tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-127895642024-03-13T12:14:32.779-04:00something gloriousLaurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-18543206238749825602010-09-12T12:17:00.004-04:002010-09-12T12:28:53.916-04:00This Blog is Not My HomeBut <a href="http://www.laurenmartingauthier.com/">this one</a> is!<br /><br />That's right, I'm rolling out the red carpet in my <a href="http://www.laurenmartingauthier.com/">new space</a>.<br /><br />You won't find me blogging in this space anymore, but you will find me at <a href="http://www.laurenmartingauthier.com/">laurenmartingauthier.com</a> where I'll be <a href="http://www.laurenmartingauthier.com/">dancing at the intersection of life, love and photography</a>.<br /><br />Can't wait to see you <a href="http://www.laurenmartingauthier.com/">there</a>!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/BlogSignature.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 75px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/BlogSignature.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-41220381253314619802010-08-07T16:41:00.003-04:002010-08-07T17:19:48.303-04:00My recent whereabouts...I'll be posting more here soon, I promise! As you can see, I've altered my layout a bit, and am working on updating my (terribly outdated!) links. I really do intend to keep this ol' girl going. Not just going, but going strong!<br /><br />But in the meantime, and in case you weren't aware...<br /><br />I wanted to let you know that I've got a series going over on my <a href="www.reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com">photography blog</a> right now and I think that you should check it out! In addition to posting "sneak peeks" of <a href="http://reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com/2010/07/nadia.html">recent client sessions</a>, I've started posting more personal photos under the heading "Snapshots of a Summer," in order to chronicle my life through the lens of my camera.<br /><br />You should <a href="http://reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com/2010/07/snapshots-of-summerthats-my-daughter-in.html">start here with the first post</a>, and then subscribe to follow along!<br /><br />For the sake of playing catch up (if you're so inclined), I'm linking below to the photos I've posted so far (in chronological order). <br />I hope you'll come along for the ride!!!<br /><br /><a href="http://reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com/2010/07/snapshots-of-summerthats-my-daughter-in.html">That's My Daughter In the Water</a><br /><a href="http://reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com/2010/07/no-way-jose.html">No Way José</a><br /><a href="http://reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com/2010/07/swollen-in-woods.html">Swollen in the Woods</a><br /><a href="http://reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com/2010/08/damp-throats-of-flowers.html">Damp Throats of Flowers</a><br /><a href="http://reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com/2010/08/there-is-season.html">There Is A Season</a><br /><a href="http://reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com/2010/08/wordless-wednesday.html">Wordless Wednesday</a><br /><a href="http://reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-wanna-hold-your-hand.html">I Wanna Hold Your Hand</a><br /><a href="http://reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com/2010/08/will-you-still-need-me-will-you-still.html">Will You Still Need Me, Will You Still Feed Me</a>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-74291356189209171632010-07-04T10:17:00.009-04:002010-07-04T13:38:18.847-04:00Versatility<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggINMdmqlI649OBYyTmmVU07FpuQ3eXS1gYbui2j6z-JnCfc1W49ZR1xG6lSodNIuSD7q4PQvEH7XDQcROn_USEg8mK7EVg7QHC2nOCS8zKeTQY1aG-CfiL50lcd41sfLmR0jspw/s1600/versatile-blogger-award.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggINMdmqlI649OBYyTmmVU07FpuQ3eXS1gYbui2j6z-JnCfc1W49ZR1xG6lSodNIuSD7q4PQvEH7XDQcROn_USEg8mK7EVg7QHC2nOCS8zKeTQY1aG-CfiL50lcd41sfLmR0jspw/s400/versatile-blogger-award.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490104930520904978" /></a>I've not been super active as of late, as a blogger, or as a reader of/commenter on blogs. The current of 'real life' has swept me under, and I've just come up for a bit of 'virtual air' in the past week or so. <div><br /></div><div>In doing so, I came upon a <a href="http://themidnightcafe.blogspot.com/2010/05/im-honored.html">lil' tribute to this here blog</a>, and realized that I myself now have a duty to perform. Amy, thanks for the honor. You're sweet to attempt to draw me out of my blog drought. And against all odds, it may have actually worked ;)</div><div><br /></div><div>In order to "claim" my award, I must now share 7 facts about myself, and then share with you my own choices for the "Versatile Blogger" award.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, without further ado, I begin with 7 facts about myself:</div><div><br /></div><div>1- In all 18 of my growing up years, I lived in one town, in one state, on one street, in one house. In the ensuing 13 years, I have lived in 7 cities and towns, in 5 states, in a grand total of 9 different residences. Is your head spinning yet? Mine is!</div><div><br /></div><div>2- Technically, I am an introvert. I straddle the line on this one, and as such, it took me 20-some odd years to come to this realization. I actually love people, and socializing. (Although I do tend to prefer my socialization in small groups, in low key settings.) But, by God, after a long day of social interaction, nothing sounds more appealing than crawling into a little hole (actually, a deep, soft sofa will suffice) in my jammies, and reading books all day long. BY. MY. SELF. (Alas, as a mother of a young child, you can probably guess how often this actually happens ;) )</div><div><br /></div><div>3- As much as I love the fact that my hubby cooks (and cooks <i>extremely well</i>, I might add), and serves up about 99% of what we eat around here, I must admit that it has made me lazy in the kitchen. And said laziness in the kitchen has led to a drastic degradation of my actual skills when I do step back in to what has arguably become, "Robert's domain." As a result, I often daydream (usually while ripping out recipes for Robert to prepare) about enrolling in cooking classes, and brushing up on some skills with which I would re-enter the kitchen with confidence and flair. Only time will tell...</div><div><br /></div><div>4- I have honestly not been able to decide or decipher whether I am more truly a city girl or a country girl. I love the sophistication, the culture, the diversity, and the instant accessibility of city life. (I'm also not big on yard work, so the idea of a postage stamp yard, is comforting to me in a way.) Alternately, the slower pace of country life- the stillness, the opportunities to get lost in nature, the more ready connection to the land and stronger dependence on your neighbors...these are all like lifeblood to me. Do you see my dilemma? Not sure where this leaves me...</div><div><br /></div><div>5- I am a hopeless idealist, trying to learn to live in "the real." As such, I can make myself bat-shit crazy, expecting perfection in every endeavor I undertake. I'm trying to learn to chill out, cut myself (and others) some slack, and revel in the peace of mind that accompanies lower expectations. I have a feeling this one is going to be a life-long work-in-progress.</div><div><br /></div><div>6- I once entertained grand illusions about what motherhood would be like. (See #5) Those illusions have been sufficiently shattered over the past 5 1/2 years. But, as I've begun to open my hands and release my previously held (naive & neurotic) expectations, I'm being rewarded by snapshots of breathtaking beauty, that I missed out on when trying so hard to control the outcome. Parenthood = lessons in letting go.</div><div><br /></div><div>7- We don't have TV. Well, scratch that- we do own a television set. However, we have no cable service. Not even one of those freely available set-top boxes, for tuning into network stations. We sometimes haul that big sucker downstairs to watch a movie (he is a total old-school relic, complete with built-in VHS & DVD players, measuring in at an atrocious 21"x 19"x 21"), and we occasionally tune into a favorite show via the internet. So, what I'm supposed to say next is that we don't feel like we're missing anything. And the God honest truth is, Robert probably *can* say that. (And after several months of this set up, Ella rarely ever expresses an interest in TV either.) I, on the other hand, will admit that I miss being able to tune into Oprah on a lazy afternoon. I reeeaaaally miss HGTV. And now and again, I really just want the luxury of spending the day being a couch potato. There, I said it. So sue me :P</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">And now, the more important part- the bestowing of honors!</span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>For the "Versatile Blogger" award, I've chosen:</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Christine over at </span></b><a href="http://dreammore.squarespace.com/"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Dreams of Simple Life</span></b></a><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">. </span></b> Christine has been a friend of mine for 10 years now! I can't even tell you how hard it is for me to believe that it has been a <b>decade </b>since we first met in the offices of Grassroots Music, in Houston, TX. Christine is one of my friends who manages to regularly update her blog with the most beautiful content- nothing there ever feels as if it's been slapped up haphazardly. From <a href="http://dreammore.squarespace.com/blog/2010/6/8/nighttime-picnic.html">whimsical photo accounts of her day-to-day life</a> to <a href="http://dreammore.squarespace.com/blog/2010/7/1/our-little-girls-room.html">drool-worthy design projects</a>, from <a href="http://dreammore.squarespace.com/blog/2009/6/29/watermelon-granita.html">mouthwatering recipes</a> to <a href="http://dreammore.squarespace.com/blog/2010/3/4/happy-list.html">"happy lists"</a>, from <a href="http://dreammore.squarespace.com/blog/2010/3/11/one-of-the-most-beautiful-quotes-ive-ever-heard.html">poignant quotes</a> to <a href="http://dreammore.squarespace.com/blog/2010/6/1/the-summer-day.html">poetry</a>, from <a href="http://dreammore.squarespace.com/blog/2010/1/18/my-year-of-reading-and-writing-2009-recap.html">books reviews and recommendations</a> to <a href="http://dreammore.squarespace.com/blog/2009/6/29/a-mountain-ride-colorado-trip-part-2.html">travelogue entries</a>, from <a href="http://dreammore.squarespace.com/blog/2008/4/26/a-little-tour-of-my-garden.html">gardening goodness</a> to <a href="http://dreammore.squarespace.com/blog/2008/2/26/my-kids-in-india.html">life-altering journeys</a>, Christine's blog entries are consistently beautiful, insightful, thoughtful and inspirational, and hers is hands-down my favorite blog on the famed interwebs. You should definitely check it out, post haste!</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Next up is </span></b><a href="http://twitter.com/molliegreene"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Mollie</span></b></a><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> at </span></b><a href="http://molliegreene.com/"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Fresh Milk Delivered Daily</span></b></a><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">.</span></b> Mollie is a homeschooling mom to 3 precious and precocious kiddos, <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/royalbuffet">an extremely accomplished artist and shop owner</a>, <a href="http://molliegreene.com/2010/02/14/smashed-to-the-heart-under-the-ribs/">a dreamer</a> and a <a href="http://molliegreene.com/2010/06/27/lakes-that-hold-our-moons/">master of lyrical prose</a>, who possesses a keen eye and strong knack for photography, to boot! She and I met online, some 7 years ago, in the context of motherhood and message boards. She remains to this day one of my favorite <a href="http://molliegreene.com/2010/04/26/pools-at-batflight/">list-makers</a>, <a href="http://molliegreene.com/2010/03/22/weeks-do-end/">creators</a>, <a href="http://molliegreene.com/2010/06/24/1758/">poetic observers</a>, and <a href="http://molliegreene.com/2010/04/14/dinner-is-served/">fleeting moment capturers</a> on the planet, let alone the web. Creative souls, take note. Bookmark. Read daily. Thank me later ;)</div><div><br /></div><div>And finally, on a local note,<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></b><a href="http://twitter.com/JoLynneMusings"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Jo-Lynn</span></b></a><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> at </span></b><a href="http://www.musingsofahousewife.com/"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Musings of a Housewife</span></b></a><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></b>gets props for versatility as well. I first discovered Jo-Lynn's blog in Main Line Today's 2009 "Best of the Main Line" issue. On the one hand, Jo-Lynn posts about <a href="http://www.musingsofahousewife.com/resources">eating whole foods, supporting local farmers and cooking simple, healthy food for the whole family</a>. These shared passions are what drew me in, and keep me coming back to her blog on a near daily basis. Not only does she share my ideals about buying local, organically grown food, she's in close enough proximity to share her sources as well. Score! On the other hand, Jo-Lynn is a prolific blogger, and one topic of conversation (as interesting as it may be) does not a "post-a-day blog" make. Jo-Lynn posts voraciously on a whole host of topics, including <a href="http://www.musingsofahousewife.com/category/fashion-and-shopping">fashion</a>, <a href="http://www.musingsofahousewife.com/category/reality-tv-junkie">reality TV</a> and <a href="http://www.musingsofahousewife.com/category/raising-responsible-kids">parenting</a>, and she hosts some <a href="http://www.musingsofahousewife.com/category/giveaways">really spiffy giveaways</a> as well. <a href="http://eatlocalphilly.com/">Eat local</a>. <a href="http://www.the350project.net/home.html">Shop local</a>. <a href="http://www.musingsofahousewife.com/">Read local blogs</a>!</div><div><br /></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-47497237972682728602010-07-02T14:27:00.016-04:002010-07-02T15:19:46.876-04:00A Severe MercyThe past several weeks around here have been all topsy turvy- defined by nearly equal doses of joy and grief, celebration and sadness, new beginnings and premature endings. We've experienced sickness, danced to great music, witnessed decay, watched new doors swing open, been bowled over by death, overwhelmed with peace, and all of it in roller-coaster-ride fashion.