nR16KLTo6DDAhEOinRds8JCm02yUYWQV0vqyJBo8VUvhyphenhyphenhzMY/s640/blogger-image-421945184.jpg"><br><br>On the way into Agra, we stopped at a city and palace one of the Mughal emperors (grandfather of the guy who built the Taj Mahal) built over 10 years, lived in for 10 years and subsequently abandoned. The interesting thing about this guy is he had 3 wives - one Hindu, one Muslim, and one Christian, and he didn't try to convert them to Islam. Rather he took the best of all 3 traditions and tried to apply them to life in his kingdom. Pretty forward thinking stuff. These palaces are all starting to look alike, but some of the hand carved sandstone in this one was pretty cool.<br><br><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP7Vzn0rFzdYyttJIh25yKmAbUPwFnobuBLYmAMJPCLpo38kizbU8gg0n4QbHbexoLVTR39pjdXwM-bqxMGqAji3JCvDUyIfluUForKXqIN0_tE5tVh4GdfQexmwsJ0bvBgzes73XlPVQ/s640/blogger-image--1722760183.jpg"><br><br><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUy7OqBE1KW6_8fsdXqP2q3IwFsV50FGTaPWgIiX-c-KIOVs3N5QsNZeqNjVgjamEHrVx5MYCZf2ucMy5nNWEg22w3zkY0aCVxQWFttPARnHUpr6s_LM3Z7JiBrJYCHHTgXoRckc9PztI/s640/blogger-image--475758774.jpg"></span><br>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Bhivou chose today to wear local dress. Check out the toes on the shoes.<br><br><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnTY09VUBEXBU9f6sUwDlil30vyUztkGaw2cKW1pD0eYWREYvvfugkXoI7FR_zfonPTm3LdsawhrQ20e-EQFn1TlpQQjsvAqvUNP77bhyphenhyphenlyHTkfFiqItarwNi-EDJ1P_-OcwQ9oViN2BA/s640/blogger-image-2058481848.jpg"><br><br>We were supposed to go to the Red Fort at Agra but ran out of time. Instead we can back to the hotel and got ready for a nice dinner at a restaurant in town. It was nice to not eat the hotel buffet, and the food was the best we've had this trip. Plus they brought someone in for henna tattoos! The pic below is with the ink still drying on. It will flake off and leave a light brown pattern on the hand for 1-3 weeks.<br><br><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-824RU15q8hyphenhyphenf17ebuistucPocdGMgsSidebXwudziPG0ODvnCWLSpCe_xB-ZHUX37qHww9rpP4Nr7KtrqweQN2qaWyMY8rLoA6CohRy-C-sXouolt6D4o_5oV-rHwXBiJOqBowvibWE/s640/blogger-image-1565333829.jpg"><br><br>Tomorrow we'll go to the Taj Mahal and then make our way back to Delhi for dinner and evening flights. Mine isn't <a dir="ltr" href="x-apple-data-detectors://6" style="-webkit-text-decoration-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.258824);" x-apple-data-detectors-result="6" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors="true">until 3am</a> which will be painful. The Agra area air is smoky from the fires plaguing Delhi. Hopefully it doesn't ruin the Taj Mahal Christmas card photo opp!<br><br>LA<br><br>Sent from my iPhone</span><br>
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Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-92183048981713546612016-11-13T16:19:00.001-05:002016-11-14T19:46:22.429-05:00Jaipur<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As you saw from Facebook, I've reached my saturation point with the Indian food and made a McDonalds run last night with another girl. I've hit the Golden Arches in most places I've visited, usually because that is somewhere you can reliably get a Diet Coke with ice. The ice in India is suspect, so in this case, the trip was more about eating something not served over rice. Here's the menu:</span><br>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizxCcDVX4F0uV7ixB7aYu4ytAL67eKWnJT7B7F_-JMyT-mQGZNmpK6sIF9SlJ5y4_0jy2cdufn3CO6KsoeLNVsrm6neZjCqfZPI4Wbq1fQDw_zqDvzWi6ZWd0yMi7KVZhX_oerXif6V_I/s640/blogger-image-310015781.jpg"><br><br>Yesterday morning we toured the old part of Jaipur in then morning, including an observatory built in the 1700s which is notable for how accurate the tools are. The horoscope is big here because it influences things like your chosen wife. You not only have your birth sign like Gemini but also an ascending sign which is what was rising at the exact time you were born and that one changes every two hours. If I'd remembered what time I was born, I would have gotten the guy to do it for kicks (though I guess I could get an Indian friend at home to get that info for me too). Speaking of marriage, we have a Native American girl in our group (Lumbee from Pembroke, NC) and it freaks the local Indians out every time they see her. They can tell she's American by her clothes but she really does look like she blends here. Plus she is fair skinned which is desirable, so Bhivou says she'd get a good marriage contract!<br><br>Next stop was City Palace which was the residence of the maharaja of Jaipur. I didn't realize there were lots of difference princely families in all the regions of this area. So interesting to learn about some of that and see their home. The current maharaja is 18 and off in college in Britain.<br><br><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2E15kumFKPct7hcmvqbDZ41qMzYKFYuVUNrgs5hnvPyjJa7y7krjnLRNr2WQLf1m_k1-NkK13IL_sXC7xmuyYSgqzkQYoHTefwl5trIxr9URmEWRulqHu9TX6J_N6VvzkN8v4Jx7p_A/s640/blogger-image--564339697.jpg"><br><br>The architecture at City Palace was similar to the Palace of the Winds which the maharaja built on the main square. It is notable for all these covered windows which is where the royal women who weren't allowed to be seen were able to watch the comings and goings downtown. And the other woman in this pic is my roommate Geraldine.<br><br><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBOEdFDaGNh0DfcXnGHNeMQzK_D_jcCVhDePIiieb_x9-Os7PmvgJgZlyps423aNW8CU7HxLx4eSHPGEU_axQ53lFZ-ORhSpAKK01B3dIIxTvVFkcUBhtw5-x0jEQetGX2Gn8roe0jm8/s640/blogger-image-813626907.jpg"><br>After the touring, we went to a jewelry shop targeted for tourists and then another rug and textiles shop. I didn't think the quality of the stones looked very good at the jewelry place, but I don't know much about rubies, sapphires or emeralds beyond what Mimi had. Several people bought stuff and we spent more than an hour in that store at which point a couple of girls started plotting our escape. We had all done the elephant ride thing elsewhere in Asia, so at the tapestry store, 4 of us got the guide to put us in a taxi and headed off to do our own shopping. It was really fun. Maricarmen from Mexico (who randomly used to live/work in Arden, NC for a car manufacturer) bought a GORGEOUS dress at one of the nice sari stores. We also found a great pashmina place where the guy helped us understand the different levels of quality. We also bought some cheap crap from the hawkers, so we covered it all. We are the first large group of Americans that Bhivou has dealt with, and he hasn't understood the ladies fascination with shopping. Maricarmen said she told him shopping is American culture! It was nice to be able to walk around and just look at things, like the big bags of spices in the grocery store, etc.<br><br>We finished the day with our Mickey D'a run and drinks at the hotel. Today we are on a 6 hour bus ride to Agra, so I am going to go fuel up at the breakfast buffet.<br><br>Hugs!<br>LA<br>Sent from my iPhone</span><br>
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Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-20815633334659723862016-11-12T16:32:00.000-05:002016-11-12T19:57:18.279-05:00Making a run on the bank<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Anne told me that there has been some coverage in the world news about what is going on here with the banks and money. It is definitely crazy. This was the crowd outside one of the bank branches in Pushkar this morning at 11am. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Those folks were much, much calmer than the ones at the branch we went to where there was an incredible amount of pushing and shoving. It didn't take long for us to realize that we had to push back if we didn't want to get shoved further back in the line. One of my trip mates has a funny picture on her phone of me using my plus sized rear end to hold back a couple of the men trying to shove us out of the way. There are some good things about not being petite, and one of them is that I can hold my ground! It was never scary, mostly just annoying, though my necklace got broken in the process. We waited outside for an hour, but only 5 people from our group got in the branch to get money because they would only serve one foreigner for every two locals. And that makes sense, because as another group member pointed out, "We need to remember this is just our vacation money, but money to feed their family is people's lives." So Bhivou sent us back to the bus, but before we gave up our positions in line, we moved a couple of the non-rude people up ahead of us. And now I can say I participated in a run on the bank! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">We had a 4 hour drive from Pushkar to Jaipur. Along the way, Bhivou filled us in on stories of Hindu life including how arranged marriages work (men get to be "king for a day, slave for life"). Unfortunately because we were so late leaving, there was no time for a lunch break. I had my trusty snacks in my bag including granola bars and Slim Jims, something that breaks up the vegetarian monotony quite well!! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Upon arrival, we went straight to the Amber Fort which was the palace of one of the the maharajah's, I think in the 1600s. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">I thought the style of architecture was interesting, and the colors in the frescoes have held up well to the elements. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">It was interesting to hear Bhivou share about how the arrival of the Mhogul emporers who were Muslim influenced the role of women in Hindi society. I'm not sure how conservative Jaipur is yet. We noticed one bank branch had only women in the queue, and at another there was one line for men and one for women. So we'll see what it is like tomorrow afternoon when we are out shopping!<br /><br />We are in a really, really nice hotel in Jaipur which has a number of perks. This is the first place we have felt safe using ice, and a cold vodka tonic was particularly refreshing upon arrival. The other plus is having a gym. I've got my clothes laid out to work out in the morning. There was no gym at the camp, and it wasn't safe there to be out walking or running solo (plus it was cold!) I wore my sneakers at the camel fair, and now they smell like camel poo, so I had to wear them today as to not contaminate my suitcase. They will not be making the return trip home. <br /><br />We ate dinner in the hotel restaurant since they had a buffet, a particularly nice option here where you aren't sure what will be tasty and what too spicy. In addition to the usual vegetarian options, there was some sort of mystery meat, either goat or mutton, as well as chicken, though the chicken was too spicy for moi. The paneer cheese dish was good though, so I was fine with that and my trusty naan. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">That's it for today!<br />LA<br /><br />Sent from my iPhone</span><br />
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Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-65847521391057123472016-11-12T16:30:00.004-05:002016-11-12T19:58:29.881-05:00Camel Festival Day 2<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Had a really nice second day at the Camel Fair. Uncle Bob had the perfect analogy for the camel festival - it is like Mule Day! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">We headed into town today around 9. Stop #1 was this sacred lake where Hindu folks do some sort of ritual bathing. As we were walking to the lake, we went down a street with lots of shops selling touristy junk. What is interesting about this stuff is it is targeted for the Indians who come to town to bathe in the lake or attend the camel fair, not just foreigners. Anyway, shopping was not on Bhivou the tour guide's agenda, but he quickly realized he was going to have a mutiny on his hands with his majority women tour and gave us some shopping time. Miss Betty, you will not be surprised to learn I bought a pink and purple sari! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">While a camel-cart ride was scheduled for this afternoon, there were a number of folks who wanted to ride the camels themselves, so we did that this morning. The hardest part is not falling off when he comes up first on his front legs, then on his back ones. But definitely worth the $3.50 it cost for a 20 minute ride (and priceless photo opp). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrSmJJyFGl9V2o6WR22VRIEcOHfajGwPxr341bNpBlUy4l7BOViqhHekp1r49dB21d62fmqeylFeVs8XeD-YrKk9L2MrEDBH0VBTuq5AjHPjFY5HvP2HfmpyVJyzk5MjH96zqjkHaSrs/s640/blogger-image-387054710.jpg" /><br />After the camel cowgirl moment, we were waiting for the guide to come get us, sitting in plastic chairs at a storefront where we paid $1 for a Coke which would normally cost about $0.20. The shop owner wanted to keep his thirsty Americans happy, so he wouldn't let the hawkers selling their purses, jewelry and assorted made-in-China crap across the threshold. So there were about 10 of them lurking outside the door since a group of 40 foreigners makes for an easy target. I said "they look like lions, watching their prey" but Elizabeth from Sausalito came up with a better line, especially for a non-Southern girl when she said "looks more like hunters, sitting in a duck blind!"<br /><br />We came back to the camp for lunch and a siesta. This reminds me to share more about the food. Most lunches and dinner involve some sort of rice (lunch today had rice with pomegranate seeds, dinner tonight had rice with lemon) along with some sort of chickpea dish that has a heavy sauce to be served on that rice. There is usually a cooked vegetable of some variety, like roasted cauliflower. Most buffet meals also seem to include a potato dish of some sort, a pasta dish and tonight we had fried vegetable egg rolls. All of this is served with delicious naan to complete the "no carb left behind" tour. In Delhi, we had some foods that had a small amount of meat in them, but it was largely vegetarian. Breakfast today at the camp was outstanding. There were apple pancakes, homemade hash browns with onion, scrambled eggs with green onion, boiled eggs, and some kind of muffin that I didn't try. They were making fresh juice from beets, carrots, oranges or apples. My favorite part though is that this place, where we are sleeping in tents and power is only available certain hours, here we have a cappuccino machine! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;"><br />After taking a break from the heat of the day, we went back to the festival around <a dir="ltr" href="x-apple-data-detectors://9" x-apple-data-detectors-result="9" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors="true">3:30</a>for camel cart rides and more shopping. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Then back to the campground for showers, watching some Indian dancing and dinner. As I write this, I'm snuggled up in the tent alongside the hot water bottle which mysteriously got placed in our beds during dinner. I could use that treat at home!<br /><br />Tomorrow morning we are going to be a bit delayed heading to Jaipur as we need to go by the bank to exchange currency, and they don't open until 10. Bhivou is carrying 180,000 rupees in large and now illegal bills to pay for our entrance to the Taj Mahal and other monuments on the rest of the trip, but the govt spots are definitely not taking the big bills. Individuals are only allowed to exchange R4,000, so each of us will be going into the branch to change some of the group's money. He thinks the bank here in the little town will be smaller and less crowded than the cities. Once that is done, which will likely take more than an hour since it involves filling out a form and giving a copy of your passport, we will head out for the 4 hour ride to Jaipur.<br /><br />Still having a great time!<br />LA<br /><br />Sent from my iPhone</span><br />
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Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-23429694862432135532016-11-12T16:29:00.003-05:002016-11-12T20:01:08.989-05:00Pushkar<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Well, we've had a big 24 hours. Amazingly, the horrible US election news has been dwarfed here by the Indian PM's late Tuesday announcement that effective <a dir="ltr" href="x-apple-data-detectors://1" x-apple-data-detectors-result="1" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors="true">midnight Tuesday</a>, the 500 and 1,000 rupee denominations were no longer valid tender. This is roughly $7.50 US and $15, so it is equivalent to our government taking the $10 and $20 bills off the market. The banks and ATMs were also closed yesterday. The govt said they are doing this in response to counterfeiting by Pakistan as well as the use of the black market. Our guide tells us much business in India is done in cash, which means that it isn't subject to taxes. The 500r and 1,000r can be exchanged at local banks for smaller denominations, but at that point you have to report it. The issue is that we are all carrying those denominations, and some vendors are refusing to accept them. Plus we are in the middle of the desert now with no access to a bank for exchanging them. So it is a bit of drama. Most folks also brought some US dollars, so we are paying with those for now if people won't take our rupees. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Yesterday morning we got up <a dir="ltr" href="x-apple-data-detectors://8" x-apple-data-detectors-result="8" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors="true">at 4am</a> and took a 6 hour train ride to come to Pushkar for their annual camel festival. Farmers from across the area come here to buy and sell horses and camels. Unfortunately, activity has been diminished by the currency freeze and a number of vendors reportedly left yesterday. Still, it was really neat to walk around the market yesterday afternoon. The vivid colors of the camel costumes against the desert background are striking, and I'm still really enjoying photographing the people. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">We are "glamping" in tents which have an AC hookup as well as bathrooms. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">It got pretty warm here yesterday afternoon (80s) but temps dropped into the high 50s/ low 60s overnight. They even brought a hot water bottle by for our beds, and I enjoyed snuggling with that thing. I slept like a champ - I was asleep by 9 and woke up around 6. That part feels the most like vacation! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">This area is largely Muslim, and food is vegetarian and in the Ayurveda tradition which keeps you super regular! Thankfully no Delhi belli yet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Today we are heading back to the camel festival. I want to ride a camel, and hopefully </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">we'll have more time for exploring on our own. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">LA</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Sent from my iPhone</span><br />
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Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-86252467121418424972016-11-12T16:28:00.002-05:002016-11-14T19:47:53.561-05:00Delhi Day 2<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Woke up early this morning and got a workout in at the hotel gym which helped me feel better about sitting on the bus all day. Had my first experience with the sexism for which Indian men are known with the man who just stepped right in front of me at the weight machine I was clearly using. At least I got a chuckle out of the fact that he had to take some of the weight off to use it! When I walked to the mall last night to buy some water, I also got some uncomfortable glares from some of the men there. While I don't love traveling with 40 people, there is safety in numbers which I am grateful for! The group itself is largely women - only about 5 men. There are a couple of other folks around my age, and then the oldest is probably a guy in his 70s. My roommate is a Haitian-born woman from Boston in her 30s. She's very nice and super quiet. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">We left the hotel <a dir="ltr" href="x-apple-data-detectors://0" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors="true">at 8:30</a>. Delhi traffic is crazy, and it took us about 90 minutes to get to old Delhi. This was the driver's view for most of the way. </span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQwuHj6w3GIIZrYhMP6yBF5NzH78KbcqHzzfqn201s9C9oS4Etyxhk5c5weA-uFqAR4vUO_1b6y__hzIKKweZwOqqxZ5fUa4o6Je_xsIPxArM0kO9cOnu4frGxoYgLNkGuLkotKphdUq0/s640/blogger-image-199707847.jpg"><br>
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Lots to see out of the windows including 10 people crammed into an SUV and several instances of 6 in a regular small car. We also passed several of the holy cows munching on garbage along the road side. Other animal spotting included monkeys, mongoose, pigs and goats. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Stop #1 was a Muslim temple in old Delhi where we also learned a little more about the history between Muslims and Hindus. We had to remove our shoes for the visit, and all the women had to wear these charming coverups. </span><br>
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf3HWvCaC_cJurZaEswLHoxxfW5p3NYDmlOulovMEu4Jxcc_R_WgmJQYMBfXB7Poda8bQEAqsxWPa_iJhcuCQtB9_muT1Ruqph-G_dLhy77v7VjIZJjlGV4vKSqF247cmyADqXMA9oKwU/s640/blogger-image--1610562048.jpg"><br><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;"></span>
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">The mosque tour was followed by a rickshaw ride through the goat paths that make up the old part of town. An electrician's nightmare but definitely cool to see. This part of Delhi reminds me a lot of Hanoi. I would have liked to have gotten out and walked around, but the rickshaw was a good way to cover a lot of ground (and avoid getting run over by crazy drivers on mopeds). </span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Next stop was my least favorite part of traveling with a big group. We went to one of those "artists collectives" which prey on buses of tourists and make their money selling several thousand dollar hand knotted rugs from Kashmir, pashminas made from the chin hair of the goat, etc. They provided a free lunch of a fried chickpea pastry, cheese sandwich, banana and a Coca Cola and more than made their money back since several folks other than cheap ole me bought stuff. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Next stop was Humayuns tomb, a UNESCO world heritage site. He was the second of the Mogul emperors from Afghanistan who ruled India in the 1500s, and the temple supposedly is what the Taj Mahal was based upon. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">We followed that up with a trip to a Sikh temple. Sikhs are the men with the turbans, and they require everyone to cover their head in the temple complex. I found another good use for the CSS bandanna! </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">The good news is the air quality is much better today. Still a haze, but it hasn't been as hard to be outside. This city itself is definitely not one of my favorites - smog plus a general 3rd world state of disrepair, but I really enjoy looking at the people. There is something really lovely about the women in their brightly colored tunics, and I also really enjoy seeing the wizened faces of the older people. They are just so at peace. It is an interesting culture for sure! </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Traffic on the other hand sucks, and we had a two hour bus ride back to the hotel. Tonight we have to pack our bags early and give them to the bus driver since we are leaving at 4:30am tomorrow for a 6 hour train ride to Pushkar where we are going to the camel festival. We are staying in tents, and I'm not sure that they will have internet access there. Will send another update when I can! </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">LA</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: "uictfonttextstyletallbody"; font-size: 17px;">Sent from my iPhone</span><br>
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<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5ciGy5Ey2Rghdna7ex9E53xiOyCE6mxXXeCVMGr7vsnQpHkVdn2t6CKN2AvSU8DAbIS3U-G8ZcI22CrE_V7WTOJ44Vfq4VQb4DhSV-fYzcFHTLldKroidJv7RkOiRxVt3BBzfwpLwFA/s640/blogger-image--9290196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5ciGy5Ey2Rghdna7ex9E53xiOyCE6mxXXeCVMGr7vsnQpHkVdn2t6CKN2AvSU8DAbIS3U-G8ZcI22CrE_V7WTOJ44Vfq4VQb4DhSV-fYzcFHTLldKroidJv7RkOiRxVt3BBzfwpLwFA/s640/blogger-image--9290196.jpg"></a></div>Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-72893018589504000942016-11-12T16:25:00.002-05:002016-11-12T16:25:56.028-05:00Namaste<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">Hey y'all. All safe and sound in India. My flights were uneventful and while long, not too painful - business class is a beautiful thing! One of the guys from my Duke class was on the Heathrow to Delhi leg, and it was fun to catch up with him. The New Zealand All Blacks were on the O'Hare to Heathrow leg, but other than admiring their hotness at the check in counter, I didn't get to talk with any of them. </span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">Got into Delhi a little after <a dir="ltr" href="x-apple-data-detectors://0" x-apple-data-detectors-result="0" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors="true">12:30am</a>, but it took two hours to deplane, clear immigration, hit the ATM and get a taxi to the hotel. The hotel is a bit of a fortress - cars get checked outside the gate, and they scan you and your baggage every time you come and go. I have not seen much of the city other than immediately around the hotel yet. There is an incredible level of smog. Apparently farmers in the north are burning rice paddies, and it has made a huge mess. The air is so bad that they've told everyone who can work from home to do so, and the major power plant has been shut down for 10 days. You can even see the smoke inside the hotel lobby and in the airport. It is worse than China was. They've run out of masks and it is hard to be outside. I took one little field trip to the mall next to the hotel, but was glad to get back here. It will be interesting to see how that impacts the touring activities. Yet another use for a CSS bandana - air filtration mask! </span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">Other than that outing to the mall, I haven't done anything today. Slept <a dir="ltr" href="x-apple-data-detectors://2" x-apple-data-detectors-result="2" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors="true">from 3am-11</a>. Ate lunch in the hotel and it was pretty tasty - lamb chunks with lentils and rice. They had "Continental" food like pizzas and sandwiches, but my experience has been you are better off with what they do well. And it will surprise no one that I have a bag full of snacks just in case!! Meeting the group in the lobby <a dir="ltr" href="x-apple-data-detectors://3" x-apple-data-detectors-result="3" x-apple-data-detectors-type="calendar-event" x-apple-data-detectors="true">at 6pm</a>. We are 11.5 hours ahead of east coast time now. My roommate hasn't shown up yet, so nothing to report on her. </span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">Somebody from work said that maybe I could skip the news of Tuesday's election, but it is all in the media here too. There was an interesting article in the Indian paper this morning about how Iran televised the 3 presidential debates live as an example to their people of what is wrong with America. ;-) Still, while it is true that we have a crazy system, this smoke thing reminds me of the parts that do work, like required burning permits! </span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">Love you!</span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">LA </span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;"></span><br style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17px;">Sent from my iPad</span>Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-37234268425029052952016-02-08T19:15:00.001-05:002016-02-08T20:01:23.314-05:00Writing at Kripalu<span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I'm on a bus rolling through Massachusetts, heading back from my weekend at Kripalu with Dani Shapiro.</div></span><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzwYWlYrGoBSBHP85s2sAggOTsDAvHyYQxarEYK2xvK_B47gQxhtxl2jgA57QgKP3th2luTaM-TErpyszO1WZA6hUDsFjwBuzWjG8xuYA8S_DqCcdliZLyFMxkcIuWpTJy-US3K-fDMvQ/s640/blogger-image--168643282.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzwYWlYrGoBSBHP85s2sAggOTsDAvHyYQxarEYK2xvK_B47gQxhtxl2jgA57QgKP3th2luTaM-TErpyszO1WZA6hUDsFjwBuzWjG8xuYA8S_DqCcdliZLyFMxkcIuWpTJy-US3K-fDMvQ/s640/blogger-image--168643282.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Kripalu is a center for yoga and health in Lenox, Massachusetts. Leigh Ann went on a retreat there years ago and had encouraged me to check it out, since it's an easy four-hour bus ride from the city.