tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70619502689891700082024-02-07T12:31:47.868-07:00Occasional Brilliant ThoughtsPeggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-18603104009002713602011-12-28T13:37:00.000-07:002011-12-28T13:37:01.880-07:00Khandi from KandaharBecoming a foster mom to a puppy I never met. To some people this may not seem like fun, but for me it is an incredible journey that I wouldn't trade for anything. A sweet little girl named Khandi entered our lives last Thursday night. She was within hours of being put down due to military orders in Afghanistan. Somehow a chain of dog lovers, many whom I don't even know and will never meet, took her and four other dogs through a series of dangerous maneuvers through Afghanistan and Pakistan, bringing them to safety. Then, she was boarded onto a plane in Islamabad. Someone lovingly placed towels and cushioning in her crate and sent her across the world. Whose hands were those?<br />
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Waiting for her to arrive at the airport cargo area was exciting; like waiting to unwrap a present. When they transported the two crates to us, we eagerly welcomed her and her travel buddy Jake. We had no idea what this would be like and how she would act. I wish she could tell me what she has been through on her journey. I know she was scared and hungry. She seemed to like people and craved attention. She rode on my lap on the drive home, all curled up in a ball. When we arrived home, she was aggressive and nippy towards the other dogs. She barked at anything that looked scary to her. I can only imagine what she had to compete with over there just in order to survive. She is one scrappy little gal. <br />
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It didn't take long and she is becoming attached to us and our way of life. It is surreal to think about what she has seen in her short four and a half months of life and that she is now lying on a bed in Colorado, safe and loved. She has certainly won the dog lottery; she is one of the lucky ones who have made it out of war-torn Afghanistan. <br />
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I know I will need to give her to her soldier when the time comes, but for now I am just loving her like she's my own. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I3E7imF0eFM/Tvt9fPrBXbI/AAAAAAAAAF0/YU7Y7RyMrWw/s1600/DSCN0654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I3E7imF0eFM/Tvt9fPrBXbI/AAAAAAAAAF0/YU7Y7RyMrWw/s320/DSCN0654.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Welcome to the U.S. Ms. Khandi ! Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-72761540150170734992011-11-02T17:01:00.000-06:002011-11-02T17:01:57.508-06:00NaNoWriMo againHere I go again. Trying to write the 1,667 words per day which will equate to 50,000 words by the end of November. National Novel Writing Month. It is billed as 30 days and nights of literary abandon. I picture the scene of mysterious caped writers leaping through medieval cobblestone streets, dancing with words spewing from their fingers onto paper. Coffee houses filled with literary characters coming to life and artsy types brimming with creativity. <br />
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For me, it goes more like this. Sitting at my keyboard with its three missing keys, the left tab key, the left shift key, and the zero key, I stare at the missing keys. I then stare out the window. That leads me to thinking about the dog poop to be picked up. The my mind wanders to which vegetables I will plant in my garden next year. Whoa! Hold on, back to the job at hand. Feeling no inspiration to either write or pick up dog poop, I sign on to Facebook. I check in with all my Facebook friends and realize they are nothing but procrastination. I force myself to open back up my word document, look at my novel waiting to be written...and I re-read what I have already written, hoping for divine inspiration. I type some words. I hit the word count function. I find I have only written 579 of my daily 1,667 requirement. <br />
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I begin to rationalize why for me it is more about quality than quantity. It sounds reasonable and gives me an excuse for my poor performance in this competition. All of a sudden, the competitive spirit in me takes over. I WILL write these words today even if it kills me! Dawdle, dawdle, dawdle. Suddenly, the begin taking shape and my fingers start humming on the keyboard. Day one down, only 29 more to go. Give or take a day lost here or there for Thanksgiving, I realize I need to shoot higher than the average, so that I can give myself a day off now and then.<br />
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Two years ago I was enthused about trying this, and I think I only made it to 25,000 or so words. Last year I didn't play the game even though I felt guilty the entire month of November for not even trying. This year I am trying again. God only knows why, but I like the idea of it. I figure if I only make 25,000 words again, it is at least 25,000 more than I had written prior to November. <br />
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NaNoWriMo gives me the tools: write-ins, motivational emails, message boards, and more. But the thing about writing is that no one can do it for you. Sometimes a little inspiration from other NaNos helps though, and sometimes just feeling like there is something worth saying is important, and knowing that in a living room somewhere else in my town, someone else is struggling with words too. Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-27825564188348235492011-10-24T12:03:00.001-06:002011-10-24T12:06:14.614-06:00Everything going right right nowAfter a few weeks of tragedy, sadness and stress in my life I knew that things would have to start looking up soon. It started with little baby steps...tiny moments of optimism...such as visiting my neighbor's beagle puppies last week. At three weeks old, they exude innocence and pure love. You simply can't be sad when holding a puppy and snuggling it's little black nose in your neck. That was step one. It made me smile.<br />
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Then came my day in Denver on Saturday with Alicia and Colton. Alicia was truly excited to see me, which is a miracle in itself considering some of the moments of the last few years when she wished I would leave her alone. We had an amazing day full of campus strolling, college kid meeting, sorority house viewing, Indian food eating, lacrosse and hockey spectating, and a parade! Colton had a sip of my beer at the hockey game and proclaimed how much he now likes hockey and that Molson Canadian beer wasn't too bad. Colton and I rocked out all the way home to a medley of tunes of his selection and my toleration. Although the low fuel light came on, we made it as far as the gas station, averting a disastrous end to the night. Walking the last five miles home at midnight, while certainly an adventure, would not have been my choice. <br />
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Sunday I was glad to welcome Rachel home to do her laundry, and I now have an adult child to go to dinner with who can order an alcoholic beverage while I have my glass of wine. She got asked for ID, I didn't. I guess I'm starting to look my age way too much. The waiter could have really made my day and just pretended to check mine, but he wasn't fooled by my youthful appearance evidently. After dinner, Rachel and I walked across the street to see our neighbors and those adorable beagles of joy. Rachel needed the puppy fix this time, and the puppies never fail to deliver on providing happiness. They did, however, enjoy chewing on my flip-flops. Upon arrival back at our house, our four dogs (including Shinook) mauled us with smelling noses. I'm not sure what information they pick up from this interrogation, but maybe they learned something about the puppies we visited. <br />
