tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51502361672860140062024-02-24T20:59:28.714-05:00blackbelt omakorean. american. over-50. mom. architect. wife. christian. shopper....not in that order.blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.comBlogger610125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-78984477588808791952014-02-10T12:39:00.002-05:002014-02-10T13:41:33.763-05:00Red StripesI was the youngest with 3 older brothers, the only girl. Barely in Kindergarten, I got taken along on my mother's jaunts while my 3 older brothers were in school. My mom seemed always to be in a hurry, clipped steps, sharp words. I felt like an unwanted appendage. She'd grip my wrist so tight all I remember is that pain while being dragged around. I hated that. Surely she didn't love me, or why else would she hurt me? She left red marks on my little wrist.<br />
<br />
When I was living in Korea in the early 1960s, it was a <a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/old-1960s-photos-of-seoul-korea-2013-4#heres-seoul-in-the-1960s-1">poor</a>, third-world country. I look at pictures and remember...the <a href="http://jellyfish1616.blogspot.com/2011/06/english-couples-first-impression-on.html">dirt streets</a>, children playing in the alleys, wearing only scraps, stray dogs wandering around. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pTgVk0QE4rU/UvkNSBbNflI/AAAAAAAAZpM/qiAY8gIBws8/s1600/Korea+slum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pTgVk0QE4rU/UvkNSBbNflI/AAAAAAAAZpM/qiAY8gIBws8/s1600/Korea+slum.jpg" height="188" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Slums in the 1960s. Photo from jellyfish1616.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_w6iTexrqzo/UvkOkQWAUNI/AAAAAAAAZpg/aSgs9Bkc0Wo/s1600/Korean+1961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_w6iTexrqzo/UvkOkQWAUNI/AAAAAAAAZpg/aSgs9Bkc0Wo/s1600/Korean+1961.jpg" height="189" width="320" /></a></div>
As a mom, now I know it's the mama bear steel-claw death grip of protection. Now I know that she was afraid of what every mom fears in the depth of her gut: to lose your child. I held onto my son's hand and wrist, too. It wasn't good enough to have him hold me - what use was that? I held onto him and knew I wouldn't let go.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mpfyrsD73ts/UvkNa1iurtI/AAAAAAAAZpU/TWbxFB31lUw/s1600/Lost+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mpfyrsD73ts/UvkNa1iurtI/AAAAAAAAZpU/TWbxFB31lUw/s1600/Lost+kids.jpg" height="320" width="252" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lost children. Photo from jellyfish1616</td></tr>
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How heart-wrenching even now, with the internet, the priority and resources of looking for lost children. Back then, before people had phones, a phone book? Was there a priority to find lost children? especially if they were poor? or did they accept it as part of life? Did they even have the energy? Back then, it was so real just to lose a child in the bustle of the open market. And today, we have adult adoptees in their 40s, 50s, 60s, who were lost in the market. Or left. Because of the devastating poverty.<br />
<br />
I think now with gratefulness the red stripes my mom left on my wrist every time she ran errands. She held me, the way my Heavenly Father holds me. I will never be lost.blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-63870675958760962522014-02-08T14:55:00.001-05:002014-05-09T13:20:58.083-04:00I Am Not an EnvironmentalistSome of you know me as someone who avoids chemicals in my food and body care. That means I deliberately travel miles out of my way to buy pastured, organic meats and vegetables. I also hunt and gather household products with minimal petroleum-based ingredients. You will have to search to find artificial fragrances or preservatives in our home. It is time-consuming and expensive.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I tuned out of my public radio station's fundraiser (not without some guilt) to the local Christian station. They had on a Christian scientist discussing the Biblical view of the earth and the environment. Full disclosure: I did not listen very long because frankly, it made me impatient. But it also made me think more clearly on why I choose to live the way I do.<br />
<br />
The program made three very important points in the Christian, Biblical world view: <br />
A. The earth was not created to last forever.<br />
B. Human beings are <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis+2%3A20-24&version=ESV">distinct </a>from all other living creatures.<br />
C. We will not find eternal life in preserving the earth.<br />
<br />
And I ascribe to those points. The Bible tells of the "end times," that God created man and woman distinctly from the rest of Creation, and that it is through faith in the Messiah alone that will bring us back to a full, eternal fellowship with God. I will not become holy by the things I <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Colossians+2%3A20-23&version=ESV">eat or not eat</a>. Those are "orthodox" Christian beliefs.<br />
<br />
"Orthodox" Environmentalism, however, espouses saving our planet because it is our only home, that all creatures are equally valuable, and that we will endure only if we have an earth to call Home. These views are distinctly different, aren't they?<br />
<br />
But in addition, I believe these Biblical views:<br />
1. We are to be thankful for what God gives us and be wise stewards of our resources. <br />
2. We are to take care of our bodies and ourselves, not only as the <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+6%3A19-20&version=NIV">temple </a>of the Holy Spirit, but also as a way to <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+25%3A22-23&version=ESV">increase </a>our gifts (talents.)<br />
3. We should not act carelessly, <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+6%3A1-2&version=ESV">expecting God</a> to show His grace.<br />
<br />
I do not find A, B and C to contradict 1, 2 and 3. <br />
<br />
However distasteful it may be to some of you to think of raising animals only for their fur, I have no intention of throwing red paint on anyone. I suppose it may be distasteful to some that I condone the raising of certain animals only so I can enjoy eating its meat. The Bible says all things are approved for us to eat. Whether I <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+10%3A28-29&version=NIV">choose </a>to do that or not, is a different issue. That I would save a human being over any animal any day, may not be palatable to some. I refuse to call fish "<a href="http://features.peta.org/PETASeaKittens/">sea kittens</a>" to promote PETA's world view. However, I believe that saving bats and bees is taking care of the earth that God made for us, intricate in its interconnectedness, which sustains humankind.<br />
<br />
I am not an Environmentalist, or a Feminist, or a Democrat or any other label - I am a Christian. Firs. And from that world view do all other views flow. I choose to live my life caring for the things and Creation that God gave to me. I choose to feed and care for my family with the safest and healthiest out there so they can be strong and productive for Him. I married a man who respects all people as the image of God, and that each of us have a useful role to play. I teach my child the same thing, to be grateful for the garbage collector. to be kind to everyone. I believe in caring for the poor, that they are not any more lazy or cursed than the rich; that the poor will always be with us.<br />
<br />
I do and believe all these things because I am a Christian.blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-22195143962634526342014-01-25T15:59:00.002-05:002014-01-25T16:36:30.043-05:00January 25, 2003Eleven years ago today, we took a deep breath, and got ourselves to the Holt offices in Seoul. This was the day we would get our child. Our son. He'd have one last check-up with the doctor, then handed to us. <br />
<br />
I know I should SHOUT with CAPS and !!! that 11 years ago today(!) we became a family(!) when we brought our little guy home(!) and it was the HAPPIEST day of our LIVES(!!)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2E7wj6tVkS4/UuQippwSX4I/AAAAAAAAZo8/17JU2kDXTEI/s1600/Holt+Lobby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2E7wj6tVkS4/UuQippwSX4I/AAAAAAAAZo8/17JU2kDXTEI/s1600/Holt+Lobby.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a>But honestly? I was exhausted and confused and stunned. (Maybe a little like after you birthed your child?) I look at those pictures of myself, and I don't really remember a whole lot. I do remember hearing the foster mothers in the Lobby saying to our son's foster mother that he looked like her. They didn't know I understood them. And that I resented that. Because you see, he was <i>my </i>son. Mine. I filled out all the paperwork and paid thousands of dollars and The Law said that he was mine. I wasn't thinking so much about the foster family. Or the mom who bore him for 9-months, then really didn't have a choice but to give him away.<br />
<br />
I certainly wasn't thinking about this child, that he might be just as exhausted and confused and stunned as I was. And he was. This little 7-month old, cried and cried and cried. And cried. And later, so did I. Sometimes, even, on the kitchen floor. From exhaustion, disappointment, regret, failure.<br />
<br />
If you've read this blog, you might know a little of our adoption journey; the tough road that this little guy went through. But it's been eleven years. We've talked and held and therapied and cried and not talked and not hugged and rebelled and disassociated and and and stimmed. But I believe we are on the other side of the tunnel. Not without some scars. Or slime. You know the wet stuff that slithers down the side of dark, scary tunnels.<br />
<br />
The other day, we were sitting together in his room. He, with his Legos. Me, sorting through laundry. He said, "If you had known I was going to have such a hard time, would you still have adopted me?" I was too quick to reply, "No. I wouldn't have wanted you to suffer so much." This time, I was thinking only of him. Had I known he'd be so traumatized, how could I, or any human being, want that? If anyone had told me he wouldn't sleep well for 6 years, panic at anything new, wouldn't know how to hug and wouldn't allow hugs, but at the same time hyperventilate if you left the room...who would wish that?<br />
<br />
Later that night, in bed, he reminded me of that conversation and said, "When you said 'no,' it made me sad."<br />
<br />
So we talked. That I had been thinking about what I had said, that it was a complicated feeling of both/and: loving him and being happy that he was my son but also sad that he suffered so. I think he got it.<br />
<br />
It's been months since we've laid in bed together to read a bedtime story. But that night, he wanted me to stay awhile and hold him. Just hold him. I walked away and realized that because he shared with me that he was sad, that we had actually made it to the other side of the tunnel.<br />
<br />
What's a few drops of slime, anyway?blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-61649987547787212302013-03-17T19:24:00.001-04:002013-03-22T09:29:58.155-04:00Mozart and Haydn<br />
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791)<br />
Franz Joseph Haydn (1732-1809)<br />
<br />
Mozart lived 35 years. Haydn lived 77.<br />
<br />
Mozart produced 600 pieces across all genres, in half the lifetime of others. He came from a sort of musical royalty, his father being a well-respected musician who had inroads to the courts throughout Europe. He started at age 3, started composing at 5, touring at 7, worked night and day and lived a lavish and undisciplined life. <br />
<br />
Haydn, is much less tragic of a figure and would unlikely be the subject of a movie (like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qL0D4Buettk">Amadeus</a>.) His beginnings are humbler, with a mother and father who were laborers. Compared to Mozart, he was a late bloomer, <i>already </i>being 6 when he was apprenticed to be a musician. He had a steady job all his life and lived within his means.<br />
<br />
If Mozart is Jimmy Swaggert, then Haydn is Joel Osteen. Mozart's Dennis Rodman to Haydn's Michael Jordan; John McEnroe to Michael Chang.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7ftylujNess/UUY_-JVWoGI/AAAAAAAAX0s/fpNxsiMW6kQ/s1600/vanGogh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7ftylujNess/UUY_-JVWoGI/AAAAAAAAX0s/fpNxsiMW6kQ/s200/vanGogh.jpg" width="166" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">van Gogh without his ear</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've used the two as symbols of the unwritten but understood imagery of the pathos and angst of the creative and artistic. Why is it that we think of artists as tortured souls like Mozart, Beethovan, van Gogh? What about the steady, hard-working, successful Haydn, Cezanne?<br />
<br />
My limited knowledge of Mozart can't tell me whether his parents raised
him well, or not, or if he had a spirit that led him down a slippery
path. I know he was lead around by his father performing for various
nobility and royalty. But then as an adult, he lived a miserable life
and died young. Haydn, not having the ticket to the courts, actually
had to work hard to stay fed. His cook mother nor his wheel maker
father could get him the posh positions that Mozart got. Is it that
Haydn had to work for his art while Mozart was coddled? Is this the
