tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13297105921344769022024-03-18T22:26:26.862-06:00my thoughts exactlyWhy would you want to live a safe life, anyway?Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-80767811954612595662013-12-31T18:05:00.000-06:002013-12-31T18:05:08.816-06:00Chasing JoyHello from the past, y'all! I'm writing this in the early days of January 2013, full of the whimsy and hope of a new year - the kind that makes you feel like anything is possible, and that you're DEFINITELY going to succeed at achieving all your goals, and you are FOR SURE not going to fail. I felt this year needed a shove in the right direction, so I made a list of things (big and small) that I hope to do/accomplish/experience in 2013. Many are part of my commitment to <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/p/the-year-of-why-not.html" target="_blank">The Year of Why Not?</a> and, as I write today in January, there are things on this list that seem impossible. But here we go. I've added a few things throughout the year, but nothing has been deleted. Shtuff just got real, y'all. I'm publishing my successes and failures for all the Interwebs to see.<br />
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Please don't judge me.<br />
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<b>In 2013...</b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #38761d;">1. Find a church home and group of people to live life with - and then get up in each other's bidness (in a good, making-me-better kind of way) </span>- </b>This came later in the year than I wanted, but I'm really thankful for the people I can call friends today. You are all making me better.<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-weight: bold;">2. Watch less than 2 hours of TV per weekday </span><b>- </b>Ahem. No, this did not consistently happen. I love my shows, y'all. Please forgive me. I'll try again next year.<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000; font-weight: bold;">3. Read 1 book/month for pleasure</span><b> - </b>So, TECHNICALLY, no, I didn't accomplish this. But I came really close and read more this year than I have in a long time, which has been amazing. Check out my reading list below!<br />
<ul>
<li><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bonhoeffer-Pastor-Martyr-Prophet-Spy/dp/1595552464/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1385053412&sr=1-1&keywords=bonhoeffer+pastor.+martyr.+prophet.+spy" target="_blank">Bonhoeffer</a></u> by Eric Metaxas (****/*****)</li>
<li><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Water-Elephants-Novel-Sara-Gruen/dp/1565125606/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1385053382&sr=1-1&keywords=water+for+elephants" target="_blank">Water for Elephants</a></u> by Sara Gruen (****/*****)</li>
<li><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Paris-Wife-A-Novel/dp/0345521315" target="_blank">The Paris Wife</a></u> by Paula McLain (****/*****)</li>
<li><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Wild-Found-Pacific-Crest-Vintage/dp/0307476073/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1385053433&sr=1-1&keywords=wild+cheryl+strayed" target="_blank">Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail</a></u> by Cheryl Strayed (***/*****)</li>
<li><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Unwind-Dystology-Neal-Shusterman/dp/1416912053/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1385053460&sr=1-1&keywords=unwind" target="_blank">Unwind</a></u> by Neil Shusterman (**/*****)</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Road-Cormac-McCarthy/dp/0307387895/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1385053509&sr=1-1&keywords=the+road" target="_blank">The Road</a> by Cormac McCarthy (***/*****)</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Allegiant-Divergent-Veronica-Roth/dp/006202406X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1385053551&sr=1-1&keywords=allegiant+veronica+roth" target="_blank">Allegiant</a> by Veronica Roth (***/*****)</li>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Network-Like-Introvert-thinking-relationships/dp/0981081673" target="_blank">Network Like an Introvert</a> by Tim Klabunde (**/*****)</li>
<li><a href="http://www.thepowerofintroverts.com/" target="_blank">Quiet</a> by Susan Cain (****/*****)</li>
<li>Plus one other book I left in Nicaragua that I couldn't remember the name of <i>to.save.my.life</i>! It was really good. Wish I could recommend it to you...</li>
</ul>
<span style="color: #38761d;"><b>4. Travel!</b></span> - I'm SO EXCITED about this one. This year, we visited a lot of places these eyes had never seen before - NYC, Knoxville, Nicaragua, Hong Kong. I LOVE exploring new places. Love. It. Next up (hopefully!) is London and Amsterdam in the Spring! What <i>what</i>!!<br />
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-weight: bold;">5. Take dance lessons</span><b> - </b><a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/01/leaders-and-followers.html" target="_blank">Donesky</a>. Intro to ballroom + Intro to Latin Ballroom. Ask me how to Foxtrot. I can totally do it.<br />
<b><span style="color: #cc0000;">6. Start doing Pilates</span> -</b> I don't even get how I failed so miserably here. I love Pilates. <i>And</i> having abs.<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>7. Hike at least 2x/month</b> </span>- :( Could we make hiking up the stairs to my apartment count...?<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>8. Write for pleasure at least 2x/month</b></span> - Blech. Maybe next year. But I'm getting closer.<br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">9. Cook together (with more than 3 ingredients)</span> </b>- I guess I didn't specify how often this should be happening, so I can say I did it, even if it was just a handful of times, right? Right?!<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><b>10. Find the joy in today</b></span> - This has been one of the biggest reasons 2013 has been one of the greatest years of my life. Enjoying today has given me hope and positivity I didn't have before. Check out these posts: <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/06/dear-life.html" target="_blank">Dear Life</a>, <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/08/dear-life-2.html" target="_blank">Dear Life (Part 2)</a><br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">11. Keep saying Yes! to life</span> </b>- Um, yeah. If I may, I'd like to use this point as an excuse for not accomplishing some of the others on this list. Extending <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/p/the-year-of-why-not.html" target="_blank">The Year of Why Not?</a> to 2013 has kept me really busy, guys...<br />
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<b><span style="color: #38761d;">12. Start planning The Trip</span> </b>- Yup. More to come...<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><b>13. Go to NYC for the first time</b></span> - Been there. Done that. Wrote the <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/05/red-shoe-stories.html" target="_blank">blog</a>.<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><b>14. Watch a Broadway show</b></span> - See above. Check! Newsies was amazing!<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><b>15. Stay in a hostel</b></span> - Yep! <a href="http://www.hopinn.hk/" target="_blank">Hop Inn</a>. $40/night for a dorm room in Tsim Sha Tsui neighborhood of Hong Kong.<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><b>16. Go camping</b></span> - We did a <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/03/adventures-in-arkansas.html" target="_blank">3-day backpacking trek</a> with the <a href="http://www.northtexasopc.com/" target="_blank">North Texas Outdoor Pursuit Center</a> to the Ouichita National Forest in Arkansas. Yes and amen.<br />
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<span style="color: #38761d;"><b>17. Be open to new friendships</b></span> - This has been one of the hardest to do this year. But I am surrounded by amazing people who have made my life brighter and happier. My introversion and fear of rejection never stood a chance against the beauty of friendship.<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>18. Ride the Megabus</b></span> - Not yet...<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><b>19. Be more positive than negative</b></span> - Try it. It will change your life.<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><b>20. Laugh more than you cry</b></span> - Unless you count the crying from laughing at <a href="http://www.wimp.com/bananafrustration/" target="_blank">this video</a>, I think I accomplished this. I have my friends and family (and <a href="http://www.wimp.com/" target="_blank">www.wimp.com</a>) to thank for that.<br />
<b><span style="color: #cc0000;">21. Cut school debt AT LEAST in half</span> </b>- Well, we didn't cut it in half, but it's down by at least a third, and that ain't bad! 2014 will be a debt-slaying year!<br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">22. Do something that terrifies you</span> </b>- Yes, times five, at least. For examples, click <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/11/travels-bikes-and-beaches.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/07/fear-you-are-dismissed.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>23. Get healthy</b></span> - I'm working on this one, but I'm not there yet. With the help of a personal trainer friend and a list of goals like this, my health and heart condition are even more important to get a handle on. I've been weight training, but still have a ways to go before I can say I'm healthy. Get ready, 2014. I'm coming for you.<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><b>24. Write your first travel blogs</b></span> - Check out my posts about <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/05/red-shoe-stories.html" target="_blank">NYC</a>, <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/03/adventures-in-arkansas.html" target="_blank">Arkansas</a> and <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/09/travels-miscommunicating-in-nicaragua.html" target="_blank">Nicaragua</a>. Next up, Hong Kong! Much more to come!<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><b>25. Move downtown</b></span> - My husband has called this one the best decision we've made in our whole marriage, and he was NOT sold on the idea when I pitched it. He's loving urban life like I knew he would! So miracles have happened this year. We're pretty pumped to be out of the 'burbs and enjoying Dallas' energy.<br />
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This year has challenged me in ways I've never been challenged. But it also changed me - like, the deep, deep parts of me. Or rather, brought out the me that is really ME. Free and optimistic and eager. It started as a list of goals, but turned into a way of living that made me forget about the goals and just chase after my joy. I didn't accomplish everything I set out to do, but I experienced a few things I didn't even know I <i>could</i> have put on my list, like dancing barefoot in the streets of Hong Kong at 5am with people from all over the world who I'd met less than a week earlier. This <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/p/the-year-of-why-not.html" target="_blank">why not? philosophy</a> wasn't who I was at the beginning. It was a choice - and often one I didn't want to make. There were many times I initially said no to a new opportunity and, seeing my hesitation and fear, my husband and friends challenged and pushed me out of my comfort zone, and then watched me twirl around in the freedom of it all. It wasn't all roses and backpacks and glee. It was also hard and stressful and exhausting at times. But still better than living safely.<br />
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Looking back, I'm just thankful. And looking forward, I feel like there's only adventure up ahead. Who knows what I'll add to the list in 2014!<br />
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<b>Looking back on 2013, what was your biggest surprise and/or accomplishment? What are 3 things you hope to accomplish or experience next year?</b>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-11159290499325447442013-12-19T21:43:00.000-06:002017-07-12T11:02:51.515-05:00Travels : Church and WafflesWe walked through the streets of the little town we weren't familiar with, passing families on bicycles, children playing in the road, and old women sweeping their porches. Sometimes, a stray dog would follow us for a stretch, but I think even they began to realize we were lost. Getting around Granada on foot was... difficult. We quickly discovered that street addresses aren't a thing in Nicaragua, and most homes and buildings don't have numbers on them. There are street names, but when they sometimes stretch on for a mile or two, you really need to already know where you're going if you want to get there on the first try. Directions are given by landmarks, so if you want to get to the grocery store, it's about 4 blocks toward the lake, next to the pharmacy. If you're looking for a salon, you need to walk 3 blocks that way, and it's across from the Bolivar family's home.<br />
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That's perfect if you know the Bolivars. We, however, do not.<br />
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It was Wednesday, and we were headed (we hoped) to a church called <a href="http://www.thebridgegranada.org/" target="_blank">El Puente</a>. The owner of <a href="http://bicimaximo.com/" target="_blank">Bicimaximo</a>, Baker, told me about El Puente when we Skyped just before our trip. He had come to Granada several years ago for a short-term mission with the organization and is now a part of the church that has sprung out of it. The way Baker described El Puente and what they were doing in Granada convinced me that I had to see it for myself. So Wednesday morning, we woke up early, took another look at the "directions" to the church building, and set out. We walked half a block in the wrong direction, then turned around and set out again.<br />
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We found ourselves in a residential area, a side of Granada we hadn't explored yet, and one with a 0% population of tourists. The homes were simple, with small yards, concrete walls, and tan faces looking at us like we were clearly not in the right place.<br />
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We were walking for what felt like way too long before deciding to stop and ask directions. I dreaded that, simply because my Spanish was usually only good enough to get me and the person I was speaking to thoroughly confused. I felt a little like Troop Beverly Hills tromping through their streets in my bright purple running shoes and Patagonia backpack, but the Nicas were kind and helpful and overcame my Spanglish and the palpable American-ness that annoyed even me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note to self: All your super cool gear makes you look like a privileged fool in the real world.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/" name="more"></a>We were pointed in the right direction (several blocks back the way we came) and eventually were stopped by someone else asking if we were looking for the iglesia. We breathed a sigh of relief and thanked God that Nicaragua was taking care of us.<br />
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We were met outside by Bethany, an El Puente staffer from Springfield, Missouri, who spent the day showing us around. The building didn't look like a church, but when we walked inside, it felt like one.<br />
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We walked through the building to a courtyard in the back with trees, beautiful flower bushes, and a few small structures strewn around the yard. One was a workshop, two were housing for their volunteers. A gaggle of kids about 8 or 9 ducked under my arm and ran shrieking and laughing through the yard as we stood and took it in. This was a place full of life. I told Bethany it felt like a little oasis in the dusty city.<br />
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One of the older kids rang a bell on the back porch and we started ambling into the main building where the service was about to start. We found seats near the back, and I was taken aback when I recognized a face - our <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/11/travels-bikes-and-beaches.html" target="_blank">Bicimaximo tour</a> guide, Francisco. He greeted us with the same warm smile he'd worn the entire day before.<br />
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A small band was set up in the corner of the room playing songs in Spanish. We recognized some of the tunes and sang along in English when we could, but I mostly just watched. It brought me so much joy, after seeing some of the hardness and poverty of Granada, to see a roomful of people singing and clapping and dancing together with huge smiles on their faces. This was a special place.<br />
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After the service, we walked back into the yard and started talking with Mario, the man who had pointed us to El Puente's doors. He explained how much El Puente meant to him and his family, and how it really changed his life. As he spoke, I noticed his accent was hardly detectable. I sensed a story and asked him to please tell me what it was. Two sentences in, I asked him to stop and start over, so I could let you hear it first hand.<br />
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This is Mario's story:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="283" mozallowfullscreen="" src="//player.vimeo.com/video/82346542" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe><br />
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After our morning with El Puente, we hit up an amazing waffle house with Bethany. Rob had met the previous owner, an American man in his 70s maybe, while eating breakfast at the cafe where we stayed. <a href="http://kathyswafflehouse.com/" target="_blank">Kathy's Waffle House</a> is named after his late wife, and now this fellow lives in Nicaragua on his own - although he's sort of Granada-famous, so he probably has lots of friends. All I could picture was my grandpa living alone in a foreign country, and I wanted to give him a hug. I also wanted to stay an extra week and write a story about him because he seemed totally content but also still a bit sad and tired.<br />
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Bethany and I had the most enormous, comforting bowls of oatmeal I'd ever seen, and while we ate, she told us about life in Nicaragua. She's been in Granada for two and a half years, after what was supposed to be just a four-month stint with El Puente. That seems to be a trend... She handles a lot of the administrative and operational tasks for the organization, and she has a smile that makes you smile. While she has so many stories of sweet friendships and breakthrough moments with women she's mentoring, her experience hasn't been all roses and cervesas. It's been hard and lonely and sometimes feels like an uphill battle to invest in a city that's full of struggle. But the love she has for Granada is contagious, and I got up from lunch feeling like maybe we should move to Nicaragua for, like, a month or two. Or maybe forever. I could get used to breakfast at Kathy's.<br />
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Our next stop with Bethany was a small community called El Pantanal on the outskirts of Granada. Translated, it means 'the swamp.' It's an area of town that floods with every heavy rain, so the streets are mostly dirt with large potholes filled with murky water.<br />
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We took a taxi to the neighborhood, where El Puente is doing weekly outreach programs. Just behind the last row of homes, and behind a gate watched by a guard and a lazy dog, the buildings disappear and we looked out over acres and acres of open land. In the distance, Volcano Mombacho was breathtakingly humongous and intimidating.<br />
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Bethany pointed to a structure a few hundred yards out and told us it's the site of El Puente's pre-school. Eventually, the area will be the site of the <a href="http://createdtobe.org/" target="_blank">Granada Christian Education Center</a>.<br />
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El Pantanal has some of the worst education statistics in Central America. Primary school dropout rates in Nicaragua are somewhere around 50%. Can I say that again? <b>About half of kids in Nicaragua don't finish elementary school.</b> In the poorest areas, like El Pantanal, those numbers are even worse. El Puente hopes to bring education closer to the neighborhood, and hopefully encourage kids and families in El Pantanal to stay in the system. With poverty rates as high as they are there, it will be a challenge. Finding ways for every family member to bring a little bit of income to the home often becomes a higher priority than education, and I can't say I don't get it. If it's food or books, what would you choose? But there is much that can be done to help, and El Puente, and other organizations like it, are doing all they can to revive El Pantanal.<br />
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Check out this video or head to the <a href="http://createdtobe.org/" target="_blank">website</a> to learn a bit more about it.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" height="281" mozallowfullscreen="" src="//player.vimeo.com/video/49129511" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe>
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We spent an hour walking the site, and I tried to picture what it might look like with dozens of kids squealing and playing, and with teachers huddled around desks teaching reading and writing and art. (When I imagine school, I like to imagine it without math.) I pictured those kids going home with full bellies and minds and being excited to tell their siblings what they learned at school. It gave me so much more hope as we walked back through the streets of El Pantanal. This is the hub of crime and poverty in Granada, but there is no place without hope.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQh9QlhB4fcVCXH6Gc-PYPqcIYpT5D4pLTr6HfPKlqIJ7XHuTuBYYoQeuDovTJTk7Al_rA1qO1haSk99aUTU13CvlcJIniXIR1VCxA-rydlYXUozTvKjjiY-aihtxDZxL14YB_NqRwtKJ/s1600/2013-09-20+16.27.40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQh9QlhB4fcVCXH6Gc-PYPqcIYpT5D4pLTr6HfPKlqIJ7XHuTuBYYoQeuDovTJTk7Al_rA1qO1haSk99aUTU13CvlcJIniXIR1VCxA-rydlYXUozTvKjjiY-aihtxDZxL14YB_NqRwtKJ/s640/2013-09-20+16.27.40.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bethany</td></tr>
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Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-4485099819924439832013-12-16T20:10:00.000-06:002014-01-03T09:32:19.391-06:001,000 Words : Doors of GranadaBar none, my favorite thing about Nicaragua, and Granada specifically, was the vibrant colors I saw everywhere in the city. Sorry America, but we just don't do color the way they do.<br />
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As we walked through Granada, I couldn't stop staring at the doors. What we often consider a functional afterthought in the States, Nicaragua makes the centerpiece of the home. They are tall, sometimes ornate, sometimes simple, but almost always in a hue I didn't know existed. Here are some of my favorite doorways I saw walking through the streets of Granada.<br />
