tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123122452024-03-13T07:38:31.385-05:00Writing for SanityMy love-hate relationship with the writing life and more. Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.comBlogger90125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-49480884337791612072022-12-31T15:26:00.001-06:002022-12-31T17:47:03.715-06:00Today's Answers<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZjW1XoIXwIX2LXRI2VuBfTBBsvmJX9fF-JOUB0MI_RlsI0l45c2WfbzG8whxloZO3OVne5AiD9B9pIzYIuxevgM1UEbxQHrMpcQceU8Z_lQLTpwUvu7KANeHu_qCJLM8MTMF15oiY5l-Nzs4S5UoXh4HiuCwof2qd4jpTXtfZrA92PSL0wk/s4032/PXL_20221204_231811585.MP.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZjW1XoIXwIX2LXRI2VuBfTBBsvmJX9fF-JOUB0MI_RlsI0l45c2WfbzG8whxloZO3OVne5AiD9B9pIzYIuxevgM1UEbxQHrMpcQceU8Z_lQLTpwUvu7KANeHu_qCJLM8MTMF15oiY5l-Nzs4S5UoXh4HiuCwof2qd4jpTXtfZrA92PSL0wk/s320/PXL_20221204_231811585.MP.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Today I am 59 years and 360 days old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What have I learned before I turned 60?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been pondering that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to think/know/loudly exclaim that I
knew more than the average bear, and the older I get, the more I realize that
any answer, advice, or wisdom that is shared, is only valid for that specific moment
in time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another time, skipping a trip
might be a bad idea, or moving cities or even just paying a bill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So today’s answers to <span face=""Bahnschrift",sans-serif" style="mso-bidi-font-family: Aldhabi;">a few Big questions in
life</span> are:<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">How do you know its love?</b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When the other person puts you before
themselves.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Not 100% of the time, but it
should be much more common than ignoring your desires and suggestions and
favorites.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">If he buys the kind of Oreos
you like when there is only enough money for one package of cookies in the
budget, there is a good chance he or she will not become a selfish bastard
later in life.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">What is the meaning of life?</b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Wow, like no I don’t think I can answer
that.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">But per above, I can answer what
my current meaning of life is, today.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Might be different tomorrow.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Current meaning of life is to squeeze something good out of every
experience.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When I’m in a deep
depression and my furnace goes out and my aunt falls in the nursing home and my
401k drops by 30% all on the same day, I try to (eventually) find something
good, as in something to cling to.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">That
depression might lead to some insight into what started it, a new furnace I can
afford now but not in five years I bet, my husband had some funny stories from
the run to the hospital, and face it 401k or not, I’m going to be broke when
retirement hits.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Might as well just call
it like it is. Facing what seems like the worst usually results in realizing it
isn’t really. The worst. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;">(Although nursing home falls are
right near that bottom of my barrel if we were ranking worsts.)</span></i></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">How do you find a job you love?</b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I think most people kind of like their job
and some people hate their job and a few people love their job.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Life goes on if it is just ok.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I am thankful to be employed steadily.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Just remember you work to live, you don’t live
to work.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">It is a cliché for a
reason.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">When changing employers one
time, they never called me once for all the supposed insight and knowledge I
had obtained over my 17 years with that company.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">They move on. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">My best career advice is find a job where time
flies, and you aren’t bored.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I’ve
achieved that most of the time.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">How do you overcome anxiety and depression? </b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I continue to do it the same way since 1991 –
with good medications from my doctor. </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">5.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">What will you never regret?</b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">For me – travel.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I highly value</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">all kinds of travel, even when it meant opening a new credit card that I eventually had to pay
off from my 401k back in the 80s.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Even
when it meant taking a crappy job after hours at a mall counting inventory to
save enough for a beach trip.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Even when
it meant twisting arms and legs and elbows to convince everyone my plans were
going to work and yes, we should ALL go.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Those experiences in that mountain, beach, camp, city trip are firmly in
my DNA and I love that they are.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">6.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">What do you wish you knew at age 21 that you
know now?</b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Well, I can’t remember
yesterday’s breakfast so I honest to God don’t think I can remember what I </span><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;">knew</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
at 21.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">If pressed, I’d say…invest in
cardboard manufacturers early because in 40 years there will be boxes delivered
to your door three times a day.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Save the
dingey retro Christmas ornaments you turned your nose up in your mother’s
basement?</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">That’s all I can come up with.</span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">7.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><b style="text-indent: -0.25in;">What do you tell new parents? (Also good for
new graduates, newly marrieds, and new retirees)</b><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> ‘Go with the flow.’</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">You can’t control everything and the sooner
you figure that out, the happier you will be.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">
</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">You can’t make that leak in the kitchen ceiling go away, or prevent the
ear infection, or guarantee that the second-grade class will like your Halloween
party games. Your carburetor </span><i style="text-indent: -0.25in;">will</i><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> go out the same day your phone gets
knocked into the toilet by a large dog.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">It’s possible the dog just got hold of a dead
mouse and will leave it in your favorite black leather boots. There is almost
nothing you have control over.</span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Sit in that
knowledge. It only took me to around age 50 to figure that one out.</span></p></blockquote><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="text-align: left; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I hope when I retire someday, I have time to contemplate the
questions again, perhaps a little more seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder how my 40-something and 50-something
self would answer these questions?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe
I’ll try it again in ten years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-76246018631397257272020-11-01T14:04:00.021-06:002020-11-01T14:50:19.274-06:00A Fragile Hope: Dear Grandkids<p><i> As a writer,</i> I have felt the pull to put down on paper what 2020 was like for me. Just as you figure out your grandparents were in high school during the depression, your parents married during World War II or your instructor served in Vietnam, the year 2020 has been, seminal. Pivotal. A before and after time point, like 9/11 or the Berlin Wall falling. </p><p><i>As a person </i>I have <b>not</b> felt any pull to write about this pandemic. This election year full of vitriol and brokenness, the social justice movements. I'm weary of the turmoil. The idea of thinking even more about it for hours and hours to draft one of my blog posts, has been anathema to my peace of mind. But this good old blog is where I write for sanity, and today, with fragile hope, I write. </p><p>Here's why: my grandchildren. I know I should be thinking of my adorable little grandson Ari who is five months old now when I write. But what has been pecking away at my conscious for months now, is what I can do, one person, for my grandchildren when they are my age -- 57. When I will be long gone, and we won't be discussing the sunshine (finally) or the apples on the table (so tart) or the soft, soft blanket he likes to snuggle into. No, this post is in hopes they will all look back and know that I did all within my power to do the right thing. </p><p><b>The Pandemic</b></p><p>I have tried to educate myself and really <i>listen</i> to the science. It changes regularly like all science does, as we learn more and more about Covid-19. I have tried to enjoy life rather than complain. I can still go for a hike, enjoy the color in the trees, kayak in my lake, talk to friends and family by phone, work full-time, binge-watch television series like The West Wing and Great British Baking Show, order a new footstool, try a new variety of pears, and on. So many people are focusing on what they <i>can't</i> do during the pandemic and I find it wearying to listen to, and boring frankly. I will need to rewrite this so I don't sound holier-than-thou, but I'm tired of hearing about how hard it is to put that cotton face mask on to go inside and pay for your gas. How lonely people are now that they can not shop the sales at Charlotte Russe and have coffee afterwards (you can, you just have to be creative). </p><p>There are parts that are hard, but a lot of them would be hard without the Coronovirus pandemic in our time. A family member and a friend's daughter both battling cancer. To do this with hospitals locked down and visitors not allowed, seems like an unfairness I'm not happy about at all. One daughter's last year of college, feels like we should be and would be in a much more celebratory mood if it weren't the pandemic. The college campuses are all struggling to stay afloat and give an education, but not add to the death toll. It isn't the college students so much at risk, but the instructors and the parents if they go home to visit on a weekend. Another daughter teaching 4th grade. All staff and students wear masks and stay six feet apart. It is better than the spring with no school at all, but it is hard to communicate emotion and energy with most of your face covered. It is very, very different. And the constant prayer, and hope, is that a cure will be discovered, a vaccine will be developed, and Covid-19 will be in those 4th graders' memories as a very odd couple of years that they will tell their grandchildren about. That feels like a reasonable hope. </p><p>Dear Ari when you are 57 and your cousins: here is life in a pandemic. I work from home now, using my laptop in different rooms of the house to login to virtual meetings from about 7am to 5pm each day. I work in the healthcare industry, so Coronovirus affects not just my free time, but my work time at least 50% with federal laws changing, our hospitals opening or closing, filling or emptying. When I go to the grocery store I wear a cloth mask. I have about a dozen now of different styles and fabrics, and some defogging spray for my glasses. I don't visit your Great-Grandma and Grandpa Evans very often, but their two kids, Cathy and Chuck do every week. Pretty much the grocery store is the main outing I experience besides your house in Congerville occasionally, and every once in a while Target for sanity, also with a mask. We get pizza delivered, drive-thru or pick up at restaurants, and don't eat inside. It is basically not that hard, for us, as we have an income, insurance, and good health so far. I don't know how bad it will get before the end, but on this day we have lost 234,534 of our dear Americans to Covid-19. In the world 1.2 million people have died. </p><p><b>The 2020 Election</b></p><p>I belong to many facebook groups such as "Christians for Biden/Harris", "Christians Against Trump", "Liberal Christian", "Nasty Lady" and others. But on my personal facebook page I've been excruciatingly restrained about the election and all it means to me. To me, it means we are chosing between eliminating evil and embracing freedom. I feel very deeply that it isn't the Republican party that is a problem (your Grandpa Chuck has occasionally voted Republican) but D. Trump, the current president, who worships only himself, with no regard for the American people, precious freedom, or Christian values. He is a bad, bad man. </p><p>At the same time, I have family and friends who believe the opposite. Because I care about them, I have chosen not to post about politics in recent months. Not to comment on any Trump fan's posts, not to argue, and not to debate. I reached a very dark point in August where I felt that Trump was going to somehow brainwash America into four more years, and then, I got hope. </p><p>Hope is fragile. It is something I grasp like a brief fragrance on the wind. It is something I have consciously, ploddingly, forced myself to feel. Hope instead of hatred. Hope instead of despair. Hope instead of anger. It has been hard. But there was a point where I realized that <b>both</b> sides of the political debate were feeding off of their own confident hate, at the risk of everything. Misery loves company as they say. I decided a positive attitude was the only thing that might get us back on track, and so I started my #90DaysofHope leading up to the election in two days. I guess I'm on day 88 today. I have refrained from sarcasm (so hard for me) and negativity, complaints, or venting -- a favorite of mine by the way, and I'm very, very good at it too, grandkids. I've tried to post only stories of restoration, beauty, comedy or progress. No politics, no anti-Trump or pro-Biden or pro-BLM or anything divisive. </p><p>And now, at two days before the election, I feel I must write something while I do still have hope. I know the election could go either way, and I'll find my way regardless of its outcome, but I want to write to my grandkids from a place of hope. </p><p>Dear Ari and cousins when you are 57: I am going to be an election judge on Tuesday, which means 15 hours of greeting voters to a polling place. Because I don't want you, my grandkids to think that their grandmother didn't do everything in her power to keep freedom alive. I've prayed. I've studied. I've searched for hopeful signs. I've also been worried at times, and buried my head in books or video games or bad movies. I'm not perfect by any stretch. But I am thinking of you, grandkids, as I donated money to every senate race that is up for turning blue on the last six paydays. I'm thinking of you when I put the Biden/Harris sign in my yard even though on that day this past summer I was sure some alt-righter would come in the night to deface it or steal it. I was wrong. I admit it. It still stands there expressing my views. I've never put a presidential sign in my yard as I was raised to think that like how much you make, how you vote is your own private business. That is how strongly I feel this year is different. </p><p>The world will face more disasters and illnesses and forest fires and derechos, and hope is your only hope. Try to make people smile. Try not to alienate others. And try to represent hope, because hope is fragile inside us, but it is the only thing that will bring happiness, contentment, or victory. And I've had two bald eagles who landed on our lake on the third day of the Democratic convention, when I began to feel a positive wave out there. I named them Biden and Harris and I've seen them almost every day since. I never dreamed they'd stay this long, all the way to election day. For me it is my sign from God that whatever happens, there is hope to hold on to. </p><p>Love,</p><p>Grandma Toni House Evans</p><p>November 1, 2020, two days before the election. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-52NSowCUz1I/X58VdU30u_I/AAAAAAAAWwg/Id1JP0wgZzwAjlxUrqYxExp51KjeG8UEgCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-52NSowCUz1I/X58VdU30u_I/AAAAAAAAWwg/Id1JP0wgZzwAjlxUrqYxExp51KjeG8UEgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h640/image.png" title="Likely this one is Biden, based on that white hair :)" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Likely this one was Biden, based on the white hair)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p>Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-44049791256648215082020-05-01T13:16:00.001-05:002020-05-01T16:36:29.890-05:00Quarantine 2020Notes from the quarantine we are in for Novel Coronovirus/Covid-19 worldwide Pandemic.<br />