classic saga of the silver-spoon vs the boot strap? Maybe Wolfgang was just a finicky, high-strung baby while Franz Joseph sat docile with fewer fluctuations in <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/health/2013/02/25/172880140/to-spot-kids-who-will-overcome-poverty-look-at-babies">pulse rate</a>. <br />
<br />
As I transfer my mind wanderings from the abstract to the reality of my little musician, I wonder how I will get him to be a Haydn, not a Mozart. No worldly success, even for the sake of Art and Creativity, is worth the misery of a pathetic testimony of a life as Mozart. Must Creativity be miserable? or as we are coming to understand through research, does Creativity come with plain ol' steady work? "Genius is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration*," and all that.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gzvHM0R7LoI/UUZAOLxannI/AAAAAAAAX00/sLUcdW5epA8/s1600/Greek+Genius.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gzvHM0R7LoI/UUZAOLxannI/AAAAAAAAX00/sLUcdW5epA8/s200/Greek+Genius.jpg" width="162" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Genius of Greek Poetry</td></tr>
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In the days of Greeks and Romans, Genius and Creativity were creatures
that lived outside of ourselves and visited mere humans to inspire them
to artistry. It was something outside of the human experience. Then
the Renaissance came, and that gods, the sprites who lived in walls and
tapped our shoulders with golden dust, were now inside of us. Suddenly, we humans
<i> were</i> Genius and Creativity. We had made ourselves gods.<br />
<br />
It seems to me, that we sunk ourselves by putting so much pressure on our frail, little human selves. Might it be better to think of Creativity, well, maybe not <i>as </i>a god like the Greeks did, but <i>from </i>something, somewhere outside of ourselves that we get to express? Can we separate ourselves from our creativity and see ourselves as valuable outside of our art? <br />
<br />
Might I remember to praise my son for his hard work and long practice <a href="http://www.parentingscience.com/praise-and-intelligence.html">instead of just his talent</a>? Might I encourage him that he is more than his talent? That it is a gift that can be used (or not) for the benefit of himself as well as others? Then one day, if he breaks his hands or develops a disease, that he'd still be valuable? precious? talented? hard-working?<br />
<br />
Hence, I pray to the God of Creation.<br />
<br />
* <span style="font-size: x-small;">Thomas Edison</span>blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-70789803308178899862013-02-06T23:27:00.000-05:002013-02-06T23:28:31.629-05:00The Music ManI don't know if it's because he has a disability, or if I'm justifying my pride.<br />
<br />
The other week, my son - who you know as Boo - started taking piano lessons. Well, actually, he started last July, but this beautiful person wasn't actually a trained piano teacher, and it became evident to all of us that Boo needed to move on. So Boo is in the studio with Mr. Bonafide Piano Teacher. And I know enough about music, having played for over 10 years, that these were real lessons.<br />
<br />
As I heard Mr. Bonafide teach and explain, I knew Boo understood, and I could hear him respond musically. I could hear his playing change subtly with the instruction. After 7 months of lessons.<br />
<br />
My heart swelled. It swelled like the former high school ball player who watches his own son on the field. Like the former beauty queen as her daughter is crowned Homecoming Queen.<br />
<br />
I had never felt this way before. Oh, maybe once when he was in 2nd grade and he told his teacher that he "could do all things through Christ" who strengthens him. I've been proud of him before, but really for just being NORMAL. For just getting along with another child, for getting a good grade, for being able to sit still.<br />
<br />
I just wanted him to be able to get by in this world. To have a friend or two. To get through high school without being arrested for inappropriate behavior. Maybe. Maybe, even go to college. But Lord, that he might be able to get and keep a job.<br />
<br />
Do I think too little of him? No. At least, I hope not. I knew he had many talents and so much to give. But would the world see that? Would he keep annoying everyone by singing, anywhere? anytime? Would he be seen as freaky because he always had a smile on his face? Would someone punch him in the face when he laughs at an inappropriate time?<br />
<br />
Am I just proud and want to shout it from the mountaintop because I'm being prideful? Or am I so damn glad that he might have some measurable skill?<br />
<br />
Measurable.<br />
<br />
New Year's Eve, our little family went to a little party. We met a man there, a little ragged looking, in t-shirt and faded jeans. Someone you might see at the neighborhood bar. In fact, the host knew this John from the bar around the corner. Boo sat munching on a plate of food and drawing, like he always does, everywhere he goes. I hear Boo and John chit chat. Boo telling 10-year old boy type jokes, John laughing and really enjoying him.<br />
<br />
This ragged, t-shirted John, as it turned out, is a very gifted musician, who accompanies dance troupes with his improvisational piano, and plays background for art videos with his own compositions. He has synesthesia - where different senses relate to each other - like people who see certain colors when they hear certain sounds. He will tell you he is not a dancer, but he associates certain movements with certain sounds. We started talking about random things and he talks about Einstein, whose IQ is purported to be 160-180. You know, that's high, but not as high as you'd think for a man like him. John's point being that some intelligences are not measurable.<br />
<br />
Measurable.<br />
<br />
This boy. This boy, who is like iPod shuffle of imagery and sounds. He remembers so many things from so many places, from so long ago and they come out in combinations at unusual times. He sounds out portions of The Messiah on the piano, adds accompaniment, then segues into some nursery rhyme song.<br />
<br />
Might this turn into something that will pay him a salary? healthcare?<br />
<br />
Please Lord, let him be my Music Man.blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-63984670879536273492013-01-03T23:47:00.002-05:002013-01-04T00:05:52.613-05:00YouthI don't like to think of myself as nostalgic. I think of the New Year as having only slightly more significance than its being 1 minute after midnight of any given December 31st. A human created, artificial constructe. Why not Summer Solstice or Winter Solstice as the New Year?<br />
<br />
But here it is. This construct. We're all wishing each other a good new year. Recalling the past year. And I can't help but think back, not just to the previous year, but way back. I receive New Year's wishes from not just new, but old, way old. Friends from my youth...<br />
<br />
So this song isn't great poetry, but maybe because it isn't, because of its simplicity...its naivete, it reminds me of my youth. Every time I hear it, a soft enveloping pain gathers in my chest, like a misty cloud of regrets.<br />
<br />
ABBA or Colin Firth, take your pick.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I can still recall<br />
Our last summer<br />
I still see it all<br />
Walks along the Seine<br />
Laughing in the rain<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gm0IX8RtguY/UOZfhwpEWXI/AAAAAAAAXyE/QR3FfQobLkY/s1600/Cape+Albert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Gm0IX8RtguY/UOZfhwpEWXI/AAAAAAAAXyE/QR3FfQobLkY/s200/Cape+Albert.jpg" width="200" /></a>Our last summer<br />
Memories that remain<br />
<br />
We made our way along the river<br />
And we sat down in the grass by the Eiffel tower<br />
I was so happy we had met<br />
It was the age of no regret<br />
Oh, yes<br />
<br />
Those crazy years<br />
That was the time of the flower-power<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sb2gIo1JVrQ/UOZgCq-08wI/AAAAAAAAXyc/UGBiAmykap8/s1600/Grace-John+Green.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="135" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sb2gIo1JVrQ/UOZgCq-08wI/AAAAAAAAXyc/UGBiAmykap8/s200/Grace-John+Green.jpg" width="200" /></a>But underneath<br />
We had a fear of flying<br />
Of growing old<br />
A fear of slowly dying<br />
We took our chance<br />
Like we were dancing our last dance<br />
<br />
I can still recall<br />
Our last summer<br />
I still see it all<br />
In the tourist jam<br />
Round the Notre Dame<br />
Our last summer<br />
Walking hand in hand<br />
<br />
Paris restaurants<br />
Our last summer<br />
Morning croissants<br />
Living for the day<br />
Worries far away<br />
Our last summer<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bSOodTakEmg/UOZhrY8CbMI/AAAAAAAAXy4/S1k1Cg5_270/s1600/Party-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bSOodTakEmg/UOZhrY8CbMI/AAAAAAAAXy4/S1k1Cg5_270/s200/Party-1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
We could laugh and play<br />
<br />
And now you're working in a bank<br />
A family man, a football fan<br />
And your name is Harry<br />
How dull it seems<br />
Are the hero of my dreams ?<br />
<br />
Walks along the Seine<br />
Laughing in the rain<br />
Our last summer<br />
Memories that remain<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IqjmJEVyi7s/UOZh_XSt6EI/AAAAAAAAXzA/-l6TaKdom1s/s1600/Grace+Wall+bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IqjmJEVyi7s/UOZh_XSt6EI/AAAAAAAAXzA/-l6TaKdom1s/s200/Grace+Wall+bw.jpg" width="121" /></a></div>
I can still recall<br />
Our last summer<br />
I still see it all<br />
Walks along the Seine<br />
Laughing in the rain<br />
Our last summer<br />
Memories that remain<br />
<br />
We made our way along the river<br />
And we sat down in the grass by the Eiffel tower<br />
I was so happy we had met<br />
It was the age of no regret<br />
Oh, yes<br />
<br />
Those crazy years<br />
That was the time of the flower-power<br />
But underneath<br />
We had a fear of flying<br />
Of growing old<br />
A fear of slowly dying<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cJvpUopvQfk/UOZfvibmYuI/AAAAAAAAXyM/0YgJMHuNeM0/s1600/Fairmount1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="158" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cJvpUopvQfk/UOZfvibmYuI/AAAAAAAAXyM/0YgJMHuNeM0/s200/Fairmount1.jpg" width="200" /></a>We took our chance<br />
Like we were dancing our last dance<br />
<br />
I can still recall<br />
Our last summer<br />
I still see it all<br />
In the tourist jam<br />
Round the Notre Dame<br />
Our last summer<br />
Walking hand in hand<br />
<br />
Paris restaurants<br />
Our last summer<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-90_JAxOQM6U/UOZijPLv56I/AAAAAAAAXzI/tN4tIwklnH4/s1600/Grace+WashUParty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-90_JAxOQM6U/UOZijPLv56I/AAAAAAAAXzI/tN4tIwklnH4/s200/Grace+WashUParty.jpg" width="182" /></a>Morning croissants<br />
Living for the day<br />
Worries far away<br />
Our last summer<br />
We could laugh and play<br />
<br />
And now you're working in a bank<br />
A family man, a football fan<br />
And your name is Harry<br />
How dull it seems<br />
Are the hero of my dreams ?<br />
<br />
Walks along the Seine<br />
Laughing in the rain<br />
Our last summer<br />
Memories that remain<br />
<br />
Happy New Year. Artificial construct and all. blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-5016869528375627972013-01-01T07:00:00.000-05:002013-01-01T16:53:30.066-05:002012 Photo ReviewEven photos can't adequately describe how full and blessed our life has been...is. And it would take more space than I have, and more patience than you have, to tell you all that we've lived this year. It has had it's struggles, of course. I'm not one for reviewing things by the year, per se, but I can look back and see how God has made hard things, even bad things, Good for us. On this earth, we should not be asking "why is there suffering?" but rather, "why is there so much beauty, joy, hope, love?" I can only say that it is my faith in a God that causes Ultimate Good for His kingdom, which allows me to believe that only a loving God can overcome all the selfishness, violence & hatred that reeks all of our hearts.<br />
<br />
I have had many thoughts swirling in my head, but almost too much to put into readable bits on this blog. I don't make New Years' resolutions, nor resolutions at all. But I do hope that I can keep working on my writing and share again, some of my thoughts with you.<br />
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So, here's our 2012 in photos. It's a small way to share my life with you.<br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;"><b>JANUARY</b></span></h2>
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The boy is showing a musical inclination and starts teaching himself on his 3/4 size Yamaha, not just "air guitar" on a toy, like when he was little. </div>
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<img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fYOQ_zdCA8o/UOHHt14-gVI/AAAAAAAAXoE/YukuZyEkHdw/s400/Guitar.JPG" width="285" /></div>
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The boy loves snow. At the first forecast, he's ready and waiting. Even if it's 7 in the morning</div>
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<span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;"><b>FEBRUARY</b></span></h2>
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Not sure how this happened, but it was <i>my </i>birthday, but <i>he </i>got a new bike!