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A few more posts still to come about our time in Nicaragua! In case you missed it, check out my post about our <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/11/travels-bikes-and-beaches.html" target="_blank">bicycle adventure with Bicimaximo</a> and consider <a href="http://bicimaximo.com/get-involved/" target="_blank">donating to their cause</a>! Also, a documentary called Second Cycles recently premiered that features the work that Bicimaximo is doing in Granada. I'll post more about it when it's released in the States!<br />
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<br />Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-37147381637428483242013-11-21T22:13:00.002-06:002017-09-15T15:15:40.584-05:00Travels: Bikes and BeachesHey strangers! I never finished telling you about Nicaragua - and there's so much to tell! But I also have stories from my trip to Hong Kong spilling out of my ears! To avoid geographical whiplash, I'm staying in Nicaragua for now. I have a few more stories to tell you before we head east to work groups and hostels and new friendships in China.<br />
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So come back with me to Granada.<br />
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Have you ever been somewhere altogether foreign, but also incredibly familiar? As we biked our way back to Granada from Laguna de Apoyo (about 16km) with Bicimaximo, we saw farm land and dirt roads blocked by stubborn cows. The smells, the flat green fields, the shouts in Spanish, and the cattle standing behind fences a small gust of wind could destroy gave me a flashback to home - where I grew up in small-town California on the border of Mexico. It was a strange moment. I was nearly 4,800km from that little border town in the armpit of the West Coast, but straddling my bike on a dirt road in another small town in Nicaragua, it felt the same. It was the tropical version of what I think of when I hear the word "home." It was comforting. And a little bit smelly.<br />
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Not so comforting were the bruises on my hind quarters after the long bike ride into town...<br />
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But let me back up. Bicimaximo was recommended to us by our host at the <a href="http://www.vrbo.com/356605" target="_blank">Garden Cafe</a>. We stayed in their back room, and it was absolutely lovely.<br />
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The owners are a young gentleman from California and his Nicaraguan wife. They run an amazing restaurant and store, and they know basically every expat in the city. There were a surprising amount of restaurant and business owners who were not Nicas, but found the beauty in the country and decided to stay. Or maybe they also found a little piece of home. Damien gave us a list of things to do in the city, and taking a bike tour with <a href="http://bicimaximo.com/tour-with-us/la-ruta-laguna/" target="_blank">Bicimaximo</a> was on the list.<br />
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Clicking on the link in his e-mail changed our trip.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>I started reading through their website looking for a tour, and quickly realized this was more than a bike tour company. My fingers immediately began typing out an e-mail and arranging a call with the owner, Baker, a twenty-something guy from Virginia who simply has a heart to see the community in Granada thrive. He came to Nicaragua intending to stay for 9 months to work with a missions organization, <a href="http://www.thebridgegranada.org/" target="_blank">El Puente</a>. (More about them in another post!) Three and a half years later, his vision for Bicimaximo is big, and goes far beyond meeting practical needs - although that is perhaps the most beautiful thing about it.<br />
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One thing you should know about Granada is that it has a bike culture. I'll just say that I was much more likely to be hit by a bike walking around town than a car. (Although I was pretty sure both would happen by the end of the trip.) Most people in town have a bike and use it as their primary means of transportation. We often saw several people loaded onto a single bike and wondered why we ever thought our family's minivan wasn't big enough. Good grief. All that to say, bicycles - quality ones - are incredibly important to the daily lives of Nicas in Granada.<br />
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Bicimaximo was started by bike-loving fellows. You can read a lot more about them on the <a href="http://bicimaximo.com/bikes/" target="_blank">website</a>. They started Bicimaximo as a repair shop after seeing the need for quality bikes in the town. Most that were being sold and repaired in the markets were very likely to break within a week of purchase. So the repair shop was born. They bought old bikes, stripped them down to the frames and replaced the decrepit parts with high-quality parts. (That is the extent of my knowledge about bicycles and their parts. No questions, please.)<br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1329710592134476902" name="more"></a>But bike repair wasn't the end goal. Bicimaximo is training local bike mechanics and providing jobs to those who need them. Ultimately, their goal is to create an internship program for locals coming out of a 6-month drug and alcohol rehab program in an effort to provide job experience and practical skills to individuals needing stability and, frankly, someone to invest in them and their future.<br />
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The bike shop is located on the main square, El Parque Central, and now provides bike repair, bike rentals, and guided tours of the city and surrounding areas.<br />
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Because of my heart condition, I explained to Baker that their mellow <a href="http://bicimaximo.com/tour-with-us/city-tour-2/" target="_blank">bike tour through Granada</a> followed by the opportunity to make tortillas with an (I'm sure) adorable Nica woman was probably the best route for me to go. His recommendation: Take the longer, harder tour to Laguna de Apoyo, a crater lake 16km from the shop, because it's totally worth it.<br />
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I laughed. (No, I did.)<br />
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After a few minutes of explaining that I was weak and that I'm not a cyclist and that I love tortillas and that slow is better and that I don't even particularly <i>like</i> riding bikes, I signed up for the longer and more challenging <a href="http://bicimaximo.com/tour-with-us/la-ruta-laguna/" target="_blank">Ruta Laguna tour</a> and was SO pumped. It was another <i><a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/p/the-year-of-why-not.html" target="_blank">why not?</a></i> moment - what can I say? Baker did take my heart issues seriously and <i>very</i> kindly rearranged the tour so that we would be biking several miles DOWN hills instead of several miles UP hills. One more point for Bicimaximo.<br />
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On the morning of our trek, we arrived at the bike shop and met Francisco, our guide and an incredibly sweet guy who grew up in Granada. His English was amazing, and I don't think he stopped smiling the entire day. We hopped in the back of an unmarked car (a common thread through our trip in Nicaragua...) and started the drive up to the San Simian Resort, where we would spend the next few hours kayaking in a crater lake about 6 miles across.<br />
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Oh, right. Did I mention that an AMAZING afternoon at a place that looks like <i>this</i> was included in our tour?!<br />
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I mean, really. Come on.<br />
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After having a lazy lunch and a drink or two at the bar, we met a Dutch couple staying in a bungalow at the resort and talked about our travels. It was perfection. Eventually, Francisco had to peel us out of our beach chairs and we set off on our bikes. We biked part of the way around the rim of the crater, and you guys, it was stunning.<br />
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We biked over gravel and dirt roads, dodging potholes and stopping for cattle and children. A couple of times, I had to stop to let my heart rest, and we just sat soaking in the beauty and rawness of Nicaragua. Horses were literally running through the fields next to us. It felt like a strange kind of Disney movie.<br />
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When we got closer to town, we passed through neighborhoods we probably wouldn't walk through after dark. But at that time, there were children playing in the streets, many of whom grinned and shouted "Francisco! Hola!" as we pedaled by. This at once brought a huge smile to my face. Then as I looked closely at the children, my heart broke, too. But they didn't seem to notice that their feet were tough and bare, or that their homes didn't have a whole roof, or that the odds of them making it past elementary school were not in their favor. They were laughing and singing and shouting "Hola!" I shouted back "Como estan amigos?" and they usually answered with a bunch of words I didn't know. But they said it with a smile I still envy today. Simplicity can be joy.<br />
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As we pedaled past, we suddenly found ourselves on paved roads and surrounded by a LOT of bikes and cars moving in ways that didn't make any sense to me. It was a short ride back to the shop, but I'm surprised I didn't arrive back with skinned knuckles from the cars that passed inches from my handlebars. I don't have a reputation for being able to stay upright on bicycles, so I really do thank the good Lord I didn't get in a bike-on-bike or bike-on-car or bike-on-dirt wreck that day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAG9A-S6NbWY2F30D3JQalGnX-9h5KMa_3au6jyULFLvgpq-DWW8JUHQATVb4hp40Ojju739Avyo6IbC2jyqPmahJ3IdzXcAR2mLkvAWc9Z3Ns3aBj1sYQrfiUhVTU2JECP4JDvXBnOLfH/s1600/Bicimaximo+Shop+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAG9A-S6NbWY2F30D3JQalGnX-9h5KMa_3au6jyULFLvgpq-DWW8JUHQATVb4hp40Ojju739Avyo6IbC2jyqPmahJ3IdzXcAR2mLkvAWc9Z3Ns3aBj1sYQrfiUhVTU2JECP4JDvXBnOLfH/s400/Bicimaximo+Shop+5.jpg" width="300" /></a>But I really think I saw the beauty of Nicaragua in just 7 hours with Bicimaximo. And for that, I am incredibly grateful.<br />
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Check out <a href="http://bicimaximo.com/" target="_blank">Bicimaximo's website</a> and, if you ever find yourself in Granada, look for them next to the Catedral on Parque Central and get yourself signed up for one of their tours. I promise you will be glad you did. They have tours ranging from the lovely City Tour I was planning to take to a new <a href="http://bicimaximo.com/tour-with-us/8-day-cycling-adventure/" target="_blank">8-day cycling adventure</a> that will take you all over the country. Maybe next time!<br />
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While their goal is operational self-sufficiency, Bicimaximo also accepts donations. I would personally LOVE to see the vision that Baker and his team have for the company come to fruition. I hope you'll consider contributing to their goal. Check out opportunities to help <a href="http://bicimaximo.com/get-involved/" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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If you want to get to know them better, like them on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/bicimaximo" target="_blank">Facebook</a>, and follow them on <a href="http://instagram.com/bicimaximo" target="_blank">Instagram</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/Bicimaximo" target="_blank">Twitter</a>! (@Bicimaximo)<br />
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Stay tuned for more from Nicaragua!!Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-74875235414580050282013-09-28T12:10:00.001-05:002017-09-15T15:08:35.919-05:00Travels : Miscommunicating in NicaraguaThis was not like vacations we've taken in the past. It wasn't white sandy beaches and posh restaurants and boutiques. It wasn't room service and English and towel animals on the bed with a mint.<br />
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It was slow lines through customs at 1 a.m. with a heavy backpack. It was finding our name on a handwritten poster, then walking through the doors into rain and people shouting "taxi! taxi! taxi!" inches from your face, while the humidity curled your hair. It was sweaty and colorful and sometimes hard to look the kids in the eye. It was green and lush and kind. It was electric and beautiful in its rawness.<br />
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This was very unlike our past vacations, but it was so much more of an adventure.<br />
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When we stepped off the plane, English stopped being my primary language. We failed (FAILED.) to do much/any studying of our Spanish before we left, so what I could recall from my 3 years of high school classes were what we relied on. That, and the kindness of strangers and a sign language we made up on the spot. It was hard.<br />
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It made me think about all of the people around me every day in Dallas who don't speak the language well. We sometimes tend to get frustrated when they can't communicate with us. "This is America! Speak English!" we say. *eye roll* But wow, it's hard to be on the other side. Harder than I would have thought. And isolating.<br />
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Can we please all agree to be kinder to people who are struggling to communicate?<br />
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No one said to me, "This is Nicaragua! Speak better Spanish!" I was met by kind smiles at best and confused ones at worst. They asked if they could practice their English with me. They helped me use the little bit of Spanish I know correctly, so I didn't sound like a dang fool. They were patient and wanted to understand.<br />
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It occurred to me while I struggled to string basic sentences together that it is nearly impossible to convey your personality, your intelligence, and your heart when the language isn't your own. You become sort of generic. It feels like you've lost your identity; that you have to boil yourself down to the phrases you know, and speak the rest with your body and your smile.<br />
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My husband (a talker to his core) struggled even more because, when we arrived in the country, the extent of his Spanish vocabulary was "yes," "no," and "beer." The latter resulted in a miscommunication that led our taxi driver to stop at a very seedy convenience store at 1 a.m. to buy him a <i>cervesa</i>. He just meant that he was pumped to enjoy a few on the trip - not that he expected one on the car ride to our guest room. By the end of the week and with a lot of tutoring - a little from me, but mostly from waiters and tour guides - he didn't feel quite so mute. I rely on him for a lot of things, but he was forced to rely on me that week to negotiate taxi fares, order food and translate costs. It was hard for both of us, and exhausting to have my poor Spanish skills relied upon so heavily, but it was also empowering as all get-out.<br />
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In all, I felt that Granada was a city of contrasts. Contrasting colors in the doors and walls and streets, contrasting lives of the rich and poor, and the contrasting purity of nature and grime of the markets. (Check out the short video below to see the bright and shiny part of the market.)<br />
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As we walked down a road, nicknamed Gringo Alley, a couple of blocks from our room, we almost felt like we were back in the States. We heard English in varying accents; we saw pale faces and blonde hair; there were clean stores with air conditioning. It was really comforting for a minute, but so very manufactured. We asked one of the locals that we actually <i>could </i>find, "Where do the Nicas eat in town?" We were told without hesitation that there weren't any local Nicaraguan restaurants because Nicaraguans don't eat at restaurants. They can't afford it. The whole street scene had been set up for us. The locals tried to sell us wooden birds and bracelets while we ate the food they couldn't buy. I'd never felt so American in my life.<br />
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It was a place full of strange contradictions. At first glance, it was overwhelming and dusty, but everywhere we went, we found smiles and were greeted with a wave and a "buenas!" Nicaragua stole my heart and reminded me that adventure will almost always take you out of your comfort zone and is always worth the challenge.<br />
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I have more stories to tell, y'all, but I'm still processing everything and getting ready for a trip to Hong Kong next week. (Gah!!!) There will be more to come on our adventures in Nicaragua, like biking back to Granada from Laguna de Apoyo with <a href="http://bicimaximo.com/" target="_blank">Bicimaximo</a>, and zip lining over the trees and hiking the Puma Trail on Volcano Mambacho with <a href="http://nahualtours.com/" target="_blank">Nahual Tours</a>. Stay tuned! We had a blast!Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-28968965181662700372013-09-23T19:25:00.001-05:002013-11-21T22:29:51.257-06:001,000 words: Granada, NicaraguaWe're back!! Exhausted and happy. My favorite way to come home from an adventure.<br />
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Nicaragua was not what I expected. It was amazing and exciting and little scary, but not really in the ways I thought it would be. Nicaragua didn't go easy on us and didn't change herself to make us comfortable. She was raw and real and beautiful. The poverty in Nicaragua broke my heart. And the people stole it. But more on that later.<br />
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My mind is still reeling from the trip and the traveling, so until I can process it all, I wanted to share some of my favorite photos from the trip. There will be many stories to come!<br />
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The city we stayed in, Granada, was a photographer's dream. The bright walls and doors with intricate details were commonplace to Nicas, but stunning to me. A short, rattling ride outside town took us places even more stunning. The wild volcanoes that smelled of sulfur made my eyes go wide and sting. The lakes more clear than any I've seen mirrored the sky and made my mind wander away. And the overwhelming markets made my eyes go wide and sting for different reasons and carried me to a world I didn't know what to do with.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Granada from above.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeIug6Qikccq9wWveuD05HY_ucnEUWQkvzcZ0SSlSPJG5w5quAZrMxCGPl-j1G81LE23tAXmS7Uol23nM0ytcJ3GFsG6MxJhFs1BdYKFlKSN1sz1vfkR-hU6fqXzG3nXAiJliOl3Ztdsbb/s1600/2013-09-21+19.42.25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeIug6Qikccq9wWveuD05HY_ucnEUWQkvzcZ0SSlSPJG5w5quAZrMxCGPl-j1G81LE23tAXmS7Uol23nM0ytcJ3GFsG6MxJhFs1BdYKFlKSN1sz1vfkR-hU6fqXzG3nXAiJliOl3Ztdsbb/s640/2013-09-21+19.42.25.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cathedral in El Parque Central</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The market. Holy raw meat, Batman.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crater lake at Laguna de Apoyo</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking the Puma Trail on Volcano Mambacho</td></tr>
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Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-35625937512147103962013-09-12T17:55:00.000-05:002013-09-13T09:47:21.471-05:00Travels: Nicaragua!Three days from now, my husband and I will be in Nicaragua, a place neither of us has been before. My favorite. (Burglars, calm down. We have house sitters.) Hopefully, our days will be full of tromping through the mud, riding bikes through the old city streets, and hiking to the tops of volcanoes. We haven't planned much of our trip, because we tend to make ourselves so busy we collapse. So this time, we're going to go where the wind blows and see what Nicaragua has for us.<br />
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I really hope it has cervesas for us. And lots of dulces. And naps.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leon, Nicaragua. Photo from <a href="http://www.photocs.net/north-america/nicaragua-travel-photography/" target="_blank">here</a>.</td></tr>
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Before we booked our tickets, I knew pretty much nothing about Nicaragua except that it is in Central America, is Spanish-speaking, and that we could fly there on Spirit points. Ding, ding, ding! Sign me up. <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/p/the-year-of-why-not.html" target="_blank">Why not?!</a> But as I've been doing some research on the area, I'm learning that Nicaragua is a beautiful country - one about the size of New York state - but also one that's been wracked by civil wars and political strife since its beginnings in the early 16th century. Those wars, plus natural disasters inevitable with its location and presence of volcanoes and earthquakes, have left Nicaragua in a perpetual state of recovery and rehabilitation. Cities have been rebuilt over and over, and communities have returned again and again to survive on land that doesn't seem to welcome them.<br />
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Nicaragua is one of the poorest countries in Latin American, and is second only to Haiti in the Western Hemisphere. Income distribution is very uneven, leaving the rich and the poor in entirely different worlds. Here are a few facts according to the <a href="http://nicafund.org/learn/nicaragua-statistics/" target="_blank">Nicaragua Initiative for Community Advancement</a>:<br />
<ul>
<li>Just 29% of children complete primary-level education</li>
<li>Adolescent pregnancies account for 1 in 4 births nationally</li>
<li>33% of children have some degree of chronic malnutrition, and 9% suffer from severe malnutrition</li>
<li>45% of all income goes to the richest 10% of the country's population, while only 14% goes to the poorest</li>
</ul>
This picture of Nicaragua breaks my heart, but it's not the whole story. While it has definitely fought and struggled, the country is also known to be the safest in Central America, having some of the best coffee around, and (obviously) being beautiful beyond belief. But really, the people are its gem. For all the bad press it gets, I'm so ready to find the good and the hope in Nicaragua.<br />
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Our host sent us recommendations for things to do while we're visiting, and in the process, I learned about several organizations working hard to provide jobs and rehabilitation to the community. A search for a <a href="http://bicimaximo.com/" target="_blank">tour company</a> has now led to the opportunity to write several stories while I'm there, and I could not.be.more.excited. Could not. Writing is a job, but it's also what pumps fire into my veins, so if I was excited to go on vacation before, I'm now <b><i>so</i></b> far beyond that. I can't even handle it right now. Are we there yet?!<br />
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In my research, I also discovered we will be arriving on the country's Independence Day. Don't worry, Nicaragua, I'll help you celebrate.<br />