<br />
<b>The first week</b><br />
Even normal things aren't normal. Everything feels like I am part of a movie script, one where something unpleasant is about to happen to the characters. Every glance, every movement, looking for clues as to where the trouble is. Even routine things like taking out the trash feel heightened, to have some deeper meaning, but I don't know what that meaning is. I'm waiting. Is my throat sore? I'm sure I caught it traveling.<br />
<br />
<b>The first month</b><br />
The first month for me was mid-March to mid-April 2020. A kind of haze seemed to surround things. I spent a lot of time obsessing over news channels on my phone, reading scientific articles, trying to become as educated as possible. Uncertainty is the flavor of the month and it doesn't taste great. I heard about the COVID-19 malaise and I thought, even without contracting this virus, I have the malaise. Lethargy set in. I binge-watched The Good Doctor, New Amsterdam, 9-1-1, Doc Martin, and many others that now escape my memory. I appreciate laughter so much. Being stuck in one small space together is not easy. But each time I hear the laughter this month, I think 'Is this the last time?' It feels like the world is going to reach our front porch any moment.<br />
<br />
<b>Some silver linings to this time in-between</b><br />
I notice the flowers in my yard, innocently blooming, unaware the world has taken a 180 degree turn.<br />
<br />
My morning cup of coffee means a lot to me. Another day with no one sick in the house. A marker in the days that flow together. Will tomorrow bring illness?<br />
<br />
The girls dusted off and set up the Wii and we dug out old CDs of Just Dance. It has been a blessing. We've played card games, the four of us in my circle of germ-sharing. Dutch Blitz, Ticket to Ride, Just One. Four 1000 piece puzzles in that first month while the cold and rain and wind and snow continued.<br />
<br />
For my birthday in January I got a sewing machine from the kids, and I got it out for its inaugural run to sew face masks for my family. We tried out phone apps like 'Houseparty' and had better luck with 'Marco Polo'. We talked about teaching ourselves to play the piano (hasn't happened yet, but hey). I study the 1918 flu pandemic and learn the word vaccine didn't exist for the average person.<br />
<br />
<b>The second month</b><br />
I feel like I took a deep breath and noticed my surroundings. We are all here. We have a grandchild coming. We did not have a traditional Easter but it is ok, not to have everyone together. So much better than ok. I start feeling like so many novels I've read about WWII. The victory gardens, the rationing, the black-out curtains, the obedience for a higher good than my own self-fulfillment. My perspective turns, I realize this is a truly historical period, that will be referred to just as often as September 11th or other moments that humanity shares. Everyone in my family is united in treating this 'stay at home' order with solemnity. And in getting through it together. <br />
<br />
People talk about this being a time of mourning and it is. It is so many things. I try not to mourn superficial things like my gray hair that has grown out without my hairdresser. But I do mourn that spring break trip Anna had to cancel and the baby shower we can't perceive of holding any time this year and feeling good about it.<br />
<br />
So it turns out for me, quarantine is about having so many feelings, all in the same 24 hours. I get depressed, I get annoyed, I get angry, I get sad, I get excited, I get a nap (yay), I get anxious, exhausted from overtime at work, tired of my pajamas, started watching the evening news again. I'm not a worrier at heart, but so far this quarantine has felt a LOT like a movie script and I want to be one step ahead of the scriptwriter. I want to be prepared. That involves a lot of pseudo-worrying.<br />
<br />
Here are some pictures of this time period that I want to save here. What Quarantine 2020 was like for me, in pictures.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CJwbLkjbKt4/XqxWBa5xx2I/AAAAAAAARgw/b-rKfciBzPczbvjhzIKsMSzW6fPHSbbWwCPcBGAsYHg/s1600/20200501_112731-COLLAGE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CJwbLkjbKt4/XqxWBa5xx2I/AAAAAAAARgw/b-rKfciBzPczbvjhzIKsMSzW6fPHSbbWwCPcBGAsYHg/s320/20200501_112731-COLLAGE.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remember how the whole world put hearts in their windows? To recognize the nurses and doctors, the EMTs and police and fire. The postmen and UPS delivery women, and everyone else who kept working, so we could #staysafeathome ?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z64h-Rg_-3o/XqxWBTTzrrI/AAAAAAAARgw/znQXXmoT0qY5x5I1D61mUifZZySiWUuBwCPcBGAsYHg/s1600/20200501_112704-COLLAGE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z64h-Rg_-3o/XqxWBTTzrrI/AAAAAAAARgw/znQXXmoT0qY5x5I1D61mUifZZySiWUuBwCPcBGAsYHg/s200/20200501_112704-COLLAGE.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Remember that year all salons were closed, and your gray hair grew out. But there was no one at home who minded? These pictures were both taken the same day. My gray isn't visible at my hair line :) Who knew. </span></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fSPpvFJnAdA/XqxWBfAag_I/AAAAAAAARgw/M7x-CFu9kUYhoq34sRNGDny7EEzLsu9yQCPcBGAsYHg/s1600/20200501_112614-COLLAGE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fSPpvFJnAdA/XqxWBfAag_I/AAAAAAAARgw/M7x-CFu9kUYhoq34sRNGDny7EEzLsu9yQCPcBGAsYHg/s320/20200501_112614-COLLAGE.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nature doesn't know it is a strange year, 2020. Nature just goes right along. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Easter morning worshiping through YouTube. Anna's first attempt at homemade croissant.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Visiting the grandparents from six feet away. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Farm n Fleet parking lot for our safe-distance visit with Chris and Jenny. She is 33 weeks along here.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We celebrated two birthdays 'in lockdown' as they say, so far. Julia's 21st and Anna's 25th.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G9za-iMCaVI/XqxXkPX7kcI/AAAAAAAARhM/koaVip7v160XDm1JYfwX49vo7PaIOTRmgCPcBGAsYHg/s1600/20200501_120749-COLLAGE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G9za-iMCaVI/XqxXkPX7kcI/AAAAAAAARhM/koaVip7v160XDm1JYfwX49vo7PaIOTRmgCPcBGAsYHg/s320/20200501_120749-COLLAGE.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A social distancing approved virtual baby shower for Baby Evans. He is due June 2. </td></tr>
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Future self, these are all things that have really happened in March and April of 2020. Restaurants (drive-thru only), bars, malls, non-essential stores have all closed. Everyone is wearing a face mask in public and staying at least six feet from all other humans. School has been closed since March 16. A ten week-long 'snow day'. After fighting so hard for years to get <i>one </i>'work from home day' a week we now have 100% work from home at my employer. Not everyone is finding it to their liking. Zoom book club. Toilet paper shortages. Hand sanitizer at a premium. Lots of good memes. Porch drop and runs. Cruise ships. Air Pollution disappeared. Millions have been laid off or unemployed. I can't go to the eye doctor or the dentist. I've had poison ivy for two weeks, driving me insane. No yoga, no hair salons are open. There is an election in six months and no election campaign commercials. I wonder if a year from now, or ten years from now, any of us will believe this all really happened?<br />
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At the root of this it is all about the dying. We've passed the 3 million mark for Covid-19 cases in the world and the 60,000 mark for U.S. deaths at the time I'm posting this. Everyone is talking about how it is more deaths than the entire Vietnam war.<i> Lord, hear my prayer, that your will for us is to be <u>past </u>the worst of this crisis and able to move on to whatever is next. Give us patience.</i><br />
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I've been witnessing the worst and the best in human nature. It is like a magnifying glass has been placed over our characters, and all those quotes I'm so fond of, they are all revealing their truths. How you act when you don't have to is just as important as how you act when you do have to. Character is revealed under pressure. The bad news is out there and I'm a better person for having read it. Even if less naive and sadder. The good news is also out there and I'm a better person for finding it and reading it all. Such a feeling of a common purpose, the world, trying to save themselves but also trying to save their fellow-human-beings. Worthy. We are worthy.<br />
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<br />Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-55049117869399082642019-05-20T11:09:00.001-05:002019-05-21T23:13:44.257-05:00Mother of the Bride Impressions -- Part TWO<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Afterwards</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KSGwdqh68DE/XOLEomYz43I/AAAAAAAAKkk/SbM6kvl6_CAmPrAZChXIc5DWu0DvOvlxQCEwYBhgL/s1600/FB_IMG_1558354043129.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KSGwdqh68DE/XOLEomYz43I/AAAAAAAAKkk/SbM6kvl6_CAmPrAZChXIc5DWu0DvOvlxQCEwYBhgL/s400/FB_IMG_1558354043129.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
Boy do my feet ache. And my ankles, wrists, ears and pinky toes. Weddings are physically exhausting. So many many thoughts. Quite different than Mother of the Groom. I would compare it to the difference in attending a commencement ceremony for your child (MOG). Happy, smiles, lots of pride. To holding the graduation party for 200 at your own home. Responsible, brain-draining, expensive (ha) and cheerfully chaotic (MOB). It is as 'hands on' as anything gets. <br />
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<b>Advice for future Mothers of the Bride:</b> Get yourself two 'matrons of honor' for yourself. Two more people who aren't brain-fuzzy from all the excitement and willing to run out for forks, run upstairs for the scissors, text the person lost in the country, thank the hairdresser when you forget, keep an eye on the time, trim the shaggy chiffon three times if necessary. Someone to remember to confirm the nail appointment, figure out which nearby florist has baby's breath, and not order twice as much pizza as we need. Someone who will know at all times 'Where is the father of the bride?' 'Where did the bridesmaids go?' 'Did the photographer get a pic yet with grandma and grandpa?' 'Where is the food? Where is the saran wrap/the veil/the salsa? Because me, I wanted to just sit and observe, and soak in all the happenings. Of course I did, lots and lots, but I also felt like two more me's would have been so useful!<br />
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<b>Funny (?...?) things that happened on the wind up to the wedding:</b><br />
<ul>
<li><b>Flowers</b>. The flower delivery was scheduled for Wednesday morning. The flowers were delivered but only the lilies showed up. Thurs: the flowers didn't show up, long wait, finally an email that the plane didn't land. Thurs 5pm: neighbor comes home from work and brings the flowers that were delivered to his porch and sat there all day. blah. Still missing the hydrangeas (they came Friday, its all good)</li>
<li><b>Directions</b>. North main, south main, construction, CR 17 to CR 20 to old CR 17 to ??? Two chapels on campus? Phone died? Cakes are 45 minutes in the opposite direction of where you are? Father of the bride is 12 miles to empty and is lost in the country? An hour before we leave for the church? Thank you Lord for Google Maps and the kindness of strangers. Send all people in twos!</li>
<li><b>Steaming</b>. Not really a mishap, but if purchasing the tablecloths is half the price of renting them, assume 20 minutes per table cloth to steam out the wrinkles. Let's see, 30 table cloths x 20 minutes each = 600 minutes or 6 hours. With breaks, the two steamers we had running out of water every 9 minutes, heat up time, switching peeps, it was about 10 hours on Friday. </li>
<li><b>Weather</b>. I knew this from Chris' wedding but all of these weather predictions are for May 18, 2019, for many days leading up to the big day. We were planning an outdoor wedding in the back of a huge field of grass. We needed a dry day. It snowed two inches four weeks earlier. We didn't know what to think but it ended up sunny and high of 85 degrees on this date. I'll take it!</li>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kiWmekJYpTs/XOLC5JtjCWI/AAAAAAAAKkI/M3WgFLjJLDg_zeHzFN1FTLEwHsovJSBjgCLcBGAs/s1600/full.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="157" data-original-width="385" height="162" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kiWmekJYpTs/XOLC5JtjCWI/AAAAAAAAKkI/M3WgFLjJLDg_zeHzFN1FTLEwHsovJSBjgCLcBGAs/s400/full.png" width="400" /></a><br />
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<li><b>Random</b>: the father of the bride's phone rang during the ceremony. He was too rattled to figure out how to turn it off. The silver bells we had tied two-hundred bows onto were nowhere to be found for the send-off moment (we just clapped and cheered). They were in the groomsmen's dressing room it turned out. I brought earrings. One from each of the two pairs I had for the occasion, not matching. I didn't wear earrings (gasp).</li>
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<b>Things that went pleasingly well:</b><br />
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<li>Having <b>too big of a house</b> is never a bad thing! Having a large whirlpool tub in the bathroom of the parents' master suite averts some muscle pain. Our airbnb saved the day many times. </li>
<li>Chuck and I (and my sister) shopping for <b>cake plates</b> for the centerpieces at goodwills and estate sales was a sweet way to anticipate the coming wedding. </li>
