tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54717905359748021262024-02-20T22:49:40.098-05:00:::faye for sure:::Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger452125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-88302297846366662862016-03-13T21:33:00.003-04:002016-03-13T21:33:33.759-04:00:::Cat Nap:::Hercule the cat wakes up at 4:30 am expecting to be fed. I can usually postpone HRH until 5:30. <div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-pN0DaQRMZEX3rVIY08wQnNNN5REReTqPox1qHB5Q_R9QLmZxH6byWCHC1oZIX-UWLT4l9bJ-O48EK1t7XmdpEXJOcTou_8EE67M9ucIaj8esvGr3vTv6yRN02TTATMbxygItx3X_8kR/s640/blogger-image-886969997.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-pN0DaQRMZEX3rVIY08wQnNNN5REReTqPox1qHB5Q_R9QLmZxH6byWCHC1oZIX-UWLT4l9bJ-O48EK1t7XmdpEXJOcTou_8EE67M9ucIaj8esvGr3vTv6yRN02TTATMbxygItx3X_8kR/s640/blogger-image-886969997.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As soon as I get out of bed in the morning he hops up and settles in to what is probably the first of many naps of the day. I like to tuck him into the covers because I think it's funny. Oh, Hercule. </div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-41867310069017078232016-03-13T21:33:00.001-04:002016-03-13T21:33:05.801-04:00:::A Cry For Help:::<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">One of my coteachers was making up sentences this morning for an activity. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7H4iwic3FZbXSQfrp7guUtZuv9dJxpAY7BG2duCWe4Un3RsGffSlNqsGJ69IPFq4O8o9ye6fNbzxsmkodgw4Cs9wgXfjDpUuebTnZ5-_I-oHtJpmenwKkbQfAfDdaZjv-5E5PR1qyaiYF/s640/blogger-image--198370784.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7H4iwic3FZbXSQfrp7guUtZuv9dJxpAY7BG2duCWe4Un3RsGffSlNqsGJ69IPFq4O8o9ye6fNbzxsmkodgw4Cs9wgXfjDpUuebTnZ5-_I-oHtJpmenwKkbQfAfDdaZjv-5E5PR1qyaiYF/s640/blogger-image--198370784.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I don't know why, but the 'Can I go home' in the middle made me laugh.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-45212372975759713862016-03-13T21:32:00.001-04:002016-03-13T21:37:22.975-04:00:::"O woman, great is thy faith"In preparation for Easter I'm trying to read the Gospels. I'm only a few chapters into Matthew, but I've already been touched by a simple truth about Jesus's ministry - He was always helping people, and specifically, healing people. In just a few short chapters detailing the beginning of His mortal ministry, Christ took the time to heal people suffering from all manner of afflictions. He asked that these people be brought to Him, He allowed these people to approach Him, and He answered the fervent requests of those who sought Him on behalf of those who needed His healing. <div><br></div><div>Never before has the reality of Christ's healing ministry touched me so deeply. Healing the temporal afflictions of His people was clearly a high priority for the Lord, something He cared about, something He placed importance on, and something He undoubtedly enjoyed doing. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-gaD8c9_i5asf3gy04d88onN1CnHe_Kkx4tb-9rFo50Pp_OTJZ4dU5SyZL8NwtK2DSVELw7zA5xZtNR9H19aCWa2GyEgPAYhyphenhyphenPpA5812A_1TS5qdWrNhykPZ1UAb5XDeQYqBHrhY1qqym/s640/blogger-image--339323246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-gaD8c9_i5asf3gy04d88onN1CnHe_Kkx4tb-9rFo50Pp_OTJZ4dU5SyZL8NwtK2DSVELw7zA5xZtNR9H19aCWa2GyEgPAYhyphenhyphenPpA5812A_1TS5qdWrNhykPZ1UAb5XDeQYqBHrhY1qqym/s640/blogger-image--339323246.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes when I have a realization moment about Christ I'm just struck by how very good He was. What an awesome, compassionate, in touch Lord we have. </div><div><br></div><div>The relevance this truth has to me is that I am beginning to build stronger faith that one day the Lord will heal my afflictions. He won't just lift my burdens, as that is the promise for mortality. At some future day I will see the Lord, and He will heal me of "every sickness and every disease (Matthew 9:35)." The older I get the more and more I struggle with depression, which I had not anticipated. I have found some peace recently in remembering that depression is a disease, a medical condition, and not an assessment of my character. And just as Jesus healed the man with the withered hand, cast out devils, and made the lame to walk, one day I will be called to Him and with the same love and compassion that He showed the people of ancient times, He will heal me. He will heal me completely, leaving no weakness or affliction behind. </div><div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-21248986074784280772016-02-28T19:15:00.001-05:002016-02-28T19:15:10.105-05:00:::Blooming:::<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">These flowers are giving me life today....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy8LqmowiRqN4MsLY9nwAZ1aJa9zvf_5Up-_G2MEghr8jgRYnnpnodxf5BjMdOrO72CkrOZOLaLpZRHKIcpPmSuSOtT7SsHUZBJ51FKbX2lWlv36k1uhFTFkz4nM6wn7_XmAaT8Js62xNB/s640/blogger-image--1043473538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy8LqmowiRqN4MsLY9nwAZ1aJa9zvf_5Up-_G2MEghr8jgRYnnpnodxf5BjMdOrO72CkrOZOLaLpZRHKIcpPmSuSOtT7SsHUZBJ51FKbX2lWlv36k1uhFTFkz4nM6wn7_XmAaT8Js62xNB/s640/blogger-image--1043473538.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I arranged them myself, and I'm quite proud. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-66700453285860263022016-02-13T09:21:00.000-05:002016-02-13T09:21:54.694-05:00:::34:::In honor of my recent birthday, and for the sake of having something to live for, here's a list of the things I want out of life - <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1. Take a drawing class.</div>
<div>
2. Get a keyboard and learn to play the hymns.</div>
<div>
3. Move out of the great state of Texas. My original plan was to stay no longer than November 2015, so tick tock.</div>
<div>
4. Lose more weight. </div>
<div>
5. Move.</div>
<div>
6. Read more books.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I may add to this list later. It's Saturday morning and my mind is a blank. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-54745976473499284262015-11-27T21:51:00.001-05:002015-11-27T21:51:08.776-05:00:::White Chocolate Pumpkin Dream Cookies:::I caved and got cable this summer, and I've have been watching cheesy movies on the Hallmark channels ever since. Some of my favorite movies have been the Joanne Fluke mystery adaptations, the lateset being Murder She Baked: A Plum Pudding Mystery. The main character in the story, Hannah Swensen, owns a cookie bakery, so the whole experience of watching is like one big triggering minefield for a baking addict. In the movie Hannah mentions a white chocolate pumpkin dream cookie, so I hit up the Google to find a recipe. This one comes from Taste of Home, and it lived up to it's name by being quite dreamy.<br />