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Stay tuned in the coming weeks. I'm sure we'll have lots of stories to share about our adventures when we get back!<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I will be sequestered in my home trying to figure out how to pack stuff for two people and seven days in one backpack. Challenge accepted.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">¡</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #212121; line-height: 38px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Hasta luego mis amigos! Mucho amor para cada uno de ustedes.</span></span>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-44547702768884552492013-08-26T19:37:00.000-05:002017-07-12T16:11:22.193-05:00Dear Life (part 2)Dallas, Texas, USA<br />
August 26, 2013<br />
7:37 p.m.<br />
<br />
Dear Life,<br />
<br />
Thank you for anticipation and the waiting with bated breath. It means adventure is coming.<br />
<br />
Thank you for unexpected gifts that shock me with the generosity of others. Thank you for the ability to receive with gratitude from people who love me and mine.<br />
<br />
Thank you for the sounds of the Dallas street that waft up to my window and seep into the cracks of the old frame. It's a reminder that we are alive and the world is vibrating with energy and motorcycle engines.<br />
<br />
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Thank you for the comfort and intimacy of old friendships and the excitement and surprise of new ones.<br />
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Thank you even for the stab of a needle from the travel clinic, because it means we're getting closer to our next adventures.<br />
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Thank you for dreams and creativity and wonder. They make my life colorful and exciting and the possibilities endless. There is such freedom in it. I love that my creator made my heart a dreamer.<br />
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Thank you for the joy of watching some of my best friends become parents, and dozing on their couch at 2 a.m. while their baby boy slept in my arms. Thank you for the innocence of their little hands and feet and for the reminder that, at some point in my life, I trusted that I was safe and secure in someone else's arms. I didn't worry or fret. Things change as we get older, but I pray I don't lose all my innocence.<br />
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Thank you for putting a smile on my face every day. You're not always perfect, but you're always what I need.<br />
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Love always,<br />
<br />
Michelle<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">____________________________________________________</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">This is my second <i>Dear Life</i> post, part of a series on one of my favorite blogs, </span><a href="http://www.so-many-places.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #94aebb; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">So Many Places</a>.<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"> Click the link to read many other </span><a href="http://www.so-many-places.com/category/dear-life/" style="background-color: white; color: #94aebb; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Dear Life</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">entries from Kim's readers all over the world </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">in which we thank life for its many blessings. To read my first post, <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/06/dear-life.html" target="_blank">click here</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: inherit; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><b>What are you thankful for today?</b></span>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-12671939385146865382013-07-15T18:37:00.000-05:002017-07-12T16:12:56.419-05:00fear, you are dismissed.We just got back from a rainy and cool five days in Tennessee visiting our recently transplanted family for the 4th of July. We sat on the back deck looking out at the valley nestled below the Smoky Mountains and watched the rain while four generations played games ranging from Go Fish to 42 and chatted about anything and everything. The pyromaniacs of the family shot off fireworks and became real-life examples to the children of why fireworks are dangerous and often result in the singeing of fingers.<br />
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On Friday night, however, I squeezed my nieces and nephews a little tighter, because I was pretty sure the next day would be my last.<br />
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My husband and in-laws have gone whitewater rafting twice before, the most recent being a five-day rafting/camping trip in Montana. They loved it, reminisce about it years later, and wanted to share that experience with me and the other in-law children. So sweet. Except I wasn't really keen on the idea of flying down a raging river in a tiny boat in which I was responsible for keeping myself.<br />
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Things you should know about me:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
1. I am afraid of fast-moving, shallow water.<br />
2. I am afraid of deep water of any kind.<br />
3. I am afraid of large rocks.<br />
4. I am afraid of rocks I can't see.<br />
5. I am afraid of bashing my face on said rocks and drowning in said waters.</blockquote>
But damn this <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/p/the-year-of-why-not.html" target="_blank">Year of Why Not?</a> business. It would <i><b>not</b></i> let me say no. Thus commenced two months of fretting about the drowning incident that would likely result in my untimely death. (I should note here that I didn't actually know anything about whitewater rafting when I made the assumption that it would result in my untimely death.)<br />
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Here's another thing you should know, though: I can't think of a time that I've tried something that scared me and regretted the experience.<br />
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So we climbed on a bus in the rain and drove into the mountains to our starting point on the Ocoee River. We met our <a href="http://adventuresunlimited.net/" target="_blank">Adventures Unlimited</a> guide, Callie, who to my dismay, was an adorable, sweet girl not much bigger than me. And y'all, her knee was bleeding before we even got in the boat. if I'm being honest, I was looking for a burly dude with tattoos and huge biceps who could swoop me up and out of the water with one arm while still steering the boat to safety. I got a girl younger than me who bleeds easily. *deep breaths*<br />
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But why not get in the boat? <i>Because I was terrified.</i> Ugh. Not good enough. So we got in the boat.<br />
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[Another big note: Callie turned out to be fierce, and an AWESOME guide. Highly recommend requesting her if you're looking to put your life in the hands of someone at <a href="http://adventuresunlimited.net/" target="_blank">Adventures Unlimited</a>. She's been rafting this river for five years and made sure we knew what to do and what to expect.]<br />
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Tennessee has seen endless rain in the last few weeks, so the river was up and the rapids were raging. Callie said we would be paddling through Class 4 rapids. I learned about the classification of rapids as quickly as possible, so as to know the level at which I should be terrified. They determine classes based on the consequences of falling out of the boat in the middle of them. Here's what my friend Wikipedia (which is about as helpful as my other friend, Web MD, when you have a tickle in your throat) had to say:<br />
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<ul style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px; list-style-image: url(data:image/png; margin: 0.3em 0px 0px 1.6em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Class 1:</b> Very small rough areas, requires no maneuvering. (Skill Level: None)</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px; list-style-image: url(data:image/png; margin: 0.3em 0px 0px 1.6em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Class 2:</b> Some rough water, maybe some rocks, small drops, might require maneuvering. (Skill Level: Basic Paddling Skill)</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px; list-style-image: url(data:image/png; margin: 0.3em 0px 0px 1.6em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Class 3:</b> Whitewater, medium waves, maybe a 3–5 ft drop, but not much considerable danger. May require significant maneuvering. (Skill Level: Experienced paddling skills)</span></li>
</ul>
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Classes 1-3 are no big thing. You fall out, you flail and float through the rapids, and you get back in the boat embarrassed you were defeated by such a silly foe.<br />
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<li style="margin-bottom: 0.1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Class 4:</b> Whitewater, large waves, long rapids, rocks, maybe a considerable drop, sharp maneuvers may be needed. (Skill Level: Advanced Whitewater Experience)</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="line-height: 19.1875px;">
Um.... <i>pardon me</i>. I am not advanced in my whitewater experience. If you'll recall, my experience level is in the 'None' category. But yeah, let's totally attack the Class 4s. For sure I'll be fine.</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 19.1875px;">Just because it's so crazytown, these are the remaining classifications. Yes, there are two more classes beyond what we would be taking on.</span><br />
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<ul style="line-height: 19.1875px; list-style-image: url(data:image/png; margin: 0.3em 0px 0px 1.6em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="background-color: white;">Class 5:</b><span style="background-color: white;"> Whitewater, large waves, continuous rapids, large rocks and hazards, maybe a large drop, precise maneuvering. Often characterized by "must make" moves, i.e. </span><b style="background-color: #ffe599;">failure to execute a specific maneuver at a specific point may result in serious injury or <u>death</u>.</b><span style="background-color: white;"> Class 5 is sometimes expanded to Class 5+ that describes the most extreme, runnable rapids (Skill Level: Expert)</span></span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="background-color: white; line-height: 19.1875px; list-style-image: url(data:image/png; margin: 0.3em 0px 0px 1.6em; padding: 0px;">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Class 6:</b> While there is some debate over the term "Class 6", in practice it refers to rapids that are not passable and any attempt to do so would result in serious injury, near drowning or death (e.g. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murchison_Falls" style="background-image: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Murchison Falls">Murchison Falls</a>). If a rapid is run that was once thought to be impassible, it is typically reclassified as Class 5.</span></li>
</ul>
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I just want to know who the yahoos are who are willing to be the guinea pig for testing out whether Class 6 rapids should be downgraded to Class 5, which, by the way, still could result in <b><u>serious injury or death</u></b>. Who are these people?!<br />
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So we would be taking on multiple sections of Class 4 whitewater rapids. Skill level: Advanced.<br />
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<i>Mmmkay.</i><br />
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Y'all, I'm not sure I've ever clenched every muscle in my body at once for such a continuous period of time - half from being petrified, and half from trying not to fly out of the boat on rapids like the ones we encountered on the 1996 Olympic course section of the river. Yes, that's right. We rafted over an Olympic rafting course designed for people who raft for a living. One of the rapids was named Godzilla. Why? Because it defeated the entire Japanese rafting team. (That was funny. The rapids were not.)<br />
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The video below will give you an idea of the terror and havoc Godzilla can wreak. There is much weeping and gnashing of boats. Enjoy!<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/J8nCm7R2f-k" width="480"></iframe>
</div>
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But guess what? We made it through Godzilla. I'm still having some <strike>mild</strike> severe flashbacks, but we paddled like Hades, and were catapulted in and over and out of the waves in one piece and all inside the boat. It was the best feeling. And I'm pretty sure that means we could win the Olympics.<br />
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There were several instances on the river after which I was simply shocked that we had made it through. It didn't help that the rapids had awesome names like 'Slice-n-Dice' and 'Double Suck' and 'Humongous.' I was riding that very thin line between THIS-IS-THE-COOLEST-THING-EVER!!!, and OH-SWEET-JESUS-PLEASE-DON'T-LET-ME-DIE!!!! And who doesn't love that?!<br />
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Right?<br />
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All in all, it was an absolute blast. I've only recently regained the ability to walk normally, but I can now say that I've done it and survived and didn't let even a huge amount of fear and a mild case of hypothermia hold me back from trying. That's a feeling even better than defeating Godzilla.<br />
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Cheers to another adventure! Check out the photos below.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to go!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcbYXFOdmXrc_H9Guew9X_pq6vXqaydnRbw_WFHRp_audKBvAVvGlEfcXHlXeR_JkXEjd759NPl69IV6gclVpLrbRZp0CbXVdkt4K8QYkFafQ2GpKJQq6Xe3aYibJuTpXpR3WCMvZvnO2E/s1600/IMG_8704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcbYXFOdmXrc_H9Guew9X_pq6vXqaydnRbw_WFHRp_audKBvAVvGlEfcXHlXeR_JkXEjd759NPl69IV6gclVpLrbRZp0CbXVdkt4K8QYkFafQ2GpKJQq6Xe3aYibJuTpXpR3WCMvZvnO2E/s640/IMG_8704.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Weee!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFCtbKJfb-g6eS6wzFtJ3_t3GK3lv8nVp5R2rDwUWbTi7pkLci2FfRRZoZK_XsAnWhVig3kjfdCHGLs3rFqgmSPfvT5htVhi7ewQNtJIrHLVmTykJ0tOnuYoYvLw7fJBTOAVHU4UMuSkYC/s1600/IMG_8705.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFCtbKJfb-g6eS6wzFtJ3_t3GK3lv8nVp5R2rDwUWbTi7pkLci2FfRRZoZK_XsAnWhVig3kjfdCHGLs3rFqgmSPfvT5htVhi7ewQNtJIrHLVmTykJ0tOnuYoYvLw7fJBTOAVHU4UMuSkYC/s640/IMG_8705.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And.... pose.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgBTCN4ZkDcE2GAwWk1kyeEJ10xi2Np6xfys8L9mpxKAWQgNpwQ74rfCx1XKfFwJTe49Nsuvw1OxrX295m-dJQsxz4yauEwCsglb7viayLeyX7YvYJ1gk0sVh8SmSaR_DCGg612KscAps/s1600/IMG_8713.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgBTCN4ZkDcE2GAwWk1kyeEJ10xi2Np6xfys8L9mpxKAWQgNpwQ74rfCx1XKfFwJTe49Nsuvw1OxrX295m-dJQsxz4yauEwCsglb7viayLeyX7YvYJ1gk0sVh8SmSaR_DCGg612KscAps/s640/IMG_8713.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was really glad to have this guy in my boat. Look at that face.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmC_uUmPh8r-gcLzhX6wibuwJw1CD99SJBBW7SjQYXrMtl8gI6dyLXCvE7P2d1Ru5ADukwMEoHmsJx4LeBQsKmvgUqdScp9YBzIL1-DTehfHd0Hv45B0TqzWtkcklfsn3SzkNl-adgFjE/s1600/IMG_4052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmC_uUmPh8r-gcLzhX6wibuwJw1CD99SJBBW7SjQYXrMtl8gI6dyLXCvE7P2d1Ru5ADukwMEoHmsJx4LeBQsKmvgUqdScp9YBzIL1-DTehfHd0Hv45B0TqzWtkcklfsn3SzkNl-adgFjE/s640/IMG_4052.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meet my fearless 50-something mother-in-law. She makes me look like a giant pansy.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Get it, Gwen!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpqwULTogrzn-CdVuHRnA5YrgXdwBOcgb_hv4RZDKwA8PFWCnn9bvl4TKcywuUXMKfWgQ0gMLyOHBxr3chro4Yp9QZnUvepbGDn16ImJVo0K0dYGfYNOsXPi7Sqf_wAzEm_HbLfauKV4l/s1600/IMG_8675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpqwULTogrzn-CdVuHRnA5YrgXdwBOcgb_hv4RZDKwA8PFWCnn9bvl4TKcywuUXMKfWgQ0gMLyOHBxr3chro4Yp9QZnUvepbGDn16ImJVo0K0dYGfYNOsXPi7Sqf_wAzEm_HbLfauKV4l/s640/IMG_8675.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Umm... the boat?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApetHKu6Do6jYhSMuFlOnot5_F5Ys0JoM9EvUFhhvhPaQNA3hgP_erkVXD7zypU0lh3I3UGs_7BbGQYf0wmXiJSPrBb4i5pn-zcAoaKa80zNUuSRHS2WgJVOyp9cZlxgPUskGIqCO1fNu/s1600/IMG_8682.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApetHKu6Do6jYhSMuFlOnot5_F5Ys0JoM9EvUFhhvhPaQNA3hgP_erkVXD7zypU0lh3I3UGs_7BbGQYf0wmXiJSPrBb4i5pn-zcAoaKa80zNUuSRHS2WgJVOyp9cZlxgPUskGIqCO1fNu/s640/IMG_8682.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just like Splash Mountain...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixy6RGvqIH-4fU_-DMzLp4wChv_jq8PuZMNjEw38NiquntIeLRje9hZeosypr1RE_UJS8KzH29nxfeyKiAyvPOERxMACqfv-3sW33mx3w09IYBqMb60hhO4gH2Nd1Su5xzSQTJhN0faUXx/s1600/IMG_8689.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixy6RGvqIH-4fU_-DMzLp4wChv_jq8PuZMNjEw38NiquntIeLRje9hZeosypr1RE_UJS8KzH29nxfeyKiAyvPOERxMACqfv-3sW33mx3w09IYBqMb60hhO4gH2Nd1Su5xzSQTJhN0faUXx/s640/IMG_8689.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...but with giant rocks.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiF2CMfGAmWIx6XkuWaN7akKOZf97oMBkeK_tUKUG5nc3aPjSJHQuC3pbT5RlEpr5iAnpffzRgK5CYUE5I2VS-zFuKIxUpQCi8WCr2SakIvJi70ylBOKUjOoSzTjmqaDpmk2t0f6WIBGcx/s1600/IMG_9128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiF2CMfGAmWIx6XkuWaN7akKOZf97oMBkeK_tUKUG5nc3aPjSJHQuC3pbT5RlEpr5iAnpffzRgK5CYUE5I2VS-zFuKIxUpQCi8WCr2SakIvJi70ylBOKUjOoSzTjmqaDpmk2t0f6WIBGcx/s640/IMG_9128.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBeeoWol8Il9WzazsMDJb-9JQ1nUyZLoSukyzi-VqAVUmQFDwJwhEne3sCxzBoV_4cLF-OUeG5rh_3VYHGDurDQgJYtvDlyF-Jrwm2UJLvJ-FiAYKAKww5HGHmJ07u0-UMYU0jm3abJvZM/s1600/IMG_9129.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBeeoWol8Il9WzazsMDJb-9JQ1nUyZLoSukyzi-VqAVUmQFDwJwhEne3sCxzBoV_4cLF-OUeG5rh_3VYHGDurDQgJYtvDlyF-Jrwm2UJLvJ-FiAYKAKww5HGHmJ07u0-UMYU0jm3abJvZM/s640/IMG_9129.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And.... pose.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinl1L1NS5nMB0EzKp9SPp7qHhPJuzXCndjkoGs1Xyg5YnVUxHA2FGxxu5sHN8TSVAmIWOShesePMJpgiapaAzmf5RiHTx2X0FCMOExjLVqo2Y6S0p2PQJP2pFBAehS-t-rJ0Uv_6wM8gPl/s1600/27_10A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinl1L1NS5nMB0EzKp9SPp7qHhPJuzXCndjkoGs1Xyg5YnVUxHA2FGxxu5sHN8TSVAmIWOShesePMJpgiapaAzmf5RiHTx2X0FCMOExjLVqo2Y6S0p2PQJP2pFBAehS-t-rJ0Uv_6wM8gPl/s640/27_10A.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously love adventures with this guy!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNbZLL4bAotxBGd2D91SGF42PKHRGeYIwVjSoJMHsAAtasEh9n_4KFkRqYuZ1W8M-bISckVSxGTufv9Rf3lwOE6fD4l6NbLUOmgY_CuYGo3POidFVDGWbx8EKNH0wTmW1cGZ3H3OqowgV5/s1600/45_7A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNbZLL4bAotxBGd2D91SGF42PKHRGeYIwVjSoJMHsAAtasEh9n_4KFkRqYuZ1W8M-bISckVSxGTufv9Rf3lwOE6fD4l6NbLUOmgY_CuYGo3POidFVDGWbx8EKNH0wTmW1cGZ3H3OqowgV5/s640/45_7A.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My fearless sister-in-law "riding the bull" on the front of the boat. Cray.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO1fKZWgetvUioca_rcPY92nLRw5rMLhydYIXbOuPwqTUtHOjGr8YV9tmrgQOmgmZrHBQQBZPdJUCDGG33KBCr51e4agyUcFKhGclChhRSRMo6uqknp1sTIbvZIsgwJSGKEf8S_Y3Gs1pJ/s1600/47_9A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO1fKZWgetvUioca_rcPY92nLRw5rMLhydYIXbOuPwqTUtHOjGr8YV9tmrgQOmgmZrHBQQBZPdJUCDGG33KBCr51e4agyUcFKhGclChhRSRMo6uqknp1sTIbvZIsgwJSGKEf8S_Y3Gs1pJ/s640/47_9A.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My trusty red shoes on another adventure!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnQA2CjJCYucav1PSIEDNgCfNboCTMsbYufHZHzohS0g0dHMIpEuoT9UmNNVK9eWRRbIiWNY8JGyexZoeitqxp9oeKwb3dEJ329Sm6G8Z9iidUwMTakrDTDUysxOBsLX492LyySKQwbjRx/s1600/72_11A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnQA2CjJCYucav1PSIEDNgCfNboCTMsbYufHZHzohS0g0dHMIpEuoT9UmNNVK9eWRRbIiWNY8JGyexZoeitqxp9oeKwb3dEJ329Sm6G8Z9iidUwMTakrDTDUysxOBsLX492LyySKQwbjRx/s640/72_11A.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Making bad decisions and getting just a little bit of hypothermia.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5_paBJL8wwq3sIcN5_b44ZcHiCABWxlkIt4vxu0IsvG7imfdNh3HfO-6eqagskw8YpiRo6uT8G2jAPUfjFzZvnjGHekmdfKy2xaRJ-38o72KewTvcktUy18WvWh_BAdDb4dynJGmsZwYE/s1600/77_16A.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5_paBJL8wwq3sIcN5_b44ZcHiCABWxlkIt4vxu0IsvG7imfdNh3HfO-6eqagskw8YpiRo6uT8G2jAPUfjFzZvnjGHekmdfKy2xaRJ-38o72KewTvcktUy18WvWh_BAdDb4dynJGmsZwYE/s640/77_16A.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I know it looks like it was all fun and games, but if I'm being honest about my photo selection, I'd say the smiling ones were fewer and further between than the ones in which my face looks like this:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcp0NE9k1xywlkc3yk0bb2gPdquVu-Cv8UIYbmd1z1kKPIMv52dH6x0WA0FgHD6rX9yJ4tS0Y-yq55ukVh3HX6pyCiAGikcPii7GTMEZVNntqZ8pBJS1_4FOjTHPmx4_Mz6BGPCBVQgBtP/s1600/IMG_4012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcp0NE9k1xywlkc3yk0bb2gPdquVu-Cv8UIYbmd1z1kKPIMv52dH6x0WA0FgHD6rX9yJ4tS0Y-yq55ukVh3HX6pyCiAGikcPii7GTMEZVNntqZ8pBJS1_4FOjTHPmx4_Mz6BGPCBVQgBtP/s640/IMG_4012.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice the boat is more under the water than it is on top of it. I call this look: <i>Check please!</i> <br />
Can't figure out why the rest of those fools are grinning ear to ear while we're drowning...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQT8vu0JiuYpOTZDCvLV_4nDQY5fhmsdEYaKYHpi9fgcpfqP7ex82uYv0N9pU3OupKhBpLij2MPMQh57jQf8qkieFWbFHoCCu2fFg4NVCPJ_-rdCaRt5I5gQpc8eu5Mm8k6voZo-HKxvC/s1600/44_6A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQT8vu0JiuYpOTZDCvLV_4nDQY5fhmsdEYaKYHpi9fgcpfqP7ex82uYv0N9pU3OupKhBpLij2MPMQh57jQf8qkieFWbFHoCCu2fFg4NVCPJ_-rdCaRt5I5gQpc8eu5Mm8k6voZo-HKxvC/s640/44_6A.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We survived!!!</td></tr>
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Look for us in Rio at the 2016 Olympics!!Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-41722781218776112152013-06-25T21:54:00.000-05:002017-07-12T16:21:50.275-05:00diy odIn the last several months, I got the itch again. You know the one. It happens to me often, most recently a couple of years ago in March when I was stricken with <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2011/03/home-improvement-20.html" target="_blank">Restless Life Syndrome</a>. Again. This time, I think I desperately needed a very cheap creative outlet that wasn't this blog or the fluffy writing assignments I get on occasion. So I went to town on my house and changed just about every room, as these things go. I found out that I rather enjoy building and creating things with my own two hands, which was equally fun and dangerous. There were several injuries as a direct result of having a staple gun in my general vicinity and several minor foot injuries as a result of the staples that went AWOL while being shot into the ceiling, wall, and various other objects.<br />
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But we're fine. Please don't worry about us.<br />
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<b>Project 1: Re-covering old, painted canvases.</b><br />