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Today it is supposed to be 80 degrees. A gorgeous October day in Colorado. I think the rest of the day I will work at cleaning out my garden in advance of the snowstorm that is threatening to steal these last days of Indian summer from us. We live in the Rockies after all. Today 80 degrees, two days from now, 6 inches of snow and 34 degrees for the high.<br />
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Bill gets home from hunting today or at least that's what I think. He always tries to surprise me, but with Kyle posting his facebook status for all to see, I know that they are coming back as I type this. No elk again this year but that's good with me. It will just be nice to have my husband back. Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-51350207701501017062011-08-31T11:13:00.000-06:002011-08-31T11:13:22.369-06:00ChangeChange is a word that we hear a lot.<br />
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Embrace Change. Change the World. Change is Good. <br />
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I feel like my life is changing again. Change is not as easy as it is cracked up to be. Even when it happens gradually, I struggle with it. It tries to grab me, and I feel like a dog on the end of a leash, pulling back with a stubborn frown on my face. <br />
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Even when the change is something which I know will lead to other adventures, it is still hard to give up the routine, the ordinary, the customary. Life as I knew it. .<br />
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For years my life has been consumed by kid activities. I really had no life of my own that didn't revolve around the kids. Now that one more is leaving the nest, I find myself at a crossroads. It has been easy to let others around me live their lives for so long and for me to play the supporting role. It has been my norm for the past twenty plus years and I don't know any differently. <br />
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Now what do I do? I am finding myself with more time to devote to myself and I am a bit lost. <br />
If I have a free day, something I have dreamed of for years, I can hardly sit down and read a book for pleasure. I want to read, but that little voice in my head tells me that there is something I probably should be doing for the kids, and I actually feel guilty for spending time doing "nothing",so to speak. I have to keep convincing myself that nurturing myself by reading or daydreaming is not "nothing". <br />
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I'm just beginning to give myself permission to allow some ideas into my brain. Thoughts are taking shape as I figure out what this new life will look like. A little more "me" time. A little more "us" time for Bill and I. The thought that I might find some things to do that I will enjoy, and that the enjoyment will come from within.<br />
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Changes are a-coming. <br />
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Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-58372165228765762932011-08-16T15:54:00.003-06:002011-08-16T15:59:27.110-06:00Here I Go AgainAfter a vacation from posting on this blog, I am going to try this again. I realize that I like to play with it and it is relaxing. Hey, even if no one reads it, I enjoy it anyway. It's been a busy summer. Lots of changes in store for my household with the school year starting. I know that we are supposed to "embrace change", but honestly sometimes I would like things to stay the same. Oh well, onward and upward. More to come soon......Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-44901214068568261792011-02-15T13:05:00.000-07:002011-02-15T13:05:53.012-07:00Delving into Poetry<div class="MsoNormal">One of my goals for my writing class is to push the envelope a bit, so to speak, and take a risk in my writing. This piece was written from the prompt: "What does winter sound like?" I tried to write this piece as prose, but it just wasn't working for me. I then tried writing poetry, first time ever, and this piece was born. It quickly wrote itself without much prompting from me. I read it today in class and it was received well by my fellow writers, although I admit to almost hyper-ventilating while reading it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>The Night Wind</u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the darkest part of the night, when no one else is moving,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Is when I listen.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With the window open, I hear the sounds of life outside, </div><div class="MsoNormal">Coyotes crying, wind howling.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I lay motionless, careful not to awaken</div><div class="MsoNormal">Those who are sleeping.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Alone with my thoughts, I lay silently</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I listen.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Eyes open, ears open, black room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Silence, then crashing. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I hear the whiplash of wind as it </div><div class="MsoNormal">Whirls and twists the leaves</div><div class="MsoNormal">Into a pile which I will find in the morning</div><div class="MsoNormal">Huddled together for warmth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t know why I like to lay in the dark and listen. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Is it the only time that is mine and I belong to no one?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The wind and I are alone.</div><div class="MsoNormal">It does not demand an answer.</div><div class="MsoNormal">It does not ask for help.</div><div class="MsoNormal">It simply breathes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-79320018498683198142011-02-10T08:53:00.000-07:002011-02-10T08:53:02.657-07:00Writing With ZestI just started taking a writing class with the CSU continuing education arm known as "Osher Lifelong Learning". It is specifically for people over 50 to enroll and keep their minds sharp. I'm only 49 for a couple more months but they let me enroll. Not sure that I would normally be jumping up and down to be categorized into the 50+ group yet, but darn it, I wanted to take the class, so I swallowed my pride and signed up for the old folks writing class. <br />
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It is not so much a writing class as really a writing seminar. The word "class" would denote to me that we are being taught fundamentals and mechanics. This is really not the case. What we are being taught is to put our pencils onto the paper and write whatever we feel like writing. Our teacher is an inspirational leader, not in the over the top loud and motivational speaker type of way. Rather, she is a small kind grey-haired woman, a published poet. She speaks softly but I find myself hanging on her every word. She reads us poetry and memoirs in class, and she makes me realize that the art of reading out loud is truly an art. We all sit enraptured by her voice inflections and pauses. When she reads, there is nothing else in the world that matters. Our group of old writing folks sit in silence and listen, like kids gathered around the storyteller at a campfire. <br />
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Then she gives us prompts. Simple ideas to write about for ten minutes. Some of us feverishly write our thoughts, some of us stare at the walls before writing our thoughts, but we all get something down on paper. Here is the best part: We can volunteer to read out loud to the group, and most of us do. No one makes fun of anything that is written, we laugh and we sympathize. Some have cried as they read their difficult pieces, and some have made us all smile. It is an accepting group and every one there has a story to tell. It is actually a pleasure to read to the group because as soon as you finish, there are words of encouragement and praise and a sense of community. Our teacher always picks out something unique about the piece, maybe just one striking scene in it, and highlights the positive, what we might expand upon. <br />