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More treasured time with our host student from Korea, who counts oboe as one of her many talents. Here, at District Orchestra. In the 4 years, she's become our daughter and Boo's big sister. <br />
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<span style="color: lime; font-size: large;"><b>MARCH</b></span></h2>
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<b> </b>... the returning hope of Spring </div>
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Chess club continues into Spring, and he ranks 2nd.</div>
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<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>APRIL</b></span></h2>
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Grandma comes to visit!</div>
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April flowers...</div>
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<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><b>MAY</b></span></h2>
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Science Fair project on Penguins! Can you guess which is the real penguin?</div>
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...and an epic milestone college reunion! </div>
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<img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PGFFR2C4ktU/UOMvPkMegqI/AAAAAAAAXvM/pAIraIac7d8/s320/Group.JPG" width="320" /></div>
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And we even went on a date! </div>
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;"><b> JUNE</b></span></h2>
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Showing his Hopper-ish work (top.) And the end (for now) of his 5-years at this Christian school.</div>
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<img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mmBGfVTjv_0/UOIN7xHHfPI/AAAAAAAAXpc/30vhYu2mLeo/s400/Art%2BShow-001.JPG" width="267" /> </div>
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...and the boy turns 10:</div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>JULY</b></span></h2>
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A month of camps!<br />
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Bible Camp with friends: <br />
<img border="0" height="389" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H0Coc2IL-oU/UOIUiRdjoaI/AAAAAAAAXq0/H7KG9mdfros/s400/Bible%2BCamp.JPG" width="400" /><br />
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<a href="http://www.hideawaydaycamp.com/">Hideaway Day Camp</a> - the awesomest outdoor day camp around!<br />
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<img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CZ6I49ROmYc/UOITrroHBqI/AAAAAAAAXqo/EAYDAdlfx9I/s320/Hideaway.JPG" width="320" /> </div>
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<a href="http://www.ecoadventurecamp.com/">Environment Camp</a>!</div>
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<img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Vharmr6PEI/UOIRGVW3S7I/AAAAAAAAXp4/_Mov7PzN_9c/s400/20120806_160840-1.jpg" width="264" /> </div>
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And a great story about his counselors, C&M:</div>
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C&M's grandparents were good friends with J's grandparents while at Penn State and were in the same field. Then C&M's dad, and J's dad meet at a conference in <i>their c</i>ommon field, and go on to become great friends. C&M have known J since he was a baby, just arrived from Korea. So in 2012, C&M were J's counselors! They don't seem destined to enter the same field - C&M being interested in politics and J interested in architecture. But maybe J could design them a house?</div>
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<img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xs3oe_CvtkM/UOIROwt4bdI/AAAAAAAAXqE/56bKJE25y74/s400/20120809_160557.jpg" width="300" /> </div>
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In between, an unusual but welcomed visit from Uncle Paul & fam from Lanna, Jo-jah!</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SD0dLTJwcKk/UOM3JOP-H3I/AAAAAAAAXxo/kLDb2Q4tzFo/s1600/July+Visit-014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SD0dLTJwcKk/UOM3JOP-H3I/AAAAAAAAXxo/kLDb2Q4tzFo/s400/July+Visit-014.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Our beautiful gardens courtesy of HH, and Boo!</div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>AUGUST</b></span></span></h2>
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Many hours at the pool! This year, with the encouragement of a friend, he tested to be allowed in the deep end, which meant hours and hours jumping off the diving board!</div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>SEPTEMBER</b></span></span></h2>
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Lots of excitement!</div>
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What has become our tradition - time on Cape Cod - this year during Labor Day week.<br />
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Through the years at Mashpee Commons: </div>
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<img border="0" height="459" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4bjSAEPXWrE/UOIWekv2ZNI/AAAAAAAAXsA/k7Ipq7b4ts0/s640/Mashpee.jpg" width="640" /> </div>
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Stand-up Paddle Boarding ("Supping")</div>
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(yes, that is my leg - just to prove I was there, too!)</div>
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AND the biggest changes of all: HOME SCHOOLING!</div>
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PE at our home school co-op:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JFQXGhq5erk/UOMxjL4XhNI/AAAAAAAAXvk/u_0mXKi5J7E/s1600/Frisbee-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JFQXGhq5erk/UOMxjL4XhNI/AAAAAAAAXvk/u_0mXKi5J7E/s320/Frisbee-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">OCTOBER</span></h2>
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October may be the beginning of Autumn to you, but to Boo, it only means one thing: </div>
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Fire Prevention Month!</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lHQq72wioIA/UOMfe_oBa-I/AAAAAAAAXuM/BSLXHW7O8z4/s1600/20121006_132121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lHQq72wioIA/UOMfe_oBa-I/AAAAAAAAXuM/BSLXHW7O8z4/s640/20121006_132121.jpg" width="385" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #783f04; font-size: large;"><b>NOVEMBER</b></span></h2>
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</div>
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For even Boo, November still means Thanksgiving:
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<img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zXL4ySwhOAA/UOMzR8ghoKI/AAAAAAAAXwI/jgdS1e0qokM/s200/20121122_122310.jpg" width="150" /></div>
but the best part isn't turkey, but being with grandma:
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<img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hpdfJLfNY_Q/UOMyJ2JIkeI/AAAAAAAAXvs/rdl8scCJNyo/s400/Grandma.JPG" width="285" /></div>
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<img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WjS55Go5998/UOMyLGC8i1I/AAAAAAAAXv0/ae_Vi-aWIFE/s640/This+one.JPG" width="456" /></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>DECEMBER</b></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">2013</span></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Hoping for elaborate, generous, abundant grace & peace.</h2>
blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-82177085951013659092012-11-19T08:00:00.000-05:002014-02-11T20:57:18.220-05:00A Little BitWhen scientists, the government, companies, advertisers say something - anything - is "safe," they follow the industry standards. As a scientist, especially, they must follow good research techniques. I clearly understand that. In my lay terms, this, though, is what they mean:<br />
<br />
The amount of ingredient "x" used (as directed,) would not cause you permanent damage, or at least not for a long time. Because there's only<i> a little bit</i> in the toxic item, which deems it "safe." Really. That's the scientific definition of something being considered <i>safe </i>or at least doesn't cause cancer. You know, like TV & video game violence don't <i>cause </i>crimes. And some things, there's such <i>a little bit</i> of it, and everybody puts that little bit in, that the government doesn't make them disclose it on the ingredients list. Like lead in your red lipstick. Or softening chemical in your ice cream.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing with me, though.<br />
<br />
There's <i>only a little bit</i> of surfactants in soaps and shampoos, fragrances, stain-resistant and water-shedding coatings, parabens (preservatives in cosmetics and pharmaceuticals,) fluoride, lead (in your red lipstick,) pesticides on your fruits and vegetables, hormones, bleach, bisphenal-A so that they won't harm you. But what about the manufacturing process? The workers? The remnants?<br />
<br />
Did anyone test what happens to us and our kids who are in aggregate ingesting <br />
<i>a little bit</i> of hormone in our beef, pork, chicken, eggs and milk,<br />
<i>a little bit </i>of mercury in the approximately 14 vaccines that our babies get,<br />
<i>a little bit</i> of lead in your red lipstick,<br />
<i>a little bit</i> of preservative in our soaps, lotions, cosmetics (which they find lodged in breast tissue,)<br />
<i>a little bit</i> of the petroleum-based <a href="http://medical-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/estrogenic">estrogenic </a>fragrances in our air fresheners, soaps, candles, shampoos, make up, fragranced markers, <br />
<i>a little bit</i> of bleach on our cut carrots and diapers and tampons,<br />
<i>a little bit</i> of plastic off-gassing from our new car seats, carpet, coats, shoes, pajamas, nail polish<br />
<i>a little bit</i> of plastic leeching out of the pellets they put in farming soil, <br />
<i>a little bit</i> of plastic leeching from our canned goods, paper plate coating, toys.<br />
<br />
But don't worry; it's SAFE. blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-39690006412128487002012-11-18T21:23:00.001-05:002012-11-18T21:33:24.453-05:00I Saw You Standing ThereI saw you standing there, putting on your helmet. A silver BMW. 650 cc. I approached you. I was bold like that, even then. I asked if it was yours, the motorcycle. You blushed. Why, yes! Yes it is. The blush was not for me, the bold young woman, but for your lie. <br />
<br />
The bike was your dad's, a man who lied easily, without even the blush. The one who lied to your mother business trip after trip, denying the significance of late night dinners with young women. You didn't lie as easily. Your pale skin flushed each time, punctuating your blue eyes, dimples, while your blond hair swept over your forehead.<br />
<br />
The blush, I thought, was your True Inner Self, that you were really Good, but corrupted by Nurture. I would reveal this True Inner Self. Because I would really understand him. And rescue him. He was truly a kind man. He had a sweet nature. It was unfortunate that he was divorced from a wife. They married too young. They were so different. She had their two children and was with her parents. Bad things happen to good people.<br />
<br />
He was sweet. And kind. And patient. And I wasn't going to marry him, after all. It didn't matter that he didn't have the same foundational beliefs about life and death as I did. <br />
<br />