This is where the staple gun made its debut. I had a box of canvases that I had bought and defaced when I was in a fleeting "I'm going to be a painter!" phase. I was looking to put something on the wall in my newly rearranged room, and thought of those paintings. I wondered if one of them might be good enough to hang in the daylight. None of them were.<br />
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To mend my assault on art, I headed to Hobby Lobby and picked up some chevron fabric in a couple of colors.<br />
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Then I whipped out the staple gun and felt strong and proud. The rest was easy. Trim down the fabric, pull it tight over the canvas and POP, POP, POP! Staple it real good, and there you have it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLPYzAcyCO7sEcWKJ85Ky_iiQNFfEGvT6sqpAyvg8VB7OO0dLXZ2iRzKl_wMlpabLqQStiice5h1IaaHQQczHJre9k0DLyRfHubxpSttZcqanZyKgPF4YUxHBuhQNz7vGY3B_A8R70xRm/s1600/2013-02-02+11.42.19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLPYzAcyCO7sEcWKJ85Ky_iiQNFfEGvT6sqpAyvg8VB7OO0dLXZ2iRzKl_wMlpabLqQStiice5h1IaaHQQczHJre9k0DLyRfHubxpSttZcqanZyKgPF4YUxHBuhQNz7vGY3B_A8R70xRm/s320/2013-02-02+11.42.19.jpg" width="240" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCz_dARxv5RbmnJ0oU-0MlFCKgJFVGa7KDc7Vx2lktMsaHtONGjpFsfQjykZZTIlHgUwDGVMvgh66NKGGqjmWCMnL2rCdZHsbzQaYS-wSjjHmDnzIVDDzzdZTlCgeZKK64ctIXtOb9pihE/s1600/2013-02-02+11.49.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCz_dARxv5RbmnJ0oU-0MlFCKgJFVGa7KDc7Vx2lktMsaHtONGjpFsfQjykZZTIlHgUwDGVMvgh66NKGGqjmWCMnL2rCdZHsbzQaYS-wSjjHmDnzIVDDzzdZTlCgeZKK64ctIXtOb9pihE/s320/2013-02-02+11.49.56.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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No more paintings that make you want to cry. Just simple designs to brighten up a wall. Covering three small canvases and staggering them on a rather large wall filled up the space, and the fun design brought some life into the room. The awesome part is that this project can be done with any fabric design you want!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHldBymU3oJ8p9R8iu97RQ4jqhY8J5IgB-nc9pNVkTiBJX2hrIInhu4VmvgdGNkGZnaFvvMDLmNGaXmUdM7Dk9CXwf8-CT8MERHoScVdY5OE45RKhgFo9ZorF_AdmOo3CxpTbJV_QbKyRg/s1600/2013-06-25+20.39.26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHldBymU3oJ8p9R8iu97RQ4jqhY8J5IgB-nc9pNVkTiBJX2hrIInhu4VmvgdGNkGZnaFvvMDLmNGaXmUdM7Dk9CXwf8-CT8MERHoScVdY5OE45RKhgFo9ZorF_AdmOo3CxpTbJV_QbKyRg/s400/2013-06-25+20.39.26.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Also, vintage lightbulbs are my favorite lightbulbs of all the lightbulbs.<br />
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<b>Project 2: TV stand details.</b><br />
We used to have our TV hidden in a closet on a hideous, cheap stand that was barely functional. We didn't have the pesos to buy a nice one, but we hit the bullseye at Target (see what I did there?) and found a closet organizer that could be flipped on its side. $40, people. Not too shabby, <i>amIright</i>?<br />
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The problem we ran into was that every other cubby hole didn't have a backing on it, so you could see through to the wall and the TV cords tucked behind it. It was ug-o.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH4f2z0k2nDJIh8eHTVqtkGyjlnWbQNYH6ttnHuX_rFzpkJXDmNPjZovVKZ36TYuJFyNFjjve868fnxATS-JhIHkczZj1DP-Ie_34uC4EtqcV6fD_v108DUl9h87RTxKd-E4bNKS-Q56GQ/s1600/2013-02-02+14.51.53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH4f2z0k2nDJIh8eHTVqtkGyjlnWbQNYH6ttnHuX_rFzpkJXDmNPjZovVKZ36TYuJFyNFjjve868fnxATS-JhIHkczZj1DP-Ie_34uC4EtqcV6fD_v108DUl9h87RTxKd-E4bNKS-Q56GQ/s400/2013-02-02+14.51.53.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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So, I went back to the Lobby and bought just 1 yard of a fabric that pulled in my favorite colors from the room. I cut them into squares that matched the cubby holes, pulled out the staple gun and felt strong and proud. POP, POP, POP! and you're in business.<br />
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Just adding that little detail turned the simple, colorless TV stand into a more interesting, but still cheap (let's be honest), TV stand. Again, this could be done with any fabric type, so you can make it your own.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWrUAEGfB2rnKjE5F8xeD1dBdEo-4AogfVMi1-AGQSRvvy1_MwtN7KqElClEaSWMo6pLWukKj8LBZNf0FEYI1BUJgBwyK0-kdRnGB8u0nhOD_-u5QGepzgIoWuZugjORVblKp5h3PFMdjg/s1600/2013-06-25+19.01.20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWrUAEGfB2rnKjE5F8xeD1dBdEo-4AogfVMi1-AGQSRvvy1_MwtN7KqElClEaSWMo6pLWukKj8LBZNf0FEYI1BUJgBwyK0-kdRnGB8u0nhOD_-u5QGepzgIoWuZugjORVblKp5h3PFMdjg/s320/2013-06-25+19.01.20.jpg" width="316" /></a></div>
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<b>Project 4: Mason jar vases.</b><br />
I <strike>hoard</strike> collect mason jars. We don't have actual cups anymore. Just jars that we make even our guests drink out of. But I love them and that's good enough for me. The problem is that I had amassed a few too many. So I decided to turn a few of them into vases for the living room. I needed some more color, though, so I painted the inside of the jars with green and white. I love that the outside stays smooth and shiny and still looks like a jar while the inside is a burst of color. I've also seen it done with matte paint or chalkboard paint on the outside of the jar, and it looks pretty cool too. The good news is that you can get a flat of 12 mason jars for about $6, so it's a cheap experiment and a quick project.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPuyBSGrmCwzWnHW73SZ_GsN92CYgI7VM7DIuNHTYWrE6YxdEvls8GSZa93JaiiO9WH9ysN0hURkXnBJPScN48lb2kRI3BHhwc1CDM65g8ZFFXa8c56QVn6zsdWwgnlUcK_Ip_8f-E0vUw/s1600/2013-06-25+20.48.14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPuyBSGrmCwzWnHW73SZ_GsN92CYgI7VM7DIuNHTYWrE6YxdEvls8GSZa93JaiiO9WH9ysN0hURkXnBJPScN48lb2kRI3BHhwc1CDM65g8ZFFXa8c56QVn6zsdWwgnlUcK_Ip_8f-E0vUw/s320/2013-06-25+20.48.14.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIhTrI7Efx6a8Pyl4UQ6zPF12Tjv2Sh6TAhmLkrzxdofkdWn9wZhHawh97NOCS6ZJSi72-OGxIblq8dR9lJhxRFGAZzeSsWjojt5JP5XqbUVYXP6ykEU6-uRzK-An10KHRr6Pt4dGcyccW/s1600/2013-06-25+20.40.26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIhTrI7Efx6a8Pyl4UQ6zPF12Tjv2Sh6TAhmLkrzxdofkdWn9wZhHawh97NOCS6ZJSi72-OGxIblq8dR9lJhxRFGAZzeSsWjojt5JP5XqbUVYXP6ykEU6-uRzK-An10KHRr6Pt4dGcyccW/s320/2013-06-25+20.40.26.jpg" width="211" /></a><b>Project 5: Burlap headboard/wall decor.</b><br />
I don't think you realize just how many terrible paintings were in that box I mentioned earlier. It was not just three. It was 8. So had 5 remaining canvases that I needed to cover up before I was turned to a pillar of salt. Hobby Lobby was my jam again, and I found a roll of burlap. Yep, it's as scratchy and imperfect and awesome as it sounds. So I cut it down and, focusing on the imperfect part, just kind of scrunched it here and there and pulled out the staple gun and felt strong and proud. I stapled and stapled until it was good enough, but not clean and perfect. I wanted it to be natural and rough around the edges.<br />
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I only had 5 burlap canvases and I wanted to do two rows above my bed, so I pulled one of my favorite photos from our vow renewal and put it in a frame that was about the same size as the canvases. I mounted them in two rows at the head of the bed, and I absolutely love how it turned out. We don't have a headboard, so this setup gave the illusion of it in a really fun, unique way.<br />
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<b>Project 6: Master bed canopy.</b><br />
The last bedroom project was creating a canopy above the bed. Again, since we don't have a headboard or footboard and the mattress just sits on the boxspring and frame, our bed was kind of an island, but not in a good way. In a bachelor pad kind of way. I wanted to make it look bigger and draw your eye to the ceiling, so I decided to make a canopy. We went to Walmart for this, which was a pretty drastic measure. After scouring their fabric section for something sheer enough to feel beachy but with the porous texture I wanted, I was really disappointed and ready to spend WAY too much money on something that wasn't quite right. Seeing my disappointment, the fabric guru there told me to roll up the expensive fabric and put it back on the shelf. She left and came back with a $4 package of cheese cloth that was long and wide enough to do exactly what I wanted.<br />
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Bless her. It worked! And the $4 part was awesome. I was about to spend $50!<br />
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I already had some thick twine that I wanted to use to hang the cloth, so I pulled out the staple gun and felt strong and proud. I POP, POP, POPped it into the ceiling and hung the cloth sideways over just the head of the bed. It framed the burlap perfectly, made the bed look bigger and was the perfect texture for my beachy vision.<br />
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Plus, it looks really dreamy at night.</div>
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Here's a couple more shots of the bedroom. Just because I like it. Humor me.</div>
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<b>Project 7: Jewelry hangers.</b><br />
I think I'm probably not alone in my frustration with how to organize my jewelry. (#FirstWorldProblems anyone?) I always forgot about most of what I had because I couldn't easily see it in a jewelry box. So, I pulled out that same twine I used for the canopy, bought an unfinished frame from the Lobby and grabbed some bulletin board pins. The rest is exactly as easy as you'd think.<br />
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I still had some long necklaces that didn't fit quite right in the frame setup, so I bought 2 unfinished, super simple key hook mounts and painted them a fun color. I mounted them on each side of the jewelry frame and shaZAM! Easy peasy.<br />
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This is only a sampling of the projects we did in the last few months, y'all. My husband is awesome and patient and surprisingly accommodating when I change the "vision" midstream and put 12 more holes in the wall than were necessary. He is a saint for letting me create on a whim and also for letting me get anywhere near him and our valuables with a staple gun.<br />
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The BEST part about having just spent so much time and creativity on our home of 5 years is that WE'RE MOVING!!! How ridiculous is that?! I'm saying my Hail Marys right now to counteract the jinx that may come with announcing we have a contract on our house. (That's how that works right?) If all goes according to The Plan - and it almost never does - we expect to be moving downtown into a loft on Main Street by the middle of next month. Woo hoo!<br />
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Stay tuned, as I now have to redecorate all over again. This time, with 15' ceilings. I'm sure nothing can go wrong with staple guns and tall ladders.<br />
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But please don't worry about us.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-3849195209494804222013-06-12T18:18:00.003-05:002017-07-12T16:23:25.591-05:00Dear Life<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2XL5qV7iSNd3iyieacv5BYWJ_IKvGZtgjXwEFgxPa-3SvgptqpS7oH-Ve5JIzZhzhyphenhyphen3QvBUGS-v_PxwkNXfy0r6rb7As_MHBRrDa29FN8dg5MAOYP8JfuTs8HV9o4lC1CK5I185Y5ZXRM/s1600/Flowers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2XL5qV7iSNd3iyieacv5BYWJ_IKvGZtgjXwEFgxPa-3SvgptqpS7oH-Ve5JIzZhzhyphenhyphen3QvBUGS-v_PxwkNXfy0r6rb7As_MHBRrDa29FN8dg5MAOYP8JfuTs8HV9o4lC1CK5I185Y5ZXRM/s320/Flowers.JPG" width="280" /></a>Dallas, Texas<br />
June 12, 2013<br />
6:12pm<br />
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Dear Life,<br />
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Thank you for being unexpected and wild; exhausting and exhilarating.<br />
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Thank you for hot days and tank tops and burgers on the grill and cold drinks on the patio.<br />
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Thank you for the rain that falls and filters the air, making the whole world crisp and blue and green.<br />
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Thank you for a gentle breeze, the blowing leaves, and for soft grass under my feet.<br />
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Thank you for the little faces, the tiny toes, and small hands I get to hold.<br />
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Thank you for the smiles, the laughter, the loud voices I hear all around me. Thank you for the joy.<br />
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Thank you for the disappointments followed by the better thing I didn't know was there waiting.<br />
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Thank you for the slowing down, the intentional choice, the purposeful <i>yes</i>.<br />
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Dear life, <b><i>thank you</i></b> for the adventure.<br />
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Love always,<br />
Michelle<br />
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One of my favorite blogs, <a href="http://www.so-many-places.com/" target="_blank">So Many Places</a>, chronicles the journey of a gal who quit her day job to pursue a dream. Go check it out and read Kim's story. She recently wrote a post called <a href="http://www.so-many-places.com/2013/06/dear-life/" target="_blank">Dear Life</a> in which she thanks life for its many blessings. My post today is joining in on her pursuit of gratitude. I hope it becomes a habit! Will you join in too?Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-8350993603282389532013-05-21T17:23:00.001-05:002013-06-17T10:52:57.596-05:00red shoe stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Life has been so wild lately, you guys. I have so many stories to tell, but for some reason, my mind is a mushy, dull blob lacking any creative juices whatsoever, and words are eluding me like an ex-boyfriend in the grocery store. Being a writer who can't write a dang thing is kind of a sad story, so I've decided to show you what I can't seem to say at the moment.<br />
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After years of pining away for the bright lights and energy of New York, a few weeks ago, I hopped off a plane at Laguardia with a backpack and my most comfortable pair of shoes. I came to visit one of my favorite people, a grad student and Columbia. (Although, by the time I post this, she will have her Master's degree! What <i>what</i>!) When I travel to exciting places like New York, I really like to live in luxury, so I requested an air mattress on the floor of her 12-square-foot dorm room. #TreatYoSelf! No, but seriously, I think my first NYC experience was probably a lot closer to the experiences of my fellow twentysomethings in the city. Authenticity is way better than luxury. I'm pretty sure about that.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>We had so much fun, and it was a much-needed distraction from work and school and life in general. I couldn't think about all that AND navigate the one subway line on which I managed to not get lost, so my mind stayed gleefully unmuddled by everyday things. There's not much I love more than exploring a new city, so NYC was my playground for four days. I must have walked <strike>100</strike> 1,000 miles. I came home with a foot injury I'm still dealing with, despite wearing my favorite pair of red exploring shoes. By the way, how does one live in New York without owning a scooter, Segway or Rascal?<br />
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On the streets and in the subways of New York, I found that I had to look down almost as much as I looked up - mostly to avoid stepping in dropped food and dog poo or falling into the gap between the subway car and the platform. (That was a pretty major concern of mine.) Looking down and seeing those red shoes became my comforting companion. They walked over marble floors in Grand Central, grassy patches in Central Park, rubber bumps on subway platforms, cracked sidewalks in SoHo, and gravel on the shore in Brooklyn.<br />
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This is the first of the Red Shoe Stories. Enjoy!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrs4KYQek0YpIKftKtLUtqtle12FwgIZUOLtPRwsrzANYrc2U3n1e5eVsAklxKFPWLgv3ynlALbtVxdF6x63eta7RC-jq34DH5uiCRRlpzsimxlTmBbqRsfr_AyBQI2zLAba0Yzn4rXRZg/s1600/2013-05-03+07.27.50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrs4KYQek0YpIKftKtLUtqtle12FwgIZUOLtPRwsrzANYrc2U3n1e5eVsAklxKFPWLgv3ynlALbtVxdF6x63eta7RC-jq34DH5uiCRRlpzsimxlTmBbqRsfr_AyBQI2zLAba0Yzn4rXRZg/s640/2013-05-03+07.27.50.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The adventure begins in Dallas. Look how clean and bright red they are!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBh8ixO_l2Y6Byum8XX8KjH6u5yC8jZPfmCXPRPBEZxWAVyduPMwLobo9Wp9LWVuAEp44dEEe2vxQQasY3t_7WsrbMSd_k6VGqaprLtisdb_jM2v7cr4ERSO8wKHxRtiTQEqdGteYsb0Je/s1600/2013-05-03+14.45.11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBh8ixO_l2Y6Byum8XX8KjH6u5yC8jZPfmCXPRPBEZxWAVyduPMwLobo9Wp9LWVuAEp44dEEe2vxQQasY3t_7WsrbMSd_k6VGqaprLtisdb_jM2v7cr4ERSO8wKHxRtiTQEqdGteYsb0Je/s640/2013-05-03+14.45.11.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Columbia University library. Trying to blend in with the college kids. Someone called me ma'am.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Overwhelmed in Times Square.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite New Yorker.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlPLAGCry1915Rfd_G-Teh8oPiv7MqXRT2RuaCFm6VYgHJQBj2JwoqDqBDcOBevJzLVA61TK0iAUtlUwHxzJOYZA6iXvQRcvMEmcaxtfqbFenAJLv-kVJwO8QMNpNnED2xM0N6E7J31fOj/s1600/2013-05-04+21.23.16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlPLAGCry1915Rfd_G-Teh8oPiv7MqXRT2RuaCFm6VYgHJQBj2JwoqDqBDcOBevJzLVA61TK0iAUtlUwHxzJOYZA6iXvQRcvMEmcaxtfqbFenAJLv-kVJwO8QMNpNnED2xM0N6E7J31fOj/s640/2013-05-04+21.23.16.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">180' of people.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN4vfNGLEB8iuHb5WIs-m2EDkHRKcvYcishtsXyaOkHrAQkNdE0IFNL0eepJxpE2Khxpl8qI0XPrUr95ads2c2_QtSSxmotEZDOC_V0CU0QoKnwr3y2tIE-7o-hHGGfeeWed9YbbDQkIny/s1600/2013-05-04+15.14.48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN4vfNGLEB8iuHb5WIs-m2EDkHRKcvYcishtsXyaOkHrAQkNdE0IFNL0eepJxpE2Khxpl8qI0XPrUr95ads2c2_QtSSxmotEZDOC_V0CU0QoKnwr3y2tIE-7o-hHGGfeeWed9YbbDQkIny/s640/2013-05-04+15.14.48.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first NYC hotdog was TERRIBLE. Never need to do that again.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8RoDZZinqeiK6ZxnJRNomjExxIQd7hwa1dsXdfwOO4jZ8ezqzfAT2OVFs1F1atBZEWO-T-iBTOZO6gamfA7_FY9u52ThjH1v56X7SYic4EdBUdCoxDQshXHyaXks6qKiLRLb2buP2HCw2/s1600/2013-05-04+21.22.07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8RoDZZinqeiK6ZxnJRNomjExxIQd7hwa1dsXdfwOO4jZ8ezqzfAT2OVFs1F1atBZEWO-T-iBTOZO6gamfA7_FY9u52ThjH1v56X7SYic4EdBUdCoxDQshXHyaXks6qKiLRLb2buP2HCw2/s640/2013-05-04+21.22.07.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reading in the park.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibKjxHdOs3sIBuQVS12wiIKs-znq2yNWArZ6LjHMmgRoImenDKIGlxM0wT2Gf-woAIXFOh4Sp0EcmtZttDkhyphenhyphenOWBYAG0SuUGYwQWelXZwTqUn1GGEWdEd6se6Tzqqp-oeOj-vaSby76BN0/s1600/2013-05-03+18.32.37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibKjxHdOs3sIBuQVS12wiIKs-znq2yNWArZ6LjHMmgRoImenDKIGlxM0wT2Gf-woAIXFOh4Sp0EcmtZttDkhyphenhyphenOWBYAG0SuUGYwQWelXZwTqUn1GGEWdEd6se6Tzqqp-oeOj-vaSby76BN0/s640/2013-05-03+18.32.37.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The REAL John's Pizzeria on Bleecker.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmwc2p115lpjyp3TTbKZcJONZg2QfjnzGcT6xjvsBsBveN170fDtJSHGE0Bxtl259xvgGsmapAOHg7pwyiUj-O4uLXp8nPBfXWC3jZWXZvViK1ZnbFuPtwZ5NIn8_EgnKQjSwdVSXqosL/s1600/2013-05-04+15.20.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmwc2p115lpjyp3TTbKZcJONZg2QfjnzGcT6xjvsBsBveN170fDtJSHGE0Bxtl259xvgGsmapAOHg7pwyiUj-O4uLXp8nPBfXWC3jZWXZvViK1ZnbFuPtwZ5NIn8_EgnKQjSwdVSXqosL/s640/2013-05-04+15.20.06.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Subway platform bumps and grime.</td></tr>
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I can only assume the bumps are there to give you better traction so you don't fall into the gap. :(</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I stayed safely here behind the bumps.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglVs0ml0xF5_of0-NiuCZKQJ_MEbWzt8KdnIb_lUYn-xY4bw8c9_aK-DYJeIT1pnI4KTvojV31BxLHWDRj2UEMFZGgrkfuwV6Jk5WAsZDcLDf_iFCr4uSrI0ir7DytkmUAHL0BPu3ilaE2/s1600/2013-05-04+12.17.26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglVs0ml0xF5_of0-NiuCZKQJ_MEbWzt8KdnIb_lUYn-xY4bw8c9_aK-DYJeIT1pnI4KTvojV31BxLHWDRj2UEMFZGgrkfuwV6Jk5WAsZDcLDf_iFCr4uSrI0ir7DytkmUAHL0BPu3ilaE2/s640/2013-05-04+12.17.26.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Resting from strenuous shopping in SoHo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCu-5JAx9t6Jo-2N0VQSOhTjEUFLfF5zvWzdu3-lDLUDJj0Xd2aFbR35gyLHS7dGAzAkaZa31fWXgpeE3cn9QmDYABiK28ePI7Vc0uYCNyto3xR-9gfgYVpDwoT55OK4CrfAjj5hLX6FSa/s1600/2013-05-04+21.20.03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCu-5JAx9t6Jo-2N0VQSOhTjEUFLfF5zvWzdu3-lDLUDJj0Xd2aFbR35gyLHS7dGAzAkaZa31fWXgpeE3cn9QmDYABiK28ePI7Vc0uYCNyto3xR-9gfgYVpDwoT55OK4CrfAjj5hLX6FSa/s640/2013-05-04+21.20.03.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Central Park. Green in the city!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2sqo6IqhdEnPa4bMbKikQ0Cv9V_CVvxrfk5kNojgkEpc6AXeW8fyXOzrRqno79rd0JAn2QFAyM-nzLWGfk0n7ss47UHCjISwQLZUS4eYFz-9ai_JAYGVEL_qzqzLZKtumq61-G-DcAQ-/s1600/2013-05-05+13.43.21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2sqo6IqhdEnPa4bMbKikQ0Cv9V_CVvxrfk5kNojgkEpc6AXeW8fyXOzrRqno79rd0JAn2QFAyM-nzLWGfk0n7ss47UHCjISwQLZUS4eYFz-9ai_JAYGVEL_qzqzLZKtumq61-G-DcAQ-/s640/2013-05-05+13.43.21.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Brooklyn Flea (Market).</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlHeKx7TwOh3FmpkTBR3kbK-yY_YJSxShGpsVGqooQSD_3dG1sARmLbgJz3UX5IoOsYG1Cf-7_3MXaeuHlTAIZnAXirbk8XDQOteqgum1SlPPM-vldK86ldabqmPGvkZpLTxzMdKGGCuY/s1600/2013-05-05+18.54.05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlHeKx7TwOh3FmpkTBR3kbK-yY_YJSxShGpsVGqooQSD_3dG1sARmLbgJz3UX5IoOsYG1Cf-7_3MXaeuHlTAIZnAXirbk8XDQOteqgum1SlPPM-vldK86ldabqmPGvkZpLTxzMdKGGCuY/s640/2013-05-05+18.54.05.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Newsies on Broadwaaaayyyyy!! (Sing it!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqeo0caJ5W5zu3xaVNfGvN9G-SAZxd5gEvIUxtoxeaUgQzjK2xwcuoCSOiCD2pCFfEHT0t2hh1DLygZugiulXNK20VZY5cclkE3tT9vwOf3OIfIxC9Spz0akzjGulzMDAebnT2BbIfCqs/s1600/2013-05-05+19.35.46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqeo0caJ5W5zu3xaVNfGvN9G-SAZxd5gEvIUxtoxeaUgQzjK2xwcuoCSOiCD2pCFfEHT0t2hh1DLygZugiulXNK20VZY5cclkE3tT9vwOf3OIfIxC9Spz0akzjGulzMDAebnT2BbIfCqs/s640/2013-05-05+19.35.46.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9/11 Memorial was intense.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oof.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We failed at getting in, but we had an adventure trying!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Radio City Music Hall.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grand Central.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homeward.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home.</td></tr>