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Each week we have an assignment to turn in the following week. This is the best type of school - there are no formal grades, and if the assignment doesn't interest you, she says "write about whatever you want". Her only rule is that each piece must be titled, or she warns that she will pick the title for us. I've always been an eager student to please the teacher, so having the assignment in place is the only prompt I need to accomplish it. <br />
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When I leave the class each Tuesday, I actually feel like I have taken a yoga or meditation class. I leave with a sense of well-being and calm. It feels good to share some of my inside thoughts and experiences with my group of old folk writers, and therapeutic in a way. Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-52286607285004599842011-01-03T13:00:00.000-07:002011-01-03T13:00:53.937-07:00New Year's ResolutionsI am of the mindset that new year's resolutions are fun to think about and ponder, but that they should not happen only once a year. I have always preferred to come up with ideas about things I want to learn about, improvements I want to make, changes I want to make, or creative thoughts on a a constant basis. I write all of these random words into a notebook so that I can let them find their way from paper to my head when the right time comes along. Not everything is to be done RIGHT NOW! I don't feel like doing some of them at certain times, but I find that writing them down allows me to keep them in my radar for that time when it is right. <br />
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Right now my list of ideas includes: practice yoga regularly, learn about different species of birds, finish all those unscrapbooked years in my scrapbook, research vacations to Italy, New Zealand, Greece, Costa Rica...., walk every day, drink lots and lot of water every day, take my multivitamin every day, write down all of the books I read this year, teach my dog to shake hands, snowshoe (me, not the dog), add a couple new clients to my consulting practice, write a lot of pages in my memoirs, be more patient.....<br />
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Every day I add more things to my list as I read newspaper articles, drive around on errands, listen to the radio, interact with people. Life is interesting. Every day brings more opportunity to learn, listen, and experience. <br />
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Part of my pondering the last few days has been what to tackle first. What is most important to me right now? I'm really not sure, but soon the opportunity will present itself to me. They always do. In the meantime, I am drinking lots of water, taking my vitamins, and walking. <br />
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Happy New Year's!<br />
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If you read this and get a chance, vote for my good friends at LIFE IS LABS Rescue in the Pepsi Refresh challenge $50k grant contest - the voting widget is on my page. If you ever want to hear heartwarming stories of dogs and family and love, these are some great people who work hard to make them happen! Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-91318896249252353522010-12-03T09:57:00.003-07:002010-12-03T16:33:08.710-07:00New York, New YorkMy 18 year old daughter was lucky enough to go on a "New York experience" school trip this past week with her DECA group. DECA is made up of kids who want to go into business and marketing related fields for their careers, which is what she is currently thinking about. I thought this would be a great experience for her, so even though I myself have never been to New York City (I don't think it counts that I flew in to JFK once, saw the Statue of Liberty from the air, and after landing was whisked off on a bus to Long Island, never to set foot in the actual city), I gathered up my money and paid for her to go. She is a young woman with stars in her eyes when it comes to big cities and nightlife. <br />
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The morning she left I was moody and cried a lot. At first I couldn't put my finger on it. It wasn't because I would miss her horribly or was sad to see her go. As a child of divorce, she has spent many days away from me, so the separation was not bothering me. In fact, I was looking forward to the welcome break from the loud music she blares from her room, the food she picks at in the fridge, and the messes she leaves around the house. As the morning went on I went to the bookstore to try to cheer myself up. What is this funk about? I figured it out in the aisles of the bookstore. I was feeling the reality that once she tastes the Big Apple, our small town in Colorado willl never be enough for her again. I know that she will come back with grandiose plans about living in New York. I just know it. <br />
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I haven't received a lot of texts from her. The first day when I texted her one too many times I guess, she sent me a text that said "Mom, I'm in NY, Stop texting me". So I stopped. A day went by with no communication. I refrained from contacting her and being the hovering mom. Then this morning I looked at my phone and saw that I missed a call from her. If you could see my face at the time, you would have seen my frown of disappointment that she had actually initiated contact and I missed it. So I sent a text, very nonchalant and non-demanding: "I saw I missed your call. Hope you are having a great time. Call when you get a chance." No mom verbage in it and very casual in a "not a big deal" sort of way. <br />
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A few minutes go by and I get a text from her with a picture message. It's the New York skyline and a caption that they are touring an advertising agency and this is the view she is looking at. Big buildings and grey sky. The view from my house is the Rocky Mountains and blue sky as far as the eye can see. Couldn't be further away from each other. <br />
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I send another text, just a little question. "Do you love New York?" I still manage to stay away from any demanding mother questions. Still staying nonchalant. <br />
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The text comes from her: "I am madly in love with this town. I'm looking at living in a loft in Times Square with a hot tub on the roof."<br />
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Do I know my daughter or what? <br />
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My reply: "Ok, just find Derek Jeter to marry you and pay for it."<br />
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Her reply to that: "Already done. Going to Vegas with him next weekend."<br />
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Looking forward to seeing her Sunday and hearing her amazing stories.Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-78535723170774524992010-11-30T11:00:00.001-07:002010-12-03T16:33:51.834-07:00I Should Have Been A CowboyI just heard this song on the radio - "I should have been a cowboy, I should have learned to rope and ride, wearing my six shooter, riding by pony on a cattle drive." This song really speaks to me. I'm not saying that I should have been a cowboy, or even a cowgirl (although I really could see myself as one), but this song reminds me of all of the "would have, could have, should have" thoughts that enter my mind from time to time. Whenever I hear it, the feeling I get from it is one of pure freedom. It makes me wish that I was running though a meadow barefoot instead of sitting at a desk, or wading in a mountain lake instead of wasting time behind the wheel of my car stuck in traffic.<br />
