tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76684422389247636922024-03-05T05:33:38.790-08:00Such A Brave Girlmusings and ideas from a very brave girl...foxhurlimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12303560464200015974noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-33986533518012026082016-03-09T09:04:00.002-08:002016-03-09T09:04:32.350-08:00Europe Bound!<b>In one week I will be flying to Europe.</b> I never thought I would get to make that statement. I always had dreams of international travel, but when my life changed a few years ago and I started living on a single salary, the dream got pushed into the background. I wasn't sure if I would ever be able to afford a trip "over the pond."
Well, last fall the dream became a reality! After applying, I was selected to accompany a group of Tillamook High School students on a 10 day trip to Greece and Italy. We are flying into Athens, Greece then taking a ferry to the island of Capri and then on to Rome, Italy. I am most excited to see the artwork and architecture. The only expectations I have is to be totally amazed for 10 days. To be able to experience the wonderful sites that I have only read about. To see people and places that I know will enrich my life. To be able to photograph memories that I can incorporate into my artwork.
I am coming back to this blog and will use it to describe my trip and share the experiences I will have. Now to get packed...foxhurlimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12303560464200015974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-89102030453402332962015-01-01T18:19:00.000-08:002015-01-01T18:19:43.920-08:00My oh my! This blog has been neglected for far too long. New Years Day evening, 2015. Christmas has passed and a new year has come about. Time flies when you are busy living it, doesn't it? Sitting in the quiet of my room, tired from a lack of sleep last night (made it to midnight which is an accomplishment for me.) Trying to think of something ponderous, life-changing or earth-shattering, but tonight those opportunities evade my mind. I only have some simple little thoughts rolling around this cranium. Like the pictures here...Jesus, Mary and Joseph standing among my books full of busyness. They are peaceful and promise the love and miracle of Jesus, compared with my jumbled mess of books and life in general. Hmmm...Me thinks me sees a little lesson here. Also thrown into the mix is a small, sweet figurine of two little girls that are giving it all they have to be festive and ready to celebrate the Season. Their frosty clothing shine in the night as they stand silently every year in their assigned spot. They only have a few days until they go back into their box, where they will "sleep" for the next ten months. They will stay out in the real world for awhile yet as they represent not only Christmas, but the frosty days of January. I keep a lot of my Christmas decorations out during January...snowmen, lighted village, etc. which represent the deep of the winter in addition to Christmas. No "getting it packed up and out" for me. I am much too sentimental, which is both a blessing and a curse. However, at my age I am at peace about it and accept all that I am as that same sentimentality offers the ability to empathize and care. And that, my friends is what it is all about...<br />
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<br />foxhurlimanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12303560464200015974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-46379559513270060952012-01-24T17:25:00.000-08:002012-01-24T17:25:07.227-08:00It was a Dark and Stormy Night...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMmcjvjJE5fqr7XuFHq9Y4RNcI7l1jSSNpScvkqt08OTagli6c_QzakI9my49CHWXwYcIBo_wViS-BqxXCC0r-emdqM7JkKJX3ZCcS1zy0UOGI_2XpUUcvCeoVOoPhlsc5QCiTN0impiY/s1600/stormy+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMmcjvjJE5fqr7XuFHq9Y4RNcI7l1jSSNpScvkqt08OTagli6c_QzakI9my49CHWXwYcIBo_wViS-BqxXCC0r-emdqM7JkKJX3ZCcS1zy0UOGI_2XpUUcvCeoVOoPhlsc5QCiTN0impiY/s320/stormy+006.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>About got blown off the road driving home tonight. The rain was falling sideways and the highway was coated with standing water. It's January on the Oregon Coast. We are making up for the dry December we had. Evenings like this call for an early bedtime and a good book, or maybe a movie. Hmmm...dinner and a movie. Homestyle.<br />
