tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12465832282114371812024-02-07T04:41:46.918-05:00MidLifeMama - A Change of Lifemkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.comBlogger452125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-2937914328737088822012-03-11T21:35:00.000-04:002012-03-11T21:35:04.754-04:00Moving on up...Hello! I have recently relocated this blog to www.midlyfemama.wordpress.com. Www.midlyfemama.com will also get you to the new blog. <br />
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I hope you can follow the trail of chocolate chips, mini marshmallows and nips of gin I left to guide you there...mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-39433079852618096552012-03-08T20:39:00.001-05:002012-03-08T20:39:55.501-05:00One Week: Progress...A week ago I committed to joining <a href="http://the-pish-posh.blogspot.com/">Pish Posh</a> in her get fit challenge. To that end I have been doing the following:<br />
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Getting on the treadmill 5 out of 7 days a week.<br />
Recording my food intake in my handy FitnessPal app on my phone.<br />
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I have lost 2 pounds.<br />
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I sort of am not rushing to be all HOORAAAAY because honestly, most women will tell you they can gain or lose (or both) 2 pounds in a day. But it IS progress. It helps to maintain the momentum.<br />
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Recording my food/beverage intake, as I said last time, isn't so much about restricting what I eat, because I really don't believe in denying myself the things I enjoy. But it does make me stop and think about what I am eating. Do I really want the 40 calories from those chocolate kisses? Yes, yes I do. But I don't really, so no thanks, not this time. <br />
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I like that this app asks me what my goal is (lose 20lbs) and then gives me a timeline for that based on losing a realistic amount of weight per week, as well as how many calories I would need to consume in order to achieve that goal in said amount of time. Again, I don't look at it as prescriptive. More of a suggestion. <br />
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This makes me think about the quality of the food I am eating. One bagel has around 300 calories. One cup of fruit has 45 calories. Fruit is on the whole better for me, and I really like fruit, so I am going to choose the fruit and some cheese over the bagel this time. I will still eat a bagel every so often. Especially if I happened to have worked out that day. <br />
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It is about balance. Finding the balance. <br />
<br />mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-42669475720175437542012-03-07T20:15:00.001-05:002012-03-07T20:15:13.342-05:00Things I can hear...I came home at lunch today, and when I let the dogs out back, I stopped and let the sun shine on my face, and I listened. It has been a relatively mild winter here in Boston, but it has still been winter. I have not sat out on my deck in months. I wear three layers of clothes every day. There are no leaves on the trees, and I have no plants growing in my yard. <br />
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And yet...<br />
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I could hear the birds.<br />
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I could hear the melting snow trickling in the yards around me. <br />
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I think I might have heard a few buds budding. <br />
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I think I can hear spring...mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-85186121508878870482012-03-06T10:43:00.000-05:002012-03-06T10:43:57.876-05:00On Owning Who You AreThere are many things I am (in no particular order): A woman. A mother. A wife. A daughter. A sister. A friend. A Christian. A singer. Funny. Intelligent. Caring. Sensitive. Strong. Assertive. Human. Selfish. Weak in the face of popcorn or a good piece of carmel and chocolate candy. <br />
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I could go on, but the point is there are a lot of things that I KNOW I am, and I am willing to own all of these things, good and bad. No one is perfect, no one is all bad. At least I choose to HOPE that no one is all bad. Let's say we do not have to be defined by only the good or the bad in ourselves. We can always rise above the very worst thing we have ever done or thought, and we will always fall below the very best thing that we have ever done or thought. It is the way of being a human. We are flawed creatures, and if we are doing our jobs, we are on a never ending quest to be better than we were yesterday. Or even earlier today. We will fail, but we cannot let that define us. We need to accept that we will fail miserably sometimes, but also revel in that we will succeed spectacularly too. <br />
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The flip side to knowing who you are is being aware of the messages that we are given by others, whether that is delivered by an individual, an organization, or some subset of society. Some of these messages are positive, but unfortunately more often than not it is negative in its connotation.<br />
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Messages I have received over my life from others:<br />
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- The most important person in my life should be me. Delivered by my viola teacher of a few years, who was an ancient, small Italian man. He was also the first person to suggest that I needed to FEEL the music as much as know the notes.<br />
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- "You are a know it all." Delivered by the mother of a boyfriend. Not surprisingly that relationship did not last.<br />
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- "Men need to feel needed in a practical sense. You are too self sufficient, men won't feel needed by you so it will be harder for you to find a man." Delivered by a male VP of Student Services at my first full time job after grad school. <br />
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- As a woman the most important things I can hope to accomplish is becoming a wife and mother. Delivered in a variety of ways, by a variety of people in college as an undergrad, and in various churches I have attended in my life.<br />
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- "You are doing a good job." Delivered by my dad, to me, as he was saying goodbye to me the last time we visited my parents. He was referring mostly to how I am doing with Cooper. And I appreciated the unsolicited feedback!<br />
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There have been many other, positive messaged, delivered to me over time by a variety of people. My mother is a constant source of positive reinforcement, as are many of my friends. Many times it is not what a person says, but how they treat you that sends the message. And often the message is not about YOU, but about themselves, and the values THEY hold. When that guy that cheated on me, I realized much later that it had nothing to do with how he felt about me, or even my value as a person. It spoke volumes though about his own self esteem, his own value system. <br />
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You cannot make a person believe something, you cannot make them feel something. You can however, live your life according to your own values, bearing witness to your own belief system and own your own power. If people get who you are and value that, BONUS. If they don't, it is their loss. But mostly, we need to own who we are and be proud of what we have accomplished. <br />
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Recently we have been hearing a lot about the debate around whether or not certain organizations should be required to offer coverage for contraception when it is in direct contrast to their religious belief system to use contraception. The current administration in the oval office has mandated that all insurance companies must either carry it as a covered expense, or make it available to women free of charge if the company for whom the woman works refuses to offer it as a covered medication. <br />
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<b>In 2012 we are actually having this conversation</b>. It baffles me. Back in 1992, when I was working for the state of New York at a college, contraception was not a covered prescription. Not because the state of NY had any religious or moral stand against it. I perceived it as one of those medications that society was only beginning to acknowledge as medically necessary, not an arbitrary, whimsical choice made by only loose women looking to satiate their carnal instincts. As an employee of the state, I was also a member of a bargaining unit, or union. I would attend the meetings for the staff union, and one day the meeting involved discussing medical coverage. The gentleman who was our union rep said if anyone had any questions or concerns about what our insurance did or did not cover, to let him know and it would be taken to the higher ups and possibly negotiated into our coverage. <br />
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In looking back, I feel a little badly for this guy, who was my senior by easily 30 years and who most assuredly did not want to have a conversation about birth control with this 24 year old woman. But to his credit, he did have that conversation. I did not bring it up in the meeting, I caught him afterward, and explained that I felt very strongly that he advocate on behalf of all of the female employees that oral contraception be added to the prescription coverage. I explained that the cost to the insurance company, and consequently to the state and college was far less for the medication than it would be to deal with unexpected pregnancies or other physical ramifications of not being on the pill. I explained that I took this medication for reasons other than pregnancy prevention, which were legitimate and medically diagnosed reasons. <b>My doctor prescribes this medication for me, it should be covered.</b> <br />
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He did his job as a union rep, and before my 3.5 years were over at that particular job, oral contraception was added to the prescription medication coverage. TWENTY YEARS LATER I cannot for the life of me understand how we have come back full circle to this conversation. <br />
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I understand that from a religious stand point, some organizations, like the Catholic church, do not condone the use of contraception. But that should have nothing to do with whether or not an insurance company covers it. If you as a priest believe that your flock should not be using contraception, it is your job to preach that message, to counsel and advise your community. And then it is up to the individual to decide what to do based on their own relationship with their God. It is not something that should be regulated via the insurance company. <br />
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This discussion is disturbing to me because it says a lot about how far we have NOT come as a society with regard to how we view women and women's health concerns. The Catholic church does not have any problem covering Viagra as a prescription, but won't cover contraception. Men get to have their medically induced, church sanctioned hard on, but women are not allowed to have a medication that will allow them to prevent pregnancies after having to deal with those hard ons. Women are being told that if you need to be on oral contraception to prevent ovulation so that you reduce the risk of ovarian cancer, too bad. Ovarian cysts, so what. PMS? It is all in your head anyway. Oh, you might die from the HELLP syndrome or pre-eclampsia? TOO BAD. <br />
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As women we should be PISSED OFF. We should be raging mad. We should be demanding equal and fair consideration for all of our medical and health concerns. And above all, we should not tolerate people suggesting that the only reason a woman would want contraception is because she is a slut and a prostitute. People also need to be clear on the kinds of contraception available. Most that are used regularly prevent ovulation, which means that fertilization is not possible because eggs are never released. Taking oral contraception is not akin to abortion. We are not baby killers. <br />