<li><b>Cake</b> in the middle of each table meant no long line and fresh slices for everyone in just the size they wanted. </li>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IIdAjP6dgpA/XOLH6gLAWlI/AAAAAAAAKk4/BEaWlVjUUpAyF6FpSwvk7ChmOoThVeBWwCLcBGAs/s1600/60930038_10211598055020825_4835015818079109120_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="633" data-original-width="843" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IIdAjP6dgpA/XOLH6gLAWlI/AAAAAAAAKk4/BEaWlVjUUpAyF6FpSwvk7ChmOoThVeBWwCLcBGAs/s320/60930038_10211598055020825_4835015818079109120_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<li>Having family come a few days early so we could eat pizza and watch the swans on the lake who we named 'Nat and Lily' and <b>laugh</b> together at Jim Gaffigan videos before the tension and nerves of the final day set in? Priceless. </li>
<li>If you can arrange a nice gentle <b>breeze</b> like we had it makes the bridesmaids dresses and the veil look pretty magical. Just sayin'</li>
<li><b>Daughter things:</b> Watching your youngest do her oldest sisters' makeup and it coming out perfectly. An amazing scrapbook Anna and Julia designed with pics of the five months and letters from special women in Lily's life to read on her wedding day and afterwards. Signs all hand-lettered by the artist-daughter. Short-bread baked with love by Anna. 556 shortbread cookies to be specific :). And two other desserts baked by Nat's sisters!</li>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h3VHAYgNZcE/XOLEo48xZMI/AAAAAAAAKks/tT6G7lYs9NARx0ETlL7nHArgDA2glKRwgCEwYBhgL/s1600/FB_IMG_1558354155138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1080" height="266" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h3VHAYgNZcE/XOLEo48xZMI/AAAAAAAAKks/tT6G7lYs9NARx0ETlL7nHArgDA2glKRwgCEwYBhgL/s400/FB_IMG_1558354155138.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<li><b>Bride and groom things:</b> Having a daughter-bride with great imagination and event-planning skills and an eye for details made everything go better than expected. She was so patient with all of us. I think I kind of like her :) Having a groom with such a sense of humor to lighten the mood and to calm everyone's worries, especially his bride-to-be. Good guy, that Nat. </li>
<li><b>Friends and Family things</b>: a wedding is very different when you are hosting than all those weddings you've attended. Having family and friends fly in from Texas, San Francisco, drive from four and five hours away, my friends Leslie and Sean with six kids on board drove from Iowa, that all touched my heart. I'm going to try to remember it next time I get one of those pesky wedding invitations, lol. </li>
<li><b>New in-laws things:</b> they welcomed us to their church and their family. Their hospitality was genuine. And they stayed long after the party to cleanup as church had to be held in that room the next morning. They let me leave behind catered food that would feed dozens (we had a lot of leftover food), 15 or so 'half cakes' and even 30 dirty table cloths. They work so well as a team!</li>
<li><b>Son and daughter-in-law things:</b> Jenny and Chris did the work of 12 x-men. They were on everything. From Chris driving up for the bachelor party to them both doing a majority of that 10 hours of steaming, to picking up the cakes (sounds innocent, not). That is 22 cakes in separate boxes, across 20 miles of bumps and turns on ten different roads. Then transferring them inside the church and onto the cake plates. Talk about walking a tight rope! This plus they did literally 5 dozen other tasks. </li>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8_i8SFHTfdU/XOLU1R3VocI/AAAAAAAAKlk/UZBe1ED0DQUYrEI1ZuXSvWNktrlW95S1wCLcBGAs/s1600/cakes.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8_i8SFHTfdU/XOLU1R3VocI/AAAAAAAAKlk/UZBe1ED0DQUYrEI1ZuXSvWNktrlW95S1wCLcBGAs/s320/cakes.jpeg" width="240" /></a><br />
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<li><b>Husband things: </b>watching him tear-up, watching him dance with his daughter, watching him walk her up the aisle, it was all just like in the movies, for once in my life (ha). He worked way harder than me as always. Such a great guy, Lily's dad. </li>
<li>Most importantly, all the things that didn't go as planned, that weren't quite as picturesque, weren't exactly on point or lined up or on time? <b>No one knows! </b> The guests don't know, the photographers don't know. To everyone else it appears it all went as planned so no worries. </li>
<li><b>God things:</b> the breeze, the very funny pastor Luis (Nat's oldest brother), the lilies of the valley that only bloom one week of the year, in full bloom, the guests and bridal party traveling from far away, the love and kindness in the air, a special moment, the group prayer. Of course, every little thing comes from above. </li>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7vcx9MDbVzU/XOLEonFcmEI/AAAAAAAAKkY/kd-3ntM_6BQpic1WSV7TvKJwyX_NlYtOQCLcBGAs/s1600/60431319_10211599697621889_4957277250480242688_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="960" height="181" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7vcx9MDbVzU/XOLEonFcmEI/AAAAAAAAKkY/kd-3ntM_6BQpic1WSV7TvKJwyX_NlYtOQCLcBGAs/s400/60431319_10211599697621889_4957277250480242688_n.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
I thought I was seriously looking forward to the day after the wedding because of all the drama, tears, tensions, worries, details, details, details but instead I do feel a teeny bit like a popped balloon. But mostly I feel very satisfied that we did our best, that people had fun, and that Lily and Nat have begun their marriage, the reason for everything we did. The Godly man I prayed for every communion Sunday for my sweet Lily, is Nathaniel, and I can't wait to see what love and life brings them.<br />
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Praise be to God!</div>
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Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-34335030108439614042019-05-20T11:09:00.000-05:002019-05-21T23:14:05.537-05:00Mother of the Bride Impressions -- Part ONE<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"> Before the big day</span></b><br />
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This is the sidewalk Lily rode her tricycle on when she was six years old.<br />
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These are the lily of the valley that have been growing there next to that air conditioner (and all over this 122 year-old yard) for decades before she arrived on this earth. I picked some tonight. I'm taking them to use in her bridal bouquet. A little piece of home, lilies for Lily from the home she grew up in and played hard, fell and skinned her knee bad enough that her little seven year old voice screeched 'if its bone just kill me now dad'.<br />
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One minute, riding the purple tricycle. Moments later braces, then college. Next minute going down the aisle with her dad. Just like all the sappy songs, it is true.<br />
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So, Mother of the bride. It was so much easier than I'd dreamed in the planning stages. Actually I'm typing this five days before the wedding, but motherofthebriding begins from the moment of the engagement. All kinds of fun. Exciting roller coaster with well-wishes, dress shopping, my dress shopping, venues, meals, cakes, and much much more as any good pinterest board labeled 'someday' will tell you. I was lucky enough to have a daughter-bride who was efficient, knew what she wanted, and frugal to boot. My motto for five months has been 'The bride gets to decide.' and I've tried to live by it, and not explain how much better plum would look or daisies or chocolate cake.... I've mostly succeeded at this. My tongue may be bleeding a bit.<br />
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With five days to go it feels like it is finally here. Finally time to pack the bags, drive the miles, buy the flowers, cut the strawberries. Hands-on time! I've been looking forward to this part. It won't be easy, but it will be memorable.<br />
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But like graduations, weddings it turns out, for me are about seeing that little girl again. All grown up. Or not? Maybe in dress-up clothes with the high heels and the beads. Moved out of the house 8 years ago? Or still cartwheeling across the front yard? Still holding the perennial lemonade stand. Still dancing a jig with her sisters to some cheetah girls tune, making a snowman, or directing her sisters in pretend commercials? Still smelling like chlorine from her years on the swim team.<br />
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But it isn't any of those things, they happened yesterday, and now we're thinking about tomorrow. When she starts a life with a great guy, one God planned for her and she for him. The future is a big blank whiteboard just waiting to be written on, and the past is a million little memories and right now, we are in the few days between those points. The tipping point. The time in-between.<br />
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<br />Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-9049168005911910912018-10-09T20:51:00.000-05:002018-10-09T21:12:18.358-05:00Loving two people<br />
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You know with every wedding things go wrong. Actually they just go <em>differently</em> than they were planned. But in every sense, the way things went at my son Chris' wedding to his best friend Jenny this past weekend was better and more full of life than anything we could have predicted or planned. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br />
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A lot of wedding planning is attempting to predict and solve for the unexpected. Which by definition is hard to do. But you think, what if it rains, what if it starts late, what if people get lost trying to find the venue, what if no one dances, what if <em><u>no one</u></em> rsvps a 'No'? lol. Post-wedding, I say embrace the unexpected. Who do we all think we are that we can pre-plan every special moment? God has it in his hands, people. God has much better plans than any we can imagine. Wait, isn't that in the bible? I think someone said that before me. <br />
I wanted to mark a few memories down here before I forget them. I barely remember anything from my own wedding day, 34 years ago. But I can come back and read this and it will remind me.<br />
Remind me of the Lion King moments. Off in the huge fields beyond the ceremony were a herd of buffalo to the left and a herd of elk (?) to the right. Floating between them seemingly to the violin music being played during the ceremony were a large flock of birds swooping in harmony amid the buffalo. God's creation all around, from the sweetest flower girl moments with their innocent and meandering path down the aisle to the fall <a href="https://tonievans.blogspot.com/2017/09/yearning-for-natural-light.html" target="_blank">weeds</a> (you know I love 'em) by the split rail fence for the 'getting ready' photos to the mist that surrounded the hillside and the trees just starting to turn a bit for their fall splendor. <br />
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Of the laughter had by all. The jokes about the rain, the Rage Club (the house where Chris and Jenny met and fell in love), Jenny growing up, Chris' nerves. Chuck wanting to stick a fork in Chris and call him 'done'. So much laughter. The Merlin fathead....<br />
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Of the mishaps. I <strike><span style="color: #444444;">had</span></strike> heard a few frayed nerves. So serious to run out of ribbon when tying the candy apples, have the makeup and hair person out for emergency surgery, the chef in charge of MCing the evening quit three days earlier, the parents of the groom completely forget about the yard games they were delivering and apparently a few other stories the bride and groom plan to share when they return from 9 days of blissful honeymooning. <br />
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Of new experiences? I am sure I had never opened three weather apps on my phone at the same time before and tracked the weather for 3:30 pm in Edwards, IL for seven days before an event. It burnt up some of my adrenalin, keeping me busy doing that. Predictors went from 30% to 90% to 50% chance of rain in the same day on one of the days I roosted there. Weather, weather, weather. <br />
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Of new experiences! My first Jewish wedding! The unveiling, the do-se-do, the chuppah, the blessings. The stomping on the wine glass is a tradition I've seen in movies, but the explanation in person was much more meaningful. This represents how fragile relationships are and how without trying you can break it into a thousand pieces so easily and quickly with the wrong words or actions. So true and gives me goosebumps to recall this. <br />
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The reception was wonderful and hard. Hard because you invite all these people who love you and your son, and then you get to spend about sixty seconds with each, if you are lucky. I guess all the weddings over the years are how you repay them for their devotion and support, but I wish we could have talked to everyone more!<br />
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Wonderful because with only two glasses of wine in five hours I felt high as a kite the whole time. High on the most amazing reception venue with glass on three walls looking out into woods and fields and sky. <br />
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High on love and joy, good food and wine, beautiful flowers and smiling faces. High on watching my girls dance together and have fun at their brother's wedding. High on watching adorable great-nieces and nephews at the photo booth. <br />
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There were several epic moments, including the hora or Hava Nagila dance where it seemed all 200 guests were on the dance floor while we circled the loved couple at a speed racer pace!<br />
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Wonderful to see my firstborn as a mature, loving husband who truly cared about his new wife, who danced as much as anyone there to the amazing bluegrass music of <a href="https://www.facebook.com/NewCatsMusic/videos/347446402467065/" target="_blank">New Cats</a>. Very impressed with he and Jenny's intricate, quirky, tightly woven group of friends who were so present all day and evening. <br />
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Wonderful to stand outside on the rain-soaked deck in my bare feet, with Chuck and look back into the venue at 8pm with all the lights and flowers and flying dancers and know that everything was right with the world in that moment. <br />
Do I feel ten years younger now that the responsibility of all that is involved in a wedding in 2018 is accomplished. Yes, yes I do. Before this weekend I might have been overheard saying "I've got to go through this three more times as the mother of the bride." Do I still feel this way? No. Life is simple and beautiful when concentrated down to this. I now feel that if I'm really, really lucky I might <em>GET</em> to go through it three more times and experience the overflowing joy, all clearly focused on loving two people for a time.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*PhotoCredits: courtesy of the hashtag #roomies4life on Instagram and Facebook!</span><br />
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<br />Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-56591381855480483662018-08-18T14:44:00.000-05:002018-08-18T14:45:39.461-05:00My work is done...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-35777083514647142622018-07-01T08:23:00.003-05:002018-07-01T15:00:45.338-05:00The Eleven Stages of Moving House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong>Stage 1 of moving: Excitement</strong> -- a new house! Will they accept the offer? They did. Oh. My. How. Wonderful. Life is amazing. A new house to love!<br />