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It's just another night on the Oregon Coast.brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-11322883060015613322012-01-22T09:17:00.000-08:002012-01-22T09:17:58.777-08:00Living w/The Parents Chapter One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cNK0lL9cSgmA8Knz9AoeNEjvdimzkxFZbWS5JC4Dkr0JNwWX6Qk9PCY5kPai4MsDkixDkudq1qIZ64Gr6gM5EvPS1m7tKzIUv5KmtRKDXlOo9D5Dy1XVmkH5XHjOEODxqCOy4U0D8Yc/s1600/veggiesoup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cNK0lL9cSgmA8Knz9AoeNEjvdimzkxFZbWS5JC4Dkr0JNwWX6Qk9PCY5kPai4MsDkixDkudq1qIZ64Gr6gM5EvPS1m7tKzIUv5KmtRKDXlOo9D5Dy1XVmkH5XHjOEODxqCOy4U0D8Yc/s320/veggiesoup.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 11pt;">I live with my parents. I married at age nineteen, had two children by age 29, was divorced at age 42. After my single parent stage of raising my kids and a cold turn of the economy, I am back “home.” Living with the parents. All two of them. Mom and Dad. I am the child. The child that lives at home. With the parents. I tell myself that I live in a cool “studio” apartment, with my familiar belongings surrounding me. My bed, chair, office, a few knick knacks and pictures, all efficiently placed according to the church of Ikea. In reality I live in my parents family room that used to be a double car garage. I think I won’t dwell upon reality because a studio apartment sounds way more hip than, “Hey, I live in my parent’s garage.”</span> <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 11pt;">Don’t get me wrong. I am very thankful to be able to live at my parents. I needed a place to live and they invited me in. It’s not easy for them either. In fact, I think I might be able to write a book about it. I’m gathering material. Some starters:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 11pt;"><b>Nazi Soup</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 11pt;">My dad made soup for dinner. It was delicious. Just as I requested, no tomatoes, just beefy hamburger/vegetable soup. Yum. Now when Dad makes something, he expects a critique. He expects you to let him know how much you like it. For example, his specialty is spaghetti. He makes good spaghetti. But lately he has been boasting that every batch is “the best he’s ever made.” So back to the soup. Well, this soup was tasty, but it didn’t have enough veggies in it. A bit too much broth, not enough substance. The next morning I was ladeling some up to take with me work and he mentioned that he was going to add some more veggies. I told him, “Yeah, you better because it’s like Nazi Soup. You know, from the Seinfeld show, the soup that had nothing in it but broth?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 11pt;">Well, meaning absolutely no disrespect by mentioning the Nazis, I effectively illustrated the problem with the soup. Not enough in it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "American Typewriter"; font-size: 11pt;">By the way, when I got “home” from work today, he told me that there was some Nazi Soup on the stove…with more vegetables.</span></div>brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-29143630357662694562011-12-26T20:18:00.000-08:002011-12-26T21:15:16.317-08:00Ashes to Ashes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><style>
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</style><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjpM9WbGA082Yd1EmvNSZHKDf6tM6cnkXX2adtpgfoHzyX4-bq9m8blI1g7Nsv_L6Kom4KdCTVawnEPiHKFXyY6tsO0U584FxO5cWjcGrNxZFtZxpXCdWxFrtKULcXI8Av9i9WapY_tY/s1600/burnbarrel.jpg" /> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Traditional day after Christmas burning of the paper and boxes. In addition to the “festive garbage” I decided to burn some of my boxes of documents that I have had in storage for eight years. Copies of checks…statements…old bill receipts…all for Fawcett Creek Farm. My ex-husband and I used to own a dairy called Fawcett Creek Farm. I have kept the papers for all of these years, responsible to the guidelines for retaining documents schedule. I did the right thing. I carried through.</div><br />
<div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I thought it would be simple…throw the papers on the bonfire and poof…they would be gone. What I wasn’t prepared for was the rush of emotion all of those snippets of paper caused. I found bits and pieces of memories; old Christmas cards that had made their way into the financial boxes. Old contracts and promises. Pieces of our life when there was an “us” and a testament to years of hard work and hopeless dreams. I had to see those papers. I was left to burn them to keep them from prying eyes and identity thieves. I had to do the clean up. Destroy everything that said both of our names on it. I should have dropped off the boxes on HIS front porch, but I didn’t trust him to destroy them properly. I had to spend two hours reliving the new Honda 4trax we bought our son and paid for. The receipts for the milk that we shipped to the creamery. He should have had to relive those pieces of the past that needed to be erased. Instead it was as it has always been…he got off easy. He just walked over people and walked away. Just start over without a care or thought of the past. Simply a selfish man, who fooled so many for so long.