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It is astounding to me the anger and hostility this conversation brings out in people. But we cannot stop the fight because people get nasty. We know who we are. We know that we deserve equal and fair treatment. We need to own that.mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-52564246654825775932012-03-03T08:05:00.000-05:002012-03-03T08:05:27.810-05:00Things I Don't Want To Deal With...I have said before I never intended to become a mother. I didn't get married for the first time until I was 34, and that was to a man who didn't want to have children because of health issues he had. That marriage ended when I was 39, and I didn't marry The Bob until I was 40, and he had 2 kids already so we were of the same mind that children were not part of The Agenda.<br />
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The universe laughs when you make plans. <br />
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There was also this little thing about kids that, quite frankly, I did not need to experience. A little thing I like to call The Pain and Agony of Dealing with Other Kids. You see, I have already done my time. I have already BEEN a kid, I have already experienced the basic nastiness of other children, survived the teen years filled with hormones and angst. I have earned my stripes. This self confidence, this ability to be happy in my own skin, it is the result of years of dealing with both making good friends and feeling loved by others as well as being disappointed by people over and over again. Because that is life. <br />
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It is one thing to experience these things for yourself, to say OK, that sucked but I am still here and I am a good and worthwhile, lovable person. At 47 years of age I have learned to make different choices than I did at 7 or 14 or 24 or even 34. <br />
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It is an entirely DIFFERENT thing to experience it all over again through the eyes of my child. Now when disappointment strikes, not only do I get to feel the annoyance and frustration, but I get to watch my 5 year old experience it, and begin to figure out how to navigate these treacherous waters of life. And that SUCKS. <br />
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I love being his mom, don't get me wrong. There are so many awesomely astounding milestones and it is truly mind boggling that these little people grow and figure things out and become fabulous people. But the flip side of this is that they have to deal with other people. Specifically other kids. And if you have spent any time around more than 2 or 3 kids in your life, you know that kids can be mean. They are just condensed versions of grown ups and have even fewer filters than most adults. <br />
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Recently Cooper has been experiencing the disappointment of someone who has been one of his best friends at school being mean to him. It is not unusual for alliances to shift at this age. You spend a few months being best friends with one kid, then all of a sudden this other kid is the only one you want to play with. But this is different than that. All of a sudden this small fry began teasing Cooper, specifically by calling him names and telling him he is stupid, or can't play with him and this other kid unless he behaves a certain way. <br />
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The names are nonsense. He calls Cooper things like ballerina and pawpaw and tells him he has to have googly eyes in order to play with him. Cooper doesn't even know what that means. But it is a distinct shift in attitude toward Cooper. I don't think there is a particular intention to hurt Cooper, but I do think this kid is testing boundaries and much of it he is learning, I believe, from his older brother who is almost 8. That kid is someone we have spent some time around, he is someone who borders on being a bully. He always wants to be in charge, he looks for opportunities to make fun of someone or say something slightly hurtful. I think our friend deals with this brother at home, puts up with all of his bossiness and then tries to assert some control in other places in his life, like at school, with my son. <br />
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Cooper is not a fan of this behavior. Coop is just about playing and acting out super hero stories and riding bikes and having a good time. When he tells me that this kid called him names at school, or told him he couldn't play unless he did something, I can see the hurt and confusion. I can tell it is changing how he feels about this kid, because I asked Cooper if he wanted to set up a play date with him, and there was a very long pause, and then a distinctly ambivalent "Okaaaaay..." <br />
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The thing I cannot decide is should I do anything about it. If this was someone who lived in the neighborhood, someone we saw all the time, I would probably be able to help Coop negotiate this as it happened, because I would be likely to witness it, or I could have a conversation with a parent and ask if something was going on that was bothering the child in question and making him behave this way toward Cooper. But this is someone he only sees at school. They live in another town, and at the end of August they won't go to school together ever again. The only way they would see each other is if I make the effort to arrange getting together. <br />
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I could talk to his mom. We exchange emails to set up play dates periodically, we have spent time chatting during these play dates. She is approachable. But the question is should I? I would need to find a way to say "Hey, your kid is acting like a little shit" without saying it that way. I would want it to be productive, not hostile. But there is a good chance that no matter how I said it it could be perceived as hostile. <br />
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I have been telling Cooper that if he doesn't like what this kid is saying, tell him he doesn't like it, that it is mean and he is hurting his feelings. And if he doesn't stop it, he won't play with him. There are 15 kids in the class, there are other people to play with. I tell him I don't know why this kid is being mean, but he does NOT have to put up with it. <br />
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Right now that seems like the best we can do. Give him the tools to deal with crap from others and console him when disappointed by other people. Because that is never going to not happen. We can just hope that there are plenty of people who come through as true friends to offset the other stuff.mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-11495191523802223272012-03-02T13:02:00.000-05:002012-03-02T13:02:15.753-05:00Shape up all aroundVia <a href="http://simianidiot.tumblr.com/">The Simian Idiot</a>, a blog that is irreverent, sparkly, and at times just a HOOT I found <a href="http://simianidiot.tumblr.com/">Pish Posh</a>. And Miss Posh (or is it Miss Pish?) has launched a very courageous and necessary campaign in her life, to GET IN SHAPE. And not just in the physical sense. She wants to get in shape physically, mentally, emotionally, and professionally. She has set for herself quite the challenge. And she has invited us along for the ride.<br />
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I will admit to needing to get physically in shape. It is an endless and forever and always campaign. So for that and that alone I will hitch my wagon to hers, and try to be diligent about working out, eating right and blogging about it. <br />
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To that end I am putting this little app back on my phone called MyFitnessPal. It helps you keep track of your food intake and your energy output. It tells you how many calories you should consume daily based on your weight loss goals. It also tells you if you have ridiculously unrealistic weight loss goals. It has a humungous database of food already in it, so you can put in what you ate and it will help you calculate the calories for that item. This is the part that is hard for me, judging an item I prepared myself in terms of calories. Is my roast beef and potatoes the same as the one someone put into the database already? We shall see. At least it is an IDEA of how much it might contain, so it keeps you on target.<br />
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I am not interested in massively dieting or depriving myself. Life is too short and annoying on so many other levels, I do not need to eliminate ALL the foods I love and adore. Like CHEESE. I think just being aware of what you are putting in your mouth, and making the conscious choice to do so, is a good place to be. I already eat pretty well, but this will help refine that. <br />
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This app also gives you the chance to plug in any exercise you have done for the day, giving you a few extra bonus calories to play with. But I will tell you this - you do not burn off as many calories as you think you do doing most of the stuff you do to burn off calories. Which is why, GOD HELP ME, I am trying to RUN on the treadmill more these days. Some days are better than others, and basically most days I am just happy I got my 2 miles in. The more I can run the more mileage I will cover. But my knees do have a way of reminding me I am not 24 anymore. <br />
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So to Miss Pish Posh, I say I see your challenge and I join you in your quest. If we can be of support to each other, excellent. <br />
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Tally Ho.mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-75887645871595950362012-02-27T11:55:00.001-05:002012-02-27T11:55:33.059-05:00And then my kid went to school and talked about hell fire and the devil...Today I had to give my son's preschool teacher a heads up. Because the life of a preschool teacher isn't fascinating enough, isn't fraught with all sorts of difficulties, what with the having to negotiate all manner of arguments such as "He called me a ballerina!!!!" and "She won't stop LOOKING at me!!!", I needed to tell these particular teachers that because of a certain obsession of late, Cooper might talk about the devil and hell fire.<br />
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No, we have not gotten all evangelical here at MidLyfeMama. No, Cooper has been watching the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0259324/">Ghost Rider</a> movies. <br />
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For those not in the know, Johnny Blaze, brought to life on the big screen by the toothsome and never overly dramatic <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000115/">Nicholas Cage</a>, is a stunt motorcycle rider with a circus. In an effort to save his father from death by cancer, Johnny makes a pact with the Devil, played by <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001228/">a somewhat creepy but not terribly scary Peter Fonda</a>. In exchange for Johnny's soul, the Devil will cure dad of cancer.<br />
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Note: Pay attention, this may come in handy in the future - when making a pact with the Devil, make sure you have read between the lines on the contract. Chances are Mephistophiles will, given the opportunity, screw you over. <br />
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Not surprisingly, Johnny does get screwed over. Dad is cured of cancer! YAY! Dad dies in a fiery crash during the show the next day. Boo. <br />
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Time passes, Johnny doesn't hear from the Devil for quite some time, but then the Devil needs to reign in one of his sons, Black Heart, who wants to destroy life as we know it. The Devil shows up, tells Johnny he has a job to do, and suddenly Johnny's head and hands and motorcycle are on fire with Hell Fire. He is the Ghost Rider. The Devil's bounty hunter. He turns into this dude at night, any time he is in the presence of evil. During the day, he is just plain ol' swaggering, slightly befuddled Nick Cage. <br />
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The rest of the movie is not important, unless you would like to know that <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000385/">Sam Elliott</a> is in it, and I love Sam Elliott doing what he does best, COWBOYS. His character was once a Ghost Rider too, only his trusty steed was a horse, who turns into a fire breathing stallion when he becomes the Ghost Rider. Which looks really cool.<br />