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">In early January, she sent me this friendly nudge:</div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaHM0-ArUOvWC79zG_PCoP2NclRiN0OCBImmfsnARHEGNZ8zwYC5-GRJYcvgynfguvVywLvbQLuWv8kugRAFNmL3brPiS97MYZ3p66sVfGcMrFxRK57lH26_tQPEcfVjuh1fBFi0i1bGM/s640/blogger-image--2058121202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaHM0-ArUOvWC79zG_PCoP2NclRiN0OCBImmfsnARHEGNZ8zwYC5-GRJYcvgynfguvVywLvbQLuWv8kugRAFNmL3brPiS97MYZ3p66sVfGcMrFxRK57lH26_tQPEcfVjuh1fBFi0i1bGM/s640/blogger-image--2058121202.jpg"></a></div><blockquote type="cite"></blockquote>----</div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Our stories are symphonies of memory and nuance that reverberate throughout our beings, from the small, tender moments that shaped us to the monumental experiences that forever altered the course of our lives. Our stories inhabit our bodies and minds, and they are waiting to be told—beautifully, authentically, and courageously. Join best-selling author Dani Shapiro for a heart-opening weekend of meditation and movement, writing exercises, group sharing, and discussion that will stay with you long after you return home.</div><div style="text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">-----<blockquote type="cite"></blockquote></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Part of me feels glad I went and knows I needed what I experienced.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Yet part of me also feels frustrated and disappointed with myself. Why aren't the pages pouring out? Why does this process feel so hard? Why can't I seem to stick to a routine and find my rhythm with this project?</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">If my goal is to write this memoir, might I have been better off just locking myself in my studio for four days and turning off my internet access? (Since, as Dani said one of her friends has noted: "Writing on a computer is like writing in the middle of an amusement park.")</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Ultimately, I think I did need what I got out of it -- affirmation from a master in the craft that writing is like chiseling a rough boulder into a fine sculpture. I suppose we all want it to be more like pouring champagne into a glass -- you chill the bottle, you pop the cork, and voila! Maybe there is a bit of mess if you pour too much, but nothing you can't easily wipe up. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">But nope -- it's a boulder. Heavy, in need of the right tools. And right there in the middle of your path. You'll require fine, delicate brushes and blades when you are further along, but in the beginning, it's all rough edges and big chisels as you try to see what shape is lurking inside. Finding the outline, shaving off big chunks that don't belong, blasting through outer layers and scratching at what lies within. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">She has some really lovely passages about this in her book on the craft, STILL WRITING.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Are we there yet?" is, she noted, always part of the ride. We are impatient children ready to get where we're going already. As are all of our friends and family, who've tired of hearing about what has started to seem like an interminable project.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">(Side note: I love the way Samantha Power, the US Ambassador to the UN, explained her career path in a Glamour magazine article a few years ago. She wrote a book about genocide, A PROBLEM FROM HELL. And, yet: </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><a href="http://www.glamour.com/inspired/2014/07/career-advice-ambassador-samantha-power">http://www.glamour.com/inspired/2014/07/career-advice-ambassador-samantha-power</a></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">My mother, though, describes the title of the book as my relationship to writing it. After six years, she jokes the book was </span><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">her</em><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"> problem from hell. </span><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%;">My</em><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"> problem from hell.</span></div><span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div><span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></span></div>But hey, she did finish her book...and it was eventually read by a young senator named Barack Obama. Boom!)</span><div><span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Just like the poem Ithaka reminds us, the best part of any journey is not the destination -- it's the journey itself. I need to remember that. I'm grateful that something does continue to call me down this road, telling me that this is a hill worth climbing, whispering in my ear that I have a story I'm meant to share. </span><div><span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I had a cool experience in a yoga dance class between writing sessions on Saturday. It was one of those truly New Age whackadoodle let-it-all-hang-out, crawling on the floor like animals, dancing wildly to the beat of drums sort of hippie things you'd expect at a place like Kripalu. It was an awesome reminder of what can happen when we stop worrying what anyone else says or thinks, and we just let ourselves listen to our bodies and follow the rhythm in our soul. </span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">It was a physical reminder of the need to approach writing with that sort of openness and flexibility, to let the story take shape on the page, rather than coming in with a bunch of preconceived notions about what you're "supposed" to be writing.</span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></span></div><div><span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">You might think, Dani said, that the most fulfilling part of writing will be holding your finished product. "The best part is being inside of it," she said. "Catching the mind and seeing what's there. Writing is how we find out things we didn't know we knew. If you know what happened, why are you writing it?" </span><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Here are a few other nuggets I wrote down:</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Every writer I know gets in her own way and devises ways to get out of her own way." </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">From THE MEMORY PALACE by Mira Bartok: </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Our recollections change in the retelling." </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Memory if it is anything at all is unreliable." </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">What she found out when she wrote DEVOTION: </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"When we are true to our own humanity, our own uniqueness, our own specificity, we discover that we are not so different."</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">You can't find the shape without being in the mess -- being in the chaos. That's why meditation helps. You need to quiet your noisy mind. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">She has a friend who starts a novel by writing seven longhand pages a day. You have to unleash the mess and see what's salvageable. Throughout the weekend, I made myself write in longhand, and it was a pleasant surprise what came out.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">She defined memoir versus autobiography: </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Memoir is a story that is shaped out of the chaos of a life.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Autobiography: "you know who I am, and you want to know about my life." </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">A big part of the weekend was leading us through several "metta" (loving kindness) meditations. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">-- May you be safe.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">-- May you be happy.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">-- May you be strong.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">-- May you live with ease.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Memoir freezes a moment in time. That moment remembered from that place becomes a solid object. The idea there is ever an end point is a fallacy. Whatever you write is unique to the point in time in which it was written. Memory is constantly shifting and adapting. (I would love to discuss this with anyone who reads SLOW MOTION.)</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">One can get extremely derailed by sharing a draft with the wrong person at the wrong time. Not everyone knows how to give constructive feedback. DO NOT share your work with someone who is jealous of or competitive with you, or someone who will try to get you to turn your work into what they'd like to do. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">About Betrayal:</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">-- To concern yourself with it when you are writing a first draft is to ensure you will not write as deeply and freely as you must. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">-- Your manuscript is not going to fly from your desk to the bookstore. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">-- "Write as if everyone you know has left the planet."</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">-- Don't take pot shots. Don't try to make yourself look clever at someone else's expense. Her one regret about SLOW MOTION, her first memoir, is a mean, hurtful comment about her aunt. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">-- You will be surprised what people take issue with in your writing; it won't necessarily be the things you expected to hit a nerve. "We can't know in a whole host of ways what is going to hurt other people and what is not going to hurt other people."</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">-- If you're writing out of vengeance, put it down. How do you know? You're thinking, "I can't wait until she reads this." </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">-- Told a story about Honor Moore, whose memoir THE BISHOP'S DAUGHTER infuriated her siblings. "We don't choose what we write," Moore said. "It chooses us. And if we turn our back on it, we are somehow diminished."</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As I prepared to head back today, I took my camera on my walk and tried to capture a bit of the beauty of the place. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtT5Ie5821toijgNksZfWONlLMPhlk0hu-ci2oRU39R2YgzHABkj8yWL9LlTM4NCxcrY-BC124wkJlzrhajKUHUgHlWseExtvyr6czXuBtO2ctjvDbpPtf82gL5wkccvgpECNyzS9ZRAM/s640/blogger-image--1204361611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtT5Ie5821toijgNksZfWONlLMPhlk0hu-ci2oRU39R2YgzHABkj8yWL9LlTM4NCxcrY-BC124wkJlzrhajKUHUgHlWseExtvyr6czXuBtO2ctjvDbpPtf82gL5wkccvgpECNyzS9ZRAM/s640/blogger-image--1204361611.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZXlhpgxrC3Zaq8xlkQQUIV1E8Q41RPOLSSMttLYWEspiyAmQjQDgejkyyV_tVPb0OEl8ePXbKZN-piBwyRPg7QQm_vJJsMaRXfIcGHuhex1JWXms6F5Mbh4ith2ay3vzXvf3YawhoJ68/s640/blogger-image--1510590621.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZXlhpgxrC3Zaq8xlkQQUIV1E8Q41RPOLSSMttLYWEspiyAmQjQDgejkyyV_tVPb0OEl8ePXbKZN-piBwyRPg7QQm_vJJsMaRXfIcGHuhex1JWXms6F5Mbh4ith2ay3vzXvf3YawhoJ68/s640/blogger-image--1510590621.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyFe1vR07zSxi2hr8_fqDkKlvdqIUOFW12za7aJR98DeeQLiFmx0hBSOx8ZHqCzYiv0BlDyfdibV7SBTSAIny4xnshWvpMWj5YSXkK-mm346EFC4-iL3cBKrgq3taIF7nNo5sfOKt9PzQ/s640/blogger-image-653823760.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyFe1vR07zSxi2hr8_fqDkKlvdqIUOFW12za7aJR98DeeQLiFmx0hBSOx8ZHqCzYiv0BlDyfdibV7SBTSAIny4xnshWvpMWj5YSXkK-mm346EFC4-iL3cBKrgq3taIF7nNo5sfOKt9PzQ/s640/blogger-image-653823760.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge0hxWjdu9STi190H2PukZ097CLK1P4CpPkxKBohy3BGb2RJwdn3R4mhs0JpfHoCa42YfUcFGl6bKXMtuNoHdTixhgtB55qQnhlHDU2ypW_IrOYnnyrPxgVgNSIqHgbyxmlXSuCve0jDM/s640/blogger-image--1287824976.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge0hxWjdu9STi190H2PukZ097CLK1P4CpPkxKBohy3BGb2RJwdn3R4mhs0JpfHoCa42YfUcFGl6bKXMtuNoHdTixhgtB55qQnhlHDU2ypW_IrOYnnyrPxgVgNSIqHgbyxmlXSuCve0jDM/s640/blogger-image--1287824976.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyQveJFjSTtJD0zYZ4yu2SB24BHVZ2iBqw7lW-lFsH0yoSkIWfuHxlRf0o7SJg59AZFX7PqrdtHbbCBNk49ASVEJHnc6NPqPvv2n8om22JzL1u8OIc5u837YVyqBaPSW8G3I9aWuaeCME/s640/blogger-image--1658315466.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyQveJFjSTtJD0zYZ4yu2SB24BHVZ2iBqw7lW-lFsH0yoSkIWfuHxlRf0o7SJg59AZFX7PqrdtHbbCBNk49ASVEJHnc6NPqPvv2n8om22JzL1u8OIc5u837YVyqBaPSW8G3I9aWuaeCME/s640/blogger-image--1658315466.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It felt futile -- a bit like my writing felt all weekend. Yet instead of feeling frustrated, I felt grateful for the parallel and the metaphor. Sometimes you simply fail to capture what you're trying to capture. But that doesn't mean you give up. It means you find a new angle, a new lens, a different approach. And you just keep trying. </div></div></div><br></div></div></div>Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-26133201231808185422015-08-02T15:44:00.000-04:002015-08-02T15:44:00.830-04:00Summer Reading Finally! Something that made me blow the dust off ye olde blog. I cannot resist rambling a bit about Harper Lee's "new" book, <u>Go Set a Watchman.</u><br />
<img src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/4/4e/US_cover_of_Go_Set_a_Watchman.jpg" /><u><br /></u>
First -- let me begin where my obsession did. Harper Lee popped back up on my radar last summer, when Leigh Ann and I were at the beach, enjoying her new villa on Seabrook Island with Ranie, Jason and their boys.<br />
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We do love a good ol' flashback here at Popcorn and M&Ms, don't we, loyal readers?! (All three of ya who are left.)</div>
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Anyhoo, you will recall this was the era in which I'd quit my job to write a book. (Yeah...hey...what ever happened to that? Well, the short answer is I (a) decided I didn't want to move out of my expensive apartment in NYC (b) realized family events were too, er, "dynamic" to write a memoir (c) acknowledged there was no way I was going to start writing publishable fiction in the short term (d) enjoyed my funemployment to the max and wound up getting a better job this spring.) </div>
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Anyway, while at the beach, us girls got to swapping notes on books -- and the fact that Harper Lee had some friends who gifted her with a year of living expenses one Christmas; she used it to finish writing <u>To Kill a Mockingbird</u>. </div>
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LA mentioned there was a new memoir about Harper Lee, <u>Mockingbird Next Door</u> by Marja Mills. In 2004, Mills rented a house next door to the Lee sisters in Monroeville and spent 18 months as their neighbor, writing what <a href="http://www.artsatl.com/2015/06/qa-marja-mills-harper-lee-the-mockingbird-door/" target="_blank">she claims was an authorized memoir</a>. </div>
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Leigh Ann had gotten it from the library, so I started reading it immediately. And... yowza. I think the author had tried so hard not to betray Harper (Nelle) and her sister Alice that she ended up writing pure drivel. Or, <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2014/07/18/books/the-mockingbird-next-door-by-marja-mills.html" target="_blank">as the New York Times called it,</a> a "painfully earnest" and "sentimental" play-by-play of little old lady life:<br />
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<i>Ms. Lee has a regular booth at McDonald’s, where she goes for coffee. She eats takeout salads from Burger King on movie night. When she fishes, she uses wieners for bait. She feeds the town ducks daily, with seed corn from a plastic Cool Whip Free container, calling “Woo-hoo-HOO! Woo-hoo-HOO!” </i><br />
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Seriously, it was a total snooze, and I don't think I actually finished it. It reminded me of how hard it was to be a reporter. You have to walk such a line between nurturing your sources, cultivating those relationships, and depicting them honestly -- which may burn a bridge. I felt sorry for Marja Mills, who seemed to have tried hard to write something that would satisfy the public fascination with Harper Lee, without betraying the confidence the Lee sisters showed her. Yet she ended up with <span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">the worst of both worlds -- she wrote a crappy book that Harper Lee disavowed: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 22px;">"Rest assured, as long as I am alive any book purporting to be with my cooperation is a falsehood," Lee <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/story/life/books/2014/07/15/harper-lee-dispute-the-mockingbird-next-door/12671487/" target="_blank">said in a statement</a>.</span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Meanwhile, Alice Lee said -- and mind you, this was back in 2011, "Poor Nelle Harper can't see and can't hear and will sign anything put before her by anyone in whom she has confidence. Now she has no memory of the incident." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The only line I saved from the Mills book was this one: </span><br />
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<i>"In the community of Monroeville, information about Nelle was currency. It could be spent, traded or saved for the right moment. Demand exceeded supply, especially because her good friends kept their interactions with her largely private. People were curious about where she went, whom she saw, what she said." </i>
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Can you imagine what that would be like? It must have been a bit like living in a small town surrounded by paparazzi. No wonder she spent so much time in the anonymity of New York City. <br />
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Anyway, I was so fascinated and thirsty for more info that I bought <u>Mockingbird: A Portrait of Harper Lee</u>, a biography by Charles J. Shields.<br />
<img src="http://i0.wp.com/www.charlesjshields.net/wp-content/uploads/9780618894642_childrenofhurin-e1395084146164.jpg?resize=171%2C258" /><br />
I could tell you a lot more about what I found interesting in that book, but I'll cut to the most relevant portion re: <u>Go Set a Watchman's</u> portrayal of Atticus Finch. Shields makes it clear A.C. Lee was more like the fictional character of <u>Watchman </u>than he was the saintly Atticus of <u>Mockingbird</u>:<br />
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<i>Worth pointing out, however, is that Mr. Lee himself only gradually rose to the moral standards of Atticus. Though more enlightened than most, A.C. was no saint, no prophet crying in the wilderness with regard to racial matters. In many ways, he was typical of his generation, especially about issues surrounding integration. Like most of his generation, he believed that the current social order, segregation, was natural and created harmony between the races. </i><br />
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Particularly interesting to me, given my small-town Methodist roots, is the way Shields portrays the confrontations between A.C. Lee, and the minister of First United Methodist Church of Monroeville, who was "preaching too much, in Lee's opinion, about racial and social justice."<br />
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I know a couple of Methodist ministers who could probably write their own books about some of those recent conversations!<br />
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Anyway, that's a long way of saying I wasn't surprised by the character of Atticus in <u>Go Set a Watchman</u>. And, because I'd gleaned from the Marja Mills incident that Harper Lee "ain't running on all cylinders these days," I at first thought I'd boycott this new book, as the events surrounding its release just seem so shady -- particularly the fact the draft "came to light" only after Alice Lee passed away.<br />
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But, in the end, I decided I just couldn't resist reading it. And I'm glad. Isn't part of growing up accepting that our parents are flawed individuals -- but we love them anyway? Isn't growing up about coming to terms with your mixed feelings about your family and your origins?<br />
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<u>Watchman </u>is about Lee's experience as a young woman who lives in New York City but feels ambivalent about her hometown roots -- she is both drawn to and repulsed by her place of origin. There is an "I don't see how you live in New York" passage with some Maycomb friends that reminds me of a conversation I had with an old friend in Quincy who was genuinely curious whether I "ever see any Americans in New York City."<br />
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Um, yes, Sir, I do. Bless your heart.<br />
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But anyway, I love the mixed feelings she has about living in New York but still calling Maycomb "home."<br />
<i> <span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"When you live in New York, you often have the feeling that New York's not the world. I mean this: every time I come home, I feel like I'm coming back to the world, and every time I leave Maycomb it's like I'm leaving the world. It's silly. I can't explain it, and what makes it sillier is I'd go stark raving mad living in Maycomb."</span></i><br />
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The most fascinating bits of the novel for me were about social class. Like race, it's a means of inclusion and exclusion -- a part of our identity that is assigned, not chosen, something we can never change or control.<br />
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Jean Louise has a discussion with her boyfriend in which he points out that she gets a certain amount of tolerance from the community simply by virtue of being a Finch. Some of Aunt Alexandra's comments about Henry ("we Finches do not marry the children of rednecked white trash") were reminiscent of comments I often heard when I was growing up. I kid you not, my grandmother once looked at a photo of a boyfriend and asked me, "Honey, <i>who </i>are his people?"<br />
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And while I've certainly sailed through a lot of doors in life, I've also had them slammed in my face a time or two. Lee had clearly felt it too:<br />
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<i>"Have you ever been snubbed, Atticus? Do you know how it feels? No, don't tell me they're children and don't feel it: I was a child and felt it, so grown people must feel it too. A real good snub, Atticus, makes you feel like you're too nasty to associate with people." </i><br />
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Whether it was overt or covert, major or minor -- the sting of exclusion still hurts, especially when it's over something like race or class that we can't change or control. And it can be particularly painful when we are adolescents and feel we are different, or we don't quite fit the mold. Henry points out to Jean Louise that she's been benefiting from advantages she doesn't even realize, because they've always been there for her. Those can be the best and worst parts of living in a small town -- where people know your name and your family's history.<br />
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When it comes to race, I think the events in <u>Watchman </u>are far more provocative, honest and realistic.<br />
There is a benevolent <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_savior_narrative_in_film" target="_blank">white savior element </a>to <u>Mockingbird </u>that is absent from <u>Watchman, </u>in which Atticus is willing to defend his housekeeper's son in part for selfish motives: to prevent radical outside attorneys from making political inroads among the county's blacks.<br />
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It makes me wonder if the publishers might have expected Lee's draft would be too confrontational for mass appeal. Most of us don't want to be preached at, do we?<br />
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So, is <u>Go Set a Watchman</u> a great novel? No. But is it worth reading? Yes -- especially if you are a lover of literature, and Southern literature in particular. And even more so if you're a writer yourself -- for the same reason admiring art isn't just about going to the Louvre or MoMA; it's about meeting artists in your local community and enjoying their work. Lots of books are worth reading, even if they're not bestsellers.<br />
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As an aspiring author, it was encouraging to see what began as a good draft was rewritten into an American classic, and to realize that even the greats have to write, rewrite, revise, and repeat.<br />
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Sometimes you write a good book. Sometimes you write a great book. Sometimes you write a crappy book. Sometimes you write a book that was right for the times. Sometimes you write a book that was wrong for the times. Sometimes you write a bestseller. Sometimes you write something that gets printed at Kinko's and passed around the neighborhood.<br />
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But at least you wrote a book!Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-8013658811382853652015-01-06T11:55:00.000-05:002015-01-06T11:55:31.211-05:00Feliz Ano NuevoDear Mom,<br />
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Greetings from Valparaiso, Chile! I've taken my time writing this update from South America. But I realized it's Epiphany and Three Kings Day, so it seemed fitting to write today, as the holiday season "officially" comes to an end.<br />
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First...a Christmas recap. Leigh Ann and I flew to Quincy and went to the Sawano Club dance with Dad.<br />
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Aunt Leigh Annie Claus sent some Nerf guns to Benjamin and William. Ranie let them open them early while we were visiting. Here's W showing off his gun and eating a mayonnaise sammich.<br />
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From the Q, we drove Dad's car to Charlotte and spent Christmas in Leigh Ann's house. Leigh Ann had to work, so Dad and I entertained ourselves for a few rainy days. Mary Beth and K.B. had everyone over for a Christmas Eve buffet, so we went to the 3 p.m. service at church.<br />
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It finally stopped raining on Christmas Day, so after we exchanged a few gifts, LA and I got some exercise, and then she and Dad undecorated her tree and got it out on the curb. Yes, we were THOSE PEOPLE! But, obviously she didn't want to deal with it after being gone for ten days...and she and I were headed south on 6 p.m. flights out of Charlotte en route to Buenos Aires. (I went via JFK, and she went via Miami.)<br />
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Leigh Ann's friend Pilar from business school and her husband Oscar (a heart surgeon) have a lovely apartment in the city's chic Palermo neighborhood, and they were wonderful hosts. Anyone who thinks the American South is famous for its hospitality has not been to Argentina...Pili even got her brother to pick us up at the airport! We had a great time enjoying beautiful Buenos Aires with our native hosts. (Though somehow I missed getting photos of their adorable little ones, Catalina and Mateo.)<br />
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If you'd like to try an Argentine wine, Oscar recommends this one...<br />
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Oscar mentioned he enjoys chowing down with an American breakfast when he's in the U.S., so we made them breakfast for dinner one night. We scrambled eggs, fried potatoes and onions, diced fruit and toasted bread. We even managed to score some pancetta to pass off as bacon. Oscar was tickled. <br />
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The "main event" of our trip to Buenos Aires was scattering the last of your ashes. (To recap for readers who've missed an episode or two, we had six portions of ashes, and they went: 1. The Snipes family plot in Hillcrest Cemetery; 2. Myers Park in Charlotte; 3. Kensington Gardens in London; 4. Central Park in NYC; 5. Tidal Basin in Washington, D.C.)<br />
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We could have come up with a bunch of other special spots, as we wanted to have a mix of both places that were special to you and place that were still on your bucket list. -- some of my favorite finalists were Nantucket or Martha's Vineyard (I think your 60th birthday in Nantucket may have been our best trip), the Gulf Coast (lots of happy beach trip memories), the Grand Canyon (I don't think you ever made it there...and neither have I), Valencia, Spain (site of your FSU summer study program with Frances), Switzerland with Arthur, etc.<br />
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In fact, as I rewatched the movie The Way in late November or early December (did I already write about this?), it was all I could do not to save some of your ashes and take them on the Camino de Santiago!<br />
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BUT -- as proof we don't need your ashes to carry your spirit with us -- I could almost hear you saying, "Okay -- just cut it and call it!" I knew you'd love the simplicity of six eclectically chosen spots -- the magic of three times two.<br />
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And as we debated our spots, we probably settled first on Buenos Aires as the grand finale, knowing it would be best if we had something bright and new to anticipate, to avoid getting into a holiday funk.<br />