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<strong>Stage 2 of moving: Enthusiasm</strong> -- clean those cabinets, paint those doors, place those casserole dishes just where they will live into eternity in just the right spot. <br />
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<strong>Stage 3 of moving: Hard Labor</strong> -- fill shopping bags with books, towels, doodads, books, paintings, shoes, blue jeans, and more books. Carry to new house in 12-16 SUV loads. Do again. My route: Fill car, run to Goodwill. Run to storage unit, empty rest at new house. Return. <br />
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<strong>Stage 4 of moving: Confidence</strong> -- Two men and a truck moved our fridge and piano and beds and other very heavy items. We are sleeping in the new place. Halfway there, right? Wrong. <br />
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<strong>Stage 5 of moving: Disbelief</strong> -- stuff. so much stuff. why? WHY? Make it go away. Twenty-one years in the same house turns out to be over 1000 weeks of adding stuff, one little item at a time. We are moving from 3000 square feet that doesn't count the creepy basement and antiquated unfinished attic that are also full of "stuff" to 1400 square feet. From 5 bedrooms to 2 bedrooms. Do the math.<br />
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<strong>Stage 6 of moving: Decision-making Burnout</strong> -- The notes from every conference ever attended, keep? No. No definitely not. Well... No. Yes! No. The first clay pot your daughter made? Keep! The seventeenth one you run across? In the trash. The curtains that one of my adultish children had in some apartment but who knows who? Give away. They'll never know unless you blog about it. Where will the trailer, bass boat, and two extra cars GO? There is no place for them. <br />
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<strong>Stage 7 of moving: Mishaps</strong> -- the fridge was too tall for the new opening. Fixed. The new basement where I want a media room gets water? No problem we will deal with later. Put it on the list. The hose, the furnace vent, the floor joist, the wall behind the washer, the floor in the pantry the poison ivy, the ants. Fixed. Fixed. And...yeah...f.i.x.e.d. <br />
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<em>Pause for dump of things that are not mentioned in these stages.</em> Utilities. Cable-man, geese, muskrats, hummingbirds, garbage can decisions, mail, rummage sale, estate sale. Marketing our house by owner, showing house (ugh must be pretty), while moving. 409 asphyxiation while cleaning post-move. See two daughters off for summer, worry about two daughters. Wedding plans. Starting a new job and over 3000 miles of business travel. Oh, and all the wonderful but time-consuming remodeling work on the new house. Waiting. Lots and lots of waiting. It has already been 8 months since we found our new abode. Molly-the-dog's moving anxiety. Annoying little bank, mortgage, insurance, roofing and electrical issues. April snow-showers. June 109 degree heat indexes/indices. <br />
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<strong>Stage 8 of moving: Weariness</strong>-- there is no way to empty this house. The thousand cans of paint, the endless piles in the attic of dusty and grimey (now) camping supplies and old hard drives. One thing, one thing I know for sure -- moving is serious business, not to be taken lightly. Just say No whenever you can. <br />
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<strong>Stage 9 of moving: teeny, tiny Light at the end of the tunnel</strong> -- without landing ourselves in the hospital, (but with a lovely head cold for me) we have reached the day we hand over the keys. We are like abused and jaded golden retrievers, afraid to be excited or happy, afraid we will open a door and find yet another cache of (face it) junk that we forgot about. We are bleary-eyed, and barely here, but, the day has arrived. <br />
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<strong>Stage 10 of moving: Gratitude</strong>. I thank God for my husband. He has been a solid rock through all this. He has been a maniac repairing, and dealing and dealing some more. I am grateful to face each crazy week with his can-do attitude while I just face-plant at yet another obstacle. Gratitude to God for helping find our new place, find buyers for the old place, and reasonably good health throughout this <strike>ordeal</strike> <strike>nightmare</strike> experience. <br />
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<strong>Stage 11 of moving: Excitement</strong> returns! Oh. My. How. Wonderful. Life is amazing. A new house to love! As soon as we figure out how to keep that basement dry...<br />
<br />Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-45760259442826634172017-12-18T11:35:00.000-06:002017-12-18T12:02:07.337-06:00Love Letter to my House We are in the process of leaving behind a home we've lived in for 22 years, so far. Only one baby was born here, but the other three barely remember our previous house. They were something like 9, 6, 2 and not here yet when we moved to this 1898 Victorian. It has five bedrooms, two baths, two stairways, and much more. Most people walking through my house would probably think 'Charming but a bit lived-in perhaps?' But I see below the surface level of newspapers and ankle boots and dog toys. And as I look to moving from this house to something much smaller and a good 50 years newer, I want to document what I will miss about our Park Avenue house. Leaving out the broad expanses of dog hair and dirty dishes that we all have, right?<br />
First, there is the address. Wherever you go people take a second look when you say 'Park Avenue', I assume because of NYC and the songs. Second is the boulevard down the center. Who gets to live on a street with trees and flags down the center? Not many!<br />
Then there are the friendly dog-walking neighbors at all time of day or night. Reliably looking up at the architecture or porches of many more illustrious houses than my own. <br />
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But my house, the things I want to document so I can look back some day, is in the details. Details like the front door knob. <br />
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Details like the trim around every window and doorway in this place (I think we have 25 windows).</div>
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Details like this broken finial (?) that I have refused to fix so it reminds me of my wonderful life, just like the movie. </div>
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The fact the house had a lily carved in the newel post and we had a daughter named Lily probably has something to do with us taking this on and gutting it 20 years ago. </div>
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Going back outside, there is the sidewalk that runs all the way around the house in a big oval that all the kids could ride their bikes or trikes or scooters around. I didn't grow up with that, but it is a great thing for a family. Details like a porch swing and spindles and this bright red door that came to us this way. Its always the perfect color once a year at Christmas-time.</div>
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Details like the windows, some of which I've written about before more eloquently in the past, but nothing is the same. It is all unique. That's how they did it in 1898. </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-07FQUFj_uHA/WjfzhWR3ncI/AAAAAAAADUs/Bt9h3Pdptt8Oc93NMvkTLQ_y6S8Y6OIjQCKgBGAs/s1600/IMG_20171218_092728109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-07FQUFj_uHA/WjfzhWR3ncI/AAAAAAAADUs/Bt9h3Pdptt8Oc93NMvkTLQ_y6S8Y6OIjQCKgBGAs/s200/IMG_20171218_092728109.jpg" width="112" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YvNjZaPuOx8/WjfzhdD1BUI/AAAAAAAADUs/4MJ-l9_FzlMgTNNgoePnvUBFQBo5Sw3vQCKgBGAs/s1600/IMG_20171218_093042676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YvNjZaPuOx8/WjfzhdD1BUI/AAAAAAAADUs/4MJ-l9_FzlMgTNNgoePnvUBFQBo5Sw3vQCKgBGAs/s400/IMG_20171218_093042676.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ryG39uPzPEE/WjfzhShUMeI/AAAAAAAADUs/iqZY13BXXkkVJP0mWrwkjDJFGaZyYdo0gCKgBGAs/s1600/IMG_20171218_093215146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ryG39uPzPEE/WjfzhShUMeI/AAAAAAAADUs/iqZY13BXXkkVJP0mWrwkjDJFGaZyYdo0gCKgBGAs/s640/IMG_20171218_093215146.jpg" width="640" /></a>Some things I always wanted in a house include this pocket door that is still in great shape, never refinished, because it is usually hidden away.</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C1oxh3P7xww/WjfzwtyB1nI/AAAAAAAADU0/_772vltyow42YhyCr3aIEpw8CK9oFwHqQCKgBGAs/s1600/IMG_20171218_093439966.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C1oxh3P7xww/WjfzwtyB1nI/AAAAAAAADU0/_772vltyow42YhyCr3aIEpw8CK9oFwHqQCKgBGAs/s400/IMG_20171218_093439966.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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My next house is so much smaller, I'm pretty sure it wont have a 'Christmas-tree room' like we have now. Or two stairways, one with room for many more stockings than the 9 we have hanging this year. </div>
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Or this nook at the top of the stairs I've always been in love with because of its utter impracticality. </div>
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love this picture because it represents our marriage so well. Chuck built this pantry the first year we moved into the kitchen. But one year for Christmas without me knowing it he added a light inside. Something I'd waited a good 18 years for, lol. The pantry was something we added, and are leaving behind for the next owners:</div>
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Don't you look back and childhood photos of birthday cakes, and really, what is fun to see, is the counter behind everyone with the pencils and phone and the notepad to take messages on (no one ever used). Or the crazy rec room carpet pattern on the floor. It is the details that bring back childhood, and even though this house doesn't represent my own childhood, it represents my own children's childhood. As my friends know, I'm not particularly sentimental. About pets, or kids going to college, or empty nests. But I am sentimental about leaving this house. I feel good about it. It is time. But I do feel nostalgic for all the impromptu tumbling classes we had in the long front rooms, the coat closet at the back door I would literally throw my weight into to close with all those snowpants and snowboots and mittens. Our chandelier that I once broke, using it as a life ring as I fell while cleaning it. And paid a hefty penny to restore, or so it seemed at the time. I've never made that mistake again (of cleaning it haha)...</div>
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This is where Santa visited with a vengeance and backpacks were tossed and tossed, and tossed as they all arrived home from their respective schools to turn on Rugrats and drink their capri suns :)</div>
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So many moments here, and I'm just hoping I can remember as many as possible for safekeeping. On to the next adventure (eventually). We don't do anything quickly!<br />
Of all the houses we've had or will have, this is without a doubt the best one for Christmas-y feelings. Last year for it!<br />
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<br />Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-3990050759559498372017-09-23T13:28:00.002-05:002017-09-23T14:41:25.658-05:00Yearning for natural lightAt the moment, I'm considering a job change. One of the factors I have to make peace with is that instead of walking six blocks to work, many of the opportunities right now involve traveling. Quite a bit of traveling over many miles in a car. <br />
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Yesterday I had one interview and I drove about three hours through the country-side to meet with the interviewer, a midpoint between our hometowns. I was prepared, but I accidentally left my list of questions at home. Today I found them, along with many pieces of writing, some of which I just published. A notebook tossed aside in my clothes-closet, until now. And in this notebook is a very interesting piece to me, today. Transcribing here...<br />
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<em> She could feel it, a gentle breeze on her soul whenever she drove by a field. A meadow. Some trees on the edge, deep shade, a few bees, wildflowers: purple clover, yellow black-eyed susans, white (?) that spilled behind that rusty mailbox. Those soybeans are a brilliant lemon-yellow, then rusty copper, then soft brown. </em><br />
<em> She sat in her cubicle with the stale air, no natural light, only light from artificial sources -- an overhead fluorescent bulb, under-storage bin desk light and a small lamp from home. Endeavoring to recreate the feeling and mood of natural light. Endeavoring to make the best of a ill-fitting, square-peg-round-hole thing. Making the best of it is what she excels at.</em> <br />
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OK, gets a little sarcastic from here, but interesting that my musings from maybe 18 months ago are answering a question I have today. I don't recall writing it, but it is all about how I don't like working in a cubicle and wish I could get out in the natural light more. Hmmm.... interesting. Universe? <br />
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And I do love, love, love the road-side weeds. I have often wanted to find out who is responsible for the natural plantings on the interstates in Illinois, in the gulley between the cars driving in opposite directions. To thank them for not mowing but sowing. The natural wave of purple, and blends of gold and beige have seemed like a painting to me more than once. I've never met another weed-lover but there must be one out there. It actually endangers my driving abilities as I stare at the ever-changing, never the same combinations nature has planted. Traveling might have its perks. <br />
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I wasn't brilliant enough to stop and take a picture yesterday, but this is the idea, courtesy of google images. Your weeds are my art...<br />
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Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-52334028876585481752017-09-23T13:04:00.001-05:002017-09-23T13:29:53.691-05:00<strong>Part 3 & 4 -- Completely judgment-free zones</strong><br />
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<strong>Goodwill.</strong> You don't have to dress up. It is cathartic because like a garage sale you can spend very little or nothing and still feel entertained. Unlike a garage sale, it is air-conditioned, has bathrooms and everything in one stop. <br />
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Goodwill is a good-familiar, and out of town today, guaranteed anonymous. No one knows I'm here. No one is waiting on me in there to return a call, answer an email, or fix a problem. <br />
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I can move slowly or quickly. I can feel my tension easing, like a good meditation. Used books. Forks. Crazy outfits. Restful to me. Today I find a book called "Seeds" by Thomas Merton. Lots of sticky notes, tabs, highlighted passages. Someone has done all the work for me. Inside front cover a jotted note to look at page 115. Where I find "Our vocation....Work with God in creating our own lives, our own identity, our own destiny." Not subtle, God. <br />
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<strong>Books. Bookstores. The beauty of.</strong> <br />
No one tries to make eye contact in a bookstore. People casually browse knowing the protocol. Bookstores are not for chit chat. Not for phone calls. Not for laughter. Bookstore-lovers follow these unwritten rules. I am pleased. I feel safe in bookstores. No judgment. Obviously bookstores have a thousand facets to their wonderfulness, but for today, I'm just claiming the white-noise-like quality that soothes the brain. <br />