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So. My beloved boy watches not one but two of these movies this past weekend, and then is acting out the Ghost Rider all over the house, in the car, everywhere. And he is freely talking about the devil and hell fire. And then I realize that this might not end when he gets to school Monday morning.<br />
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Awesome. In my head I am imagining Charlie and Will, two of Coop's favorite people in the world, going home to their lovely parents and telling them about how Cooper was talking about the devil and hell fire and a horse that breathes fire. Cancel all future plans to make plans for play dates. Check.<br />
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I did attempt some damage control. I explained that if Cooper talked about hell fire, he would get in trouble, because it might be too scary for some kids. I suggested if he HAD to talk about it, he call it ghost fire. Then I made him call it ghost fire for the rest of the day yesterday. <br />
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And I explained it all to his teacher in case it came up in conversation. You would think that these movies were too scary for Cooper, but they were not. He certainly asks a lot of questions about what is going on while watching them, but since good wins and evil loses, he walks away from them feeling the world is a just and fair place. He has had very little personal contact with evil in his own life, THANK GOD. Literally. I would like to think he will be able to live his entire long life never questioning that this world is a just and fair place. The chances of that are about as slim as getting a fair deal in a contract with Mephistophiles. Until then it is not such a bad thing that he learns you can take a bad situation and make it better if you try. The Ghost Rider rids the world of Black Heart, and then tells the Devil that he will use this curse against the Devil. He will use it to right wrongs against the innocent. A curse becomes a blessing. You are never too young to learn that lesson.<br />
<br />mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-88409045041737443362012-02-14T20:25:00.002-05:002012-02-14T20:25:38.162-05:00How Hallmark Ruined Valentine's DayOnce upon a time I was a but a wee adolescent gal, and I got a job in a Hallmark Gold Crown store. At the time not all Hallmark stores could boast the title of Gold Crown. I cannot remember what it was that a store had to do, I think it was a certain amount of sales, to achieve this illustrious status, but Sells Candy Store in Bay Village OH achieved it. <br />
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I enjoyed working at Sells. It was family owned. They made all their own candies and me and my teenaged metabolism were allowed to eat all the candy we wanted. I mean, they were only paying me $1.80 an hour (1981 dollars) so the candy seemed like a good side benefit. Most days I loved working the candy counter. I loved packaging up the various orders people came in for. I got to know the regulars and their favorite candy. There was the little old lady who loved the chocolate covered sponge candy that could only be made in low humidity weather. There was the man who always wore the dapper hats who loved the turtles - pecans, caramel, and either milk or dark chocolate on top. I had never had a turtle before, and the dark chocolate ones were a revelation.<br />
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What was truly a revelation though, the turning point where I recognized that there was a certain taste combination in the world and that no one had ever introduced it to me before that moment bordered on betrayal: Dark chocolate covered pretzels. <br />
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I know, really, a pretzel? Yes. A thin twist of pretzel. Covered in high quality, 70% cacao dark chocolate. Sweet and salty and crunchy. It was like watching a whole new universe open before my eyes as all that taste sensation happened on my tongue.<br />
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There were a lot of benefits to working at Sells. But it was also disillusioning. Dream crushing. Jading. You see, when you work in a Hallmark store, you have to begin hawking the next holiday anywhere from a month to 6 months in advance of the actual holiday. At first it seems harmless. You are putting out the Valentine's Day cards in late December, right after Christmas. Sure, why not. You are tired of all the Christmas cards and ornaments anyway, since THEY have been out since JULY. I am not kidding. Six months of looking at, organizing, dusting and reorganizing Christmas in all it's commercialized glory.<br />
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But it was the lesser holidays that were ruined for me more than Christmas. Especially Valentine's Day. Sell's was right next to one of the bus stops that delivered the working people from Cleveland back to Bay Village every evening. On February 14th, beginning around 4pm, every bus meant an onslaught of men leaping from the bus, dashing into the store, hollering "One box of whatever you've got" while grabbing whatever card was still presentable and not bent in the For My Wife section of the Valentine's cards. We always had variety boxes pre-wrapped, in various sizes, so we could just pick one for the man in question, ring up the sale with the card, which was often signed right there at the counter as it was paid for and off he went to rush home to look like he actually meant the sentiment inside the card.<br />
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A small part of me died working in that store, from the summer of 1981 to summer of 1982. As I watched people express affection for each other just because the calendar said they should, in the way that society deemed you should, I realized that I hated Hallmark. I love <a href="http://www.hallmark.com/online/hoopsandyoyo/">Hoops and Yoyo</a> but even they have gotten too commercial. You have to pay for the best of their cards to be delivered electronically. But they are really funny. But I digress...<br />
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I want people to pick a day, just any random day in the year, that isn't a holiday, isn't an anniversary or birthday, and buy flowers, or a card, or a stuffed animal, or a cake, whatever the person you are going to give it to would REALLY appreciate, and give it to someone you love or care about. JUST BECAUSE. Love, appreciation, gratitude should not be scheduled, commercialized or otherwise prescribed. <br />
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Go forth and celebrate Valentine's Day if that is your thing. Give candy, flowers, cards. But do it again sometime, for no reason whatsoever, because you appreciate someone. <br />
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So sayeth Mid Life Mama.mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-78941337677718793872012-02-01T12:26:00.000-05:002012-02-01T12:26:39.898-05:00Things I Cannot Do...A recent post over at <a href="http://www.chookooloonks.com/blog/2012/2/1/list-32-things-i-should-totally-know-how-to-do-but-dont-have.html">Chookooloonks</a> by the lovely and talented Karen W. inspired me to write my own list of Things I Cannot Do. <br />
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1. A cartwheel. Never have been able to. Actually, this entire list could be made solely of gymnastics related activities, such as back bends, climb the damn rope, do a split, etc.<br />
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2. Ice skate. I have tried, throughout my 47.5 years in this go around at life to ice skate. I fall down. My ankles, which generally are quite reliable about holding up my body, even in heels, collapse like a bad souffle the moment I stand up in ice skates. Roller blades present the same issue. Old school, four wheeled, two sets, side by side roller skates are not as problematic. Then it is more of a stopping before I die issue.<br />
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3. Whistle. I am, always have been, much to the amusement of my brother, completely whistle impaired. Nary a toot, tweet or other whistle related sound can be issued from my lips. I cannot produce a whistle with my fingers in my mouth either. I can however make a thick blade of grass shriek, causing all dogs in a 5 mile radius howl.<br />
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4. Make an omelette. Not that I have really tried that hard, but at that critical point when it should be folded over into an omelette, it becomes scrambled eggs. But in general I am OK with that. Still tastes good.<br />
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5. Grow a Chia Pet. I can grow a lot of things plant related. So far I have failed in the Chia department. It is humbling. <br />
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6. Do a head/hand stand. This is sort of related to the gymnastics issue, but is more of a yoga issue at this time in my life. I have never been able to maintain a head or hand stand, even when I was 5 and made solely of core muscles, unlike now where my core muscles are less muscles and more gelatinous mass. I resent that almost every yoga class beyond a beginner level insists that we should not only DO inversions, but LOVE THEM. Have you SEEN ME I say to the instructors. This body was built for strength poses like warrior. My center of gravity defies inversions.<br />
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7. Put all of my clothes away. Ask anyone who has ever lived with me. I am constitutionally incapable of being that organized. I go in great spurts where I will get 99% of them put away, but there is always that last sweater, pair of pants, something.<br />
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I am sure there are more skills that I lack. I am, in general, OK with my shortcomings. I have come to terms with my lack of gymnastic prowess. I would not have ever made the Olympic team anyway. I have always been OK with my inability to ice skate, but other people in my life have found it baffling, irritating, or in one case, A CHALLENGE HE WOULD CONQUER. In college the adorable Dave M. who also smelled really good most of the time, insisted he could teach me to skate. 2 hours later he admitted defeat. It was not easy being that person, who crushed someone else's sense of self worth, but it isn't like I do not want to ice skate. I watch those lovely figure skaters and ice dancers every winter olympics and just dream of gliding across the ice, and then jumping and spinning ever so gracefully. But alas, I really cannot ice skate. <br />
<br />mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-62820221502982319192012-01-24T20:41:00.000-05:002012-01-24T20:41:21.283-05:00Closing For Business...No, this blog is not closing for business. But my uterus is. <br />
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Has anyone else noticed the recent inundation of shows and movies about Snow White? We have <a href="http://beta.abc.go.com/shows/once-upon-a-time#linkId-Hashtags-#OnceUponATime;#OnceABC">Once Upon a Time</a> on ABC, which takes Snow White and brings her into modern day. And then there is not one but TWO movies coming out based on the Snow White story, one with Julie Roberts as the evil queen and the other with Charlize Theron in the same role. I am not sure what is up with this renewed interest in this fairy tale, but I have a new take on it myself.<br />
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Snow White and the Seven Malicious Dwarfs of Menopause. There is our heroine, Snow White, (that's me) and we have as our seven little leading men: Cranky, Sweaty, Chubby, Itchy, Fitful the Unsleepy, Puffy and Forgetful. <br />
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I am currently becoming really good friends with six out of the seven of these little devils. My friend, Flo, has been missing in action for months. The last time she didn't visit for that length of time I THOUGHT it was Lady Perimenopause knocking on the door. But it was her cousin, Madame Midlife Baby. This time the Lady really has come for tea. <br />
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I recently saw my doctor to discuss the fact that I am on uncomfortably good terms with a few of these guys, and I would like to fire them from my crew. I have been working really hard to eat right, and working out 4 or so times a week. I have been enduring Lady Wii's mocking. Did you know it makes this little "Oooooh" sound when you step on and you haven't lost any weight but in fact GAINED it? Yes. It does. It is rude. I have been racking up the miles on the treadmill, even getting myself up to a light jog, on an INCLINE, for most of the 30 minutes. I hate running. And still, NOTHING. Or worse, the opposite of what I am supposed to see happening, I gain weight instead of lose it.<br />