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SIDEBAR: I had originally considered proclaiming December 27 to be International Pajama Day (hash tag #ipj -- get it?) in celebration of your pajama philosophy. As we put it in the eulogy, "Life is better if you spend the occasional day in your pajamas." We even had the perfect photo of pajama nirvana!<br />
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However, Leigh Ann informed me she did NOT plan to trek around a foreign country in PJs. Touche! It's too bad though. I thought it could really catch on...<br />
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Okay, back to the main tale.<br />
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Leigh Ann headed out for a short run on the morning of the 27th and found the perfect spot in a park near Pilar's house. (It was too hot for much exercising, especially since we had to adjust to the late mornings and late nights of the <span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">porteños</span>.)<br />
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We spent the 27th on our own exploring the city. First, we checked on Evita at the Recoleta Cemetery.<br />
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We explored the nearby craft market, and I briefly considered surprising the Centenary girls with these throwback denim purses, similar to the ones Miss Adele helped us make in the 80s...<br />
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From there, we walked a good bit, including a stroll down Calle Florida, ending up at the Casa Rosada. Three cheers for the Argentinian schedule -- it was 5 p.m. on a Saturday, but the executive office building was still open for tours! And, even better, since it was a weekend we actually got to see the inside of President Kirchner's office (no photos allowed...rats!). </div>
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I'd forgotten how young Evita was when she died -- just 33. The Casa Rosada has a copy of this official portrait; the original is in a museum. I was rather fascinated by her pearl bracelet.</div>
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Naturally, we took a "don't cry for me" selfie on the famous balcony. </div>
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This is why you don't feed pigeons...<br />
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From there, we took a taxi back to the park near Pili's house in Palermo. We entered the large Tres de Febrero Park (similar to NYC's Central Park...it was created by a famous landscaper named Carlos Thays in 1914 and is called Bosques de Palermo -- Palermo Forest). Our destination was El Paseo del Rosedal, or Rose Garden Walk, a massive garden featuring 1,200 species of roses on 15,000 bushes.<br />
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Nearby is the Garden of Poets, with busts of Shakespeare, Borges and other literary greats (another sign this was meant to be your resting place).<br />
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We thought you'd want to be by a rose variety with a fitting or clever name, so when we saw this -- given your affinity for royal trivia -- in such a beautiful spot right by the pergola -- it all seemed meant to be.<br />
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I didn't think of it then; it all just felt really right and peaceful. But as I reflect on it now, what better place than a garden to come to the end of our journey with your physical remains? Gardening seems like such a fitting metaphor for parenting. Coaching, encouraging, cajoling, watering, shading, training -- but knowing that plant often has a stubborn mind of its own. We plant things and watch them grow and step back at times amazed at what blossoms. (And, to be fair, disappointed at other times at what doesn't seem to take root, no matter how hard we try.)<br />
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Leigh Ann and I have your handprints and fingerprints all over us. We laugh at the ways -- great and small -- we carry so many of your quirks. From your tendency always to try a new restaurant before returning to somewhere you'd already been, to your affinity for conducting post-event analysis of wedding receptions.<br />
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But if there are two traits we carry that most define your legacy, it's our thirst to learn and explore, and our desire to stay in touch with friends. This trip was a fitting tribute to those -- oh, yeah -- and a chance to practice and improve our Spanish!<br />
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From Buenos Aires, we flew to Mendoza for a few days of wine tasting, horseback riding, and just relaxing. We loved our guide, Matias, booked through our hotel's (<a href="http://laresdechacras.com.ar/" target="_blank">Lares de Chacras</a>...thanks Jen & Kristen!) recommended tour company, Feeling Mendoza.<br />
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We went back to Buenos Aires to spend New Year's Eve with Pili's family at her parents' home. The next morning, we flew to Santiago. I amused myself in the airport thinking I had a windfall of pesos to blow in the duty free area -- until Leigh Ann pointed out it was about $6. (Argentina's official exchange rate of ~8 pesos to 1 dollar is so out of whack, they literally publish the black market rate (called the "blue rate") of ~13 in the daily newspaper.)<br />
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In Santiago, we were hosted by our Charlotte friends Traci and Paul, who moved to Santiago midyear so Paul could teach in a private American-style school. They live in a great house in a nice suburb. Their kids Greta and Wyatt are a hoot, clever and curious, and I loved playing games with them. Paul's parents were visiting from Michigan, so they had a full house, but they couldn't have been more gracious and fun.<br />
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<img height="400" src="https://scontent-a-mia.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpf1/t31.0-8/s960x960/10917253_10205862679189814_5106053398720651564_o.jpg" width="266" /><br />
<img height="266" src="https://scontent-b-mia.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xap1/v/t1.0-9/10885535_10205862679949833_2071539177642314504_n.jpg?oh=dfdef1a96904bd934664d97edd3400d3&oe=5538834D" width="400" /><br />
Greta LOVED my big girl fashion purchases...<br />
<img height="400" src="https://scontent-b-mia.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xap1/v/t1.0-9/10906491_10152928609493607_8947007517876548909_n.jpg?oh=27edccf25b9d3cfa5dac00acc1c7e83c&oe=556DA52A" width="300" /><br />
Traci and Paul met serving in the Peace Corps in Niger, so she enjoys collecting "unusual" business signs, like the "Jehovah is My Pastor Minimarket," brought to you by Coca-Cola.<br />
<img height="400" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/t31.0-8/s960x960/1979228_10205862679229815_9074587472588186282_o.jpg" width="266" /><br />
We had a clear Vanna thing going on in Santiago...<br />
<img height="400" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-f-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/t31.0-8/s960x960/10712657_10205862680029835_3625437892036533936_o.jpg" width="266" /><br />
<br />
<img height="400" src="https://scontent-a-mia.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/10888706_10152928609063607_7617133269815026359_n.jpg?oh=fff336eb21278c6c2cda5f7c974e3f75&oe=55318EB8" width="400" /><br />
<img height="400" src="https://scontent-a-mia.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xap1/v/t1.0-9/10906580_10152928608128607_1130210740030521159_n.jpg?oh=64b27d0558b61cb1b135fa30f06ab724&oe=5534A456" width="300" /><br />
<img height="400" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/10917074_10152928607388607_2569222664180307311_n.jpg?oh=26fe01a54222cc7f850b27bfd7237b1a&oe=5527022E&__gda__=1430078520_7a7530f67064cbb289e2995d491de3e1" width="400" /><br />
We did a few educational things, like going to the Human Rights Museum, and entering La Moneda, but mostly we just enjoyed summer in Santiago. <br />
<img height="400" src="https://scontent-a-mia.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/10891690_10152928608778607_2169506911354368396_n.jpg?oh=cd528bbcacbddac99cb905d8424b298f&oe=554389B4" width="300" /><br />
And, of course this whole trip was a flashback for Leigh Ann, who studied in Santiago and visited Pili's family in Buenos Aires during business school in 2003.<br />
<br />
Leigh Ann flew home from Santiago, but I'm in Chile for another week. I'm spending a few days on the coast in Valparaiso. Sunday was beautiful...<br />
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But the coastal climate here is reminiscent of San Francisco, so it's looked like this for the past two days.<br />
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Fodor's calls this city "gritty-yet-groovy," which seems pretty accurate. You can <a href="http://www.fodors.com/news/5-reasons-to-go-to-valparaiso-chile-6907.html" target="_blank">read more about it </a>if you're curious...<br />
<br />
I need to hoof it up these steep hills and check out La Sebastiana, the house of Pablo Neruda, Chile's famous poet.<br />
<br />
He wrote mostly love poetry, and most of his famous verses seem kinda cheesy for those of us who aren't swooning with new passion. But I found this, which I think would be exactly the note you'd want me to end on:<br />
<img src="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/BITyvEzCIAAQ8r6.jpg" /><br />
<i>Laughter is the language of the soul. </i><br />
<br />
You so loved a good laugh, especially when it came in the company of friends, and I know it made you happy that we managed to find humor in unexpected places. I'm so grateful to have spent the last year celebrating your life. And I'm also grateful that the journey of this first year of grief has come to an end, because I know you'd want me to keep living and to keep laughing.<br />
<br />
So, here's to a new year filled with friendship, laughter and adventure. Cheers to a perpetual celebration of the gifts of the spirit that live forever, wherever in the world we find ourselves planted. <br />
<i>Salud. Peseta. Amor. Y tiempo de gustarlo. </i><br />
<br />
Saudade,<br />
<br />
LynsleyLynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-83976411257313203762014-12-14T18:11:00.004-05:002014-12-14T19:41:19.718-05:00Follow Me to D.C. Dear Mom,<br />
<br />
I think it was 1988 when you led your first group of 8th graders to Washington, D.C.<br />
<img src="https://scontent-a-lga.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/216413_1004344662899_2772_n.jpg?oh=71523dbd06e4d7a2bc6f159594b8b937&oe=5500350F" /><br />
And it continued to be a tradition every spring until you retired, almost 25 years later.<br />
<br />
I just spent a few minutes searching for the photo of the "Follow Me to D.C." t-shirt that inspired the title of this post. I can't recall which class that was...but I remember it was a year when your annual pilgrimage coincided with one of Leigh Ann's business trips to the capital city.<br />
<br />
As she told it, she commandeered the microphone and offered the kids $5 or $10 for the shirts -- which had your photo on the front and the "follow me" text on the back. We thought they were such a hoot! I think you were a little less thrilled at the prospect of your mug shot trotting around town.<br />
<br />
Wonder if anybody still has one? I think L.A. and I both sent ours to the rag bag years ago.<br />
<br />
I hit Facebook and found a few classic photos of you directing traffic...<br />
<img height="298" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-c-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/v/t1.0-9/1526204_10101737591505244_2055352119_n.jpg?oh=2d9230728113c4ae030929a7128e3c14&oe=55051C30&__gda__=1426893290_57d4b81e18021b0ff0be609ff049bfda" width="400" /><br />
<br />
<img height="300" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/p180x540/1545549_10101738861280604_923928816_n.jpg?efg=eyJvbGF0IjoyMDB9&oh=65ef55d8fce6ca5d1f1de1fc5f005c22&oe=550FCE1D&__gda__=1426926455_b6ec7c59f1851293e33e32eb573aed50" width="400" /><br />
The photo above came with this fun fact from one student:<br />
<span style="background-color: #e9eaed; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;">I got sick in the national gallery of art and miss Cheryl told me to yak on my plate when we were eating lunch at the cafeteria....so I did!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #e9eaed; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;"><br /></span>
<img src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/1522166_10152046246512900_211291588_n.jpg?oh=4ddb3be35e3307786bbafd8136e06c9c&oe=5511CAAA&__gda__=1427302257_f08c6668cf7cdc77b38594b0ff7830b2" /><br />
One of your traditions was to make up a list of "firsts" for each group. I think that's such a neat idea -- I'm not sure when you started it, but it's a lovely way of realizing you can ALWAYS find something new, no matter how many times you've been somewhere.<br />
<img src="https://scontent-a-lga.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xap1/v/t1.0-9/1501664_10101737588042184_1439932548_n.jpg?oh=f3057f9b0426a51565f2f307d61234a2&oe=54FAB46D" /><br />
<br />
<img height="400" src="https://scontent-b-lga.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-frc3/v/t1.0-9/580201_10200499052493353_753254537_n.jpg?oh=1b59fe5f058f2fe2786072cc8cd3423d&oe=55083250" width="254" /><br />
<br />
<img height="275" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-f-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/969055_10200499052453352_629370330_n.jpg?efg=eyJvbGF0IjoyMDB9&oh=ac83b73511ebd324227ff1b9c45a557c&oe=5507E4B7&__gda__=1430569265_dc82b2c8a2e6f4e3b7b67f0d959406d0" width="400" /><br />
Becky Reep posted the sweetest comment on this one:<br />
<span data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:0" style="background-color: #e9eaed; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body" style="background-color: #e9eaed; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$text0:0:$0:0">I remember the sweetest and most respectful prayer Miss Cheryl prayed at Monticello at the slave burial area in honor of those buried there. It was a pretty day like this and the birds were singing and miss Cheryl nailed it. Love and respected Miss Cheryl even more that day. That moment sticks with me even today.</span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body" style="background-color: #e9eaed; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$text0:0:$0:0"><br /></span></span></span>
Your D.C. trips were a huge part of your legacy...even if...by the time you retired, you were sorta like this about most school stuff...<br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body" style="background-color: #e9eaed; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$text0:0:$0:0"><img height="300" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-frc3/v/t1.0-9/253864_1971955211179_999299_n.jpg?oh=71055f10affeee9b6e2a6eb3ce385e9e&oe=54FCDA8A&__gda__=1426588718_edd86f80d78493dcd06446f90062c2b8" width="400" /></span></span></span><br />
I'm sure you'd kill me for posting that photo, but Leigh Ann and I thought that shot from your retirement luncheon was so quintessentially YOU.<br />
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Anyway, as you and our loyal readers know, Leigh Ann and I have spent the year scattering your ashes in places that either were or would have been meaningful to you. I debated a bit whether D.C. should be included...most of us wouldn't want our "work stuff" to define our resting place. But we decided it was such a special place to you, we couldn't not let it be one of our six destinations this year.<br />
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So, off we went this week. Leigh Ann had a work trip that we planned around...and we even got Miss Betty to agree to join us! Here's a shot of all of us in the lobby of the Willard Hotel, which was beautifully decorated for the season.<br />
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LA had to work on Wednesday, so MB and I hit the streets. It was cold, but we bundled up.<br />
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We had dinner at Jaleo, a sampling of Spanish tapas including dates, croquetas, tortilla. patatas bravas, steak etc. <br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body" style="background-color: #e9eaed; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.3599996566772px;"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".9b.1:3:1:$comment10200499052453352_3367069:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$text0:0:$0:0"><img src="http://www10.aeccafe.com/blogs/arch-showcase/files/2012/11/Jaleo_Washington_15.jpg" height="300" width="640" /></span></span></span>
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Thursday morning, Leigh Ann worked and I wrote, while MB enjoyed exploring on her own. We met up for lunch. I ordered these scrumptious pork shanks. </div>
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Then, we were off for the main purpose of our trip: finding the best spot to scatter your ashes. We started our walk toward the Tidal Basin and the major monuments.</div>
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I'd not been to the FDR Memorial, and I'd been intrigued by the fact several students had reminisced about your "Why water?" exercise there. So, I'd wondered if it might make a nice resting place for you. Plus, Eleanor is certainly one of our most noteworthy First Ladies, and you DID love studying about them. (We'd briefly pondered whether we could scatter your ashes near Jackie O's grave in Arlington, but I figured you'd not want us to break any rules.)<br />
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FDR was a strong leader who faced tremendous adversity. I was fascinated by the Ken Burns documentary series about the Roosevelts this year; several historians commented about what terrific strength it took for FDR to remain upbeat and strong despite his polio. That makes me think about how brave you were all three times you faced cancer. <br />
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So, it felt like the perfect spot. Leigh Ann scattered your ashes here. We loved that the spot had both an old tree and a new tree, and we gave each one a healthy pour. So, you have a view of the Washington Monument straight ahead...<br />
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And the Jefferson to the right. It will be a lovely place in the spring when the trees are in bloom.<br />
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I also found it sweet that this pagoda is there, a gift from the Japanese people. I consider it a little tribute to your smart, funny Japanese sister-in-law Nanami. It was presented in 1957. Maybe Aunt Debra can think of what y'all would have been up to that year.<br />
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From there, we visited the Jefferson Memorial, where we tried to figure out if we'd spotted Marine One flying overhead toward the White House. (There were two of them...isn't that the protocol for transport? These are the sort of questions we wished you'd been with us to answer!)<br />
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From there, we walked to the Museum of American History to see the exhibit about the First Ladies. Then we called it a day and ate some soup for supper. </div>
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Friday, MB and I headed to Arlington. We amused ourselves doing some fourth grade math to figure out the subway. </div>
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We visited the Kennedy grave sites, and it was poignant to me to see 1994 on Jackie's headstone -- 20 years since she died, the year I graduated from high school. I'll always remember that, since you'd saved in your "funeral file" the clipping from Maurice Templesman's reading of "Ithaka" at her funeral. Blucher read it so beautifully at your service.<br />
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Near the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers, we found the Challenger memorial. That's a day in history that bonds me to Miss Betty, as we were returning from the fourth grade trip to St. Augustine when the shuttle exploded. I heard it on my little transistor radio but didn't understand the impact until we got back to the parking lot, and all the parents were crying. <br />
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We hated to miss the changing of the guard at Arlington, but the timing didn't work out. We had a unique invitation we couldn't turn down! Darrell Goodman saw we were in town, and he invited us to his restaurant, Mama Rouge in Georgetown. He gave us the VIP treatment -- first came calamari with spicy mustard and shrimp dumplings. <br />
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Bao buns with pork belly.<br />
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Sticky glazed salmon -- this was probably my favorite!<br />
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A sampling of barbecued chicken, steak and brisket.<br />
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It was amazing! There was an orange chicken dish I didn't capture. We were stuffed by the end...and so full of pride at his talent and success. What a sweetheart to take care of us like that! It was the icing on the cake of a perfect trip. <br />
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They flew out that afternoon, but I stayed over Friday night to see Hilary and the adorable little Molly bug. I also got to meet Scotty and her new baby boy, Jude. </div>
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Saturday we had brunch with Caroline and Angelina. </div>
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I felt like you would have blessed the whole trip...or that you were there with us, blessing it in your own way. Funny enough, as I went through the old trip photos on Facebook this evening, I read that handwritten list. The last one caught my eye: the Willard Hotel. Not sure what your little "moment" there would have been, but that's where we stayed. A #cssthing for sure.</div>
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I am full of gratitude knowing that you are with me and within me at all times, in all the best ways. </div>
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Saudade,</div>
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Lynsley </div>
<br />Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-55935668895301229042014-12-05T13:25:00.004-05:002014-12-05T13:25:53.866-05:00Mothering Spirits Dear Mom,<br />
<br />
Wow -- hard to believe it's been a month since my last entry. I'm going to take that as a healthy sign. Obviously, I still miss you so much and constantly find myself wanting to tell you things.<br />
<br />
But it's also a big relief to be on "the other side" of this grief journey. I remember really vividly in March being at work and going downstairs to get get a cup of coffee from my trusty Pret. Suddenly, I realized it had been three months since you died, and that the worst was over. It was like getting some sort of heavenly reassurance.<br />
<br />
Little did I know that there would still be some bumps to come in the summer. Dad's stroke and the changes that led me to resign at work were still months away. The second half of this year ended up being far more of an emotional roller coaster ride than I could have imagined.<br />
<br />
Anticipating Christmas without you is pretty heavy stuff, so I'm just focusing on the good stuff. Mostly that it's a HUGE blessing I've been able to take time off from work and be really deliberate about what I want out of life. I could, of course, write much more about that. But let's minimize the navel-gazing today and focus on the fun stuff...<br />
<br />
First off -- Miss Frances came back for her THIRD trip to NYC this year! I could not resist giving her this arrival present...<br />
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I got it at the shops set up in Bryant Park one day when I went to the library to write and use their printers.<br />
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Frances stayed at the Leo House in Chelsea, which is run by the Catholic Church. It's very reasonable and in an awesome location. We brunched at Cookshop.<br />
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She was here for more than a week, so we had a few little outings together. Sunday she joined me for church and introduced me to the West End Grill on 8th Avenue. Funny enough, they once got a reservation meant for the establishment in the big Q.<br />
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One night, I cooked supper and invited Neil over to meet her. Our last outing was brunch at the Meatball Shop, and then she treated me to this:<br />
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It was a wonderful show and something I'd never have discovered on my own. That's the lovely thing about having visitors in town...they really do get me out and about.<br />
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Speaking of...I just realized there is a new section of the High Line to explore. Somehow I'd missed the fact that a whole new leg opened up. I think it was in September. It's quite lengthy and made me think of you. That time we got photo bombed by Kurt on the High Line will forever be one of my favorite NYC moments with you. <br />
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Leigh Ann and I have continued to scatter your ashes in places that either were or would have been meaningful to you. I'd wanted to do some in Central Park and intended to do it with Frances. But the day she and I met for the matinee, it was too darn cold. It just didn't seem right.<br />
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A few days later, we had a surprisingly warm Monday, and it was as if you whispered to me: <i>this is it.</i> Doing it on my own actually felt quite healing and peaceful. I will always be sad you didn't get your bucket list fall trip to the Big Apple -- the trip we'd booked and were planning towards when your leg started giving you so much trouble.<br />
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So, it seemed poignant to scatter some of your ashes in the city during the fall. There were still lovely golden leaves on the trees here and there. <br />
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I toyed with a few spots that seemed meaningful but finally selected the Shakespeare Garden, as it felt the most peaceful and secluded...and had a sort of literary poignancy that seemed perfect for you.<br />
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When I got there and unzipped my cargo from my backpack, I felt a bit self-conscious that I was going to get in trouble...or that people would wonder what I was doing with my plastic bag of mysterious grey matter.<br />
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At first, I was sorry these people were around...<br />
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But then I thought again and realized their presence was perfect...it seemed to be a grandmother knitting, as her granddaughter jabbered on about this and that. A beautiful, unexpected moment of motherly care that seemed like the ideal blessing for my impromptu ceremony. Life goes on. There is mothering and daughtering, growing and knitting, learning and teaching all around us.<br />
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I'm not sure if you ever went into this little spot, but it would have been something you would have loved. And it's not far from the Delacorte Theater, where you queued up for Shakespeare in the Park tickets the summer Leigh Ann interned in New York during business school.<br />
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The garden is decorated with quotes...<br />
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But this is the one I will always love most:<br />
<i>"This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, may provide a beauteous flower when next we meet."</i><br />
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I gave you a healthy sprinkle on that spot and will look forward to visiting you there this spring.<br />
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After I wiped my tears, I walked over to the castle and looked out over the park.<br />
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I knew I'd picked the right time for that little ceremony for a couple of reasons. For one, it was Thanksgiving week. Two, I'd joined my church the day before! It's definitely a "different" sort of Methodist congregation, but I absolutely love it and feel it's the right place for me.<br />
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I've attended off and on the whole time I've lived here and finally decided I needed to plant some roots. In addition to joining, I've been volunteering at the food pantry on Tuesdays.<br />
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I'm sad you won't ever be able to be there with me, so it was really special to have Frances visit and experience it with me. It's sweet to sit down each week and see the same two song books in the pews at Centenary -- the red Methodist hymnal and <i>The Faith We Sing</i> contemporary supplement.<br />
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Thanksgiving Day, I rode the train from Penn Station to East Hampton and joined Neil and Nate for an absolutely fantastic meal with Neil's family from Winter Park and Memphis. They all made me feel so welcome and included.<br />