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I watched all of the documents burn and raked and turned over that pile of papers again and again to make sure it all burned. It did…and I felt good…satisfied when it was all over. I felt a bit smug and powerful as I tossed it all away and watched the pieces disappear into bits of floating ash. I controlled the fire and decided when and where to destroy the evidence of our past. Should have did this years ago, but it wasn’t the right time. Now was the time.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">The flames died and the ashes were raked into the earth. I got into my truck and drove away.</div><br />
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</a>brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-76507073993721859182011-12-26T19:22:00.000-08:002011-12-26T19:22:39.724-08:00Christmas 2011<style>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj63ZgTU4HvNJUVt_c3cO_wktnTam-LkiXF7o_528_ZJO1mGsuJyhXtZpOazsJpSH3HOBMaykHSuTT6kA1EcubZT3hFaMRCUfVjmp2JGYpYPnzy7AXr1PfYd0wmQ5piiQvC564sfmNhKjc/s1600/IMG_0301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj63ZgTU4HvNJUVt_c3cO_wktnTam-LkiXF7o_528_ZJO1mGsuJyhXtZpOazsJpSH3HOBMaykHSuTT6kA1EcubZT3hFaMRCUfVjmp2JGYpYPnzy7AXr1PfYd0wmQ5piiQvC564sfmNhKjc/s320/IMG_0301.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reaanne, Christopher, Chad, Eddie and Lesley...Christmas 2011</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Ok…so I’ve been very negligent in blogging. My resolution is to be more faithful in offering my two-cents worth and blog more. So here it goes…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Since I wrote last, I have moved from my little house into my parent’s home up the road. I have (what I call it) a studio apartment that used to be the family room. I have my own entrance and bathroom, so it is quite the adventure of adjustment. Thanks to divider bookcases at Ikea, I have a bedroom area, living area and an office area. Only what is strictly necessary made the move with me and the rest is back into storage. Last summer I had made it my goal to clear out and get rid of my storage unit and I did. Then a few weeks later, my brother and his wife decided I had to move from the little house, so back into storage my things went. What’s a plan, right? Due to the economy and price of rent, my single salary doesn’t go far enough for local rent rates, so the parents “made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” I seem to have come full circle…eight years ago, after the divorce, my daughter Lesley and I stayed in this very “studio” while we organized and found a place to live. Here I am back. I am thankful that I have a place to go. It makes you appreciate things and it helps a person to understand that what you have doesn’t matter; it’s how you treat people and how you show kindness and love. Too bad everyone doesn’t know that. Enough about that.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Christmas 2011 has come and gone. I have a miniature tree on my bookcase and my collections of <span></span>Santas and snowmen are perched on the piano and bookcase, respectively. So even though space is tight, it does feel like Christmas in my room, surrounded by a few of my favorite decorations. My other decorations will live in their boxes until the time I have more room. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My two children, Chris (and his girlfriend, Reaanne) and Lesley (and her boyfriend, Chad) outdid themselves in the thoughtfulness department and presented me with awesome gifts. Slippers, a massage gift certificate (have to remember to make the appointment!) and a special music box selected by Chris (he even wrapped it himself and I don't think he has ever did that before!). I have to admit, the music box brought some tears to my eyes as it has a beautiful verse about mothers on the top and it opens to play the song, “You Can Always Count On Me.” I am so thankful for them and my new little grandson, Eddie, born to Lesley and Chad in November. He is a keeper, that’s for sure. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Speaking of Eddie…Edward Joseph Wilson was born on November 7. Edward is a family name and was the name of his daddy’s grandpa. Joseph is Lesley’s dad’s middle name. He is a blessing and being grandma rocks! As I look at Eddie, I am drawn into a time warp because it seems as though it was just yesterday when Chris and Lesley were babies. The years have careened by and all of the memories a person vows to keep become hazy blurs. I guess that way it forces us to appreciate each moment because moments will never be as clear as they are at the time they happen.