<div><br /></div><div>One of the two biggest touchstones of this time was my Pop Pop's passing. I've since struggled with how to properly memorialize a man who meant so much to me, and exhibited such a depth and breadth of love and integrity over the course of a lifetime. What I know for certain, is that when he exited this earth and his light was extinguished, our world was left a little more replete with shadow, less resplendent with light.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwEHQZ2kBHoLf3oEoIGagouL3wXdWTOZ8__-GpVjwIOlcwnkMuK89L4p-96ce8J9b8lhgq_cP6IDRc4AXf-rTI7kYVAsc8uK9P6b5TOeYf3FJUcargKcJsY7_M6N_Azs7MARlBzA/s1600/PopPopLaughs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwEHQZ2kBHoLf3oEoIGagouL3wXdWTOZ8__-GpVjwIOlcwnkMuK89L4p-96ce8J9b8lhgq_cP6IDRc4AXf-rTI7kYVAsc8uK9P6b5TOeYf3FJUcargKcJsY7_M6N_Azs7MARlBzA/s400/PopPopLaughs.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489382439268238690" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitB4AWKaYNUUzaVQTffi9z7QVzsZilg1B70NtxzpylSx0cSvLOT5mbS4pYTJPMseGMPpAz-ae2Ii6Xkz1tUeAt8O0vBS-FBdTJLSCBOI7-bU-J0Ri8RmLd9QIqR59f23kshs2ROg/s1600/PopPopGrad.jpg"></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitB4AWKaYNUUzaVQTffi9z7QVzsZilg1B70NtxzpylSx0cSvLOT5mbS4pYTJPMseGMPpAz-ae2Ii6Xkz1tUeAt8O0vBS-FBdTJLSCBOI7-bU-J0Ri8RmLd9QIqR59f23kshs2ROg/s1600/PopPopGrad.jpg"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitB4AWKaYNUUzaVQTffi9z7QVzsZilg1B70NtxzpylSx0cSvLOT5mbS4pYTJPMseGMPpAz-ae2Ii6Xkz1tUeAt8O0vBS-FBdTJLSCBOI7-bU-J0Ri8RmLd9QIqR59f23kshs2ROg/s400/PopPopGrad.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489383005268643922" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Below are the words, inadequate at best, that I wove together to pay tribute to my beloved Pop Pop. In honor of him, I share them with you:</span><br /><br />To anyone who knows us well, the phrase ‘a severe mercy’ is a familiar one. It is the title of a well-loved and oft-referenced book, but also the inscription on our wedding bands.<br /><br />When we chose to incorporate the phrase into our wedding ceremony, and our marriage, it was because we felt that our love- a compassionate gift to us, unearned, but gratefully received, was larger-than-life, unique, especially extraordinary. What we had was not just love, but exceptional love. A severe mercy.<br /><br />For the second time in my adult life, I feel like I have been witness to a severe mercy.<br /><br />Over the past 6 weeks, our routine took shape. Rise on Saturday (or sometimes Sunday), eat breakfast, cube watermelon. Set Ella loose with crayons, colored pencils, watercolor paints and paper. Select and snip flowers from our backyard garden, and balance the vase between our knees for the 30 minute ride from Phoenixville to Blue Bell.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwO9S7eaXdR3-xQqAVBc4XUmHI1-BX0dgQmjoM07XZBV9nV6nw0o0lKGQxiFUsdnhgYig3lwfTCi8Tj5D7oEHUkhbUGECVTlqUJSdUdCv0kcXIZtL30_jjsP5cOwWPlrkii-knKQ/s1600/PopPopFlowers.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwO9S7eaXdR3-xQqAVBc4XUmHI1-BX0dgQmjoM07XZBV9nV6nw0o0lKGQxiFUsdnhgYig3lwfTCi8Tj5D7oEHUkhbUGECVTlqUJSdUdCv0kcXIZtL30_jjsP5cOwWPlrkii-knKQ/s400/PopPopFlowers.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489387334246486178" /></a><br /><br />Yes, over these past weeks, our visits to Pop Pop took on a shape and a life of their own. If he must move from his apartment to a bed in the medical unit, then come hell or high water, he would have his great granddaughter’s artwork and freshly cut flowers to brighten the space. He would have watermelon (and mom’s Russian tea cake cookies) to satiate his sweet tooth. And he would have company, family, by his side. But these visits, and the simple pleasures that populated them, were far from one-sided. We may have brought artwork to adorn the walls, but Pop Pop supplied the colorful stories that lit the corridors of the past, and allowed us entry to worlds that only he had inhabited. Our hands may have sliced fruit and arranged flowers, but his soft, strong hands held ours, with resolve and reassurance, as we watched our loved one begin to slip away.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf87PF0K3Zy7YHXKN3nPoxUwxvBkIJnvKcjWsGRcl4O51jNbyeItOzkHCjxeIjs-DNc6lhN5F_wKKyo2r49JjGIgBG2DK64ljk9JktU3oOB8dNZZviGDFd3Or2nD2PNQucRAKlyg/s1600/PopPopEulo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf87PF0K3Zy7YHXKN3nPoxUwxvBkIJnvKcjWsGRcl4O51jNbyeItOzkHCjxeIjs-DNc6lhN5F_wKKyo2r49JjGIgBG2DK64ljk9JktU3oOB8dNZZviGDFd3Or2nD2PNQucRAKlyg/s400/PopPopEulo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489384075189256754" /></a><br /><br />Last Sunday we arrived as usual, not knowing quite what to expect. The week before we’d had a lovely time together, full of conversation, nostalgia, watermelon juice and palpable hope. This week we’d been warned that Pop Pop’s decline over the past 7 days had been steady and stunning. I entered the room ahead of Robert and Ella, just as the nurse was exiting. Pop Pop was dressed and upright in the bed, and his eyes lit up when he saw me. As I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart leapt into my throat, and when I opened my mouth, it came pouring out. Much more important to me than standing here and telling you these things today, is the fact that I got to tell my Pop Pop what he meant to me. How fortunate I felt to be his granddaughter. How grateful to have had the honor of watching my daughter and my husband form individual, loving relationships with him. And to tell him all of this, as he looked into my eyes (tear-soaked as they may have been), and gently stroked my arm. To say to him, “I’m so glad that you’re my Pop Pop.” And for him to say back to me, “I’m so glad too.”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_11Jr7xMwO85bCaJgUkMszgBMGTDh2IlBd4Uge8pj7pTYTmEaL_nwAo3ZwC9F9-YnENbU1iBB1gd6-IhOpJIhIE4nnMywHZBwhHuwn65NlKEJ4HV36oohRV6xYbXK52dwIz27FA/s1600/PopPopBaptism.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_11Jr7xMwO85bCaJgUkMszgBMGTDh2IlBd4Uge8pj7pTYTmEaL_nwAo3ZwC9F9-YnENbU1iBB1gd6-IhOpJIhIE4nnMywHZBwhHuwn65NlKEJ4HV36oohRV6xYbXK52dwIz27FA/s400/PopPopBaptism.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489385693833377346" /></a><br /><br />For the next two hours, we simply sat together, in the calm confidence of Pop Pop’s presence. I held his right hand, and Robert held his left, and I felt the wordless proclamations of deep and abiding love, each time Pop Pop squeezed my hand, tight within his grip, over and over and over again. I read to Pop Pop from Samuel Johnson’s “Prayers & Meditations.”<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> </span></span>“Let the Holy Spirit comfort and guide me, that in</div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span>my passage throughthe pains or pleasures of the</span></div></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span>present state, I may never be tempted to</span></div></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span>forgetfulness of Thee. Let my life be useful and</span></div></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span>my death be happy;let me live according to Thy laws,</span></div></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span>and die with just confidence in Thy mercy, for the sake</span></div></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span>of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”</span></div></span><br />Pop Pop relished the roasted tomatoes that Robert had prepared for him, and we all laughed over the glaring omission of the “stinky cheese.”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-rpqscalLC9gFdDJcS-Uw5v5UMta5Pljppf_dPlVlF6ACbptaDZBmhr3VmUpHf-SAcO0o3oyyD0bj5IOIn6kLNUTyAo-ao7Hi5lMJGKZayTkRLysUDA42f95fiDbaA0juEjVUw/s1600/PopPopThanksgiving.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-rpqscalLC9gFdDJcS-Uw5v5UMta5Pljppf_dPlVlF6ACbptaDZBmhr3VmUpHf-SAcO0o3oyyD0bj5IOIn6kLNUTyAo-ao7Hi5lMJGKZayTkRLysUDA42f95fiDbaA0juEjVUw/s400/PopPopThanksgiving.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489386124685264882" /></a><br /><br />Ella gave him a sprig of mint that she’d plucked from the garden, and as he inhaled its scent, he declared, “Beautiful mint.” He blew weak kisses across the expanse of the bed. He closed his eyes, breathed long and deep, then opened them again, and looked into mine long and deep. And as we sat there, I felt a knowing.<br /><br />When the diagnosis was in, and the prognosis delivered, we all knew that death from this cancer could be painful and arduous. And out of love for Pop Pop, we hoped and we prayed that it wouldn’t be. That instead of a painstaking journey, Pop Pop’s passage could be paved with peace, and marked by mercy. That Pop Pop would receive his very own ‘severe mercy.’ And 15 minutes later, after another round of goodbyes had been said, after hugs, and kisses had been exchanged, hands clasped together one final, fierce time, he did. Just as Sheldon Van Auken had described it, in this book that first changed my life and molded my marriage, my Pop Pop was ushered away by “a mercy that was as severe as death, a death that was as merciful as love.”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2hgVnNGcUlSOC7fGSMCqJQu_j8i46QCiqYnfyuUwFsivvfZckq82EZs7xJ_uUA0EpXv_Z3bim6ziTrWBbPgChUPuenRRZcNegx0lC-qBFVPAl8lw6_PflLGGZG-TkvnYyhAMuQ/s1600/PopPopGreatGrands+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF2hgVnNGcUlSOC7fGSMCqJQu_j8i46QCiqYnfyuUwFsivvfZckq82EZs7xJ_uUA0EpXv_Z3bim6ziTrWBbPgChUPuenRRZcNegx0lC-qBFVPAl8lw6_PflLGGZG-TkvnYyhAMuQ/s400/PopPopGreatGrands+copy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489389728785530258" /></a><br /><br />In addition to all of the roles that my Pop Pop filled with such love and loyalty- father, husband, uncle, grandfather, great-grandfather, “Odd Fellow”, he also displayed a great affection and aptitude for the written word, and in particular- poetry. And so today, I can think of no more fitting way to bid him goodbye, to honor his memory, and to articulate my own loss than through the words of Mary Oliver’s poem, “In Blackwater Woods:”<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">In Blackwater Woods</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Look, the trees</div><div style="text-align: center;">are turning</div><div style="text-align: center;">their own bodies</div><div style="text-align: center;">into pillars</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">of light,</div><div style="text-align: center;">are giving off the rich</div><div style="text-align: center;">fragrance of cinnamon</div><div style="text-align: center;">and fulfillment,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">the long tapers</div><div style="text-align: center;">of cattails</div><div style="text-align: center;">are bursting and floating away over</div><div style="text-align: center;">the blue shoulders</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">of the ponds,</div><div style="text-align: center;">and every pond,</div><div style="text-align: center;">no matter what its</div><div style="text-align: center;">name is, is</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">nameless now.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Every year</div><div style="text-align: center;">everything</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have ever learned</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">in my lifetime</div><div style="text-align: center;">leads back to this: the fires</div><div style="text-align: center;">and the black river of loss</div><div style="text-align: center;">whose other side</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">is salvation,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">whose meaning</div><div style="text-align: center;">none of us will ever know.</div><div style="text-align: center;">To live in this world</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">you must be able</div><div style="text-align: center;">to do three things:</div><div style="text-align: center;">to love what is mortal;</div><div style="text-align: center;">to hold it</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">against your bones knowing</div><div style="text-align: center;">your own life depends on it;</div><div style="text-align: center;">and, when the time comes to let it go,</div><div style="text-align: center;">to let it go.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">~ Mary Oliver ~</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-62941611503748884982010-03-13T18:05:00.010-05:002010-03-14T11:31:23.538-04:00Butternut Squash Flat Bread with Cheddar and Pine Nuts<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(34, 34, 34); white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:12px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/26755316@N08/4429851863/" title="ButternutFlatbread by Lauren M Gauthier (Red Dirt Girl Photo), on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4037/4429851863_7fb1341091.jpg" width="500" height="282" alt="ButternutFlatbread" /></a></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:100%;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:12px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Oh. my. goodness!! </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The truth is- we've really not been able to go wrong with </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">any</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> of the recipes we've whipped up lately<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> in which butternut squash plays a starring role. But this not-quite-a-pizza pizza was FABULOUS! So fabulous, in fact, that we repeated the recipe twice this past week. Full disclosure would lead me to tell you that we had </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">lots</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> of leftover squash from the first go 'round (have </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">you</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> tried to find a 1lb butternut?!?), so it was a choice fueled as much by practicality as it was by culinary delight. But let me assure you- there was <b><i>no shortage</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> of culinary delight</span></b>!