So I prayed for him, that he would become a Christian. Doesn't that seem like the right thing for a Christian girl to do? No, you see, I prayed so that my desire would be justified in His sight. Because deep down inside, I knew it was not a good place to be. Should we do something that we know isn't right and then ask for forgiveness? That's manipulative, isn't it? Abusing someone's love? Whether your earthly father or your Heavenly one, should you deliberately get into a bad situation knowing you can get him to fix it? "Look, I want this (him,) and I want you to make it right." God the Vending Machine.<br />
<br />
The first time I went to his duplex, which he shared with a roommate, I saw a woman's things about. At my questioning stare, he blushed. Yes, they're her things. Well, we're not divorced yet. Well, we're living apart. Well, I haven't called a lawyer yet. No, we're not technically separated. But she knows, she knows<i>.</i> That blush.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="woj">"It is when a person walks at night that they stumble, for they have no light.</span>"</div>
<br />
In the dark of night, my fingers coiled around the phone, I paused. I asked, "Are you alone??" This time, I could almost <i>hear him </i>blush. I <i>saw </i>more than heard the rustle of sheets. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C619ixFvcuo/UKmXY5Bf8RI/AAAAAAAAXk8/xGLqJcte9NQ/s1600/Girl+Mirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C619ixFvcuo/UKmXY5Bf8RI/AAAAAAAAXk8/xGLqJcte9NQ/s200/Girl+Mirror.jpg" width="156" /></a></div>
Of course, his wife <i>didn't</i> know. This woman didn't, either.<br />
<br />
But I did know. As the dawn approached, exhausted from crying, I stumbled into The Other Woman: me. Me, the unblushing liar. I could see myself standing<i> </i>there, having been a part of all the lies. But most painful of all, the denial of everything I Believed, and lying to myself. blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-16776153640134372982012-10-26T17:35:00.002-04:002012-11-17T14:47:44.673-05:00Why I Decided to Home School<span style="font-size: x-small;">(I'm sorry there are some misleading advertising links. I actually have some links.)</span><br />
<br />
Last night, I went out with the moms from the home schooling coop. I had so much fun. It was silly and serious, insightful, resourceful and we stayed way too late. It confirmed for me, though, how different each one of us, and our families are. You can't assume the reasons for why people home school. They are almost limitless. Since I've had so many people ask me why I decided to home school, I thought I'd write a post. Lord knows I need to write <i>something </i>or close shop.<br />
<br />
Contrary to the title, I thought I'd start by telling you the reasons that were NOT a factor in my decision:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>It is NOT because I'm a Christian. In fact, my religion has almost nothing to do with it. I do not believe the Biblical mandate to care for my child includes keeping them at home and doing everything myself. No. I don't grow the food we eat, I don't weave the cloth for clothes and I personally don't have to stand over a text book.</li>
<li>It is NOT because I want to make him into my brand of Christian. Except that of course, I do. What parent doesn't want their children to think like they do? to have their philosophy that has been honed for 30-40 years? But it's not because I want to shield him from other religions. </li>
<li>It is NOT because I am the only one who knows what's best for my child. Sometimes the perspective of an outsider gives needed insight.</li>
<li>It's NOT because there's a conspiracy to brainwash my child.</li>
<li>It's NOT because I think the world will end in 2015 and I want him home when that happens. </li>
</ol>
<br />
The bottom line for why I'm homeschooling my son is that I RAN OUT OF OPTIONS.<br />
<br />
Crazy as that sounds in the US of A, I really felt there was nothing out there quite right for him. I was willing to do anything, everything to get him to the right place, educationally speaking. <br />
<br />
Initially, my public school was just too big for my little guy. Later, they lied to me about him. Deliberately hid his learning disability in the testing summary. I used to be a huge proponent of the public school system. Now I'm for Vouchers.<br />
<br />
You may or may not know that our son has Asperger's Syndrome (please don't say he has Autism.) Along with that turf comes Sensory Integration Disorder, Tourettes and a Language deficit. There are plenty of schools for Dysgraphia and Dyscalculia and Dyslexia. Or Autism. Children who can't make it in a "regular" school setting. But not for my very high-functioning, happy but weird Aspie.<br />
<br />
I even looked at a private school for special kids an hour away at $36K a
pop. Never mind how we'd have paid the $36K. Yes, they served special
kids, but not <i>Asperger </i>kids.<br />
Out of options. In this country. (shakes head.) <br />
<br />
So, what drove me to this craziness of home schooling? Because it is kinda crazy. What pushed me over the edge was a) Bully Alpha Boy, and the school's inability to properly handle the situation. And there were other reason: <br />
<ol>
</ol>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
b) Classmates</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
c) Asperger's and Sensory Overload</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
d) Developing His Gifts </blockquote>
<ol>
</ol>
<br />
<b>a) The Bully Alpha Boy</b>: <br />
<br />
In 2nd grade, a new boy entered my son's small class. An Alpha. Chris was a big, athletic, dynamic boy. From the very first day, Chris told my son in recess that he couldn't play. All the other boys, boys tending to be the pack herding type, went along. See, the priority of boys (and men, I'm afraid to say) is playing the game, not caring about the heart of one goofy boy. I talked to one boy's mom once about all this. She was satisfied that her son wasn't one that was actually taunting my son, but just went along with it. I wanted to bring up the quote about people who watch and allow evil to be done, but I held my tongue. Proud of me? No, I'm not sure either.<br />
<br />
And the girls? Well, they're busy creating their own social order. They became aware of gender differences and would not play with him. Or any other boy. These are important, formative times for children. <br />
<br />
On the first day of 3rd grade, Chris told J he couldn't play. The other boys went along.<br />
<br />
On the first day of 4th grade, Chris told J he couldn't play. The other boys went along.<br />
<br />
But that year, a new boy entered the class and the dynamic seemed to change and Chris no longer targeted my son. He targeted the new boy. <br />
<br />
<br />
And you're wondering, "Why didn't you do anything about
it?" I did. I tried. I went with their suggestions. But after 2-1/2
years, of going it their way, I was at the end of my rope.<br />
<br />
Wait. It gets better.<br />
<br />
This new boy said to my son...they're both 10 years old, remember. TEN, okay? He said to my precious son, "I'm going home to my room, lock the door, read until I'm bored, then kill myself." Completes it all by making a hanging motion with his neck and hand. TEN. I had long emails and talks with his mom. Tears. She was sorry and all, and they talked to their son, but, in the end, does not feel there is a problem. When I alerted the school, the Superintendent emailed me stating basically that it's not uncommon for children to express wishes to die and in fact his son did too at that age and oh he's fine dontcha know.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="http://evilcrayon.com/2010/09/03/the-straw-that-broke-the-camels-back/">Straw</a>. <br />
<br />
<b>b) Classmates</b><br />
<br />
Yeah, you need those to have a school. I get that. Contrary to popular notion, children are NOT silly, and they do NOT have a sense of humor. Conformity is the rule of the day, here, not fun and joy and creativity. There's one non conformist in the class. But it's a girl. She's definitely a contender for "wife." In 15 years. My son's not perfect, but he is fun, sees joy in everything and so creative I have to tell him to stop.<br />
<br />
Listen, I'm not the "world is a terrible place full of conformists" kind of person. I'm pretty conventional myself. But my son's energy, enthusiasm and creativity? I'm not having a bunch of sourpuss 10-year olds squash that out of my son. <br />
<br />
I know I can't protect him forever. But I went into home schooling saying to him, "Let's take a break." Let's spend a year not being taunted, stared at, made fun of, ostracized, ignored. Let's spend one year where Arianna doesn't scream in your face, "SHUT UP!" Let's spend one year when you aren't called a liar when you say you can't help your tics. Let's take a break from Dylan having DAILY meltdowns. Let's take a break from classmates saying, "Ewww!" about your lunch, while they're chomping on Fluffwiches.<br />
<br />
<b>c) Sensory Overload</b><br />
<br />
Having Asperger's means that everyone knows another language that he doesn't know. If you've been around bilinguals, you'll understand. You understand them while they're speaking English, but when they break out into Spanish, you're lost, right? Same thing for my son. Except that it's every day. He gets most of the sentences, except if it has an unknown figure of speech, or sarcasm, or a subtle facial expression. He heard the words, but he doesn't get the rest of what makes up communication. It's a foreign language that he'll never be fluent in.<br />
<br />
My son has a sensory imbalance. He sees/hears/feels too much of some things, while he sees/hears/feels too little of others. He bumps into you, steps on your toes and doesn't realize. But he can hear every car horn, vacuum, siren and squeak for literally miles around. Hard to concentrate that way. And he is neurologically unable to block it out.<br />
<br />
Seven hours of a) b) and c) is too much for even this energetic boy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>d) Development of His Gifts</b><br />
<br />
By 4:30 PM, my son was wrung out and done. DONE, I tell you. I'm not sure he could spell his name by then. I knew school wouldn't get easier, but harder. More homework. More independent thinking and analysis. I wasn't even sure he'd make it at this rate, forget music, art or soccer.<br />
<br />
His strength is in music and art. Once a week of each, squeezed between this holiday and that holiday and the teacher being out sick and jockeying with the other kids in the supply cabinet wasn't going to give him what I wanted. It's not the school; it's the US.<br />
<br />
This kid has perfect pitch. He hums a note and says, "Hey mom, that was an A." Not typical kid conversation. He loves sounding out any song on the keyboard. Or piano. Or trombone. Or guitar. He "Yeehawed!" the first time he heard <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dV1zTM2P_LE">Beethovan's 8th</a> Symphony and often hear him blasting Handel's Messiah. He imitates Dinosaur Train, and he imitates <a href="http://davematthewsband.com/">Dave Matthews</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
At 6-1/2 years old, he started drawing buildings in perspective. (This usually happens around 10.) He still can't draw a person, but he can draw you a floor plan with matching elevations and a perspective view in a couple of hours. As you can well imagine, some adults can't do this.<br />
<br />
So when this kid is completely wiped out by 4:30, how will he get homework done, AND go to his piano lesson? Nope. Can't be done.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Hence, The Kraybill Home School.<br />
<br />
Where I am Superintendent, Principal, teacher, bus drive <i>and </i>lunch lady.<br />
<br />
And mom.<br />