<br />
I made mine without frosting because I don't really dig frosted cookies.Plus, I omitted the pecans because...I didn't want to pay for them. Ha, ha! I economize in the weirdest ways.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 cup
butter, softened<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1/2 cup
sugar<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1/2 cup
packed brown sugar<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 egg<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2 teaspoons vanilla
extract<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 cup canned
pumpkin<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2 cups
all-purpose flour<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
3-1/2
teaspoons pumpkin pie spice<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 teaspoon
baking powder<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 teaspoon
baking soda<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1/4 teaspoon
salt<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 package
(10 to 12 ounces) white baking chips (I bought the white chocolate chips with the simplest ingredient list, which ended up being the Private Selections brand from Kroger. I was surprised that some of the fancier brands were filled with a long list of sketch ingredients.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1 cup
chopped pecans (I omitted these)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
1. In a
large bowl, cream butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Beat in the egg,
vanilla and pumpkin. Combine dry ingredients; gradually add to the creamed
mixture and mix well. Stir in chips and pecans.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
2. Drop by
rounded teaspoonfuls 2 in. apart onto ungreased baking sheets. Bake at 350° for
12-14 minutes or until firm. Remove to wire racks to cool.</div>
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Yield: About
2 1/2 dozen large cookies</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-73008673837398121432015-11-15T11:23:00.000-05:002015-11-15T20:37:42.403-05:00:::Grant Me the Serenity:::It's finally cooling down here, which means it's consistently in the 70s. Amen. My Christmas decorations are up and this weekend I had my first fire in the fireplace. Come on, Advent. I'm ready.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In an effort to maintain my snail's pace of weight loss, I'm making a list of the holiday foods that I'm most looking forward to eating, and focusing on enjoying the heck out of the somewhat reasonable portions of these that I want to allow myself. An ever present atmosphere of treats and fancies are about to descend upon us, and I want to be ready.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If I'm going to be honest, over indulgence has never helped me enjoy the season more. Oh, it certainly seems like it will as I'm rolling out those sugar cookies, or adding more cream to those mashed potatoes, or grabbing for softball sized handfuls of caramel corn...but the guilt always follows, and guilt is such a messy, depressing emotion. And at the end of any holiday binge I'm not any closer to having a perfect Christmas or feeling more of the Christmas spirit, or whatever it is I'm seeking at the bottom of the bread basket, than I was before. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So I'm promising myself these treats so that I don't get knocked off track by things I really don't care about, but are just there. Here is my list - </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1. Two pieces of nuts and chews candy from See's </div>
<div>
2. A slice of rich pumpkin pie</div>
<div>
3. Creamy mashed potatoes</div>
<div>
4. Some kind of spicy gingerbread or ginger snap or ginger cookie</div>
<div>
5. A delicious, liberally frosted sugar cookie</div>
<div>
6. Two fabulous tasting rolls</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That list is actually kind of long, or at least longer that I thought it would be. Blurg. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Was this post too much about food? Do I sound like an addict? <i>Am</i> I an addict? Sigh...Probably. But I'm an addict with a plan, baby! An addict with a plan!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-2760496391884526672015-11-08T10:37:00.002-05:002015-11-08T10:47:39.434-05:00:::Magic:::Over the past seven or so years I've felt like so much of the magic that I used to see and feel and know has leached out of the world. Is it just me? Do you feel it too? Is it harder to see beauty now? To look out and find comfort and peace? There's a measure of true and simple goodness missing from so much of what I see and hear, and I think, in a way, I've began to accept this as just the way things are now.<br />
<br />
But as I write this I wonder if it's not that there is less magic, less beauty, less comfort and peace, but that my orientation to these things has been shifted, and instead of being a consumer only, I'm being called to create magic, to develop beauty, to give comfort and peace. It's an eternal pattern that first we observe and learn, then we are called to go and do. Instead of needing other people to provide me with light, I need to create it for myself, and for the people around me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Owe3fzfjpBIwsJsd6fqpAZu5dx0gw02SgwO6OkoRiWsRjLxOJ29Q7-2pu6AiV7gmYeS-JZI7RdjgTwrXGKf4c02N31hc8S-IDg9tQaiB8qDJ2iOeQtwFrTE9rj4V_1ig_BpJDn6mj1M7/s1600/happiness-poster_1264989_tmb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Owe3fzfjpBIwsJsd6fqpAZu5dx0gw02SgwO6OkoRiWsRjLxOJ29Q7-2pu6AiV7gmYeS-JZI7RdjgTwrXGKf4c02N31hc8S-IDg9tQaiB8qDJ2iOeQtwFrTE9rj4V_1ig_BpJDn6mj1M7/s1600/happiness-poster_1264989_tmb.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