</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So, for those who asked, here is the recipe, along with our humble suggestions for some specific ingredients, which we think "made the meal." </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Also, I should note that this recipe originated in the pages of </span></i><a href="http://www.realsimple.com/food-recipes/browse-all-recipes/butternut-squash-flat-bread-recipe-00000000029798/index.html"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Real Simple Magazine</span></i></a><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Ingredients:</span></i></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></i></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1 lb. store-bought pizza dough (thawed if frozen) - </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">*we heartily endorse and happily recommend the refrigerated whole wheat pizza dough from Trader Joe's, which rings in at the rather unbelievable price of 99¢*</span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;color:#222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1 lb. butternut squash peeled, seeded & sliced to 1/4 thick </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">(Robert uses his mad skills with his chef's knife, while I prefer to bust out the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0000632QE?ie=UTF8&tag=somethglorio-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B0000632QE"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Swissmar Borner V-Slicer Plus Mandoline</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=somethglorio-20&l=as2&o=1&a=B0000632QE" width="1" height="1" border="0" alt="" style="border:none !important; margin:0px !important;" /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> )</span></span></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1/2 red onion, thinly sliced</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1/4 cup pine nuts</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1 tbsp. fresh thyme leaves</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1 tbsp. olive oil</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1/2 tsp. kosher salt & 1/4 tsp. fresh ground pepper</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">1 1/2 cups (6 oz.) grated extra-sharp cheddar cheese </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">(We bought ours from Whole Foods, and the flavor was to die for! So again, I would highly recommend springing for a specific ingredient- </span><a href="http://www.shopcabot.com/product.php?id=451"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">the Cabot Clothbound Cheddar</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, produced in partnership with the Cellars at Jasper Hill.</span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Instructions:</span></b></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Roll out your dough into a large oval, then place it onto a cornmeal-dusted baking sheet.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Use a large bowl to toss the squash, onion, pine nuts, thyme, olive oil, salt and pepper together. Spread mixture across the dough, and top with grated cheese.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Bake for approx. 30 minutes, or until golden brown and crisp.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">ENJOY! And be sure to let me know (in the comments) if you end up making this delectable dish. (</span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> if it pleases your palate as much as it did ours!)</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><b><i>**One more bit of disclosure. I am an Amazon affiliate- so if you happen to click on one of the imbedded Amazon.com links in this post, and then actually purchase the item in question, I will make a small commission, paid in Amazon gift cards.**</i></b></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Lucida Grande', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;"><i></i></span></span></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-69022024263812215022010-03-04T19:45:00.007-05:002010-03-06T08:12:00.125-05:0099<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/k9search/4059076369/" title="Grandma's Hands by Jim McConnell, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3484/4059076369_f7937e639d.jpg" width="411" height="500" alt="Grandma's Hands" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><i>photo credit: Jim McConnell on Flickr</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal;font-size:medium;">Today my Grammy would have been 99 years old. On this day, especially, I've been thinking of her fondly, remembering her lovingly, and silently mourning the fact that my daughter was </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">not<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> afforded</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal;font-size:medium;"> the rich and glorious privlege of knowing her. </span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal;font-size:medium;">And in the spirit of telling stories that empower women, I thought I'd share with you a small piece of Grammy's story. And my story. How our stories and our hands and our lives intertwined...for not nearly long enough.<br /></span></i></span><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>How does one stand up on a day such as this and attempt to capture in words the entire essence of a person’s life?</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>How can one possibly do justice to the contents of 94 years and 51 days in a few moments or a handful of sentences?</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>My memories of Grammy are overwhelmingly defined by my childhood.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Growing up as a Martin kid, I rarely knew the presence of a “babysitter.”</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>What I had, instead, was a Grammy.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Many of my most vivid memories of childhood took place in her home on Beverly Road.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>I remember countless sleepovers, and being rocked to sleep in the green upholstered rocking chair.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I remember distinctly the way her voice rose and fell as she sang songs into my ear and I drifted into a hazy slumber.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I remember the warmth and softness of her lap, and her arms around me.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>I remember baking cookies.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Not </i></b><b><i>Grammy</i></b></span><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> baking cookies…but all of us baking cookies.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>The whole ragamuffin bunch of us.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Little hands stirring the cookie dough with big wooden spoons.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Little tongues licking those spoons…(and bowls, and anything else she would let us get our mouths on!)</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>I remember her expansive backyard.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I recall picking clover on the hill that sloped down from the neighbor’s yard, and picking strawberries from the small patch that ran alongside the house.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I remember how Grammy would receive the clover as if they were a dozen red roses, and display them with honor in a vase.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I remember plucking mint leaves from the backyard bush, and depositing them into pitchers of iced tea.</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>I remember sitting outside on lawn chairs, husking corn with Grammy and snapping the ends off of green beans.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I remember tossing the beans into the same big pot they’d be boiled in later.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>And I remember eating the fruit of our labor for dinner.</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>I remember hauling laundry baskets out the back door, and the lost art of hanging clothes to dry in the sun.</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>I remember getting down on our knees in the dirt, and planting flowers in the yard.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I will never see a daffodil or catch the scent of hyacinths without my mind turning to Grammy.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>I remember hours spent reading together and playing together.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I remember the corner in the family room crammed with toys and books for the grandkids.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I remember dressing up and parading around in Grammy’s clothes.</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>I remember trips to Friendly’s.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>And I remember that if she wasn’t taking us out for ice cream she was serving it up Turkey Hill style at home.</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>These cherished memories, however, don’t end in my early childhood.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I recall with great fondness a grandmother who remained an active and involved figure in my life long into her eighties.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I remember a grandmother who attended every concert, every play and performance.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I remember a grandmother who sang loud in church and laughed hard at home.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I remember a grandmother who dried my teenage tears in the same way that she’d dried those of my childhood.</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>The time that Grammy spent with us, and the joy that she took in those moments, were evidence of the great worth and value that she placed on children.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I believe my Grammy took seriously the words and actions of Jesus regarding children.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>When His disciples quarreled as to who was the greatest, He put a child in their midst and said, “Unless you become like one of these little ones you cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.”</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>From those childhood hours spent at my Grammy’s side I learned the value of children.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>My value, as a child.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>It is a lesson that gave me a strong sense of security as a child, that has aided me as a mother, and that will shape who I one day hope to become as a grandmother.</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>I lean hard on the lessons that I gained from my Grammy as a child.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Lessons of love, patience, faith and kindness.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>But I also believe that it was in Grammy’s last years and moments of life that she taught us her biggest lessons.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>For in the same way that Christ extended His hand and His heart to children, He was also always reaching out to the marginalized and the forgotten.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>The orphan.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>The widow.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>The prisoner.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>The sick and the lonely.</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>For a woman who maintained her independence for such a long time, the last years of Grammy’s life stood out in stark contrast.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>She got sick.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>She got weak.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>And it had to have made her lonely.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>She could no longer walk alone without falling.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>She could no longer talk with clarity and coherence.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>She needed the same kind of help we’d needed as children- someone to bandage her wounds, to bathe her, to help her to the bathroom.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Someone to listen patiently as she tried to express herself.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Someone to read to her.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Someone to dry her tears.</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>Just as she’d patiently performed these tasks for us so many times, we learned to gently, patiently, humbly meet her most basic of needs.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>And in doing so we learned that just as Jesus is especially attuned to the heart of a child, He is also attuned to those whose voices are drowned out by the bustling noise of this busy world.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>He is concerned with those that the world forgets.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>And as Christ turns his eyes toward the least of these, so must we.</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i>May we all go back to our lives this night, not grieving, but inspired.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Inspired by the loving example of my Grammy.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>May we go back to our homes and hug our children a little more tightly.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Listen to them a little more closely.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Love them memorably.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>And may we similarly seek out others who need our love, our time, our energy and our efforts.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>The least of these.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>Because of the example of Christ and of his daughter, Margaret Martin, may no one in our lives go to bed tonight unaware of their value and worth.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>May no one in our lives spend the night lonely, pushed aside, silenced or forgotten.</i></b><span><b><i> </i></b></span><b><i>I know that the voice of my Grammy’s life rings out unsilenced, and Grammy, I will never forget you.</i></b><b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style=" ;color:black;"><b><i> </i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Eulogy written for my Grammy- Clara "Margaret" Eaton Martin</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Disclaimer (because for some, it is apparently more important to haggle over such details, than to focus on the intent of this tribute): </span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">**This post was written yesterday (March 3rd), and posted today (March 4th)**</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br /></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><br /></i></div></span></div></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-52742395873748691662010-02-28T20:26:00.008-05:002010-02-28T21:02:43.391-05:00Sunday<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#009900;">Slices of Life</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/?action=view&current=KitchenCounter.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/KitchenCounter.jpg" border="0" alt="Kitchen Counter,Coffee Press,Orange Juice,Utensils,Vegetarian Times" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>The Morning Frenzy</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/?action=view&current=PeachesandOatmeal.