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And, they contain, <em>b o o k s</em>. That is all. Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-60537323227674533782017-09-23T12:54:00.000-05:002017-09-23T13:31:19.654-05:00<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>Part 2 -- Walmart</strong></span><br />
As you pull it the parking lot it looks pretty much exactly like any other Walmart. Except I'm not at home. So I will not bump into anyone from high school or church or work or the neighborhood. I can wander from 17cent spiral notebooks (too flimsy, I like hard backing) to $5 pajamas to $22 phone chargers that are out of stock. I can browse every book in the book section. I can buy deodorant and get back to my car without revealing anything. To anyone. <br />
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I am relieved to get outside my head for 35 minutes and to sit in the parking lot writing for five more. <br />
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Babies, young adults, flip flops, electric scooter, heavy white Velcro tennis shoes. Fifteen SUV type vehicles of approximately similar shades of gray are in my site. Am I the only person who doesn't own one? <br />
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An elderly man gets out of his shiny red junker, all four windows down, shirtless. He grabs a shirt from the back seat and finishes dressing. Slowly, casually, like he's done this before. He saunters inside looking suitable. A bright orange shirt with black writing on it. <br />
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Someone pulls over just to remove a flier for a local fundraiser from their windshield. A retiree in a mint-green golf shorts and a Hawaiian shirt places his cart is the cart farm cautiously. <br />
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Lots of top knots of messy hair. It is 3pm on a Wednesday. Why are they all here? Why aren't they stuck in a windowless cubicle? Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-62980247524951589252017-09-23T12:47:00.001-05:002017-09-23T13:30:37.403-05:00Places I go to get away from myself (A four-part series)<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>Part One -- Why?</strong></span><br />
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Don't you ever get tired of yourself? You want to take a vacation and leave 'her' behind for a bit? A few hours, a few days. It isn't like I wouldn't come back, I just want to get away from me. <br />
I want to get away from over-thinking, under-thinking, and just-right thinking. Away from the reflective substance on the lining of my brain that keeps the same thoughts bouncing around, back and forth over and over, like a pinball that hits a bonus ring. <br />
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping ping ping pa-ping. <br />
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I want to get away from my own sighs, my breathing, my skin, my eyes,. I want to see the world from a fresh new perspective of someone else's skin. It is the opposite of "Cheers". I want to go where "not anybody knows my name." Oblivion? No. Anonymity is a better word. No one knows me. I'm just me. I can be anyone. <br />
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Sometimes I want to get away from my goals, my fatigue, my boring bad habits, my lack of resolve. I spend a lot of time letting life happen. Flow. Chill. No worries. No aim. No fire. Too much fire.<br />
I also get stressed out and overcome. How can I be bored and overwhelmed in the same mind, body and soul? How do I get away from myself? <br />
<br />Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-36510108479864765542017-09-23T12:26:00.005-05:002017-09-23T12:26:50.378-05:00A bustle of blog postsFolks I just ran across the notebook I had written several blogposts in. I'm going to recreate them here so there will be a flurry of posts after, 8 months of silence? I'm also working on a new post from an object purchased at an estate sale two weeks ago. I've discovered I do like history when it is alive in my living room!<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;">Toni</span></h2>
Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-44759500987217130902017-01-17T20:19:00.000-06:002017-01-17T20:37:32.112-06:00Gola's Picture of LoveFirst you need to know two things about me. I have a husband obsessed with estate sales and auctions. It started a year ago and has gradually gone from a pleasant discovery to attending 3-4 times a week. He calls it "Treasure Hunting". And second, I'm a private investigator on the side (Really. Not Really). For myself and any curiosity I might have. I creep on facebooks and study obituaries and like to track things down, facts. The internet makes it quite do-able.<br />
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Last Saturday Chuck was doing his usual thing. He likes to arrive late in the sale on the last day and take away some real steals. He got two crates of "good stuff" for next to nothing. Our routine is when he gets home he starts handing me items he thinks could be "jewels" which is our code for 'we can retire tomorrow'. We have had a few good finds, and even in that same weekend we found a pencil for a dollar that ended up being worth $70. Not retirement-worthy but a good return-on-investment. <br />
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I sorted through the promising tea cups and vintage card game and came to the painting that I want to talk about today. <br />
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I immediately got the feeling it was an original watercolor which is unusual. And it looked old. The back side of the picture was cut open but you could tell the paper had yellowed and cracked and the wire was original. <br />
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I took the painting out of the frame to get a closer look at the signature. We both liked it a lot, but it had some water damage and seemed quite fragile. Paintings, even originals, rarely seem to go above $200-$300 for unknown painters and the water damage pretty much negates that. But still, I love a mystery and a challenge. I was having a really long pajama day and a good online search sounded fun.<br />
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I started looking up the artists name. The signature was hard to make out but a note taped to the back said Oakland City, IN in 1932. Wow, I don't usually have these kinds of clues when I start my PI work. The note was clearly not that old, and I found out later had been written on the back side of a scrap of 2002 IRS form. The tension builds.<br />
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I searched artist listings and sites, still hoping this was worth a lot of money of course. I eventually emailed someone at a site called "Indiana Art online" but he had never heard of this painter. There are so many things that make a search like this unlikely, mainly that the city it was marked with might have nothing at all to do with the painter. <br />
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After a couple hours I gave up, but something drew me back, most likely the desire to continue to stay in my pajamas for a good cause. I had canceled my ancestory.com subscription but then accidentally renewed it, so it occurred to me to go on there. I hit multiple dead ends ("Your search found 45,890 matches") But then I put in Gola (just the artist's first name) and Oakland City, IN and somehow, bing, it came up with something. I can't tell you how much fun that is. My own kind of treasure. Now I possibly had his full name and date of birth. <br />
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There was an Indiana census record that showed me in 1930 <em>he</em> (I wasn't sure before that if the artist was male or female) was 15, had 2 brothers. If this was the artist of my painting he was only 17 or 18 at the time he painted it. My daughter is an artist herself and told me it looked like a novice had painted it (Chuck and I don't care, we just liked the fall colors). So thrilling. Next, I opened his enlistment record from 1941, so at age 27 he enlists in the army. It says in those records he is single has two years of college, is a commercial artist. Suddenly my interest has become a surety that I was truly on the right track. Commercial artist!<br />
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I next see his death record in the 90's. So I'm not going to find Gola, but I had started out assuming this was a seasoned artist who painted in 1932, so I'm not too surprised. I run across city directories and Social Security records so I can see he got married (there might be kids!), was a "Card Writer" and eventually owned a home where his parents and siblings all moved into. <br />
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But then the story took a twist. I read an entry that said he was a Cartographer in WWII under General Patton, and mapped out the D-Day invasion. History, sitting here in my lap, on my recliner, in my pajamas. OK, part of me still thought "Wow maybe this little painting is worth something" but mostly I was just excited to learn about the artist and marvel at how history had ended up in my living room.<br />
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With a correctly spelled full name I have lots more googling I can do and the first hits lead me to the names of his two daughters. Young enough to have facebook, one of them has an unusual spelling for a first name and a few minutes later I had found who I believed to be Gola's two daughters and messaged them both on Facebook. I didn't hear anything for a few hours and I was impatient so I located someone in the next generation and heard back immediately, that yes, this was her grandfather. Yes, he had been an artist. <br />
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Within a short time her mother was messaging me about this. And she told me that just that morning she had consoled a friend who lost a parent a year ago that day. That even though her father was gone 25 years, every now and then someone would bring him up, or tell her a joke, or share something that made her smile. She then got home to find the message from me, about her father. From her father. <br />
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The granddaughter has a PhD-- in Art History-- and hadn't seen any paintings from her grandfather. I learned Gola's daughter was having surgery in a just a few days and this really gave her something to look forward to. None of the family had seen Gola's paintings he did at a young age, because he was told he wasn't that good, and moved on to commercial art. <br />
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We haven't been able to figure out how it ended up at an estate sale in Peoria, IL, but it was a fun journey making these discoveries. The painting is in the mail. I can only imagine what it would be like to get something that your father painted, something you'd never seen. My own father has been gone 34 years this month. It feels like some amazing timing, God's timing, and it was a privilege to be a part of this story this week. <br />
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And today in worship my pastor used a phrase I jotted down, "A picture of love." and I thought, that's it, that's my title. Gola's young self sent a picture of love out into the universe and 85 years later it ends up back with own his family. <br />
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<br />Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-88020145230846853052016-12-24T07:45:00.005-06:002016-12-24T07:45:37.867-06:00Christmastime, 1968.<br />
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The huge glass windows were fogging up as I tried to see through them, across the dark to Santa's home. We had just stood in the line. Me with both of my parents, no other siblings along for the ride. Highly unusual. <br />
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It was beautifully cold out there, and there were decorations on the lamp posts and lots of people walking about, laughing and chatting, in downtown Pekin. <br />
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We had come inside for a hot chocolate and my parents didn't seem happy. "You asked Santa for a what?"<br />
"A Skip-bo" <br />
Silence. "What's a skibob?" <br />
"No. A Skip. Bo. My friend at school has one. She brought it for show and tell."<br />
Its 1968. My parents went all out for Christmas. I was the first girl in the family. They probably had a lovely table and chairs set with a doll and tea set already waiting to place under the tree, but no Skip-bo.<br />
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I have moved on. Santa knows what I want and that was that. <br />
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My parents however now had a few days to find a toy that no one had in stock. It turns out it was very popular and they couldn't find it in town. I learned much later that my mother sent my father far and wide to find this toy. <br />
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And when I just searched for a picture of it I found out it is called a 'footsie'. So though I described the toy in detail, I clearly had the name wrong. I found a reference to one brand being a 'skipper', but what I heard in Mrs. King's show-and-tell circle, and was lucky enough to try out for myself on the playground at recess, was a skip-bo.<br />
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So here we are, a few days before Christmas, and my parents don't have the internet. And they are looking for a mis-named toy for me. I delight in this memory now. One that shows through generations we all just want to please one another. And the memory continues from that night. <br />
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So I saw something so beautiful that I had to have for my mother, while I spun on that soda fountain stool. It was a bath towel with a huge pink and red flower on the front. Kind of Georgia O'Keefe style. How to get my mom out of the store so I could buy it? I remember whispering to my father what I needed to do. I remember wanting to get that towel for my mother more than I wanted anything else. <br />
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My dad suggested my mom wait outside the store window where she couldn't see while we did our secret shopping. I faintly recall my mom not being super excited to wait out in the cold when she was snug with her cup of coffee in the steamy, warm store. But she did it. When I wound my way to the display and showed my dad what I had seen from across the store, he proceeded to show me other things we could get my mom. Bath soaps and curlers and socks. Nothing doing. I wanted that gaudy towel. Nothing else would be wonderful enough for my mother. My dad tried telling me it was more money than I had to spend. He tried showing me other towels even. This was it. I knew it. I then remember him giving me some cash, and showing me how to stand in line to pay. He stood nearby but wanted me to buy it myself. It was super-exciting. I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure my (poor, cold) mother wasn't peeking through the window. <br />
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I took the sack they gave me, I unbuttoned my coat and put it inside. It crackled every step I took. <br />
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There is a picture somewhere of her opening this present and holding up the towel, and I was so proud at that moment. It was the highlight moment of my Christmas. I got my footsie from Santa, I took it to show and tell in January. Turns out when it is the fifth one someone brought in, it isn't as exciting. But watching my mother open that towel, that felt like Christmas. <br />