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve enjoyed being on Christmas Break from work. Ah…the life of a school employee. I’m storing up my moments of rest, because when I return to work in January we will be preparing for our annual Charity Drive and I will get no rest at all, since I am a Junior Class advisor. It will be meetings, preparation and planning, in addition to the normal daily work routine. Charity Drive isn’t until February, but a ton of planning precedes the event, that is for sure! I wrote about Charity Drive last year, so you can look up one of my past entries for explanation. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Enough for now. I have a movie to watch and a couch calling my name. </div>brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-82031392352927422482011-06-17T13:35:00.000-07:002011-06-17T13:35:24.771-07:00Summertime...Sweet SummertimeReminds me of a Bob Seeger song, Night Moves. Summertime. This is starting out to be the type of summer that requires one to be very flexible and "go with the flow." Thought I had a part time job all sewn up and received a call an hour before I was to report to work telling me that they might not be busy enough to need me. Talk about shock! As I work for the school district, I have a two month break and no pay check. So after a day of feeling sorry for myself, I pulled myself up and got to work making contacts with prospective clients for my freelance graphic design business, FoxHurliman Graphic Design. I am happy to say that I have a few projects now lined up and hopefully more will follow. God is faithful and when a door is closed, another will open. True that.<br />
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I'm cleaning out my storage unit. Moved almost all of my belongings there seven years ago when I got divorced. Decided it was more than time to go through everything and keep, give away, discard, you know the drill. It's been fun and worth the work as I have found a lot of memories in there.<br />
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One sweet memory I found was my journal from my freshman year of high school that I kept for English class. What a read! The funny thing is, I work at a high school and when the freshmen arrive each fall, they look and act so young. Reading through the journal, I rediscovered that I too, was young and inexperienced in ways I had forgotten such as the way I wrote and the words I chose. Even more magical are the ways that I am the same. I can see the "me now" in the words I wrote. The drama and the humor that I carry with me were there all along. The sentimentality and the way I looked at life when I was fourteen can be seen in bits and pieces 30 plus years later. Even after years of living and times of broken hearts, the same hopefulness and positive attitude of that fourteen year old remain. <br />
Like looking back through veiled time, the images of those times gradually unlock themselves from the recesses of my brain and I can see the faces of the friends that I cared for and the boyfriend that is no longer alive. Bittersweet, yet part of a passionate life that has been well-lived.<br />
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My life...brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-68946780105043644142011-03-06T17:06:00.000-08:002011-03-06T17:06:45.695-08:00A Pickup and a Trailer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijjJHP4M4zL8lgSDJGOXPFy0DrO7DdkUf1ucAzEOCC1LcNlgcwQwBeBsp5DUS1v2SLh5u6BbX0AwSmYt_m36m5-4-At74OpUzd53Twhpz0JoTqIrJ7h5e-nV3tw664tPJ9zYXN6IGfP38/s1600/pinup1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijjJHP4M4zL8lgSDJGOXPFy0DrO7DdkUf1ucAzEOCC1LcNlgcwQwBeBsp5DUS1v2SLh5u6BbX0AwSmYt_m36m5-4-At74OpUzd53Twhpz0JoTqIrJ7h5e-nV3tw664tPJ9zYXN6IGfP38/s320/pinup1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Today I went with my daughter, Lesley to her horse trainer's place in Dallas. We hauled her new horse, Cash, and dropped him off for a few weeks of schooling. There's nothing I love more than to travel with Lesley and her horses. It's our time to talk and catch up. Lesley is 22 now, which is unbelievable because I swear I only blinked once and she was grown up. I had hoped to get my son, Chris, to go with us, but it was last minute and he had plans.<br />
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Simple things are my style. I love to spend time with those I love. Don't have to do anything exciting, just traveling down the road towing the horse trailer will do.<br />