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/PeachesandOatmeal.jpg" border="0" alt="Breakfast,Oatmeal,Peaches,Potter" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>The Morning Feast</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/?action=view&current=OrangeTree.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/OrangeTree.jpg" border="0" alt="Blue Sky,Tree,Orange Light" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Evening's Golden Glow</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/?action=view&current=VintageClock.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/VintageClock.jpg" border="0" alt="Vintage Clock,Diner,Greasy Spoon" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Everyday Scrapbook</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/?action=view&current=BottleofRed.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/BottleofRed.jpg" border="0" alt="Red Wine" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Our Evening Companion</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/?action=view&current=TeaParty.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/TeaParty.jpg" border="0" alt="Tea Party,Breakfast" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>The Best Kind of Breakfast</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(102, 102, 102); white-space: pre; font-family:Arial, Verdana, sans-serif;font-size:10px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/?action=view&current=TheChef.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/TheChef.jpg" border="0" alt="Chef,Omelet" /></a></div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>The Second Best Kind (served up by the Birthday Boy, aka- my handsome Lumberjack ;) )</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/?action=view&current=Dessert.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/Dessert.jpg" border="0" alt="Dessert,Bistro on the Brandywine" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>With Abandon</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/?action=view&current=Bistro.jpg" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/?action=view&current=Bistro.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/Bistro.jpg" border="0" alt="Restaurant, Bistro on the Brandywine" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>A Pretty Good Way to Wrap Up the Weekend</i></span></div>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-55225002697813564442010-02-26T18:05:00.024-05:002010-08-07T22:03:21.817-04:00World-Splitting Words<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/earthquake-damage.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 715px; height: 539px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/earthquake-damage.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">“What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.” – Muriel Rukeyser</span></span><br /><br />I can already feel the hairline cracks and silent fissures taking form. The perilous quake has begun- my legs shudder beneath me, knees gently knocking, as the ground threatens (promises?) to open up beneath me.<br /><br />A mere three days ago I took my first leap. For years leading up to that, I had remained relatively silent- peering frantically about, and hoping desperately to find some other woman’s voice to speak <span style="font-weight:bold;">for</span> me. I was looking for the companionship of like minds- women who would make me feel less alone, by using <span style="font-style:italic;">their</span> words to express <span style="font-style:italic;">my</span> agony. I longed for women who would name the struggles, expose the lies, ask the difficult (even reckless) questions, and be brave enough to settle in comfortably with radical and unconventional answers. Answers that challenged the prevailing notions about God and humanity, motherhood and marriage, power, prosperity and success. I thought that if I could just find others who had mustered the courage to speak up, if I could watch them walk through the fire and emerge on the other side- stronger and unscarred, then perhaps I could follow in their footsteps, and my own world wouldn’t implode. I was so afraid that if I spoke up myself (and similarly, spoke up for myself), that when I looked out around me, I would find that I was standing all alone. I was literally paralyzed by the fear that I would not only scare off everyone already in my life, but that no one else would show up to stand in the gaps. I suppose that deep down the real fear was that I was unlovable- that my questions were too big, my ideas too startling, and that ,as <a href="http://www.ronnadetrick.com/">my friend Ronna</a> would put it, all in all I was just “too much.”<br /><br />Some of you who know me may be snickering. Others of you may simply be thinking- I’ve never thought of Lauren as someone who lurked in silence. On the contrary, I’ve always heard her speak her mind, have her say, articulate her opinions. And, in a sense, you would be correct. I have always been a passionate person, and will usually let you know my thoughts on a given subject. Sometimes, whether you’ve asked or not. But in the face of opposition, ultimately, I tend to back down. Shut up. Hold my position in private, while smiling agreeably in public. What I’d learned through voicing my truth in the past, was that when I spoke out my convictions, without apology, exception or a slew of accompanying disclaimers, doing so threatened my relationships.<br /><br />I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. How we as women are relational beings, down to our very core. And how, so often, relationship is the currency that is used to quiet us down and stifle the sound of our voices.<br /><br /><i>“What?! You don’t think women were created to submit to a man? Your marriage is on the line!”<br /><br />“You’re kidding, right?! You think it’s time we started referring to God as “She” and tipping the scales back into balance? You obviously don’t know the one true God, and you’ll be separated from </i><span style="font-weight:bold;"><i>Him</i></span><i> for eternity!”<br /><br />“Are you serious?! You want to work outside of the home, while your child is cared for by someone else? You’re risking the integrity of your relationship with her!”<br /><br />“You should reconsider!! You want to say out loud, once and for all, what your uncle did to those little boys, so that he never has the access or ability to hurt children again? Why, you’ll tear apart the fabric of your entire family!”<br /></i><br />Whether explicitly or implicitly, we are told again and again, day in and day out that if we dare to raise our voice, we risk destroying our relationships. We’ll lose friends. Piss off and push away our families. We’ll be excommunicated from our churches. We’ll separate ourselves from “the one true” God. We’ll end up all alone.<br /><br />“Step out of line little lady, and you won’t just lose some<span style="font-style:italic;">thing</span>, you’ll inevitably lose some<span style="font-style:italic;">one</span>.”<br /><br />But as I’ve set my eyes on the horizon in search of these kindred spirits who would “tell my story,” do you know what I’ve found? A much bigger world than most people wanted me to see. I’ve found a whole chorus of voices that sound like my own. And I’ve subsequently found both the good sense to stop expecting my voice to materialize outside of myself, <span style="font-weight:bold;">and</span> the courage to unleash my own truth with <span style="font-weight:bold;">tenacity</span> and <span style="font-weight:bold;">vigor</span>. I’m not buying the lie anymore. <span style="font-weight:bold;">I will not be alone! </span><br /><br />Will I lose some “friends” by standing tall and speaking my truth, come what may? Yes. Will my failure to back down, my refusal to slump over so that I’m just small enough to keep the people in my life comfortable, mean that some people will decide that I’m “too much” and abandon me? Yup. There will most certainly be painful relational fractures that threaten to break my heart in half, and leave it with a limp. These are scary and threatening realities that I do not take lightly.<br /><br />But, ultimately I take comfort. Will new, vital and resilient relationships grow up out of the fertile soil of my authenticity? I can finally say with confidence and conviction- Yes!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/hankthetank/3956695720/" title="front stoop. by madebyhank., on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3509/3956695720_73f45eed40.jpg" width="715" height="539" alt="front" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">photo credit: madebyhank @ Flickr</span></span></div><br />Will the authentic me attract more substantial and soul-nurturing friendships with staying power? You’d better believe it! Will unleashing my voice set it free to find other women who are struggling in the wilderness, and ultimately help us all to build a healing, vibrant and thriving tribe? HECK YEAH! And it is with those revolutionary certainties tucked inside my pocket, that I can step forward with grace, confidence and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">the volume turned up on my voice.</span>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-59818678890653551812010-02-23T20:16:00.004-05:002010-02-23T21:39:48.011-05:00Lenten Reflection<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/munch-weeping_nude.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 545px; height: 456px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/munch-weeping_nude.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"></span><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Weeping Nude" by Edvard Munch</span><br /><br />Yesterday, I linked to <a href="http://www.ronnadetrick.com/desert-truth-continued/">this Lenten Reflection</a> from <a href="http://www.facebook.com/laurenmartingauthier?ref=profile">my Facebook page</a>. Perhaps if I had merely posted <a href="http://www.ronnadetrick.com/desert-truth-continued/">the link</a>, and left my ‘commentary’ out of it, it would have been a virtual non-event, quickly and unceremoniously buried in what is the swift-moving stream of the Facebook News Feed. Instead, I prefaced the link with these words: “The only kind of Lent I can conceive of or practice right now…” and thus began a firestorm of sorts. Now, you wouldn’t know it by looking at the comments that followed on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/laurenmartingauthier?ref=profile">my Facebook wall</a>. Less than a handful of friends responded publicly, and those who did were either empathetic or, seemingly, on the same page.<br /><br />It was the private response my words elicited that planted the seeds that blossomed into this post.<br /><br />On the one hand, I both understood and appreciated the motive of the people who began addressing me privately. As a culture, we have been trained to protect the ones we love by keeping their personal business private. And for God’s sake, there are still <span style="font-weight:bold;">plenty<span style="font-style:italic;"></span></span> of private details I’d prefer to keep under lock and key, thank you very much. But, I have to admit that I was struck, in this particular instance, by the immediate instinct of others to move the conversation behind closed doors. Perhaps my confusion stems from the fact that I had already willingly posted those words way out in the open, for my nearly 700 Facebook friends to see. Transparency was not exactly something I was running from, if my medium was any indication.<br /><br />But then it occurred to me. The folks who engaged me outside the realm of Facebook did so using a very particular type of language. They used words like “dark,” “disturbing” and “desperate.” And as I examined the way they addressed me (privately), and the words they used in doing so (words we tend to associate with socially unacceptable emotions), I began to understand their attempts at engaging me via a different forum. I began to imagine that perhaps, in addition to feeling concern for me, they may have also been <span style="font-style:italic;">embarrassed for me</span>. They might have concluded that I’d be less likely to publicly humiliate myself (any further) if they quickly pulled me aside, and offered me a more private audience for my melancholy. Perhaps they felt it safest for me to air my “desperation” (their words, not mine) in a setting more akin to a therapist’s couch, rather than from the much more public podium I’d utilized. I think they may have even hoped to shield me from appearing hysterical. IN. PUBLIC.<br /><br />And while I can see how my status (and <a href="http://www.ronnadetrick.com/desert-truth-continued/">the blog entry that prompted it</a> ), might seem desperate or disturbing to some- neither of those adjectives (nor the associated feelings) were what prompted me to link to the post. Nor were they foremost in my mind as I reflected upon it. You see, I don't believe that post, or the sentiments it contains, to <span style="font-style:italic;">be</span> overwhelmingly depressing or dark. To the contrary, actually.<br /><br />I think that our feelings- of loneliness, confusion, pain, and isolation, are given the most power to create desperation if and when <span style="font-style:italic;">we bottle them up</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">try to bear them alone</span>. What <a href="http://www.ronnadetrick.com/about-me/">Ronna</a> and <a href="http://www.barclayagency.com/lamott.html">Anne Lamott</a> are expressing, even advocating, (and that which I found myself drawn to and agreeing with) is the idea that being open and honest- not sugarcoating the hard stuff- is what makes it all bearable. It's what reminds us that we're not alone...that <span style="font-weight:bold;">everyone</span> has hurts and battles and scars that mirror our own- it's the universal human condition! And where we find release and relief from those hurts, those agonies, is in sharing them. I don't think it’s so much about issuing ear-shattering cries of desperation for their own sake. But when given an outlet, a voice, they are much more likely to live and die as struggles, perhaps even crises, rather than eating us alive from the inside out, harbored as smoldering secrets, individual shame, and singularly shouldered despair. <br /><br />The articulation of such ideas is precisely why I've always been drawn to writers like <a href="http://www.barclayagency.com/lamott.html">Anne Lamott</a>. (And <a href="http://www.harpercollins.com/author/microsite/about.aspx?authorid=27468">Mary Karr</a>. <a href="http://www.barclayagency.com/lamott.html">Sue Monk Kidd</a>, and now, <a href="http://www.ronnadetrick.com/writing/">Ronna Detrick</a>.) Because they're not likely to shy away from talking about the really shitty stuff. And precisely because of that, they seem to be able to get a handle on it. To bear up under it. Even to thrive in spite of it, while also finding the strength to help other people do the same.