<img height="298" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/v/t1.0-9/63478_10152372797646105_7800200914529703184_n.jpg?oh=f8412a0f4e2a57c0d626c1eb7b6bf57e&oe=54FBEE78&__gda__=1425936177_350adc6e19d7d173359f0952a4b8eec7" width="400" /><br />
Funny enough, this year marks ten years since I first met Neil's mom and his Aunt Jackie. We all traveled through Peru together in 2004 when Jackie was principal of an American school there.<br />
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On Friday, we bundled up and did a driving and walking tour of the beautiful homes, with a quick step down on a few of the boys' favorite beaches.<br />
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I headed back on Friday, but the gang reported my Lasso Lasagna was a big hit for Saturday night's dinner. I purchased a copy of Elizabeth Gilbert's second memoir for a few bucks at the secondhand shop in East Hampton, and it was the perfect entertainment for my train ride home.<br />
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I've been spending a lot of time by myself, and it's been absolutely delightful. I'm mostly just reading, writing, running errands, and catching up on my DVR.<br />
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That included a Homeland marathon, which was just AWESOME because (a) I love the plot this season (b) I have a huge crush on Peter Quinn.<br />
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My real life affinity for International Men of Mystery is well documented, but hopefully this little screen obsession is harmless. What's not to like about a smart, sexy man who can shoot your way to safety?! It's sort of a fascinating twist on my liberal feminist leanings. <br />
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But seriously -- Peter Quinn is a million times better than Brody.<br />
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I wish you were here to discuss!<br />
<br />
(Incidentally, remember all those hours we spent watching Damian Lewis in The Forsythe Saga? I wonder who besides us has ever seen that whole thing. Maybe my friend Jennie, as I'm pretty sure she's the one who put the book on my radar.)<br />
<img height="260" src="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2012/09/23/arts/23FORSYHE1_SPAN/23FORSYYHE1-superJumbo.jpg" width="400" /><br />
Okay, time to get some "real work" done! I need to check off my chores, as there is something special brewing next week. And...the rest of December is going to be full of adventures I am pretty sure you would agree are the "A answer" as Leigh Ann and I navigate our first holiday season without you.<br />
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Just to be a little cheesy -- but that's what I always do here at the end -- I can't help feeling deep gratitude for the time with Frances, Jackie and Mary I've shared in this post. One of the greatest gifts you gave me was an appreciation of and affinity for cultivating friendships with women of all ages. It's awesome to know mothering spirits are always around us, if we just open up and let ourselves experience their presence, with love and thanksgiving.<br />
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Saudade,<br />
<br />
LynsleyLynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-40694738465437533202014-11-09T17:58:00.000-05:002014-11-09T18:51:25.660-05:00Walking in the DarkDear Mom,<br />
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There have been a few funny little synchronicities in recent days. As usual, I wish you were here to share them with. But I find myself feeling really blessed and grateful at how available and supportive your friends have been to me this year.<br />
<br />
It's funny -- I had lunch with my former colleague Cathy and her boyfriend on Friday. They're closer to your age than mine, but we had the best time. (Or I did! Hopefully they weren't just pretending to humor me...but I don't think so, as we practically shut the place down.) Cathy remembers you fondly from the time we ate lunch together in Charlotte.<br />
<br />
We lunched at a restaurant called Robert on top of the Museum of Arts and Design in Columbus Circle.<br />
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It was fantastic! I was so proud of myself for discovering it. Great views, great food -- it's in a very popular area but seems to be a hidden gem. I joked with them that I love hanging out with retired people -- they've been my best playmates during my funemployment.<br />
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And it does feel fun having this delicious dose of unscheduled time, being able to explore the things that excite me, to read the things I'm curious about, to consider the identity I want to embrace, and the baggage I want to shed. It's scary at times -- especially when <a href="http://www.cafe.com/r/aaae900a-10be-4f84-82d9-089897997ddb/1/the-illusion-of-control-or-how-i-got-rejected-from-a-job-at-the-container-store" target="_blank">articles like this one </a>go viral, and I listen to the voices of fear. But it's mostly exciting and energizing, and I feel grateful to have had the courage and the ability to seize the opportunity to take some time away from a traditional office.<br />
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A colleague at work even helped me "rebrand" myself online. LinkedIn is such a big venue for networking these days, and I wanted to put a new face out there, to ensure my digital profile felt authentic and updated and accurate. One of my old teammates is a very talented photographer, and I asked if he'd help me get a spiffy new head shot.<br />
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I'd had the same photo on LinkedIn for ages -- one that, my friend Laura gently informed me this week, looked like something straight out of the Sears Portrait Studio. It was a bit tragic, I'll admit.<br />
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But check out the new ones!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc1-VGednCVSL0odAKnK7e2my40mzJeYFSadDviSbSot4qrJjEW8Ng6lPtrOmk8FE9svavH7vsezBWMyVCrjlgduvTzP2fZny2bjGZ6C7oePrJvSfF8tTsCQ8K-aOdPKERytLybzJRLCw/s1600/Lynsley_010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc1-VGednCVSL0odAKnK7e2my40mzJeYFSadDviSbSot4qrJjEW8Ng6lPtrOmk8FE9svavH7vsezBWMyVCrjlgduvTzP2fZny2bjGZ6C7oePrJvSfF8tTsCQ8K-aOdPKERytLybzJRLCw/s1600/Lynsley_010.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSroGbzFCEF59iu8xpJqlkUMagtywMNmqshZN62adc5yAzhzgrJy_BAyfKFUv9rm9k5I2ugp2VQW1BUeKTlFGnl4RRttIbxAWErhU5ja-ZVGzUceBDms11pDMznI8mSzNCT3vqbPjTK44/s1600/Lynsley_047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSroGbzFCEF59iu8xpJqlkUMagtywMNmqshZN62adc5yAzhzgrJy_BAyfKFUv9rm9k5I2ugp2VQW1BUeKTlFGnl4RRttIbxAWErhU5ja-ZVGzUceBDms11pDMznI8mSzNCT3vqbPjTK44/s1600/Lynsley_047.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
I wish my friend the photographer wasn't moving to L.A. I think I could have given him lots of referrals! Neil said the last one looked like an author photo for a book. Here's hoping!<br />
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We timed the shoot around the afternoon light in Tribeca, and it's getting dark by 5 these days. I snapped this one afternoon as I wrapped up a jog in the park.<br />
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I'm actually really enjoying these short days and early nights. After spending so much of the year roaming the world and living out of a suitcase, it's good to be settled down again. I've been cooking more and had company for dinner three nights last week. I made curried broccoli soup for Neil, chicken minestrone for Leigh Ann, and spaghetti and meatballs for Laura. Fortunately, I'm stocked with festive cocktail napkins for my guests, thanks to Miss Patsy and Julia.</div>
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And, I read an absolutely delightful book that helped me really embrace this season of extended darkness. </div>
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Here's one of my favorite passages: </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">"I have learned things in the dark that I could never have learned in the light, things that have saved my life over and over again, so that there is really only one logical conclusion. I need darkness as much as I need light.” </span></div>
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What I took away from her book is this: we're so afraid of the dark -- as a society and as Christians -- that we do anything we can to keep the lights on. Well, unfortunately, that's just not natural. It's not how the earth works, and it's not how humans work. We need sleep, we need times of winter and incubation. And every now and then -- we need to get our hearts broken, and then we need to let them heal. </div>
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Life is about birth and death. Creation and destruction. New things cannot be born if old things do not die, and we cannot truly know what it means to hold a treasure if we do not know what it means to lose one.</div>
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One of the most interesting facts she reveals is that the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual IV, also known as the "Psychiatrists' Bible," recommends that patients who show signs of grief for more than two months (e.g., sadness, insomnia and loss of appetite) may be diagnosed with depression and treated with prescription drugs. </div>
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Seriously?! Sometimes I'm astounded by the extent of our "there's a pill for that" culture. </div>
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This low tolerance for sadness means, she writes, we often keep the "dark emotions" like grief, fear and despair filed away with other shameful things like personal bankruptcy or sexual deviance. "If you have ever spent time in the company of the dark emotions, you too may have received subtle messages from friends and strangers alike that you were supposed to handle them and move on sooner instead of later." </div>
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I'm sure not everyone will love this book as much as I did, but it was perfect for me to read right now. (Leigh Ann and I have been fans of BBT since we read her book "Leaving Church," and she spoke at Aunt Tillie's church in October.)</div>
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And -- forget my take -- what better spiritual stamp of approval than Oprah's?!</div>
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<img src="http://myown.oprah.com/imageresizer.html?&dwidth=473&token=9c6054610d4f55394ccf00b71a43771c&url=http://static.oprah.com/images/o2/201411/ep522-own-sss-barbara-brown-taylor-2-949x534.jpg" /> </div>
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Barbara Brown Taylor was today's guest on Super Soul Sunday. It's a great discussion, and I believe it will run again next week at 10 a.m. Eastern on OWN. </div>
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Oprah asked her to define what she means by darkness: </div>
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<i>"Darkness is a place of unknowing, where I am out of control and I may be vulnerable to danger, and I may be vulnerable to divine revelation. It is the place where I am least able to protect myself and, therefore, may be most opened to being transformed."</i></div>
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Well, hello! Bingo! Maybe I should ask if she's been petting any cheetahs lately?</div>
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And similar to Sheryl Sandberg's observation that careers are jungle gyms, not ladders, life is, BBT notes, more like a navigating the water in a sailboat than riding along on a train. </div>
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<i>Oprah: Enjoy the smooth sails while they're up!</i></div>
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<i>Barbara: Yes! Yes, and then enjoy the storms if you live through them. Because they'll make the best stories later. </i></div>
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Here's hoping that's true...</div>
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Saudade,</div>
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Lynsley </div>
Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-44321674842030089362014-11-07T16:20:00.004-05:002014-11-08T11:50:26.598-05:00How to Pet a CheetahDear Mom,<br />
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I was a bit surprised and embarrassed by the number of comments I got on Facebook this week when I changed my profile picture to this shot from South Africa:<br />
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/v/t1.0-9/1233459_10152776416763607_2010343203517770525_n.jpg?oh=4065f81332cc76f5e9e3ca866d34e9bc&oe=54F6AD59&__gda__=1423988320_b61363ebf2acee8b2d91a01e920a2a28" style="height: 545px; width: 545px;" /><br />
It was mostly things like...<br />
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<i>Wow! That's awesome! You are a brave soul!</i><br />
<i>For real? You know that's not a kitty cat, right?!</i><br />
<i>Did they drug him?</i><i></i><br />
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<i>You look so calm!</i></div>
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<i>Is that the "before" shot?! </i></div>
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As I started to read the comments, I was embarrassed! "It was no big deal," I thought. "It was practically a Disney photo op!"<br />
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But then I stopped to think -- was I selling myself a little short? How do you draw the lines these days between humility, a humble brag, and shameless self-promotion?<br />
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Having been so fortunate to travel to so many exciting places, I am occasionally chagrined at the way some of us "collect" fabulous photos and experiences of our global adventures. And, for people like me, who enjoy extended chapters of being single, with the time and funding to indulge our wanderlust, there can occasionally be a bit of Keeping Up with the Joneses and suble one-upmanship.<br />
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<i>I'll see your Machu Picchu, and I'll raise you Kilimanjaro! </i><br />
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<i>You backpacked through India? Oh, that's nice. I did all of Southeast Asia, and I started a food program for orphans in Bangladesh. </i><br />
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<i>You stayed at the Four Seasons? Did you get that big suite in the corner, with the butler, and did they still have those little croissants they bring in at sunrise? </i><br />
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I'm exaggerating, but you have to laugh at times at the subtle boasting that goes on in lots of aspects of life. Those of us who are fortunate enough to be well-educated travelers try hard to prove we're not just on the same old beaten path.<br />
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Or, avoiding the <i><b>been there, done that, got the t-shirt </b></i>syndrome that takes the shine off of new discoveries. That jaded "anything you can do, I can do better" attitude that makes frenemies throw subtle elbows and engage in clever digs.<br />
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<i>You're at Versailles? You must take the gare west to a small town run by midgets, look for the restaurant in the old farmhouse, and ask for the asparagus soup. It's not on the menu, but tell Pierre I sent you. </i><br />
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Okay, I mostly made that up, but it's not terribly far from the pompous comment on a dear friend's fantastic photo in the Hall of Mirrors last year.<br />
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But that's Facebook. Back to real life.<br />
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On safari this summer, I wanted to knock one of my seatmates right out of the vehicle. Our terrifically handsome guide stopped to show us a particularly lovely bird.<br />
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Speaking of particularly lovely -- here's another shot of that dreamy guide.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Hn_H3RnoNT28GhTX99gEMXlELInTK7zr_OoX73qpbqOgrTjmScg5susaYrDZZJsAgzHwSvyct0wa2GaFc8EEz_xaIDNprGIa_rV1jtz1SzXtlwK7WEl2RMXpUu2ZWbLnCvbkh5D46iA/s1600/IMG_0303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9Hn_H3RnoNT28GhTX99gEMXlELInTK7zr_OoX73qpbqOgrTjmScg5susaYrDZZJsAgzHwSvyct0wa2GaFc8EEz_xaIDNprGIa_rV1jtz1SzXtlwK7WEl2RMXpUu2ZWbLnCvbkh5D46iA/s1600/IMG_0303.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Anyway, back to the bird. Now, funny thing about birds. I've not been able to explore this scientifically, but I think there is a DIRECT correlation between aging and becoming more interested in birds! Toward the end of my time in Charlotte, I became so infatuated with birdwatching, I couldn't help but laugh at myself. Was I a 30-something spinster already, a granny before my time?<br />
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Maybe it's because birdwatching could be the American equivalent of being on safari? Complete with appropriate "costume"?!<br />
<img src="http://www.marthastewart.com/sites/files/marthastewart.com/imagecache/wmax-875/ecl/images/content/pub/special_issues/2009Q4/md104880_hal09_brdwtchr_399_sq.jpg" height="400" width="400" /><br />
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Or -- who knows -- perhaps being tuned into birds is a sign we're tuned into life? Taking the time to stop and notice the things around us that are, in fact, rather lovely and remarkable and worthy of wonder?<br />
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Things we don't bother to notice when we're running from place to place with our trusty list of terribly important things to do?<br />
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Anyway, this was a spectacular bird! I didn't have a great camera, but here's a glimpse. It was terrifically colorful, almost a cartoon version of a bird worth watching.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODXwLF_5JomC2Tnl-TW-aSV6mw5Zi6umAz2agihH49YrXVunN73-185X-DXvVdQeKQGJj8hy77ZcEevZhrYKXeUcawQJ2ccX8dAHpI3MINXMTcWGbUsK5ohAwniUEOI4fe-TdPB4oWBI/s1600/IMG_0347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODXwLF_5JomC2Tnl-TW-aSV6mw5Zi6umAz2agihH49YrXVunN73-185X-DXvVdQeKQGJj8hy77ZcEevZhrYKXeUcawQJ2ccX8dAHpI3MINXMTcWGbUsK5ohAwniUEOI4fe-TdPB4oWBI/s1600/IMG_0347.JPG" height="320" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div>
We stopped to take photos, and the woman beside me sighed audibly. She might as well have let out a big fart, but she let this loose instead: <br />
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"I saw enough birds in the Galapagos to last me a lifetime," she said dismissively.<br />
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I hate to be ugly in writing about anyone on the Internet, but this lady was one of those people who seemed to have a nasty, negative take on pretty much everything. She'd been raining her sour attitude on us all morning.<br />
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"Really?" I wanted to say. "You paid thousands of dollars to travel to Africa, and you have something better to do than to enjoy the beautiful creatures who inhabit this place?"<br />
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Now, granted, prior to the brief bird stop, we'd had a pretty magical morning. We'd watched lions feasting on a fresh buffalo kill. We'd seen rhinos amble across the road in front of us. We'd hidden in a viewing shed to watch giraffes sipping water.<br />
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So, the bird wasn't exactly a highlight, but still. <br />
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I'm sure I annoy people at times with my Lemonade Lynsley approach to life -- the idea that if we just dig enough we'll find the bright side of most bad things. And I've certainly done my fair share of complaining about life's adversities and inequities. But I simply cannot stand people who are jaded and grumpy on vacation. Or -- people who sit around on vacation planning their next vacation.<br />
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Can't we all just enjoy the moment for a moment?<br />
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So, back to that cheetah shot. I'd been loath to make it my Facebook profile photo, as it seemed sort of trite. It happened when our group visited a facility that rescues and rehabilitates wild cats. And we all sort of moved through the cheetah petting opportunity like an assembly line.<br />
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Or did we?<br />
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Looking back and remembering that moment, it was, after all, a bit scary. I lingered a bit with one of those "okay, I know this is safe and hundreds -- or maybe thousands?! -- of people have done this, but WHAT IF I am THAT ONE UNFORTUNATE TOURIST who just smells and/or tastes really delicious?!"<br />
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There were two cheetas in the enclosure we were allowed to enter, but one of them didn't seem to be in the mood to play with tourists that day. So, the guide left that one alone and gave us a safety briefing with the more willing participant. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZb1GWS2OP4wYfivx8f6H0AudDZh9ER6HmE2RDZOh39CXSiKRIW8xPo097-fjj4vqgTgdsi60hIL7waLJhXh76xesm6opJtAUvajBB1-FdBDImg1YpKPM75_woG9iEZD99hwH_7pRyzg4/s1600/IMG_0209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZb1GWS2OP4wYfivx8f6H0AudDZh9ER6HmE2RDZOh39CXSiKRIW8xPo097-fjj4vqgTgdsi60hIL7waLJhXh76xesm6opJtAUvajBB1-FdBDImg1YpKPM75_woG9iEZD99hwH_7pRyzg4/s1600/IMG_0209.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
Once we'd been given a few key points, the most important of which was to approach the creature from behind, the bravest, most eager members of the group went first.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzPESe0Wq3WTQsVBdkp0s54URMA4OVg-izfFCX62EMSu1MXGQJ_ePFpRDsMihyphenhyphenDDXvgvNDHk-g_nQa7O5PADmb8KcACNK7sRgL7fIPfL_wTZz4IIMmvFB9bu0iBjlqGYmixabt1gD4q-s/s1600/IMG_0211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzPESe0Wq3WTQsVBdkp0s54URMA4OVg-izfFCX62EMSu1MXGQJ_ePFpRDsMihyphenhyphenDDXvgvNDHk-g_nQa7O5PADmb8KcACNK7sRgL7fIPfL_wTZz4IIMmvFB9bu0iBjlqGYmixabt1gD4q-s/s1600/IMG_0211.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Occasionally, the cat would get bored and move around, so we'd let it settle down again before the round robin continued. </div>
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I took pictures as my roommate Jeanette had her turn... </div>
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And then...it was my turn! By that point, I'd contemplated just taking a pass, as it felt like such a staged photo op. To be blunt and foul, it was almost a sort of tourist gang bang. (Oops! Maybe I do have a bit of that jaded Galapagos lady in me after all...)<br />
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But that attitude seemed (a) snobby and (b) a waste of good money. So, I carefully took my steps away from the group and toward the animal.<br />
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I wouldn't say it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life, but it was pretty neat, and the fur felt really, really cool -- much thicker and coarser than I'd imagined.<br />
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And maybe, for just a minute, I was a kid again.</div>
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<i>Is your dog friendly, Sir? What's his name? Is it okay if I pet him?</i> </div>
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Remember what it was like to be little and to want so very, very badly to reach out and pet an animal? To touch that soft, luscious fur? To walk that balance beam between your fear and your curiosity? To go outside of your comfort zone, take a chance, and pray that you wouldn't get bitten? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0OPVdKUJAQ10kKsH3xZOEt98Z3FX1HLYKP5IvxqmDBPPPU7wcrj14TC-m9oMoS_jbzV4sY2p2M8RUOIL7fSHTQMRiwwJsYDyJadKFIfr3Inzt5e0hdQX8MIVVOc4W5xgKpq_clOiJxc/s1600/DSCN4273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0OPVdKUJAQ10kKsH3xZOEt98Z3FX1HLYKP5IvxqmDBPPPU7wcrj14TC-m9oMoS_jbzV4sY2p2M8RUOIL7fSHTQMRiwwJsYDyJadKFIfr3Inzt5e0hdQX8MIVVOc4W5xgKpq_clOiJxc/s1600/DSCN4273.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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After the big cheetah petting event, we saw some servals and bobcats, and we watched some wild cats leap up and catch some raw meat for their dinner, which was pretty cool. </div>
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So, as you can tell, I'm not quite sure what to make of my terrific photograph. Was it just a photo op? Wasn't it a bit unfair that a few of the braver souls who went first didn't get quite as brilliant of a shot? It seems like a complicated little souvenir, an unlikely confluence of elements: luck that the cheetah was so perfectly posed, a little bravery on my part (but not as much as it appears), generosity from the cat sanctuary and its supporters. </div>
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I love both the photo and the story it tells. Because the truth is, when you are bold, when you take risks, when you step inside the fence and face the wild, you will sometimes be ripped to shreds. </div>
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But sometimes, you'll end up with a cool picture, a surreal experience and a fun story. </div>
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In the end, isn't life a lot more fun when you take a chance and pet the cheetah? </div>
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Saudade,</div>
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Lynsley </div>
Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-72966263683575850072014-11-02T18:07:00.001-05:002014-11-02T18:14:01.739-05:00All Saints SundayDear Mom,<br />
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Thinking of you with love, laughter and longing today. I figured All Saints Sunday was the right day to end my self-imposed blog-cation.<br />
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Here's a roundup of happenings since we last "spoke."<br />
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<b>Rosh Hashanah. </b>Okay, technically this was in late September, but you would have been tickled with this one. Jason and I amused ourselves by celebrating the Jewish New Year. We met at Katz's Deli for a lunch of corned beef and pastrami sandwiches. He had a friend in town for the weekend. That place is awesome! We will be back.<br />
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<b>Pink Reeboks. </b>Remember how much you loved your 1980s "pink Beepbops"?! You were so fond of them, you even got them resoled! I found some updated ones on Zappos. They were the perfect footwear as I traveled to Charlotte for Race for the Cure.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMl4eUNVDvdk34x8C_JEGRR6peHLyB5Ou95aSJjxzYOIChUWzwqxIctlPdc2haRcJO5lCT3psqSgZCHN3yHqUtl_ETLERwxJ02x2QKAcP4lDBoPsVWuTWfEe9dh1IxCVB_GQ8jVP2LzrQ/s1600/IMG_4975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMl4eUNVDvdk34x8C_JEGRR6peHLyB5Ou95aSJjxzYOIChUWzwqxIctlPdc2haRcJO5lCT3psqSgZCHN3yHqUtl_ETLERwxJ02x2QKAcP4lDBoPsVWuTWfEe9dh1IxCVB_GQ8jVP2LzrQ/s1600/IMG_4975.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<b>In the Park. </b>Jogging can feel so therapeutic! One day, as I jogged in the park, I saw a dad with a jogging stroller...his son was a bit ahead on a scooter.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPR6tt1h4scvQyEGR28HZNZahN0JvJoTAQ5kwbcbaeUltrpCr5cxhyphenhyphenydbFBRsAItycB2sZAmhk8IIYVAZRc3-Ob2f376t9svEqtatVgnXgBtjAYjxI0ELZNWpIMu1Yd2pmmEcb-uCtvlw/s1600/IMG_4895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPR6tt1h4scvQyEGR28HZNZahN0JvJoTAQ5kwbcbaeUltrpCr5cxhyphenhyphenydbFBRsAItycB2sZAmhk8IIYVAZRc3-Ob2f376t9svEqtatVgnXgBtjAYjxI0ELZNWpIMu1Yd2pmmEcb-uCtvlw/s1600/IMG_4895.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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The photos didn't really capture it, but it was an amusing little show to watch. The kid was scooting along dodging in and out of traffic -- at times a bit recklessly. I alternated between feeling appalled and impressed by his dad's lackadaisical attitude.<br />
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It just felt like a funny little metaphor for parenting -- that balance between letting your kids roam and explore, while keeping them close enough that they don't hurt themselves. I guess everyone finds their own right balance.<br />
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<b>Falling In. </b>It's such a treat to watch the leaves change in the park, and I always think of you when I'm around Bow Bridge. It's a bittersweet season on all sorts of levels, though. You were supposed to come to NYC in the fall of 2012, the fulfillment of a bucket list dream. And then we found out your cancer was back. I know you wanted us to focus on all the many trips we DID enjoy, but I imagine I'll always feel a bit melancholy about this season.<br />
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<b>A Answer.</b> On that note, though, you would have loved following along as Elly has settled in at Duke Divinity School. Another Quincy gal finding her way through the Gothic Wonderland! Hopefully she won't mind my sharing this lovely post:<br />