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It's a good day.<span id="goog_282746167"></span><span id="goog_282746168"></span>brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-86492675140242217312011-03-05T13:21:00.000-08:002011-03-05T13:22:51.023-08:00Proud to be a Cheesemaker!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifHLkEzdFuqgOia77BttAgIqKThX47T2HT8A-qEyLRlJBKKRf9ijeR78SIxRnYw-ytmKumwHptmU3eiy4bmX0UthsF1nBVhRUc-D7AbHR97yIDjGYQZC1ms-2I_AidrwZeq-VgT8MBwLM/s1600/IMG_0436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifHLkEzdFuqgOia77BttAgIqKThX47T2HT8A-qEyLRlJBKKRf9ijeR78SIxRnYw-ytmKumwHptmU3eiy4bmX0UthsF1nBVhRUc-D7AbHR97yIDjGYQZC1ms-2I_AidrwZeq-VgT8MBwLM/s400/IMG_0436.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>It's been an entire month since I have written. I have a good reason; last month was the annual Tillamook High School Charity Drive. It's ten crazy days of raising money for local charities and Doernbecher Children's Hospital in Portland, Oregon. Each class competes with one another to raise the most money. In order to receive donations, a service has to be provided, such as dinners, silent auctions, concessions at ball games, art camp for kids, car washes, donkey basketball, boxing events, you name it...it's done. At the end of the 10 days, the princess and prince from each class makes a grand entrance into the gym at a basketball game and the royalty of the class raising the most money is crowned Queen and King. It's a community-wide event and it's a big deal. This year the four classes raised over $172,000.00! This is from a community that is NOT wealthy. It's from a community that has a high unemployment rate and struggles financially.<br />
<br />
I am a co-advisor for the class of 2013, the Sophomore Class. As an advisor, I began with this class last year when they were freshman and will "travel" with them until they graduate as seniors. Kara, my co-advisor and I work very hard to instill good values in our class. Last year the school raised over $136,000.00 and the freshman won, earning over $40,000.00 of that total. It is unheard of for the freshman to win, in fact I think the last time a freshman class won was in the 1980's. But this class did it and we are very proud of them.<br />
<br />
Then came this year. How would they top last year? Was it possible? Kara and I were a bit worried about the possibility of meeting last years total, considering the harsh economic climate. But our student leadership was positive that they were going to raise at least the total of last year. We commenced to work our behinds off and when all was said and done, this remarkable class with wonderful parents, raised over $51,000.00 of the $172,000.00! Amazing it was! Unbelievable. The junior class was right behind us with over $50,000.00, the seniors with over $41,000.00 and the freshman with over $29,000.00! Over $80,000.00 was donated to Doernbecher Hospital and the rest will remain in Tillamook, awarded to local charities and college scholarships for Tillamook High School seniors. This was the 58th year for the charity drive and our grand total is now at over $1.9 million dollars! All from a little town on the northern Oregon Coast, Tillamook, OR.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, the charity drive doesn't receive much publicity in the metropolitan areas of Portland and Salem, Oregon. We have requested that news crews come and report on the giving, but alas, they seem to be too busy covering bad news to cover good news. Ironically, the news crews of Portland are "Johnny on the spot" when it floods or storms at the coast. Go figure...doesn't make sense to me.<br />
<br />
One bright spot came this week from radio station KUIK in Hillsboro, Oregon. They called and interviewed the sophomore class charity drive student chairs about the charity drive. It was neat to know that people do care and notice the good that is being done in areas of our state.<br />
<br />
They say, "It takes a village..." but in Tillamook, I believe it "Takes a High School." A school of dedicated, hard-working teenagers that have huge hearts and willing hands that make magic happen every year during the Charity Drive. The community of Tillamook High School is special. It is dedicated to serving and helping others.<br />
<br />
I was born and raised in Tillamook. I graduated from this school and now work at this school. Before me, my mother graduated from this school and years after me, my two children became THS graduates. The hallways are full of memories and tradition for me and I get a sense of pride when I watch the students of today continue the activities that were started 58 years ago.<br />
<br />