<br /><br />I think we most often stay silent in our hurts and struggles and failures, because we are afraid that if we call them out into the world, that we will be shushed, shamed, or silenced. (Especially as women.) But I also think that the power that we (again, <span style="font-style:italic;">especially</span> as women) possess is the tenderness and truthfulness that are necessary in order to carve out safe spaces in which <span style="font-weight:bold;">unfiltered real life</span> and <span style="font-weight:bold;">gritty true stories</span> can find expression. No matter how heartbreaking, life-altering, or power-structure-shaking they may be. It is precisely in the telling of our tales, the airing of our secrets, and the sharing of our former shame, that these shackles begin to loosen and relinquish their power over our lives. The hurt begins to dissipate, the wounds to heal, the shame to evaporate. And the Phoenix rises out of the ashes.<br /><br />So, yes, when I posted what I did- I meant it. Wholeheartedly and unapologetically. I have struggles- sometimes it feels like more than my share. Big questions- the kind that overwhelm and, sometimes, even threaten to overtake me. There are days when I'd like to give in- to pound my fists and flail around on the ground throwing a hissy fit worthy of a 2 year old's reputation. (In fact....is it considered bad form to admit that occasionally my behavior is frighteningly similar to the aforementioned scene?) <br /><br />I <span style="font-style:italic;">often</span> wonder if casting my gaze downward, putting one foot in front of the other, and settling for contentment in the stead of joy isn't the most practical and reasonable concession I can make. There are hardships and hurts that I haven't finished grieving- and I certainly sense that the world's position on that is that I ought to gloss it over and just get on with it. <br /><br />So I guess that my point in posting what I did, is to begin to free myself (and in the process, other people) to unleash our voices. To legitimize our collective hurts, as well as the pain that is uniquely ours, and in doing so to watch them begin to diminsh. (Although truth be told, I don’t believe that there’s a whole heckuva lot of unique pain out there. Take comfort, friends!) <br /><br />I want to empower myself, my friends, and even complete strangers to ignore the societal pressures and protocols that tell us to shut up, get over ourselves, and file pain and heartache away as private matters. A one-woman load. I want to loudly challenge (and ultimately, convert) the voices that tell us we'd better stop being so messy in the public square. That we need to quiet down and fall into line. I want other women to quit trying to conform to the patriarchal constructs that insist that the deep throbbing language of our hearts, and the loud, prophetic echoes of our individual and collective voice are sentimental or silly. <br /><br />Because I believe that the more often we say these difficult things out loud- these big, scary words and world-shifting ideas that challenge the prevailing notion of what is socially acceptable to 'put out there', the more likely we are to find truer paths to healing. To kindness and goodness. Toward community and compassion. In the direction of peace on earth, good will toward <span style="font-style:italic;">all</span> women (and men).Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-92125495802055319942010-02-12T10:04:00.005-05:002010-02-12T15:42:22.035-05:00Home Sweet Home(bound)<blockquote>Through <span style="font-weight:bold;">her</span> eyes:</blockquote><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/InHerEyes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 815px; height: 548px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/InHerEyes.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />It's hard to believe that we're now in our third day at home- school cancelled again, and the three of us bouncing around like pinballs inside these walls. Don't get me wrong...there's been plenty of outside time- including 3 trips to the school for sledding on the aptly named Shouting Hill. A little ironic, is it not, that while the school is closed for hazardous road conditions, each day of the closure finds a whole host of families on campus, taking advantage of the sledding hill? (Which, I might add, is just one of the thrills that a 400+ acre campus affords us.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/ShoutingHill1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 615px; height: 815px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/ShoutingHill1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/ShoutingHill_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 615px; height: 815px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/ShoutingHill_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/EatingSnow.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 615px; height: 815px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/EatingSnow.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Last night, in one of my many attempts to ward off the 'stir crazies' that threaten to descend and take hold at any moment, I set Ella loose around the house with our <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Canon-PowerShot-SD1100IS-Digital-Stabilized/dp/B0012Y6AY8/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&s=electronics&qid=1266003648&sr=8-3-spell"> Canon point-n-shoot</a>. If her current obsession with the camera is any indication of things to come, she may end up making her living as a photographer, <a href="http://www.reddirtgirlphoto.com">just like mama</a>! <br /><br />I enjoyed viewing our cozy little home through her eyes last night, and tend to think <a href="http://mothering.com/daniellelaporte/general/mindful-speech-and-supreme-kid-respect">we could all benefit from trying to view things through our children's eyes and perspective more often than we do</a>. Anyway, I thought I'd share the view around our little "igloo" as it looks from 3 feet 7 1/2 inches high:<br /><br />Chalkboard Art:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/ChalkboardArt.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 815px; height: 615px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/ChalkboardArt.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Daddy's Inbox: (please disregard all the dust!)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/DustyComputer.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 815px; height: 615px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/DustyComputer.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Coat Closet:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/CoatCloset.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 815px; height: 615px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/CoatCloset.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Bits & Baubles:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/BitsandBaubles.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 415px; height: 615px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/BitsandBaubles.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Snuggle Spot:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/CozyUp.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 812px; height: 613px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/CozyUp.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Birds of Prey:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/BirdsofPrey.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 815px; height: 615px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/BirdsofPrey.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />What's for dinner?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/WhatsforDinner.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 815px; height: 615px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/WhatsforDinner.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Look Up, Look Down:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/UpandDown2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 415px; height: 615px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/UpandDown2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Look All Around:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/LivingandDining.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 815px; height: 615px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/LivingandDining.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Laundry:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/Laundry.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 815px; height: 615px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/Laundry.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Greenery:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/Greenery.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 815px; height: 615px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/Greenery.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />These last two are my favorites. <br /><br />Not only did she catch her feet inadvertently in this picture, but in doing so she composed a shot reminiscent of some of my <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Cs0CW4fmVhz2cFZ9gfvSmqQI9iilFs8ikQVzQ79xOMLBw9xgmPtLZrK8HQcyzTK0jOnvUvimlN8P4BiOkyDC9b2v1ebhs1hBydR4n3AEvWpfshCa_cpkPmtdLoojKcHEPXQUQQ/s1600-h/DSC09873.jpg">favorites</a> out there <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhre0id3ZFNjdP4y40EbtOQ9vx0Y5UkPMLBPIQnsMKjEtDXfnk0ZimTsLDFZw6fXDtvvaB49Q3yezMkXxwc3c7AfCZLVMZb5NY6LotnJd69AMHlzfI3rm_k8vovRtpSg5JTOvgM0w/s1600-h/pine_toes.jpg">on</a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgZOdJrAnwZ5aKbVxnGfntm7Wb4cJqExf7BHWS4D4HR-Bb5vJsk83rTqQvJLzd8fsj0avgN3vmufJlUzCoba4pICuhDlyhhln02FQq_Bk9RDeuy0aQHoghBLAtxXCELQpojIilg/s1600-h/DSC08486.jpg">the</a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICKcOL3Of6gGv-4626as7vFONWWE6DZyR-B8ed202F8QLOaQFjLrl06eSTbsh25YL_BQSBNMlxJ5pr4_cw_FkCN9ScqT7tAhzGMRdbtkyYMdboq1fQeAFFS7TRcOraJv4tr0f_g/s1600-h/toes-grass.jpg">web</a>: (thanks, <a href="http://www.dreammore.squarespace.com">Stine</a>!)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/TootsieToes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 815px; height: 615px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/TootsieToes.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />It took me awhile to figure out just what this one <span style="font-style:italic;">was</span>. But ultimately, that's what I like most about it- it's dreamy, indecipherable "under water" quality.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/Underwater.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 815px; height: 615px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/Underwater.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Thanks for taking a peek! How about you? Any budding little artists running around your home? Care to share their most recent projects? How are you keeping the kids occupied inside during this record-breaking snowfall? (And if you're outside the reach of these crazy blizzards and icy roads, please, I beg of you, don't tell me! ::inserting fingers into ears:: )Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-78227330449511101642010-02-10T12:41:00.003-05:002010-02-10T13:50:18.337-05:00Snow DayRight now I'm dancing (meditating?) to Alanis Morissette, painting the mantel, and looking out my (home) office window at this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/WinterWindow.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 890px; height: 623px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/WinterWindow.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />And this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/WinterWindow2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 889px; height: 623px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/WinterWindow2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />A bit of a departure from my header, no? Speaking of my header...any idea how to adjust things so that it is centered at the top there? I am admittedly not a techno/web-guru, but sure would like to invoke some of that genius now again ;)<br /><br />So, yeah, I've been glaringly absent. And while there are about 57 good (or at the very least, <span style="font-style:italic;">valid</span>) reasons for it, I'll spare you the sob story. Instead I'm just going to try much, much harder to make my best intentions line up with my daily routines and actions, with consistency. Also, I'll attempt to let go of the paralyzing perfectionism that often keeps me from posting- the whole, if I can't do it "right" than why do it at all? It's silly, and ultimately, its isolating. So I'm giving it up, one post at a time, folks. And we will see, I suppose, how that develops... But if you're willing to hang with me, I'll be willing to let a little more of the real me 'hang out', and in the process give you a little more pay-off for showing up ;)<br /><br />Speaking of ditching perfection, in deference to real life...I recently stumbled upon <a href="http://artandmotherhood.com//">the blog of Sarah Rust Sampedro</a> (via <a href="http://themommyrevolution.wordpress.com/">a favorite of mine</a>), who is another in a long line of mothers asking questions about how to be accomplished and intentional, creative and committed to both the work of raising children and the work of being an artist- <span style="font-style:italic;">consecutively</span>. I mean, really, let's be honest- sometimes it's hard to do <span style="font-style:italic;">anything else at all</span> (you know, use the bathroom, make a phone call, entertain one uninterrupted thought!) while balancing a babe on your hip, diffusing a toddler's tantrum, or trying to actively and effectively discipline <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Your-Five-Year-Old-Serene/dp/0440506735/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1265825809&sr=8-1">your five year old</a>. (Sunny and serene?!? Who are they KIDDING?!? Cue maniacal mama laughter.) So then how (and out of what reserve) does a mother summon the energy and focus required to make great art? This can be a truly heart-wrenching dilemma for those of us who feel the pull of a creative calling, but are also being pulled, pulled at and pulled <span style="font-style:italic;">on</span> by the tiny, chubby, persistent hands of the little ones we love the most. Sarah is inspiring to me because she's biting the bullet. She's not allowing herself to be swallowed up in the question- she's just doing what she can, when she can, with what she's got. In <a href="http://artandmotherhood.com/about/">her own words</a>:<br /><br /><blockquote>I am a person who, among many other things, happens to be both a photographer and a mother. I want to be successful at both without waiting until I’m fifty, have an empty nest and find myself at a community ed class saying “I used to really like photography and now I’d like to get back into it.”