The process of writing and sharing used to come more easily for me. Now it feels almost painful to open an empty blog post and begin to write. But I need to write, and honestly, I would love it if you would write and share more about your lives as well. I'm going to start blogging more, and you will hear about my encounters with light and my battles against darkness, the simple things in life that I love and the amazing things that come from out of the blue. But mostly, just my daily living, and I hope that's worth something.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-38295942941342168862015-07-10T20:33:00.001-04:002015-07-10T20:33:55.218-04:00:::Claws:::<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAzYQB-9TYCkBaTIkqO0X8GpBtcVQoHZqg1qVlYel2eH9qnxcyjTKdYIsJyA-dOCd43C_zfqAwnatiUYXifpu5VSICGXJSBUfwah9LAxvfDBk7F4NCN2PM6axdepVKizeOeYqGftsiN6M/s640/blogger-image-852139489.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGAzYQB-9TYCkBaTIkqO0X8GpBtcVQoHZqg1qVlYel2eH9qnxcyjTKdYIsJyA-dOCd43C_zfqAwnatiUYXifpu5VSICGXJSBUfwah9LAxvfDBk7F4NCN2PM6axdepVKizeOeYqGftsiN6M/s640/blogger-image-852139489.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I have been waiting all week for this week to be over. I've been so tired for some reason. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I love it when Herc comes and lays on me. Remember how I have a cat? I'm a cat person! Who would have ever thought? I clipped his front nails myself over the course of two days. Victory! And I only sustained minimal wounds. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This week at work I semi-stood up for myself with my domineering, micromanaging, team lead. It felt so good. I didn't do or say anything unwise, I just...I don't know. Reached a limit and was done. Done being spoken too like I was dumb. It felt liberating, and now that I've drawn that line in the sand I don't feel so sick about going to work every day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6bzAVFB9vi3eYHkCM6fm78zfJ6NaUhHSkiTesngeR7tftTAefjwvRo0lc91UGc__azJsIdb60nLSKA_qw3ZV_COw08VhKpjEXXkZ-DwF1a-4RMWAtxo5oiAqYewHVbtCulEk9GkEY_Ex9/s640/blogger-image--407445237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6bzAVFB9vi3eYHkCM6fm78zfJ6NaUhHSkiTesngeR7tftTAefjwvRo0lc91UGc__azJsIdb60nLSKA_qw3ZV_COw08VhKpjEXXkZ-DwF1a-4RMWAtxo5oiAqYewHVbtCulEk9GkEY_Ex9/s640/blogger-image--407445237.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Happy Weekend! It's so hot here now and I just want to swim all day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-85261589192963355852015-06-09T21:11:00.001-04:002015-06-09T21:11:55.543-04:00:::The Chair Place:::<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQr9Dz9o8-neYp7E-E35f_965a9ofko1ep8JaNp06P1L0ZttGnX3JdllxKl-Rchib47WLjOh9CVPVGaUWQs1VJMHzfiu7pfOhQ_aBOLbPU5KpjBD_Yg83dgGYJPdaMVWq4FwCRCuOXLOR/s640/blogger-image-1879134662.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQr9Dz9o8-neYp7E-E35f_965a9ofko1ep8JaNp06P1L0ZttGnX3JdllxKl-Rchib47WLjOh9CVPVGaUWQs1VJMHzfiu7pfOhQ_aBOLbPU5KpjBD_Yg83dgGYJPdaMVWq4FwCRCuOXLOR/s640/blogger-image-1879134662.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I've created a little spot in my room for a chair. I firmly believe the lack of a chair in this space has been what's keeping me from thinking all the Big Thoughts and achieving all of the Big Peace. Obviuslyyyyy. Clearly the holdup is furniture. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-79329753412888505702015-05-10T23:22:00.001-04:002015-05-10T23:22:45.835-04:00:::You're Ugly Too:::A long time ago I read this short story by Lorrie Moore called, "You're Ugly Too." The title comes from a punchline to a joke that goes something like this - A patient goes to see his doctor and is stunned when the doctor tells him he only has six weeks to live. The patient says he wants a second opinion, and the doctor says, 'Okay...you're ugly, too.'<br />
<br />
<i>Get it?</i><br />
<br />
It's been a 'You're ugly, too,' kind of time lately. '<i>Along with you regular failings, Rebekah, you're ugly too.</i>'<br />
<br />
<i>Dear Miss Scott, </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>We relish the opportunity to inform you, not for the first time, that you have failed at everything you have tried to accomplish in your dim and undistinguished life. Below is a brief enumeration of your primary shortcomings. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>One - You have no ability to attract the opposite sex, and you will never find love or companionship or even an amiable acquaintance with a human male. You are a fool to think or act otherwise, and you only embarrass yourself when you do so. People are laughing at you, Miss Scott. In the future you would be better served to keep these desires to yourself. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Two - You are woefully underemployed, and lack the mental acuity and perseverance to succeed in any field of employment. No one takes you seriously, and you will continue to be surpassed by your peers, all of whom have the intellect and stamina to thrive in professional environments.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Three - You do not fit in at church, and you never will. You have known this to be true for many years. Regular reminders of this fact will continue to be sent to you. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Four - We cannot offer you a more blunt statement than the readout on a scale could provide. That you gained weight in the first place, and that you have been unable to lose this weight over the course of a lifetime is an indication of the fundamental weakness in your character. You can never make up for the time and opportunities you have lost, but remediation of this problem would at least decrease the burden you presently are on the healthcare system, and the visual offense you present to those who find excessive weight to be unappealing. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Five - You're ugly, too.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Your acceptance of the above is assumed, and noted in the record.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Sincerely,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The Committee on Life</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Sometimes I hate the mortal mind. It can twist and darken and poison so subtly, but so fiercely. At the same time that you absolutely know negative feelings about your worth and capacities aren't true, they can still ring with such strong reverberation through you're brain. Anything that rings that deeply shouldn't be ignored, right? You wouldn't feel something so deeply if it was wrong, would you?<br />
<br />
That's what I struggle to explain to people about depression - the dichotomy of pure truth and <i>perceived</i> truth that you can hold in tandem in your brain. Trying to separate the two and expel what is false wears you out and wears you thin, but at the same time it can just feel...normal? Like the standard way a life works?<br />
<br />
But sometimes I think the best thing you can do is not try to solve anything, just say to yourself, 'Oh well,' and push pause on the great effort to Figure Things Out. To not get tangled up in the exhausting gymnastics involved in maneuvering the minefield of your thoughts and just...<br />
<br />
?<br />
<br />