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I try to banish the "would have, could have, should have" thoughts from my brain. I try not to live with regrets, but there have certainly been times in my past when I could have maximized my experience rather than rush through everything, just to jump to the next item on the list. I look back on those times and realize all of the "should haves". I am focusing on turning these thoughts into "I can, I will, I am". If I want to be a cowgirl, no one can stop me.Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-22694615476840610582010-11-19T11:12:00.001-07:002010-11-19T11:12:47.820-07:00Holy Corks!I got this wild idea to make a wine cork corkboard about a year ago at Thanksgiving when one of my friends told me to save corks for her because she was making one. Being a semi-hoarder of useless items (boxes, bags, etc.), I had been saving corks "just because" - maybe one day I would figure out a use for them. I gave her my entire bag. <br />
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Oops. I shouldn't have done that because this cork idea had bubbled around my head all year and I decided to try to make one too. I had done my part in drinking a lot of wine during the year, but when I started constructing my corkboard I realized I was way short on building supplies, namely the corks. I pondered placing an ad for corks on Craigslist. Then I thought to myself, "who else in the world besides me would have possibly been saving corks for a future unknown reason?" Bingo! I knew just who to call. If there was anyone in the world I knew who drank a lot of wine and loved crafting, and might possibly have hoarded corks, it would be an old friend of mine from Seattle. For this purpose and not to embarass her for all of the wine she drinks, I will refer to her as "wine diva". I texted "wine diva" to ask about corks. Within seconds I had my answer. I had hit the motherlode of corks! She had always saved them (just like me), waiting for that moment when someone needed them. Within a couple of days she had shipped me a package of what looked like a bazillion corks. Corks of all shapes and sizes, matched in twos per my request (God bless you "wine diva"), and from all different vineyards. She actually said it was fun to put together the box carefully arranged in layers of twos, with paper separating the layers. Now that is a true wine lover (or geek) for you. <br />
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The box of corks has been waiting in my workroom for today, the day that I attempted this project. Assembling the corks into a logical pattern was harder than it looks and it was somewhat like working on a difficult jigsaw puzzle. Certain corks were too fat, skinny, whatever, to fit into certain places. Maybe it would be easier if I had been drinking wine at the same time, but it was before noon, so not really happy hour yet. Halfway through, I texted "wine diva" to let her know that I was working on it. I thanked her for the sacrifices of wine drinking she had done on my behalf. Her answer : "I try to be a team player and help where I can ! " <br />
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Here it is. The final project. I love it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5yKTBsLA-8o5tsv96ZlBrx4vjmUcp5QL0aMw6NdRH8eoVthJShKPs8S3qCtc4IY5v2NLIo8vuSh1EGueGe8TzZ_U_epAA67jLZsNwBkAHqt2JltLubJNaPh2YNKOWrVbU_v9-_Q_vxZ7/s1600/IMG_0959.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh5yKTBsLA-8o5tsv96ZlBrx4vjmUcp5QL0aMw6NdRH8eoVthJShKPs8S3qCtc4IY5v2NLIo8vuSh1EGueGe8TzZ_U_epAA67jLZsNwBkAHqt2JltLubJNaPh2YNKOWrVbU_v9-_Q_vxZ7/s320/IMG_0959.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>I have enough corks left to start another one. In order to finish it though, I am going to have to drink some more wine and put "wine diva" on alert that I need more corks.Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-49451439170312036692010-11-16T10:53:00.001-07:002010-11-16T14:56:56.791-07:00Memories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2_32UVPboxFKCB-Xja4haYJXF6j2KwkbYBkgCQ75J66ZB7WJVyUbQY2WsZkf4NtXDWHm3ouvTghno2f2SaNbGM239Yu6bX-mDNjpVZL14ykHPhuRMXv1DNIskBYuDDEZdU2YeBL0Jt4u/s1600/IMG_0955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2_32UVPboxFKCB-Xja4haYJXF6j2KwkbYBkgCQ75J66ZB7WJVyUbQY2WsZkf4NtXDWHm3ouvTghno2f2SaNbGM239Yu6bX-mDNjpVZL14ykHPhuRMXv1DNIskBYuDDEZdU2YeBL0Jt4u/s320/IMG_0955.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My scrapbooks sit half-completed. When my kids were little, I worked on the scrapbooks diligently, and my two daughters have several completed books. Then my son came. I still worked on them, but my time was spent on feedings, diaper changes, refereeing fights, playing games, toting kids here and there. Three kids left little time for devoting my day to deluxe scrapbook pages with creative layouts and colorful labels. Then divorce entered our lives. For years I could not even bear to work on them. I just didn't have the scrapbook karma. My family was broken and I didn't know how to scrapbook those painful memories or journal thoughtful phrases of inspiration on their pages. <br />
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Years have gone by. My kids are now 20, 18, and 13. I pick up the boxes of pictures, school awards, varsity letters, and look through them. Before I know it, I am lost in years and years of memories. Sometimes I see events that I had forgot about it. I see friends that had come and gone in my kids' lives that I wonder about now. <br />
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These years went way too fast. I know that everyone always tells you that when your kids are little. "You're gonna miss this when it's gone". It is true. Before I could blink, my oldest daughter had gone to college. My second one is ready to go next year. I know this is my last school year to have her at home, and I know nothing will ever be the same. My son will be an "only" child by the time school rolls around next year. For all of the times that I wanted to scream because of the chaos and clutter in my home, I am now faced with the reality that the house is getting quieter with each passing day. <br />
<br />
My workbench is filled with the kids' childhood memories, waiting for me to start again filling their books. I have sorted through the piles a few times, getting everything in chronological order. It is hard, letting go of their childhoods. Each time I peruse my stacks of memories I am stopped by the tears streaming down my cheeks. When I look at the pictures it takes me back to another place and time. It wasn't always easy. There were some tough times amidst the good times, and there were times when I was bursting with pride for my kids and their accomplishments. My most important job in the world was to be mom to these kids. These books are our lives together in words and pictures. <br />
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I love the expression that author Anne Lamott uses: "Bird by Bird." I will tackle this project "Bird by Bird", one page at a time. I will journey through infancy, preschool, grade school, middle school, and high school with my kids again. The only difference is that their faces will be looking at me and speaking to me from photos. <br />
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I'll make sure I have the kleenex box handy.Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-37452241285542563012010-11-02T12:49:00.000-06:002010-11-02T12:49:09.079-06:00Here I Go AgainOnce again I have dropped my blog writing for weeks on end. It sounds better to say "weeks" when in reality it is actually almost two months since I have written. What has been going on?<br />
<br />
Not to make excuses, but here is a start of the list of things that have happened since I last wrote:<br />
<br />
<ul><li>I have attended approximately 24 girls' high school softball games and 3 club softball games</li>
<li>I have attended eight 13 year old boys' baseball games</li>
<li>I have taken my annual anniversary trip to Steamboat Springs and fished for the second time all year</li>
<li>I have given up on my vegetable garden and left it to die</li>
<li>I have planted 150-200 tulips and daffodils with hopes of seeing them sprout in the spring </li>
</ul><br />