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North Carolina has given me knew meaning of the word "autumn". Moving here I thought, "Yea, sure the leaves change colors." But gosh the leaves are BEAUTIFUL and the air is CRISP and it feels WONDERFUL! Even the smell of everything. And the sound of the hardened leaves crunching when you step on them. And even the layers of clothes that people fashion inspired by the colors and textures of the nature around them. And the sunlight's warm touch in the cold air. There's so much more life to autumn than I thought before. Maybe the winter will be unexpectedly beautiful too? I hope so, because I cannot mentally prepare myself for snow.</div>
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I informed her that in my not-so-humble opinion...seasons rock, and Florida is entirely overrated. (See Ecclesiastes 3 for Biblical backup!)<br />
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<b>Quotable. </b>Got a free life coaching session on the street one day outside of a big advertising conference. Loved this! It was one of those little NYC serendipities. <b> </b><br />
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<b>Race for the Cure.</b> We had a blast in Charlotte doing Race for the Cure in your honor. You were very loved and very missed. I could write a lot about it. But I know that you know. So, here's a quick slideshow.<br />
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<b>Thank You, Jesus. </b>Leigh Ann and I didn't need any "peacemaking" during the race festivities. But...just in case...Ranie Claire stayed with us, once again serving as Jesus to keep Mary and Martha on their best behavior. Amid all of the sadness and loss and laughter since you got sick...there has been a whole lot of laughter and tears in our deeper friendship, sisterhood and kinship with Ranie and Miss Betty. If that's not proof of God's love, I don't know what is!<br />
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Clarice came up early on Friday to help us prep for the brunch on Saturday. Once the food was under control, she and I really amused ourselves buying the perfect paper plates (pink and orange...they were very cool!) at Blackhawk. Then we spent entirely too much time getting a coordinating flower arrangement.<br />
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Then we toasted our party planning success!<br />
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Ranie was in charge of our "swag bags" for the event -- pink bandanas, pink fanny packs and CSS stickers. We considered more outlandish options (Babs had some great ideas) but decided to use one of your favorite slogans and KISS ("keep it simple, stupid"). <br />
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<b>Florida Field Trip. </b>From Charlotte, I flew to Tallahassee and had a nice long visit with Dad. Aunt Sandy also treated me to a few solo days at her lovely condo. The Curry family took me out to lunch one day...and sent me home with pimento cheese for dinner. So thoughtful! Sometimes food really is love.<br />
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After my beach trip, Dad and I drove over to Jacksonville to get his new car serviced. I chatted with a nice gentleman at the dealership, asking if he had any good lunch suggestions. We ended up at the Cummer Museum of Art. What a neat place! I didn't drag Dad through too much of the museum, but the gardens were just lovely.<br />
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Funny thing -- a photographer asked if Dad would mind sitting by a reflecting pool, as he thought Dad's red shirt would make a neat visual element. We started chatting with him...turns out his son lives in Tallahassee and work in Quincy as the manager of AJ's Chicken! Yet another Quincy small-world moment.<br />
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Now that I've finally written this up, I can email him the link and ask if he'll send the shot he took.<br />
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<b>Also On Display.</b> Here are a few of the photos I took of the exhibits inside the gallery as we buzzed through. The fashion exhibit was actually better than one of the Costume Institute shows Travis and I saw at the Met.<br />
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<b>Still Life. </b>I found this painting and the accompanying description rather fascinating, as it reminded me of your "still life" lessons in Enrichment...<br />
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<b>Halloween. </b>This could be its own separate post, but it's already dark outside (gah!), and I need to wrap this up. Here are "the boys"...<br />
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Here's my friend Nicole and her family in Atlanta. (One of her friends commented "the family that slays together stays together." HA! Seriously, I think this could win some kind of contest...)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg04qJFagytIB3v6pcLUiBYLpZKDf132HBmQGHZbzo09wAnYmn2BfWaeLtClOBXjYJnq05I2T4A8ryNxE9h0vjK0DOsmwOGYhs9NpvQqRrvr0DE3P5yU73pi7TygzKhTXzc1UDDj7BgJjQ/s1600/IMG_5060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg04qJFagytIB3v6pcLUiBYLpZKDf132HBmQGHZbzo09wAnYmn2BfWaeLtClOBXjYJnq05I2T4A8ryNxE9h0vjK0DOsmwOGYhs9NpvQqRrvr0DE3P5yU73pi7TygzKhTXzc1UDDj7BgJjQ/s1600/IMG_5060.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
Here's your little namesake, Destiny La'Cheryl, playing Minnie Mouse.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZkwJDMMQ-JyQ-zAc4JKjQuL0Cee93B5oNbNW279BJDfds_kfKHjxHb7aLWvueKZJhvS5Kxn289rYOG0eyLd77NbOeIrgO5nTooKVIeZl0ISHoxxAO-6yGxcx1G5RXPXN7_QJFMrPynk/s1600/IMG_5046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZkwJDMMQ-JyQ-zAc4JKjQuL0Cee93B5oNbNW279BJDfds_kfKHjxHb7aLWvueKZJhvS5Kxn289rYOG0eyLd77NbOeIrgO5nTooKVIeZl0ISHoxxAO-6yGxcx1G5RXPXN7_QJFMrPynk/s1600/IMG_5046.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
Here's Mr. Dick enjoying the annual pumpkin patch field trip with his great-grandchildren...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0iai6z8TbKZLWU9ZlU3TRo0soO1dcKqV3bQ8wrsTaQJW8IWwraiEW3PtMMP50CSyA8k6c5I1RametN0DBZ4b5OjegdkV6qE1YVJyJPX6o_CIX3aQRAxsJp7prr0kHdXvA-gI36DppOBw/s1600/IMG_5026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0iai6z8TbKZLWU9ZlU3TRo0soO1dcKqV3bQ8wrsTaQJW8IWwraiEW3PtMMP50CSyA8k6c5I1RametN0DBZ4b5OjegdkV6qE1YVJyJPX6o_CIX3aQRAxsJp7prr0kHdXvA-gI36DppOBw/s1600/IMG_5026.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>El Dia de Los Muertos. </b>I spent some time on Google yesterday looking for images I thought you would have found interesting or amusing.<br />
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This one seemed somewhat appropriate but totally creepy...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHOC59FYXsKEswIINc9yhK4V_V14I_tdigizesVG_l0m6W0I756B3J349XqtA3i20C-ToaOJ1l48rIIqxvGpHg-r65vnnQyQVuH8FhyqefAeAMNmfSpKVTs9oUx01tw6H12SOUUTErNTc/s1600/IMG_5049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHOC59FYXsKEswIINc9yhK4V_V14I_tdigizesVG_l0m6W0I756B3J349XqtA3i20C-ToaOJ1l48rIIqxvGpHg-r65vnnQyQVuH8FhyqefAeAMNmfSpKVTs9oUx01tw6H12SOUUTErNTc/s1600/IMG_5049.JPG" /></a></div>
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This one made me laugh, as I cannot think of anything you'd find more antithetical to the concept peaceful eternal rest than a f'ing mariachi band in a graveyard...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpEvumA6pjn0ok6LGZ3sukzOT3Hj86Zb5ANltK5u37pj8oHdVNZs0bZAkT7xCvs30ZM0_QtjCpaRClCaHhpPr-Rvu7SMG1ZgYZODZA-6A7punTyU_d9zVuvCQosJrW3lpK1FizqlBVJ4/s1600/IMG_5053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpEvumA6pjn0ok6LGZ3sukzOT3Hj86Zb5ANltK5u37pj8oHdVNZs0bZAkT7xCvs30ZM0_QtjCpaRClCaHhpPr-Rvu7SMG1ZgYZODZA-6A7punTyU_d9zVuvCQosJrW3lpK1FizqlBVJ4/s1600/IMG_5053.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
I think this is a cake?! Gross!!!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2FnNm8ZE7HkcIm9UpLciMbeiZ89VviUaZ6p3RuK2ZSw7GGOecvAW5tkhj5zwdpOxDjDGA-k0WyMZYwTQ6MWp-c0X5ePJR1My4HYZ1Dq9P87RTj9K4GVq6hPm3rzjsXUyntDYZOa4oGe4/s1600/IMG_5051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2FnNm8ZE7HkcIm9UpLciMbeiZ89VviUaZ6p3RuK2ZSw7GGOecvAW5tkhj5zwdpOxDjDGA-k0WyMZYwTQ6MWp-c0X5ePJR1My4HYZ1Dq9P87RTj9K4GVq6hPm3rzjsXUyntDYZOa4oGe4/s1600/IMG_5051.JPG" height="320" width="314" /></a></div>
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These seemed fun and funky without being super creepy, but they also felt too obvious... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxpDIZJIWpoS7KUP1BEzTZJLc_4JWSUIKgJc3eUg7K6cx1BtUvoe4WaX42fVv4VTbckqGTu-foVL-VrCUHzGyYZZCYxBI3k8peLPY4mjuO90WNNiT_pb5vo2xILpYXvTAMKVWpJWzDdA/s1600/IMG_5057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxpDIZJIWpoS7KUP1BEzTZJLc_4JWSUIKgJc3eUg7K6cx1BtUvoe4WaX42fVv4VTbckqGTu-foVL-VrCUHzGyYZZCYxBI3k8peLPY4mjuO90WNNiT_pb5vo2xILpYXvTAMKVWpJWzDdA/s1600/IMG_5057.JPG" height="320" width="243" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGb0ON_nhfdCOSqI2IxkFkePw3vAADT8xqMUIG9SpUbBmjowT_6PSgsJazCjauOKwmkqtheqWsjiGdiZ_KKfILu2DdbZmjxap_s4hOZe6wes2vkPCAax6mbEdQFL8q_Zo56NXjX4VWFsE/s1600/IMG_5054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGb0ON_nhfdCOSqI2IxkFkePw3vAADT8xqMUIG9SpUbBmjowT_6PSgsJazCjauOKwmkqtheqWsjiGdiZ_KKfILu2DdbZmjxap_s4hOZe6wes2vkPCAax6mbEdQFL8q_Zo56NXjX4VWFsE/s1600/IMG_5054.JPG" height="320" width="316" /></a></div>
So, I picked this one...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwDInN0wt43e9qrIlZxgjAdzUw_WOYVk-dFTOpBMbtjpKdGyqVdr2tYhoZx5sxB712eWpTYe86a_BokIEZGfu3RrFx4X6lJu1GQ0YLS6TdvhqcIptwYJIppBSQkGi51fU3C-uhkqYcQM/s1600/IMG_5056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwDInN0wt43e9qrIlZxgjAdzUw_WOYVk-dFTOpBMbtjpKdGyqVdr2tYhoZx5sxB712eWpTYe86a_BokIEZGfu3RrFx4X6lJu1GQ0YLS6TdvhqcIptwYJIppBSQkGi51fU3C-uhkqYcQM/s1600/IMG_5056.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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But honestly, it was really this one that amused me most and made me think of you. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFHXpkFqbVuYqGWD_UY5tiHeNsa_obrpRepRkCxa8yuczEUjpUWxDAuHWAjj7WbxyB_R-1ebi8SE3eTN_i1uOcrAkgFwbxwYalYqbkD4WsQl_pmvRj4KVFe7z2T7_PzDTXHf3fSDPT_GM/s1600/IMG_5055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFHXpkFqbVuYqGWD_UY5tiHeNsa_obrpRepRkCxa8yuczEUjpUWxDAuHWAjj7WbxyB_R-1ebi8SE3eTN_i1uOcrAkgFwbxwYalYqbkD4WsQl_pmvRj4KVFe7z2T7_PzDTXHf3fSDPT_GM/s1600/IMG_5055.JPG" height="271" width="320" /></a></div>
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I was going to watch "Frida" with Salma Hayek in your honor. Or...the entire original Spanish series of the soap opera that the CW has remade as "Jane the Virgin." </div>
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But sometimes, as you would have said, "Ya just need a little no-brainer." So, I watched a bunch of episodes of Scandal, followed by Magic Mike. </div>
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Travis and I made it to church today, and then Adam and I had lunch. Church was really lovely. I know you were honored at Centenary too, and Leigh Ann lifted you up in Charlotte. Last week, I started watching a PBS program called Finding Your Roots, hosted by Henry Louis Gates, Jr. It's about ancestry and identity and place...all themes that feel really ripe and resonant for me these days.</div>
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Along similar lines, I watched a movie I so wished you'd been here to discuss.</div>
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<img src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-c-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/10367147_10152763197303607_7958732836606942440_n.jpg?oh=4dc145feefb0ca4ef2650f08f47f12ef&oe=54E91E44&__gda__=1424196641_49f9188d103717cf1cd913397eea1ad7" /></div>
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I'd seen a little clip about it on Entertainment Tonight; Oprah hosted a garden party at her estate for the cast and crew, her attempt to give it some publicity. </div>
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I guess sometimes even Mama Oprah's golden touch doesn't do the trick? It seems to have flown under the radar, which I think is a shame. It's a rather fascinating look at society, identity, place and change, all themes that feel so resonant for me these days. And perhaps it's one of those self-fulfilling prophecies, but these "signs" keep popping up, little miracles that make me feel like the universe is giving me little nuggets and clues. </div>
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Someone on my street left a few books out on the stoop, a sort of "one man's junk" giveaway, so I helped myself to this. </div>
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<img src="http://img2.imagesbn.com/p/9780738210261_p0_v2_s260x420.jpg" height="640" width="425" /></div>
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Even as I feel a bit adrift in a year of intense change, I'm amazed at how supported and rooted I feel at times. It's funny and counterintuitive, but your illness and all of that time in Quincy really strengthened me and grounded me in ways that feel so necessary yet unimaginable, they're almost impossible to articulate. </div>
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And I could go on...and on...and on and on...like I tend to do. But why not "save it for the book"? Because you already know the rest of the story, don't you? </div>
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Saudade,</div>
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Lynsley </div>
Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-24662494141317368342014-09-21T13:29:00.000-04:002014-09-21T14:44:49.619-04:00Letting Go Dear Mom,<br />
<br />
I still hear your voice at times. Like any good mama, you walked that line between coach and cheerleader, though you usually stayed more on the coaching end of the court.<br />
<br />
There were your frequent cheer-like refrains: "What a hoot!" and "Keep up the good work!" and "You go, Girl!"<br />
<br />
But I will confess...I have fretted a bit of late that these blogs have become too long, too rambling, too much like notes from a mad woman. I can almost hear you saying, "Ugh. Too much! Enough! Are you going nuts up there? TMI!"<br />
<br />
Because I do feel a bit insane these days, a bit uncertain what is happening or where I am going. The vortex of family grief -- your death, Dad's stroke and pending divorce -- felt like too much swirl to make sense of at once. I'm relieved I didn't try to keep absorbing it all while making myself carry on from 9 to 5 as if all was well, as if the wheels weren't coming off the proverbial bus.<br />
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Honestly -- why do we try so hard to keep it all in? It's like some sort of emotional constipation, isn't it? UGH! NO SHIT TO BE SEEN HERE! LOOK ELSEWHERE! WE'RE ALL CLEAN!<br />
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It reminds me of one of your queerest collectibles, the Caganer from Barcelona. Which is, according to Wikipedia:<br />
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.5em;">
A <b>Caganer</b> (<small>Catalan pronunciation: </small><span class="IPA" title="Representation in the International Phonetic Alphabet (IPA)"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_Catalan" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none !important;" title="Help:IPA for Catalan">[kəɣəˈne]</a></span>, <small>Western Catalan: </small><span class="IPA" title="Representation in the International Phonetic Alphabet (IPA)"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_Catalan" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none !important;" title="Help:IPA for Catalan">[kaɣaˈne]</a></span>) is a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Figurine" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Figurine">figurine</a> depicted in the act of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Defecation" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Defecation">defecation</a> appearing in<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nativity_scene" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Nativity scene">nativity scenes</a> in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catalonia" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Catalonia">Catalonia</a> and neighbouring <a class="mw-redirect" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catalan_Countries" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Catalan Countries">areas with Catalan culture</a> such as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andorra" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Andorra">Andorra</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valencian_Community" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Valencian Community">Valencia</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Northern_Catalonia" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Northern Catalonia">Northern Catalonia</a> (in southern <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/France" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="France">France</a>). It is most popular and widespread in these areas, but can also be found in other areas of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spain" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Spain">Spain</a> (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Region_of_Murcia" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Region of Murcia">Murcia</a>),<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portugal" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Portugal">Portugal</a> and southern <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Italy" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Italy">Italy</a> (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naples" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Naples">Naples</a>).</div>
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The name "El Caganer” literally means "the crapper" or "the shitter". Traditionally, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Figurine" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Figurine">figurine</a> is depicted as a peasant, wearing the traditional Catalan red cap (the "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barretina" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Barretina">barretina</a>") and with his trousers down, showing a bare backside, and defecating.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-1" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 1; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caganer#cite_note-1" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[1]</a></sup></div>
<img src="http://hispaniclondon.files.wordpress.com/2010/12/caga.jpg" /><br />
I gave it to Cindy and Anne, thinking they were the only people who might "appreciate" such a bizarre remembrance. And I didn't think of this then -- but it's sort of a fitting metaphor for their jobs as therapists, where people come in and dump out their shit, and the girls help them deal with it.<br />
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Because emotional healing, my "emotional healer" reminded me this week, is dirty, snotty, messy, ugly work. It's tears and farts and stuff you'd rather keep inside, locked up, buried, tucked away, where it can't hurt you or anyone else.<br />
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Oh...but it can. Didn't someone in our "extended family" have to go to the hospital once when she got so backed up it became a severe medical issue? Whether it's through drinking or sex, snorting coke or popping pills, eating too much or too little, beating your kids or yelling at your spouse...most dark shit will bubble out eventually.<br />
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But we try so, so hard to hold it in -- especially if control and perfectionism and "nothing's wrong here, why do you ask" are the name of our game.<br />
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I think I may have written -- if not, here it is again -- I wore a lovely red dress and chunky turquoise necklace the day I told my boss I needed to take the rest of the week off to focus on my mental health. I found my choice of "costume" both fascinating and bizarre. It was like some sort of battle armor, pretending I was fine, I was healthy, I was lovely on the outside...while inside I felt like I was cracking wide open.<br />
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And I topped it with the perfect metaphor -- my necklace was rigged up with dental floss! Seriously, I can't make this stuff up. There I was, pretending everything was okay, trying not to fall apart.<br />
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And there the crowning accessory was, held together -- literally -- by a thread.<br />
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That emotional tank is so funny, isn't it? Emotional healing is such an odd, mysterious process -- like any head healing or heart healing. You almost wish you could wrap yourself up in protective padding, to help others identify that they need either to help you or stay the hell away from you, depending on the day.<br />
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As I walked down the sidewalk last week, I saw a dog in one of those protective shields. Like this one (I picked him because he looks like the first family dog I remember, Elizabeth. Hold the phone -- what a weird name for a dog. Did Leigh Ann get to name it? What the heck? That's almost as funny as naming a dog Jennifer...which happened too.)<br />
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-f-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/v/t1.0-9/10678621_10152665890373607_9034989460566855328_n.jpg?efg=e29sYXQ6MjAwfQ%3D%3D&oh=3979aafa27cf4ef4fe9ea0c9fc7323f5&oe=5497F616&__gda__=1418174275_a93fcb628ae5d102125c4de762ce2f3c" style="height: 285px; width: 335px;" /><br />
And I posted this with it on Facebook:<br />
<i>Grief is quite a roller coaster ride to healing, isn't it? Saw a dog with one or those today and think we may need a line of 'em for humans: "Stand back! Healing underway! Don't let me hurt myself!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
There are the walking wounded, the wounded warriors, who come back from battle with scars both physical and mental. The mental ones can be the hardest ones to treat. And sometimes you don't have to travel far from home -- or even leave home -- to know what it's like to live or grow up in a war zone.<br />
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The words "under construction" came to mind: "Stay out -- stand back, folks -- we've got a work zone here -- watch your heads -- she might blow at any second!" And that's hilarious, because the portfolio I turned in 16 years ago in a senior writing seminar at Duke was entitled "Under Construction."<br />
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Old dogs never die, do they?!<br />
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Barb was here last weekend, and I was such a mess -- not a blubbering one but a blabbering one -- sleep-deprived and running on fumes. Polly was in town, and she saw it too. I couldn't not see her, so I suggested she and Adam drop by...and answered the door in my bathrobe. I mean...what can ya do! I did put on some jammies for the rest of their visit.<br />
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But I do know what I need to do -- which is to take care of myself. HALT -- don't get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired. Exercise. Eat healthy foods. Avoid alcohol and caffeine. Get plenty of rest. Find healthy distractions. Feed my mind and my soul. Visit with friends. Spend time in solitude. Come to think of it...I think there's some book on "spiritual disciplines" that Leigh Ann read with the church. Maybe I "oughta" dust it off. That is -- if it feels compelling, not like some checklist.<br />
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There's a fine line between nagging and nudging, between "I need to do this" and "I want to do this." And we're all slipping and sliding along the slope, because we are creatures who have hard saying no, who are greedy, indulgent, afraid of scarcity. My generation calls it FOMO -- Fear of Missing Out -- and I'm sure it had another name at another point.<br />
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It is, in a sense, the ultimate journey of grief and of life -- what to carry, what to leave behind. And I am, to be fair -- obsessed with being prepared, at all times, so I'll be well equipped when bad things happen to me. Packing perfectly so you have just what you need, but not too much dead weight. And I've fairly mastered the literal art of it -- and am more than happy to help others! -- but I am, like you, a bit of an emotional pack rat. Loath to let go of ideas, people and places that might be better off in the past.<br />
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I've been thinking about the metaphor of waterskiing -- a sport Dad mastered, but none of the rest of us girls did. You have to <i>let go of the rope. </i>I posted this on Facebook, and a funny little discussion ensued about whether it was or was not necessary actually to TELL people to do that -- isn't it instinctual? Shouldn't you know better?<br />
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Well, apparently not everyone does. And there are horror stories that ensue. You can be drowned as you are pulled along by a greater force.<br />
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But if you get it right -- the balance, the timing, the coordination -- you can skate across the surface in an almost supernatural feat.<br />
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Holy cow -- did the photographer manage to catch Dad right at the moment as he was letting go of his right ski?! Was he going barefoot? Almost the ultimate feat of derring do! Jeepers, I didn't even make that connection -- but look at the title of this post. Letting Go. Let it go. Let it go.<br />
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Was that a little "cheer up, Buttercup" from the universe or what?</div>
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Do we need to bust out some Disney?</div>
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(Side note: With the themes of sisterhood and female power that dominate Frozen, I was about to give Disney an MIP (Most Improved Player) award for shedding that troubling "Help! I'm a victim! Rescue me! All I need is a sweet kiss or some magical shoes from a handsome prince!" philosophy that has fed so many women's studies classes and papers. But...yeah...hmm...could we get a heroine who's not a dreamy blue-eyed blonde with a two-inch waist?<br />
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I guess Disney -- like most of us -- is a work in progress, isn't it? Well, sometimes you have to settle for "progress, not perfection," as they stay in 12 Step groups!) <br />
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We used to talk a lot about "coaching" at work. Identifying your strengths and weaknesses. Growth is a balancing act -- building up the strengths, acknowledging and identifying and targeting the weaknesses. They will likely never become your top talents, but you can improve them, you can build those neglected muscles, you can in my case learn to let go.<br />
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So, one of the things I've found a bit alarming lately is my almost pathological need to discuss, to share. I'm not exactly sure what that's about -- in one sense, it's my gift -- but I'm also guilty of oversharing, talking too much, blabbering on when silence can be golden.<br />
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This blog has been a great tool, and I'm determined to continue these "letters" to you until Leigh Ann and I travel to Buenos Aires to release the last of your ashes, on December 27. And after that...we'll see, but I think you'd want me to keep this digital creative sandbox fresh, dynamic, unexpected.<br />
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And speaking of unexpected -- what a surprise gift I received this week! A friend from church in Charlotte read my last post to say how much she enjoys my blog...and might I want to spend some time writing at the condo she and her husband bought in Asheville? It's their connection to their roots, their hometown.<br />
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I'm trying to find the right balance between time at home and time away, so I'm thinking it might be a special place to be in December. And I know you would approve 100% of that one -- I told her about our trip to Asheville after Camp Crestridge, our dinner at the Grove Park Inn, where we saw Mikhail Barishnikov. It's a special city I'd been hoping, thinking I could visit during this chapter of grief and mourning. So, when I woke up to read her email yesterday morning, I just started to cry. Because she has two daughters, both of whom went on "my trips" to Brazil, and she wrote that she hopes they'll be as close as Leigh Ann and I are.<br />
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One more mama...out there in the universe...encouraging me, cheering me, picking up where you left off.<br />
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And I may be a little naked at times, a little too guilty of letting it all hang out -- but how else do you get people to know you need shelter, that you've lost a home base, that you need somebody to take you in?<br />
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Because if there's anything mamas teach their babies, it's that sharing is best. Oh, yeah -- and that sometimes you need to let go of even your very favorite toy. Shed your beloved, trusty security blanket. Because you're a big girl now.<br />
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Saudade,<br />
<br />
Lynsley<br />