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And it still does. I love picking out gifts, I love wrapping, and I love watching the receiver open them. It is the childish thrill that never grows old for me. So far anyway. And Christmas 1968 is etched in my memory. I love the Christmas tune "Silver Bells" and it always reminds me of this slice of life. To me, Pekin was the city. Downtown was glamour. And surprising someone else was a lot more fun than standing in a long line to see Santa. Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-66573262550061222092016-11-13T17:08:00.001-06:002016-11-13T19:35:41.699-06:00My November Blessing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There is something about November that takes me back to childhood. To the gray skies as I walked to school with a cold wind and raindrops falling sideways, getting under my umbrella. I think of it feeling gray outside and a bit lonely, and that the bright yellow lights of my classroom seemed welcoming and cozy as I hurried past the crossing guard.<br />
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We'd hang our slickers in our pine cubbies and warm our hands over the furnace vent and try to dry off with the rough brown paper towels. We'd go to our desks and get out our pencils and our already grubby erasers and get ready for reading group (I was in the cardinals). <br />
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The world was a big gray comforter surrounding my school, my teacher knew everything there was to know about everything, I was with friends. Who knew what exciting thing might happen today in music class? And it would feel like all was right with the world. <br />
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I'd be wearing my tights and my wool plaid skirt and my cotton button up top, and I'd be reading a story about a little Sioux Indian girl (we didn't call them native Americans yet) and I'd just be frustrated as heck that that word was pronounced 'sue'. It made no sense!<br />
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I'd smell paste, taste our mid-morning milk break from the waxy cartons (so fancy, my family only got milk in old glass bottles), see the faded construction paper scraps, and happily listen to my teacher talk about cumulus clouds. When I walked home at lunch-time my mother was sure to have Campbell's chicken noodle
soup with grilled cheese and if I was really lucky, hot cocoa as it
finally felt wintry enough outside to make some. <br />
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By about 2:30 I'd had enough, and watched the clock-hands refuse to move just like every other kid, for that last 60 minutes of each day. As I stomped through every puddle on the way home, the sky would seem brighter, and the rain had stopped, but it still felt later than it should feel. I'd be anxious to get home, not stopping to look for frogs in the creek or any of the other distractions I might find in August or April.<br />
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In November, it was important to get home, turn on the tv, and start laughing at Gilligan. Smell supper cooking (probably pork chops and applesauce), try to avoid any kind of chores, and when Sherry came to the door to ask me to come out to play, I might say 'Not today.' November made me want to stay inside, and stay close to my humans.<br />
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Today as I drive home on a gorgeous sunlit day, with the November sunshine shedding light in a particularly warming way, highlighting every last leaf, it made me appreciate every single leaf still hanging onto those tree branches. It made me want to pray for each individual leaf. Yet it made me homesick for those second-grade Novembers. And it reminds me that each month, even blustery November has its blessings. My November blessing is remembering. Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-21508875232141857822016-11-11T10:45:00.000-06:002016-11-13T16:35:47.094-06:00Its not about P O L I T I C SPolitics -- when there are two candidates, you really, really want yours to win, but they don't. Or they do. Politics is when in 1980, 1984, and in about half the elections since where 'my' candidate lost, I was disappointed. I was a bit incredulous that the 'other guy' could win. That is politics. Politics is kind of like sports but with a lot more to lose and gain than pride. I felt bad for a while and I probably stewed in the 'loss' but I moved on. <br />
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The 2016 election and how disillusioned I feel <b>has nothing to do with politics</b>. Nothing.<br />
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Sure I wanted Hilary to win, and wanted my daughters to see the first woman president. I was disappointed she lost. That <i>is </i>politics. And I know there were lots of valid arguments against voting for Hilary. Valid political arguments. Politics. <br />
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Sure I wanted Bernie to win the primary and ANYONE but Donald to win the Republican primary. Still politics. Still you <u><i>can </i></u>tell me 'Sour grapes, move on.' I did. <br />
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The reason I am heartbroken has nothing to do with Trump now being my president either. I mean yes, he ran on a Hitler-esque platform and hates women, anyone who isn't white, immigrants besides his wife, makes fun of people with disabilities and our servicemen. But I believe that any president has limited power and most of his crazy, evil plans will not come to fruition. I'm sure some of them will, but that is still politics. That is like all the people who have protested that everyone having health insurance is not good or American. I think it is a great thing, others don't. We disagree. We DO move on. Still <u>politics</u>. And if the health insurance gets replaced with Trump's carefully designed plan documented currently as "Something Terrific," ? Politics. I will get over it. I will move on. <br />
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Building a wall? Isn't former president Reagan still revered for
tearing down a wall? I guess no one can get to our country without walking
or driving? This was an idea he came up with that is offensive to many but to me just dumb. Dumb does
not equal wrong. I've dealt with plenty of dumb in the past and 'gotten over it'. Politics<br />
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Not Christian enough/at all? Politics. My Christian friends may disagree, but the fact he doesn't regularly seek God's will, calls the sacrament of communion having 'his little cracker...as often as possible' is his idea of 'religion' means he unfortunately isn't a a Jesus freak like myself. Still I would prefer not to, but can and would vote for a president who is not what I call a Christian. That is politics. That is separation of church and state. Freedom. <br />
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And speaking of our new president, no one needs to tell me to treat him with the same respect and dignity that everyone provided to President Barack Obama the last eight years. I know how to be a good American. (I do hope Presidents are required to read the Constitution)<br />
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I will even give you that in listing pros and cons of Donald Trump, there <i>were </i>some pros. I love the idea of a good shake-up. I love the idea of challenging the system. I have no problems with his relationship-building with Russia. That is politics.<br />
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What is not politics? That people I know, am friends with, respect, care about, family, co-workers would endorse and vote for such a prejudiced intolerant woman-hating anti-American anti-Veteran disability-bashing bully of a human. He did all these things. He said all these things. <b>No </b>blame of the 'media' can account for the words that poured out of <u><i>his </i></u>mouth. Over and over again. Not one mistake. Not one 'mispoke'. Like Niagra falls, the values of a person who appears to respect no one but himself, poured out of him. <br />
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When he was asked if he had anyone die in the line of service, he said "I think I've made a lot of sacrifices. I work very, very hard." at that moment I was confident no reasonable person would vote for him, even if they were dying for a big upset. Big upset=interesting idea. President who compares running a business to losing his own son, one who died for his country=wrong. <br />
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The man insulted our POWs. Wrong. <br />
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The whole hidden recording where he said a bunch of sexist things about grabbing and forcing and pushing, and then women came forward to testify. I can say 'not surprising'. I'm sure he said something similar thousands of times (unrecorded) and this would indicate this is not a priority for those who voted/endorsed his views. If you want a president that thinks women are objects to be used you must not have a daughter. You must not respect the opinions of all of our living former presidents, Republican and Democrat, who at that moment withdrew all support for this human. Because it is wrong.<br />
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A man who doesn't pay his taxes used to be a criminal. Now he is 'smart'. What pays for all of our servicemen overseas, our military, our roads, our parks, our veterans and our retired citizens? Taxes. He doesn't care about <i>any </i>of those things enough to give one penny towards them? Wrong. Perhaps for you or me, cunning. For the President of the United States of America, it is wrong. <br />
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Let's all stop paying taxes and be like our new president.<br />
Let's all build walls around our towns to keep out anyone who doesn't look or speak exactly like WE do.<br />
Let's cheer for the predators of our daughters--who needs jails? That would require someone to <i>pay</i> taxes.<br />
Let's denigrate the sacrifices of our troops, our fallen heroes, our POW's and veterans. We don't need a defense against enemies. <br />
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That is who you voted for. That is who you voted for. <br />
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That is what the people I thought I knew voted for. There is no other way I can look at it. This is not about politics to me. This is right and wrong. A vote for Trump was a vote for bigotry, hate, division and anti-Americanism. It is not politics. My father raised me to the tune of two main themes: Integrity and Initiative. Mr. Trump may have initiative but he is sadly lacking in integrity.<br />
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Please stop telling me to get over it. Move on. This is not the Cubs losing the world series. It feels like a death. It feels like the devil winning.<br />
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And though I <i>will </i>eventually get over it. I'll remember the times my people were kind or helpful or loving. I'll pray for the ability to overlook and forgive their endorsement of wrong that it now feels like they also embody having voted for this candidate. And eventually I will. <br />
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I fully realize I'm being judgmental myself. I'm judging that wrong is wrong. And if anything I said in here offended you, I apologize. It is not my intent to tear-down but to express my own current very strongly-rooted feelings. I'm working on it. I'm praying about it. And until I write about something, I can't move on.<br />
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And I'm praying we never go this low again and have this kind of election again. Please Lord, let this be a wake up call and not the 'new normal'. And I pray for strength for all to put aside their differences and work together. What else can you pray for? <br />
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<br />Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-68909241006649443262016-08-22T14:36:00.000-05:002016-08-22T14:36:59.520-05:00Life is GoodSome days aren't difficult, boring, or stressful.<br />
Some days aren't frustrating, tiring, or gloomy.<br />
Today is one of those days.<br />
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There is this: I happen to be on the fourth day of a four day weekend. <br />
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The weather is so un-Illinois-August-like you wouldn't believe it. Cool, bright day with skies as blue as the crayon in a fresh new back-to-school pointy box of crayons. The leaves on all the trees are still green because it is summer, but a hint of fall has everyone smiling.<br />
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I walked with my favorite walking partner this morning. She has been out of commission due to injury. We got to go at 7 am instead of 6 am allowing for a much more respectable hour of waking. The sun was blinding but we never got too warm. It is like God made <i>this</i> temperature for exercise.<br />
(Reminder: I don't like to sweat.) I saw morning glories and black-eyed Susan and a lovely mist on the lagoon.<br />
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When I got home, my husband had coffee ready and had saved me the last piece of the chocolate cake I took to a potluck last night. Yes, that was my breakfast.<br />
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I then got a facial. Now don't leave me here, I don't get facials every month. I've probably had five facials in 20 years. I decided last week that I needed something unusual and appealing to look forward to on Monday. It is a treat. It was lovely. I was not hurrying and arrived on time. So relaxing, especially the hand massage that came with it. My poor keyboard-weary fingers were dancing a virtual jig.<br />
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Afterwards I floated out to the parking lot and stood by my car, keys in hand, thinking "Its 10:00 am and I can do anything I want." Priceless. My day was already complete. I decided to go earring shopping, of course. I looked through every pair of earrings in the department store in town. I did not hurry. I did not judge the gaudy, chunky baubles. I found some new ones that fit my style -- small pearl buttons ringed in silver. That will make it easier to go to work tomorrow. (either you follow that logic or you don't, I can't really explain it)<br />
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I then decided to be a good mom and I went to the grocery store. I bought food for dinner and for snacks and because I am picking my daughter up from high school I couldn't have been more delighted to find "Lemon Meringue Soda" in the craft soda aisle. I will greet her after-school grumblings with a cold soda based on her favorite dessert. Who knew that even existed? <br />
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I came home and made myself chicken salad from left-over grilled chicken, walnuts, olive oil mayo and celery. And then, I had the most delicious sundae. I have homemade hot fudge sauce in the fridge, vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, and salty walnuts. I savored it while thinking about writing this post. For dinner we are having cold chicken and scratch potato-egg salad and strawberries. <br />
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During the last two hours I've been anticipating writing a blog post about just how well my day is going. I'm at a peaceful point in my life (today anyway) where I am less conflicted about my writing. So much of the time, for a very long time, I've felt guilty. Guilty because if I just tried harder and put in the effort, I could write a novel that would sell, and I could be a <i>published</i> writer. But I have been writing for 25 years and so far, life has won every time. Crazy, busy, hectic, chaotic, life. I've got two unpublished novels, and these blog posts to show for it. I've decided to stop feeling guilty. I've given myself permission to wait for retirement to become rich and famous at the writing thing. I'm going to instead just try to experience writing, do it, enjoy it. I have that feeling in the pit of my stomach that that is the right thing to do, and that many more days would be "Life is Good" days if I followed that advice about everything in life -- less guilt, more plain old experiencing. <br />