<i>To the Committee on Life,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Your most recent letter has been received. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Regards,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Rebekah</i><br />
<br />
<br />
I mean, who do they think they are, anyhow?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-6316535255432163552015-01-06T23:45:00.001-05:002015-01-06T23:45:14.247-05:00:::Cat Life:::<font color="#000000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMtJbp6T38vs1VrG00H1-ErhVvbOKFRUDsSLHCN7CP3ISVAKfFMRNtLMFevr1F2FoP-Wgv4vljy3P-jQ3uzUrmgmAKqO5JkIJ6fAthZc6oxIxkfZ8UsOxmnHYlXZUlo8an3upH9ZtEWivq/s640/blogger-image-1814217930.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMtJbp6T38vs1VrG00H1-ErhVvbOKFRUDsSLHCN7CP3ISVAKfFMRNtLMFevr1F2FoP-Wgv4vljy3P-jQ3uzUrmgmAKqO5JkIJ6fAthZc6oxIxkfZ8UsOxmnHYlXZUlo8an3upH9ZtEWivq/s640/blogger-image-1814217930.jpg"></a></font><div><br></div><div>I'm currently watching my new cat, Hercule Poirot, try to hunt birds on a YouTube video made especially for cats. And he just somehow restarted it with his paws. </div><div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEM0kB-l5z9Fgy-IcQkSEUmntKn4kaqGzrybsf3Z9jOrOFKhiREcb0rk2vZSTl7hOd8KFHkjAkJcZ-_xyhnL2OXNvGrT9h-qKhdICZaoE-ny-D3myHaEqYULEuPET4_D4LS_aCJ_d7J4vA/s640/blogger-image-396953060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEM0kB-l5z9Fgy-IcQkSEUmntKn4kaqGzrybsf3Z9jOrOFKhiREcb0rk2vZSTl7hOd8KFHkjAkJcZ-_xyhnL2OXNvGrT9h-qKhdICZaoE-ny-D3myHaEqYULEuPET4_D4LS_aCJ_d7J4vA/s640/blogger-image-396953060.jpg"></a></div> </div><div>I keep thinking to myself, 'Rebekah, you shouldn't be so tickled by this.'<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQjlhJrizJTw0QuShI688O58tiulJQ8ofnYMebm1kw0xHLYyblbSvB2otcodhbqZl4uKLPYKUyNnGE3j6TH7SCtjUGYdcE0tvgQMGwKyoSBNIy3XVM2AZdXuyEOmd9v-Ne7XXY8F4k3xv/s640/blogger-image-1947398836.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQjlhJrizJTw0QuShI688O58tiulJQ8ofnYMebm1kw0xHLYyblbSvB2otcodhbqZl4uKLPYKUyNnGE3j6TH7SCtjUGYdcE0tvgQMGwKyoSBNIy3XVM2AZdXuyEOmd9v-Ne7XXY8F4k3xv/s640/blogger-image-1947398836.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But, you know, we've each got to find our happy place, am I right?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-72881135618876709652014-11-29T22:58:00.001-05:002014-11-29T22:58:05.181-05:00:::Thanksgiving 2014:::I really enjoyed my Thanksgiving this year. For many small reasons, it was one of the best I can remember.<div><br></div><div>I was invited to a dinner with two families in my ward and volunteered to make pie and rolls. For the pies I settled on maple pumpkin and coconut cream. When I went to the store on Wednesday night to get ingredients there was only one bag of all-purpose flour left on the shelf! I snatched it up even though it had a tiny hole I it. </div><div><br></div><div>The market was a zoo and I didn't want to waste time pulling out my recipes and checking exactly what I needed, so I over purchased whipping cream and half-and-half. I figure I'll just drink what was left over straight from the carton. </div><div><br><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFFG9Dz72fpybi2JPht76IFhHlxHN_xbeNdTESS3eJ6Wx6nxX2mzrAw492q8XB5ytA0HQ0D9umBMtOlZO0beXiaNrbUVKUsMDBytP3NZuaSu0y_Ys_7x1hWbpVybegf8I-2Ytg-CDX-bJ/s640/blogger-image-949885814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPFFG9Dz72fpybi2JPht76IFhHlxHN_xbeNdTESS3eJ6Wx6nxX2mzrAw492q8XB5ytA0HQ0D9umBMtOlZO0beXiaNrbUVKUsMDBytP3NZuaSu0y_Ys_7x1hWbpVybegf8I-2Ytg-CDX-bJ/s640/blogger-image-949885814.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It was an exhausting amount of work to make the crusts and pies from scratch, but hey, I learned a lot, and it was what I wanted to do, so there's that. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhverJhlc5UaKPPviGu0sT1X1lTaVw9rpcLPLRcIlCAJ2IULFI7XG81nEhwFp-fDcHFzRwAUlcFKYDGpkIfjPXYbA6Y8F16g7zUmyyLWC4nKrOkEbWVRbYXgrdT5vGPSdfpyKHWE2iJUeQY/s640/blogger-image-1708140034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhverJhlc5UaKPPviGu0sT1X1lTaVw9rpcLPLRcIlCAJ2IULFI7XG81nEhwFp-fDcHFzRwAUlcFKYDGpkIfjPXYbA6Y8F16g7zUmyyLWC4nKrOkEbWVRbYXgrdT5vGPSdfpyKHWE2iJUeQY/s640/blogger-image-1708140034.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div><div>When I finally got into bed I FaceTimed with my parents in California, as well as my sister and her family who are out there visiting for the holiday. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTLDyLR3x6ncSqkJ8uCitOxfeoPMbDRKxUnJuDm_b71aF-4Fiwc2NoTGSjyGWTR9txAY0T4pl7Rg0J0AM0ijIKpQ2QQqk_Scfyf78khTNHY1ygvvLoroFpoa_bShGmZbO475SelkZfx5JK/s640/blogger-image--1998862997.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTLDyLR3x6ncSqkJ8uCitOxfeoPMbDRKxUnJuDm_b71aF-4Fiwc2NoTGSjyGWTR9txAY0T4pl7Rg0J0AM0ijIKpQ2QQqk_Scfyf78khTNHY1ygvvLoroFpoa_bShGmZbO475SelkZfx5JK/s640/blogger-image--1998862997.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div>The next morning I went to brunch at the home of some other friends from my ward. One of the dishes they served was cinnamon roll French toast with mascarpone whipped cream, real Vermont maple syrup, and mixed berry sauce. A nice, light way to start the day. </div><div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRaKU7lmoN583ycTFWydgnjWOC_BfAABK4_M5c13OUMwT71z4Gua0r0uVuf3OHhmtcR-4s4lRk5AvI4QeMK_d_rkar65pB8Dg0GjLmArXCCwDwMJJeqA7t8xUgmXUf1dwfDrrlLqfihnsz/s640/blogger-image-1817509903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRaKU7lmoN583ycTFWydgnjWOC_BfAABK4_M5c13OUMwT71z4Gua0r0uVuf3OHhmtcR-4s4lRk5AvI4QeMK_d_rkar65pB8Dg0GjLmArXCCwDwMJJeqA7t8xUgmXUf1dwfDrrlLqfihnsz/s640/blogger-image-1817509903.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>After dinner that night with another group of ward friends, they took me shopping at Target and Kohl's. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be and it was fun to be out with them. </div><div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdt7pQ_DSsL3_sWsDQKpGHk6WCyT7zYGJmhY-LBNuMi00r8lrpB1I28oN0rDo8Lx1kN0JRzvJwQVIyyfKqTfavVuiyI4W6DyHFsd6I3e8O0YP1G40XTu41G_k3_l7fg8ISk5Of1jOAtfk/s640/blogger-image--1041085906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdt7pQ_DSsL3_sWsDQKpGHk6WCyT7zYGJmhY-LBNuMi00r8lrpB1I28oN0rDo8Lx1kN0JRzvJwQVIyyfKqTfavVuiyI4W6DyHFsd6I3e8O0YP1G40XTu41G_k3_l7fg8ISk5Of1jOAtfk/s640/blogger-image--1041085906.jpg"></a></div><div><br></div>One of my favorite purchases were some of the $4-$6 DVDs at Target. I told my friend Courtney it was like all of my boyfriends were coming home with me. </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Friday I went shopping at JC Penney's and actually found a lot of great work clothes. Who knew? I tried to take advantage of a gift card promotion, as well as sign up for a card for additional savings, but kind of bumbled the situation. Later, when