Not to mention, the usual: try to work enough to make a living, pay the bills, keep the house moderately clean, wash the clothes, feed the dogs, cats, snake, and family, try to make sure everyone gets to where they need to be on time with the right things on the right day......you get the picture. <br />
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I tell myself not to beat myself up over this. I got de-railed again. I write in my head all of the time, but I don't sit down long enough to put the words on paper. <br />
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How do you write about life when life gets in the way of your writing? Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-53901636942679466652010-09-15T11:46:00.000-06:002010-09-15T11:46:19.030-06:00A Snake, The Barbecue Tongs and MeLet me start by saying that I hate snakes. The only thing I fear more than snakes are spiders. Both are equally terrifying but the spiders' creepy legs place them just a little higher on the hate meter for me. The funny thing about this is that I inherited a snake from my daughter when she went off to college. It is a corn snake and I guess at one time when she (the snake) lived at my ex's house, she was just a wee little baby snake. Now she lives in my office in an aquarium and she is at least three feet long. No, she is not cute no matter what my daughter says. I don't even know if she is female, but it seems to help me deal with the situation better, knowing that surely a female snake is more loving and less likely to kill me than a male snake. I have never touched her. When it comes time for her weekly feeding of a thawed out previously frozen little white mouse, I have come up with a system. <br />
<br />
This is how it typically goes: I remove one of the gross little white mice from its' box in our freezer, wondering to myself, how do they manufacture these little dead mice? I also wonder, what if we have guests over and they see the little box of frozen dead mice in our freezer? Will they think that we eat them? Anyway, I put it in a cup of warm water to thaw it out to just the right temperature so the snake won't choke to death on it. I approach the aquarium oh so quietly and sneakily. If I see the snake is laying in the aquarium with its' head pointed the other direction I quickly remove the cover, dangle and then drop the mouse in, and slap the cover shut. Then I tap my fingers on the glass near the mouse air drop location so that the snake, who seems to be incredibly stupid and blind, realizes that there is a mouse there. Sometimes it takes the snake half an hour to realize it. I think if this particular snake had to fend for itself in the wild, she would have been dead long ago. <br />
<br />
Today the snake threw a kink into my whole system. First of all, she was very active, which scares the crap out of me. She was obviously hungry and waiting to strike her prey. Since she is blind and not the brightest snake in the jungle, this meant that if I stuck my hand in there even for a moment to drop the mouse, she might leap at it in error and cause me to have a heart attack. I've actually been told that she doesn't have much in the way of teeth and is nonpoisonous, but that doesn't help calm me. Anything leaping towards me in the form of a serpent is going to be traumatic and a life-changing event for me. <br />
<br />
So, I get the bright idea to get the barbecue tongs from the kitchen and dangle the mouse into the aquarium with them. I strategically line the little mouse tail up in the grasp of the tongs. Then I realize that it's very difficult to remove the cover of the aquarium with one hand... in fact, it's impossible. So, I set the tongs down momentarily to get the cover off. As soon as the snake hears the cover move, she starts lifting her head towards the top. I freak out of course, and slam the cover shut. Just about the same time, I bump the tongs with my arm and the mouse drops onto my yellow lab, who is laying underfoot because he has to be in the middle of all of the action. The mouse lands on the dog's back. As he reaches around to grab it in his mouth, I scream at him, 'DON'T EAT THAT!" As he scrurries away from me and looks at me with that dog look of "What's wrong with her and what did I do wrong?" I pick the mouse up by the tail. I look at it. The mouse is now covered in yellow dog hair. <br />
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Even I know that dog hair is probably not good for a snake's diet, so now I have to go to the sink and rinse the little mouse off. I feel like I am torturing it, even though it's been dead for quite awhile. I start thinking about poor little Mickey Mouse and what I am doing to his relative all for the sake of this damn snake that I don't even like. <br />
<br />
I run back up the stairs holding the mouse by the tail, eager to get this escapade over with. I look at where the snake is, and she is facing one side of the aquarium. I whip the cover off of the tank, drop little Mickey's cousin in, and manage to get the cover shut in one fluid motion. She slinks her way over to the site of the mouse drop and she devours him. I think she imagines that she is one tough snake and an expert hunter. She eats the poor little mouse that I have done all the work to provide her with, and curls up under her warm snake light. She is pretty proud of herself I believe.<br />
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I'm off to clean the barbecue tongs. Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-15917764793171237532010-08-26T11:22:00.000-06:002010-08-26T11:25:46.285-06:00Tucker or Hamilton?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjruE-M-Av4B1WS98rgeHt3JFsJz2cghJyZqSZJH2XER948lrZweSH2CEANzu8nKeduj1EbQETEf52ZOuTjDoUtXVIRkhgS7gdwRs5fVLR6OwRKv2C74vmsa0crFiLAeh3Ki8_keK2-Dn-A/s1600/IMG_0834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjruE-M-Av4B1WS98rgeHt3JFsJz2cghJyZqSZJH2XER948lrZweSH2CEANzu8nKeduj1EbQETEf52ZOuTjDoUtXVIRkhgS7gdwRs5fVLR6OwRKv2C74vmsa0crFiLAeh3Ki8_keK2-Dn-A/s320/IMG_0834.JPG" /></a></div>My poor dog. He seems to have a split personality, which my family is actively reinforcing.<br />
<br />
His real name is Tucker. Actually, to be entirely correct, his AKC name is Sir Tucker of Berthoud. I never had an AKC registered dog in my life, so when it came time to name him it only seemed fun to give him a regal name with a title. That's what all the dogs in the the Westminster Kennel Club show seem to have, so we went with it. Usually we simply call him Tuck. Sometimes my husband wants to call him a bad word that rhymes with Tucker, but he usually refrains from yelling that word in the backyard. Usually, I say.<br />
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I, of course, love everything about him and can hardly raise my voice to him. He has me wrapped around his big paw. <br />
<br />
He is an eight month old destructive chewing machine. He is also unbelievably cute, loyal, and my constant companion. He still has that long and lanky puppy gallop where his feet and body don't always match up perfectly. He has an enormous head and gigantic paws and a goofy smile. <br />
<br />
One day I noticed that the brand name of his collar is "Hamilton". I thought to myself, "what a great dog name that would be." Somehow this idea morphed into my dog's evil twin name. Before I knew it, we all ran with it. Whenever he is bad, we call him Hamilton in the same manner in which all of Seinfeld's characters yelled "Newman!". When he's being a well-behaved dog, we call him Tucker. <br />
<br />
A week or so ago when we went camping and left him in the backyard with minimal supervision (the two older dogs didn't keep him in line) he literally ate the label off of our propane tank on our grill and the igniter switch for the grill. Now, we <span id="goog_381774112"></span><span id="goog_381774113"></span>could have covered the grill with the grill cover and tried to keep him out of it, but he ate that a couple months ago. Hamilton! We can no longer sit on our patio furniture because he has systematically removed all of the stuffing from all of the chairs. <br />
<br />