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As I mentioned in a recent post, I am also itchy. I think I looked just insane enough because of all the itchiness at my appointment that the doc was like "Weeeeeell OKAAAAY, let's check your thyroid" and PRAISE BE it was finally decided I might benefit from some supplementation. It is my fondest and dearest hope that the itching will subside if not disappear, and that maybe it will help with a few other things. Time will tell. <br />
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In the meantime, while I am not experiencing night hot flashes, I am surprised that snow doesn't melt in my path just from how hot my face gets. It is both uncomfortable and uncomfortable. Yes, I said it twice. Food doesn't seem to trigger it as much as adrenalin. Like when I work out. So YAY! I work out, get all hot faced, and I don't lose weight. And when I sing. Here I am doing something I love, and I am positive that if I look in the mirror I am going to see this staring back at me: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcE0wLh5rZyZKgwk3Xboo__pyLsvjiYOZbg4bNKL57g61y0OYrI0X6Aj00iFWSUjcU0OairWrqiWaeBInTvkzub3zuCBcQaEjqgArGPPRQ2k3OEKY9rNwJ8g2itWsDtYmmAcqWlY9v6_LZ/s1600/The-Ghost-Rider-Spirit-of-Vengeance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="256" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcE0wLh5rZyZKgwk3Xboo__pyLsvjiYOZbg4bNKL57g61y0OYrI0X6Aj00iFWSUjcU0OairWrqiWaeBInTvkzub3zuCBcQaEjqgArGPPRQ2k3OEKY9rNwJ8g2itWsDtYmmAcqWlY9v6_LZ/s320/The-Ghost-Rider-Spirit-of-Vengeance.jpg" /></a></div>Studies on global warming are going to have my picture in the sidebar.<br />
(This is really Nicholas Cage as Ghost Rider, new movie coming out in February. Check out the trailer <a href="http://www.thespiritofvengeance.com/">here</a>)<br />
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As for the other dwarfs, I am consciously trying not to let Cranky rule the day but by the GODS if my dog Poncho doesn't stop knocking at the doggy door and just COME IN ALREADY he may find himself stuffed and mounted over the fireplace. No not really, but I do get cranky.<br />
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I am trying to mitigate Puffy by drinking plenty of green tea and water, but that means the fact that the bathroom outside my office is lacking essential equipment like a toilet and sink becomes even more of an inconvenience. But hey! BONUS! I have to go downstairs to use the bathroom, which means extra exercise! That isn't doing anything! <br />
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My favorite dwarf is Forgetful. Much like Bashful in the original saga, Forgetful is cute, cuddly, and thanks to Sweaty is also rosy cheeked. But he is also freaking annoying. I hate making lists, but my iPhone and whiteboard have become my newest tools in the fight against missing deadlines and forgetting to buy milk at the store. I have been reduced to writing down we need milk. We use it ALL THE TIME, and yet I need to remind myself to buy it. <br />
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The universe finds me amusing. This is the only explanation I have for my life sometimes.mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-640997613882467852012-01-17T12:29:00.000-05:002012-01-17T12:29:06.127-05:00Lessons in ego, humility and simplification...Recently I had to change offices, as did my associate director. We moved from the first floor of our building, which is a house converted to office space, to the second floor. <br />
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I had been in the old office for 10 years. It was quite spacious, and had recently been painted a lovely color of blue that I picked out. Nantucket Fog to be precise, by Benjamin Moore. It had once been a porch and possibly sunroom of the house. It had pretty high ceilings, lovely windows and a back door that allowed both for easy access as well great cross breezes on a spring or fall day. <br />
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The two offices that we moved into are significantly different in size from each other. One was probably the master bedroom of the home back when it was used as a personal home. It is VAST. The second room is connected to it by a door, with a closet in between. The second room is smaller by more than half of the other office, and probably was used as a nursery or other kind of bedroom. There is a bathroom right outside this office. <br />
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When considering the needs of our office, and the fact that we were losing an outside space where we kept four large filing cabinets, it made sense that the filing cabinets go into the large office. That meant that whomever had that office would a) be looking at those cabinets all the time and b) would have to tolerate other people coming and going from the office as files were needed and then re-filed. Note: We are moving toward document imaging, SLOWLY, as a campus and someday may not need these cabinets, but for now we hold all 1500 awarded financial aid recipient's files in them. <br />
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As the director I got to decide, with my boss's approval of course, where to put whom. I decided that I could not be in the office with the file cabinets. I had spent the last 10 years in a space that was lovely, but I was constantly being interrupted because I was too close to the files, too accessible to the work study students, and the first stop most people made on the first floor when looking for our offices. Plus the small fridge for our office was in my office. <br />
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So I decided to take the smaller office, and put the associate director in the big office. I did offer him the option of swapping offices with our other staff member, who has an even smaller office, so he would be more secluded, but he made the choice to be in the big office.<br />
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My desk and the accompanying credenza/bookshelf thing was WAY too big to go into what was going to be my new office, so I decided to give it to my associate director. Anyone who is friends with me on FB or follows me on Twitter knows the drama I went through getting my new desk last week. But we are all moved in and settled. And the process of coming to terms with the move was interesting.<br />
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I don't like change much. Never have. I found I was sad to leave my old office, and was kind of grieving the loss of it. Add to that the fact that when you walk into my associate director's office, with the grand space and the big furniture, well, he looks like the director. <br />
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I will admit my ego struggled with this. My head said this set up is the right one for the use of the space and the needs of the office. I am more secluded, which will afford me more uninterrupted time to get my work done. But there is this weird thing that our society does to us, this thing that says we should have the biggest, best, shiniest, whatever thing it is we are talking about. And my brain went there at first. I found myself thinking "I should be in the big office, with the big furniture, looking important."<br />
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Then I slapped myself across the face, figuratively speaking, and said stop being an idiot. It makes sense for us to be set up this way. And you don't NEED the big desk, the big office. You ARE the director. The big office doesn't make you the director. You like the small office and it's cozy space. The big office has better window space for your plants, but you will work it out. <br />
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That is the one thing I have had to really come to terms with, the light in the new space. I really loved the light in the old office, and even in the big office. The light in my new space is like what you would expect in a smallish bedroom. But there ARE windows, which is more than some people can say about their offices, and I can open them, which is key. <br />
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But all in all I really had to have a talk with myself about what is important, check my ego at the door and be grateful for what I do have, which is a lovely, quiet, green space to spend 8+ hours a day in. It is better than a cubicle, that is FOR SURE. And if people think that my associate director is actually the director, maybe they will stop asking to speak to the director and take his answer as the final answer. I need to be grateful for what I do have, and not worry about status symbols and appearances. Because in the end, none of it really makes a difference.mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-50321426102632239912012-01-11T14:23:00.001-05:002012-01-11T14:23:57.446-05:00Just call me Miss Marvel...In case you missed it the 12000 times I have mentioned it here, I have a 5 year old son. Honestly, most days it STILL takes me by surprise. I wake up, pull on some work out clothes and then BAM remember I am someone's mom. And despite my complete lack of training in this area (OK, I did my share of babysitting, but really, my own mom was only a block away most of the time, so I always had back up) the boy seems to be growing. The Bob has more experience in this area than I, since he managed to grow two other boys to almost adult hood. The funny thing about that is if I ask him something like "What age does XYZ happen?" he will be all "Uuuummmm, dude, I have no idea. Can't remember when that happened."<br />
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I added the dude. He never calls me that. <br />
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Anyway, I have been reminded recently, because I have this kid in my life, that other kids are mean and I already did all of this growing up myself I don't want to go through it all again but I really DO have to have a discussion about best friends, not leaving other kids out, and why sometimes Charlie doesn't want to do exactly what you are doing. Sigh.<br />
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There are times when being this mom person is so AWESOME. Like when I go in to wake him up in the morning and he is all cuddly and warm and I get to kiss his head and snuggle with him for a few minutes before the rocket ship we call life takes off for the next 12 hours. Or when I look in the rear view mirror and he catches my eye, and gives me the ol' wink and says "I LOVE YOU MOMMY." <br />
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There are times when it is challenging but in a fun or interesting way. We had to spend time at Children's Hospital recently finding out that Cooper MIGHT have some sort of miniscus blahbittyblahblah thing that makes his knee pop and sometimes dislocates slightly, causing it to lock and cause pain. The short version of the visit is that we wouldn't know for sure if that is the problem without an MRI and well, that involves sedation for a 5 year old. Really? I said to the beautiful Benton Hayworth, sports orthopedic specialist with skin so perfect I questioned if he even has pores or grows a beard, as Cooper walked back and forth in the room discussing super heroes. Sedation to get that kid to lay still for an MRI you say. Shocking. No, we will not be doing that right now. It is not interfering with his life or otherwise causing problems. If it does in the future, we will make a different decision.<br />
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But that is not what was challenging. Cooper likes for me to make up stories about super heroes. We had time to kill and the power was running low on my phone, so I made up two stories about the Avengers for him. I was particularly proud of the one, which involved a bad guy I called The Weeper. His power was that he cried, and when he cried he made everyone around him so sad and depressed that all they could do was sit down right where they were and cry. While they were incapacitated by the crying, The Weeper's henchmen would rob them. When the Avengers showed up they all started crying too, which interfered with the whole defeating the bad guys thing. The Hulk cried so much he was creating puddles, Thor had no idea what was happening because he is a god, gods don't cry. Iron Man solved the problem by turning off the sound to his armor so he couldn't hear The Weeper, and then sprayed him with laughing gas, which is the only way to defeat The Weeper. <br />