I tried to rectify the situation I learned that you can't return purchases made with gift cards for cash at Penny's. Blurg. I ended up with $50 in gift card money and no idea what to do with it, so I went to the in-store salon and had my eyebrows done (I was going to spend money on that elsewhere anyhow) and got some product for my hair. </div><div><br></div><div><font color="#000000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTXRSMlJ4IBl8VbGFgcAuYrQaRNN3ynLlLVBudG1ApsX00vByFIY8Tze6EvNbw58MGIiyw_ge4PufoDowLAJso_kR0vUoOpl_0m10gWajgZqvl084jw2H5Zm6bTlYtkohRNCjYi8Ear9B7/s640/blogger-image--533567112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTXRSMlJ4IBl8VbGFgcAuYrQaRNN3ynLlLVBudG1ApsX00vByFIY8Tze6EvNbw58MGIiyw_ge4PufoDowLAJso_kR0vUoOpl_0m10gWajgZqvl084jw2H5Zm6bTlYtkohRNCjYi8Ear9B7/s640/blogger-image--533567112.jpg"></a></font></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">While at the mall I purchased some Wallflowers at Bed Bath and Beyond in different holiday scents. I usually don't care for scents, but I'm surrounded by smokers on many sides in my apartment. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I also broked one of my cardinal rules and bought a tiny fake Christmas tree at Hobby Lobby. I spent so much on sales I just couldn't fulfill my dreams of an 8ft. flocked beauty this year. </span></div></div><div><br></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Later that afternoon I went to pick up my sewing scissors back from being sharpened. I don't sew, but, you know...I've got to cut ribbon and stuff. </span></div><div><br></div></div><div><font color="#000000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogfm2ZVIatOiybuMH5I7k3NYRgLfBuslJpBqRGCEiapRRUbDW4cNm04D04xZLqVEnmZ_lmlsxkSIY8xONJMs0VgTZf0dq3TWCDJclyRr_QZ8DGDes17M4S8npA4eBV8LeqEKZJ_RYSDf6/s640/blogger-image-1568392149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhogfm2ZVIatOiybuMH5I7k3NYRgLfBuslJpBqRGCEiapRRUbDW4cNm04D04xZLqVEnmZ_lmlsxkSIY8xONJMs0VgTZf0dq3TWCDJclyRr_QZ8DGDes17M4S8npA4eBV8LeqEKZJ_RYSDf6/s640/blogger-image-1568392149.jpg"></a></font></div><div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This morning I worked my regular shift at the temple, then went to Penny's again (someone stop me) before going to my sister's house to take some packages off her doorstep. My friend Dayna texted me while I was out to see if I wanted to go see the new Hunger Games movie, so I went straight to her house. Afterwards we had dinner at Five Guys, then I went to Michael's for my absolute last sale/Christmas related purchases, Sprouts for groceries, then the ATM, and then finally, finally made it home for the first time since 5:30 this morning. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I did so much shopping that I feel a little guilty at this point, but I'm just going to enjoy the work clothes and the few decorative items I got. I just hate it when two days after payday you're already counting down until the next paycheck! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">My favorite part of the holiday was spending time with friends. Usually I don't mind being alone at Thanksgiving, but this year I really enjoyed the company of others. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I hope you had a great holiday as well! </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-25456326309579337032014-10-02T21:39:00.001-04:002014-10-02T21:39:33.634-04:00:::A Better Sense of Judgment:::<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgghKp_RZLo8HOF1AIBrSXBNXOTho6fc8YUFXaiXDuGQ5iaG3nksfSZtXkZiAwSqqyn_uUGNDjRh2xLRbESMahWpuX3rwixiw7psEOyjzdxyh8tlNqLemxcc2V1jCKrTXj3YJuMSPTm6bkB/s640/blogger-image-376192735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgghKp_RZLo8HOF1AIBrSXBNXOTho6fc8YUFXaiXDuGQ5iaG3nksfSZtXkZiAwSqqyn_uUGNDjRh2xLRbESMahWpuX3rwixiw7psEOyjzdxyh8tlNqLemxcc2V1jCKrTXj3YJuMSPTm6bkB/s640/blogger-image-376192735.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">"It got up and ran away. Seemed uninjured and old," she wished she had known before she spoke with two 911 operators and an animal control officer whom she also texted several photos to. Twice did she think she saw the dog stop breathing, and twice did she call her friend in a panic. Late was she to her church training meeting because she spent 15 minutes singing I Am a Child of God and Families Can Be Together Forever to a dog she was sure had been hit by a car and was about to go to Glory. Only once did she text the animal control officer the next day to learn the fate of said dog, but many times since has she felt like a fool. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-14494462659885910322014-09-16T18:31:00.001-04:002014-09-16T18:31:00.659-04:00:::My Idea for Relief Society:::Why don't we ever bring meals to single sisters? I say never, basing this off my own experiences. If you've ever been in a non-singles ward that has coordinated meals for single, not widowed, no children, working women, I'd love to hear about your experience. <div><br></div><div>I've walked through many stressful, frustrating, and fearful times in the workforce. Knowing that someone else would be bringing me dinner would have been amazing. I would have felt remembered and loved by the Relief Society sisters and the Lord, and encouraged by the outreach. Cooking can be a great stress relief, but it can also be the last thing you want to deal with while handling the stress and anxiety of life situations. </div><div><br></div><div>Sometimes we even coordinate cleaning for women with sick children, who are preparing for a move, or who just need an extra hand. I can testify to you that even one person in an apartment could use this type of assistance during times of trouble. </div><div><br></div><div>It's just something I've always wondered. As a whole I think we are uneven in our compassionate service. Myself included. Have I ever tried to coordinate meals for a single sister? Nope. And I'm one of them!</div><div><br></div><div>This post isn't meant to be a condemnation. I really have wondered about this, and wondered why even I myself am blind to the needs of single sisters. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-61389954451766875542014-09-01T11:32:00.001-04:002014-09-01T11:32:03.776-04:00:::Labor Day:::Enter quip about laboring on Labor Day. Today I'm stuck inside working on my resume for a position that just opened at work. I hate resumes, but watch me spin this in a positive way - I'm grateful I have job experience, and a shot at a position that I'm interested in. I win. <div><br><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtxBisoQGMTxrvnKXmkETzBCyFJ0N8xpgkYudgf-_1QfSi1OwQ0jzKe9Fq6cj8KqAnhVuJ0s4z7IW36mocPPNi8UAQCodZazjzQ85GqDUoiKUB0rGo4ONV5IpTcoRRzEhBQZ8adl2AITj/s640/blogger-image--1419571981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtxBisoQGMTxrvnKXmkETzBCyFJ0N8xpgkYudgf-_1QfSi1OwQ0jzKe9Fq6cj8KqAnhVuJ0s4z7IW36mocPPNi8UAQCodZazjzQ85GqDUoiKUB0rGo4ONV5IpTcoRRzEhBQZ8adl2AITj/s640/blogger-image--1419571981.jpg"></a></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Look at the outside. I want to go there. It's in the 80s now, but will be in the high 90s by the afternoon. Alas. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Also, I bought some bootleg black grapes from the Asian market. One, they are seeded. Two, they burn my lips if I eat more than seven of them. I'm going to give them to my Primary children next week. Ha, ha! J/K. But the thought does makes me LOL IRL. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-40941115999358518762014-08-26T21:18:00.001-04:002014-08-26T21:18:54.895-04:00:::I'm Tops:::Yesterday we had a work activity at this place called Top Golf. It's what I think they call a golfing 'experience'. I love an experience! You know that about me!<div><br></div><div>Anyhow, the venue is a three-tiered building with open air platforms that you take shots off of. There are targets out on the green and microchips in the balls and blah, blah, blah, you get points for hitting targets. Our Director announced that whoever got the highest score out of the men and women would win an extra PTO day. Bless sexism! The highest male score to win was over 180. I took the female win at...60. </div><div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5JpMdGgRc3BFPiZTjlchTNV-G1LhyKh5uwy8eIOnKaPJ2uvj-v4MUKvQLypnG2h91FUULGmEpsP_48Kql98_ob6J8fvdRqxDpeNXRJ9MEqcopq-pNcMmbBvZa11imYPOdEGbB7QKDOnn/s640/blogger-image-992110350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5JpMdGgRc3BFPiZTjlchTNV-G1LhyKh5uwy8eIOnKaPJ2uvj-v4MUKvQLypnG2h91FUULGmEpsP_48Kql98_ob6J8fvdRqxDpeNXRJ9MEqcopq-pNcMmbBvZa11imYPOdEGbB7QKDOnn/s640/blogger-image-992110350.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Here's a picture of me shooting up a mini donut with Bavarian cream. You know, I'm always disappointed with those mini donuts every time I have them. They never actually taste like donuts, do they? Just over-fried cinnamon sugar balls. I mean, I ate three, but whatever. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I'm trying to blog again. That explains this post. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-88963755276803362302014-08-22T20:40:00.001-04:002014-08-22T20:40:55.842-04:00:::Sick Day, August 22nd, 2014:::Ailment: Cold? Respiratory infection? Flu?<div>Strength: Mild-ish</div><div><br></div><div>Work Hours Missed: 12</div><div><br></div><div>Entertainment: So, so much Magnum, PI. Do you know what's funny? So much time has passed since my last time in Hawaii that the Oahu in the show would probably be more familiar to me than modern Oahu. I'm gonna sell some platelets and head back. </div><div><br></div><div>Food of Choice: I love ramen forever. Don't hate. I toss out the flavor packet and use chicken broth. Then I like to add bean sprouts, jalapeños, chili garlic sauce, lime, radishes, red onion, garlic (yes, more), ginger, and an egg. So good. </div><div><br></div><div>Outings: Costco. Wal-Mart. </div><div><br></div><div>What I'm Missing Out On: My shift at the temple tomorrow morning. :( </div><div><br></div><div>Depression Levels Due To Isolation: Medium. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-14958578094329732272014-04-25T18:50:00.001-04:002014-04-25T18:51:44.045-04:00:::It's Not Much, But...:::<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Spring cleaning continues. Less hot and more hot (seasons mean nothing here) clothes sorted, swapped, and moved from that now empty space which they used to inhabit on the floor. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR5FcG67ezXQzbJ9h6PxzKu4ExPqT-ZL7aUOVOHMyRIyaT4SVHV2m8SYuHal_pis2KMthVdtcE_-vq62wZoE3tKa6jMCUCDvBAfSRUE2CFTYSvu4RL3evEPKYEecAgLbrkFgLrfttJt6Yu/s640/blogger-image-1076436581.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR5FcG67ezXQzbJ9h6PxzKu4ExPqT-ZL7aUOVOHMyRIyaT4SVHV2m8SYuHal_pis2KMthVdtcE_-vq62wZoE3tKa6jMCUCDvBAfSRUE2CFTYSvu4RL3evEPKYEecAgLbrkFgLrfttJt6Yu/s640/blogger-image-1076436581.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Also, that box fan? I took it apart myself and washed each part. I'm probably way too proud of myself for that. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But seriously though. Look at that fan!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTyxn3D7YoVLimozQAVbhUquf33o1MwbwjitqKTC3eGKgp1ntLcD-glAjWp9Awe-G58okv0QGZpD1wK6QaATnVLIQmdhTNnfxG-_sdSvkVi7ITwjXq8KPLeWCJHsNfbzG_z5hxaR_LNe0h/s640/blogger-image--1323151232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTyxn3D7YoVLimozQAVbhUquf33o1MwbwjitqKTC3eGKgp1ntLcD-glAjWp9Awe-G58okv0QGZpD1wK6QaATnVLIQmdhTNnfxG-_sdSvkVi7ITwjXq8KPLeWCJHsNfbzG_z5hxaR_LNe0h/s640/blogger-image--1323151232.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-88954482590260060592014-04-12T19:43:00.001-04:002014-04-12T19:43:22.728-04:00:::Spring Cleaning:::It gets worse, so much worse, before it gets better, doesn't it? <div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8nGLlbSCcdQ_mDObaUcHTSWmjrOduEBy3mpMT89XboeOHND2DjBnrhPV4oHCfMZnkt-yyFtwBVuplqU2EZJn2XMt-3azd33J4b6DryRAqbsgAazzu-eHrCmCxW-4dAt7Jmm7Q_Fc8dN2/s640/blogger-image--1721868436.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8nGLlbSCcdQ_mDObaUcHTSWmjrOduEBy3mpMT89XboeOHND2DjBnrhPV4oHCfMZnkt-yyFtwBVuplqU2EZJn2XMt-3azd33J4b6DryRAqbsgAazzu-eHrCmCxW-4dAt7Jmm7Q_Fc8dN2/s640/blogger-image--1721868436.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">This is my new favorite Method spray - Clementine. I love citrus scents! They are the only scents I can handle. Anything else makes me feel like I can't breathe or smells like cut grass and weeds to me. Lavender, basil, verbena...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">My goal this year is to use up/donate the majority of my craft materials and only be left with tools. I'm also hoping to get rid of most of my books. Do you like to keep books at home? I don't, really. I know that makes me sound like a complete dimwit, but I've found that owning books doesn't do much for me. I'd rather get them from the library and ditch them when I'm done with them. I'm so cold hearted!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Well, I'm procrastinating, which was probably obvious. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Onward and upward. </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-194710976071135192014-04-01T20:48:00.001-04:002014-04-01T20:48:37.655-04:00:::Take the Wheel:::<i>'Woman Turns On Air Conditioning on 80 Degree Day, Car Nearly Stalls. A Progression In Four Parts.'