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Thank you to my awesome hostess and to NYC for not going easy on me. I left feeling exhausted and empowered, which is exactly how I like to leave a new city. Your subways don't scare me anymore, but your empty SNL promises cut me deep. I'll be back. And maybe I'll have a moving truck behind me next time!</div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-43419397424674148952013-04-29T17:26:00.000-05:002013-04-29T17:26:43.461-05:00The Year of What Now?Hey there, sportsfans! Long time, no talk, right? I've been itching to get back here, but have been buried under work and writing (for pay! what <i>what</i>!) and doing some really fun stuff. I can't complain, and I won't. I'm tired, but I love writing here and hearing your stories. Please keep sharing them!<br />
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Many of you are now familiar with our 2013 motto: The Year of <i>Why Not?</i> We're four months in, and are experiencing all kinds of new and exciting/terrifying things. I tag some of my Facebook and <a href="https://twitter.com/cheldevereaux" target="_blank">Twitter</a> posts with #TheYearofWhyNot?, and I've started getting some questions about what it means.<br />
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For those who haven't yet, <b>you can read more about the birth of The Year of <i>Why Not?</i> <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2012/12/why-not.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</b> The short version is, at the start of 2012, I decided fear, discomfort, self-consciousness and/or self-doubt are terrible excuses to avoid trying something new. I resolved to start asking myself <i>why not?</i> when presented with an opportunity for a new experience, instead of going with my instinct toward isolation and comfort. Surprisingly (only to me, probably), I had a great year, and by the end of 2012, I decided to extend my <i>why not?</i> attitude into 2013. I wanted to live my life as if I were doing it on purpose. For entirely too long, I reacted to life and hid from the things that would make me feel weak. The Year of <i>Why Not?</i> is showing me how to run head-on toward the things I'm afraid of or at which I don't think I would excel. In general, my life has been really safe. I wanted some challenge. I wanted to pump some adrenaline back into my veins.<br />
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It started more than a year ago, and it's led me and my husband to a really crazy place. All bets are off for us. We definitely don't say yes to everything. That would be unwise and incredibly exhausting. Sometimes, the answer to <i>why not?</i> is<i> because we feel drained and tired and need to spend a weekend watching movies and holding hands</i>. And that's OK and absolutely necessary at times. Most of the time, though, the answers we come up with are pretty lame and aren't nearly good enough to pass up an opportunity to try something new, so we give it a shot. We haven't loved everything, but I can't think of one thing we regret trying. <b><a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/p/the-year-of-why-not.html" target="_blank">Click here</a> to see some of the stories from our year so far.</b><br />
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Life feels like an adventure again. My marriage is better. The depression that plagued me for years has felt so much smaller. I am dreaming and planning and believing we could do anything if we really wanted to. We're not trapped or living a life we <i>have </i>to live. None of us are. We're choosing it, and there's so much freedom in that. Saying <i>yes</i> is good for my soul. Giving myself freedom to find out what makes my heart soar and blood pump quick and hot has been even better.<br />
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<i>Side note:</i> I've also had a lot of friends and family join in with us and make 2013 their Year of <i>Why Not?</i> That has been the <span style="font-size: large;">coolest</span>, and a completely unexpected result. I've loved hearing your stories and hope you'll share more in the comments to encourage others to do the same! Your year doesn't have to look like mine, and vice versa. There are so many ways to live fully alive. For some, it may be taking off on that trip you always wanted to take but felt guilty to miss so much work; or finally retiring and becoming a volunteer for your favorite organization, instead of fretting about saving that ever-elusive and mounting number that's "enough." For others, it might be saying <i>yes</i> to the whimsy of your children and letting them explore and create without fear. For me, it's been about changing the way I see the present, and looking for ways to enjoy where we are today, rather than pining for the future.<b> Life is here and now. </b>Some of our <i>Why Not?</i> moments are big, like <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/03/adventures-in-arkansas.html" target="_blank">our backpacking trip in Arkansas</a>, hiking part of the Kalalau Trail in Kauai, or <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2013/01/leaders-and-followers.html" target="_blank">dance lessons</a>. But most of the things we say <i>yes</i> to are small, everyday things like getting to know new friends (not easy for me), getting out of the house to enjoy the cool air, learning new games instead of vegging in front of the television, finding good books to read, and investing in things that really matter. The point is to live purposefully, and that happens one little choice at a time.<br />
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Aside from the major benefits I listed above, as if those weren't enough, the greatest affect this year has had on me personally (so far) is a more confident belief in myself. I've done things in the last several months that, frankly, I didn't think I could do. Coming out on the other side having done what I thought was impossible is life-changing. I don't use that phrase lightly. The box I put myself in suddenly isn't crushingly small. It's roomy and fresh, and I can see the world outside.<br />
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This weekend, we had another <i>Why Not?</i> event. I signed us up for a 5k mudrun: 5 kilometers of running, stopping, climbing over and through and under military-style obstacles requiring upper- <i>AND</i> lower-body strength (what the <i>what</i>?!), being covered to our necks in mud, army-crawling through mud, wading through muddy water, and then more and more running and more and more mud. Two weeks ago, I almost backed out. I was afraid my heart condition would make it completely miserable, if not impossible. I was worried I would finish last; that I would get stuck at the top of the rope wall too tired to go on; or that I would have to quit early and not finish <u>at all</u> because it was too painful and strenuous for my heart to take. <b>I was afraid I would look and feel weak.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSOEhWcs77SeMMWk0vVy_Q3OZQFZbCA73WdLEdGa0HIW_y7f1H0fwlLVp0pQSIoYy-RJSicVeFxIDi2TPJGjY9XJJ8U0N8dWWlSp96ZpqbpLh3KYCQ5HWs5k3s6jFyXSpNcrw_NEclx62/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSOEhWcs77SeMMWk0vVy_Q3OZQFZbCA73WdLEdGa0HIW_y7f1H0fwlLVp0pQSIoYy-RJSicVeFxIDi2TPJGjY9XJJ8U0N8dWWlSp96ZpqbpLh3KYCQ5HWs5k3s6jFyXSpNcrw_NEclx62/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="320" /></a>But then I remembered all the times this year and last that I did something I didn't think I could do. They had seemed every bit as impossible, but I came out on the other side alive and well and stronger. So I said <i>yes</i> and finished the race. I did get stuck at the top of a rope wall, but it was actually my fear of heights, not my heart, that was the issue. I'm working on that, too. I eventually made it down and went on to run at least half of the 5 kilometers - WAY more than I thought I could. We walked the rest, but I didn't care. We didn't finish last, but I don't think I would have cared if we had. The places I succeeded meant so much more. As I was jogging longer than I have in YEARS, in pain but <i>doing it</i>, I even looked at Rob and said, "I think we're witnessing a miracle right now!"<br />
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(It actually was more like, "I think *<i>wheeze</i>* we're *<i>huuugh</i>* witnessing *<i>heehhh</i>* a miracle *<i>gasp</i>* right now! *<i>cough</i>*" ... but still!)<br />
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I think I must have said that a dozen times this year so far.<br />
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So, up next is a white-water rafting trip in Tennessee in July. I'm terrified. I hate being in water that's moving faster than a slow trickle. It makes me sweaty and scared, and I start thinking too much about what it would be like to drown. But, for me, that fear isn't a good enough reason not to get in the raft. If this year is any indication, I'll likely end up loving it. But if I don't, that's OK too. At least I'll be able to say I tried.<br />
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<b>What have you said <i>Why Not?</i> to this year? In what areas of your life do you want to say <i>yes</i>? (If there's something holding you back from doing it, is your reason good enough for you?)</b>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-13376897744752746192013-03-27T19:18:00.001-06:002017-07-12T10:31:55.303-05:00adventures in arkansasSo, as part of <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2012/12/why-not.html" target="_blank">The Year of Why Not?</a>, we went on a three-day backpacking trip to the <a href="http://www.fs.usda.gov/ouachita" target="_blank">Ouachita National Forest</a> with the <a href="http://www.northtexasopc.com/" target="_blank">North Texas Outdoor Pursuit Center</a> last weekend. You already knew that though. I've been talking about it constantly.<br />
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This was me:</div>
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I felt completely unprepared for it, physically and mentally, but we thought it would be more than worth the challenge, and at the very least, would give us some interesting memories.<br />
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(<b>Spoiler Alert:</b> It was, and it did.)<br />
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A few weeks out, we picked up our gear and started training for the miles we would be hiking on the trip. <i>As a side note</i>, if you know you're going to be hiking several miles a day with a 30-pound pack on, you should NOT wait until 3 weeks out to start preparing. The longest stretch we hiked before we left for the trip was 2 miles on mostly flat terrain. On our longest day of the trip, we hiked 9 miles on wildly varying terrain.<br />
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...Amateurs.<br />
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I'm going to be really honest (I can't help it.) and let you know that at the end of day 1, I was seriously regretting signing up for this adventure. It was freezing, with highs in the low 40s and lows in the 20s and 30s. I have thoroughly Southern Californian blood and poor circulation, so I was a solid lump of cold for most of the day. We got a late start, so we ended up only having a few hours to make it to our first camp site before dark. And by camp site, I mean a relatively flat, relatively dry spot of land.<br />
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I knew I would be cold, so setting that aside, the real problem came when I understood what our guides meant by "river crossings." We were told we would be making several crossings on this trip, but I pictured streams. More specifically, <i>small </i>streams that allow you to skip lightly from rock to rock until you land on the other side safe and dry. No ma'am. There was a rather large, deep and frigid river standing between us and our camp site for the night. We got to the edge of the water, our eyeballs wide and shifty. Without missing a beat, Chris and Jeff (the guides) told us to take off our shoes and socks, roll up our pants and unbuckle the waist strap on our packs. The latter was done in case we fell into the river. The hope would be that at least the backpacks <i>probably</i> wouldn't drown us that way. Never mind that the water was so cold I couldn't feel my toes within 6 seconds of them being submerged, so if I were to fall in, I would probably have a heart attack immediately anyway. <i>Yay, adventures!</i><br />
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<i>Another note:</i> The following are <u>not</u> pictures of that first river crossing. We didn't take pictures there. And we weren't smiling. And the river below is <i>much </i>smaller than the one we crossed that night. Use your imagination.<br />
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I was about 1/4 of the way across the river - still in the shallow part - when the regret began to seep in with the ice water. Along with a string of four-letter words I won't repeat here, I kept thinking this had been a terrible mistake. About the time I got to the middle of the river, all I could think about was my Snuggie. I'm not kidding. Thoughts of my pajama pants briefly entered my mind, but they were quickly overpowered by those four-letter words again when I stepped in a hole and the water went to my thighs and soaked my pants.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>"Oh shoot!"*<br />
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(*That's not even close to what I said.)<br />
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45 minutes later (Or 5. Whatever.), I made it to the other side of the river soaking wet. I felt a little smug also. That river did not get the best of me. And by that, I mean I didn't drown. What <i>what</i>!<br />
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It was already getting dark, so once we all made it to the other side, we found a dryish, flatish piece of dirt (a camp site, if you will) and pitched our tent to the glow of our headlamps. Once we dove inside and peeled off our wet clothes and replaced them with slightly less wet clothes, we feasted on Clif Bars and trail mix in our sleeping bags. That part wasn't so bad. But as we walked a good distance away to hang a bear bag (don't even get me started on Bear Watch 2013) and to pee in the woods; and as we lay on the lumpy ground with our 20 degree sleeping bags cinched up to our dry, freezing eyeballs, my thoughts drifted back to my Snuggie.<br />
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<i>Go backpacking, they said. It will be fun, they said.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhh2u_4jsVCUEE4vXsjjJmfxalQVmxrS_H9AX2Z0bVglYp8QpCa4MjZ1gpflMgQ1aFXcDLL4ans8rOeP77Nu2BYFP5skTHhExKtvMbHV7e1FtJIzmXYSMnKb6bf3YHgsdiXH1-AwALFLir/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhh2u_4jsVCUEE4vXsjjJmfxalQVmxrS_H9AX2Z0bVglYp8QpCa4MjZ1gpflMgQ1aFXcDLL4ans8rOeP77Nu2BYFP5skTHhExKtvMbHV7e1FtJIzmXYSMnKb6bf3YHgsdiXH1-AwALFLir/s200/photo+1.JPG" width="150" /></a>Day 2 started off on a much more hopeful note. We got a solid 45 minutes of sleep and were feeling refreshed, although my eyes were nearly swollen shut. Needless to say, I was looking rather glamorous.<br />
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We made some oatmeal, so I had a warm belly and high spirits. They were only a little bit dashed when I realized day 2 would start out with immediately crossing another river just slightly smaller than the one we'd defeated the night before.<br />
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My clothes hadn't dried overnight - something about it being below freezing and misty, I suppose. So I put on the $7 men's sweatpants from Walmart that I'd stuffed in my bag just in case (so much for my quick-drying, fancy high-tech pants), and we set out.<br />
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The rest of day 2, although still full of frigid river crossings and cold rain, was bliss, you guys. The further we hiked, the more peaceful I felt. Spring hadn't yet touched the area we were in, but even still, it was <i>stunning</i>. The only sounds we heard were birds squawking, water rushing over rocks, the chattering of our fellow hikers, and the clanging of the pots and bowls clipped to the outside of our packs. The sounds of simplicity.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3xf9cMuKAq046So3cPGPznVXgr2rzboJqgXe9AiT8RSXDoRIHQ5hQrwvjvzdNzOweXrN9pGWOTKGCOk1HMLyAE3GfFXeFbkCkxkJa91Lurnj5WHvldRnfusdUeFeAmSd7ojYVmqgfubMk/s1600/580213_10100277091044304_388426085_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3xf9cMuKAq046So3cPGPznVXgr2rzboJqgXe9AiT8RSXDoRIHQ5hQrwvjvzdNzOweXrN9pGWOTKGCOk1HMLyAE3GfFXeFbkCkxkJa91Lurnj5WHvldRnfusdUeFeAmSd7ojYVmqgfubMk/s640/580213_10100277091044304_388426085_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I mean, no one could stay in a bad mood while surrounded by this...</td></tr>
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The peace I felt that day was the reason I wanted to do this so badly. There are very few things as settling as being completely out of reach of technology, modern comforts and entertainment. I could feel my mind unwinding and simply exploring the details of the forest around me.<br />
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There were plenty of moments of trying and failing to warm up my toes after splashing across a river and walking in the rain up the side of a mountain. That part didn't change. But it was a lot easier to see those moments as part of the beauty of it all, rather than an inconvenience, when I stopped thinking I could spend 3 days living outside without getting a little roughed up in the process. Nature is beautiful and harsh and painful. The sooner you accept that as part of the experience and appeal, the better. Don't fight it. Just walk through it like you belong there. Nature will <i>always </i>win.<br />
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On our last night, 10 of us huddled beneath a rain tarp made for 4, and we cooked soup in a dented pot with stains from the last adventure. We warmed our hands on the steam, talked about everything and nothing, and ate bowl and after bowl until the food was gone and there was nothing left to keep us warm. It was humanity in its simplest form, and it was so good for my soul.<br />
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All night, the rain poured and the thunder crashed. When lightning struck, I saw shadows of the trees towering above us. I thought a lot about what it would be like to die in a flash flood that night (<i>what can I say?</i>), but I also thought a lot about how right it can feel to be in the middle of nowhere, gathering water from streams, getting wet from the rain, huddling close to strangers and talking about life, and seeing dirt under your fingernails and licking them clean after dinner anyway. Life is raw and beautiful that way. We logged at least 3 hours of sleep, and I only briefly thought there was a bear in my sleeping bag before realizing it was just a snorer in a neighboring tent. Win!<br />
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I'm so thankful for the chance to be uncomfortable. I see myself as pretty low maintenance and quick to adapt to new environments. This weekend showed me I still have a long way to go, but that I actually enjoy the discomfort and simplicity once I let the comfort-craving of home get out of my system. It was also confirmed that my husband is a natural and smoking hot when he's being rugged.<br />
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I suspected it to be true before we left, but I can now say that it's completely empowering to carry everything you need on your back. This weekend was another reminder that I'm stronger than I think, and that my heart condition doesn't have to hold me back. I was able to easily keep up with our group (most of the time) while carrying 30 pounds on my shoulders. Feeling weak is one of my biggest sources of anxiety. I'm so thankful for every experience that proves my fears wrong, because it gives me that much more confidence to look forward to the next challenge. That's what The Year of Why Not? is about. Right? Right.<br />
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You know what else I'm thankful for? No bears. Can I get an <i>amen</i>?!<br />
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The only wildlife we crossed paths with was a very sassy skunk. I named him Pepe, obviously. I wish I could describe what it looked like to see 10 grown humans running away from a tiny, furry animal as it chased us back up the trail. We're fearless right up until there's a chance things could get very, very smelly.<br />
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<b>PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:</b> I want to take this moment to make you aware of a common species of snake that has infiltrated the Ouachita National Forest. I was on high alert the entire time and saw them EVERYWHERE. It's called the Stick Snake, and if seen, can cause heart attack, dizziness and, most often, panic.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another Stick Snake sighting...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stick Snakes EVERYWHERE!!!</td></tr>
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Don't let anyone tell you they're not real, even if they are in fact, much more related to your average tree root than actual snakes.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="background-color: white;">"I
went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the
essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and
not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live
what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation,
unless it was quite necessary</span><span style="background-color: white;">.<b> I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life</b>, </span><span style="background-color: white;">to
live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to
cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it
to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole
and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it
were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of
it in my next excursion."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">— </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="color: #0b0080; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; text-decoration: none;">Henry David Thoreau</span></span>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-34147196383266631592013-01-24T18:51:00.000-06:002013-01-24T19:06:16.227-06:00leaders and followersSo, remember when I <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2012/12/why-not.html" target="_blank">announced that we're signing up for dance classes</a>, even though the thought of it made me sweaty and nervous?<br />
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Well, we did it!<br />
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We're now in week 3 of a 4-week Intro to Ballroom class. And you know what? We're seriously thinking about doing the Intermediate class being offered next month. And maybe even the Intro to Latin Ballroom the month after that. <b><span style="color: orange;"><a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2012/12/why-not.html" target="_blank">Why not?!</a></span></b><br />
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We've started looking forward to Thursday nights because we get to dance in a room with strangers. I think I just saw a pig fly past my window.<br />
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We've learned how to do a box-step waltz, a foxtrot, a bit of swing and a tango. It's not always pretty (actually it's rarely pretty at this point), but we're getting there. Aside from some fun and awkward moves, I'm learning one other very important thing.<br />