<br /><br />I will make and post a photograph every day throughout 2010. If, for some reason, I travel somewhere that makes posting impossible, I will still make a daily photograph and post when I am able. This is a practice for me: a practice in creativity, a practice in discipline and a practice of commitment.</blockquote><br /><br />So, because I share her question <span style="font-weight:bold;">and</span> her longing, I'm hoping to also muster up the strength to mirror her discipline and commitment, as I stretch my own creative muscles, and work to write and photograph and create with intention and consistency. <br /><br />See you back here (and <a href="http://www.reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com/">here</a>) soon...Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-15444272925824338422009-10-24T17:48:00.012-04:002009-10-28T07:02:24.080-04:00Practice Makes Perfect (Or, Gratitude Breeds Contentment)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/SGBlog1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 512px; height: 640px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/SGBlog1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />This past week was a long one! Change is nearly always accompanied by some degree of stress, and in addition to taking on a new job back at the beginning of this month, <span style="font-weight:bold;">and</span> launching the <a href="http://www.reddirtgirlphoto.com/">website</a> for <a href="http://www.reddirtgirlphoto.com/">Red Dirt Girl Photography</a>, I've spent the past 2 weeks in my new position preparing for a big and important event that finally took place on Saturday. AND I've been planning our move, slated for exactly one month from today! To say I've felt stressed would be a bit of an understatement ;)<br /><br />And yet, although stressed, I am grateful. Grateful for this job that allows me to work half the amount of time that I was working previously, but for the same pay. Grateful that my pay enables us to afford (even if just barely!) Ella's tuition. Grateful for the school community we've joined that we feel is worth every penny of said tuition. Grateful that my job is <span style="font-style:italic;">on the campus</span> of Ella's school, and allows me to fuse my passion for <a href="http://www.whywaldorfworks.org/">Waldorf education</a> with my natural proclivity for meeting new people and planting seeds of excitement inside of them for novel ideas and worthwhile endeavors. Grateful for the ways in which we already see Ella flourishing in her new environment, exhibiting more creativity, asking more thoughtful questions, and growing in her wonder at the world.<br /><br />So, with all of this gratitude floating about, I thought I'd take the opportunity to share a daily touchstone that I find invaluable- my <span style="font-weight:bold;">gratitude practice.</span><br /><br />Did you know that <a href="http://www.happyfornoreason.com/mybook">people who describe themselves as being grateful tend to have more vitality and optimism, suffer less stress, and experience fewer episodes of clinical depression than the population as a whole?</a> Not to mention, you just end up being a whole lot nicer to be around when you're dwelling on what's good, rather than harping on all that is not. So, in my own attempts to both be a more pleasant person <span style="font-style:italic;">and</span> stave off depression and illness ;) I started a gratitude journal. This was no more complicated than picking up a 3-pack of <a href="http://www.moleskineus.com/cahier-pocket-ruled.html">Moleskine Kraft Brown Notebooks</a> at <a href="http://www.bn.com/">Barnes & Noble</a> and inking the front with <a href="http://www.joann.com/joann/catalog.jsp?CATID=cat2752&PRODID=prd21424">a rubber stamp featuring an inspirational quote about gratitude.</a> No, the starting was not difficult at all...it's the persisting that proves a challenge. But persist I do.<br /><br />Up until now my gratitude practice has consisted of logging 3 "thanks-givings" in my notebook throughout each day. It really is surprising how such a small act can change the entire trajectory of my day. So, I thought I would expand that practice a bit, by sharing some of my thankfulness via the blog. My hope is that in doing so, perhaps I can help to improve the trajectory of someone <span style="font-style:italic;">else's</span> day.<br /><br />So, please- post a comment. Tell me about your own gratitude practice- one you've undertaken recently, one that's been part of your daily life for as long as you can remember, or perhaps one that grows out of the seeds planted by reading this blog post. Share a story of how gratitude has changed your day, or how you've observed it changing someone else's life. And come back often, as I hope to make my gratitude practice a permanent feature on the blog...<br /><br />Gratitude of the day for Wednesday, October 28th:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/SGBlog2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 440px; height: 640px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/SGBlog2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />I am grateful for the privilege of being part of a school community where a friendly home visit from the kindergarten teacher, who comes bearing fresh-picked flowers bound with a finger-knitted ribbon, is par for the course.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/SGBlog3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 640px; height: 440px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Something%20Glorious/SGBlog3.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-50008737861256269092009-09-04T18:08:00.013-04:002009-09-04T18:41:26.233-04:00The SunHave you ever seen<br />anything<br />in your life<br />more wonderful<br /><br />than the way the sun,<br />every evening,<br />relaxed and easy, floats toward the horizon<br /><br />and into the clouds or the hills,<br />or the rumpled sea,<br />and is gone--<br />and how it slides again<br /><br />out of the blackness, <br />every morning, <br />on the other side of the world, <br />like a red flower<br /> <br />streaming upward on its heavenly oils, <br />say, on a morning in early summer, <br />at its perfect imperial distance-- <br />and have you ever felt for anything <br />such wild love-- <br />do you think there is anywhere, in any language, <br />a word billowing enough <br />for the pleasure<br /> <br />that fills you, <br />as the sun <br />reaches out, <br />as it warms you<br /> <br />as you stand there, <br />empty-handed-- <br />or have you too <br />turned from this world--<br /> <br />or have you too <br />gone crazy <br />for power, <br />for things?<br /> <br /><a href="http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poet.html?id=5130">~ by Mary Oliver~</a><br /><br />C'mon over to <a href="http://www.reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com">the other blog</a>, for a glimpse into our recent family vacation:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/SG_Florida1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/SG_Florida1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/SG_Florida2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v228/lmgdimples/Blog/SG_Florida2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-64499907081350074232009-07-20T11:59:00.014-04:002009-11-04T06:41:18.353-05:00Wait a second......aren't <span style="font-weight:bold;">I, your mom</span> supposed to be the child of the eighties, little Miss Side-Ponytailed-Shirt-Off-One-Shoulder-Sassmeister?!? <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigfcznNo9uXN7b1lGoCRPoCElirxTYcheStATME533cY7uwdWIhACfrQMR8p1XSdX7e4AEaYOIWd-A1b_2xluwjHGUbYOEkSDmDtWGNCQCWoofhAoKeKwg5aCwkQ_3SGf-dgLdJA/s1600-h/IMG_0447edited.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigfcznNo9uXN7b1lGoCRPoCElirxTYcheStATME533cY7uwdWIhACfrQMR8p1XSdX7e4AEaYOIWd-A1b_2xluwjHGUbYOEkSDmDtWGNCQCWoofhAoKeKwg5aCwkQ_3SGf-dgLdJA/s400/IMG_0447edited.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360592915510560258" /></a><br /><br />All you need now are some <a href="http://www.eightyeightynine.com/culture/legwarmers.html">legwarmers</a>, <a href="http://www.candyapplecostumes.com/fo63105.html">a t-shirt clip</a>, and<a href="http://coolaggregator.wordpress.com/2008/07/15/1980s-plastic-charm-bracelets-and-necklaces/">a plastic charm necklace</a> , and your repertoire will be complete ;)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgix3Wvg2mu-gqFpLIvwKLj-bfrevip7jDwlYWi64chW6Y7DKf8XMJBsj-iuNE36qy0PP9ZXe3XQCbhQt9BUAAF1oxRqrxGR2HfWzOLMpkLAfxPf5IJzo_pOuJJmJsyDg653J28Q/s1600-h/IMG_0448edited.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgix3Wvg2mu-gqFpLIvwKLj-bfrevip7jDwlYWi64chW6Y7DKf8XMJBsj-iuNE36qy0PP9ZXe3XQCbhQt9BUAAF1oxRqrxGR2HfWzOLMpkLAfxPf5IJzo_pOuJJmJsyDg653J28Q/s400/IMG_0448edited.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360593124757161346" /></a><br /><br />Hi there, blogging world! Just in case you missed me (and lets be honest, how can I really expect anyone to miss me, when I post here so sporadically), I've been very busy getting ready to launch the brand, spanking new website for my on-location portrait photography business, and in the meantime, blogging over at: www.reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com. I apologize for letting this site sit barren for so long. If you're interested in seeing what I've been up to, be sure to visit my business blog for <a href="http://www.reddirtgirlphoto.blogspot.com/">Red Dirt Girl Photography</a>, and let me give you a little glimpse of how I'm trying to use my work to "add to the beauty"...Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-25029186159273731112009-04-08T10:00:00.004-04:002009-04-08T13:43:17.966-04:00Groans that words cannot expressIn high school, as a "typical, non-denominational, evangelical" teenager, I really had no framework or sense of appreciation for liturgical prayer. At the time, it seemed unforgivably impersonal, in a Christian climate where "personal relationship" was the litmus test for faith, and "personal experience" was the barometer by which that faith was measured and legitimized. In my arrogance and naivete I assumed that people who prayed "that way" were just haphazardly and inattentively rattling off an obligatory script. That their empty faith forced them to borrow other's prayers, rather than converse with God themselves. Oh, the foibles of my youth.<br /><br />Now, on the verge of thirty, I think that liturgy resonates with me more deeply than just about anything else in my Christian tradition. The more brokenness I encounter, both in this world and inside of myself, the more I find myself at a loss for words. <br /><br />At a loss for words to communicate the pangs of longing I feel internally, living in this tension that we call the now-but-not-yet. <br /><br />At a loss for words that can possibly reconcile the unspeakable beauty of creation with the unspeakable horrors that play out inside it's borders, both of which take my breath away. <br /><br /> At a loss for words that can paint a tidy picture of what it means to live inside these moments and hours and days that are bursting at the seams with equal parts deep-seated faith and unshakeable doubt.<br /><br />In the book of Romans I'm told that the Spirit of God intercedes for me in groans that my own words cannot express. "Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans." (Romans 8:26, The Message) <br /><br />And these days I find similar comfort in the notion that generations of saints and sinners who walked this road before me, can give words to the groaning of my heart, when I simply cannot muster up the strength or the faith or the language necessary to do so myself. (Which I freely admit, these days, is more often than not.)<br /><br />Several days back, when my friend Nate posted this Lenten prayer on <a href="http://www.sacredscarred.typepad.com">his blog</a>, I latched right on, and haven't loosened my grip since. I guess my hope in posting it here, is that someone else might hear the cries of their own heart echoed back to them in its words. That someone else might find comfort in knowing that their own private pangs and longings, sins and struggles, are universal. And that maybe, this particular set of phrases, cobbled together by a fellow disciple, can help catapult them from the posture of painful groaning to one of meaningful praying.<br /><br />Catch me in my anxious scurrying, Lord,<br />and hold me in this Lenten season:<br />hold my feet to the fire of your grace<br />and make me<br />attentive to my mortality<br />that I may begin to die now<br />to those things that keep me<br />from living with you<br />and with my neighbors on this earth;<br />to grudges and indifference,<br />to certainties that smother possibilities,<br />to my fascination with false securities,<br />to my addiction to sweatless dreams,<br />to my arrogant insistence on how it has to be.<br />to my corrosive fear of dying someday<br />which eats away the wonder of living this day,<br />and the adventure of losing my life<br />in order to find it in you.<br /><br />Catch me in my aimless scurrying, Lord,<br />and hold me in this Lenten season:<br />hold my heart to the beat of your grace<br />and create in me a resting place,<br />a kneeling place,<br />a tip-toe place<br />where I can recover from the dis-ease of my grandiosities<br />which fill my mind and calendar with busy self-importance,<br />that I may become vulnerable enough<br />to dare intimacy with the familiar,<br />to listen cup-eared for your summons,<br />and to watch squint-eyed for your crooked finger<br />in the crying of a child,<br />in the hunger of street people, in the fear of the contagion of terrorism in all people.<br />in the rage of those oppressed because of sex or race,<br />in the smoldering resentments of exploited third world nations,<br />in the sullen apathy of the poor and ghetto-strangled people,<br />in my lonely doubt and limping ambivalence;<br />and somehow,<br />during this season of sacrifice,<br />enable me to sacrifice time,<br />and possessions,<br />and securities,<br />to do something…<br />something about what I see,<br />something to turn the water of my words<br />into the wine of will and risk,<br />into the bread of blood and blisters,<br />into the blessedness of deed,<br />of a cross picked up,<br />a savior followed.<br /><br />Catch me in my mindless scurrying, Lord,<br />and hold me in this Lenten season:<br />hold my spirit to the beacon of your grace<br />and grant me light enough to walk boldly,<br />to feel passionately,<br />to love aggressively;<br />Grant me peace enough to want more,<br />to work for more<br />and to submit to nothing less,<br />and to fear only you…<br />only you!