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Cooper was so enamored of this story he immediately began telling the story to Dr. Handsome and the nurse when they came in. And as much fun as it is to create these stories, I find it also a little exhausting. Being creative like that on the spot is HARD man. But maybe if this college administrator gig doesn't pan out I can find a new career writing story lines for Marvel. <br />
<br />mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-23388867962809093942012-01-01T09:05:00.000-05:002012-01-01T09:05:49.092-05:00Year of the DragonHappy 2012, the Year of the Dragon, or as I like to call it, The Year of MidLyfeMama. I am a <a href="http://www.chinesezodiac.com/dragon.php">Wood Dragon</a> in the Chinese horoscope world. There are 12 zodiac signs, and rather than assign one to a month, they assign one to the year of your birth. <br />
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Characteristics of a person born in the year of the Dragon include being passionate, opinionated, caring, don't mind taking risks, and while others are drawn to the colorful personality of the Dragon, Dragons tend to like to be alone. <br />
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All of which could apply to a lot of people, but I like to pretend that they apply to me ever so specifically. Because I AM SPECIAL.<br />
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They break the signs down further into four of the elemental signs, Water, Wood, Metal and Fire. I happen to be a Wood Dragon, which makes me less prickly than other Dragons. We will actually entertain the opinions of others (although if you ask The Bob those opinions are not necessarily USED in any actual manner) and we get along with others really well, but still like to be in charge. Really. I hadn't noticed.<br />
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My mother, the great and wise Dee, is also a Dragon, a Metal Dragon to be exact. My poor father and brother just stood no chance whatsoever in our household. <br />
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I don't do resolutions. I find that just sets me up for failure. Instead I would like to put hopes out there for the year. <br />
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I hope this is a year of financial recovery for The Bob and I. <br />
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I hope this is a successful year for the Coop at school - he finishes pre school and begins kindergarten in the fall. <br />
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I hope for continued health for all of my family.<br />
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I hope for continued emotional well being for all of my family.<br />
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I hope to get back to spending quality time with my friends, who I have neglected during the last few years of being a mom among other things.<br />
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I hope to lose at least 20lbs. On that point, The Bob got us a Wii for Christmas, and Wii Fit for MLM. The first time you step onto Lady Wii, she evaluates you, mocks you, tells you how out of shape you are and asks you for your fitness goals. She also tells you your "Wii Age" which is based on you having performed some of the evaluation exercises. The first day I used it, my Wii age was 40, which is 7 years younger than I am. Excellent. I have great balance (thank you yoga classes) but I definitely need to lose weight.<br />
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The second day I got on it, roughly at the same time of day as the day before, and it told me I had GAINED 5lbs. What the WHAT. I hadn't even gone NEAR the Christmas cookies. But! After performing the body evaluation again, after working out on it for 40 minutes, Lady Wii told me I was in great condition and my Wii age was 31. YAZTEE! I gained weight but lost years. At this rate I will be the youngest, fittest fat person you ever met. <br />
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I will not be deterred. I will get back on that Wii, and I will continue to work out on the treadmill and work toward my goal of losing 20lbs. I will also roll the shaggy rug back before using it, because I think it confounds Lady Wii's ability to register my movements and possibly contributed to my 5lb "weight gain." <br />
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Finally, I hope for all of you a happy, healthy, and successful however you measure that 2012.mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-73400783727463896382011-12-23T07:52:00.000-05:002011-12-23T07:52:09.871-05:00Grab 'em, hold 'em and tell them you love them...Yesterday our little college community found out we had suffered another loss. A student, close to graduation has died. His parents will now move through this holiday season without their child. <br />
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Several people I know are recently separated or divorced after decades of being married. The families are moving through this holiday season trying to figure out a new definition of "family" and looking for peace and blessings to fill the spaces left by these changes.<br />
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On Facebook I heard of a friend of a friend whose 5 year old son is dying from an incurable disease. The family is hoping to have one more Christmas with their precious boy.<br />
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And just like that my week long cold/coughing spell seems utterly inconsequential. A minor inconvenience. If ever there were a time of year to remember our blessings, to grab those we hold dear, who are the joy and heart of our lives, and tell them we love them, it is RIGHT.NOW. <br />
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To my mother, father, brother and his family, to Bob, Cooper and all my friends, thank you for being in my life and I love you all. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLxacDIyEWAqiJI1TQkgr1zRmAVLRB8qm1HrSAJfsSUDCvT6r7Nb7erLYZZEkRtW8u2BZnIBNpA15RbZlFaMsE27nuWHuzrHEe_h60p2sYKrOebqxnNl4grzsVSecqGUpicc3gvIGhkPW/s1600/tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLxacDIyEWAqiJI1TQkgr1zRmAVLRB8qm1HrSAJfsSUDCvT6r7Nb7erLYZZEkRtW8u2BZnIBNpA15RbZlFaMsE27nuWHuzrHEe_h60p2sYKrOebqxnNl4grzsVSecqGUpicc3gvIGhkPW/s320/tree.jpg" /></a></div><br />mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-66312519629661298542011-12-16T13:49:00.000-05:002011-12-16T13:49:15.099-05:00The One in Which I Defend "Lying" to My Kid...It has come to my attention recently, on places like <a href="http://www.babble.com">Babble Voices</a> and some other blogs, or on Facebook, that some people think it is a bad thing, a scarring and horrible crime against humanity to encourage your child to believe in Santa. <br />
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What horrible, terrible, very bad, no good thing happened to these people in their childhood? Childhoods? Whatever...what exactly went wrong one day for them that the joy, the mystery, the HAPPINESS that is embodied by that jolly man in a red suit with his eight tiny reindeer lost it's jingle jangle jazz? <br />
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I have a newly minted 5 year old son. We did not go to visit the mall Santa his first Christmas on this earth as he was one month old and a preemie. I was sure he would contract ebola if we went near the mall that first month. I might have been functioning under the irrational influence of mommy hormones and the drugs they gave me during the delivery to keep me from dying. But every year since, we have been to see our Santa. It has been the same Santa every year. And he is a good Santa. He is not scary, he does not smell. (I would know too. I have the nose of a blood hound.) He is kind and gentle and has a soft Kentucky accent. There was only one year, when Cooper was 3, that Cooper screamed bloody murder, and that was not because of Santa. It was bad timing on our part and a long line. When it came time to get Cooper to sit with him, I said "I don't know how this is going to go" and Santa said "Bring it." <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhufHT0aTa9ZPz0UIEErrAL4qZh6f1620BlN8q3fH62DlfpaebdOBL_z0E74zzVLz0d4OGtf5pD-0vKmry5EsH9KEN03038Oo-fZf7ENIdWkmzdtCaVPO7pI4sH5MkLcM1kw4gJL0kNb4ES/s1600/Bad_Santa_photo_2008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhufHT0aTa9ZPz0UIEErrAL4qZh6f1620BlN8q3fH62DlfpaebdOBL_z0E74zzVLz0d4OGtf5pD-0vKmry5EsH9KEN03038Oo-fZf7ENIdWkmzdtCaVPO7pI4sH5MkLcM1kw4gJL0kNb4ES/s320/Bad_Santa_photo_2008.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Cooper loves the whole concept of Santa. The kid is a born consumer. But he GETS it. He understands the magic around the holiday, the suspense, the spirit of both giving and receiving. We watch almost every holiday special there is, so he has seen many differing messages about how Santa gets around, how the whole sleigh and sack of toys thing might work. He is savvy enough to question the logic behind it all, but still believes it is all possible. Because it is MAGIC.<br />
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We have had the chance to talk about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Claus">the Santa legend</a> what his backstory is, how Santa came to be the dude we know today. This year I purposefully included Cooper in the process of selecting things to buy to give to a charity, and in what to buy through <a href="https://secure1.heifer.org/gift-catalog/?msource=kw2792&gclid=CNjXuc6dh60CFegSNAodUgSmTw">Heifer International</a>so he understands that there are people in this world who don't have much, if anything, and don't get presents like he does. That it is important to give. <br />
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I don't consider it LYING when we celebrate the holiday and encourage him to believe in Santa. Because it isn't about whether Santa really exists. It is about embracing, reveling in, the magic of the season. To believe in joy, wonder and at least this year, use the Advent calendar as a way to reinforce learning our numbers and counting to 25. So hands off the mystery all you Scrooges. This gal believes in Santa and her kid will too for as long as he is willing. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvDcAEeKxyGRzgFBHnsy4y2ttNsOdk5y4CypPEA5Udysc1rM7045849Nnb3uv9tS51PfpRG2TQF3F8dEDvUOUbD6D8zXu-NygmuM86ZuSIxwHMJPbM5usdRg3M7mo_fhg4mfyg79vak0Nr/s1600/Cooper+and+Santa+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvDcAEeKxyGRzgFBHnsy4y2ttNsOdk5y4CypPEA5Udysc1rM7045849Nnb3uv9tS51PfpRG2TQF3F8dEDvUOUbD6D8zXu-NygmuM86ZuSIxwHMJPbM5usdRg3M7mo_fhg4mfyg79vak0Nr/s320/Cooper+and+Santa+2011.jpg" /></a></div><br />mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-77528149197219573102011-12-14T11:37:00.000-05:002011-12-14T11:59:14.549-05:00I don't like change...I am not generally a fan of change. Even good change. It is, well, CHANGE. Ask my parents. Moving from one home to another was always devastating for me as a kid. Even though the new house was sometimes bigger, newer, in a better school system (like I noticed that kind of thing THEN). <br />
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You see, I nest. I like my THINGS. My bits and bobs and doodads. When I was pregnant, (which, in case you are not aware, is like the MOTHERLOAD of change, no pun intended,) in a fit of prenatal nesting/cleaning I "decluttered" the house, thinking I needed to protect this little bit of a person who would not be crawling much less walking for 9 months, from the more dangerous breakable, chokable items. I put some of the "precious" mementos away, and 5 years later still live without them. Some have been sold at the annual yard sale, some are still just put away in the attic.<br />
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But the point of this is about change. I have been in my current office for almost 10 years. When I first started at this job my office was on the second floor of this house which is an office building. About a year later I and my assistant director relocated to the first floor. I got a newly constructed office space that had previously been a room with pink carpet and two large copiers in it. It has LOTS of light and a back door through which I come and go and is also useful for getting a great cross breeze on lovely days. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveQQXUgvznQJHNjLOeoXiArzdLLGcz4Yq6n62v5A55BAID1dwOoVFN7Xvfl-zKIy8bsW91JjyH-wlSfJXrW0utrAL9L93fGBKQE2oeK350UQiprgcihlCEvXBZHe99cUWIOAQtaBksgEU/s1600/office1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveQQXUgvznQJHNjLOeoXiArzdLLGcz4Yq6n62v5A55BAID1dwOoVFN7Xvfl-zKIy8bsW91JjyH-wlSfJXrW0utrAL9L93fGBKQE2oeK350UQiprgcihlCEvXBZHe99cUWIOAQtaBksgEU/s320/office1.jpg" /></a></div><br />