Earlier this morning, Hamilton made an appearance. He pillaged the trash can in the bathroom and when I heard the familiar wet chewing sound coming from the other room and apprehended him, he was gnawing on used Q-tips and make-up remover pads.<br />
<br />
But, a couple hours later, as I write this, sweet Tucker is sleeping at my feet. His face is angelic and his sleepy expression is calm and peaceful. Life is good with a puppy head lying on my foot while I sit at the computer. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg5bXLMXo9WVajHrGkuIq6GvjwPYnEF4qfuTY9BxnV52H3iBjiLyiATUAy2sujAEBpApjT-pyxJQVIXw1VB_VG7ERORMvDJSBlCWHVSsvFyfOgloZ_LH6DOHJbeNL5etSkDfUVPPgqGiGa/s1600/IMG_0839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg5bXLMXo9WVajHrGkuIq6GvjwPYnEF4qfuTY9BxnV52H3iBjiLyiATUAy2sujAEBpApjT-pyxJQVIXw1VB_VG7ERORMvDJSBlCWHVSsvFyfOgloZ_LH6DOHJbeNL5etSkDfUVPPgqGiGa/s320/IMG_0839.JPG" /></a></div>As he gets older, we hope that little by little the Tucker side of the personality takes over and we can bid Hamilton farewell.<br />
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Of course, he's a lab, so this could take years. Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-83860261451907107892010-08-24T11:13:00.003-06:002010-11-16T14:53:16.125-07:00Happy Campers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgoLCf-HGZNGjafSOuumXMVyqnwkoWNzBhftA-8paE55QN4pkvzNrRbbJfblewjUSGYAgxhIGOJHYFvPX9u6TpfjuwQ7u8K_r0SDo5rh4P0W7NvRPWsSr5FYliJg1qK_MgMB9VrVt2rkU/s1600/IMG_0820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgoLCf-HGZNGjafSOuumXMVyqnwkoWNzBhftA-8paE55QN4pkvzNrRbbJfblewjUSGYAgxhIGOJHYFvPX9u6TpfjuwQ7u8K_r0SDo5rh4P0W7NvRPWsSr5FYliJg1qK_MgMB9VrVt2rkU/s320/IMG_0820.JPG" /></a></div>The last weekend before school started and we finally had time to take a short camping trip. We ventured up to North Michigan Reservoir, which is one of our favorite places. It is just past Gould on the west side of Cameron Pass. The drive is breathtaking and one of my favorite parts of the trip is keeping an eye out for the elusive moose which live in the area. No matter how many times I see them, each time is a thrill to me. They are magnificent creatures. <br />
<br />
What I love about camping is that it reduces our busy lives back down to the basics: food, water, shelter. There really isn't anything else that is needed, although beer and wine make the whole trip a lot more fun. It feels good to wake up to the sunrise and anxiously wait for that first pot of campfire coffee to brew. That single cup of coffee tastes so much better than anything ordered from a barista, especially when there is frost on the outside of the tents in the morning and your hands are freezing from the cold. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgqdy541oOJ0PgSTJpQ983jPxXqwG-ZqKHX2jmhTeHm5EbHvsRRdL6_tWZsgwM6NAlI_PvDAvLQ3IcFhB-QagyqG4yoRK2tMf0bKqJpVrool18POx69rJoxvvvfMW6FybVGqNIZNVsifeI/s1600/IMG_0817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgqdy541oOJ0PgSTJpQ983jPxXqwG-ZqKHX2jmhTeHm5EbHvsRRdL6_tWZsgwM6NAlI_PvDAvLQ3IcFhB-QagyqG4yoRK2tMf0bKqJpVrool18POx69rJoxvvvfMW6FybVGqNIZNVsifeI/s320/IMG_0817.JPG" /></a>The first rays of the sun start to hit the campsite and we realize how fortunate we are for great weather. By 10 am we were sweating from the heat. Hours ago we had been freezing. We are at the mercy of mother nature for our comfort. <br />
<br />
We cooked some fabulous food on the grill and enjoyed smores made with Reese's peanut butter cups (our family secret). For some reason whenever we go camping, salsa becomes our condiment of choice for everything. As usual, we ran out and had to get more salsa delivered (thanks Nick and Rachel). <br />
<br />
<br />
We were all thoroughly grimy and dirty at the end of the weekend. We let loose on some ATV trails, and my daughter took insane pleasure in crashing me through mud puddles. After the first day, no one really cares what anyone else looks like. We are covered with mud. We all still love each other, even if we all look like crap. Isn't that what it's all about?<br />
<br />
Thanks to all of my kids for going on this trip. We hadn't all been together for awhile, and it was a wonderful way to say goodbye to summer and hello to the changing of the seasons. A time to pause and take a deep breath before the insanity of our lives starts again with the new school year. I wish we could do it more often.Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-89460903533500305242010-08-20T09:50:00.000-06:002010-08-20T09:58:38.088-06:00Not to be bragging about my artichoke, BUT...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhneCPiHrO6V_rvQ3mOFQTBbau_KVPAJFy2sO71ZrDT5FTD7gpuV-zRpBDgS-Kto4bsLSt7t8iUFSvrNHl54T4w2xa30kz_-zZ32EWt11P3T-ZUTtUswtFxVwop_huFb2jyHU_Nwq1IWFb1/s1600/IMG_0835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhneCPiHrO6V_rvQ3mOFQTBbau_KVPAJFy2sO71ZrDT5FTD7gpuV-zRpBDgS-Kto4bsLSt7t8iUFSvrNHl54T4w2xa30kz_-zZ32EWt11P3T-ZUTtUswtFxVwop_huFb2jyHU_Nwq1IWFb1/s320/IMG_0835.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The monster plant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>My artichoke plant is now about four feet high and has a dozen or more artichokes on it. I like to play artichoke games with it... I give it a couple days and not look at it, and then when I venture out to the back side of the garden to have a look, it surprises me by growing larger. Yes, it is crazy, and many will call me strange, but I believe I am the artichoke goddess. I have mastered the art of growing artichokes. Next year I am planting a few more of these for decoration, as they are gorgeous huge plants and so far I haven't killed them. They would add a bit of green to the front of my house, where plants and grass have a tendency to turn brown in July and August. <br />
<br />
I also have three watermelons and one cantaloupe, also new items for me this year. I'm not sure how they will taste, and I really don't know when they should be harvested, but one of these days I'll pick one of the watermelons. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1tduhOGB7oWSwg2gNTyYoOy-UeN4TVzOdrCgOuKm4iGKdaSZx6nYSqgH6M7mSS0188bzZzTbuqr7Qc3LV32dRJ0ZsCNxKeMxsKlF5DkFvDMz3fa__DzsiY_Q2odFEgrli1H2CLRJN4ZU/s1600/IMG_0836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1tduhOGB7oWSwg2gNTyYoOy-UeN4TVzOdrCgOuKm4iGKdaSZx6nYSqgH6M7mSS0188bzZzTbuqr7Qc3LV32dRJ0ZsCNxKeMxsKlF5DkFvDMz3fa__DzsiY_Q2odFEgrli1H2CLRJN4ZU/s400/IMG_0836.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Close up of the "buds"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-38409697532550749802010-08-18T08:12:00.000-06:002010-08-18T08:12:39.156-06:00Envisioning a Vision<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifuxj3dacr4C9zcvBxEIIzJD1sIbwZcoZDP4JbtkGNyGFckN9eqUb4siLfb1Da7a_qxvkdPdYIbve65YAoFpzk5yzGAZ0jNJCw6Nr1IgFB24bN8dJof-IsdZMjloy6Do1-G1NmIbB1e7un/s1600/IMG_0828.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifuxj3dacr4C9zcvBxEIIzJD1sIbwZcoZDP4JbtkGNyGFckN9eqUb4siLfb1Da7a_qxvkdPdYIbve65YAoFpzk5yzGAZ0jNJCw6Nr1IgFB24bN8dJof-IsdZMjloy6Do1-G1NmIbB1e7un/s200/IMG_0828.JPG" width="200" /></a> </div>A couple of years ago a co-worker introduced the idea to me of creating a vision board, or vision journal. What is a vision journal, I asked of her? She said that it is a notebook that she keeps where she does nothing other than paste pictures and words and thoughts that appeal to her in some way. It is sort of a visual reminder of images that resonate with each of us, and the concept is that if you surround yourself with these images, some of them will help you move in the direction of achieving your dreams. For the past two years this idea has continued to swirl around in my head, although I have never actually started the project. It has been on my "to-do" list for too long, and this fall I intend to begin. <br />
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Today I searched "creating a vision board" on the internet. Isn't that the clear indication that I need one? I thought that my first step would be to get instruction on how to do it. As I searched for how other people had done it, I realized that that was the logical, organized side of me getting in the way. My creative side told me that this is not the way to approach the project. Who cares how others have done it? This is about me, and I should do it the way that appeals to ME. <br />