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I'm a terrible follower.<br />
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There. I said it.<br />
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And it's not just about dancing. I am a terrible follower in life. I love to be in the driver seat and have for most of my adult life. Only now, I have a small, bossy woman in heels and a twirly dress lecturing me about it. Maybe I need her to be around more often.<br />
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So, in addition to <b><a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2012/12/why-not.html" target="_blank">The Year of <i>Why Not?</i></a></b> this will also have to be <b>The Year of Letting Go of the Vice Grip I Have on <i>The Plan</i></b>. I'll keep working on that name. I'm going to be working on trusting my husband to lead me sometimes, even when I think my plan is better or I'm pretty sure he's about to waltz us into a brick wall. More importantly, I'm going to work on trusting that God's lead is far better than mine.<br />
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Last spring, I got a new tattoo that still makes me think and challenges me every time I look at it. It's two tiny words, but they're packed with meaning for me. It says 'Be still.' and is a reminder to me that I'm not in control. It's based on a verse I'm sure you've all heard a million times: Psalm 46:10 "Be still, and know that I am God." It's so simple and direct. I love it when the Bible is simple and direct. To me, it is a reassurance that I don't have to twirl around in chaos trying to make my life make sense or be something it's not. I can just rest, be still, and know that God is not surprised by the things I don't see coming.<br />
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When you're dancing with a man (the one generally assigned the leader role), two things can happen: One, you allow your body to move when and where he leads you, and a beautiful thing happens - you dance; or Two, you try to take the lead, leave the frame of said man's arms, and the dance gets completely out of sync. It's not beautiful. Many of my dances both on Thursday nights and in my life in general end up this way. If I'd only be still and allow myself to be moved by the leader, it would be beautiful. Instead, I let fear, anxiety and lack of trust get into my hands and feet. I start moving on my own and out of the solid arms of the frame. When this happens, I think to myself, "Slow down, stop thinking so much and go back to his arms." I've been finding this advice quite useful, even outside the studio.<br />
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I'm learning to go back and back and back again to the arms of the leader. Because I want my dance to be beautiful.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-41728034578708233232012-12-31T17:43:00.000-06:002013-04-29T17:19:22.524-05:00why not?Y'all, how in the WORLD is it almost 2013? It seems like it was last week that I was sitting down to write about <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2011/01/lesson-learned.html" target="_blank">what I'd learned in 2010</a>. It seems I skipped entirely over 2011. It was a weird year.<br />
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2012, on the other hand, was a life-changing year, and not just because I got another 365 days closer to being 30. I think I'll be looking back at this year for a long time knowing it was the start of something. Or the start of a lot of somethings.<br />
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The change actually started last November when I took an enormous leap of faith and quit my job of three and a half years. Unemployment rates were through the roof, and I didn't have anything else lined up or any other income to fall back on except the small (like, VERY small.) stipend my husband made as a student. Some would - and very likely, <i>did</i> - think I was a little insane. It was the scariest thing I've ever done. But it was the beginning of a change in me.<br />
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Until the point at which my husband sat me down and begged me to quit my job, claiming he would rather live in a cardboard box than see me doing something I hated, I carried a lot of obligation. I felt a tremendous weight to provide for us while he finished his degree. I was the breadwinner, and I wanted to win us some bread, dammit, even if it killed me. And as it turned out, that's exactly what it was doing. I didn't feel free. I felt tethered to a heavy weight that allowed me no time or head space to pursue what I really loved: writing, photography, design. And it most certainly took its toll. I became a dull, exhausted lump. My husband can attest.<br />
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When I made the decision to quit - and by <i>I</i>, I actually mean <i>he</i>, because <i>I</i> was petrified by fear - I felt an odd and incredible peace. And after walking out the door for the last time, I felt on the verge of something great. I couldn't find full-time work, so for two and a half months, I wrote. And got paid for it. I started a business, called MDCreative, and made up nearly half the income we'd lost. My weeks were full, but the time was mine.<br />
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These two and a half months of freedom were enough for me to dub 2012 as 'The Year of <i>Why Not</i>?' I vowed to kill the urge in me to almost always question things and decline opportunities to try something new. I was afraid, but I didn't want to be anymore.<br />
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The Year of <i>Why Not</i>? has been good to me. We started saying <i>yes</i> to things big and small.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfeaYBUFnHYuztmMtj_2TXWl_YZJjKYIZAC9Sx33tp9fdTTglHh3Zr9oqourhbgzh-JKtM6_0szNhFYPBmOu1Y_oRbppdUCI7c06ph16xTUnN6syib2J4oXTNK9bp0wzQYw3pe1s8Dfn2/s1600/003078-R1-12-11A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGfeaYBUFnHYuztmMtj_2TXWl_YZJjKYIZAC9Sx33tp9fdTTglHh3Zr9oqourhbgzh-JKtM6_0szNhFYPBmOu1Y_oRbppdUCI7c06ph16xTUnN6syib2J4oXTNK9bp0wzQYw3pe1s8Dfn2/s320/003078-R1-12-11A.jpg" width="216" /></a>This year, I stared down my heart condition and then kicked it in the shins and took its lunch money. We've hiked, kayaked and rock climbed. In Kauai, we completed half of <a href="http://www.kauaiexplorer.com/hiking_kauai/kalalau_hike.php" target="_blank">one of the most difficult trails in the US</a>. There were times I wasn't sure I would make it (as in, I might <i><b>die</b></i>), but I finished. If we get back to the island in 5 years like we plan, we will be completing the whole thing.<br />
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For a long time, I've allowed my heart to hold me back. I get self-conscious at how winded I am walking up a flight of stairs, much less by the wheezing and light-headedness that happens on a long hike. I hate (HATE.) being the weakest in the group, so before The Year of <i>Why Not</i>?, I shied away from situations in which that might be the case. But I'm done. This is the body I've been given, and I am surrounded by people who love me and are certainly not judging my athletic prowess. I'm learning to not have to be the best, but to just show up and do <i><b>my</b></i> best. Up next? A 3-day trek in West Texas with the <a href="http://www.northtexasopc.com/" target="_blank">North Texas Outdoor Pursuit Center</a> in the spring. I'm terrified. But I'm doing it anyway. <b><span style="color: orange;">Why not?</span></b><br />
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This year, we said <i><b><span style="color: orange;">why not?</span></b></i> when our neighbor invited us to watch him perform in an amateur/semi-pro/pro/whatever-it-was-awesome wrestling match. And we had a BLAST! How sad it would have been to have missed that - and a sweet new friendship with our neighbors - because it was out of our comfort zone.<br />
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This year, we danced in public. Several times. I have a pretty serious phobia of looking like a fool in front of strangers and friends and anyone, really, so dancing was never on my list of Things I Enjoy Doing Without an Inappropriate Amount of Alcohol. Now we're signing ourselves up for lessons so we can dance in public more often, because you know what? It's fun. And a dumb thing to be afraid of. <b><span style="color: orange;">Why not?</span></b><br />
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This year, I took ukulele lessons from a fat Hawaiian man. It was not part of the plan (or budget), but when someone asked our group if anyone wanted to learn to play, I looked up to see my arm waving in the air. My immediate response was, <b><span style="color: orange;"><i>why not</i>?</span></b> I've learned several songs and hope to be able to call myself a ukulele player by the end of 2013.<br />
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This year, we bought a camera that will let me start pursuing my photography. I can't wait to see the stories I can tell and the faces I'll see on the other side of the lens. I hesitate to call myself a photographer, but <b><span style="color: orange;">why not?</span></b> I can be a photographer if I dang well please.<br />
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This year, I took a job that was never in my expected career path. I was terrified to take it because it was a step back from pursuing my dream job. I worried I might look up in 5, 10 or 20 years and realize I never pursued my passion. But I took the job anyway, because no title or task list can tell me what my dreams are or how I will chase them. Choosing something that fits where we are today doesn't mean I've failed. It means I'm taking care of my family. I still feel freedom to dream, and can see this career detour as the huge blessing that it's been. <b><span style="color: orange;">Why not</span></b> pursue what's best for today?<br />
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This year, we started making some pretty ridiculous and exciting plans for the future - our biggest <b><i><span style="color: orange;">why not?</span></i></b> so far. I won't be sharing those plans here yet because it's not the time and will take a while to work out, but I'm not sure I've ever been so excited. Stay tuned in the next year or two for more on this. <b>Note:</b> We're not pregnant. That's not the thing.<br />
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I feel like I should say here that I don't advocate for making rash decisions, especially big ones. There is a time and place for being calculated. But this year has shown me the freedom and bliss that comes with not over-thinking. I bums me out to think about the number of experiences and opportunities I've missed out on because I was too afraid to say <i>yes</i>. My year may not sound that life-changing to you, but for me, it was. I'm doing my best to make <i>Yes! </i>my first instinct, not my last, and it has been liberating and exhilarating.<br />
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The Year of <i>Why Not</i>? has been so good to me, I've decided to extend it to 2013. Because, <i><b><span style="color: orange;">WHY NOT?</span></b></i><br />
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</i><b>What changed your life in 2012? Would you consider making 2013 your Year of <i>Why Not</i>? Try not to think too hard about it...</b>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-80344820253230262942012-12-22T16:41:00.001-06:002012-12-22T16:41:31.463-06:00love wins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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How are you guys doing on your #<a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2012/12/26-acts.html" target="_blank">26Acts</a>? I'm seriously itching to know. Please do come back and share your stories. It's not about bragging or feeling good about yourself. It's about encouraging and inspiring other people to join in. I have heard some incredible stories about people all over the country (and world) spreading this pay-it-forward idea like wildfire. I've put a few links below to the news coverage that has blown me away. I love that this wave of kindness is starting to overshadow the hate and bickering. Love does win, you guys.<br />
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In case you're having a hard time thinking of ways you can participate, I've made a list of inspiration. Most of these come from the stories I've heard about what other people have already done. You don't have to be a certain kind of person to do this. You just have to be willing to go out of your way. Do it! I'm on Act #6 today and having so much fun!<br />
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<b>1.</b> Buy lunch/coffee/whatever for the person behind you in line. Ask them to do the same for someone else.<br />
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<b>2.</b> Think about how cold it is outside, and imagine what that might be like for someone without a home. Buy a few $5 gift cards to Starbucks or a local coffee shop. Then, hit the streets and hand them out to people you see.<br />
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<b>3.</b> Go through your closets and give away anything you haven't worn in the last 12 months. Be brutal. If you want a more personal interaction, take one of your extra coats and give it to the first homeless person you see on the street. Look them in the eye and wish them a Merry Christmas. Make sure they know where the nearest shelter and food pantry are located before you leave. Drive them to it if you think it's wise.<br />
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<b>4.</b> Ask your local school if they know of children that don't have proper winter coats. Buy some new ones and deliver them to the school.<br />
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<b>5.</b> Volunteer an afternoon at a soup kitchen or shelter. Bring your kids!<br />
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<b>6.</b> Write 26 letters to active military and/or veterans.<br />
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<b>7.</b> Deliver homemade treats to your neighbors. Stay and chat with each one. I can attest that this can be the beginning of sweet friendships.<br />
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<b>8.</b> Visit your local VA and deliver Christmas cards with a note and a gift card to wounded veterans.<br />
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<b>9.</b> Deliver toys and treats to a shelter housing children and families.<br />
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<b>10</b>. Bring a warm drink to the person ringing the Salvation Army bell outside the store in which you were just shopping.<br />
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<b>11.</b> Ask for the tab of the table(s) near you at a restaurant. Have the waiter/waitress put a note in their billfold explaining #26Acts and asking them to pay it forward.<br />
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<b>12.</b> Drop off 26 cans/bags of food to your local food bank.<br />
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<b>13.</b> Purchase gas gift cards and put them on windshields of cars in your parking lot with a note.<br />
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<b>14.</b> Ask your pastor about families in the church struggling to make ends meet. Find out how you can help. Then, do it.<br />
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<b>15.</b> Coordinate with your local retirement/assisted living home and bring meals/gifts to home-bound seniors. Stay and talk with them a while.<br />
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<b>16.</b> Coordinate with your local children's hospital to bring gift cards to patients and their families.<br />
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<b>17.</b> Ask your church or school if there are any exchange or international students without family for the holidays. Invite them to spend it with yours.<br />
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<b>18.</b> Call a restaurant in Newtown and pay for the next 5 pizzas/meals/drinks ordered.<br />
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<b>19.</b> Give your waiter/waitress/valet/massage therapist/doorman a HUGE tip and thank them for what they do.<br />
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<b>20.</b> Write your child's principal/teacher a note thanking them for investing in kids.<br />
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<b>21.</b> Deliver a meal to a family or friend who's sick.<br />
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<b>22.</b> Ask someone at the gas station if you can buy their gas and pump it for them.<br />
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<b>23.</b> Pay for the groceries of someone in front of or behind you in line.<br />
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<b>24.</b> As you fly for the holidays, find uniformed soldiers and buy them a beer or a meal. At the least, look them in the eye and shake their hand.<br />
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<b>25.</b> Deliver cookies to your local fire/police department. Thank them for keeping us safe.<br />
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<b>26.</b> Write 26 encouraging notes and put them on car windshields.<br />
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I could seriously go on and on and on, you guys. <b>There are SO MANY ways you can join in. Just start with one! Please come back here and share more ideas and how you're doing your #26Acts.</b><br />
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<b><u>#26Acts Coverage:</u></b><br />
<a href="http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2012/12/20/kindness-newtown-connecticut-school-shooting/1780923/?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=twitter&dlvrit=206567" target="_blank">Newtown receives an outpouring of healing gifts</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.cosmopolitan.com/celebrity/news/26-acts-of-kindness-ann-curry" target="_blank">One Cosmo Staffer's Sweet Surprise</a><br />
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'<a href="http://usnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2012/12/18/15999109-if-you-do-good-youll-feel-good-ann-curry-explains-origins-of-26acts-of-kindness#.UNRrrVwlCZ0.twitter" target="_blank">If you do good, you feel good'</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://www.globalpost.com/dispatch/news/regions/americas/united-states/121218/ann-curry-26acts-movement-gains-momentum" target="_blank">Ann Curry's #26acts movement gains momentum</a></span></h1>
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<a href="http://www.woodtv.com/dpp/news/local/barry_county/donor-pays-off-43-walmart-layaways" target="_blank">Donor pays off 43 Walmart layaways</a></div>
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-11250206603541596502012-12-17T17:10:00.000-06:002012-12-17T17:10:16.592-06:0026 actsLast week, I sat at my desk crying for 26 people I don't know and begging mercy upon the families and friends who felt their loss so much deeper than I could. There's no explaining the why or how. There's no understanding this horrifying thing. There's only grief. And then, hope.<br />
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But the latter doesn't come so easily.<br />
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It's not difficult to lose hope in the world and the people in it. We are bombarded with stories every day showing the blackness of our hearts and the brokenness of our minds. We are callous and flawed. We hurt each other and care little for those around us. We are surrounded by an overwhelming amount of darkness and pain.<br />
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But there is also goodness and hope. What if we chose to see that too? What if we chose to <b>BE</b> that good, and that hope?<br />
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Yesterday, Ann Curry, one of my favorite journalists, posted the following on her Twitter account:<br />
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This was later amended to be #26Acts, to honor the adults who were killed as well. I have been following <a href="https://twitter.com/AnnCurry" target="_blank">Ann's Twitter feed</a> all day as she shares the hundreds of stories of people taking hope into their own hands. Below are just a few of them:<br />
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This gives me hope. There is generosity and selflessness in us. It's a shame that it often takes tragedy for it to be awakened, but it is alive and well.<br />
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My challenge to you (and me) is to look around you and see opportunity, not darkness. We are all looking for hope. <b>You</b> could be that hope for someone. Your actions could be the reminder that they are not alone; that we will take care of each other; that there is goodness and joy in the mourning. These simple acts don't require much of us. Some won't require anything but a smile and a sincere, 'How are you doing?' ... and then waiting for the answer.<br />
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It cost me $4 to buy lunch for the woman behind me in line today. And it cost me nothing to smile at a homeless woman and wish her a merry Christmas after hundreds have filed past her without acknowledgment. The cost is minimal, but you never know what it will mean for the person you share a bit of hope with.<br />
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<b>Would you walk out your door today, tomorrow, this week - as long as you can! - and simply share one act of kindness? When you do, PLEASE come back and tell your story of hope in the comments here. </b><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. <span style="font-size: small;">(Romans 12:12)</span></i></span><br />
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<i>Looking for a practical way to help? Check out <a href="http://www.hopemob.org/">www.hopemob.org</a>.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-91510630181382601102012-11-08T21:14:00.002-06:002013-07-30T14:46:33.201-05:00beautiful things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This summer, I celebrated 5 years of marriage to a man who loves me (so well), exhausts me, excites me and hurts me, and I wouldn't have it any other way. In case you missed it, I wrote about our wedding day and the days since <a href="http://michelledevereaux.blogspot.com/2012/08/instagram-goggles.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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Over the years, as we've struggled, I had in the back of my mind that I would like to renew our vows someday. You know, when we have an astoundingly glorious marriage, have achieved self-actualization and live in Shangri-la.<br />
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Or, when we reached The Other Side of struggle in marriage.<br />
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I had scheduled that to happen this summer, as we celebrated our 5-year anniversary. Obviously. The bonus? We happened to plan a vacation with my family in Hawai'i that very summer. Fate of fates. It was meant to be. The beach wedding I always wanted.<br />
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I started getting a little bit nervous in the spring, you guys, because we hadn't moved to Shangri-la yet. And I didn't feel a large surge of the actualization or glory for that matter. A vow renewal, in my mind, was supposed to happen under the same circumstances as a wedding - when you're drunk with blinding joy and love, which I now realize is the <i>ignorant bliss</i> that phrase is referring to. (Just kidding. Kind of.)<br />