I love Tillamook High School...brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-32777530829411175972011-02-06T22:38:00.000-08:002011-02-06T22:38:31.894-08:00Hearts and Affections<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0YhSEiuvctYHZssuCsv4gDeZRY2C5Yw-xunNImVsIWXOH8pze0nLtM_xm_FxWP-rf-UYs4H9iGg3JDiKJNKWlfcuPla-xrEDNGIZbK218A56eqS603Y9J-Wa98qmZbyMxxyhb7pKiqx8/s1600/lavendars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0YhSEiuvctYHZssuCsv4gDeZRY2C5Yw-xunNImVsIWXOH8pze0nLtM_xm_FxWP-rf-UYs4H9iGg3JDiKJNKWlfcuPla-xrEDNGIZbK218A56eqS603Y9J-Wa98qmZbyMxxyhb7pKiqx8/s320/lavendars.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXwF3TvIomGPcqUzq39Y_JHgky2iYKzlT2nJUyTyrE5GhuPCkrw-Un93w1UQf2WBTKUdNyJb5CF0cKPoLp9ZRl8Pt7o1RjkolQbX2hohMWD-rAYQSA2X4pGyVVdBPFKJ3l6BRRKiS-8nM/s1600/love_is_binding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span id="goog_2038931603"></span><span id="goog_2038931604"></span></a></div>So I'm preparing myself for another February 14. A day when everyone is supposed to have someone for a Valentine. The gooey, syrupy, sugary day of love. Bah Humbug. What about all of us singles? Yeah, I sound jaded, I know I do. OK. Enough self-pity. Sometimes love is bittersweet as in the following poem by Lord Byron, one of my favorite romantic poets.<br />
<br />
When We Two Parted<br />
by Lord Byron (1788 - 1824)<br />
<br />
When we two parted<br />
In silence and tears,<br />
Half broken-hearted<br />
To sever the years,<br />
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,<br />
Colder, thy kiss;<br />
Truly that hour foretold<br />
Sorrow to this.<br />
<br />
The dew of the morning<br />
Sunk, chill on my brow,<br />
It felt like the warning<br />
Of what I feel now.<br />
Thy vows are all broken,<br />
And light is thy fame;<br />
I hear thy name spoken,<br />
And share in its shame.<br />
<br />
They name thee before me,<br />
A knell to mine ear;<br />
A shudder comes o'er me...<br />
Why wert thou so dear?<br />
They know not I knew thee,<br />
Who knew thee too well..<br />
Long, long shall I rue thee,<br />
Too deeply to tell.<br />
<br />
In secret we met<br />
In silence I grieve<br />
That thy heart could forget,<br />
Thy spirit deceive.<br />
If I should meet thee<br />
After long years,<br />
How should I greet thee?<br />
With silence and tears.brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-41864669378618769072011-01-30T18:17:00.000-08:002011-01-30T18:17:02.377-08:00Sun Rays<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm_iYzRgqyVTHsk8gc1aUo6OUWsWJIAIE0C74xAiE0B14O4aelEC_yPQXLabqcSX0klWzIhYEOSxQUI1SLB_Stlwl5F4hsdM838_9YH9Ajh6QQN-VO88IIKwEseiL4kTu6pN37FXS8DM0/s1600/IMG_1566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm_iYzRgqyVTHsk8gc1aUo6OUWsWJIAIE0C74xAiE0B14O4aelEC_yPQXLabqcSX0klWzIhYEOSxQUI1SLB_Stlwl5F4hsdM838_9YH9Ajh6QQN-VO88IIKwEseiL4kTu6pN37FXS8DM0/s320/IMG_1566.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><b>In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary. ~Aaron Rose</b></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I found this beautiful sight right out my front door. The clouds hid the December evening sun; the brightness sharply outlining the edges of the clouds. The rays of sunlight burst across the sky and honestly took my breath away. I drove up the road and picked up my mother because I simply had to share this view with someone. I had to have a witness to validate it in my memory. </span><b> </b></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I imagined that the heavens were behind the cloud and while we were not permitted to look directly at it, God provided the glorious rays as a testament to the beauty. I also thought of hope and faith; that the old saying, "behind every cloud there is a silver lining" was totally true. This photo illustrates the awe behind the clouds and the faith it takes to know that there is light behind the darkness.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This I believe... </span></div>brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-3650465273093474192010-12-21T18:27:00.000-08:002010-12-21T18:27:53.534-08:00Life and Cookies<style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ok8jsuBi0rxbf8aNhEYqXdALmNImIepXH3vTZ3zHq1pTmIbvgcvGa0qFtjsCFwnTTAhCZp-UEWgyCCqbhYLE9gJmuALxFoibjO9m2oNA-DsqgGXwU3UWTeVFtFAr6oMK8OlCTp4NR3M/s1600/cookies3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ok8jsuBi0rxbf8aNhEYqXdALmNImIepXH3vTZ3zHq1pTmIbvgcvGa0qFtjsCFwnTTAhCZp-UEWgyCCqbhYLE9gJmuALxFoibjO9m2oNA-DsqgGXwU3UWTeVFtFAr6oMK8OlCTp4NR3M/s320/cookies3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m baking Christmas cookies! This is a big deal why? Well, let’s just say in my “other life” I baked tons of cookies each Christmas time. I also baked with my much-loved Grammie. She taught me to make homemade frosting, pie and other yummy recipes. Grammie always had cookies in her freezer, ready at an instant to display on a plate to offer to anyone who stopped by.