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So this morning I intend to dig through some magazines and tear out pictures and colors and words that speak to me. I may not even know why they appeal to me and that's ok for now.<br />
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The journey of my vision board will start with the single ripping of a page. Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-50811121840726540092010-08-02T15:44:00.002-06:002010-11-16T14:52:07.197-07:00Artichoke FrenzyWhen I was sauntering through the nursery this past spring, I came upon an interesting artichoke plant. It was only a few inches tall and I thought I'd give it a try. I asked the nursery employee about growing artichokes and if I could ever expect to actually harvest one and she said that some people have luck with them the first year and some don't, and that if I covered it up for the winter and protected it, it might come back next year and produce an artichoke in it's second season. I loved the look of it, so I took my chances, figuring the $1.79 was worth a try. <br />
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I wish I had taken a "before" picture. A few days after planting it, it looked sick and it's branches were laying on the ground looking fairly lifeless. I kept watering it every day and it still didn't look like it had when I bought it. Ok, so I figured I was killing it.<br />
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Then, a miracle happened. It was like the little artichoke plant that could. It started growing and growing, and it went from near death to thriving in a matter of weeks. It must like our bright Colorado sunshine and the water I was dousing it with daily, and it zoomed up to a couple feet tall. I was happy with the progress it had made and it became a large ornamental fixture in the corner of the garden. If it never produced an artichoke I was happy because it was a huge commanding presence of a plant and looked really cool. Then disaster struck. Ants moved in. For some reason they loved the artichoke and were using it as a high-rise condominium. Normally I wouldn't use pesticides in my garden, but I couldn't help it. They were taking over my gorgeous plant and I nuked them all. It was chemical warfare. I sprayed and sprayed until they were banished from the artichoke village they had created.<br />
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Last week we were out of town. One of the best parts about coming home after a week away in the summer is coming home to see what changes have happened in the garden. That is, if you are lucky enough to have a house sitter that watered it, which I was. In the past I have come home to a dried up garden, but not this time. When I went to the artichoke corner of the garden, what an amazing sight ! My artichoke had actually sprouted an artichoke! <br />
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One of the most rewarding parts of gardening for me is when these unexpected successes happen. I always know that when I plant zucchini I will end up with a gazillion of them, in fact you can't really kill them off. But, the artichoke was a victory for me! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-dG95vsx35_uyBtNYYXbQ4Qf1JJZKGHO38vIbVAOtipZRK39H5adPUkg2hwfWvNX5fPX5esd_b92K7Iwu3bSjyB595weD1xg2QXDNYQZ2zLG5B_foEFiWq877TTaJmWVWPd_UmQ0nYMzb/s1600/IMG_0774.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-dG95vsx35_uyBtNYYXbQ4Qf1JJZKGHO38vIbVAOtipZRK39H5adPUkg2hwfWvNX5fPX5esd_b92K7Iwu3bSjyB595weD1xg2QXDNYQZ2zLG5B_foEFiWq877TTaJmWVWPd_UmQ0nYMzb/s320/IMG_0774.JPG" /></a></div>I can't wait for the day that I lovingly pick the artichoke, prepare it with butter and lemon and savor every last bite of it.Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-12384942323017521752010-07-26T13:45:00.001-06:002010-11-16T14:59:05.504-07:00Good Morning Sunflowers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheSTzlV-YA7UXwmuMvMytA7BEELO2tFy0rzEQNRvMEUS2cxGR7_aHM1KWvvkQitjoBm7n5jLR99cTv-h_uwKCFyejPaQQkiwctF6suXQ85NMtNuRsT1TM1qskK7DeZOo0G35VW2Dx8iPRk/s1600/IMG_0732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheSTzlV-YA7UXwmuMvMytA7BEELO2tFy0rzEQNRvMEUS2cxGR7_aHM1KWvvkQitjoBm7n5jLR99cTv-h_uwKCFyejPaQQkiwctF6suXQ85NMtNuRsT1TM1qskK7DeZOo0G35VW2Dx8iPRk/s320/IMG_0732.JPG" /></a></div>Living in a rural area, I get to experience views on a daily basis that I often take for granted. As I was driving down one of the country roads near my house yesterday morning I was greeted by this awe-inspiring field of sunflowers. All of their heads were turned to the east to salute the morning sun. They beckoned me to visit with them for awhile before I headed further down the road. What a relaxing start to my morning task of running errands. While I didn't "stop and smell the roses" I did "stop and smile at the sunflowers". I am truly blessed to live in the sticks. Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-91152880208243811542010-07-19T07:56:00.000-06:002010-07-19T07:59:05.330-06:00His and her moviesI really hate action movies. I am talking about the Schwarzenegger Terminator-type movies which are limited to about ten words of dialogue, however include over a thousand guns, bombs, and explosions. For the life of me, I really can't understand what men see in these. I don't even have an appreciation for the special effects. In my opinion, the way that men think these movies are artistic masterpieces just shows that they are mentally inferior to women.<br />
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My husband and I have come up with a flip-flop type of arrangement. If I see one of his movies, he will see one of mine. This has led me to watching some Star Wars type movies that I hated and barely could keep my eyes open for. Occasionally I can stomach sitting through one of these blockbuster movies, if the actors involved are good looking. Most often, however, I would prefer to bring an itty bitty book light to the theatre and read a book while the movie is playing. I am not impressed with brawny men with no brains.<br />
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Sometimes movies come along that we both can enjoy. Yesterday we saw "Inception", a movie for both men and women. I crave plot and story line, twists and turns in the story, and using my brain to figure it all out. I certainly got my money's worth - in fact, my brain was tired at the end with the focus required to keep the story straight. My husband loved it for the same reasons, as well as it had enough action, guns and explosions to increase it to a "10" on the male scale for action. Leonardo di Caprio is one of my favorite actors, which added points to the female scale from the beginning. I recommend this movie for couples. It is one of those rare movies that appeals to both genders. <br />
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Ironically, the previews which played before the movie highlighted the difference in our viewpoints of what is good. First, we saw a preview for a movie which involved a lesbian couple with two teenagers, who end up meeting their sperm donor father, resulting in a complex and comedic family situation. It looked awesome in my book. I leaned over to my husband and said, "I want to see that." Then came the preview for a new Stallone/Schwarzenegger reunion movie. My husband actually sat up straighter in his seat, eyes fixed on the explosions on the screen and said to me, "We have to see that." We??<br />