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It is only 2 pm. Next on the docket I'm going to fold some hot towels into perfect rectangles and then take a nap with the window open and the sheer curtain blowing in the breeze. I'm going to meditate on how much I like writing. And so many things.Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-8477042378486409152016-08-01T13:27:00.002-05:002016-08-01T13:41:35.422-05:00It's A God ThingI'm the kind of relate-able Christian who questions things, asks questions, asks God, and <u>tries</u> to stop thinking long enough to listen. The kind of Christian who is never as grateful as I should be or as prayerful. I'm not the kind of Christian who doesn't drink or dance, although I try not to swear, but that is my mom-side mostly. But, I find it all fascinating and I love learning about how God is working in people's lives.<br />
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I pray regularly and irregularly, and at different times of day or night. Sometimes ten seconds, or ten minutes. Sometimes writing prayers, sometimes thinking them. <br />
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This story is about my friend Leslie Masterson and her Chinese daughter Jillian. Leslie found Jillian on an adoption website in late 2010. Adoption is a long complicated journey much like that game I never liked, "The Game of Life." where things are always sending you back to the beginning and it never ends. Ever. <br />
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International adoption has a 43 step game board and she was on about step ten or so when I told her I had a dream. "I had a dream that you were with your baby on Easter." Leslie just nodded nicely and said something very reassuring like, "We are still a minimum of 12 months out from actually getting to travel to China. It is a long process." She seemed sorry to disappoint me. Now I also had in this dream a vision of her Chinese daughter growing up and she was doing ballet on a stage in a pink tutu and also one of her wearing a red dress and playing violin. I prayed about it that week and said "Leslie, I keep feeling like you will have your new babe by Easter. I see an Easter basket and plastic eggs." and she and Sean just reassured me that couldn't happen.<br />
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Well not only did they have Jillian by Easter, but their "Gotcha Day" was <i>on</i> Easter Sunday. It was Monday morning in China, but it was Easter Sunday in Pekin, IL at the first moment they laid hands on their precious, so precious girl. Only six months from the time I had the dream. It was impossible (not) but at least highly unlikely, that a first adoption, from China, could go through like silk. Every one of those 43 hoops was jumped in record time. At least this is how I remember it, now, five years later, and on my blog, we get to hear from my fragile memory.<br />
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When they were handed her, Jillian was over 2 years old, severely underweight, bruised, with an awful ear infection and sadly neglected. They knew they were adopting a girl with cleft-palate. They discovered within a few months she is low-verbal autistic. On Easter Sunday 2011 she became a member of an amazing family.<br />
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And little did we know then, but now we do, that Leslie and Sean would go on to adopt two more Chinese babies. And perhaps my dream covered all three. One of them might play the violin on stage one day. And I did get to see Jillian dance a ballet at Gull Lake one year. She was off to the side shadowing the movements of a beautiful young lady who was doing ballet for the talent show. And Jillian was entrancing, dancing in her silent land.<br />
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This dream is one of my God Things and I love it. <br />
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Here is Jillian's picture from her pre-adoption days and a picture of her today-- Miss Joy!<br />
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<br />
The Chinese government said she would never walk. This girl climbs mountains!<br />
<br />
My memory fails me more and more and I don't have any recall of some pretty wonderful experiences that I did, darn it, experience. I am going to record them here occasionally. <br />
<br />
p.s. If you want to read about Leslie's adoption adventures in more detail, here is a link to her <a href="http://thejourneytojillian.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">blog. </a><br />
<div>
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<br />
<br /></div>
Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-41990941569435555772016-06-13T12:56:00.002-05:002016-06-13T12:57:23.391-05:00Ready to come home<br />
Vacation is over. Over 2000 miles under our belts in 10 days. We hiked a mountain and biked a beach and ate so much food, I should be in eating time-out. Am I glad I went? Without a doubt. Did I learn anything? Life-long learner-- that is me. <br />
<br />
I learned that sunsets are different every night. Even from the same spot plopped in the wet sand just where the tide can reach me. Some sunsets turn fiery orange and some remain a spotlight on a stage. They all make the trees on the horizon feel like I'm on the Lion King set. <br />
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<br />
I learned everyone sees things differently. Where I see a charming arch of shady live oaks, others might see a claustrophobic endless tunnel. Where they see delicious salt-water taffy, I see dental bills. <br />
<br />
Luckily, I am easily entertained anywhere I go. I like watching the fudge-makers on the strip in Gatlinburg and I like watching the body surfers try and try again on the edge of the Atlantic through my half-closed-to-the-sun eyes. The glinting ocean water mesmerizes me and finding pink daylilies is worthy of a photograph even if they are at a rest area on the interstate. I'm curious with my eyes.<br />
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<br />
I learned that Charleston is full of streets named for their function. The church is on Church Street and the bay is on Water street. Early townsfolk had twenty pounds of petticoats in one hundred degree temps leading to a need for privacy before entering their homes -- to undress. <br />
<br />
I learned that I <i>am </i>capable of forgetting. Forgetting about the crises and tribulations of my workplace. In fact, within hours of getting out of Dodge my mind had moved on to mile markers and the comparative quality of bathrooms at various gas stations. <br />
<br />
I learned that while it is good to go somewhere I've never been, it feeds my soul, it is also good to get to know a new land enough that it becomes the new familiar. When I pass the Angel Oak Road or the roundabout I am almost to my temporary home. <br />
<br />
And like every trip, whether it be overnight in Chicago or two weeks in China, or like this one, a mammoth road trip with four people traveling east, I learned it is ok for vacation to end. Coming home has its reward, and one of those is gratitude. Gratitude that I was able to learn all that. Gratitude that I fulfilled my wanderlust, and am ready, yes I am, to sleep in my own bed and make coffee with my own pot. Even if I'm not ready to go back to work tomorrow, since we did not win the lottery in any of the five states we played it in, I will go back. <br />
<br />
But also like every trip I've taken, I spent the last 500 miles thinking about where we might go next. What adventure should we try? What part of the country is calling my name? Oh I'm not going to make reservations yet, but planning the trip is where I zen out. It will likely be more than a year until we can afford another vacation, but it will come and I will be ready. To leave and to come home. Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-35245722343848610112016-04-25T11:32:00.000-05:002016-04-25T11:43:02.946-05:00Starry Night<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I was thinking about how no one single church can please
all people, and how many, many times I’ve considered trying other churches over
the last twenty years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time I’d
only been attending my church six months, and someone was so negative about the
future of the church and the lack of commitment of the staff, that I was
completely turned off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought ‘If
they say this much to a new person, I wonder just how bad it really is? Maybe I
should leave now?’<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Over the years, more and more reasons came and went where I
thought we/they made the wrong decision, or people behaved very-un-Christ-like
and I could barely stand it. I was physically ill over it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Times where I tried to start programs and
when they didn’t take off…times where I felt I wasn’t getting what I needed
spiritually to grow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hardest have been
the times when I realize people are so very human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People I had on a pedestal fell off and it
has taken much prayer and hard work, to move on and yet stay. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yesterday, during the sermon I had this vision of a shooting
star arcing through the darkened room back to Cathy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cathy is moving away and I was feeling sad
about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to remember how we stitched our lives together originally
and thought of our trip to Guatemala.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
our trip to Las Vegas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And all the times
we served a meal together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I looked
around the darkened room and realized I had a similar fine thread of light
linking me to many people in the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To
Kate, and how she makes me laugh today and as a teenager she attended our ‘ladies’
circle’ because she just liked to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To
Danny and how I used to volunteer at Pioneer club and he attended as a boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started thinking about each person on the
stage, and on the floor, and how if I tried not so very hard, I had a history I
could recall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My star reaches out to
theirs, and we have this connection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
how, if I were to move to a new church, I would be a single light, and I
would have to start all over filling up my sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is
not an inconsequential thing, this connecting glimmer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a serious thing to give up on all the
stars in heaven and to go shine alone again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And even when people break your heart, or behave badly, or make you lose
your temper, they are your church family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They are human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if it takes
ten years to forgive, maybe it is worth that ten years, if it matures you as a
Christian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being tested forces you to
try to retain your own ethics and values, to really get to the root of what you
do and do not believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe the trials
and tribulations of human-ness are part of what God wants to happen in a
church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the lost sheep, he wants
those who stray brought back in his fold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I recently learned of Vincent Van Gogh’s attempt to be a minister, and how
his famous “Starry Night” painting has a possible hidden message in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He paints the town with twinkling lights but
the church is dark, perhaps to reflect his bitterness at not being accepted to
seminary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I prefer to think of God’s
church as his people, not a building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The church is dark when all the people are at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because the people <em>are</em> the church, not the
building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And they are lighting Van Gogh’s
town from their homes, because it doesn’t happen to be a night where the church
has anything going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the people,
they still have life to live, shining out from their homes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Is there anything more beautiful than a navy sky filled with
stars?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And God gave us this beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>When you are in a town with lots of street
lights and neon signs and stadium lights, you can’t see the stars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The world’s brash light distracts us from any
possibility of noticing the starlight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trees in
my neighborhood are over a hundred years old and obscure the night sky, but
imagine what that 100 year old tree seems like from the star's perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you can get around all the
things blocking your view. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The things
right in front of your face, that insist on attention. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you get out in a nice open field, on a
clear night, the sight is so lovely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
so each light in my night sky is a person, and that light is why I keep them in
my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why I try, try, and try
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are
relational beings and relationships are more important, while we’re here on
earth, than almost anything else. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some
nights, the heavy clouds disguise the stars, but the stars, they still
shine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-80734066165741238372016-02-13T12:14:00.001-06:002016-02-13T12:27:43.605-06:00How We've Stayed Married 31 years, 8 months, 18 days (so far)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3bYp1fdO54E/Vr9uZsHsfhI/AAAAAAAAAWg/pDV-zsWO1mA/s1600/IMG_20160213_115223%2B%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3bYp1fdO54E/Vr9uZsHsfhI/AAAAAAAAAWg/pDV-zsWO1mA/s400/IMG_20160213_115223%2B%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1982 (I think)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I remember when I got married my brother had already celebrated his
10</span><sup style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> anniversary and I thought, “Oh my God, they are soooo old.”</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And here I am heading towards a 32</span><sup style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">nd</sup><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
anniversary in May.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> Married much longer than
I lived at home. I hope someday to look back at year 32 and think “We were
only half-way there.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Such innocents!”</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">With Valentine’s Day tomorrow, my blog brain has been wanting
to touch on ‘Secret to a happy marriage’.