<br />blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-46984590132583787292012-08-10T14:37:00.002-04:002012-08-10T14:38:40.856-04:00To LiveWhen I was going through my <a href="http://blackbeltoma.blogspot.com/2008/09/gong-li.html">Gong Li</a> and Chinese cinema stage, I watched a movie called <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0110081/plotsummary">To Live</a>. It is the story of a family which loses everything.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vmamhfvPSoE/UCVPa54MbEI/AAAAAAAAXho/7co2elseNFI/s1600/Death3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vmamhfvPSoE/UCVPa54MbEI/AAAAAAAAXho/7co2elseNFI/s320/Death3.jpg" width="320" /></a>Yet they persist.<br />
Exert.<br />
Grind.<br />
Labor.<br />
Strive, toil, work.<br />
Live.<br />
<br />
Theirs
is a common story during the upheavals of China's recent history. But there are many others - the Irish, Russians, Jews, Koreans and so much in Africa. Natural
disasters. Natural consequences of Man's actions. And the deliberate,
incomprehensible cruelty of Human upon Human.<br />
<br />
When life can be so hard, when we can be so hateful to each other, why do we persist in living?<br />
<br />
Years
ago, I was at a client site with a co-worker. She was following me in the exit stairwell, when she tripped on her pant cuff and fell head first onto the
concrete landing. As she lay there, a black pool of blood growing
around her head, I thought I saw Death floating by. This tenacious,
determined woman lay in a heap, her fashionable clothes unable to define
her, actually having betrayed her. She recovered. But there, in the
fluorescent rays of the fire stairs, I saw the gauzy film of life torn,
waving in a breeze.<br />
<br />
I picture the surface between oil upon vinegar. Before you stir it up. Such a clear line of demarcation, and yet there is really no barrier there at all. That's what I saw that day - how easily one can plunge into the other side.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Why do we want to live? </b></blockquote>
Why do we think living is good, and dying bad? Or do we? Do you? Even Dr. Kavorkian would refuse be be a tour guide to the other side for a healthy patient.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zGd1fYJ4hx4/UCVPtF_XGvI/AAAAAAAAXhw/XHSFd0oQnMY/s1600/Death.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zGd1fYJ4hx4/UCVPtF_XGvI/AAAAAAAAXhw/XHSFd0oQnMY/s200/Death.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
People struggle and suffer, and yet they persist in struggling and suffering, to survive it - not to end it. Exert. Grind. Labor. Strive, toil, work. Are they crazy? Are they stupid? Weak? Strong? Or are they Hopeful? <br />
<br />
Some people do want to <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2161494/Tony-Nicklinson-euthanasia-My-life-miserable-undignified-says-locked-syndrome-sufferer.html">end it</a>. But it's considered an aberration. The mentally ill get put in "safe" rooms [formerly known as the padded room,] so they won't try to end it for themselves. Dr. Kavorkian is considered a monster even though his patients clearly <i>wished </i>to die. Police, fire fighters, social workers all intercede when someone tries to end their OWN life. Prisoners, even on death row, can get put on Suicide Watch, ironically, to NOT have them die. <br />
<br />
My mother struggled for 10 years with a degenerative brain disorder. Her mind still worked, but her body increasingly did not. If you've read my blog and read bits about my mother, you'll remember that she was the Original Princess. She was the favored child of a wealthy family, who loved art and design and looking stylish. And there she was, only in her mid-50s [not far from my age now,] laying prone, barely able to feed herself. And yet I never heard her ask to end it.<br />
<br />
Were I captured and tortured, I might maintain hope that someone would rescue me, or that I might find a way out. Or even the absurd notion that the captor might release me. Even while knowing he might torture and/or kill me. But I could have hope, couldn't I?<br />
<br />
What was the hope my mother had? What is the hope others have who are stuck in the poorest, filthiest, most pathetic regions of the world? What is the hope North Koreans have? Or is merely <i>not </i>being sent to one of their many concentration camps, <i>not </i>being caught, enough?<br />
<br />
In the worst, seemingly worst situations, is there always a kernel of hope? Hope that the disease would be cured? That the dictator will change? That tomorrow will be better? And if so,<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />
<b>Where does this Hope come from?</b></blockquote>
<br />
Is it evolutionary? Over millions of years, did this spiritual kernel of hope grow for survival? But is survival good? Who, or what, determined that? Where did this desire to survive come from? Might there be something programmed into us, our spirit, that undefinable core, that tell us Life is right and Death is wrong? After all, in the Genesis story, when the Serpent tricked Adam and Eve, what he introduced to Paradise was Death. And God himself shed blood - an animal sacrifice, a death - to cover their "issue."<br />
<br />
Whether you see Genesis as an allegory or truth, it's a great story of the human condition, isn't it? We dwelt in paradise where there was no death, with complete communion with an eternal Being. When an enemy enters the garden, he brings with him Death. The slithering masqueraded one, to bring enmity between The Good and His Creations, was to bring Death. Death is the <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1%20Corinthians%2015:26&version=NASB">Enemy</a>. <br />
<br />
And I think we all, somewhere, somehow, know it. We are Life. The Enemy is Death. It didn't grow in us. It is a primal, essential part of us. Those who push it away and voluntarily walk through that film have lost an essential part of their Humanity.blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-45277484623350843322012-07-26T21:59:00.001-04:002012-08-10T12:10:33.562-04:00Discussion ClosedMaybe I've had a rough week. Or two. Maybe how I'm feeling <u>now</u> is real and it's all the other times when I'm busy with busy-ness that I don't think properly.<br />
<br />
I see a day when I won't be allowed to be a Christian. In my lifetime. Already, I am not allowed to believe what I believe. Apparently, I, and my fellow conservative Christians, are prejudiced on the scale of the KKK for believing that marriage is for one man and one woman. That is what I believe the Holy Bible teaches. But then also, I see a dismissal of the Bible as some random book that Christians use to justify our hate. Sure, that's been done in the past, the present and I'm sure will in the future. For every and any Belief structure. Ever. Not just Christian. But I am starting to see a dismissiveness about the Bible, that frankly I don't see about the Qur'an, the I-Ching, the Tripitaka.<br />
<br />
Maybe because in our country, we have a Christian heritage, and there have been so many Christians in our paths that have disappointed or disgusted us. Because we went to Catechism as children, we <i>think</i> we know what Christianity is about. Or we see the radio or tv personality that spends a little too much time talking about homosexuals and not enough about the thousands of other topics we could grow in. And I'm sorry for the spewing they have done. The public shame and hatred. So maybe it's the ole "<i>familiarity breeds contempt</i>."<br />
<br />
Maybe we paint ourselves as closed-minded because we have a set of beliefs. And we paint ourselves as hypocritical because we can't follow our beliefs. I know I can't follow what I know. I can't even follow a diet. Our worst offense, I think, is that we don't "<i>accept all faiths.</i>" (Although some Christians do.) I'm not even sure what that means. If you are of a religion that doesn't believe Jesus is the Savior, how can you<i> be accepting of </i>Christianity? If you're a Jew and you marry a Christian, how can you accept a religion that is waiting for the Messiah <i>and </i>one that already has one? Unless of course, nobody really believes any of it. Or. You're constantly doing the figurative cocktail party version of religious dialogue. You know,<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"How's Ramadan going?"<br />
"Oh fiiiin fine. And your prayer wheels?"<br />
"Oh great. Couldn't be better. Good seeing you!" <br />
"Good seeing you, too."</blockquote>
<br />
I see a day coming when this country will join the approximately 40 countries where being Christian is not allowed. Wait. Let me be specific. There are some countries where you are actually not allowed to be Christian or you'll be jailed, tortured and/or killed (Arabia, Iran, Mauritania.) There are others where you can live there as a Christian, but puts severe restrictions (Algeria, Indonesia.) You can have a Bible, but not in the native language. You'd be jailed and/or killed. And then there are countries where you are technically allowed to be a Christian, worship and talk about it but the persecution ranges from pressur to abandon it to attacks and killings (<a href="http://global.christianpost.com/news/fifty-christians-burned-alive-in-pastors-home-in-nigeria-78303/">Nigeria</a>, Laos, Uzbekistan, Turkey, Nepal.) <br />
<br />
I don't think I'll ever be jailed or tortured for being a Christian here in the US, but I won't be allowed to maintain my religion without being ridiculed and labeled "hateful." Oh wait. That's already happening.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TrYFhUh-jIk/UBH1469uP2I/AAAAAAAAXhY/3epELmQvDWw/s1600/Open+Minded.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TrYFhUh-jIk/UBH1469uP2I/AAAAAAAAXhY/3epELmQvDWw/s320/Open+Minded.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
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<br />blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-89430749843615210282012-07-13T17:19:00.001-04:002012-07-13T17:19:38.274-04:00A Good PersonWe all want our villains to look mean and nasty and our nice guys to, well, <i>seem </i>nice. <br />
<br />
When I was in grad school, our class went for a summer studio in Spain. One young woman met some American boys and went off to an island for the weekend. (I think I've told this <a href="http://blackbeltoma.blogspot.com/2011/09/racist-button.html">story before</a>.) Some of us less adventurous asked her if she wasn't scared? Her answer, was "They were <i>really </i>nice and they were American!"<br />
<br />
Do I have to spend any bloggy real estate to explain why that statement is completely stupid?<br />
<br />
I thought not.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZT0qhcV3HZ8/UACP2Y0EpmI/AAAAAAAAXg4/zvW07FK9b1I/s1600/Checklist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZT0qhcV3HZ8/UACP2Y0EpmI/AAAAAAAAXg4/zvW07FK9b1I/s200/Checklist.jpg" width="195" /></a>It reflects, though, what many of us think, that we can tell if someone is wicked or not. A Good Person doesn't do Bad Things. If they do, they get put in the <i>other </i>column and become a Bad Person.<br />
<br />
Except that they do.<br />
<br />
A Good Person might snitch some supplies from the office closet. Or let a friend get involved with someone they knew was mentally ill. Or forget a friend's birthday. A Good Person might get themselves in trouble at the investment bank and try to hide the tremendous losses. And these people might look very much like your dad, your neighbor, even you.<br />
<br />
A Good Person might not report a crime. A big crime. Over decades. While simultaneously doing lots of Good Things; working hard, honestly, giving to good causes. This person is being discussed in two ways, both, I believe erroneous:<br />
<br />