This is the door, and one huge window.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOav6Tyhtapgy-l7bGkPLQ3ZuzzIL_gm3awkSklSR5hqWg0_qbW7KiqSFdrElphGSxFeR8fi8fdtzab73KQ8JBJGCfIY4EQTWZWL_cMQmH5SzJDLjUP4AIqNQQ5spjqDVy2pQSczJ4I9v/s1600/office2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOav6Tyhtapgy-l7bGkPLQ3ZuzzIL_gm3awkSklSR5hqWg0_qbW7KiqSFdrElphGSxFeR8fi8fdtzab73KQ8JBJGCfIY4EQTWZWL_cMQmH5SzJDLjUP4AIqNQQ5spjqDVy2pQSczJ4I9v/s320/office2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
As you can see from these pictures, there is great light, and I have a lot of plants. I can't help it. Wherever I go, I grow plants. My dining room is like a botantical garden right now because I have moved some plants inside for the winter which live out on our deck during the summer and fall. <br />
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Anyway, I love this office. And in a few weeks I have to move to a different office, back on the second floor. It is a nice enough office, the one upstairs. It is not a lovely shade of blue, Nantucket Fog by Benjamin Moore to be precise, but it is a nice shade of pale green. But I will miss this office and all its lovely light. And cross breezes. The one upstairs has windows, but the ceiling is not as high as in this one, so they are not as big, and the cross breeze won't be there. <br />
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There are positives to being in the new office. Where I am now is very accessible to everyone coming into the building whether they are here to see me or not. So I get to be the building receptionist a lot. The copier/printer for the building is right outside of my office. This means I have become the go to person for any paper jam or other technical malfunction of said machine. I won't miss being a very well paid administrative assistant, is what I am saying. Also my current office is always 10 degrees colder than the rest of the building. Since this was once a house, I am in what was probably a pantry with a porch. Half of my office sits over open space, on stilts. It is not very well insulated. In February I have the space heater running all the time and there is a distinct breeze blowing in from the back wall. The new office will not have the heat problem, and is in a location that will not be the first stop for people seeking the financial aid office, or any office for that matter. So I will be able to get more done without as many interruptions. <br />
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The one creature that may have the hardest time adjusting to this change is Caper, my boss's dog. She comes to work every day, and every day upon entering the building she comes bounding into my office, looking for love and treat. Mostly a treat. After the move she will be bounding into the office of our director for institutional research. She will have to be reprogrammed to come upstairs. I hope she does, or else I will have to leave a supply of treats with the new office resident. She also hangs out with me when her mother leaves the building, which means she will have to come upstairs in the future. If there was a creature whose habits were more ingrained than mine, it would be Caper. This is going to be hard on us all. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRvCGexIrmSOKw4bgnhCu37uIIDBiDVYFXHPB5-5w12Fq1qHo68LLiJ4dLt7YC1bwI_vmoqLN78mDcY7acRrUK2L25hn9_BAos0qLsa0_AOCe1n2w1BTHSedJeLwoUdGC6z2cca2RraU5p/s1600/photo+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRvCGexIrmSOKw4bgnhCu37uIIDBiDVYFXHPB5-5w12Fq1qHo68LLiJ4dLt7YC1bwI_vmoqLN78mDcY7acRrUK2L25hn9_BAos0qLsa0_AOCe1n2w1BTHSedJeLwoUdGC6z2cca2RraU5p/s320/photo+%25283%2529.JPG" /></a></div><i>Caper under my desk today...<br />
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<br />mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-34447122583231094342011-12-11T15:25:00.001-05:002011-12-11T15:37:31.275-05:00My life in instagram moments...Life has been CA-RAZY and busy and while I noodle around reading other people's posts and facebook and twitter, I spend most of my time recording my life in pictures with my iPhone, then posting them on Instagram. Here is my life recently...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7XqmfQkO48qMBdUn_2fJxbUE6cUWLech9BA7e58hnMWoqvCtNVF5XyMkI_VIRxilY2NZO-N_s_uTFwN4YRLfO0wkNX-tLVkikJ94Vc21D6etDhPQimOP7aFPmZuulSqZfmHVY3V8t3RI4/s1600/poptart+playdate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7XqmfQkO48qMBdUn_2fJxbUE6cUWLech9BA7e58hnMWoqvCtNVF5XyMkI_VIRxilY2NZO-N_s_uTFwN4YRLfO0wkNX-tLVkikJ94Vc21D6etDhPQimOP7aFPmZuulSqZfmHVY3V8t3RI4/s320/poptart+playdate.jpg" /></a></div>Cooper has a best friend at school, who came over for a play date today. Poptarts, Rudolph on TV, best friend, what more can you ask for.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8FVZ9yJY1ab8YNIr5Ffh9Ik4_INCP0z4O08Q80FtQ6hHJ07wMFOxaH4uhw1mFSzo_WuQ9qca0FPne6FgWrO1m2aEDJhfOGR6S5lk4jl5rXMQkZvEEjhclsu9194orSylo2FdgGq98o29v/s1600/park+playdate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8FVZ9yJY1ab8YNIr5Ffh9Ik4_INCP0z4O08Q80FtQ6hHJ07wMFOxaH4uhw1mFSzo_WuQ9qca0FPne6FgWrO1m2aEDJhfOGR6S5lk4jl5rXMQkZvEEjhclsu9194orSylo2FdgGq98o29v/s320/park+playdate.jpg" /></a></div>At the park...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-DbLf1iJFFe27ogw-cEY9ZxrCeP6t8YK_AJFxSwnOx9n8t0y5Yai6sLExAbbh78JSrbWZEgOfd9nslonWbV3j2FZTpsLqv9sMHfc1IMLSMSEQR8BOw06O0ZANiuNpsopRRuXcbquU-mOF/s1600/cooper+and+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-DbLf1iJFFe27ogw-cEY9ZxrCeP6t8YK_AJFxSwnOx9n8t0y5Yai6sLExAbbh78JSrbWZEgOfd9nslonWbV3j2FZTpsLqv9sMHfc1IMLSMSEQR8BOw06O0ZANiuNpsopRRuXcbquU-mOF/s320/cooper+and+tree.jpg" /></a></div>Cooper helping put up the tree.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphyphenhyphen2M460nxUzRfBuWKPrAVDxPbwdyvv3a9rcwQwHGpbc2s1IbQaDER6_5kAxd9CdfEOrWhgd0-ZvICNVZjAMmIuHUtK3kJGbR-XJShJZvMDE4p35NosLwJwREMKVaPdA2CtZ8jUg67RT7/s1600/hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphyphenhyphen2M460nxUzRfBuWKPrAVDxPbwdyvv3a9rcwQwHGpbc2s1IbQaDER6_5kAxd9CdfEOrWhgd0-ZvICNVZjAMmIuHUtK3kJGbR-XJShJZvMDE4p35NosLwJwREMKVaPdA2CtZ8jUg67RT7/s320/hair.jpg" /></a></div>Me, getting a much needed refresh on the highlights. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWbRog9sSq6PmSlaNgBR4L21K4JDnHy6hfw3ZPDaxv3VbBgH8PqlHmRN-J0N-8vJoDomyCE2RzwGVm1oDUk_R1EJLSpKmaEgrYGTSPBMD9VZhvmET2Q6U8v4okBe1obtbqweBQKn24Q2Fi/s1600/ironman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWbRog9sSq6PmSlaNgBR4L21K4JDnHy6hfw3ZPDaxv3VbBgH8PqlHmRN-J0N-8vJoDomyCE2RzwGVm1oDUk_R1EJLSpKmaEgrYGTSPBMD9VZhvmET2Q6U8v4okBe1obtbqweBQKn24Q2Fi/s320/ironman.jpg" /></a></div>Cooper as Ironman, relaxing before bed.<br />
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I spent some time recently taking pictures in a local graveyard. I find them beautiful and fascinating in the fall and winter. I hope to get more once it snows around here.<br />
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Things are going to slow down around here, I hope for the next few weeks, and we are not traveling for the holidays, so I hope to catch up on some things. I am also turning over in my head a plan, something that I have wanted to do for a long time, that would not replace what I do full time professionally, but could add some fun and joy to it if I can make it work. So I hope to spend some time trying to work out a concrete plan. I may ask the internets for advice in the near future too. Stay tooned!mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-2950695013828016932011-11-21T09:54:00.001-05:002011-11-21T10:27:32.671-05:00Pardon me, have you seen my brain?Most days start out the same. I might exercise first thing, shower, get the kid ready to go to school, make a lunch for him, things like that. After that I am on a rocket ship that doesn't land until around 9pm. Work, which is generally much quieter in the months of October and November has been non stop hopping, with interruptions 12 times a day. My office is in a space where I am easily accessible, which is good when the work study student needs me, but bad when I am in the middle of a very detail oriented task and students just walk in and start talking. I have had them begin talking when I am on the phone, speaking out loud, not just listening to someone talking. Maybe they don't recognize a desk phone as a phone. If I had my iPhone to my head they might get what I am doing.<br />
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My point, and I do have one, is that lately I don't seem to have a brain. I cannot for the life of me remember anything for longer than 30 seconds. I forgot a doctor's appointment for Cooper last week, remembering 5 minutes before we should have been in the office. Then I forgot another meeting I was supposed to be at in another building on campus, but fortunately the other people were running late so by the time I remembered the meeting, I was still earlier than they were. <br />
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I needed to get toilet paper for the bathroom, and must have gone in and out of the bathroom 4 times in one day before actually remembering the need for the paper and getting it before I forgot again. <br />
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Yesterday I needed to use the bathroom, but while doing my business had to chant to myself "Do not flush, do not flush" until I was out of the bathroom, so that I didn't flush it while The Bob was in the basement putting the temporary rubber clamp on the main waste pipe, which has very kindly developed a leak. Which in and of itself is totally awesome. <br />
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No doubt contributing to the brain dead nature of my existence, is the dreaming. Non stop, busy busy dreams. I have always had very vivid dreams, and depending on what I am dealing with at work or in life, they can be more busy than others. So I wake up feeling like I have not slept. And depending on the nature of the dreams, I might wake up kind of cranky from the residule emotional tenure of the dreams. I spent an entire day angry at my dad one time, because I was mad at him a dream for something that was completely fabricated and nonsensical. That is always a good time. <br />
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On top of all of this, I am itchy. It is ridiculous. There don't appear to be any external causes. I did not get new soap, detergent, lotions, nor did I change my diet. But in the last couple of months, I have broken out in what kind of looks like eczema, but for the most part it fades away after a few days. Then it resurfaces. My skin has never liked its own sweat. I have always had to shower pretty soon after working out or sweating for some reason, but this is new. So I have changed up my soap, and am using Cetaphil or a Cetaphil like product for all bodily cleansing, Tom's of Maine deoderant which is NOT an antipersperant. I have not found it to be satisfactory in the past for keeping me non stinky, but it is winter, so perhaps it can keep up for now. <br />
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Then there is my face which feels like it is on fire all the time. Rosacea does that. On the one hand, I have been told recently by someone that I have the best complexion, I always look like I have been sprinkled by fairy dust. I was reluctant to give credit to an involuntary and uncontrollable influx of blood to the fine capillaries in my face.<br />
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My fear is this is all an indication of the downward slide that is Menopause. It is maddening when you google the symptoms of menopause, and discover that everyone experiences it in their own special and torturous way. It is not exactly the same for everyone. MADDENING. But brain deadedness, itching and Rosacea, all part of the POSSIBLE signs of the Change Of Life. And it is a train you cannot get off. The best I can hope for it to manage the symptoms. Which probably involves finding a new primary care doctor. My current one is 67 or so years old, and male. <br />
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Hey, I just remembered something I am supposed to be doing. Gotta go.mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-42046579207893443802011-11-17T09:21:00.001-05:002011-11-17T09:56:23.337-05:00On Mashed Potatoes...I love potatoes in pretty much any form. Baked, fried, scalloped, mashed. I had a conversation with a friend recently about some very disappointing, terrible in fact, mashed potatoes I ate at a local restaurant. She had recommended the place to us, and I like to check out local places, so off we went. <br />
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I ordered steak tips and mashed potatoes. It is one of the meals I will order if available, to judge the basic culinary worthiness of a restaurant when dining at a new place. It is not fussy, and can be done by a diner or by a high falutin' place. The steak was alright. They had prepared the tips with some sort of sauce, which was a bit too bitey for my taste. I think steak tips are best when done simply and grilled to a medium doneness. <br />