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I just wasn't feeling like a shiny bride in the back of a limo with her hair just so. To be frank, I was feeling a bit more like a frumpy hitchhiker with dark circles.<br />
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It was from this place, though, that the meaning of this "vow renewal" changed for me. I began thinking about how arrogant and naive I was to think that I could force beauty into the broken by simply waiting for it to happen. This journey we're on won't end until we're dead. We will be forever fleshing this out. The beauty comes with the choosing to walk ahead with joy and hope.<br />
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This vow renewal would not be a celebration of arrival. It would be a celebration of choosing each other. How much more of a promise would it be to choose him (and him, me) when our wounds are still sore?<br />
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Part of the beauty of a wedding day is that it is fresh and new. Unmarred and clean.<br />
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But we would make promises through battered lips, and put rings on scarred hands. Choosing each other, knowing full well the joy and pain that could come. We believe that there is and will be beauty from ashes.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="281" mozallowfullscreen="mozallowfullscreen" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/53127159?badge=0" webkitallowfullscreen="webkitallowfullscreen" width="500"></iframe> <br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/53127159">Hawai'i Vow Renewal</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/michelledevereaux">Michelle Devereaux</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-28284914145130973522012-08-16T19:51:00.000-05:002012-08-16T19:51:57.855-05:00Instagram goggles.Just more than five years ago, on a Sunday afternoon in July, I pulled into the parking lot of a small chapel in Fort Worth, Texas, only a few hours away from walking down the aisle toward the boy who asked me to be his. I was nervous, but not really about getting married. I've never been one to fuss over how I look or enjoy the spotlight. At all. I was shaking at the idea that everyone would be looking at ME. *Cringe*<br />
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In the moments leading up to my anxiety-provoked speed-walk down the aisle, I was surrounded by my closest friends, my parents, and perhaps most prominently, flop sweat. We laughed nervously (mostly me, actually), looked at the clock on the wall a thousand times, and prayed together for a beautiful marriage.<br />
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Clawing at dad's arm, the doors opened wide, and we marched. I finally looked up into my almost-husband's face. It was red and spotted and wet. I took that to mean he was happy to see me.<br />
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Our mentors stood next to and in front of us - one, my beautiful matron-of-honor; the other, holding a worn Bible and sealing our marriage with the power of God and the state of Texas. Our closest friends surrounded us at the front of the church. They have witnessed not only our vow-making, but our marriage-making as well. They still stand with us today, even if from afar.<br />
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As we climbed to the altar, a summer storm rolled in outside. We looked at each other and promised our lives, and thunder rolled.<br />
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Our whole family joined us, put their hands on us and each other, and we prayed right there in the ceremony. We believe a marriage is about the two, but also about those who will walk with them and support them through what may come. In their own ways, our families made vows that day as well - vows to love us and kick us in the pants when things got hard and we wanted to quit.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQZP7xi04rfddyxUNoSZJXtCffjl6adaPTPq_0T_0ys_Ija-B62vRfWXRoHg4MudXqP-yqINrW3XV66eIqiRQONJ82N8p30vhuMZrh-fhMRTsVHca9HHi7yLs3FJ4VGEg3lF1uRBZ5sqw/s1600/facebook_-1130043151_Lumina_Swollen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQZP7xi04rfddyxUNoSZJXtCffjl6adaPTPq_0T_0ys_Ija-B62vRfWXRoHg4MudXqP-yqINrW3XV66eIqiRQONJ82N8p30vhuMZrh-fhMRTsVHca9HHi7yLs3FJ4VGEg3lF1uRBZ5sqw/s320/facebook_-1130043151_Lumina_Swollen.jpg" width="320" /></a>After we said “I do,” we pranced back down the aisle to a twangy country song. The reality of what had just happened wouldn't set in for a while.<br />
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For the next two hours, we ate cake, laughed, hugged 125 people, and danced with good friends. The rain stopped, and we ran through a cloud of bubbles to a waiting car. We said our goodbyes and headed to the airport to jet off on our honeymoon and the rest of our lives.<br />
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THE END. Cue the credits.<br />
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Ha. As if. That was literally only the beginning.<br />
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But no one really talks about what happens next.<br />
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I've shown the world (and by <b><i>world</i></b>, I mean the few people that have been interested enough to read my blog or Facebook posts) snippets about what <b><i>our</i></b> world looks like after that day. Some people get more intimate views, whether they want it or not, but most see only the version I choose to share. I don't think there's anything wrong with that, and in fact, I think it's wise to not broadcast your soul in most cases. The first reason being that most people would not be interested in the contents of my soul. The second being that the word <b><i>intimate</i></b> exists for a reason. I don't think everyone needs to know everyone personally. That would be exhausting.<br />
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On several occasions, though, women I don't see often/ever have made comments online about how interesting and fun and romantic my life must be. After I'm done wheeze-laughing over my keyboard, it gets me thinking... If someone only knows the parts that I choose to share, their perspective on my world would probably be a lot rosier than real.<br />
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With the boom of Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and the like, our lives are neatly assembled for our peers as a series of snapshots. When you think of the moments you want to capture and share, it's almost always the moments of happiness, humor, adventure and simplicity.<br />
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I’ve had all of those things, but for those who may be struggling in their marriages today, I don't want to perpetuate a perception that my marriage and life (or anyone else's) is all of those things all of the time or even most of the time. The reason I feel the need to say this is because there have been many times over the past five years that I've looked at someone else's snapshots and wished my life looked more like theirs: easier, more carefree, lighter. <br />
<br />
But here's the real deal. <br />
<br />
If you could see past the happy pictures of the person or couple you sometimes envy, I'm confident you would also find loneliness, grief and hopelessness. No one is alone in feeling those things. Reality is so different than perception, and I worry that others will do what I do and assume that witty posts and Instagram-filtered moments are the whole story.<br />
<br />
It would take days of writing for me to take you play-by-play through these past five years. Don't worry, I'll spare you. It hasn't been all bliss and magic like I'd hoped at 20 years old, standing at the altar in a pretty white dress. While we have had a great deal of fun and love, we have struggled immensely and trudged through plenty of fights, illness, loss and stress, to name a few. We have loved each other more than any other person, but we have also caused more hurt and pain than any other. I have on several occasions sat across from my husband, our vows feeling like decades in the past, wondering if this is all worth it. If the pain is worth the promise we made. There have been many times when my answer has been "no," and I didn't think I could do it for one more day.<br />
<br />
No one tweets that moment.<br />
<br />
We've just reached a milestone (five years!) that many don't, and I want to say something to those who feel like they can't: Keep fighting. You're stronger than you think. This is not about self-praise for what we've accomplished, or condemnation for those who didn't make it, and <i>certainly</i> not judgement for anyone who got out of an abusive situation. This is simply an attempt to say something I wish I'd heard in the thick of struggle. (And I'm half saying this to my future self who will no doubt be where you are at some point again.) <b>While I have often felt like it's not worth the pain, my promise has to be bigger than that.</b> Our marriage is not perfect five years later - not even close - and we still have a lot of years of work and love ahead of us, I hope. We have NOT arrived. But this battle we fight, to love each other and commit to selflessness and sacrifice, is making us better individually and as a couple. In my opinion, that’s what marriage and life is about.<br />
<br />
I worry that our Nicholas-Sparks-love-story generation is growing up and getting married with the idea that a marriage is designed to produce pure happiness, romance and pleasure. I think a good marriage will have those things. But that's not the whole story. Romance is wonderful, and Mr. Sparks has fanned my heart's desire for a life of being continuously swept off my feet by suspender-wearing Ryan Gosling himself (I'm actually not supposed to talk about Ryan anymore. Sorry babe!). But marriage is also messy and painful. It’s about refining a person and teaching them to love freely, sacrificially, and sometimes without reciprocity (see also: my crush on Ryan Gosling), as we have been loved by Christ. Painful, but beautiful when you think about it, isn’t it? To <i><b>choose</b> -</i> and it is a choice - to give of yourself for the good of another regardless of their ability to repay you?<br />
<br />
If I focus on how <i><b><u>I</u></b></i> contribute to the success or failure of my life and my marriage and commit to working on my own issues, my husband's shortcomings don't matter so much. I married a good man and I love him, but bless his heart, he's nowhere near perfect. And I'm not either.<br />
<br />
You don't seem surprised. I guess that's ok.<br />
<br />
When I see myself as a person desperately needing grace from God and my husband for the myriad ways I assault Him (God) and him (my husband) with my selfishness, apathy, vanity, impatience, judgement, laziness, betrayal, greed, anger.... <br />
<br />
Ahem... what were we doing again? <br />
<br />
When you see your own junk clearly and realize your need for the extravagant grace of others, including your husband, grace flows more freely outward. It will probably mean more work and pain for now, but I promise it will be worth it to keep fighting and trying to see your spouse as someone needing grace as well. Just. Like. You. Puts it into perspective.<br />
<br />
We've fought hard for the happy moments you see. And the fight makes the joy sweeter.<br />
<br />
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This may happen a lot less than I would like to think, but if anyone has ever looked at snapshots of my life or marriage and thought it looked like bliss, I want to squelch that comparison poison (that's exactly what it is) right now.<br />
<br />
Please hear me: those beautiful moments and smiles are real, and I cherish them. My hope is only that you'd know the smiles aren't the whole story - we struggle, too. You are NOT alone in that. But if your struggle is overwhelming now, please know and trust me that there is hope in that, too. We have been there and still go there often. But the times we spend battling are not wasted moments. Those are the moments I believe we can and will make it; because I know we were both willing to fight.<br />
<br />
So... Is everyone following me on <a href="https://twitter.com/cheldevereaux" target="_blank">Twitter</a>?!Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-76563639258035769832012-06-22T17:18:00.001-05:002014-04-04T08:24:10.468-06:00New.Hello out there...? So, about my silence for the past, oh, eight months... I really don't have much to say about that. The short version is: It wasn't you, it was me. I've been on a roller coaster of emotion that scrambled my thoughts and made writing just about impossible, so I made a pact with myself to only write if I really had something to say - something I cared about and that really mattered - and, well, here we are eight months later. So there's that.<br />
<br />
The good news is that I'm back! And I have a story to tell you...<br />
<br />
This one was a long time coming. I talked with this young man last fall, right around the time that life got really weird and I stopped writing. I knew I had to write his story, but I just didn't have the words. I found out this young man was graduating from high school, a goal he was still only hoping for when he talked with me, so I decided it was time. I wrote 1,800 words in one hour. That is purely a testament to his life and his ability to inspire.<br />
<br />
There are so many times I hear stories or see things that just make me want to quit and give up on humanity as a whole (I'm a little dramatic.), but there are others like this one, that give me more hope than I can even put into words. I expect and pray for great things for Jose. Here's his story:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong>On the surface, Jose is not unlike most
teenagers in Dallas. He cracks jokes, dotes on his mom, and probably sends too
many text messages. But Jose is categorically different than many others in his
neighborhood.<br />
<br />
I count myself lucky to have sat across from him one Saturday in South Dallas
to hear his story. It’s nearly impossible to imagine that this bright,
enthusiastic and humble young man spent more than 10 months in county jail for
selling drugs on the streets of Dallas. But that’s all just part of his story
now.</strong></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong><br />
<br />
~~~<br />
<br />
At 14 years old, Jose says he was “just hanging around the wrong people.” Before
long, they convinced him to try drugs and, soon after that, to begin selling
them. It’s the fastest way to make money in his neighborhood, and his family
needed it. <br />
<br />
“For a long time, I was just doing the same thing: pushing drugs, skipping
school and making a lot of bad choices,” he says.<br />
<br />
Jose’s decisions caught up with him when he was pulled over for speeding. Police
officers found drugs in his car. “That’s how I got locked up the first time,”
he says. “I went for one month to juvie.”<br />
<br />
When he was released, Jose thought it was his
chance to start over – but old habits die hard, and old friends are persistent.<br />
<br />
“When I got out, I did good for the first week,” he says. “But the second week,
I wasn’t reporting to my P.O., I was using drugs again, and I started hanging
out with the same people.”<br />
<br />
Within a month and a half, Jose was in the Dallas County jail. “Something told
me that this time, I was going to be locked up for a long time,” he says.<br />
<br />
This realization was a wake-up call for Jose. While in jail, he began to look for hope and started hearing about a God who could give him a fresh start and a new life. Jose had heard that message before, but he was ready to really hear it. After all, doing things his own way hadn't been working. “Every time people came
for church, I would go,” he says. “I got a Bible and started reading it, and I
was praying day and night: before I went to sleep, when I woke up, and when I
was eating.”<br />
<br />
Jose was given a one-year sentence, but was released after 10 months because he
had shown so much improvement. Walking out of jail this time was different than the first.
He was ready to change, and had people around him who were willing to help.<br />
<br />
Jose was about halfway through high school after his release, but he needed something different. His
probation officer recommended he call a school in South Dallas accepting
at-risk students who hadn’t been successful in the public school system.<br />
<br />
Anxious to start working toward his new goals, Jose called Dr. Kristi Lichtenberg, principal
and program director at </strong><a href="http://www.cornerstonecrossroads.com/index.html"><strong>Cornerstone Crossroads Academy</strong></a><strong>. “Dr. Kristi”
interviewed Jose and, a week later, called to let him know that school started
August 23, and he would have a seat in the classroom.<br />
<br />
“Since I came here to CCA, everything is new for me,” Jose said. “Everything
changed. I’ve been learning more about the Bible, and I’ve been making good
choices.”<br />
<br />
Jose learned the power of a healthy support system of people encouraging him toward education and integrity. With his old friends still in the neighborhood and a family still struggling to make enough money, Jose says he learned how relying on God and people who wanted to see him succeed made it possible to
make the right decision in extremely difficult situations. </strong></span><br />
<br />
<strong>
</strong><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong>Each student at CCA is assigned a mentor, and Jose’s taught him about
what it means to follow God and plan for the future. For a time, Jose went to a Bible study with
one of his mentors, “Mr. Justin,” at 6:30 a.m. before going to school.
A teenager, who a year prior had been skipping school altogether to sell drugs
and cruise the city, was waking up before the sun to attend a Bible study with
his new mentor.<br />
<br />
“It feels good just being with God,” he says. “Even if I go through bad times,
I don’t feel bad. As long as I have God in my heart I’m good. I feel good.”<br />
<br />
Dr. Kristi has seen a new person emerge from Jose in his time at CCA. “Jose is
such a unique student,” she says. “He is one of the hardest working, committed
high school students I’ve ever met. He’s so teachable and hungry to learn on
his own. He’s amazing.”<br />
<br />
Jose, standing nearby, looks away whispering, “Thank you.”<br />
<br />
“I’m so thankful to be here,” he says. “I don’t know how to thank Dr. Kristi,
so I’m just working hard at school and making straight As.”<br />
<br />
Jose says his principal has helped him turn his life around. “She’s a good
principal,” he says. “Not just a good principal; she’s a good person. She wants
to help others. When I go through bad times, I tell her and she helps me and
talks to me. She’s good. I can’t explain to you how good she is.”<br />
<br />
~~~<br />
<br />
At that, Jose looks away, and then points to some drawings posted on a wall near us.
“This is my life map,” he says. Each student at CCA completes a life map, with
drawings of where he or she has been and where they want to go in the future.
On Jose’s life map, there are drawings full of hope and pride.<br />
<br />
He points to a soldier. “That’s what I want for myself someday – to be a
soldier and fight for the nation. I want to make a difference.”<br />
<br />
The next picture is of a group of children. “I want to tell people about God who
don’t know about Him – people from around the world that don’t have clothes or
food. I want to help them and tell them about God, and I want to show love
everywhere.”<br />
<br />
Another drawing catches my eye: construction workers. “I want to use the
talents God gave me,” he says. “I like to build things with my hands. I know a little
about construction, and I want to make people happy with what I do with my
hands.”<br />
<br />
Ultimately, Jose says he wants to stay away from drugs and be healthy, so he
can "learn more and be smarter.” <br />
<br />
I ask Jose to show me around the one-room school, and he begins moving through
the building as if he’s giving me a tour of his home. He even points out a
corner of the room where daily “family meetings” are held, clearly an important
place for him.<br />
<br />
“At the end of the day, we sit in a circle and have a family meeting,” Dr.
Kristi says. “We pass around a spoon and share about our day. Jose always says,
‘Well, it was a good day. Just like every day.’”<br />
<br />
In other areas of the school, there are pictures posted of the students all
over Dallas, learning about culture and building friendships.<br />
<br />
Another wall is full of papers with cheerful ‘A’s and ‘A+’s. Jose nonchalantly
points to one with his name on it. We high-five and move on.<br />
<br />
~~~<br />
<br />
Jose changed a lot of destructive behaviors in his life with the help of
mentors and friends. But his situation and the temptations he faces are the
same. Simply walking outside his door means running into men in the street
pressuring him to buy and sell drugs, weapons, and girls.</strong></span><br />
<br />
<strong>
</strong><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong>
“Good people have been coming to me trying to help, and I try to go with them,”
Jose says, “but at the same time, bad people have been coming to me. I’m
thankful that God put people in my life to help me stay on the right track. The
devil doesn’t want me to be successful. He wants to hold me back.”<br />
<br />
Kristi is realistic about the temptation for Jose to go back to his old
lifestyle. “He could make a lot of money selling drugs,” she says. “We’ve just
been praying that he would stay strong. God has really been showing us how He’s
going to provide in the right way for his family.”<br />
<br />
Jose’s mom does as much as she can to provide for her family, but there have
been times when there just wasn’t enough. “She came by one day and, when I
asked how she was doing, she said they cut her hours at work,” Dr. Kristi says.
“She got tears in her eyes and said that Jose will sometimes say, ‘You go ahead
and eat. I’ll just eat at school tomorrow.’”<br />
<br />
Jose is willing to do whatever he needs to do help his family. At times,
selling drugs may seem like the most economical way to provide, but Jose has
seen that he doesn’t have to.<br />
<br />
“We really try to teach the kids that if they put their faith and trust in God
and try their best in life, that God is going to provide for them,” Dr. Kristi
says. “They are constantly surrounded with ways the world provides – selling
drugs and prostitution. Every one of our kids knows these things too well.
There’s such a temptation to do this for one night to help their family. We
just try to tell them to hold on and wait and that God will provide.”<br />
<br />
And He has.<br />
<br />
“I just keep thinking, God could not bless us any more,” she says. “But he just
keeps piling it on.”<br />
<br />
Dr. Kristi has spent a lot of time looking up verses about the fatherless. She
says the amount of scripture she has found makes it clear that it’s a special
group of people to God. “I just love how He shows us that here.”<br />
<br />
~~~<br />
<br />
After my last question for Jose, he hesitated for a moment and then quickly announced
with a smile that he had recently been released from his probation. He’d kept
his big news for the end. He was proud of what he’d accomplished. “I’m just
staying on the right track, going to school and keeping good grades,” he says.