<br />Bequeath me not becalmed seas,<br />slack sails and premature benedictions,<br />but breathe into me a torment,<br />storm enough to make within myself<br />and from myself,<br />something…<br /><br />something new,<br />something saving,<br />something true,<br />a gladness of heart,<br />a pitch for a song in the storm,<br />a word of praise lived,<br />a gratitude shared,<br />a cross dared,<br />a joy received.<br /><br />(excerpted from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Guerrillas-Grace-Prayers-Ted-Loder/dp/0806690542/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1239212087&sr=8-1">Guerillas of Grace: Prayers for the Battle, by Ted Loder</a> )Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-91262930578078464832009-03-26T12:44:00.006-04:002009-03-26T13:21:10.207-04:00Well, lookee there!A few months ago I stumbled upon a new blog, and was hooked instantly. As someone who is easily overwhelmed by the animosity and me-first mentality that often seem to prevail in the world, I am always on the lookout for stories of kindness- both small and extraordinary. I drive around town with a 'Practice Random Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty' bumper sticker plastered to the back of my car, and keep a 'Happy File' where I stick kind notes and encouraging emails from friends, to help lift my spirits when they start to sag.<br /><br />So, when I found out about Melissa, and her project <a href="http://www.operationnice.com/2008/07/welcome-to-operation-nice.html">Operation Nice</a>, I added her to my Bloglines feed reader, and started devouring the accounts of kindness that she chronicles for the masses, while simultaneously taking her challenge to complete 'Nice Assignments.' What a great way to remind us of how powerful our words and actions are in the world, and to inspire us to wield them carefully and lovingly. Did I mention that Melissa is also <a href="http://mel829.blogspot.com/2005/01/who-is-melissahead.html">local, lovely, talented</a> *and* married to a Robert, just like me??? It makes me just a little bit giddy knowing that there are other people in my little corner of the world endeavoring to add to the beauty in their everyday interactions. <br /><br />And whaddya know? Today, I made it onto <a href="http://www.operationnice.com/2009/03/nice-testimonial-you-are-beautiful.html">Melissa's site!</a>!<br /><br />So, wander on over to Operation Nice, and say hi to Melissa for me! Submit your own story of kindness, and yours may be the next smiling mug featured on her blog ;) Add her to your blogroll, subscribe to her RSS feed, and start planting the seeds of kindness in your community!<br /><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://www.operationnice.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" width="150" src="http://melissaivone.com/images/verynice.png" height="133" /></a></div><br /><br />(Oh, and if you came to my blog today by way of Melissa, thanks for stopping in! I hope you'll comment so I know you were here, and stop by often to dialogue with me about life, art, parenthood, community, and of course, kindness!)Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-57161322067973837562009-03-16T16:08:00.005-04:002009-03-17T10:39:33.956-04:00YOU are Beautiful!We live in a time in which the proliferation of beauty products is at an all-time high. And yet, we also live in a time in which you'd be hard pressed to find a woman who feels beautiful, consistently and without qualification ("I love my eyes, but if only my [insert body part here] weren't so [big, small, flat, round, saggy, etc.]...). Instead of appreciating our unique attributes, we curse them as oddities. Instead of looking for what we love about ourselves (inside and out), we pick apart each minor blemish and imperfection, and end up hating our bodies and spending inordinate amounts of time trying to alter them to meet an invisible and ever-changing standard. Teenage girls who weigh 100 lbs. soaking wet call themselves fat, and truly believe their proclamations. <br /><br />We long for the flawless skin of the model on the magazine, failing to recognize that her flawless skin belongs to Photoshop, and not to her at all. As I enter into the world of portrait photography, it is not lost on me that I will be bumping up against this ethical dilemma on a daily basis. Even as "natural light, lifestyle photographers" (a group I aspire to become part of) tout a style of photographic art that captures "real life in motion," "individual personality uncensored," and "candid moments captured," there is still a heavy reliance on editing photos to remove imperfections, while injecting smoother skin, brighter eyes and greater 'polish.' <br /><br />Just the other day I watched a demo on a photography website in which a bride's skin was transformed, turning her normal and natural (if slightly blemished) rosy skin into plasticized peachy-cream perfection. The tone, the texture- all utterly transformed. And I couldn't help but think that if I were that bride, I don't imagine I would look at those photos and think, "Gosh, I looked gorgeous on my wedding day." Instead, I'd be thinking, "Gosh, my photographer must have thought I have awful skin, what with the way he/she 'fixed' it in every single photograph." Photoshopping my skin until it resembles a magazine model more than it does *me* would not increase my confidence. Instead, it would tend to make me even more hypercritical of my perceived flaws, and possibly reveal to me new 'imperfections' I had never before considered...<br /><br />Anyway, I digress...<br /><br />As a card-carrying member of the sisterhood of women worldwide, I have felt a compulsion in recent years to remind women of their beauty, even as popular media seems to do little other than undermine it. Not 'women' as some sort of generalized group, but real, individual women. (And more often than not, women I don't know from Eve.) It's a little embarrassing at times, I'll admit, and I don't always muster the courage to make it happen, but I do try.<br /><br />It all started about 2 years ago, when I walked into a little cafe' here on the Main Line. I'd ordered a coffee and a breakfast sandwich, and as I stood at the counter waiting for my bacon, egg and cheese goodness to come off the grill, one of the girls behind the counter turned to me and said, "You have such beautiful skin." Five simple words, and yet they amounted to a grand kindness. I think I blushed, and I probably stuttered a little in thanking her. But obviously, it made an impression. It made my day, and it has since come back into my mind from time-to-time, and helped to rescue me from bouts of self scrutiny and my relentless insecurities.<br /><br />So it is, in light of that experience, that I try to make a habit of telling random women that they are beautiful. The cashier at Whole Foods with the genuine and unrestrained smile, and dimples that are to-die-for. The woman with the dark and mesmerizing eyes who gives me a pedicure. The girl at the drive-through with the stunning red hair. And of course, my dearest friends, who will probably never fully grasp their own beauty, inside or out. I like to hope that in some small way, my words to them make a difference, an impression. That they recall the sister-stranger who told them they were beautiful, and feel emboldened in this unforgiving "nip-and-tuck" nation of Photoshopped faces and narrow, singular standards of beauty that exclude so many.<br /><br />Yesterday, I was walking the streets of my friend's urban, river-front neighborhood, in search of photo opportunities for a class project. As I entered the park, an SUV that was exiting slowed to a stop. The woman inside rolled down her window and yelled out to me, "You look so pretty today. Have a beautiful day!" Thank you, Sister-Stranger. I am certain that I will never forget you, or your bold kindness to me. The world and its women need more of us, and more of these reminders.Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-28135513368395741252008-06-11T15:09:00.004-04:002008-06-11T15:43:57.959-04:00a little "something glorious" for my vegan friends...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndjmchQFB3-3TTWt7jswNSoREAnH5dZvRs_a2XhMTFwMUtRuKv2_KWr6zga7BP_jAD5ZS1UmVqqrLcAW9UVKY_EqatdXnJC0WGXLiDkN0kvJ0wASbch-NK-1IiBQRfdt1D0PZjw/s1600-h/Bulgur+Cherry+Salad.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndjmchQFB3-3TTWt7jswNSoREAnH5dZvRs_a2XhMTFwMUtRuKv2_KWr6zga7BP_jAD5ZS1UmVqqrLcAW9UVKY_EqatdXnJC0WGXLiDkN0kvJ0wASbch-NK-1IiBQRfdt1D0PZjw/s400/Bulgur+Cherry+Salad.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210708178020500482" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">photo courtesy of www.wholeliving.com</span><br /><br />...and all you veggies, health nuts, and people who just love a delicious, light and meat-free meal now and again. (you could even serve it as a side dish, although i'll warn you now- it will steal all the glory from your main course!!)<br /><br />we had this for dinner last night, and can i just say YUMMMMMMM-EE! seriously...i ripped it from the pages of body + soul magazine, and it is destined to become an MVP in the gauthier kitchen.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">bulgur salad with cherries</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">ingredients:</span><br />1 cup bulgur wheat<br />sea salt and freshly ground pepper<br />2 tbsp walnut oil<br />3 tbsp fresh lemon juice<br />1 shallot, minced<br />1/2 lb fresh sweet cherries, halved and pitted<br />1/2 cup of chopped fresh tarragon, chives & parsley<br />1/4 cup coarsely chopped walnuts<br /><br />take a medium saucepan with a tight fitting lid, and bring 2 cups of water to a boil.<br />stir in the bulgur wheat and about 1/4 tsp sea salt.<br />cover, reduce heat to low, and simmer until water is absorbed and bulgur is tender. (about 15 mins)<br />while the bulgur cooks: whisk together walnut oil, lemon juice and shallot in a medium bowl, and season it with salt and pepper.<br />add cooked bulgur, toss to combine, and refrigerate uncovered until cool. (about 10 minutes)<br />remove bulgur mix from fridge and add cherries, chopped herbs and walnuts. toss to combine.<br />season again with salt and pepper and serve.<br />(you can also serve it over mixed greens for a nice touch, and some added nutritional value.)<br /><br />there are <span style="font-style:italic;">275 calories; 7 g protein; 12 g fat; 39 g carbs and 9 g fiber</span> per serving.<br />ENJOY!!!Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-78900541488693999062008-05-27T14:29:00.006-04:002008-05-27T15:35:57.838-04:00before and afterso i promised some interesting before and after shots, didn't i? these are admittedly bound to be more interesting to me than to any of you, dear readers...and yet, i feel compelled to share! in addition, i am in full-on priming/painting mode today, so i will no doubt have some additional before and afters to share soon. today i am on a particular quest to 'neutralize' the wall colors in our house, to make it more market friendly, and also in hopes that the lighter color walls = bigger rooms philosophy will prove true.** seriously, NONE of our 4 bedrooms are small (particularly for a bungalow from the early 1900's!, but even for a more modern abode), and yet, we have gotten feedback about 'too small' bedrooms, so i am pulling out all the stops and trying to find *SOMETHING* up my sleeve that will SELL. THIS. HOUSE. there ya go.<br /><br />**it is worth adding that i am also a fan of the more subtle tones i've selected. in the overzealous excitement of first time home ownership (and no more apartment-white walls!) i may have gone a *bit* overboard with bold color the first time around. and yeah, i am just now correcting that. YOU try painting with a 3 year old at your heels!!!<br /><br />so, the most notable before and after moments in the past 2 weeks have included a transformation from a blue slipcovered sofa set to a chocolate brown one!<br /><br />BEFORE: <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oLOx0tz2khwr538uHbOlYHUNIW6YwcuICL4D0mtwJvFvQcVPoWhQYHZ05nwwDvzq_sJ0UuNBYq_bCy4PsdXCLHJOjMJI0Rdtpf4yXIykcFGUG2BHYk4U1lTziRD5FGpihfzWKA/s1600-h/Living+Room+Full.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0oLOx0tz2khwr538uHbOlYHUNIW6YwcuICL4D0mtwJvFvQcVPoWhQYHZ05nwwDvzq_sJ0UuNBYq_bCy4PsdXCLHJOjMJI0Rdtpf4yXIykcFGUG2BHYk4U1lTziRD5FGpihfzWKA/s400/Living+Room+Full.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205129447559137106" /></a><br /><br />and AFTER:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVT6txCohZXLuuSmciOZxKbjDj8oT6_jAVouZ_6b375a-m1skFWNSvdRe0tW0zyOhon9OkzedNpXQlG9rRMGX8hImo2DGp63JjcPxnxumJ1pTutEYyekm8jcqiZ4RwLBpGD7vqJQ/s1600-h/Chocolate+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVT6txCohZXLuuSmciOZxKbjDj8oT6_jAVouZ_6b375a-m1skFWNSvdRe0tW0zyOhon9OkzedNpXQlG9rRMGX8hImo2DGp63JjcPxnxumJ1pTutEYyekm8jcqiZ4RwLBpGD7vqJQ/s400/Chocolate+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205131805496182626" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWmk5Q4gNh5K8n810h8g3G08ixOQ8xQWo8i4O_bUorh1mE2eC3RXxMlb_mICS_slP99vn98_A1ij9g47JPZ7xjtTOzP-eInWARYzLoVcVaZNfQAUob9a6_P6aKe_aAbpDELgkvtw/s1600-h/Chocolate+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWmk5Q4gNh5K8n810h8g3G08ixOQ8xQWo8i4O_bUorh1mE2eC3RXxMlb_mICS_slP99vn98_A1ij9g47JPZ7xjtTOzP-eInWARYzLoVcVaZNfQAUob9a6_P6aKe_aAbpDELgkvtw/s400/Chocolate+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205131818381084530" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjVGTR8KcTMsTOigiq4Yy16mnGLQAQLcw58uV6aF39Wwns_naItoFLNPax4NnGOcLmj9zhPqI0Jv1uhKJwwLXRroyWc37RumumwZQGrJqTxuJetprBYQMBPA8h8EAsazNKODh8g/s1600-h/Chocolate+3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjVGTR8KcTMsTOigiq4Yy16mnGLQAQLcw58uV6aF39Wwns_naItoFLNPax4NnGOcLmj9zhPqI0Jv1uhKJwwLXRroyWc37RumumwZQGrJqTxuJetprBYQMBPA8h8EAsazNKODh8g/s400/Chocolate+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205131818381084546" /></a><br /><br />now, the new brown tone is presenting some 'design challenges' of it's own. however, in my opinion, it is quite an improvement over the outdated (and fairly faded) 'denim blue' of yesteryear, and is worth the shuffling and re-imagining that will now need to happen in my living room!<br /><br />the other before and after i have for you today is another one of my many haircuts- LOL! i think i am *finally* finding peace with the fact that i am much more suited to short hair, despite the occasional longing for thick, lustrous, flowing locks in the tradition of <a href="http://www.dreamsofsimplelife.blogspot.com/">christine</a> or <a href="http://www.kierstincasella.blogspot.com/">kierstin</a>. so, here you go....the most recent incarnation:<br /><br />BEFORE (did i mention that my sweetheart graduated with his masters on may 10th?? swoon):<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfxxb8R_1OduwqbkIPfXVJQeYA29FbolfZl6_c9P10BImFr4NIqlehiQ2L9tuWedg1TZ9pGC2x6gTYU-UPPzvse3a8B1OatJKidfe0NStpMDhw4GEqaw4UZDSlN_YhqlFzfrF2xA/s1600-h/Hair+Before+08.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfxxb8R_1OduwqbkIPfXVJQeYA29FbolfZl6_c9P10BImFr4NIqlehiQ2L9tuWedg1TZ9pGC2x6gTYU-UPPzvse3a8B1OatJKidfe0NStpMDhw4GEqaw4UZDSlN_YhqlFzfrF2xA/s400/Hair+Before+08.