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The potatoes were terrible. I could not decide if they were instant or just bad. They had a weird texture, too dry or something, and had a strange flavor. And this is what baffles me. Mashed potatoes have to be one of the easiest side dishes in the known universe. I mean, the most basic version is quite simply potatoes, cut up and boiled, mashed with some milk, butter, salt and pepper. You don't even have to worry about how long to boil the potatoes really. Not like with potato salad. Then you need them done enough to be tender, but not fall apart tender. With mashed, the longer the better. <br />
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Of course the kind of potato used can make a difference, but I have used all kinds, mixed varieties in the same batch, and still, it is good.<br />
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Sure, the hardest part is the prep work. Washing, peeling if you don't like a more rustic version with peels in it, and cutting. But still not hard like breaking down a whole chicken. Which for the record I have not ever done. Because it is kind of gross.<br />
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For the mashing part I use a masher, not a ricer or a hand mixer. Some people like a really light, whipped effect for mashed potatoes, which would make them whipped potatoes, not mashed, and that is fine, for them. I like the rustic effect of a few lumps, a few bits of skin. I add milk conservatively, mixing in between to get the right consistency. This part I think is a personal choice, how thick or thin you like your potatoes. And don't forget the butter, salt and pepper. At this point you are done. Serve.<br />
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My boss has said that making mashed potatoes in her large, Irish Catholic family has been a religion and the source of more than one Bobby Flay like throw down. She likes to use cream, or at least half and half instead of milk, and at least one stick of butter. You will of course get some seriously rich potatoes with that method. And I watched <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/">The Pioneer Woman's</a> HGTV show where she made mashed potatoes that practically induced a cardiac event just watching her prepare them. She used A LOT of butter AND cream cheese. She stated that these were popular on her ranch. I WONDER WHY. <br />
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My point is you can get creative with potatoes if you want, adding cheese, which I do when I use leftovers for the top of Shepherd's Pie. But at minimum it is just a bunch of boiled, mashed potatoes mixed with milk and butter. Go forth and mash it up people. <br />mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-65722952639970370982011-11-09T15:25:00.000-05:002011-11-09T15:25:54.504-05:00So here's the thing...So here's the thing. Addiction is a lying bastard. It tells you lies, and it gets you to lie to others. It tells you it will make you feel better. It tells you you will be happier with it than without. It snuggles up to you, makes you feel loved and safe. For the moment.<br />
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You don't even notice at first the damage it is doing. It tells you it is your family. It helps creates bonds with others that are not real, they are just built on the exchange of services that feed the addicition. It tells you we don't really love you, we don't care about you, that it will take care of you.<br />
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All the while the storm is brewing. The clouds are gathering, swirling slowly at first, gathering strength along the way. At first it is just a light breeze making the leaves flutter. Then there is the day the wind blows hard, even makes it hard to walk, but you persist. Eventually, it is a maelstrom, pulling everything it touches down into its vortex. <br />
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But you persist. The noise grows louder, turning you deaf to everything else except the sweet whispers of no more pain, the voices being shut up for an hour, a day. You just keep swirling, out of control, everything being sacrificed until eventually you find the bottom. <br />
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The bottom is different for everyone. Some are particularly immune to the noise, to the chaos, and so it takes longer. Longer to see there are no more choices, longer to see all of your friends are gone, all of your family has backed away. The bottom is where the fear and the wind crash together and become silence. <br />
<br />
Addiction is a lying bastard. You feel worthless so you listen to addiction, telling you you need it to be OK. You listen to it telling you you deserve better, at the same time it tears at your soul with its grimey hands. <br />
<br />
The truth is you DO deserve better, and you are not worthless. You are a shiny, precious soul. People love and care about you. But you won't listen. You can't hear them because you haven't found the bottom yet. It is in the silence of the bottom that you might finally hear the words. Our words, our prayers, might finally get through.<br />
<br />
So we wait. We do what we need to do to try and be OK with what is happening, but we worry. We can see so clearly what you need to do, but it doesn't matter. We can't make you do it, we can't make you hear us. We try to be supportive without enabling. We can only do so much though. It really is up to you. But you can't hear us yet. We hope and pray you survive this long enough to finally hear us. To finally accept that you are helpless against the lying bastard, addiction, and you need help. We will be here when you do.mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-88890607833156042382011-10-22T20:27:00.000-04:002011-10-22T20:27:37.331-04:00The weight of him...Almost too big, at 47 inches tall and 49 lbs heavy...but for as long as I can I will hold him, carry him, hug him and despite the protestations of my 47 year old bones I will give him piggy back rides and have ninja fights. Because some day he really will be too big, or not interested in holding hands with his mother. So for now I will bear the weight of him...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEI28QH8ApwPirlpBUji8vqJ9f5hbbuF8V99VPeo5C4yB9VDlKbpd0GMOpuv4aojVioOaAN5ZUrSA0iqpxQGW1f3boRZPqgfn3rstGxx50iIXrtGqTvXIqP1PgQ0_oaPn5a_zAO_xYOW-f/s1600/coop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEI28QH8ApwPirlpBUji8vqJ9f5hbbuF8V99VPeo5C4yB9VDlKbpd0GMOpuv4aojVioOaAN5ZUrSA0iqpxQGW1f3boRZPqgfn3rstGxx50iIXrtGqTvXIqP1PgQ0_oaPn5a_zAO_xYOW-f/s320/coop.jpg" /></a></div><br />mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-32839962771086078622011-10-21T13:52:00.000-04:002011-10-21T13:52:32.471-04:00Ow.Having a bit of a headachy day. Not that surprising. All week I was convinced it was some other day than it was. It was Wednesday morning and I was SURE it was Thursday. By the end of the same day I was arriving at home positive it was Friday. I moved through an entire two days inside of 8 hours. <br />
<br />
So my brain has been on some sort of short circuit. The leaves are falling as it is, well, FALL, and that makes my entire system go haywire. I love the foliage, love the crinkle of leaves on the sidewalk, but really hate what it does to my histamine reaction. The Bob hates what it does to my nasal passages at night. APPARENTLY I snore. All I know is I was rudely awakened last night by someone yanking the comforter off the bed so he could take it to sleep in the guest room because sleeping in the same room with me was not possible. <br />
<br />
12 more cups of this should help. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrJZGex6PKtX6j_hBVWm5EPYtjUN0PfHeyREsl7cmp76cUYjTt_nsd1Iw9M02IphOgGNAQZA9W4OUVTHQYz4rzIoGqAPu-aDG6zUT7Lhc70BF6mopnibjqOGFoX7e-0bfy37jWOLkxGth/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrJZGex6PKtX6j_hBVWm5EPYtjUN0PfHeyREsl7cmp76cUYjTt_nsd1Iw9M02IphOgGNAQZA9W4OUVTHQYz4rzIoGqAPu-aDG6zUT7Lhc70BF6mopnibjqOGFoX7e-0bfy37jWOLkxGth/s320/photo.JPG" /></a></div><br />
The other night I attended a dinner for major donors here at work. There was a re-dedication of a building on campus which was renovated recently and is now home to the admissions office. As part of the dinner, they asked a student to read a history of the house, which was built in 1892. I was sitting with a member of our board and his wife, the wife of our president, and another major donor and spouse. The student is a history major and wants to be a history professor at our school one day. She read aloud this funny, interesting and very well written piece. The thing about this moment in time, the thing that sticks with me the most, is as she finished reading, as people began applauding, the member of the board sitting at my table said one word, "Brilliant." This is a man who in his own right is brilliant, having been a physics instructor at a very large, prestigious institution here in the area, and having created with another brilliant man the concept of enrollment management which most private institutions use today to manage their recruitment and retention efforts, and is the founder and CEO of a very successful business. To have him use that one word to describe what this student had just read, her own words, says something. I have no idea if anyone else noticed, it doesn't matter. I heard it, and it spoke to me. I hope she does manage to achieve her goals and comes back to us to teach. We will be a better institution for it.mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-41839336008204653982011-10-10T19:12:00.002-04:002011-10-10T19:13:00.204-04:00Silly is in the DNABuster Keaton. Charlie Chaplin. The Three Stooges. Bob Hope. Chevy Chase. Steve Martin. Martin Short. Jim Belushi. Lucille Ball. Beavis and Butthead. Kung Fu Panda. Spongebob Squarepants. Charlie Brown and the football.<br />
<br />
Throughout the history of mankind, slapstick comedy has often been both the lowest form of comedy and the one that seems to be enjoyed most by the male of the species. <br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. I have been known to laugh myself silly to the point of crying watching Chevy Chase on the old, classic SNL. I teethed on I Love Lucy and the chocolates on the conveyer belt episode. I have an appreciation for physical comedy.<br />
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But nothing I have experienced comes close to that which envelopes, overtakes and both energizes and immobilizes my child.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mpRtK8sgrUZQBTgd1HLGVlgwjuR24SFE-DDDR0eEUygFvoAXeBgnfISp8wNxDkVHBSsRMpnyhgRIK9OBPjgP3yAvi8bQd456flFUJ4s1k3s-G5Hh-0CNg-LsI0zDBd2o6FaTsHOcVahd/s1600/bubbles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mpRtK8sgrUZQBTgd1HLGVlgwjuR24SFE-DDDR0eEUygFvoAXeBgnfISp8wNxDkVHBSsRMpnyhgRIK9OBPjgP3yAvi8bQd456flFUJ4s1k3s-G5Hh-0CNg-LsI0zDBd2o6FaTsHOcVahd/s320/bubbles.jpg" /></a></div><br />
By himself he can be pretty funny. He does silly walks, silly voices, silly dances. And woe unto you who laughs at his shenanigans. You will be subjected to the routine over and over and over and over and over again. Especially right before bath time, when it is likely to be sans clothing. There is nothing quite like silly dances performed by a naked kid in the bathroom. <br />
<br />
Add in friends, and well, the sense of the ridiculous becomes acute. Beyond silly. Gasping, wet your pants hilarious. I am not kidding. Cooper wet his pants he was laughing so hard when I took this picture. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLeZXRQkZ7nDUoBZuNQkdsA6CLG6I9jw7HkvS_5uiIYovPbeS0rKNyQDhUVKYTGDktLvMS4NFZbfnNqcCca8rT6pioZyjXev9EV8FI0DULAmK8Xg_2WFZhxaQRtcQoQG5Qol6CzJ4iGM3e/s1600/laughing+boys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLeZXRQkZ7nDUoBZuNQkdsA6CLG6I9jw7HkvS_5uiIYovPbeS0rKNyQDhUVKYTGDktLvMS4NFZbfnNqcCca8rT6pioZyjXev9EV8FI0DULAmK8Xg_2WFZhxaQRtcQoQG5Qol6CzJ4iGM3e/s320/laughing+boys.jpg" /></a></div><br />
This is what almost 5 years old is like. I have absolutely no idea what I am in for with 14 years old. mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-66385266004326446882011-10-07T15:21:00.000-04:002011-10-07T15:21:02.496-04:0093 Years Ago...In 1918 the world was a very different place than the one we live in today.<br />
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Ukraine, Lithunania, Estonia, Armenia, Azerbijian, Georgia and Poland all declare independence from the Russian Empire. It was not a good year for the Russian Empire.<br />
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World War I is going on and ends November 11.<br />