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P.S. My "plan" is to let the blog go on hiatus in a long form during the month of October, but I've already come up with a bit of a "substitute teacher" that I absolutely cannot wait to roll out! I am amusing myself so much coming up with the lesson plans...it's gonna be sort of a digital comic book.<br />
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HINT: It will tie into your favorite October tradition, the Magic Pumpkin!Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-23052053823481136662014-09-19T11:13:00.001-04:002014-10-31T15:35:31.763-04:00Trick or Treat: Wigged Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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After seeing the granddaughters in "Oliver," the first production by the new community theatre, Lota drove her Cadillac straight home, where she opened her checkbook -- and her wig collection -- to the fledgling group.Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-30016432623472841442014-09-17T13:05:00.000-04:002014-09-17T13:05:41.170-04:00Old Home Week Dear Mom,<br />
<br />
What better way to spend my first birthday without you than by being in Quincy with Dad?<br />
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He is doing so well in his stroke recovery. I'm really proud of him for all the changes he's made in life...including quitting smoking!!! This summer, when he couldn't drive for several weeks, he decided there was no better time to quit. And -- just like most things, when he gets ready to do it and puts his mind to it -- he did it! Yeah!!<br />
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Dad's preacher is really affirming of the positive changes he's made over the past seven years or so -- getting back into regular church attendance, and even singing in the choir. He's really changed his life since he sold the farm.<br />
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For my birthday supper, we went to the Whipporwill at Lake Talquin. Back to our roots! Aunt Judith, Uncle Jerry, and Aunt Sandy came too. (We saw Wes and Judy there...she's part of the family, as she was Ashley and Suzy's favorite babysitter.) We stopped by Mimi's old lake house for a quick peek...knowing Mrs. Taylor wouldn't mind, as she'd told Aunt Judith so.<br />
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That place is like a time capsule!! If you look carefully, you can still see your favorite feature of the porch, the perfectly-placed rail designed for feet proppin' while rockin'...<br />
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Even the old glider is still there!<br />
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Perhaps now is a good time to confess I once "broke into" the lake house porch with a boy? It was senior year, and we used a credit card to flip open the screen porch door and made out on the glider. I actually have a photo of the "perpetrator," as he attended a ski party at Don and Mary Lil's with me. HA!! Amanda may be the only one with the detective skills to crack the case.<br />
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No need to flaunt the evidence, but there ya have it...just in case anybody still needs to be disabused of the notion I am a goody-two-shoes.<br />
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(Then again, maybe I should treasure the possibility while it's still out there, before "the book" shares some of my more colorful dating tales. And how could I not? Who else has been kissed in Rio, London, Quincy and NYC. Heck, I even went to Beirut with an old boyfriend. Why not?!)<br />
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But, to get back on a less scandalous note, being back down at Lake Talquin, looking out at that old, familiar view, was like holding hands again with a long-lost friend.<br />
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When I was in college (or high school?), I wrote an essay about the fact that the lake house was the place where you and Dad never fought, where you seemed the most in love. It made sense when Mimi sold it, but it was still sad.<br />
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That's how losing things is, isn't it? Even when you know it's time to let something go, you still feel so very sad when it's gone. You look back, savor the memories, wish you could just rewind a bit.<br />
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I guess that's why it's so therapeutic for me to spend time in Quincy right now, with people who know, who remember, who miss you too.<br />
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And who helped to raise me!<br />
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On Saturday night, I was at Winn Dixie, picking up a few things for supper. ("Lynsley? No. She never did marry. I saw her on Saturday night at the Winn Dixie, sorting through the frozen shrimp. Bless her heart!)<br />
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First I checked to see if they had any goat cheese...in case I found time to make the tomato pie I was craving from Peggy's house. Bingo!!<br />
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I posted the photo on Facebook, so Angus's Sally would see it, continuing your "inside joke" with her. When you died, she wrote the cutest thing about how you were like goat cheese at the Winn Dixie -- a rare gem! And...funny enough, I ran into Wil, her brother-in-law, in the checkout lane. I owe him a call.<br />
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And Miss Judy was there! Not buying ingredients for apple cakes, believe it or not. But of course she was doing something thoughtful for someone else, just like she always does. We had a great chat to catch up on her "grands," and her trip to Switzerland to see "the other Smith family." I reminded her to follow the Gospel of Cheryl, and not to be afraid to spend a day in her PJs every now and then to recover from all of that traveling and doing for others.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSXlhZwJ8-j-I_W7mllItaLF-kFEJP_OJResAjHPvn2VmSlY9pSVlC5QmnYjbchM5bzN5Jt6sUGKr7YAKecPNHZvsfKJ3HnjL64vyHWb-5qSrzCVV-4YjZCQ0pUI6joutwmkRxHpdJQ0o/s1600/IMG_4830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSXlhZwJ8-j-I_W7mllItaLF-kFEJP_OJResAjHPvn2VmSlY9pSVlC5QmnYjbchM5bzN5Jt6sUGKr7YAKecPNHZvsfKJ3HnjL64vyHWb-5qSrzCVV-4YjZCQ0pUI6joutwmkRxHpdJQ0o/s1600/IMG_4830.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
We took a "selfie" to send to Adam. And he sent one right back, but we'd already wrapped up our lengthy chat.<br />
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(Incidentally...I enjoyed seeing everyone so much...I spent all morning Saturday just chatting my way around the neighborhood, with marathon sessions at Betty's house, Patsy's house, and Suzie's house.<br />
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"Maybe I should be a therapist," I joked to MaBet.<br />
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"Now, Lynsley. Think about it. How would you make a living? You could only see two patients a day!" she teased. Touche, MaBet! Touche!)<br />
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Traveling back to my native land allows me to experience new local delicacies...<br />
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I was horrified and disgusted when I saw this! It elicited 45 "likes" and 35 "comments" on Facebook, mostly people wondering if I would try it. Or just pontificating about the wretched state of nutrition in America.<br />
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Well...I had to try it. There is a "bologna story" that I know will start my memoir, even if I haven't technically written it down yet. So, it's this poetic irony that will be so perfect -- a story that goes full circle -- people will think I made it up. Thank God I have so many witnesses to testify to its truth! Who else could write a book that is gonna start...and end...with connections to two different Hardee's?! Remember how my first apartment in Dothan was behind Hardee's near the Ross Clark Circle, how I could hear the drive-thru speaker if I left the windows open? Maybe they can host a book signing?!<br />
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Bottom line: that biscuit is actually pretty darn tasty! Dad and I split one, and we both enjoyed every greasy bite.<br />
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Aunt Tillie is working hard to get Dad on a "heart healthy" diet, but he was so discouraged by eating bland, tasteless food, I just had to let him have a treat or two. We enjoyed many delicious peaches Tillie and Harry got on their way through South Carolina for the Labor Day weekend family gathering that Leigh Ann and I missed while we were at Seabrook with the Thompsons.<br />
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And speaking of the Thompsons...of course I had to check on my little munchkins!! Benjamin "won" a six-pack of root beer when we made a bet about something at the beach. I had to deliver! I dropped off his winnings and asked if the boys would like to go for a ride in the Thunderbird, my wheels for the week. Ranie even got them dolled up in outfits to match my top. Is she a hoot or what?!<br />
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And of course you can count on William for your daily chuckle. As we pulled up to MaBet's house, William asked, "Aunt Lynsley? How come you spend so much time at MaBet's house? Is she your grandmama too?"<br />
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I suppose the A answer would have been, "Well...sorta."<br />
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But that little Benjamin is a hoot himself. Dare I say we have the next "legal eagle" in the Thompson family?<br />
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Ranie: Benjamin, put on some shoes if you want to ride with Aunt Lynsley in the Transformer Car. Any shoes. I don't care which ones.<br />
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Benjamin: Okay! I'm ready. You said "any shoes."<br />
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I have high hopes he will attend Duke Law School when the time comes...perhaps Aunt Lynsley will have some "publisher's clearing house" winnings for her scholarship fund by then! (If he's smart, he'll clip and save this blog, just like I did that time Dr. Johnny promised he'd pay for me to go to law school. It happened out at Jane and Craig's house.)<br />
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And speaking of...<br />
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A few weeks ago, I sent Jane a message:<br />
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<i>You know that cross-stitch sign you've always had in your kitchen? "When life gives you lemons...make lemonade." Well, if Mary Hilliard and the "real relatives" don't want that when you die, can you please put my name on it?</i><br />
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She wrote back immediately to inform me that thing was in the attic, and there was no need to wait for her departure. I could have it right now! She found it for me, and Dad and I stopped by to pick it up on our way to the golf club for supper with the Maxwells -- and, as it turned out, the rest of town. What a scene!<br />
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All of that motherly love -- the mama birds of the neigborhood, who've rallied to care for your baby birds -- even if we "oughta" be mama birds ourselves by now -- is just about the sweetest kind of lemonade life has to offer.<br />
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What better way to heal yourself than by spending time around the ladies who bathed you and fed you when you played with their baby boys and girls? <br />
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I had a good ol' walk through the cemetery with Miss Beth, who loves to tell the tale of being in the hospital to deliver Ashley at the same time you were there for Leigh Ann. These are the ties that bind, in the sweetest, most delightful way, because they don't feel like chains or ropes -- I've been free to come and go from Quincy for ages now. They're more like a bungee cord that keeps you from breaking your neck when you jump off a bridge, or a tether that keeps a hot air balloon grounded as it refuels.<br />
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And as I live this new, creative life, I can't believe all of the "gas stations" that keep popping up to fuel me and heal me as I try to figure out how one can fly and stay grounded, all at the time time.<br />
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It's a bit like wandering around with an iPhone all day -- finding that balance of getting juiced up, staying fully charged, plugging in at the right points and right times.<br />
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Writing has always been a way I both release and recharge -- review, recap, recount. All those important Rs that help us live a full, educated life. Counting and recounting. Even an English major can appreciate the importance of knowing how to do math, especially when she worked in banking for ten years!<br />
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I kid you not -- here's the song that appeared when I went to church with Dad.<br />
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="960" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-c-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/10521756_10152640069938607_4438076954307991296_n.jpg?oh=7201be52ec6e9722c0455880c86814c3&oe=54C8818A&__gda__=1422192999_cc1162df821849b91a047b527ad5d03c" style="height: 601px; width: 398px;" width="636" /><br />
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Several of your "converted" Baptist friends apparently still consider it the gospel truth that "there's no hymnal like a Baptist hymnal." I can hear Tillie and Mimi chiming in with a hearty "amen!" Even you would admit First Baptist Church of Quincy had the best music ministry in town. </div>
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Heck, even Miss Crystle might agree. I shared the hymn with her and said it made me thankful for the fact she taught me -- and others -- how to read the one truly universal language: MUSIC!</div>
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So, while you are certainly a fount of my many blessings, it was a big village that raised this child. Look what Miss Sheila gave me when she was teaching me Sunday School, the year I joined the church: </div>
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Inside, she wrote an inscription, encouraging me to use the pages to record what she prayed would be many joys and only occasional sorrows:<br />
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"It not only helps to write things down -- one day you will enjoy reading your writings, remembering and seeing how much you've grown!" <br />
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Whoa -- who says the Bible is the only place prophetic words are written and spoken?!<br />
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Because I have indeed grown, haven't I? Haven't we all? One of the loveliest aspects of aging is celebrating the beautiful truth in that paradox, "the more things change...the more they stay the same."<br />
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We lose...we gain...we mourn our losses, and we count our blessings. And we celebrate that you can, indeed, go home again. Because -- until the fat lady sings (or a slender one, if we're talking about last December) -- you're never too old, and it's never too late for new beginnings.<br />
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<i>Those of y'all in the choir -- can I get an Amen? </i><br />
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Saudade,<br />
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LynsleyLynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-43002676064232933302014-09-16T07:16:00.002-04:002014-09-16T09:10:01.797-04:00Family Dinner Dear Mom,<br />
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My birthday felt like a multi-week celebration, starting in Colorado in mid-August. From Charleston, Leigh Ann and I drove to Charlotte, where we had dinner with Peggy and Charles. It was time for little Powers (Hanna's maiden name) to meet Aunt Lynsley!<br />
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Naturally, Aunt Leigh Ann (who'd already met him earlier this summer and celebrated his arrival by bringing over a tomato pie!) LOVED getting all the baby time she could.<br />
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She amused herself getting him to sleep while Peggy and I flapped our gums to catch up.<br />
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In fact -- as long as we're sitting here on the proverbial front porch telling lies and spinning yarns -- let me tell you a little more about Peggy! Of course, "you" know this, but we've got a few extra ears listening in who might not mind the background.<br />
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Here's how special of a friend she is: when your cancer came back, the worst thing that we could have imagined, the thing that was pulling us home to be with you like a magnet, we still spent a weekend in Charlotte to go to Peggy's wedding. Because I was reading at the ceremony, because I'd "sorta" introduced Peggy and Charles (I introduced her to his brother, Boyce, who introduced them), and because that's how you raised us: to love, honor and cherish both our relatives and our frelatives.<br />
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="960" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/155595_4438791241293_1941680231_n.jpg?oh=454b804d6970b6120512f0f9419ef2a4&oe=548A27F0&__gda__=1422689367_049cc9322009dd900fd0bdf1b979463e" style="height: 601px; width: 401px;" width="640" /><br />
Peggy is a BIG part of our Charlotte "framily." She grew up on Roswell Avenue next door to Aunt Tillie and Uncle Jim, and Cindy and Mary Beth.<br />
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Her mother and Uncle Jim shared a bond as Duke alums (although I must do a humble brag, which Hanna would be far too gracious to do herself, because she's just that kind of Southern lady -- poised, smart, humble, and smart as holy hell -- we did a Bible study group together, so I can say that last part with confidence. Hanna is such a role model for me, and I look up to her so much, my neck is practically crooked when I'm around her! Anyway, she was also an Angier B. Duke Scholar, which is and was and always will be the university's most prestigious scholarship). When Peggy was ready to visit Duke, Aunt Tillie sent her up to stay with me. I rolled out the welcome mat and sealed the deal -- she joined the class of 2000!<br />
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Meanwhile...Tillie and Jim moved away from Roswell Avenue in the mid 90s (and then I moved there myself in 2004...it's like our own little Charlotte version of Highland Avenue!), so this was back in the old days...<br />
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When K.B. was taking Mary Beth to the prom...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinsyjBjAr3BFE5gYVnbAEp09oC6uPp4p2jeA5MnXCqt88cIR_lFN1vjj09I0L5N-8023pP5Q-LYtMYsQJlSXimnmQGmwwIyRWTbUjs1SiwJeQ88yJSAjRO68WJvWrVjisUITyamD0lKnc/s1600/PDI_0016+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinsyjBjAr3BFE5gYVnbAEp09oC6uPp4p2jeA5MnXCqt88cIR_lFN1vjj09I0L5N-8023pP5Q-LYtMYsQJlSXimnmQGmwwIyRWTbUjs1SiwJeQ88yJSAjRO68WJvWrVjisUITyamD0lKnc/s1600/PDI_0016+(2).JPG" height="400" width="263" /></a></div>
Before those two got hitched in 1995...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQaPFVw9VbYvOeO19oq1eRWUcQMEpT61k0TqP38E1qMzEwqLawDmty0mieoD26yXPe6WsdgYJDPkIPKyLO2hecSCdCdUL_HI-0OallOKoKempMfP_n1jLuomiY53xgCrHD2JBTLC2sQ9Q/s1600/PDI_0016+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQaPFVw9VbYvOeO19oq1eRWUcQMEpT61k0TqP38E1qMzEwqLawDmty0mieoD26yXPe6WsdgYJDPkIPKyLO2hecSCdCdUL_HI-0OallOKoKempMfP_n1jLuomiY53xgCrHD2JBTLC2sQ9Q/s1600/PDI_0016+(3).JPG" height="640" width="313" /></a></div>
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Here's a "behind the scenes" shot...</div>
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Golly, I do love getting knee-deep in the photo archive, don't I?!<br />
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I can't resist adding this one from Mary Beth's engagement party. Aunt Tillie has accomplished too much to make any humble brags about the fact that she was once a beauty queen, but you can still see it here, can't you?! She and Jim certainly did make two beautiful daughters, inside and outside.<br />
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And speaking of beautiful ladies...Cindy brought this lovely gal into our family ages ago. Everyone loves Anne, and if you ever get a chance to meet her, let her get in a not-so-humble brag by asking her about her golf game and the times she's played Augusta National! She is witty, wise, wonderful, warm and just an all-around MVP on our family team.<br />
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="480" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/164517_188070094541525_5696213_n.jpg?oh=1d1d9856f620fb7e8d8a543706bd7e94&oe=54CFD079&__gda__=1422772657_d733868ad1225b1b7d1f5506a7ad6288" style="height: 540px; width: 720px;" width="640" /><br />
Let's close out this tangent with one last photo of "Tillie and her girls," as people in Quincy love seeing them.<br />
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="213" src="https://scontent-b-iad.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/999_10200173078673606_1676687252_n.jpg?oh=fbd1355d4ff2fee306f94af1aba252ab&oe=54955ED3" style="height: 573px; width: 859px;" width="320" /><br />
But I digress!!!<br />
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Back to Peggy and Charles's wedding, in October of 2012. We were passing through a sad time with the weight of your diagnosis. What better balance than to attend a joyful, happy event -- one with just enough tears to add a bit of salty flavor -- the perfect counterpoint to keep anything from getting too sweet.<br />
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It happened at Christ Episcopal Church. I loved these words from the minister, Rev. Lisa Saunders, that day:<br />
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="425" src="https://scontent-a-iad.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/544722_4438782841083_298798920_n.jpg?oh=6614fdc791fef4b30029618c9c8f3f04&oe=549092FC" width="640" /><br />
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">"The Gospel in a nutshell is this: We are fully known -- all of our warts, wounds, and wonders -- and yet we are fully loved. That is the Gospel of marriage as well." </span><br />
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<span class="userContentSecondary fcg">Peggy was absolutely stunning! The photo of us at the top of the blog was taken as she was getting ready, just like this one. </span><br />
<span class="userContentSecondary fcg"><img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-prn2/v/t1.0-9/560810_4438783081089_20710289_n.jpg?oh=cd58782c4427f81ad858580262c30101&oe=54878685&__gda__=1419307959_ac8444cbf6e5e632b6730c37ba093afe" style="height: 601px; width: 401px;" /></span><br />
Here's a beautiful shot of the three Kane ladies (I love Ellen, her little sister, who was living in New York when I first moved there...Peggy cleverly treated us to a "welcome dinner"!).<br />
<span class="userContentSecondary fcg"><img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="425" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-b-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/403447_4438783881109_1204859423_n.jpg?oh=51204a5bca958765328528b1f7e5a15c&oe=54CCEDAA&__gda__=1422476897_7f0a9399602e66ed84b771528d07d222" width="640" /></span><br />
<span class="userContentSecondary fcg">Peggy's bridesmaids were her dearest childhood friends, including Lindsay, the brunette on the right, who became my special friend too through book club. (She has a fabulous sister, Amy, who was also in our book club. Leigh Ann reports the book club has turned into a "suggested book club" in my absence. I may have to move back down and whip 'em back into shape!) </span><br />
<span class="userContentSecondary fcg"><img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="426" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/602461_4438784521125_1153577458_n.jpg?efg=e29sYXQ6MjAwfQ%3D%3D&oh=de13603aa2374c6ffd0bc09e42142464&oe=549AF99A&__gda__=1418109437_6efa57b4ab5755fe94a7ecc7f0f9f727" width="640" /></span><br />
Let's give the boys a little air time, shall we?!<br />
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Here are the Thies brothers...<br />
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="426" src="https://scontent-a-iad.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/302882_4438787281194_1088954389_n.jpg?oh=1c033c42b144516e65419e90a04d781c&oe=54842C6B" width="640" /><br />
<span class="userContentSecondary fcg">That's Lawton, Boyce, Charles and Trey. Boyce was my friend who introduced Peggy to Charles.</span><br />
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<span class="userContentSecondary fcg">And let's give Dick a moment in the spotlight. What a dear he is! </span><br />
<span class="userContentSecondary fcg"><img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="960" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/579183_4438792161316_1581039261_n.jpg?efg=e29sYXQ6MjAwfQ%3D%3D&oh=7e4ef3df2c9a10ef4fe5c11ea9b61f80&oe=549919E5&__gda__=1418762540_1eedf56e2016a68c683e854b1c5f9cfa" style="height: 601px; width: 401px;" width="640" /></span><br />
<span class="userContentSecondary fcg">In fact -- Dick is "just a little bit older" than Hanna. Well, look at this one! What's not to like about an older man? (Uncle Jim was an "older man" too. Hmmm. Sign me up, looks like fun!) Don't you just love photos that capture those unscripted moments that really are the essence of folks? </span><br />
<span class="userContentSecondary fcg"><img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="425" src="https://scontent-b-iad.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/75498_244971305632937_855121580_n.jpg?oh=60f041091f2f340bd1602003a140f597&oe=548507F0" width="640" /></span><br />
<span class="userContentSecondary fcg">Funny sidebar -- Dick was worried Charles and Peggy's car wasn't in good enough shape for the drive to Quincy for your funeral, so he insisted that they drive his car. This, of course, led to the "one of those quotes that shall live in infamy" moment of Miss Virginia trotting up to me in the Fellowship Hall:</span><br />
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<span class="userContentSecondary fcg">"Lynsley! Thank goodness that crowd has finally cleared out so I can ask you WHO was driving that Jaguar with the North Carolina plates?" </span><br />
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<span class="userContentSecondary fcg">I mean...you can't expect to show up at Centenary United Methodist Church in Quincy in a sporty ride with out-of-state tags without turning a head or two. </span><br />
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<span class="userContentSecondary fcg">Charles was so tickled with his taste of Quincy hospitality. He's a quintessential Southern gentleman and raved over the pimento cheese, noting "good pimento cheese is a mark of a highly evolved society." </span><br />
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<span class="userContentSecondary fcg">Back to the wedding! Here's another special Charlotte frelative, Xanie. </span><br />
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="960" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/317654_10151180305163607_2139803971_n.jpg?oh=2850353f4960e5e89fae974210600afd&oe=54C835AE&__gda__=1418182644_3d903be3ec1e9479db7e324ba159e31f" style="height: 601px; width: 451px;" width="720" /><br />
Love this picture with Leigh Ann! We were so excited to be at our very first Charlotte Country Club reception. Mary Neal's mama had taken us there for lunch, but we'd never been for a wedding. (Jeez, am I your daughter or what? We enjoyed Mary Beth and KB's wedding at Myers Park CC, as well as Greg and Cutchin's at Quail Hollow. I do love checking out someone else's club, what can I say?!)<br />
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="960" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/429193_4663179658369_1934380951_n.jpg?oh=faff1fdb48ec08cdd62e9d6e0a0d1ae8&oe=548BCC2A&__gda__=1418897633_053a2a1b181bd575079bc86043aa4090" style="height: 601px; width: 451px;" width="720" /><br />
Depending on who the lucky grooms are, Leigh Ann and I may have to come off some dough to throw ourselves a a big ol' shindig when we get hitched, as we've got some serious paying back to do for these nice weddings we've enjoyed!<br />
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Does anybody else remember that old Southern tradition? The "Payback Party"?!<br />
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Here's a link to my <a href="http://www.popcorn-and-mms.blogspot.com/2012/10/peggy-charles.html" target="_blank">original blog post </a>with more pictures -- including food shots. I actually forgot I'd done it...it was around the time I stopped blogging because we started CaringBridgeing.<br />
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And...come to think of it...I don't believe I blogged about the trip Travis and I took to San Francisco last fall, for me to be his arm candy at the wedding of a law school buddy. Before the wedding, I stayed with Peggy and Charles at their super-cool apartment. After the wedding, we took a Sunday field trip to Pt. Reyes for oysters and hiking. It was one of those perfect Indian summer days. I wanna go back!!<br />