Except happy is such a namby pamby word.
Secret to a long marriage? Secret
to a lasting marriage? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">First, the individuals are what make the difference. Obviously they have to be strong, caring and respect one another. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Second, is expectations. If we both had super high expectations, all the time, expecting perfect meals, no gray hairs, constant fun, constant loving attitudes, constant agreement, we would have given up long ago. The two
individuals have to recognize imperfections as valuable, and just, <u><i>not
mind</i></u>. Get over it. In my younger years I minded a lot more that my life wasn't like the pictures in my Goodhousekeeping magazine. Let it go. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Third, agree to disagree. If we had to have constant agreement we wouldn’t have gotten
married. We are as different as two
people can be in politics, activity level, television show selection, hobbies, you name
it. We rarely agree and when we
do we both pull our heads back and look at each other in amazement. But we figured out long ago that it is OK to
not agree on stuff. It <u>is</u> ok. My kids would tell you we argue about
everything. I’m sure life would be easier if we didn’t. But we have learned over the years, <i>how to</i> not
agree. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This post could be ten times as long if I was to mention
everything that makes our marriage work. We’ve been in counseling, done the requisite
date nights, certainly have weathered ups and downs and don’t expect those to
end. And though we do have fun, love each other, and I <i>do</i> cover my grays lol,
these things aren’t the key element. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When I narrow my thinking down to the one thing I would say
has kept us rolling merrily along, it is very simple: <i>Doing something nice for your spouse when they aren’t expecting it.</i> Yes there are beard hairs in the sink that
gross me out, yes he ate the last piece of fried chicken, yes he just made a crack
about my reading too much. But then he brings
me a cup of coffee (after making it, with whole beans) without making a big
deal of it, or he insists on a hug when I'm mad, or he scrapes the snow off my car in the parking lot at work and warms it up without telling me. Maybe I take the dog out when it
is his turn, or my willingness to offer to rub his shoulders, because I know they hurt, even though I still feel grumpy. It isn’t big stuff that is the glue. It is the simple things that make you
feel worthy. Makes you feel like
this person, unlike most of the cold hard world, is looking out for you. They are looking out for you even though they don't <u>have to</u>. And when they surprise you with kindness, all the crap that is in
your craw evaporates, and you move on for another few days, feeling pretty good. Those days turn into years. Perhaps that isn’t the romantic ending you
were expecting, but if you need this information, it is what I have to
offer. In my marriage, it is being
surprised by kindnesses that give our relationship life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jcw6nZm662U/Vr9ubwug_1I/AAAAAAAAAWk/1UofhyJbUPA/s1600/10394868_10201429176685222_3514119497137245633_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jcw6nZm662U/Vr9ubwug_1I/AAAAAAAAAWk/1UofhyJbUPA/s400/10394868_10201429176685222_3514119497137245633_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2014</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-88412126128228142702016-02-07T13:43:00.001-06:002016-02-08T02:42:02.446-06:00Love Letter to The Library<div id="yiv6728744777yui_3_16_0_1_1454857464577_3414" style="font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
The library is like that life-long <span style="color: #a64d79;"><strong>friend</strong></span>, who no matter how many years it has been since you've seen them, you feel right at home the minute you walk in.</div>
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You know if you are in a strange town you can go to the library and feel at <span style="color: #a64d79;"><strong>home</strong></span>. There are only a handful of things to figure out and clearly marked signs to help you. Where are the newspapers? Where are the new releases? In five minutes you have the lay of the land. You can pick a seat and observe humanity and think 'I bet Charlotte Bronte is right over there in the Bo-Ce aisle'. </div>
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You can wander through the children's section and probably see bright colors, a fish tank, and shorter book shelves. And if you look for Boxcar children, they will be there. Some places, like some friends, are <span style="color: #a64d79;"><strong>safe</strong></span> places.<br />
</div>
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If you were a small-minded person like me, you could quickly <span style="color: #a64d79;"><strong>judge</strong></span> the town you are in. Magazines: Do they have 'Writer's Digest'? If not, backwater.</div>
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<span style="color: #a64d79;"><strong>Class</strong>-<strong>neutral</strong></span>. I was recently at the Oak Park, IL library for a length of time and I saw such liveliness. Hipster families of three in their matching Northface coats, skinny jeans and black frame glasses. Sweat-shirted group of possible gin-rummy players with badly died hair, 20-something Asian girl in a tailored red wool coat. A young mother, her five-year-old daughter in twenty-year-old Little Mermaid boots. Coughing older gentleman in parking deck attendant uniform. Vogue Model look-alikes who were speaking a Russian-ish language. Three young boys with a curly-red-haired grandma, all of them frowning but rushing purposefully to hit the elevator button first. </div>
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None of them looked frazzled, confused, or lost. </div>
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My therapist (used to have one, currently I just imagine what she would say) would say I love the library because it was the one place my father told me from about the age of six that if I asked him to take me there, <u>he'd never say 'No'</u>. He probably regretted that promise more than once, after a long day at work, coming home in our only vehicle, and being greeted by 'Can you take me to the library, Daddy?' This original Carnegie library is so old I could only find a sketch of it online: <br />
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My sixth grade self would tell you my <span style="color: #a64d79;"><strong>stack</strong></span> of books that never ran out, that one summer of Pringles and pale legs in our silent living room, it cemented our friendship. This newer building was built around the time I was ten... (the 70's)</div>
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The Milner library in my college years -- I wasn't much for <i>studying</i> there, I preferred to be in my uncomfortable dorm bed for that, but I liked to go there, <span style="color: #a64d79;"><strong>smell</strong></span> the books, listen to the murmurs, write my boyfriend long letters, and generally experience a bit of safety. Staidness. </div>
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There was the day in the Winfield Public Library when I was still pregnant with my first that I discovered the non-fiction section on 'How to be a Writer' and the universe aligned. Within a few days of reading everything their meager selection offered in this section of the Dewey decimal system, I realized at the old age of 24 I had missed <strong><span style="color: #a64d79;">my</span></strong> <span style="color: #a64d79;"><strong>calling</strong></span>, already gainfully employed in the computer industry. </div>
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There was the St. Charles Public library where I was a storytime mommy and me virgin. And then the reunion when I moved back to my home town and renewed my relationship with that building, mostly taking preschoolers to storytime and occasionally sneaking over to the adult side, new releases only because they were within hearing distance of the kids section, to <i><span style="color: #a64d79;"><strong>find something to read</strong></span></i>. Four sweet words. This is also the era (90's?) when I discovered the library could keep me regular. Gastro-intestinally speaking. A mystery for a smarter person than me to solve. </div>
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Generally people think the library is old school. It is not. It is the original solution to short attention spans. If someone invented the concept today they'd be billionaires.</div>
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I go there to write. </div>
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And listen.</div>
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And get audio books for long trips, watch violin quartets, visit the book sale room, visit old (books I have known) friends, find out about local events on the community bulletin board. <em>Shots taken at my hometown library recently...</em></div>
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I view artwork exhibits, listen to community speakers, attend reading groups. I've seen my niece's American Girl Collection on display. I've figured out who lived in my current house in 1898, 1908... I've searched paper college catalogs when I was thinking about where to go to college. I've met people who became good friends (Leslie). Have I mentioned its free? </div>
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<strong><span style="color: #a64d79; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: small;"><em>F R E E</em></span></strong></div>
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I strongly believe the library has a place in our futures just like in our pasts. And as long as I live, I will feel at home there, no matter what city, no matter what age. Libraries are a good familiar. As much as I love change, I also love a good <strong><span style="color: #a64d79;">familiar</span></strong>. </div>
Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12312245.post-35049359391976900002016-01-30T19:50:00.001-06:002016-01-30T19:51:14.467-06:00Writer on Saturday. A Still Life. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The last good day of writing I had was when I was out of town in December--at a writing workshop. In an effort to recreate that day of end-to-end productivity I copied it: 1) I walked to the library. 2) There is no '2'. I walked to the library.<br />
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Walking means I have no car, so no easy escape. No, 'I have a headache I think I'll go to Hobby Lobby and roam the Valentines aisle'. No 'let me just get a Big Mac and come back and write.'<br />
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Walking also meant no laptop today. I had to use pen and paper, just like in December. This is an interesting exercise and I'm trying to decide if I like it or not. Since I'm an IT person by day I spend 8-10 hours on a computer Monday through Friday. I think using a different medium might be a good trick for me. <br />
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"...to the library" means I'm surrounded by quiet, books, clean, and calm, I have one of those four things at home (and you know I have books). Plus, I have <i>distractions</i> in the house I live in. I'm so proud of my writing room at home, but I rarely get there. I get sidetracked by things in the hallway upstairs, or by the timer on the dryer, the dog needing to play fetch or by the comfy recliner up there in our extra TV room, and a rerun of...anything. I'm easily distracted. The library had very few distractions. My hometown library has been recently redesigned, and is beautiful now, although I've always been partial to it. I was able to snag a shiny new private cubbie, with a table and a door that shuts. <br />
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I also brought my notes from December along with some amazing inspirational quotes my teacher shared that day, and it was an auspicious start to three hours of writing. Another chapter done, an outline begun, some backstory figured out. And, if I hadn't seen an Ivan Doig book there in the resale room it would have been free. And did I mention the silence??<br />
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Silence. Heavy, encompassing, thick, lovely silence. It isn't easy to find. I couldn't hear anyone on their phone, I couldn't hear doors slam or jewelry commercials or dogs barking. I couldn't even hear computer mice clicking away, which they were doing fifty feet from me, but silently. <br />
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And writing got done. <br />
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I'll end with one of the quotes from my stockpile of encouragement: <br />
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<i> I want to live other lives. I've never quite believed that one chance is all I get. Writing is my way of making other chances. </i><br />
<i> --Anne Tyler</i><br />
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<br />Toni Evanshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05354169610303816885noreply@blogger.com2