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The Spanish Flu becomes a pandemic and 30 MILLION people die in 6 months. <br />
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The Boston Red Sox defeat the Chicago White Sox in the World Series. Which would be their last World Series until 2004. Don't ask me about this year's season. Pathetic is really the only word for it.<br />
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There were no computers, the internet didn't exist. 10 million Bell System telephones were in service. Today more than 4 billion people use telephones. Television didn't exist in homes yet. <br />
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Ted Williams, Rita Hayworth, Nipsey Russell, Art Carney, Billy Graham, Spiro Agnew, Helmut Schmidt, Madeleine L'Engle, Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. and Anwar Sedat, to name a few, are born. <br />
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And so was this man: <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtsbmyLBY3tLDalWP8lWqoS3daYsCrnSIPfii6wK3uolKKjFR2BLI2M6MwkvIPR1-DiZzqapiLNIEl6p9ROSwLimufukrWMxiyuJtfGW6qe1AEjua0eaq6sJw-qP7M1OFH7KjNfVpx0cE_/s1600/grandpa+tony.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="213" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtsbmyLBY3tLDalWP8lWqoS3daYsCrnSIPfii6wK3uolKKjFR2BLI2M6MwkvIPR1-DiZzqapiLNIEl6p9ROSwLimufukrWMxiyuJtfGW6qe1AEjua0eaq6sJw-qP7M1OFH7KjNfVpx0cE_/s320/grandpa+tony.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisl6Cqo25XlrwVz8xnImIPWcd9xVOFv5TzX9hwC5dNDfvXjzqYNqP4uyeKjrf0kox4bXi7kGG2GlTc6_-aBO3rkuvmvtreKJriuxOuRyk8Nkgr3TVPeNAa5ieYRI65Z7KDr2-DuO-ekjjl/s1600/grandpa+tony+and+us.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="258" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisl6Cqo25XlrwVz8xnImIPWcd9xVOFv5TzX9hwC5dNDfvXjzqYNqP4uyeKjrf0kox4bXi7kGG2GlTc6_-aBO3rkuvmvtreKJriuxOuRyk8Nkgr3TVPeNAa5ieYRI65Z7KDr2-DuO-ekjjl/s320/grandpa+tony+and+us.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<i>Tony with my brother and I on what I believe was a family reunion on Lake Superior in Duluth, Minnesota. If I recall correctly, he was giving me the "Don't give me a reason to yell again" look. We might have been whining. It would not be a surprise. <br />
</i><br />
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<i>With the Coop on our first visit after he was born.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaA6sEJgvOVTvXQjCwO4P1pPGHehqccd7BRLVY5ErqnoDDt0Z7JArE8OXLaAcq4fYmWvq4E103H-QkybgB0IJNUx0nCpH0og7-jVHYBdx3N7D4nWjkiZwd-zInNpAw3EEbc9Q0WW8xHzRF/s1600/Tony+D-+2004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaA6sEJgvOVTvXQjCwO4P1pPGHehqccd7BRLVY5ErqnoDDt0Z7JArE8OXLaAcq4fYmWvq4E103H-QkybgB0IJNUx0nCpH0og7-jVHYBdx3N7D4nWjkiZwd-zInNpAw3EEbc9Q0WW8xHzRF/s320/Tony+D-+2004.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Anthony Louis DePasquale. My grandfather. A man who for all of my childhood and much of my adulthood was a larger than life character. He smoked smelly cigars and always had a stylish hat and swagger going on. <br />
<br />
The sky wasn't just blue, the sky was the most beautiful shade of blue you have or ever will see. My mother didn't just ice skate well as a little girl, she could have been an Olympic contender. She didn't just play the piano, she could have been a concert pianist performing at Carnegie Hall. The dog my mother and her sisters adopted while he was away on a business trip didn't just dislike him. That dog was a man eating carnivore ready to rip my grandfather's throat out if he so much as looked at him sideways. He breezed into our lives every so often on business trips, teaching us random Italian phrases that we would try to remember for the next visit. He and my grandmother relocated to Oregon when he retired. They traveled in an RV around the country, often going to the Southwest to spend a month in the desert. They would golf, bowl, and he would take classes in things like jewelry making, wood working and stained glass. I called him Gepetto when he turned his garage into a wood working shop and made toys and other wooden doo dads. <br />
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He was the son of Italian immigrants and made the most of his opportunities here. He is the father to three lovely daughters, husband to my grandmother Agnes. <br />
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Today is his 93rd birthday, and their 72nd wedding anniversary. That is a long time to be alive and a long to time to be married. Life has certainly not passed them by, although they are older, slower and a little more frail than they once were. But that is true of most of us. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qELJ_IYLDUxfCQzta6wTeV7fEHyTBR0cXzxm6zl7nncbypWGchvwXnjx3AcigtH33oqAFML2ovjEdVBgn3Wr7zlOCSX3ue6hzPsRBTzmBV5uSsydcF2nen_olXq2j2QWjPCNmLDh7Lhk/s1600-h/grandparents+10072009.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 195px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qELJ_IYLDUxfCQzta6wTeV7fEHyTBR0cXzxm6zl7nncbypWGchvwXnjx3AcigtH33oqAFML2ovjEdVBgn3Wr7zlOCSX3ue6hzPsRBTzmBV5uSsydcF2nen_olXq2j2QWjPCNmLDh7Lhk/s320/grandparents+10072009.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390029069102339922" /></a><br />
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Happy Birthday Grandpa. I wish we could be out there to celebrate with you and Grandma. Virtual hugs to you both. mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1246583228211437181.post-27530121410743202432011-10-05T16:23:00.000-04:002011-10-05T16:23:50.210-04:00Come Now To the Campus...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB0cb_U4-PbExjXdpGukmjExpfFyyVa5AWRaCPiNnqzkYvTgx0zqOuG1mu_1TxdrPHQbtCD7J6X0bKAMxKejVbAz3nfLvCKSr90CfpcZpbHxtXo4e8_X2zbjISWl_UWEk-rIWDMwqdOK-1/s1600/geneva+sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB0cb_U4-PbExjXdpGukmjExpfFyyVa5AWRaCPiNnqzkYvTgx0zqOuG1mu_1TxdrPHQbtCD7J6X0bKAMxKejVbAz3nfLvCKSr90CfpcZpbHxtXo4e8_X2zbjISWl_UWEk-rIWDMwqdOK-1/s320/geneva+sign.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<i>Come now to the campus, true sons of Geneva,<br />
In one accord in song your voices raise.<br />
Proclaim loud the glory, those walls old and hory,<br />
The college where I spent such happy days.<br />
<br />
</i><br />
<br />
This weekend was my 25th college reunion at <a href="http://www.geneva.edu">Geneva College</a> in beautiful Beaver Falls, PA. Home of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joe_Namath">Joe Namath</a> and the steak salad. TWENTY FIVE YEARS have passed since I was in college, and yet, those were and continue to be some of the best days of my life, and the source of some of my fondest memories. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD0VERhxquBSbN3NJoZ_LcPWxuaEbq0fEsU1DnZvgWeURH1eP5QvZyh7JUxfFPHY8zAi7DkO8-Xhhmbljq8ERMPshwRKAc0LkBUHJT1xYztqMub75s-U9pFz5RZr_QZQXluZH7-NQgKDp4/s1600/jean%252C+riley%252C+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD0VERhxquBSbN3NJoZ_LcPWxuaEbq0fEsU1DnZvgWeURH1eP5QvZyh7JUxfFPHY8zAi7DkO8-Xhhmbljq8ERMPshwRKAc0LkBUHJT1xYztqMub75s-U9pFz5RZr_QZQXluZH7-NQgKDp4/s320/jean%252C+riley%252C+me.jpg" /></a></div><br />
These ladies. Riley on the left, Jean in the middle, me on the right. One was a roommate at one time, the other was a suitemate. People I laughed with, cried with, yelled at stupid boyfriends for. You know, the stuff friends do. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhrsoFpwq8AjYrqAMLW4CXys-QhVx7NTIGhI_alifbsx_MMQ6tWwV76xNw5wP0kzRiUDlvu7r1NCI_yN6aK_2gjr3x77QzqLJ_1gJZxrvDHNyAGANv-D82qobZcijEJWygRziAiEz04r5/s1600/bagpiper+terri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhrsoFpwq8AjYrqAMLW4CXys-QhVx7NTIGhI_alifbsx_MMQ6tWwV76xNw5wP0kzRiUDlvu7r1NCI_yN6aK_2gjr3x77QzqLJ_1gJZxrvDHNyAGANv-D82qobZcijEJWygRziAiEz04r5/s320/bagpiper+terri.jpg" /></a></div><br />
This is a crappy picture, taken with my phone inside a badly lit theater, but I would know this person in the pitch black dark. She was also a roommate at one time, but more than that, a soul sister. We have not been the best at keeping up with each other over the last 15 years, but during college, we were the best of friends. Her family became a family away from home for me. Her father was a professor at the college, and now in retirement her parents own a B&B at which we stayed this weekend. Her father didn't recognize me at first, since 15 years have passed since last we met, and time has a way of robbing all of us of health and memory, but when I said my name, he said "Oh my goodness, Michele. I look in your eyes and I know exactly who you are." <br />
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The McCartney Library on campus is small, but is home to two sets of incredible and impressive stained glass windows. I already loved libraries when I arrived on campus, this one just sealed the deal with these windows. <br />
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Then there is the Bagpiper Theater. The first week of the first semester I was on campus, my friend Jean said she was going up to audition for the first play of the semester. It was traditionally a freshman only production, to allow new students the chance at performing without having to compete for parts against the seasoned upperclassman. I had not acted before, officially that is, and was hesitant. But then I said why not. No one really knew me there. I wasn't competing against people from high school that were well known to the theater, I was just little old unknown me. So I went. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlea6ezlEt-hzIPdSoozz1gH5Us0lBf30Qg_J2iy-Ln6q_zoddvbEp17zeo3vFetkMXPuAtf3FQVeyX-ykmrsLVOw_7JMfJizxIfK_cPPWxCf6IwlKtFdVgU9ahLkF2YSPmS5hD_EEfJyQ/s1600/Bagpiper+sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlea6ezlEt-hzIPdSoozz1gH5Us0lBf30Qg_J2iy-Ln6q_zoddvbEp17zeo3vFetkMXPuAtf3FQVeyX-ykmrsLVOw_7JMfJizxIfK_cPPWxCf6IwlKtFdVgU9ahLkF2YSPmS5hD_EEfJyQ/s320/Bagpiper+sign.jpg" /></a></div><br />
From the moment I stood on that stage and heard people laughing in response to my audition, and laughing in the "dear lord in heaven she is funny" way, not the "dear lord in heaven get her off the stage" way, I knew I had found my people and my happy place. For four years I worked on productions in this theater, from acting, to costuming, stage managing and even directing a one act play as part of my theater class final. <br />
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It is 100 seats big, so you can see pretty much everyone who is there to watch the show. They are almost as much a part of a production as the actors themselves. It is not an easy theater to work in. You had to find ways to work with the space limitations and the proximity of the audience. But it is worth it. <br />
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This present day me, in a mirror in a dressing room that has not changed in 30 years. It looks exactly the same as the day I first walked into it. <br />
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This piece of furniture used to live in the lobby of my residence hall, McKee Hall, shown below.<br />
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It also used to be Pepto Bismal pink. And under the pink was an odd shade of Wedgewood blue. A travesty had been committed, one that I and my fellow castmates of <i>I Remember Mama </i>decided to rectify, by stripping and refinishing it. We had no idea what we were doing, and yet managed not to completely destroy the burled walnut panels. Yay us! It is now in the Hallway of History. <br />
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There are many ways in which I have evolved and changed from the person I was back in 1982 when I first arrived on that campus beside the Beaver Vale. I am different spiritually, emotionally, and certainly physically. I arrived on campus weighing a whopping 105lbs. I remember that because they would not let me give blood. Yeaaaahhhh, that was a long time ago. <br />
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BUT! Without a doubt it was a formative, magical, challenging, and educational time. It was exactly what going to college should be. It was a safe place for me to discover who I was, who I wanted to be, and provide a solid basis to launch from into the rest of my life. I found lifelong friendships, both within my fellow students but also within the faculty. I may not always agree with the religious views and philosophy of the Reformed Presbyterian faith, but I am and will be forever grateful for that time and that community. GO TORNADOS!<br />
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<i>Turbo, 2011<br />
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mkosbothhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07695855964895496627noreply@blogger.com0