<b>A. </b>He is now a Bad Person and everything he did was Bad. Nothing he did in his life matters anymore because he did this very Bad Thing.<br />
or<br />
<b>B. </b> Yes he did a Bad Thing but he did so much Good so let's cool our jets.<br />
<br />
The first point of view demands that we paint him only as a villain. The serpent. The Joker. The evil nemesis. B. wants us to whitewash the Bad, as if his Deeds, his Works atone for the Bad, like a global tally sheet. The fact of the matter is, Joe Paterno, like all of us, was Good <i>and </i>Bad. The Bad choices he made do not get a reprieve because of all the Good things he did. The Bad Thing remains objectively Bad whether committed by Adolph Hitler, The Buddha, or a beloved football coach. <br />
<br />
Most of us live unremarkable lives, doing seemingly unremarkable good - being kind to a neighbor, loving our children, doing an honest day's work. But if we're honest, we live doing unremarkable bad - yelling our our kid, rolling our eyes about our in-laws, cursing out the other driver. Were I to see that shower? I know without a doubt, I would have tackled that guy and pulled the boy out. No doubt. But in humility and truth, I can't say I'm a better person than McQueary or Paterno. At the same time, I have no scruples saying that wickedness won here.<br />
<br />
In the end, maybe none of us are Good or Bad, but Human, capable at times of doing Good and too often capable of doing Bad.<br />
<br />blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-43474077982791298302012-07-08T16:32:00.001-04:002012-07-09T08:21:05.472-04:00On Losing My MotherMy mother died in 1987. As that time came back, I slowly remembered it was July. I remembered it was hot; that I had to get there in a hurry. Late July, I think. It's July again, but 2012. I do the math and, slowly, realize it's been 25 years.<br />
<br />
25 years. <br />
<br />
They waited for me to get there - Korea - from Boston. That I should see her and say my goodbye. But I couldn't. When I got there, to their living room and saw the small, simple casket, I couldn't see her. I couldn't stand the notion of someone lifting the lid. My aunt encouraged me to see her; that it was important to fully understand that she was gone. The man from the funeral home was there, ready to lift that lid. But I still couldn't. I collapsed on my dad's shoulder and begged him not to open it. For me, I had no trouble fully understanding that she was gone. That she was in that box, for 3 warm monsoon days, waiting. Forever.<br />
<br />
My good friend just lost her dad. She is 42. An adult. A grown-up. Maybe it hurts more the more memories you've chalked up; the deeper understanding you have of what it is to lose a parent. I was 27. I don't know if it hurts less or more. Not that it really matters. <br />
<br />
I flew back, went through my days competently. I had to find a job, and I did. I interviewed well, showed up on time, did a good job. But emotionally, I was needy and behaved inappropriately, blind to others' needs, blind to my own deficiencies. I'd fall asleep in my new apartment, in my new bed, having put in a full day at my new job. But every night, as if a clapping thunder had awoken me, I'd sit up in bed, my heart pounding, a dreaded sense hovering over my stupor. Every night, for years. <br />
<br />
At some point, I no longer woke with a pounding heart or a sense of dread; I simply awoke. At 11, 12, 2, 3. For over 20 years. I don't know if it had simply become habit or what. I still have trouble sleeping. Someone suggested that if I worked hard all day, I wouldn't have trouble sleeping at night. Circumstances are such that I no longer have to see that person. It's a good thing, too.<br />
<br />
I was 27. Just out of graduate school, embarking on a career. I'd guess my mom would have been proud of me. I don't know. I do know that I never had the chance to get to know her as a grown-up. Maybe 27 seems plenty old to some of you readers, but I know how young I was, how much I needed to grow, indeed, how much I <i>would </i>grow. In painful ways I never wanted to.<br />
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A year or two before she died, she had a choice to go on vacation, or fly me to Korea to see her.<br />
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She chose the vacation.<br />
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I think the hardest part was growing up and realizing that I was not the most important thing in her life. That by my mom and dad moving to Korea, not only did I lose my physical home, but I also lost my psychic dwelling. I slowly came to realize the existential loneliness that philosophers over the ages have contemplated. I. I alone. Separate and independent from my mother. Where do I dwell?<br />
<br />
I sought a home at my brothers'. At an aunt's. At friends'. All of them were fraught with awkwardnesses not of their doing, but as circumstances of our days. Who could I turn to that was completely and totally on My Side? Where could I "let my hair down" and rest?<br />
<br />
<span class="text Eph-3-16" id="en-NIV-29268">In the letter to the Ephesians, the Apostle Paul writes, "I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, </span><span class="text Eph-3-17" id="en-NIV-29269"><sup class="versenum"> </sup>so that Christ may <b>dwell in your hearts</b> through faith."</span><br />
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<span class="text Eph-3-17" id="en-NIV-29269">And there I dwell and hope to, the rest of my days.</span>blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-56411958804274478882012-07-06T08:14:00.002-04:002012-07-07T11:30:25.495-04:00Fashion Friday: Summer Dresses95. 101. 91. 84. 83. 84. 81. 88. 88.<br />
Temperatures for the near future here.<br />
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There's nothing more comfortable than a cool casual dress in this warm weather. Nothing to bunch up. Anywhere. And as I've gotten older and wider, shorts don't flatter me as well. So I really splurged and bought several dresses to carry me through these warm days.<br />
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The criteria for me, are as follows:<br />
1. Sleeveless. [Did I say it's HOT??]<br />
2. No layering required. [Did I say it's HOT??]<br />
3. Does not show panty lines. [I know that there are women of a certain age who would GASP at the notion of a lady not wearing a slip but well...did I say it's hot??]<br />
4. Wash-n-wear. <br />
5. Last but not least, modestly priced. I'd even say <i>inexpensive</i>.<br />
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Hey, remember this post from last year about <a href="http://allthingschic.net/2011/06/four-for-the-fourth.html">what to wear for the Fourth of July</a>? This is what I wore to watch the Fourth of July parade:<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P0fWkTQno90/T_ZAg1GVd9I/AAAAAAAAXfc/4c5Zj8KUFRU/s1600/Fourth.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P0fWkTQno90/T_ZAg1GVd9I/AAAAAAAAXfc/4c5Zj8KUFRU/s640/Fourth.JPG" width="426" /> </a></div>
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I was the red to my boys' white and blue:</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-84LG3N7oSr8/T_ZZDwQtfOI/AAAAAAAAXgY/s0XtQ5mD3VA/s1600/2012+Fourth.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-84LG3N7oSr8/T_ZZDwQtfOI/AAAAAAAAXgY/s0XtQ5mD3VA/s320/2012+Fourth.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nxPgPOEu0NU/T_ZFpDUXgcI/AAAAAAAAXgE/MYDt2AVVD9E/s1600/AK+Ballet-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nxPgPOEu0NU/T_ZFpDUXgcI/AAAAAAAAXgE/MYDt2AVVD9E/s320/AK+Ballet-001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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It looks bit dressy, I admit, but it is really a simple take-off on the t-shirt dress. Red cotton jersey dress by Andrea Jovine, gold and linen ballet flats by Ann Klein Sport, both purchased at<a href="http://www1.marshallsonline.com/tjx/browse.asp?d=10"> Marshall's</a>. The dress is snug at the top, with an empire waist and a skirt that billows away from my body but is cinched with the band at the bottom to give it a modern twist. The satin gold necklace is from Hallmark (yes, as in cards,) and gold drop hoops by JLo. <br />
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The next dresses are all in great patterns that do wonders for hiding problem areas and meeting criteria #3. <br />
What I wore yesterday:<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y7E4qw65cfY/T_ZBJZqcquI/AAAAAAAAXfk/LYxJPL9MJhQ/s1600/Paisley.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y7E4qw65cfY/T_ZBJZqcquI/AAAAAAAAXfk/LYxJPL9MJhQ/s640/Paisley.JPG" width="316" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3I_JARujezc/T_ZGBp0DDtI/AAAAAAAAXgQ/cXalU6pyhrk/s1600/Bronze+Jewelry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3I_JARujezc/T_ZGBp0DDtI/AAAAAAAAXgQ/cXalU6pyhrk/s320/Bronze+Jewelry.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-woxh20v1g7o/T_ZB7UXMJOI/AAAAAAAAXf8/Hs1kYgWhX7M/s1600/6.21.12+sandals.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-woxh20v1g7o/T_ZB7UXMJOI/AAAAAAAAXf8/Hs1kYgWhX7M/s320/6.21.12+sandals.JPG" width="302" /> </a></div>
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Jewel-tone paisley dress by <i>moa moa</i> [sold at better department stores, but I got at a thrift store.] Handmade geometric earrings from a boutique, chain mail necklace from <a href="http://charmingcharlie.com/cc/product/productDetails.jsp?pId=3000384536&sId=12135600010&pgName=&pdpTrail=">Charming Charlie's</a>. Jeweled "<a href="http://www.miashoes.com/p/61">Nora</a>" sandals by Mia.</div>
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Here are two more I got also from <a href="http://www1.marshallsonline.com/tjx/browse.asp?d=10">Marshall's</a>:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NeweP-E04q8/T_bSDG3LipI/AAAAAAAAXgg/h4u0zbZaa8I/s1600/Summer+Dress-006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NeweP-E04q8/T_bSDG3LipI/AAAAAAAAXgg/h4u0zbZaa8I/s640/Summer+Dress-006.JPG" width="340" /></a></div>
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And here are a couple of outfits I put together from Polyvore. They can be really simple [as long as they FIT well] and you can jazz them up with colorful sandals or even flip-flops and a fun tote:</div>
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<a href="http://www.polyvore.com/summer_dress_block/set?.embedder=2915981&.svc=copypaste&id=52582728"><img alt="Summer Dress Block" border="0" height="621" src="http://cfc.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-set/.sig/MqOBLmHE5zCX0yYj2KFxQ/cid/52582728/id/d3CsVotoTdaEW0cnd-i8Gg/size/c600x621.jpg" title="Summer Dress Block" width="600" /></a></div>
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<small><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/summer_dress_block/set?.embedder=2915981&.svc=copypaste&id=52582728">Summer Dress Block</a> by <a href="http://blackbeltoma.polyvore.com/?.embedder=2915981&.svc=copypaste">blackbeltoma</a> featuring <a href="http://www.polyvore.com/short_heels/shop?query=short+heels">short heels</a></small></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eMePY6Xab-0/T_bWWq6PlvI/AAAAAAAAXgw/VOxnMZ5HLsg/s1600/Summer+backpack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eMePY6Xab-0/T_bWWq6PlvI/AAAAAAAAXgw/VOxnMZ5HLsg/s320/Summer+backpack.jpg" width="281" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun summer backpack to go with anything! From Target.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.polyvore.com/summer_dress_gray/set?.embedder=2915981&.svc=copypaste&id=52564307"><img alt="Summer Dress Gray" border="0" height="593" src="http://cfc.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-set/.sig/L8ZLTNTfb0kFlROREBKCOQ/cid/52564307/id/qmOI4eaXR8inQtXPdlg2dQ/size/c600x593.jpg" title="Summer Dress Gray" width="600" /></a></div>