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Okay, so, after that long introduction...<br />
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So there we were...at Peggy and Charles's house for supper on a Monday night in September. Wow! I should have taken photos. First of all, their house is beautiful. And the food was delicious.<br />
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They had sweet, ripe cantaloupe, thickly sliced and draped with thin pieces of prosciutto. Then we enjoyed grilled steaks, salad and a tomato pie from Garden & Gun. I want to try out the recipe myself. (Tomato pie is a frequent guest in this relationship. Peggy <a href="http://www.popcorn-and-mms.blogspot.com/2010/07/creamed-corn.html" target="_blank">made one ages ago,</a> when I used to post more recipes on here.)<br />
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We had cupcakes for dessert -- an assortment of flavors, and I got to pick first -- and they gave me a wonderful new leather-bound journal. I've decided to turn it into my "church notebook." I'm using notebooks like mad these days, as my mind is churning with ideas and inspiration, but I am going to see what it's like to have a special notebook that I use to jot down thoughts I want to remember when I am pew-sitting.<br />
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And -- just in case you were wondering "what's the point?" I'm just about there.<br />
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The morning after hosting us for supper, Peggy sent us a sweet and thoughtful email. Now -- as Southern belles -- Leigh Ann and I were the ones who owed her a note. But instead, she sent us a note. That's just proof she's the gracious lady her mama raised her to be.<br />
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<i>Tommy Tomlinson has a fun article in Charlotte Mag this month called "Is Charlotte Southern?" Did y'all see it? One paragraph in particular reminded me of you two:<br /><br />"[A] Southern touchstone is the emphasis on family--not just the people in your house but an extended family of kinfolk and friends or neighbors. They're the people you invite for a Sunday potluck, or get with to watch a ballgame, or gather up to visit somebody who's sick." <br /><br />Love you both, and love your generous, Southern sense of family. </i><br />
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What an awesome, awesome article! You can <a href="http://www.charlottemagazine.com/Charlotte-Magazine/September-2014/Is-Charlotte-Southern/" target="_blank">read it for yourself here</a>. Tommy Tomlinson is an incredibly talented writer; maybe I "oughta" try and meet him sometime. How can you not love a guy who would write this:<br />
<i>... people think the South is more eccentric than other places—I call it the Crazy Aunt Theory. In other parts of the country, they stick their crazy aunts in the attic. But down here it’s too hot to do that, so we put our crazy aunts right out on the porch and drag them to Golden Corral or wherever. Charlotte’s all-time champion eccentric, Hugh McManaway, wasn’t stuck in a back room somewhere. He was out there at Providence and Providence and Queens and Queens, directing traffic. And after he died we built a statue of him.</i><br />
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You loved that statue! Everybody loves that statue. What a funny way to tell the story behind it.<br />
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People almost literally embrace that crazy old man by decorating him for milestone events. Graduations. Weddings. Maybe there are wacky nuts like us who even would have decorated it for funerals. And he sits right there at the doorstep of our church, Myers Park United Methodist.<br />
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We'd love to say that's a metaphor for "come one, come all...crazy or sane...join us, worship here...we'll make room and find a place for you...it's not a museum for saints, it's a hospital for sinners." The kind of radical inclusion, radical grace and hospitality the south can be known for at its best moments. Isn't that what church "oughta" be?<br />
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But the church and the south -- and all of us, no matter who we are or where we come from -- always fall short here and there. We create little clubs and little ways to feel connected and special -- whether they're churches or sororities or book clubs or you name it. Ways to find a place, fit in, belong, not feel so lost, so lonely, so alone in this big ol' world. We fill up the pew and think, "Sigh. Do I HAVE to scoot down? Why didn't they get here earlier?"<br />
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And then...one day...we ourselves show up late...get a little lost...need an extra dose of hospitality, an extra dose of grace. Dad got a big helping of that on Sunday, when Mr. George made a point of inviting him to hear the Johnson Family sing at Gretna Presbyterian. They used to be best friends, and they've gone their separate ways for a while now, but things have changed, and Dad both needed and appreciated that mighty kind invitation, complete with a tasty barbecue lunch.<br />
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Because sometimes that's the way you mend broken fences, by breaking bread together.<br />
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And you know, if you wanted to get into keeping score -- which most of us do in spite of ourselves -- if you believe in the game of hosting "payback parties" to keep yourself in the social rotation -- if you play "I invited you, so you need to invite me, I showed up at yours, so you'd better come to mine, I gave your daughter a full place-setting of her fine china, so how dare you give Mary Lou just her everyday!" -- you will drive yourself as nutty as that man waving the hanky at that intersection.<br />
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Friendship is about things you do because you <i>want </i>to do them, not because you <i>have </i>to do them.<br />
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Have to's are for relatives and crazy aunts!<br />
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Just kidding. But how could I resist a chance to tell that favorite joke from the eulogy, a story that's been told so many times it's like a soft old piece of leather. There you were in the church kitchen, helping Aunt Sandy debone pounds of chicken for that pilau supper, her saying it was so nice to have friends, and your quip: "Looks to me like you've got one friend. And one relative."<br />
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And whether your ex-husband's family qualified as relatives or frelatives, the point is you figured out how to keep them in your life. That's something a lot of people can't do. Navigating social networks -- the real ones, not the online kind -- in the South is an art, not a science. Sometimes ya gotta think outside the box. Get creative.<br />
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One of the loveliest lessons you taught me is that you don't need fancy stationary to write a thank you note. It's the sentiment that counts. And so, that's what this has turned into. A thank you note of socially unacceptable length. But what's the fun of socializing if you don't push the boundaries a bit? You know, like asking your ex-husband's sister to sing at your funeral!<br />
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Thank you, Mama, for teaching us how to make friends and frelatives, wherever we are. You taught us how to be generous givers because you were generous with us. Even when your time with us became a limited commodity, you still wanted to share us. The greatest lesson you taught us was showing us how to make friends.<br />
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Thank you, Aunt Tillie, for being a special sort of fairy godmother aunt, for opening doors for me, for saving us when we needed saving, for driving that Uhaul to Dothan so I could chase my dream job, for helping Cheryl's girls find a home in Charlotte. For showing us that a "big city" could feel like a small town, if you tackle it with Quincy charm.<br />
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Thank you, Peggy, for being a sweet, smart, encouraging friend, for honoring our family ties in the very best way. I miss my walking buddy, my book buddy. Who else shares Spanish...and Duke...and Methodism with me?! (Okay...my sister...so that pretty much says it.)<br />
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Thank you, Dick and Hanna, for being sweet surrogate parents to a little girl who landed a long way from home...and found a new home on your special street, in your special church, thanks to gracious hospitality and abundant welcome mats.<br />
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Oh, Mama -- here I am, laughing and crying at the ways I continue to uncover little bits of the "inheritance" you left me. This road of grief might be a lonely one, but it's not, as I draw closer to the frelatives who make me feel so lifted up in your loss, so I continue along life's road, in the good company of faithful friends.<br />
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Grateful for the way you fed me, taught me to feed myself, and helped me make friends who would welcome me and feed me at their tables. What a birthday celebration of the very best kind.<br />
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Saudade,<br />
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LynsleyLynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-23206218181338867012014-09-13T11:19:00.001-04:002014-09-13T11:29:15.013-04:00Family Reunion <div id="yui_3_16_0_1_1410436757837_33868" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1410436757837_33874" style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Dear Mom,</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1410436757837_33871" style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">You would have absolutely loved “riding along” for the weekend we had with Jason and Ranie and the boys at Leigh Ann’s new beach place.</span><br />
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1410436757837_33879" style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">When LA was taking her leave of absence from work this spring, she realized it was time to pull the trigger on a long-held dream of hers. While I’ve always dreamed of taking time off from a conventional work schedule, Leigh Ann has always dreamed of having a beach house. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1410436757837_33883" style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Well…what was she waiting for?! She’s worked so hard and been so successful. And, sure, we wish there had been some husbands and babies by now! But just because we “haven’t married yet” doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy some of the perks of being successful grown-ups. Buying a beach house before you turn 40?! WAY TO GO, SISSIE!!! Woooo-hooooo. </span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1410436757837_33886" style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">You would be proud as can be that your eldest daughter is now the happy owner of the Cheryl Memorial Coastal Cottage (CMCC) on Seabrook Island! And a member of the Seabrook Island Club. We’ve joked a lot about the fact you wanted one of us to have a beach house, and one of us to have a mountain house. So…my assignment is clear. Good thing I love the mountains! Should we go with Blue Ridge or Rockies? Or perhaps the Alps?! HA! Maybe somebody needs to stop blogging and start writing “the book.”</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1410436757837_33889" style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Anyway, as you know, Aunt Tillie introduced us to Seabrook Island in the early 90s when she and Uncle Jim built a home there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">It was a special, special place, and Tillie let us make a lot of happy memories in her beautiful beach home. But, obviously it’s a lot of work to maintain a second home, so she sold it a year or two ago. (As Leigh Ann likes to say, “The best beach house is the one somebody else owns!”)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: small;">Leigh Ann put a lot of thought into where she’d like to have a beach home, and she decided Seabrook was perfect – it’s about a four-hour drive from Charlotte, so it’s manageable for a weekend getaway.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">(Funny enough…Miss Karen’s sister Kathy and her husband have a lot there too.) </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">The villa Leigh Ann bought has two bedrooms and two bathrooms downstairs, plus a sleeping loft upstairs. She bought it fully furnished, and the prior owners manage the rentals for her. They’ve become fast friends. Leigh Ann celebrated her new purchase with a few of her Charlotte friends earlier this summer, and she suggested we invite Ranie and Jason to come up with the boys for Labor Day weekend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">It’s such a special part of our healing process to spend time with people who were special to all of us as a family. After all, Ranie was practically a third sister once we moved two doors down from the Subers on Highland Avenue in 1990. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Or, as we said this winter, to put it in Biblical terms – just like the skit you and MaBet had us do for a Lenten luncheon at church when we were kids – I’m Mary the social butterfly, Leigh Ann is Martha the worker bee, and Ranie is Jesus the peacemaker. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">I think this was one of Leigh Ann’s birthday parties back when we lived at the farm…maybe her fourth birthday or so? There you are with your trusty bun, and there are MaBet and Miss Jane...and Aunt Suzanne with Andrew. And there's Ranie in her pigtails with Ashley, Mary Hilliard, Carolyn and Samantha. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">And even though Ranie and I were in the same class, she was only about nine months younger than Leigh Ann. So, we all grew up playing together…trick-or-treating together...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">There was the time we went to that FSU game, and the big ol’ station wagon got towed…so Dad and Mr. Billy had to go find the impound lot while we practiced Seminole cheers until midnight in front of Domino’s Pizza. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">And wasn’t Leigh Ann’s class leaving for the fourth grade trip to St. Augustine the very next day? Dad went as a chaperone. (I think you and Miss Betty could have entered some sort of national sweepstakes for leading a field trip somewhere for the most consecutive years…and she would win! Maybe you could get a few bonus points for all those bus hours from Quincy to D.C. Yowza.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Okay, back to the beach! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Ranie, Jason and the boys drove up late Thursday, so we had all day Friday, Saturday and Sunday to play. What fun! Those little boys are just hilarious. Jason and I slept in most mornings, but “Clarice” and LA were up early. Eventually, they’d send those little alarm clocks into “wake up Aunt Lynsley.” Aunt Lynsley?! Nobody has ever called me that. How special! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Gosh, words can be so powerful, can’t they? My heart just melted a few years ago when I started to hear the boys calling Ranie “Mama.” There’s just something about those words coming out of little mouths that makes you turn to goo. Well, now Ranie has them calling us “Aunt Leigh Ann” and “Aunt Lynsley,” just like we called special friends “aunt” and “uncle” when we were little. (Funny enough, kids do this in Brazil too. When we’d go volunteer in Rio, little kids would call out, “Tia! Tia!” to me. (It’s like “Auntie!” in English.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">How could Aunt Lynsley and Aunt Leigh Ann resist these sandy little munchkins? MaBet was worried they’d drive us bananas, but we loved every minute of it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">They “helped” me make lemon pie with a saltine crust. (You can find the <a href="http://www.ourstate.com/one-phenomenal-pie/" target="_blank">recipe here</a>…we also made our favorite<a href="http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/crooks-corner-shrimp-grits-10000000608400/" target="_blank"> shrimp and grits recipe,</a> which we highly recommend. Both are from the famous Southern restaurant Crooks Corner in Chapel Hill.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Leigh Ann and I have a friend named Dave who also owns a home on the island. He made a great addition to our gang and even brought a kite for the boys to fly. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">On Saturday, we drove into Charleston. We started off with a historic carriage tour. I told the boys I had five one-dollar bills that would be up for grabs during a quiz after the tour. William fell asleep, but Benjamin was tuned in, so he earned $3. (Funny enough, in the “way back” of Ranie’s SUV, which hadn’t been used for a while, he found the money you gave him via the Great Pumpkin last fall. What a little saver he is!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">All six of us loved every minute of the Charleston aquarium. What a great example of the way kids make you do things you might not have done….and help you see things with new eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">On the way back to Seabrook, we played numerous rounds of the boys’ favorite guessing game, “I’m thinking of an animal…” They can play it for hours! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">It goes like this: “I’m thinking of an animal…and it lives in Africa…and it’s big and grey…and has a long trunk…” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">That’s an easy one. The boys long ago started playing at an advanced level. They’re animal experts and come up with some really random picks. I think we first played it one night at El Potrillo while we were waiting for our food to arrive. My attempt to introduce a spin-off game, “I’m thinking of a vegetable…” did not take off. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Saturday night, I tucked them into bed with a slideshow of animal photos from my latest Africa trip. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">On Sunday, Leigh Ann treated us to brunch at the club. It was delicious! We all agreed the "hot mess" w<what big="" did="" have="" it="" like="" n="" name="" ranie="" some="" tasty="" the="" wacky="" was="">on the blue ribbon. But Benjamin’s sweet smile really says it all. We had SO MUCH FUN the entire weekend. </what></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">After brunch, we did a little seaside photo shoot around the club. Next time, we may take photos before we fill up our bellies! We got a lot of giggles calling this one “JT and the Sister Wives.”</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHc02n15gHQQf-DjVmyPY5X4otueDW14F69nGuoM8hhmX9Sv67RrLFcQni8ZNS7CrXkkqwV0Vb8ppPouz4huFOak5RwUxFBfxv0SCbPQyWk9uSwJ-_6MMMgHRv0o8xRzR8wEUxKug47Pw/s1600/IMG_4776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHc02n15gHQQf-DjVmyPY5X4otueDW14F69nGuoM8hhmX9Sv67RrLFcQni8ZNS7CrXkkqwV0Vb8ppPouz4huFOak5RwUxFBfxv0SCbPQyWk9uSwJ-_6MMMgHRv0o8xRzR8wEUxKug47Pw/s1600/IMG_4776.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCO_fvKq_IzEMacYk0QAjS9p2j7gNsu80PU1RdTYzqmPuIiMTn0EX6dPvndtHnOjABkTVUNB7P991c6GwpTkjLfFbqhofy4Bkwopz4NVURMeN19aMhFUyXSNyKu7DRSTFxUi8vcDed-Yw/s1600/IMG_4777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCO_fvKq_IzEMacYk0QAjS9p2j7gNsu80PU1RdTYzqmPuIiMTn0EX6dPvndtHnOjABkTVUNB7P991c6GwpTkjLfFbqhofy4Bkwopz4NVURMeN19aMhFUyXSNyKu7DRSTFxUi8vcDed-Yw/s1600/IMG_4777.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">In fact, we’re hoping to make this an annual event, and we’re already planning for next year!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">And…talk about future plans…that club surely would make a nice wedding venue. Hmmmm… I think a party bus packed with all our friends could find its way from Quincy to Seabrook Island…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">But we’d better hustle before these little ring bearers outgrow their eligibility for that role! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, I kept track of a few of my favorite William-isms and posted them on Facebook:</span></div>
<ol style="direction: ltr;">
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Benjamin, now we get to have three mamas!”</span></div>
</li>
<li><div style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Well…at least we have cookiiieeeessss!!!”</span></div>
</li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And…our favorite…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“Aunt Lynsley, are you and Aunt Leigh Ann Miss Cheryl’s sisters?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: small;">Actually, I take that back! I almost forgot. Our very favorite quote from William came on the last morning. We got up early to meet the Turtle Patrol. They were checking on a nest they’d relocated, and we hoped to see a number of baby turtles crawl into the sea.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">We took a quick snapshot as we hit the beach.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_16_0_1_1410436757837_33897" style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">After walking for a while, we realized it would be about a mile and a half to the nest. Oops. That’s a lot for some little legs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The event was a bit of a bust, as we saw only one baby turtle. One baby turtle?! Big deal! These boys saw baby turtles this summer in MaBet’s backyard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">That white-haired lady from the Turtle Patrol did a great job with educational outreach for the kids…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But it kinda seemed to us like a bunch of retirees monkeying with nature and creating a rather complex organization (complete with color-coded t-shirts!) in an attempt to control the uncontrollable. I get it that humans are disrupting turtles with our beach houses and development, but if these creatures have adapted for eons, I think they’ll figure something out without our “help.”</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">(Please….no hate mail from the Turtle Patrol!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">By the time we got back to the boardwalk – a three mile round-trip to see a baby turtle and a two dead horseshoe crabs – William had had it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">“This is officially the worst day of my life!” he declared. We practically howled. Talk about uptown problems! Poor guy. With that flair for drama and hyperbole, I might have to claim him as my own!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">And…on that note…here’s something I know you “knew,” but I’m not sure if we ever talked about it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Dad’s middle name is Benjamin. His father’s middle name was William. The first farm Dad ever had was called B&W Farms – Benjamin and William Farms.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Isn’t that a hoot?!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Not to mention…Jason and Ranie both worked on the farm for Dad, just like you and MaBet and Mr. Billy and so many others worked in tobacco while you were growing up. I may live in Manhattan now, but that farm was a big part of our family life for my most formative years. It’s still special that friends like Ranie and Jason know that part of our history and shared it with us.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Anyway, I always wanted to name a son Benjamin. And now we have a little Benjamin in our “framily” of “frelatives.” I was there at Centenary standing with the family the Sunday he was christened.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">It’s funny how names come in and out of vogue; my college friends Alison and Jesse also named their first son Benjamin. If I had a girl or girls, I wanted to name them Julia and Caroline – as both translate nicely into Spanish and Portuguese!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">And now, we have Katherine and Wesley’s little Julia…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Meghan and Drew’s little Caroline…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">And…this summer…I don’t think I’ve “told you,” John and Meredith gave Aunt Judith and Uncle Jerry their first grandchild, Caroline Margaret.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Life is beautiful, isn’t it?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Who knows, I may still hatch an egg or two – without help from the Turtle Patrol – but what a gift to feel at peace with life as it’s playing out, and to enjoy the blessings of a rich life full of lifetime frelatives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I sure do miss having you here to enjoy the ride with us. But just like the warm sunshine at the beach, sometimes I can feel you smiling down and just know you couldn’t be any happier for all of us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Saudade,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Lynsley </span></div>
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Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-3356345978024701572014-09-10T19:12:00.000-04:002014-09-10T19:12:13.809-04:00Hopping Around<br />
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Dear Mom,</div>
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You would have LOVED Telluride so much! Karen and I kept saying how we wished you'd been there. As much as I miss you, I know it makes you so happy that I enjoy spending time with your friends...and consider them my friends too. </div>
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The first day, we had late afternoon cocktails and nibbles on the main drag... Then we moved on to There for Brussels sprouts and scallops. The sprouts were INCREDIBLE! </div>
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I'd love to try making the sprouts...but apparently you need copious amounts of oil...and to spend the time painstakingly separating the individual leaves.<br />
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Another culinary highlight: lamb sliders with goat cheese, arugula and chutney. Those I may try making on my own...and I may mix up a beet and quinoa salad too.</div>
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On Fridays, they have a market downtown, so we had fun poking around that. </div>
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I got some FAB earrings from this lady's booth -- mine are similar to the ones on the left in the photo below.<br />
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We had so much fun hiking together! That KK is something else. She is fearless and fit!<br />
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Before I got there, she'd done the Bear Creek waterfall hike with her sister and cousin. That's one of the most popular trails, so I did it on my own one day.<br />
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And I took some new "feet pics" for the bathroom wall. I need to let the blog readers vote on which ones from my summer travels should make the cut. </div>
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Midway to the waterfall, there's a spot where people stack rocks in this sort of improbable balancing act. It fascinated me.</div>
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I googled balance and found this quote, which I love:<br />
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"Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance, order, rhythm and harmony." -- Thomas Merton<br />
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Balance is a big theme for me these days...along with the seasonal aspect of life. Stay tuned for more on those topics!<br />
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Debbie and Kerry joined us for two nights. What a treat! They were staying at the Thompsons' house in Gunnison, but they worked it out to join us for a bit. Just perfect, as we had an extra bedroom with their names on it.<br />
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And...now...back to THE FOOD!!!<br />
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Telluride has some amazing restaurants.<br />
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Karen and I ate at the Thai place twice; the second time was with Debbie & Kerry. You would have loved it. I know Thai food wasn't "your thing," but trust me, it was good stuff!! My mouth is watering again just thinking about it.<br />
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The wraps above were THE BOMB. I think the ones we got that first night were soft-shelled crab and tilapia? The owner make them daily by hand. WOWZERS. Karen said in the summer, the wait is ridiculous, but we loved being there in the off season.<br />
<br />
Hilary's dad, "Mr. Ross" ("Lynsley, just call me Ross!") asked if we'd eaten at Cosmpolitan. Karen hadn't, so we made it a priority with the Edgils. Oh. My. Stars. Maybe the best meal I've had this summer?! And one of the best this year.<br />