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Here we go again. Maybe I can learn to sleep with my eyes open. The things we do for love.Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-30628724363283698432010-07-18T12:45:00.001-06:002010-07-18T13:04:14.638-06:00New life ?I spent this morning redesigning my blog page. Judging from my last blog entry, anyone reading my blog will notice that I haven't posted for a couple months. Life got in the way. It shouldn't be that way, but I let it happen. Baseball games, softball games, kids, work, clients, pets....just a few of the distractions I was dealing with over the last few months that seemed to get the better of me. I always put my own need to write second behind these and a hundred other things.<br /><br />Not that I wasn't writing things in my head. Words were forming constantly as if my brain was telling me, "put this down on paper". Everywhere I went this pesky voice was stringing words together into sentences, begging me to write. I ignored that that voice because there was always something else to do or some other item to check off the to-do list. I am really ashamed. Around the beginning of June, my son and I sat down and made a goal list for the summer - tops on my list was to post on my blog three times a week. I didn't even do it once!<br /><br />So this morning, my son told me I should blog. I was a bit testy and told him "I don't feel like it". But you know what? I really did feel like it, and my little bit of anger was misdirected at him, as he was pointing out what I already knew. I had not followed through with goal #1 that I set for myself. Instead of thinking about the laundry that needed to be folded and the floor that needed to be swept, I needed to blog. He was right and I knew it. I am happier when I am writing. Why does it always take a 12 year old to point out the obvious?<br /><br />My first step was to play around with my blog a little bit and give myself an updated look for it. I'm breathing new life into it and I wanted a fresh page to work on. I am a cool color person, so the blue is more inspirational to me that the old colors that I had. I also decided that I want the writing to be the focus, so I aimed for a simplified background that lets the writing be the art. <br /><br />I'm jazzed to start up again. Let the writing begin!Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-53645236746425108842010-05-05T07:22:00.000-06:002010-05-05T07:38:21.694-06:00Becoming A Mother is Like...Becoming a mother is like beginning to work on a 5000 piece jigsaw puzzle without the benefit of seeing the picture on the lid of the box.<br /><br />At first it is new and exciting...you start building the border because it is the easiest part. Those are the early years when you are laying the framework and you are actually in control of your life and your child. You may not know how the puzzle will turn out, but decisions on where pieces should go are easy.<br /><br />Then comes the middle part, the 4,699 remaining pieces, the unknown, the difficult preteen and teenage years. They are a jumbled up mess and you aren't sure how the pieces will fit together. You only hope that once in awhile they do indeed interlock, and that progress is being made. Sometimes the progress is hard to see and occasionally you feel like sweeping the entire puzzle off the table and starting over, but as a mother you can't do that with your kids. <br /><br />Finally, many years later, the pieces form into an amazing picture. Without knowing where you were going, somehow you got there. You realize how proud you are of the finished product and that the years of putting the pieces together were worth it.<br /><br />This is for all the mothers who put the pieces together every day. <br /><br />On Mother's Day, go to www.getbornmag.com/blog for a special message about becoming a mother from editor Heather Janssen AND be entered for free, fabulous schwag to splurge your fabulous self from participating <span style="font-style: italic;">get born</span> advertisers.Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-49587229289738266942010-04-23T07:37:00.000-06:002010-04-23T07:45:51.973-06:00Orange<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-a9Wg1K6A58Qkmp5byigWpEQEaHtNs62F0GBQ-PaIvGfd4Gq9GJYKgHICaQ22wYQdyqHcBNW1uPvaZXjU9YwegFBse7pc30epOo3r09-YfTgHPE9eol3NjxE8iX1kbAlGPJ8X7gPf8Deu/s1600/IMG_0421.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-a9Wg1K6A58Qkmp5byigWpEQEaHtNs62F0GBQ-PaIvGfd4Gq9GJYKgHICaQ22wYQdyqHcBNW1uPvaZXjU9YwegFBse7pc30epOo3r09-YfTgHPE9eol3NjxE8iX1kbAlGPJ8X7gPf8Deu/s320/IMG_0421.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463328272638123122" border="0" /></a>
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<![endif]--> <p style="text-align: left;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:14pt;color:black;" ></span></span></p>Today I would like to post something from my guest blogger, Colton. He is my 12 year old dynamo. His school assignment was to write descriptive lines about the color orange. Being the child of the earth that he is, he would rather have written about his favorite color which is green, but he didn't have a choice. So, I am happy to present his beautifully written description of orange.
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<br />Orange is… A radiant sunset piercing the deep blue sky. A wildfire mightily raging through a greenery of trees. Macaroni and Cheese patiently waiting to be consumed. Heat on a dry, summer day. A candle flame bravely shining light into the pitch black darkness. Explosions relentlessly sending startling noises all over. A tiger stalking its prey in a lush overgrowth of tall grass. A creamsicle, luring all to come chow on it. A fresh peach plucked from its mothering tree. The elegant changes in the leaves every fall. Sand dunes captive to the fierce blowing winds. A safety vest, alerting passersby because of its bright defiance of all surrounding colors. Strength and persistence, both in physical and mental aspects. <p style="text-align: left;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:14pt;color:black;" ><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7061950268989170008.post-50207884556178753582010-04-19T08:02:00.000-06:002010-04-19T08:21:46.442-06:00Walking and TalkingI took a walk with my 12 year old son a couple days ago. Walking with him is not like a spectator sport, in which you just walk and take in nature in silence. Walking with him is an event that you have to fully participate in. He talks and talks and thinks that if I don't talk it means that I am not enjoying his company, which is certainly not true. I usually just tend to walk silently and use it as mental down time. <br /><br />Not the case with our walks together. He begins by asking simple questions, "what is your favorite movie?", "what is your favorite color?" I think he uses these to draw me into further conversation. We continue to plod along the dirt road.<br /><br />Then the questions become more deep and soon he is asking me, "what were your dreams and passions?", "what was your worst childhood memory?, "how did you pick your friends when you were my age?" I realize that in asking these questions, he is asking for guidance in his life. He is struggling at this awkward middle school age with these very issues, and it is easiest for him to ask them while we are walking side-by-side on the road. We discuss so many topics that it is more of a mental workout than a physical workout. I'm just grateful that he is talking to me at this age and that he cares about what I have to say. <br /><br />Before I know it, he is giving me advice. He tells me that I get stressed too easily, and that instead of getting myself overwhelmed and freaking out, that I need to keep it all in perspective and think about the positive aspects of tasks that I am working on. He says this works for him when he has a lot of homework. In all of his 12 year old wisdom, he tells me what to do to be happier. He also recognizes that I put everyone else's needs before my own, and he tells me it's all right to take care of myself first. Easier said than done for me. Sad when my son has to remind me of this.<br /><br />When we head back into our house, I realize he has probably taught me more during the walk than I have taught him. He is wise beyond his years. He is simply amazing. <br /><br />Now that the weather is getting warmer, I'm looking forward to many more walks with him. If you see us on the road, we will be the ones walking with our mouths wide open, sharing dreams and memories. He taught me that I do have the talent to walk and talk at the same time.Peggyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01594304077135667051noreply@blogger.com1