</i> A self-portrait by the artist. Dallas, Texas. 2014. <div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gMKZeZr9WH2SRh14wOM6Zs1EFv-x3MXqD26XVhLZUU8XdH16JTJk84pS8OfHRCbBTJUtdXj0ipkBv5LEvIWXLUc28XRt_SxE3fF5atS6eHveudTs1FsaaqSgyD_saSwSbKUYd-Q61Yx5/s640/blogger-image-1646217967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gMKZeZr9WH2SRh14wOM6Zs1EFv-x3MXqD26XVhLZUU8XdH16JTJk84pS8OfHRCbBTJUtdXj0ipkBv5LEvIWXLUc28XRt_SxE3fF5atS6eHveudTs1FsaaqSgyD_saSwSbKUYd-Q61Yx5/s640/blogger-image-1646217967.jpg"></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It's going to be a real, real long summer. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-6298712400879981492014-03-24T02:06:00.001-04:002014-03-24T02:06:25.522-04:00:::Sunday Night Insomnia:::Every Sunday night I have insomnia. I call it...Sunday Night Insomnia. <div><br></div><div>It doesn't matter if I take a nap or not. </div><div><br></div><div>It doesn't matter if I'm in bed at 8 pm with my eyes shut tight, or flopping into bed at midnight. </div><div><br></div><div>It doesn't matter what I've eaten. </div><div><br></div><div>It doesn't matter what I've watched on tv. </div><div><br></div><div>Every Sunday night I have insomnia, and I don't fall asleep until 2 or 3 am, which wouldn't be all that bad if I didn't have to get up at 5 am for work. Which adds to my worry <i>about</i> my Sunday Night Insomnia, which adds to the duration <i>of</i> my Sunday Night Insomnia. </div><div><br></div><div>So it follows, then, that I get through Mondays on a wing and a pray. </div><div><br></div><div>But back to Sunday night...</div><div><br></div><div>On Sunday night I lay in bed and think of how much of a struggle it still is for me to deal with church, and how I have to do it all over again next week. Sometimes I just want to run screaming from pews and singing and everyone showing up and programs and smiling and all of us trying to fit on the same path to redemption. Hymn books, prayers, scriptures, words, shared cultural perceptions and expectations, week in and week out. Then I wonder how much of a sin it is that I think that way. Then I think about how the answer to that question has implications to the nature of the Savior, then I think about the implications the nature of the Savior has on what's going to happen to me in the hereafter...rabbit hole. </div><div><br></div><div>On Sunday night I lay in bed and think of how some people have an other, and why some people don't. Not in a sad way, but in a 'Isn't it weird that some people are part of a pair, and some people are not part of a pair?' way. Then I think of the paired people I know and try to figure out what makes them different from the unpaired people I know, myself included. 'What were they like at 16?...at 21?...at 24?...What did they major in at school? How does their family celebrate Christmas? What kind of cars do they drive?' If I didn't know them at those ages or in those circumstances, I think up answers and fill in their stories for them. Then I puzzle, puzzle, puzzle over these answers, real or fake...rabbit hole. </div><div><br></div><div>On Sunday nights I lay in bed and think of the person I really want to be, and why I'm still standing on the cusp of action. Or maybe I'll concede that I have taken steps towards becoming that person, but I worry that I won't have enough time to do what I was sent to do, or enough time to develop into who I need to be given the pace I'm moving at. What should I have done yesterday to reach my goals? How should I change my life tomorrow? If I could adopt just one life altering change this week...rabbit hole. </div><div><br></div><div>On Sunday nights I lay in bed and think of all the years I had panic attacks that sent me regularly to the emergency room. These attacks took so much out of me physically and mentally I was certain that one day they would wear out my heart muscles, and I'd slowly drift off into a deep and final sleep -- weeping, solitary, and exhausted. To be truthful, that didn't always seem like the worst thing that could happen. <i>Peace, peace</i>. I just wanted peace. </div><div><br></div><div>I remember the night I was curled up in an anxious, panicked, and hopeless ball on the living room couch of my basement apartment below Slate Canyon. I was sobbing and vomiting and dealing with pain that felt like someone was stabbing me in the stomach and clenching my intestines in an unrelenting vice. This was deep in the middle of a hot Utah summer, and that old house had no air conditioning. My inner circle of hell! I prayed for relief, and in a moment of desperation opened the front door and let the cool, crisp desert air flood in. I can't even sleep soundly with a window unlocked, let alone opened, so I was surprised that I felt so safe throwing that door wide open to the night. Desperation can make mole hills out of mountains. </div><div><br></div><div>As that delicious cool air rushed in, I felt it pour relief on me like chilled aloe on a sunburn. Or like the icy cold water at the bottom of a river that flows over your aching feet. The force of that relief was so strong and so personal at the same time. I felt it take me by the hand, walk me back to the couch, pull up the blankets, and wash away my sorrows and fears. It said, 'I know you would never normally do this, but you'll be safe and sound tonight. In this time, and in this place, nothing is allowed to bother you. <i>Peace, peace</i>.' It was like someone flipped off a deeply hidden switch in my brain to save me from myself. I fell asleep immediately and slept for hours and hours. </div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div>I will never forget how I felt waking up the next day. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I was completely safe and deeply rested, and grateful for the miraculous sanctification of that cold, cold air. </span></div><div><br></div><div>Well, we all know why I can't sleep on Sunday nights. Maybe one day this cycle of my life will break as well. It makes me wonder how relief will come then. And wonder why relief hasn't come yet. And wonder if I should switch to a later shift at work so I can sleep longer on Monday mornings. But then I'd have to deal with traffic and...Whoops. Rabbit hole. </div><div><br></div><div>I am open to more miracles. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-71167734601577886882014-03-07T23:37:00.001-05:002014-03-07T23:37:17.713-05:00:::Friday Night:::<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I'm sitting on the couch watching Leverage and wondering, 'Am I doing this right?'