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Appetizers: burrata (above) and "corn dogs"-- a breaded seafood sausage made out of lobster (and maybe crab? I should have grabbed a menu).<br />
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Debbie's scallops. Holy Toledo. I think they're over corn and tomato risotto?<br />
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Karen's lamb tenderloin (methinks...again...where's ze menu?).<br />
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Kerry's duck over polenta...<br />
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Another shot of the scallops, in case you missed them the first time!<br />
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My "pork two ways" -- tenderloin and shredded, with peaches and horseradish mashed potatoes. <br />
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Just a stellar meal! It was the perfect ending to a lovely trip. We headed out the next morning. Debbie and Kerry had a car, so they dropped us off at the airport in Montrose. (En route, we drove by Ralph Lauren's ranch, and I googled pictures...phancy!)<br />
<br />
KK and I were still talking gangbusters at the hotel, as we polished off the last of our wine and kettle corn.<br />
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Oh, yeah, and this was our view. Talk about going from the penthouse to the ****house!!<br />
<br />
But it was perfect, and we snagged our early morning flight.<br />
<br />
I'll close by "going full circle," just like you taught me to do with my writing:<br />
<br />
<i>You would have LOVED Telluride so much! Karen and I kept saying how we wished you'd been there. As much as I miss you, I know it makes you so happy that I enjoy spending time with your friends...and consider them my friends too.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Saudade,<br />
<br />
Lynsley </div>
Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-42087773311333631502014-09-06T04:53:00.000-04:002014-09-06T04:57:07.759-04:00At Home in New York<div align="center" class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; tab-stops: 65.25pt; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">A Guest Blog by Page Leggett</span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; tab-stops: 65.25pt; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; tab-stops: 65.25pt; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">Feeling
(surprisingly) at home in New York<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; tab-stops: 65.25pt; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;">(And desperately seeking a foot rub)<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div align="center" class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; tab-stops: 65.25pt; text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My friend, Lynsley, and
I didn’t grow up together, go to the same college (we weren’t even in college
in the same decade!) or work together. We met when I was on my way to meet
someone else. I was in a new job and got lost as I wandered, directionless, in
a lonely maze of cubicles. She pointed me to the right place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She also told me
about the date she had the night before. (It hadn’t gone well, but she was
already cheerfully thinking about an upcoming date with a different guy.) I
told her I was new at our company, and she said we should stay in touch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This would not be the
last time I would need directions from Lynsley. I was lost for much of the next
five years, and she patiently, lovingly and tirelessly helped set me on a new
path.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She and her sister,
Leigh Ann, are sort of known for offering suggestions, whether you’ve asked for
them or not. But I’ve been taking their advice for years. They really do know
best. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lynsley and Leigh Ann
are as generous of spirit as they are with their advice. Lynsley’s brave choice
to leave her corporate job and spend time traveling has kept her on the road, in
the air and away from her Hell’s Kitchen apartment. So, she’s been offering it
to friends. For <i>free.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was the beneficiary
of her largesse over Labor Day weekend, which is also Lynsley’s and my birthday
weekend. She offered – no, <i>encouraged</i>
– me to stay in her apartment for a couple of weeks. Instead, I crammed two
weeks’ worth of adventures into three-and-a-half days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Armed with pages of
notes, well wishes from the doormen she had alerted to my visit – and shoes
that were purported to be comfortable – I took on the formidable city. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Food
for thought<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For me, food is a central part of any trip. I plan the
rest of my schedule around meals. Well-informed sources had recommended Mario
Batali’s upscale seafood place, </span><a href="http://esca-nyc.com/"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Esca</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">; </span><a href="http://www.kellari.us/"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Kellari Taverna</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">, a
lovely Greek resto in the theater district; </span><a href="http://marseillenyc.com/"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Marseille</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">, a bustling French
bistro in Hell’s Kitchen; the library – or one of the dining rooms – at the
chic </span><a href="http://www.thenomadhotel.com/"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">NoMad Hotel</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> (known
for its craft cocktails) and the tiny, hip Lower East Side spot, </span><a href="http://www.acmenyc.com/"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Acme</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">. I didn’t make reservations;
I was solo and didn’t figure I needed to reserve a table for one. Being one
traveler, it’s easy to get at least a seat at the bar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lynsley had given me,
in eight pages of notes, the advice to wander her neighborhood and walk in any
place that looked appealing. On my first night in town, I strolled through Hell’s
Kitchen as I tried to get my bearings. I also let it sink in that I was a New
Yorker for the next few days. (A hybrid of a tourist and resident, but still.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was getting dark,
and I was getting hungry. </span><a href="http://ilfornonyc.com/"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Il
Forno</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> looked warm and welcoming, and I could’ve <i>sworn</i> it was on someone’s list of
recommendations. It wasn’t, but the simple roasted chicken and goat cheese orzo
were just about perfect. And my waiter, who told me it was his first night and
he was in training, was charming. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My San Francisco
friends, Danny and Daniel, were in New York for a wedding over Labor Day, and
we met for dinner between plays on Saturday. Like Lynsley, they believe that,
in New York, you can just start walking and stumble upon a restaurant that
looks interesting – and it will probably be incredible. We loved the dark
mystery of </span><a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/room-service-new-york-6"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Room
Service Thai</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> and walked in. One sip of my ginger-basil
mojito convinced me our random choice had been wise. Their pumpkin chicken
curry should be on <i>every</i> Thai menu. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="960" src="https://scontent-a-atl.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/10556536_10203853078159068_7757971557829450113_n.jpg?oh=e5edaf6e898326c97e28707dadd2f53a&oe=5495B133" style="height: 601px; width: 583px;" width="931" /></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I didn’t have a
friend recommend </span><a href="http://estelanyc.com/about/"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Estela</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">,
but I did see – just days in advance of my trip! – that <i>Bon Appetit</i> named it one of the best new restos of 2014. The pleasant
memory of the avocado, pancetta and egg on Danish pastry still lingers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xap1/v/t1.0-9/10609466_10203858745220741_5816383854287425093_n.jpg?oh=809a36cd3d592fd2de86325567614981&oe=5495A6A0&__gda__=1418750197_21b7d06d8e1ada9e41c3f07a4e8a85f7" style="height: 601px; width: 416px;" /></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Retail
therapy and aromatherapy<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I had made a special trip to NoLiTa (by cab – it was too
far for my tired feet to take me) for Estela. (I told you my itineraries
revolve around food.) But I didn’t want brunch to be <i>all</i> I did in that part of town. My waitress pointed me in the
direction of Elizabeth St., where I found one darling boutique after another.
And they weren’t all outrageously expensive. <i>Unlike </i>Barney’s, where I had gone two days prior to get my brows
done by the gentle master himself, </span><a href="http://robertsweetwilliamhalke.com/"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Robert Sweet William</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">.
Seriously. He’s an artist. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One accessories store
(which I <i>may</i> have walked in just to
enjoy the AC) had a small bottle of the most serene fragrance. I loved it all
the more because of its name: Aromatic Irritability Treatment. So much better
than “perfume” or “cologne.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When the shopkeeper
told me </span><a href="http://www.tataharperskincare.com/"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tata
Harper</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> is a wonderful woman who makes her all-natural elixirs
on her Vermont farm, I was hooked. Too bad she had just sold her <i>last</i> vial of irritability serum. Now, I
was on my way to being irritable. But the shopkeeper said, “You can just take
the sample.” I told her I felt guilty about taking it – it was still
three-fourths full – so she let me pay her (much discounted) cost. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="960" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/10623115_10203877327685291_6501992624678667478_n.jpg?oh=bd68c9ed5f85346474613a182e0a934f&oe=54A9A045&__gda__=1418121128_64dabff141bcd2e311b39ee8f49d8b20" style="height: 601px; width: 451px;" width="720" /></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">People who say New
Yorkers are rude – and the retailers snooty – may not have spent any actual
time in the New York I’ve gotten to know since taking up temporary residence. These
New Yorkers – the doormen who remember your name, the waiters who treat you
well even though you’re by yourself, the young waiters-in-training, the
retailers – started to feel like <i>my</i>
people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
play’s the thing<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Besides food, this trip was about theater. I saw as many
plays as I could cram into my schedule. <i><a href="http://herelieslove.com/">Here Lies Loves</a></i>, the David
Byrne-authored “poperatta” based on the life of Imelda Marcos (and set in a
discotheque where the audience becomes part of the action) was an unforgettable
night of theater and dance. I don’t mean I just watched the performers dance; <i>I danced</i>. The entire audience does. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="960" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/10620769_10203854041823159_4595407398214298682_n.jpg?oh=c74883e713e3df15df3433f32337a377&oe=549F1F26&__gda__=1419485330_b897a5188775afccaebc00c131b59cb3" style="height: 601px; width: 395px;" width="631" /></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The other play I saw
that day – <i>It’s Only A Play</i> – was only
so-so. But it was a thrill to see Matthew Broderick, Nathan Lane, Stockard
Channing, Megan Mullally, F. Murray Abraham and Rupert Grint on the same stage.
The sold-out house applauded wildly as each actor made his entrance. We even
applauded the <i>set </i>when the curtain
went up. New Yorkers are allegedly jaded – and maybe this crowd was made up of
nothing but tourists – but we were enthusiastically overcome by star power. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’d recommend the
electric <i>Sex with Strangers</i>, too, but
I saw the second-to-last performance of the David Schwimmer-directed play.
There was plenty of sex, as the title suggests, but the real drama comes from
the storyline about dating (and privacy) in the age of social media. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The twenty-something
woman sitting beside me told me she had seen the play <i>eight</i> times and would be seeing it again the day it closed. She
told me she’s a magnet for celebrities (so am I!) and we both gushed about
seeing Sally Field in the audience of <i>Sex
with Strangers</i>. I bumped into her again on the street two days later. New
York can feel like a small town, I discovered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://beautifulonbroadway.com/">Beautiful:
The Carole King Musical</a></span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> was, to quote one of her songs, “some
kind of wonderful.” The Tony-winning star was out of town over Labor Day, but I
can’t imagine she’s better than Rebecca LaChance, who played the role in her
stead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="640" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/10653858_10203859473758954_5115912733352827298_n.jpg?oh=3a7f236b9e47e6f0d0dae8fdf389caa2&oe=54911D01&__gda__=1419189527_ab9389ce61ba2139f018aee86c46aa60" style="height: 601px; width: 601px;" width="640" /></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="640" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/10425869_10203859821607650_3607187717251453295_n.jpg?oh=6f8003aa5e261bdbaa64a56b4f179c25&oe=54867DF8&__gda__=1419367662_3e0beb9914198d211ed882d799510072" style="height: 601px; width: 601px;" width="640" /></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve been back home for
three days, and my feet still hurt. (Those shoes were comfortable – up to a
point.) I walked, and I walked and then I walked some more. I walked the </span><a href="http://www.thehighline.org/"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">High Line</span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">. I
walked all over Broadway. I walked down Fifth Avenue and became one with the
crowd in Times Square. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I walked as if I
owned the city. And thanks to my generous friend, I felt – for a time – like I
did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-f-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/1908421_10203865594271963_3003953792355369836_n.jpg?oh=520081bddf63ab9c8a5b4ca5336b48ad&oe=54924816&__gda__=1419490630_8f9b6d44bf29e912d0fabb600f350dc3" style="height: 601px; width: 500px;" /></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="960" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-c-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpa1/v/t1.0-9/10452293_10203843600482132_5703605817952039208_n.jpg?oh=503908317216f73c04c8f558001ab846&oe=54A0CA00&__gda__=1420192022_315b276f4ac70c37b7a1d51e9b795253" style="height: 601px; width: 524px;" width="837" /></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="960" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xaf1/v/t1.0-9/1932472_10203843600762139_6034896813536354077_n.jpg?oh=ae8cd90ef83c00ce756adc0d20405e38&oe=54A09E26&__gda__=1419266193_35c52f1e93d1cccc019852e241900a40" style="height: 601px; width: 601px;" width="960" /></div>
<div class="yiv338060529msonormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" height="960" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-e-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/v/t1.0-9/10593113_10203843600242126_8209704789793850166_n.jpg?oh=9f7a2c19b481e75beea444e420ad90fc&oe=548B5275&__gda__=1419325829_d3cf2a36bdd58866d98ff7e01b4167b0" style="height: 601px; width: 451px;" width="720" /><br />
<br />
<i>Page Leggett is a freelance writer who lives in Charlotte. Or, as she puts it on LinkedIn -- she's a teller of tales, shaper of messages, and righter of grammatical wrongs. </i><br />
<img alt="" aria-busy="false" aria-describedby="fbPhotosSnowliftCaption" class="spotlight" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/310760_2228493803547_1223550917_n.jpg?oh=895daa794567f28941064a0b5b73aeae&oe=548C5DAB&__gda__=1418104674_3e051430a3d0153c3ca4f5ed0428b4cf" style="height: 601px; width: 399px;" /></div>
Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4092538749401362058.post-13560471608877013682014-08-22T13:57:00.000-04:002014-08-22T14:17:38.631-04:00Home is Where Your Shell IsDear Mom,<br />
<br />
Greetings from Telluride! Miss Karen and I keep saying how much you would have loved it here. We miss you so much.<br />
<br />
Here's the view from her brother Bill's condo:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCHR-UI0sSExnxb8lx69Zk0q2JEkXulwrh7Uytmz2UzF3AJhztl6jbJx94Y8EZjcfnzxeQzMrinZBBovYmqmVLmwJT2k6qk0I8kU8mzTPIT94vTnbroBTIrzRlNYN6GlYbyTPo_hbSB8/s1600/IMG_4598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCHR-UI0sSExnxb8lx69Zk0q2JEkXulwrh7Uytmz2UzF3AJhztl6jbJx94Y8EZjcfnzxeQzMrinZBBovYmqmVLmwJT2k6qk0I8kU8mzTPIT94vTnbroBTIrzRlNYN6GlYbyTPo_hbSB8/s1600/IMG_4598.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
Can you imagine a lovelier place to read, write and think? I'm in heaven! (And I would still be in my jammies if I hadn't walked to get us some morning pastries for breakfast.)<br />
<br />
Speaking of food, we had some really yummy nibbles on our first day, but those shots are on her camera, so they'll have to come in the next post.<br />
<br />
We will fly out of Montrose next Thursday, but I flew directly into Telluride, which Miss Patsy informed me is the highest airport in North America...and one of the 10 most dangerous in the world!<br />
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As I posted on Facebook, "Holy chit! If there are female pilots who land at the Telluride airport, they may be the only ladies alive with bigger nuts than Gretchen Mashburn."<br />
<br />
Gretchen responded that she appreciated the shout-out to her "very brassy, lezzy balls" and is currently obsessed with watching classic movies, inspired by Lauren Bacall's death. So far, she's taken in The African Queen, The Maltese Falcon, To Have and Have Not, and Casablanca, noting they are just as good the fifth time as they are the first. "CLEARLY Humphrey Bogart was AMAZING," she wrote. "Like my balls."<br />
<br />
How can you not just love someone who is so unique and so comfortable in her own skin?!<br />
<br />
Anyway, back to Telluride. What an absolutely delightful place! We are staying in Mountain Village, and you can ride the gondola down into the valley and explore the little town of Telluride. I didn't take my phone/camera the first day, as my battery was dead and I was trying to enjoy being offline a bit. But I did get a few more shots from here...<br />
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It's really a gorgeous condo, and I feel so lucky to be keeping Karen company. None of her kids could come out, so she needed a surrogate daughter for the week! And of course she and I can talk gangbusters about so many different topics. </div>
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Feeling so comfortable being here with her -- so at home -- made me realize "HOME" needed to be the topic of today's blog post, as you would have loved the little exchange with Miss Betty last week. </div>
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Most people know "MaBet" is obsessed with turtles. She found one in Michigan this summer... </div>
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She feeds them in her yard...</div>
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Everybody thinks of her when they see one. People send her photos when they find them...</div>
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(This one was really QUITE fascinating to moi. Almost like a little digital safari!)</div>
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I took this photo when I was at the Museum of Natural History in Maputo and sent it to her. <br />
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She will occasionally "mark" a turtle as a tribute to someone. When the CSS turtle suddenly showed up in her yard again in March, the very week we were selling your house, it was like a special little sign...</div>
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You were still "with us," and your spirit would always be alive and well on Highland Avenue. </div>
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And people who aren't churchy folks might laugh at us and say we're foolish to believe in such silly little "signs." But gosh -- if you don't believe in those funny little miracles of the world -- how do you get through life?!</div>
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Miss Betty and the turtles show all of us that there are little lessons all around us, nature is constantly teaching us things, if we just open our eyes a bit and use a little imagination. </div>
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And apparently there's even a "homing turtle" in the neighborhood. Someone found one and brought it over to M.B.'s "turtle sanctuary," but that turtle slowly found its way back to the yard where it had come from. How fascinating! Proof we will find and remain in our place, no matter how others try to transplant us or interfere.</div>
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As I read the book "Orphan Train" recently -- one of Miss Patsy's summer reading recommendations -- I was struck by this passage and had to pass it along to "M.B." </div>
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<i>"Turtles carry their homes on their backs. They're exposed and hidden at the same time. They're a symbol of strength and perseverance." </i></div>
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-- from <u>Orphan Train</u> by Christina Baker Kline</div>
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"I like this," she wrote back. "They are also hard but have a soft side. They are thinkers, slow to react, but once they decide it is full speed ahead. They are appreciative of the hand that feeds them. They are faithful. They also appreciate living in retirement mode."</div>
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And then she came back with a post script: "Please note they carry their homes on their backs and not their house. There is a big difference."</div>
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Then I pasted a quote I'd gotten from a friend at work: </div>
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“Home is people. Not a place. If you go back there after the people are gone, then all you can see is what is not there any more.” ― Robin Hobb</div>
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Well, why let yourself be topped by some person we don't even know?! Our beloved friend and neighbor, and the wisest fourth grade teacher in our little community, our MaBet delivered her winning shot: </div>
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<b><i>"The Home that you can carry with you is the love that you received from your people." - MaBet</i></b></div>
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Wow! Doesn't that just say it all? I think it's why I feel so grounded, so at peace these days. Even though there's a lot of sadness from your loss -- and time is healing that wound, as it always does -- it was such a gift to spend so much time in Quincy as we slowly said goodbye to you. Because Leigh Ann and I renewed our ties to our hometown. We came to terms with the special place that raised us.</div>
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We realized you can indeed have roots and wings in life. That home is where your shell is. </div>
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In fact -- I wonder if finding that balance isn't key for all of us? Coming to terms with our roots, embracing the way we were raised, understanding what made our parents tick? </div>
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I think it's more essential for some of us than others. Obviously, I'm a bit more -- oh, I don't think there is a word -- I'll just invent one: polycasamous -- than most. (See: polyamorous, polygamous...and throw in <i>casa</i> as your new root word for home.) Is there a real word for this? If so, please advise! I guess I could just say nomadic, but that's not quite it. </div>
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Nevertheless, I was emailing with a friend this week who said he <i>needs </i>to stay far from home, that home for him wasn't and isn't a safe place. And I know there are many people who feel that way...who fill in the void with friends when their blood family just doesn't get it. </div>
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Because.... </div>
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And knowing that, embracing that, was one of the most beautiful things to me about the way you raised me. You embraced such a generous definition of family -- or, as I call it, "frelatives" -- it gave you such joy to know that your girls loved being surrounded by an intergenerational community -- that we sought that, we craved it, and we created it for ourselves in Charlotte. </div>
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It's that hunger for belonging, feeling welcome, having a place, knowing you are loved, invited, included, expected to show up. </div>
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You taught us to find it at church; other people find it through clubs or their jobs or sports or other outlets. And some people, sadly, lives their lives in the same place and never really find it. </div>
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For years, Leigh Ann and I weren't in Quincy for Thanksgiving, as it was too far to travel for such a short holiday, since bankers didn't get Fridays off. And sometimes you'd come to Charlotte, but often, you'd stay and eat with Miss Betty and Miss Karen, an honorary member of the "extended Suber clan." </div>
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And I think that theology of abundance, of inclusion, of the loaves and the fishes -- that no matter how many people show up, there's always room for one more -- should be at the heart of what it means to be a Christian. </div>
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Now...we do not always hit that mark, do we?! We come up with silly, earthly rules to exclude others. We make up dress codes and age limits and gender roles and find all sorts of other ways to leave out people. It's little more than a grown-up equivalent of this: </div>
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I've fallen in love with the Humans of New York posts on Facebook; I know you would have loved them too. This week, the writer is in Africa, and there have been some that are so delightfully universal... I loved this one, given the history of Coca-Cola in Quincy: </div>
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Or this one...which any mama can embrace...<br />
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And then there's this one -- about the concept of home, finding a place for yourself, feeling embraced and included -- which feels just the same in Kinshasa as it does in Quincy. </div>
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Feeding others, making them feel welcome, included, that they have a place at the table -- that's what it means to create a home. </div>
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When we were growing up, you always cooked a little extra. If there were six pork chops in the package, you'd go ahead and cook the extra two -- just in case somebody stopped by, or someone wanted a little extra. And if no one ate them, Dad would always polish them off at lunch the next day. </div>
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I know your generous spirit is why James Scott loved you so much; whenever you cooked us supper at the farm, you always had a plate for him. It's why Cookie and Mattie were so attached to you. Because even when you were so sick, when you weren't eating enough, you wanted to make sure they were fed. </div>
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Thanks be to God for all of those who fed our family -- literally and figuratively -- to the people who welcome me in, who make me feel included, who give me a place at their table, a bed in their condo, an air mattress on their floor. May I be radically generous enough to return the favor, to remember always that home is people, not a place. </div>
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Because home is where you park your shell -- whether it's for a night, a week, a year, or a lifetime. </div>
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Saudade,</div>
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Lynsley </div>
Lynshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00696577423213942574noreply@blogger.com1