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205141958798870418" /></a><br /><br />and AFTER (yes, i have noticed how much 'puffier' my face looks with 'longer' hair. yikes.):<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg15iyNS7DRUFw1ceXi_Hsgykk-A9DiKf7m6RB1mN-1erjCTCTEjw8DVsBKeFVX78UX2pikxCKuEKA6juN0aa6Cwzj43LAtKS3eADQMxHN9KTkQt6FlpsM2l-ZTwNg2Jmmt0kcmA/s1600-h/Haircut+After+08.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg15iyNS7DRUFw1ceXi_Hsgykk-A9DiKf7m6RB1mN-1erjCTCTEjw8DVsBKeFVX78UX2pikxCKuEKA6juN0aa6Cwzj43LAtKS3eADQMxHN9KTkQt6FlpsM2l-ZTwNg2Jmmt0kcmA/s400/Haircut+After+08.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205142152072398754" /></a><br /><br />so, there you have it. some of the humdrum happenings at my house as of late. :) may you be inspired in your own home improvement efforts and grooming endeavors. LOL.Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-1217538738993895162008-05-20T11:32:00.003-04:002008-05-20T11:36:21.770-04:00Tickle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqSXE1YOYLrw13L_NuJ5l8f8burg7k_pImTtkRJ2Ehd1HCwHWOqqD0dShrejBatHfvRUY_ZgBKw9xAudKSILaOYUXLAUu4vT12HKDY_wdnbVpAmMWjV4_E3kHeywffR1qwYElv_g/s1600-h/Tickle.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqSXE1YOYLrw13L_NuJ5l8f8burg7k_pImTtkRJ2Ehd1HCwHWOqqD0dShrejBatHfvRUY_ZgBKw9xAudKSILaOYUXLAUu4vT12HKDY_wdnbVpAmMWjV4_E3kHeywffR1qwYElv_g/s320/Tickle.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202483438875042930" /></a><br /><br />Ella: "Mom, does Nashy have armpits?"<br /><br />Me: "Well, no...not like we do."<br /><br />Ella: "Oh. She has dogpits."<br /><br />I have several posts brewing- before and after shots of all sorts, amazing free stuff to show off, a few requests for design input....etc., but for the moment, the goofy kid conversation will have to suffice ;)Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-84392679106726986902008-05-12T17:31:00.009-04:002008-05-12T19:08:24.421-04:00Singing in the RainAfter a fairly nice weekend weather-wise (and life-in-general-wise too: Robert graduated from his Masters program on Saturday!!!), today has been all gray and rain and gloom. And as content as I would be to curl up on the couch (of which I must post before and after pictures, being that I dyed it this past week!) with coffee and a novel while the rain slides down the panes of my living room windows, my daughter does *not* deem that appropriate rainy weather behavior. For what she does deem acceptable, see exhibit A:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij-CpucdN2nmKI20i8Z3ilRKBtjHsppPCy-jdTFGUalubmFv3eE61l7-Ph5-wkyAMN_TI4hYv4hAsq9MGKNnsmJ9LWbwaCGf2HkoHUM0Rl8j3v1YK8ltBfaf0HbdEuQml9U9efNg/s1600-h/Ella+Rain+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij-CpucdN2nmKI20i8Z3ilRKBtjHsppPCy-jdTFGUalubmFv3eE61l7-Ph5-wkyAMN_TI4hYv4hAsq9MGKNnsmJ9LWbwaCGf2HkoHUM0Rl8j3v1YK8ltBfaf0HbdEuQml9U9efNg/s320/Ella+Rain+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199607477234033730" /></a><br /><br />And since I am a mama who believes quite zealously in the ideas espoused by folks such as author, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Last-Child-Woods-Children-Nature-Deficit/dp/1565125223/ref=wl_it_dp?ie=UTF8&coliid=IQAMQ1VOU2I5V&colid=2UFT1PRG62TII/">Richard Louv</a> , I quickly abandoned my comfie couch-curling aspirations, in favor of pulling on our rain boots, bundling up in coats fit for snow (it was cooooold!), and splashing in the puddles for over an hour. As much as I was dreading the departure from the warmth of my cozy home, I have to admit that I think I had as much fun as Ella did: spinning and dancing and frolicking in the wet, wonderful weather! <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpKwTM_nj-iMTC69lU9ddwFCZSIhcxffp1T99sCnP4h6o02qINV1Jqg7AKe8gLOeK_F5J0empUOHMPeSBVQOetFFkVBjqDvmJfkPmq_VTr-lb_4jBC8XOzDn1naOdZXntYucSNw/s1600-h/Ella+Rain+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpKwTM_nj-iMTC69lU9ddwFCZSIhcxffp1T99sCnP4h6o02qINV1Jqg7AKe8gLOeK_F5J0empUOHMPeSBVQOetFFkVBjqDvmJfkPmq_VTr-lb_4jBC8XOzDn1naOdZXntYucSNw/s320/Ella+Rain+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199607485823968338" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzX13xNQS3P72aD3fs1vs4V1dGZAwVblVsNYCX5R64qWMANVXsSCer51H3aWYPslJdD5V6tLxupjPVUgcgxGTzVXs1zqEp2W2E9Ig0p_p6k4dxRWphGmHT76bGRXZYc7lwXDQE0A/s1600-h/Ella+Rain+3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzX13xNQS3P72aD3fs1vs4V1dGZAwVblVsNYCX5R64qWMANVXsSCer51H3aWYPslJdD5V6tLxupjPVUgcgxGTzVXs1zqEp2W2E9Ig0p_p6k4dxRWphGmHT76bGRXZYc7lwXDQE0A/s320/Ella+Rain+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199607490118935650" /></a><br /><br />We marched and sang and giggled. We picked up pieces of litter, and collected bits of nature. (I even found some bundled white flowers and funky, fuzzy green globes, grounded from their perches in trees and bushes by the persistence of the rain, that will make wonderful, natural design elements once I commit them to vases and other vessels! Score!)<br /><br />When we came in our fingers felt like icicles, wet curls framed our rosy faces, and Ella's rain boots were 3/4 of the way filled with rainwater. She quickly de-robed and climbed into a steamy bubble bath, while I brewed hot vanilla tea. And finally, toweled off and tea-d up, we settled in under blankets and books, BEHIND those wet windows...<br /><br />And now, Mary Oliver on the rain:<br /><br />Last Night the Rain Spoke to Me<br /><br />Last night<br />the rain<br />spoke to me<br />slowly, saying,<br /><br />what joy<br />to come falling<br />out of the brisk cloud,<br />to be happy again<br /><br />in a new way<br />on the earth!<br />That's what it said<br />as it dropped,<br /><br />smelling of iron,<br />and vanished<br />like a dream of the ocean<br />into the branches<br /><br />and the grass below.<br />Then it was over.<br />The sky cleared.<br />I was standing<br /><br />under a tree.<br />The tree was a tree<br />with happy leaves,<br />and I was myself,<br /><br />and there were stars in the sky<br />that were also themselves<br />at the moment<br />at which moment<br /><br />my right hand <br />was holding my left hand<br />which was holding the tree<br />which was filled with stars<br /><br />and the soft rain -<br />imagine! imagine! <br />the long and wondrous journeys <br />still to be ours.Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-46535831498687454112008-05-05T19:19:00.002-04:002008-05-05T19:23:06.321-04:00"Mom. You're beautiful." <br /><br />Spoken by a freshly-bathed, towel-wrapped little one on the couch, who is grinning ear-to-ear as she speaks the words.<br /><br />And THAT is what makes motherhood the most heartwarming experience known to man.<br /><br />(For the record, motherhood is simultaneously the most heart-wrenching experience know to man. I'm just sayin'....)Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-508382067839864032008-05-04T04:26:00.002-04:002008-05-04T04:46:13.488-04:004:24 am......and here I sit awake. <br /><br />It has become apparent in the past 2 weeks that Ella suffers BADLY from outdoor allergies. The poor child looks as if she is chronically ill, dark circles like bruises beneath her red, itchy eyes. She complains frequently, "My nose doesn't work! I can't smell things!" And every room of my house seems to be littered with wadded up tissues. She doesn't really blow her nose though, just sort of crumples tissues up and dabs at her nostrils while making pathetic little purring sounds meant to evoke sympathy for her plight. Melodrama is her forte.<br /><br />The other side effect of these blasted allergies is that my child, the one who has slept beautifully since birth, is up all throughout the night. She wants snuggles and tissues and water, but most of all, she wants mommy and daddy to "make her nose work." The best we can do is to prop her up with a leaning tower of pillows, slather her little chest with Vick's Vaporub, and shoot some lovely saline spray up her nose, which you know she adores ;) <br /><br />Tonight she roused at about 1:30 am, and couldn't be coaxed back to sleep until after 2:30. She is now dreaming peacefully and breathing LOUDLY (almost a snore) next to her Daddy. I, however, could not fall back to sleep. So, after nearly 2 hours of tossing and turning, here I sit at my dining room table, casting jealous glances at the dog, who is conked out in the corner. I'm sipping some 'Calm the Mind' lemon wintergreen tea, and hoping that it will do its job, and that I might sneak in 2-3 hours of sleep before my lovely girl wakes for the day...Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-2534390302177254732008-05-01T11:34:00.002-04:002008-05-01T11:40:33.541-04:00My Turn........with the <a href="http://labs.wanokoto.jp/olds">crazy Japanese photo editor</a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD_k3Z0D0-H7U3o4scDIJvmUAdJdSK7Si5iC6g4fb6-WprFnkjKfQtl0DLAenFlDbMjUFq9Y4c1esBkz4wDMkCh2W-2BFh2LcasrHtqJX9ORtLajQWzyQJWvmgm2Ac3byjXMR0Zw/s1600-h/Japan+Autumn.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD_k3Z0D0-H7U3o4scDIJvmUAdJdSK7Si5iC6g4fb6-WprFnkjKfQtl0DLAenFlDbMjUFq9Y4c1esBkz4wDMkCh2W-2BFh2LcasrHtqJX9ORtLajQWzyQJWvmgm2Ac3byjXMR0Zw/s320/Japan+Autumn.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195433969957444754" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEzp4eiH_1Oxsd1au9pmWM6jQpxrlwxFd56gd-K9dC_O1-enu0_X_yGTgcl7HgRzedW0_zFuLlTEZMOarM0bwhEO92XyhGKozznCJ-lB09MAPvFoZckhpD1_bWPFx3mLMb_aXvBg/s1600-h/Japan+Pony+Ride.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEzp4eiH_1Oxsd1au9pmWM6jQpxrlwxFd56gd-K9dC_O1-enu0_X_yGTgcl7HgRzedW0_zFuLlTEZMOarM0bwhEO92XyhGKozznCJ-lB09MAPvFoZckhpD1_bWPFx3mLMb_aXvBg/s320/Japan+Pony+Ride.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195433978547379362" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6D5DwC-XqLydRzYs3iLfvcdQIpU13UZ37KvraDqbAspdSJpge4CopIwdSDkPAVQIJARyRdEZDjRnMu0mC6D4g_Y7JmbTh5YiaFkJ7YVy6cziK8lzfGNI5fUzvaSm5buZky9dqBw/s1600-h/Japan+Grassy+Girl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6D5DwC-XqLydRzYs3iLfvcdQIpU13UZ37KvraDqbAspdSJpge4CopIwdSDkPAVQIJARyRdEZDjRnMu0mC6D4g_Y7JmbTh5YiaFkJ7YVy6cziK8lzfGNI5fUzvaSm5buZky9dqBw/s320/Japan+Grassy+Girl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195433982842346674" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEE-6HahPROvzrPW3mX6P0Kx0BoyYWdH51NZd_MPiwAbnwqPAJNYKmbIRGWRyup0qAQ1ZWxMTd9BqtMlavGW7oTPAn25zL9Bm10ZPWsdgPs6oxKnHQPcPv_ibPVQIRVn8xKhbiBQ/s1600-h/Japan+Froth.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEE-6HahPROvzrPW3mX6P0Kx0BoyYWdH51NZd_MPiwAbnwqPAJNYKmbIRGWRyup0qAQ1ZWxMTd9BqtMlavGW7oTPAn25zL9Bm10ZPWsdgPs6oxKnHQPcPv_ibPVQIRVn8xKhbiBQ/s320/Japan+Froth.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195433987137313986" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3fsTawLdH6lRxe5Q3UMs0kZ-XBt4YAPDJKIgt95_Gts7VWJj5d1JY41AqnauVKm-GIV_OX0FQh_EsDXmm8Jov8b1LcJcjrfa0Ac6Av6q2aXrfA96boI4Y8aQTbGGCjNxXENmgw/s1600-h/Japan+Harvard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3fsTawLdH6lRxe5Q3UMs0kZ-XBt4YAPDJKIgt95_Gts7VWJj5d1JY41AqnauVKm-GIV_OX0FQh_EsDXmm8Jov8b1LcJcjrfa0Ac6Av6q2aXrfA96boI4Y8aQTbGGCjNxXENmgw/s320/Japan+Harvard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195433991432281298" /></a><br /><br />Thanks for the tip, ....<a href="http://www.keelymariescott.blogspot.com">Keely</a>!Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12789564.post-87209292042733477282008-04-29T09:42:00.005-04:002008-04-29T09:55:23.497-04:00Fresh Squeezed<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3gmF_LIt7V4uiTPSqdSbLexoI4jYZ9bs8UbH3i9P0V4D-YUaa-_qDL6VpjeBGvaA8RDWbN6prw4zgANG4bh1CCe-F_U6l5Q165aRI_zJMvc6Fo4wkexrSMdlJRCLKi0Ua3knjQ/s1600-h/Fresh-Squeezed+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3gmF_LIt7V4uiTPSqdSbLexoI4jYZ9bs8UbH3i9P0V4D-YUaa-_qDL6VpjeBGvaA8RDWbN6prw4zgANG4bh1CCe-F_U6l5Q165aRI_zJMvc6Fo4wkexrSMdlJRCLKi0Ua3knjQ/s320/Fresh-Squeezed+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194662585241148450" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5okx0msLGjFYojL1mYWd9JNcHqV4rzD-c1fxx6hs-4e7aT72og70d6Y3oNEHRAmdnMg7Y4IolmcgShIkvpbUO1PSjYiqPYPjIMVxnvQUs4F8KmloIf5T4i-y9mh9qRLPuSoQzrw/s1600-h/Fresh-Squeezed+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5okx0msLGjFYojL1mYWd9JNcHqV4rzD-c1fxx6hs-4e7aT72og70d6Y3oNEHRAmdnMg7Y4IolmcgShIkvpbUO1PSjYiqPYPjIMVxnvQUs4F8KmloIf5T4i-y9mh9qRLPuSoQzrw/s320/Fresh-Squeezed+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194662593831083058" /></a><br /><br />She winds up....<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghNJgiY08bpwozoujpBykF4Fgd29F2S8WMAJ_4LnaHM2yCsHo0RZ3Hkw0BlUkQ5TduZ1R39VyfOZwTbutFxoym4y1_-2xN5N_2_zPfHTZSh7rGzYzcnUIeP60POdurwNKtqUG4NQ/s1600-h/Fresh+Squeezed+3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghNJgiY08bpwozoujpBykF4Fgd29F2S8WMAJ_4LnaHM2yCsHo0RZ3Hkw0BlUkQ5TduZ1R39VyfOZwTbutFxoym4y1_-2xN5N_2_zPfHTZSh7rGzYzcnUIeP60POdurwNKtqUG4NQ/s320/Fresh+Squeezed+3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194662593831083074" /></a><br /><br />And hurls the peel...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEfTuFAOErNLysdVsHdFX2yPcwFMwS_q1sS73l0uBqmLv_uGHHRRhXe-pd3H6_8buAShKu8lGb5IlOEbTLWUqUEFvO5bG2aIfLOEBotkS0eP3lbmzKLPTyVmxN8h6Yd_U78Q3yEg/s1600-h/Fresh+Squeezed+4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEfTuFAOErNLysdVsHdFX2yPcwFMwS_q1sS73l0uBqmLv_uGHHRRhXe-pd3H6_8buAShKu8lGb5IlOEbTLWUqUEFvO5bG2aIfLOEBotkS0eP3lbmzKLPTyVmxN8h6Yd_U78Q3yEg/s320/Fresh+Squeezed+4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194662602421017682" /></a><br />She scores!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5X4lbeNIyW2Ep4kbjmMEvm9Fuv7lBjODvlpZM5L8DYAhCFk0m_739MQHY2uPb_1rX32uZVO14fdSvl_0e8SLkvCyo-ROtTskh-1sk-AdiasWxVh2OiRNFEJIDhsAhNzZiVGwlcQ/s1600-h/Fresh+Squeezed+5.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5X4lbeNIyW2Ep4kbjmMEvm9Fuv7lBjODvlpZM5L8DYAhCFk0m_739MQHY2uPb_1rX32uZVO14fdSvl_0e8SLkvCyo-ROtTskh-1sk-AdiasWxVh2OiRNFEJIDhsAhNzZiVGwlcQ/s320/Fresh+Squeezed+5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194662606715984994" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbnkRImJqMlTTyHf_D65uZuvnXpySwXddFJIp0ctWnfDisTgKx1Ay294K3okMJth0dRoIJ44IkQZ1_G9eU19o25ypbf25KHkqAyS_YClloA6HD4qKVkYV6Y0KC-YmiEHALOFVWFQ/s1600-h/Fresh+Squeezed+6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbnkRImJqMlTTyHf_D65uZuvnXpySwXddFJIp0ctWnfDisTgKx1Ay294K3okMJth0dRoIJ44IkQZ1_G9eU19o25ypbf25KHkqAyS_YClloA6HD4qKVkYV6Y0KC-YmiEHALOFVWFQ/s320/Fresh+Squeezed+6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194664784264404082" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR9bJDxPgiRXkzuAI6h3K0y_PAZyY3_FGZiQmrid8Sp38hJGac4NkCjUlYLBOjCnBy2x8xCwpgojjhktmyN6KMYw0JqDQblRgkpp1d1uOydwr1mRpoxjEWd5okgQ-1NcKTwKmYpA/s1600-h/Fresh+Squeezed+7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR9bJDxPgiRXkzuAI6h3K0y_PAZyY3_FGZiQmrid8Sp38hJGac4NkCjUlYLBOjCnBy2x8xCwpgojjhktmyN6KMYw0JqDQblRgkpp1d1uOydwr1mRpoxjEWd5okgQ-1NcKTwKmYpA/s320/Fresh+Squeezed+7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194664797149305986" /></a><br /><br />Deeeee-lish!Laurenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09412050271204879522noreply@blogger.com3