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<small><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/summer_dress_gray/set?.embedder=2915981&.svc=copypaste&id=52564307">Summer Dress Gray</a> by <a href="http://blackbeltoma.polyvore.com/?.embedder=2915981&.svc=copypaste">blackbeltoma</a> featuring <a href="http://www.polyvore.com/rhinestone_shoes/shop?query=rhinestone+shoes">rhinestone shoes</a></small><br />
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<a href="http://www.polyvore.com/summer_dress_green/set?.embedder=2915981&.svc=copypaste&id=52565492"><img alt="Summer Dress Green" border="0" height="786" src="http://cfc.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-set/.sig/VRGqzUI8YFWrvrFWaZLCA/cid/52565492/id/fr7mAQExSnufVTIHuIzG-A/size/c600x786.jpg" title="Summer Dress Green" width="600" /></a></div>
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<small><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/summer_dress_green/set?.embedder=2915981&.svc=copypaste&id=52565492">Summer Dress Green</a> by <a href="http://blackbeltoma.polyvore.com/?.embedder=2915981&.svc=copypaste">blackbeltoma</a> featuring <a href="http://www.polyvore.com/rhinestone_shoes/shop?query=rhinestone+shoes">rhinestone shoes</a></small><br />
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<small>Whatever your style, you can find summer dresses to keep you feeling COOL and looking HOT! </small></div>
</div>blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-67037587962581252942012-05-30T11:42:00.000-04:002012-06-03T21:41:35.421-04:00First Day of Pool SeasonOur little town doesn't have a local pool. Instead, there are several private club pools you can join. It's nothing luxurious but clean, safe and just the right size. I can pretty much scan the whole place and find who I need to find. The lifeguards all know the families. Once, when Boo snuck to the bathroom without letting me know, I had all the lifeguard hollering his name. Cuz they all knew him.<br />
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There are probably 4 or 5 school districts represented and we don't go to school with most of the kids, not do we travel in the same circles. Most of these kids, I see only during the summer. So it's fun to watch them grow these past 8 seasons. And watch my boy grow:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2006, age 4</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2007</td></tr>
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And the big day when he learned to swim!
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EEbAcrBo2oE/T8TtYVSfgKI/AAAAAAAAXZk/zGEE6mTKOFI/s1600/NorthEnd+Pool-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EEbAcrBo2oE/T8TtYVSfgKI/AAAAAAAAXZk/zGEE6mTKOFI/s640/NorthEnd+Pool-4.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With his baseball-coaching Unca Paul, 2010</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With his dad, 2010</td></tr>
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And May 28, 2012:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Growing into the lankiness of boyhood.</td></tr>
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<br />blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-81890648537905026792012-05-29T10:52:00.003-04:002012-07-09T08:24:51.184-04:00Memorial DayBy circumstances of history and geography, nobody in my family served in the US military. My oldest brother, born in 1953, was eligible during the waning years of the Vietnam War but was never called. I remember my parents figuratively wringing their hands wondering if he'd be drafted into the obligatory service of the Korean Army. We weren't citizens yet and if he were called, we wouldn't have had any protection from the US government. [Yes, they'd draft you but not protect you.]<br />
<br />
I just went to my 30th college reunion. Memorial Day weekend came and went. My husband recently lost 2 uncles. His mother has crossed over from the peaceful days of retirement into the waning, translucent days of memory loss, loneliness and depression.<br />
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It's no surprise then, that I have been thinking about the passing of days. As it was Memorial Day, I looked for these pictures of my dad and his one older brother, who served in the Korean Army and Air Force, respectively:<br />
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I think this was around 1950. There were 4 boys in that family; one went to be with the North Koreans. The other, a geeky, brainy young man, was captured by the North Koreans, for their "brain trust," no doubt. These 2 brothers were able to escape the Communists coming from the north and served in the South Korean military. <br />
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Ten years later, my dad was at Kimpo Airport in Seoul, heading to <a href="http://www.brandeis.edu/">Brandeis University</a> for a PhD in Mathematics. My uncle rose in the ranks of the Air Force.<br />
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Back then, Korea was still reeling from the<a href="http://www.lifeinkorea.com/information/history2.cfm"> Japanese Forced Occupation, WW2 and the Korean War</a>. Unlike the bustling industrialized powerhouse it is <a href="http://www.korea.net/AboutKorea/Korea-at-a-Glance/Facts-about-Korea">today</a>, it was a poverty-stricken, physically destroyed <a href="http://www.qsl.net/wd4ngb/17thpics6.htm">Third World</a> country. Only the biggest roads were paved; children played in the dirt in rags. The people were small mostly because of the lack of good nutrition. My dad and uncle would have been quite a vision at 5'-9" and sturdy of build. It was said that people in the streets would stop and stare at my handsome uncle, wondering if he were an American movie star <br />
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My grandparents left their home in <a href="http://www.maplandia.com/korea-north/south-hwanghae/haeju/">Haeju</a>, now in North Korea, lost a father to Japanese torture and imprisonment, and lost 2 sons. Now a 3rd son was headed to the other side of the world. No jet planes direct from Seoul to NYC, but instead, a prop plane that hopscotched from Seoul to Tokyo to Hawaii to Chicago before landing at Kennedy. Never mind cell phones, there was barely such a thing as overseas calls of any kind. Remember, these were the days of black & white TVs and 3, maybe 4 channels!<br />
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Maybe they were so used to losses that this kind of joy and opportunity overrode any sadness they were sure to have. Maybe their deep and abiding faith in God helped them through. There's no "maybe" for me. I'm sure as I can be of anything, that their God, was their source of strength and confidence.blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-11976681241763282052012-05-27T18:25:00.002-04:002012-05-27T18:25:57.278-04:00All Religions Are Not Created the Same<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Why do we make the catastrophic error of thinking that all religions are right and that it does not matter whether the claims they make are objectively true?<br />
<br />All religions are not the same. All religions do not point to God. All religions do not say that all religions are the same. At the heart of every religion is an uncompromising commitment to a particular way of defining who God is or is not and accordingly, of defining life's purpose.<br />
<br />Anyone who claims that all religions are the same betrays not only an ignorance of all religions but a caricatured view of even the best-known ones. Every religion at it's core is exclusive...<br />
<br />...What the person means by saying, 'You must be open to everything' is really, 'You must be open to everything that I am open to, and anything that I disagree with, you must disagree with too'.<br />
<br />
Ravi Zacharias in<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"> <u>Jesus Among Other Gods</u>.</span><br />
</blockquote>
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Every religion think it is Right, or at the very least, the Best. Or it is not truly a religion, is it? Why have a religion that says, "I think this is right, but go with that other one if you feel like it." Even if there is no God, per se as a Being, in the religion or belief system, there is clearly the thought or pursuit of the Best or the Right or the Eternal of some kind. The person open to all religions, is not open to Nazism or the KKK or even the part of Christianity that says things they don't like. </span>blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-26573843139381426562012-05-23T12:05:00.001-04:002012-06-03T21:44:19.015-04:00What I Wore 5.23.12I feel like I've been running ragged just running errands. I've been to functions that required me to get cleaned up, but all this ragged running has not left me the wherewithal to get my camera. So all the <b>Wheres</b> will be "running errands."<br />
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<b>What</b>: So I wore this tunic top <a href="http://blackbeltoma.blogspot.com/2012/04/what-i-wore-wednesday-041812.html">recently </a>but found a better way to wear it. I like it better with a scarf; I feel less bare. It also allows me to show off my new Talbot's espadrilles. Brown tunic top by Zara Collection over a fluorescent green cami. Brown capri leggings from Kohl's, hand printed silk scarf bought at an artisan shop years ago.<br />
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<b>What</b>: White v-neck tee from Talbot's, denim A-line skirt by, black patent wedges by Me Too. Mixture of gray jewelry.<br />
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My photo spot has a little to be desired. This is much better, right? I finally figured out another way to configure my camera and you can watch my garden transform through the season.<br />
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<b>What</b>: The Talbots tee again, but this time under a black knit jersey cardi with skinny jeans. Black modified Mary Janes by Naturalizers Natural Souls. Love my new vintage Bakelite bangle bracelet in pumpkin, with a handmade amber and gray beaded necklace.<br />
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See what other moms wore at <a href="http://thepleatedpoppy.com/2012/05/what-i-wore-wednesday-68/">The Pleated Poppy</a>!blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-89705126089701735472012-05-23T11:34:00.000-04:002012-06-03T21:43:35.937-04:00Educating BooSeveral years into our marriage we decided it was time to start a family. We were older, and we had had enough years to get to know each other and enjoy our child-free time. As I made my application for the Worldwide Pregnancy Club, I noticed some rules of engagement. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-464s0G0P2WM/T7z9tAFjJbI/AAAAAAAAXWw/GzXqHL1cg9Q/s1600/Global+Village.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-464s0G0P2WM/T7z9tAFjJbI/AAAAAAAAXWw/GzXqHL1cg9Q/s200/Global+Village.jpg" width="200" /></a>When a woman enters that distinguished group, it appears that all the world is an adjunct member, whose opinions and advice is readily dispensed. In any venue. I saw strangers approach pregnant women and touch them,<a href="http://www.momlogic.com/2009/07/hands_off_my_belly.php"> uninvited</a>, in sensitive areas. Even men, whose consciousness of social respectability and sense of decorum would prevent them in other circumstances, were seen reaching out to touch the extended sensitive areas. I told my husband that I would wear a sign that said, "Don't touch me."<br />