“I’m trying to graduate.”</strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><strong>And he did, on May 26.<br />
<br />
Jose is a success story, and they aren’t all so encouraging. But his story is a
reminder that just about anything is possible when you have hope and are
surrounded by people encouraging you to keep fighting for your own success.</strong>
</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/13869506" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe> <br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/13869506">Cornerstone Crossroads Academy</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user3904105">Mary Lou Saxon</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-58877997606798492002011-10-27T19:21:00.001-05:002011-10-27T19:23:54.963-05:00flashbacksI had a pretty severe high school flashback while driving home from work. Third Eye Blind's "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_0Y-V3MyqY&feature=related">Semi-charmed Life</a>" came on the radio and whooooosh... I was back in my baggy LEI jeans and Converse sneakers. The faces of my best friends flashed before my eyes along with all the times we got in trouble for chatting in class and staying out too late. It got me thinking about how much I've changed since then. And it makes me wonder how different my old friends are today.<br />
<br />
In high school, I was painfully shy and sometimes (OK, <i>often</i>) awkward. No joke. It's been documented in year books. I wasn't completely confident in my flared LEIs, and I was never the most popular girl in school. I'm still not the most popular girl in my world, but I'm ok with that. To be honest, I was pretty ok with it back then, too. Popularity seemed like a lot of pressure. I'm also still awkward sometimes. (Often.) Right now, I'm realizing it sounds like I'm exactly the same, but some things have changed. I promise.<br />
<br />
I finally grew into my gangly arms and legs, and I can run without falling down now, which is pretty great. I would probably still get cut from the 8th grade basketball team, though.<br />
<br />
Another new development? Dancing. I used to be terrified of dancing. I think most, if not all, people look like complete morons when they dance. I'm 100% included in that group. But I realized at some point that dancing is fun, and probably the closest I'll get to actually being a child again. I'll gladly look like a moron for the bliss that comes with my <i>awesome</i> moves during the perfect song.<br />
<br />
I'm also not horrified of speaking in public anymore. I used to emotionally and (only sometimes) physically curl up in a ball when asked what I thought about something. I lacked confidence and had a squeaky I-don't-know-what-I'm-talking-about voice, which didn't help. When I finally decided I had something to say, I somehow learned how to do it. Now I'm a professional communicator. How crazy. Somewhere along the way, I learned that having an opinion and demanding (nicely) to be heard is not a bad or scary thing.<br />
<br />
So as not to make it seem like all of my changes have been positive ones, I will also say that I am a lot more cynical than my 14-year-old self. I miss how she used to see the brightest possible scenario and used to be unconditionally merciful and generous. Life threw some cold water on my face in the last 10 years, and I wish that innocence and lightheartedness hadn't been as hampered as it was. I'm working on getting that back...<br />
<br />
I'm comfortable in my own skin. I spent a lot of time trying to look and act the right way to fit into a certain box when I was younger. Somewhere between 12 and 25, I figured out that <i>my</i> box is the only one I want to fit into. It's a lot more comfortable to be who I really am and look and dress and act like myself rather than anyone else.<br />
<br />
My world no longer revolves around boys - although I live with one, now. Ironic.<br />
<br />
I personally can't wait for my 10-year reunion. Good and bad, people change, and that is so cool. I love to hear the stories of how people have come to be the way they are. There's always a reason.<br />
<br />
<b>How have you changed the most since your angsty teen years? And, more importantly, do you remember Chumbawamba?! We were so cool.</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/2H5uWRjFsGc" width="560"></iframe>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-32997509497635098542011-10-17T18:04:00.000-05:002011-10-17T18:04:13.659-05:00no time.This has been rattling around in my brain for too long. Here goes...<br />
<br />
I had an epiphany a few months ago that is kicking my martyrdom complex in the shins. It's this: Giving up the things that distract you or stop you from investing in people and pursuing your passions is not sacrifice. It's common sense. And, in my opinion, giving up things that you can't seem to live without is a great way to come to the realization that you <i>can</i>. And, frankly, probably <i>should</i>.<br />
<br />
Life in my house is full of stress and work and school and cleaning and entertaining and such - just like most houses. I feel like I am busy all. the. time. Several months ago, I found myself saying over and over again, "I don't have time," in response to a question about why I'm not doing __________. Most of the time, I was asking myself the question. "Why aren't you writing more?" "Why aren't you playing your guitar?" "When was the last time you read a book for pleasure?" "Why aren't you spending more time with your neighbors?" "Why did you quit painting?" "Why aren't you exercising?" "Why aren't you getting more sleep?" It went on and on.<br />
<br />
My "I don't have time" answer was just an excuse, though. I was choosing not to see the fact that I spent about two hours a day (give or take) watching television or numbing out surfing my favorite websites to "unwind." That's 10 hours of time (that I <i>don't</i> have, remember?) just during the weekdays. 10 hours that I could be doing a million different things that I actually enjoy doing. Instead, I was entertaining myself into a stupor.<br />
<br />
There are so many days that I come home and literally can't think about doing anything but vegging out. I want nothing more than to drown out the constant chatter in my mind about my to-do list at work and at home so that I can just get some freaking rest. But the things I was doing weren't giving me rest. They were really effective in drowning out my busy mind, but it also caused me to disengage with life in general as soon as I walked through my front door every night. I was becoming a workaholic during the day and moonlighting as a zombie. Which my husband loved. Or maybe not.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOnd-SN1XVp4cJ2qYD5a8A9dQZ7rZojRGu5e33GnAkLqXLrolxtqvq-c_OWs1rffy0RF4yiCIAv9E887h1_vW8dpIy_TL9JfQ-lTaJIhdP5LcpJ5wUA7G5aYOUs6LBzyNmw40zkHSqJiWD/s1600/ILoveTV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOnd-SN1XVp4cJ2qYD5a8A9dQZ7rZojRGu5e33GnAkLqXLrolxtqvq-c_OWs1rffy0RF4yiCIAv9E887h1_vW8dpIy_TL9JfQ-lTaJIhdP5LcpJ5wUA7G5aYOUs6LBzyNmw40zkHSqJiWD/s200/ILoveTV.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo from <a href="http://www.zazzle.com/i_love_tv_button-145421905331637368">here</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So we made a decision to turn the TV off during the week and to make an effort to have quality face time (and not the kind on your iPhone). Our first "intentional" activity was making a chore calendar, because it wasn't just my pleasure reading that wasn't happening as often as I'd like. It was my plants that were dying. And my shelves needed to be <i>plowed</i> for all the dust. Then we started getting creative. It's amazing how much quality time you can have when you're not competing with whatever lame fall show is on - like <i>New Girl</i> or <i>Parks & Recreation</i>. Both of which I actually happen to ADORE. But I'm growing, so I just say no. Most of the time. I'll be honest here.<br />
<br />
We've played games and read books. Yes, two people with more than full-time jobs are <b>reading for pleasure</b>. Amazing. My house is very nearly spotless, for being old and dirty in nature. Plus, I've been working out for an hour almost every day. Seriously. This is a legitimate miracle. I've lost 5.5 pounds and my muscles have nearly stopped whining. I have very little interested (much less the blatant addiction from weeks ago) in checking my work e-mail after hours, which is a relief in itself. Ah, freedom... My plants are still dying, but it's not because I'm not watering them. It's because plants just die under my care. They give up and I don't know why. Maybe I love them to death.<br />
<br />
By far the best part about this whole thing is that I feel more healthy and... engaged. I thought I needed to drown out my mind because it wasn't capable of just choosing not to fret. I was wrong.<br />
<br />
I'll be honest and say that the first few weeks were really hard. We would make dinner and stare at each other with a twinge of panic in our eyes because we had NO IDEA what to do with the next 3 hours of our evening. But it's getting easier. And, to be fair, some of the panic might have been because we were out of ice cream.<br />
<br />
For a while in the beginning, I felt like a martyr. I felt like I was making this grand sacrifice to be a more productive and just plain better person. But doing something that is good for me and gets me focused on the things that feed my soul is not really sacrifice. It's like fresh fruit and a good workout. Healthy and light. I feel better because of it.<br />
<br />
We're trying to get more creative with our time and make sure that we're getting the most out of every minute. Here are a few of our ideas:<br />
<br />
- <b>Writing.</b> I need to write for my mental health. The longer I go without it, the more I forget how much it centers me.<br />
- <b>Reading for pleasure.</b> No explanation needed. Bliss. <br />
- <b>Weekly jam sessions</b>. Me on guitar and him on the d'jembe (an African drum). We got to know each other during jam sessions in my dorm at college. These times are sacred.<br />
- <b>YouTube dance lessons</b>. Yep. We're doing it. I don't even care if you laugh.<br />
- <b>Nightly walks around the neighborhood.</b> This time is so refreshing. There is something about walking side by side that makes talking so easy and fun. Most of the time. We've also had heated conversations while walking (sometimes 'storming' is a better description) by our neighbors' houses. But it's worth it, and we almost always walk back into the house feeling closer and understood.<br />
- <b>Inves</b>t<b>ing in people</b>. I love my city (most of the time), I love the people in it and I love to get my hands dirty. But this was one of the first things to go when I was just too spent to do anything. I NEED this. If you live in Dallas, I know a ton of really fun ways to get involved! Ask me. I promise I'll have time to tell you.<br />
- <b>Puzzles</b>. Remember those? My muscles are literally sore from last night's puzzle session. Apparently puzzling also makes me a little tense.<br />
<br />
<b>What are your favorite things to do when you have to entertain yourself?</b>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-18155706661633270972011-10-12T20:00:00.000-05:002011-10-12T20:00:39.842-05:00my summer vacation<div style="text-align: center;">Wow. This is my longest stretch of silence in a while. It's been an eventful summer and entry into fall with a lot of fun, excitement, trauma and road trips. To explain why I've been so quiet, I've put together the proof of my crazy summer vacation...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE36ln4OzLlNhpbGGrs2kybc8kdV-4U79JIiaS9bb5DZp2oEjcGeHCXgwjK-g6nUmcG6TNmbSyUvlBrxqN3LGRmT_s67NnmcomLt2X8iCAnnnG1lNmqnSl1sanBDM2HzMh2wciJ5kaCrH4/s1600/IMG_1754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE36ln4OzLlNhpbGGrs2kybc8kdV-4U79JIiaS9bb5DZp2oEjcGeHCXgwjK-g6nUmcG6TNmbSyUvlBrxqN3LGRmT_s67NnmcomLt2X8iCAnnnG1lNmqnSl1sanBDM2HzMh2wciJ5kaCrH4/s320/IMG_1754.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">My parents helped us kick off the summer with a visit! As usual, they couldn't leave without buying us a major appliance. Thanks, you guys...</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizBYmQveLWfyq0NbTjLJ91KLrBQHNpqnLVFXKO-vgl3WDHDj0gt0IvFUGPDIHpWVBrJjAdkzy5iGbsvOQ59pbQb1ZmT8LYA7UERyETWGEF923X2O5_DSMr5FQQG1LGli30jOdpdy4oCzb4/s1600/Dishwasher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizBYmQveLWfyq0NbTjLJ91KLrBQHNpqnLVFXKO-vgl3WDHDj0gt0IvFUGPDIHpWVBrJjAdkzy5iGbsvOQ59pbQb1ZmT8LYA7UERyETWGEF923X2O5_DSMr5FQQG1LGli30jOdpdy4oCzb4/s320/Dishwasher.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Next up was a visit from our friend Nicholas from Ghana. OK, we didn't actually know him to begin with, but he was our friend by the time he left. He was in town for a couple of weeks training at the Dallas Seminary, and we hosted him for a weekend and showed him how people party in America - playing putt-putt and laser tag. That's how people party, right?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj9-pCthHj7p7hKHTHG-NjFWmk7UY1ItoVodJlpG6QN1UerYE8vc233JcaAoRSMj6t95GX-U5OsW4x7O3yFjIoTJSZ3NlzXEc7etKqlYJkdqf31VdA3QtP7QdrkJx94jByaZHacqx5Deo4/s1600/Nicholas2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj9-pCthHj7p7hKHTHG-NjFWmk7UY1ItoVodJlpG6QN1UerYE8vc233JcaAoRSMj6t95GX-U5OsW4x7O3yFjIoTJSZ3NlzXEc7etKqlYJkdqf31VdA3QtP7QdrkJx94jByaZHacqx5Deo4/s320/Nicholas2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Next came the wedding of the year! My BFF from TCU decided that Vegas was calling her name. So we piled in the car with my other BFF from TCU and her man and drove 1,534,976 miles to Las Vegas. Totally worth it. Did I mention BFF #1 was there to get married?!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2ooQ61f5bFJPh3wQgAY9kBl5uSwIaEpssUPE7Y-RosdwKVCPiaqy_lysY0q2nNtmLAAy_VZK1z3tUKiP8fC9CTx4UPA0Yl8_yV6b2G_l-rrLLe7TcDsrGKdjVsjQVJ0DJ6IEboc0rfx6/s1600/Vegas+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE2ooQ61f5bFJPh3wQgAY9kBl5uSwIaEpssUPE7Y-RosdwKVCPiaqy_lysY0q2nNtmLAAy_VZK1z3tUKiP8fC9CTx4UPA0Yl8_yV6b2G_l-rrLLe7TcDsrGKdjVsjQVJ0DJ6IEboc0rfx6/s320/Vegas+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEDMI2uhKIXqaFycwKPzEDy74blObiMSV7fczhuj6QzJ1ld2Q4FVNjbSjzEJzcwyx2G8AKmpv_9wMz9pKY1wGTO8jb2uE9g82KASYBi1gTWTBk_TxmqhHeI7uZaZBaSNuU95mCqU4uFbX/s1600/Vegas+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEDMI2uhKIXqaFycwKPzEDy74blObiMSV7fczhuj6QzJ1ld2Q4FVNjbSjzEJzcwyx2G8AKmpv_9wMz9pKY1wGTO8jb2uE9g82KASYBi1gTWTBk_TxmqhHeI7uZaZBaSNuU95mCqU4uFbX/s320/Vegas+1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Later in the summer, my man and I celebrated our 4-year anniversary. Twice. Once at the ballpark for a Rangers game with our Dallas gang, and once at a really fancy hotel (OK, it was a Marriott) sipping orange soda by the pool. We're so classy I can't stand it sometimes.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_XvQ2nbzvwsy8eDBAdln52gdnocmpRfQ1kzyqlU4f5fnu-4a_xpiUXFnss-Q1kc3isIWt3ZMDOMA9mSirKPXPpU8iHNmaP-hSn-k5TMV97N2IjVBGhgtOaoSbE7zQlUE7iat3XzRKEeoo/s1600/Anniversary+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_XvQ2nbzvwsy8eDBAdln52gdnocmpRfQ1kzyqlU4f5fnu-4a_xpiUXFnss-Q1kc3isIWt3ZMDOMA9mSirKPXPpU8iHNmaP-hSn-k5TMV97N2IjVBGhgtOaoSbE7zQlUE7iat3XzRKEeoo/s320/Anniversary+4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNBIresKSiG2tSF1P4KxRb0i-qUj5Zr5oSj6Bx5XdWX7icA4tM-r_GYMBLp7cWHIeZGmkYTZZUY5pIrfxNB558kr6g3OKwDtzSAwCa74GpPErkiuhh131OBP0qSzmEG2GMg3X2dHrhvSBd/s1600/Anniversary+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNBIresKSiG2tSF1P4KxRb0i-qUj5Zr5oSj6Bx5XdWX7icA4tM-r_GYMBLp7cWHIeZGmkYTZZUY5pIrfxNB558kr6g3OKwDtzSAwCa74GpPErkiuhh131OBP0qSzmEG2GMg3X2dHrhvSBd/s320/Anniversary+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Somewhere in here, we had a pool party with some of our favorite kids (and their parents). </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_kIH8QCh7xip256OsHJ1W4GxM-kIpzKOVstCFglVGFlre51YuUlkFbTHhurX-LG8LWed7mjv9-zRBX6mbRLFnCVu-u4QlmHacBmSgbk-LCCTLNH2y31e4RSRZlpEQ2Y7owppzlFiaOdNJ/s1600/IMG_1816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_kIH8QCh7xip256OsHJ1W4GxM-kIpzKOVstCFglVGFlre51YuUlkFbTHhurX-LG8LWed7mjv9-zRBX6mbRLFnCVu-u4QlmHacBmSgbk-LCCTLNH2y31e4RSRZlpEQ2Y7owppzlFiaOdNJ/s320/IMG_1816.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">MY BROTHER CAME HOME FROM AFGHANISTAN!!</div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Next came my birthday and Rob's birthday. Again, we kept it very classy.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_gvbMLRebw6prOKUBF0oIMKaw9WXrwCL8raGR8aEUZZs7BvQ0sQ2e1BCEhpdtGHDMoRpK2DibotDtCPY0OcHyrUAhC84_JGqhIuG_r747SF6rbGHK-xrYzz34Eiol2O3Q4FNX-5VKR9Z/s1600/IMG_1833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq_gvbMLRebw6prOKUBF0oIMKaw9WXrwCL8raGR8aEUZZs7BvQ0sQ2e1BCEhpdtGHDMoRpK2DibotDtCPY0OcHyrUAhC84_JGqhIuG_r747SF6rbGHK-xrYzz34Eiol2O3Q4FNX-5VKR9Z/s320/IMG_1833.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXh1nM2y3DraUojgtU2-BAa4M_xxZ-F_OU_l-TUQBnu9XgSoD9EZotKcS1G4jc088HUIsFKSELSbH3LPU6ExXUuvhcGnZPCW0o70PFy0mzLIlIGh5jsBkMOjxxsnFn5TPCQiyxUGpKTqrf/s1600/B-day+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXh1nM2y3DraUojgtU2-BAa4M_xxZ-F_OU_l-TUQBnu9XgSoD9EZotKcS1G4jc088HUIsFKSELSbH3LPU6ExXUuvhcGnZPCW0o70PFy0mzLIlIGh5jsBkMOjxxsnFn5TPCQiyxUGpKTqrf/s320/B-day+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">We then climbed back in the car and headed to New Braunfels to float the old Guadalupe river. We all escaped with only minor bumps and bruises and lots of fun memories.</div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Finally, the crescendo of our summer, we hopped on a plane and headed west to vacation by the beach. We read books, went to Disneyland, played puzzles with my parents, laid very still on the beach, slept until our eyes popped open (read: very late) and stared at each other. It was heavenly.</div><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Best summer ever, right? <b>What is your favorite memory from this summer?</b></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1329710592134476902.post-85816424388398012022011-06-19T11:54:00.000-05:002011-06-19T11:54:14.126-05:00dad<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Last month, I honored my mama with a post about all that I've learned from her. Today, it's time to give a shout out to my pops. I'm not sure if he reads my blog, so: <i>MOM, please tell dad that I wrote about him and would like him to read it.</i> <i>Thanks.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div>My dad is a man of few words. Unless you get him talking about sports or home improvement. Then he could go on for days. Usually, when that happens, we all just kind of sit and watch. Seeing my dad get excited about something is exciting for me. He is <i>very</i> mellow, so if you can see passion on his face, it's a big freaking deal to him. And to me. I say that to illustrate the fact that most of the things I've learned from my dad aren't because we sat down and talked about them. I learned them by watching him live.<br />
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My dad could probably have dozens of blogs written in his honor by the people he has influenced in his lifetime. From work buddies to teenage boys, he has invested his time, energy and encouragement in the people put in his path. It's been fun to watch.<br />
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I'm never more proud of my dad as I am when I watch him teach. He used to coach my brother's baseball teams and would become a second (and sometimes the only) father-figure to many of the boys on his team. I don't necessarily think he intended for this to happen. He just met the need in them to be encouraged and challenged to meet their potential and thrive. And they did.<br />
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My dad also taught me what it looks like to be patient. We definitely had our scuffles when I was growing up, but my dad never yelled and never lost his temper with me. I can't say the same for my frazzled teenaged self. The older I get, the more I appreciate his peacefulness. My house was not a chaotic or fearful place. I know that's not often the case for a lot of kids. The fact that he taught a gangly tween how to swing a bat without losing his cool should speak volumes.<br />
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I was taught the value of family by my dad. Things were not always easy, but my dad took care of us. He has spent days, weeks and months in hotels and a trailer because work wasn't always at home. He gave up what was probably his idea of "normal" so that he could give us the things we needed. There were just as many days, weeks and months that I missed my dad, but I always understood that this was his sacrifice. I am only beginning to understand what that meant for him and my mom.<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">One of the most valuable things dad taught me how to do is... lounge. He has mastered the recliner unlike anyone I know (except his father). This is something I also do well (no, it's not on my resume). But underlying this hobby of my dad's is the philosophy that you work your butt off and then rest. Dad has always regulated our tendencies to GO and DO until we crash. I still hear his voice telling me to slow down when I'm overcommitted.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div>A really important lessons my dad taught me is that you don't have to win, but you have to try. As a kid, I played a lot of sports at which, frankly, I was terrible. Whether I struck out (Every. Time.) or we lost the game or I came in dead last or I made a free throw or we shut them out, my dad was proud that I had shown up and worked hard. I am a more loyal and committed person because of this lesson.<br />
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He also taught me how to tie my shoes, which has gotten me pretty far in life.<br />
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I love you, dad!!Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339665039230337226noreply@blogger.com2