</span><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font><div class="separator" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrL89UzBn8EgFzmUrhSDX-maSz8l0uQFyMeUa93Vh3MI_fn2MD2kpn6qlJ2fORf7biQvErn4P4p6FoYHnbk34fU1VtmCUHSHqfZCmQRHwBtJQwRc1gMHzj1BxDzOIP1GE7LTQ16uQYZmJo/s640/blogger-image--515287025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrL89UzBn8EgFzmUrhSDX-maSz8l0uQFyMeUa93Vh3MI_fn2MD2kpn6qlJ2fORf7biQvErn4P4p6FoYHnbk34fU1VtmCUHSHqfZCmQRHwBtJQwRc1gMHzj1BxDzOIP1GE7LTQ16uQYZmJo/s640/blogger-image--515287025.jpg"></a></div><div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></div><div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">If the alternative is putting on real clothes and spending time <i>out there</i>, I'll pass. </div><div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></div><div style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Time for another episode. </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-31134349497661625202014-01-08T20:39:00.001-05:002014-01-08T20:39:34.805-05:00:::Reading the Book of Mormon:::I have three goals motivating my endeavors in 2014. The first is this - I will stop and read the Book of Mormon in the evening when I start to feel anxious, depressed, worried, and hopeless. <div><br></div><div>Usually I don't read my scriptures until I'm ready to fall into bed, or should I say roll into bed from my kneeling prayer position. Not surprisingly, I've been well aware for many years that when this is my sole approach to scripture study, I miss a lot of information, and more importantly, I'm not really opening myself up to spend quality time with the Spirit. </div><div><br></div><div>When I read in the earlier part of the evening my brain is still turned on, and I have time to just sit and <i>be</i> with what I'm reading. Mull it over, or let my mind extrapolate meaning from ancient words to my own life. I'm retaining more information, and actually processing the difficult situations these Book of Mormon heroes/heroines endured. Contentious families, living as refugees, raising children in a wilderness, subsisting on what they could provide for themselves, avoiding attacks from within and without, and managing difficult personalities. Building societies, establishing righteous laws, preserving gospel traditions, trying to establish a promised land, bearing the spiritual responsibility of teaching and correcting, and all of them walking only in the light their faith could provide. There are so many things written and unwritten in these stories that you just miss with one leg in bed. </div><div><br></div><div>Like how many of them had any idea what they were really being called to do? The actual scope of their appointed work? I'd guess most had absolutely none. Nephi admits that he himself had no clue what his plan would be when he returns to Jerusalem for the plates. </div><div><br></div><div>But I feel Nephi's very conscious decision to be brave when he says that he knows the Lord never commands anything without opening up pathways to success. I feel that even though his faith was strong, he was an intelligent man who had a clear understanding of odds, a familiarity with worry, and a desperation to keep his family alive. It's okay to be scared. Nephi had to have been scared, even if for just a little while. </div><div><br></div><div>As for the medicinal benefits of scripture study? It's too early to say. But I'm banking on two promises. First, countless prophets have testified that the Book of Mormon changes lives through the powerful messages, testimonies, and</div><div>truths it contains. Second, I know that any time you try to do something good, anything good, the Lord will bless you. As I get older and the depression and anxiety I struggle with wrenches and twists its way through my life, I look for more and more heavenly assistance. Something good will come of this. Probably not a complete healing, as life is a long and difficult journey, as any reading of the Book of Mormon will teach you. <font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">But maybe some peace, and maybe some clarity. Or maybe just a direction to start in when I have no clue what my plan should be. </font></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5471790535974802126.post-30641372644566165452013-12-03T00:06:00.001-05:002013-12-03T00:06:54.999-05:00:::New Things:::<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPKNDwOWRj54H-olUE5sM79bRsuMEaCd82OX1g_YmAu3f7qkjqvTaJLv83DUxX1N3S_lGo5BlOEj-ZHrbjXJlbZbtp-45gh9-NGeCOtSA2g3D2pUB5AiBQfdVWUSxrtFFOKqVvgHihYIm/s640/blogger-image-1542682081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPKNDwOWRj54H-olUE5sM79bRsuMEaCd82OX1g_YmAu3f7qkjqvTaJLv83DUxX1N3S_lGo5BlOEj-ZHrbjXJlbZbtp-45gh9-NGeCOtSA2g3D2pUB5AiBQfdVWUSxrtFFOKqVvgHihYIm/s640/blogger-image-1542682081.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Tonight I met the family at an electronic store so I could help them get some iPad Minis (only one per household). When my brother in law gave me the cash I should have run out the door. Rent is due tomorrow, I'm just saying. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We went to dinner afterwards, and towards the end of the night Molly got my attention and exclaimed, "Auntie Bekah! Guess what? Today I ate real fish!" She had purchased a hot lunch at school, and was under the impression that she had enjoyed a delicious chicken sandwich until her older sister clued her in later at home. It was a fish sandwich, and Molly was completely shocked. Real fish!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I have to admit that I was pretty proud of her since the only fish I eat comes in stick form, or of the chunk light variety. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The thing about kids is that every time they learn something new, or try do to something that they've never tried before it just makes you so ridiculously proud. Sophie raised some lower grades up this last quarter, and I was so happy that she improved that it didn't matter exactly where on the scale she had come from or where on the scale she ended up landing, but that she had made some kind of improvement. Well, you know what? What mattered m<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">ost to me was the effort she made to make the improvement. That she tried. Because even when you try sometimes you don't necessarily get the results you wanted, but it's the effort you make that shapes your character. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">On the Scott front, he stole one of the tortillas that came with my fajitas and thought I wouldn't notice. Thou fool. I always know where my carbohydrates are, my child. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2