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But it made me wonder what about a pregnancy allowed such behavior. Pregnancy, the direct result of physical intimacies that these strangers would never broach, somehow entered the realm of public discussion. Does the universal experience of child-bearing and child-rearing bear itself to become public property, allowing for some kind of global membership? Does the whole world become a member of the Board of Trustees for your pregnancy? As offended as so many were by Hillary Clinton's <u>It Takes a Village</u>, I always thought, and still think, there is truth to the idea that we all affect each other and take a part in educating our children. <br />
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I've recently decided to <i><b>home school</b></i> my son. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">tick</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">tick</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">tick</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">tick</span></blockquote>
I wanted to give you a few seconds to let that sink in. Is your response in the same realm as what others have said to me?<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"How will he get socialized?"<br />
"Home schooled children are weird."<br />
"You won't have any time to yourself."</blockquote>
<br />
[To be fair, I've had as many people say to me, "Only you know what's best for your child."]<br />
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There is something global, universal about how children are raised and I have found that the words "home school" is the equivalent of the extended belly which gives people permission to touch me in a personal spot, in public, uninvited.blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-80998111651491159812012-05-02T10:04:00.000-04:002012-06-03T21:44:19.016-04:00What I Wore Wednesday - 05.02.12<b>I don't have a lot of pictures this week. My excuse <i>this </i>week? My son has a Science Fair project due on Friday. NEED I SAY MORE??</b><br />
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<b>What I Wore</b>: black and white patterned cowl-neck, bat-wing sleeve sweater from the clearance rack at Kohl's. I love it because the cowl drapes gently creating a nice neckline for me, and the tails are long enough to cover some of my "problem" areas. Black flare pants from at least a million years ago, which are a <i>tad </i>short for my bronze and jute platform sandals by <a href="http://www.talbots.com/online/browse/category_landing_galleryview.jsp?id=cat1040069&rootCategory=cat70016&section=Regular&subCategoryIdUnderSale=cat220039&conceptIdUnderSale=&colorOverride=">Talbot</a>'s.<br />
<b>Where</b>: Church.<br />
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<b>What I Wore:</b> Yes, I did. I wore gym pants in public. Even though I wasn't at the gym. Or even exercising. CHAPS polo style top to match Adidas gym pants in slate and marigold. Large silver stud earrings. Love my Sally Hanson Salon Manicure (c) polish called Good to Grape.</div>
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<b>Where</b>: Running errands.</div>
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Check out the other styles at <a href="http://thepleatedpoppy.com/2012/05/what-i-wore-wednesday-65/">The Pleated Poppy</a>!blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-9019991862501998322012-04-27T08:00:00.000-04:002012-06-03T21:44:19.018-04:00Things I Love Thursday - Talbot'sThis is not a fashion post. In fact, it's not Friday, the day of the ubiquitous Fashion Friday posts. Which I love. But today, on this Thursday, I love Talbot's because they've done a bold thing:<br />
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They are showing women who are... <i>real women</i>. You know, sorta like you and me. Looky here:<br />
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OK so they're still thin and they're probably NOT poor, but look - wrinkles and NOT ridiculously stick thin! Woohoo!! Hey check out this brief video:<br />
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I don't know if Talbot's is pandering to the demographics of America. As far as I know, they're still trying to make a buck and so I know their first priority is not necessarily for the betterment of society. I don't expect it to be and I really don't care. In fact, I don't think they're the first ones to do this. But every one that does, and stops women [and girls] from feeling inadequate, gets a Kudos from me!<br />
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Small steps.blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-77331931869674474282012-04-22T14:30:00.002-04:002012-04-23T12:07:55.323-04:00All Ten"And God spoke all these words, saying: 'I am the LORD your God… <br />
<div style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">ONE: '<i>You shall have no other gods before Me.</i>' </div><div style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">TWO: '<i>You shall not make for yourself a carved image--any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.</i>' </div><div style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">THREE: '<i>You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain.</i>' </div><div style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">FOUR: '<i>Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.</i>' </div><div style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">FIVE: '<i>Honor your father and your mother.</i>' </div><div style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">SIX: '<i>You shall not murder.</i>' </div><div style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">SEVEN: '<i>You shall not commit adultery.</i>' </div><div style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">EIGHT: '<i>You shall not steal.</i>' </div><div style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #cc0000;">NINE: '<i>You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.</i>' </div><div style="color: #cc0000;"><br />
</div><span style="color: #cc0000;">TEN: '</span><i style="color: #cc0000;">You shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, nor his male servant, nor his female servant, nor his ox, nor his donkey, nor anything that is your neighbor's.</i><span style="color: #cc0000;">'</span><br />
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Not that people these days even respect the 10 Commandments. The basis that we can buy into, all over the world, the basis for justice in almost all realms, is seen as "religious" and contrary to public display.<br />
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Number 4. That's a kicker. Nobody follows that anymore. Never mind that the Sabbath was made for <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark%202:%2023-27&version=NIV"><i>us</i></a>. That WE would rest physically, spiritually, emotionally from the struggles of Life. And rest in Him. A hundred reasons why we go out to eat, stop at the grocery store, travel, golf and what not (thereby making other people work.) Not the least of which that Commerce <i>demands </i>that we work on Sunday, either overtly because everything is open on Sunday now, or covertly because they try to squeeze every ounce of life out of employees. But keeping a day of rest? It's right up there with 'do not murder.'<br />
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Hey, me too! Yes, I just have to get ONE MORE THING for lunch or dinner or Monday morning. I find all sorts of reasons why I can do the VERY things I believe I shouldn't.<br />
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There are 10. Ten. You can pick and choose the ones you like, but then, don't think of them as the Ten Commandments. Call it your own Thing.blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-19684049302152913772012-04-18T07:30:00.041-04:002012-04-18T09:03:18.468-04:00What I Wore Wednesday 04.18.12<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><b>What I Wore</b>: Brown tunic top by Zara Collection over a leaf green cami. Brown chinos by Lauren and brown patent/suede ankle boots by <a href="http://www.zappos.com/bandolino">Bandolino</a>, from a couple of winters ago. It might be a bit too monochromatic, but I had my orange purse for a pop of color. Matching necklace and drop earrings in pearl, pink and brown.<br />
<b>Where</b>: An Open House at a special school I was considering for our son. I have to confess, I think the neckline is too low. Next time, I think I'll wear a scarf.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gyAiBe4paVA/T4d49g-8sGI/AAAAAAAAXFI/8IvhLl_Fv2A/s640/Browns.JPG" width="433" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jxK5tLZmGrI/T4d3lwamprI/AAAAAAAAXEw/YaKt6wK_hvo/s640/Browns-001.JPG" width="274" /></div><br />
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<b>What I Wore</b>:<i> i.e.</i> denim jacket over classic men's oxford shirt from Talbot's, and khakis from Ann Taylor. My most comfy shoes, by Privo.<br />
<b>Where</b>: After taking all these photos, I realized how cold it was that day, so I quickly went in the house and changed out of the denim jacket and into a real coat!<br />
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</i><br />
<b>What I Wore</b>: One of my favorite tee shirts, which alas, needs to go onto the next life. Worn with a lime green cardi by Jones NY over black skinny jeans. Black patent wedges by Me Too. I wore simple silver jewelry - oval hoop earring and bangle bracelet - to go with the large silver buckle on the cardi.<b> </b><br />
<b>Where</b>: Church.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>What I Wore</b>: Ribbon-edged black tee from Ann Taylor from several years ago, roll-up shorts in mustard from GAP last year, and new striped espadrilles - which I love love! Simple silver jewelry.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Where</b>: It was 88 degrees today! Changed into this to pick up the child from school.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BUw9Hj-6qXM/T4ymtlXoiKI/AAAAAAAAXMw/r1crreoqilw/s1600/Shorts-002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BUw9Hj-6qXM/T4ymtlXoiKI/AAAAAAAAXMw/r1crreoqilw/s640/Shorts-002.JPG" width="306" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y3UBpPXex48/T4zK9nf5NuI/AAAAAAAAXM4/Pq73ZpW_KyQ/s1600/Espadrilles-002.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y3UBpPXex48/T4zK9nf5NuI/AAAAAAAAXM4/Pq73ZpW_KyQ/s320/Espadrilles-002.jpg" width="262" /></a></div><br />
Visit everyone else at <a href="http://thepleatedpoppy.com/2012/04/what-i-wore-wednesday-63/">The Pleated Poppy</a>!blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5150236167286014006.post-6787582257863911072012-04-15T07:30:00.020-04:002012-04-15T07:30:03.645-04:00ReligionReligion is:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">"I obey, therefore I am accepted."</blockquote><br />
Christianity is:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">"I am accepted through what Jesus Christ did, therefore I obey." </blockquote><br />
Religion gives you control. You can do, say, be on your terms. You do your duty or desire, you've paid your dues. Now you can get what is owed you.<br />
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Christianity is all about what God is doing in me, to me, by His Grace. Now He can ask what He wants from me.<br />
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Scary.<br />
<br />
Truth often is.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><i>He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed.</i> ~1 Peter 2:24 </blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq"><i>For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— <sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-29239"></sup>not by works, so that no one can boast.</i> ~Ephesians 2:8, 9</blockquote>blackbelthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04682743823175329828noreply@blogger.com0