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Recently, I found a holiday tin with the words, “Peanut butter, 2001” taped to it. It brought back memories of helping Gram with her Christmas baking. Gram had shoulder surgery in the fall of 2001, and was unable to complete her usual baking, so I went shopping and made the lists of the traditional treats and spent a couple of long days in her kitchen. Gram directed from the table and I worked. She was able to frost cookies and I did all of the grunt work. We had fun, visiting and remembering times past. She told me about her youth in North Dakota on her family’s large farm. She told of snow and sleigh rides to church. She told of her older brothers and how they would always dump the sleigh in a snow bank, causing all of them to look like festive snowmen. She told me of how she loved to read before going to sleep at night and how her father would knock on her bedroom door and tell her to turn out her oil lamp. That brought back memories of me as a child, holding a flashlight under the covers to finish “just one more page.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">During Christmas of 2001, my life was going through many emotional changes. Working my way through a long divorce, smiles were hard to find. It was comforting to know that the time I spent with Grammie was “safe.” It was a place where you felt loved and I needed that then. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I honestly haven’t baked much since that Christmas. My heart was not in it and too many other things got in the way. Christmas became a time to put on a “game face” for my children and smile even when I felt like going to bed and pulling the covers over my head until the season was over. Baking reminded me of my old home and all of the busyness of being a mom and a wife. Funny how some things, like baking, in this instance, define a time and a place.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, this year I decided to get with it and make some family traditional cookies; snowballs, sugar cookies, molasses cookies, to name a few. Sometimes it’s the simple little things that can inspire you to forge ahead and make your way through. For me it was the little dented holiday tin with the masking tape label that read, “Peanut butter, 2001.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I miss you, Grammie. With each cookie, I think of you.</div>brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-12725220627573264782010-12-06T17:38:00.000-08:002010-12-06T17:38:45.491-08:00The Most Wonderful Time of the Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-6C9IGwh1_dDBnx_g1WxeB6NuMs-FAXmIw6YIz2JIQtaTWIPtZESSoVuNzvGZ-45PrfbrqWZF494DtllaHqPaIBlq3AM_4Q2gsuWtakiSYM8Qozm8qUEifQrrhXXz8vyXl1DQL2EpEg/s1600/53273314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR-6C9IGwh1_dDBnx_g1WxeB6NuMs-FAXmIw6YIz2JIQtaTWIPtZESSoVuNzvGZ-45PrfbrqWZF494DtllaHqPaIBlq3AM_4Q2gsuWtakiSYM8Qozm8qUEifQrrhXXz8vyXl1DQL2EpEg/s320/53273314.jpg" width="281" /></a></div><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">It’s a quiet Sunday evening. Preparing for Christmas and another workweek. Tired of doing that, so now for some bloggin’…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Do I have something wise to say? Some words to live by? Hmm…well, for all of you out there that are apprehensive at holiday time, I say, “Chill.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Holidays bring out the best and the worst in people. My daughter was talking to me about my “annual holiday funk.” She told me that I needed to snap out of it and get with it. I explained that it is easier said than done. At holidays, especially Christmas, the world tells us its “family time.” Mom, dad, brother, sister, even the family dog should be wishing everyone peace on earth. For those of us that don’t have the typical family unit, it can be hard, especially if you are a perfectionist, someone who strives to get it right. It’s an adjusting of the senses and expectations. I always feel guilt at holiday time…I should have been able to keep the family together (yeah right), I should have a perfect house (in another life), I should be independently wealthy (threw that one in there…ha) and I should be Mother of the Year each and every year. Well…like a broken record that refuses to skip…it just keeps on repeating that same part over and over each December and I get trapped in the scheme. Gerbil in a wheel, anyone? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I think one just gets so used to feeling this way that when the holidays roll around a person goes in to auto mode and starts buying pity party supplies. I don’t know what it is about being the mother that makes a woman feel like it was their responsibility to raise the kids right and to be the keeper of the flame. Why do some dad’s get away with so much less? Why do some men skip out and become less of a parent and not lose one minute of sleep about it? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My kids are raised and have made it through some pretty twisted times. I have tons to be thankful for and believe me, I am VERY thankful. My kids are wonderfully human adults and I am so glad they are in my life. I have awesome friends and co-workers that are like family and I go to work each day with a smile, because I love my job. My soul is at peace with my Jesus and I know He guides my way. I’m a pretty blessed lady. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So…I think I’ve created a habit, because this is the 7<sup>th</sup> Christmas I have been single. I think it’s time to put the holiday funk to rest, don’t you think? It’s getting old and I’m bored with it. So I’m officially resigning from the Mother of the Year running and I’m forming an “It is what it is and it’s all good” club. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It will save so much time. <span style="font-family: Wingdings;"><span>J</span></span></div>brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-35389778094708521992010-11-25T08:15:00.000-08:002010-11-25T08:15:57.760-08:00Thoughts on a Cold Thanksgiving Morning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF7QK3KMHhHQ6IHuvCz2vHgQee83g033BnODTUprrrI-TIQspM_ftbqqK2rho_hJH0bJDc1ErcvotDuMuJBVHN3MGt-IG95sOMZyP9bRsQpBmiwiJHUeZjVSWhKPAKGbp7J_B5KOCDDqw/s1600/freedomfromwant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF7QK3KMHhHQ6IHuvCz2vHgQee83g033BnODTUprrrI-TIQspM_ftbqqK2rho_hJH0bJDc1ErcvotDuMuJBVHN3MGt-IG95sOMZyP9bRsQpBmiwiJHUeZjVSWhKPAKGbp7J_B5KOCDDqw/s320/freedomfromwant.jpg" width="250" /></a></div><b>Note:</b><br />
<i>I have been away for far too long. Sometimes life is enough and it's too much trouble getting it down on paper (digital paper at least). But I made a promise to someone very special to me that I would begin writing again. So thanks, Cousin Alan for inspiring me to "get to it." I love you very much.</i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">It’s 7:00 a.m. on Thanksgiving morning. Today we are ordered by the date on the calendar to be thankful. Visions of a traditional table, laden with a perfectly browned turkey and all of the delicious dishes that accompany…oh yes…and the perfect pies (homemade, of course). All of the family is there, no chair is empty and all are smiling and everyone is happy to be there, just like the famous Norman Rockwell painting shown above.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Does your life measure up to this expectation of perfection? Mine does not and to be honest, I don’t know of many lives that do. We all have “issues” within our lives and holidays seem to bring those issues out of the dark and into the glaring light.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some have lost loved ones to death or divorce and the empty chair will once again remind them of the loss. As they try to hold back their tears and the turkey turns to sawdust in their mouth, their hearts break all over again for the missing loved one. Dreams, plans and expectations are wiped away and replaced by a new reality that is in direct conflict with society’s mandate for a “happy holiday.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Another newsflash: Not everyone plays fair. Siblings and relatives grow up and relationships get…uh…complicated. Not all families are united in the game called Life. Another wrench in the quest for the perfect holiday.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So you see…it can seem pretty overwhelming and well…at times even depressing. Why bother, you might say. The good news is that there is a way to be thankful…really truly thankful in spite of feelings. Learn this truth: Feelings are fleeting and can be pretty wacky. They change, they can deceive, they can cause us to go crazy and at other times they can cause us to feel exhilarated and so happy we could “just bust.” The secret is to get yourself some faith. Faith that God means it when He says that He has a plan for you and that it is a good plan. That He means it when He says that he counts your tears and knows your heartbreak. He will hold you in the palm of His hand and will keep you all of the days of your life. No…He does NOT say we won’t have dark times and “feel” like we are sinking, but He DOES say that He will be there with us and take us through those times and if you “decide” to trust Him, your feelings will follow your decision. Feelings depend upon outward circumstances. They change according to what’s going on in our emotional lives. On the other hand, joy depends upon God and our decision to trust Him with our lives. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sounds easy? NOT! We are human and even when you are trusting God, you might still “feel” afraid, alone and vulnerable. That’s ok, because God understands the way we tick. He knows that we are only human. But be comforted because you know that feelings pass and that the joy in your heart does not pass because it is based upon the One who NEVER changes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So…today, when you go through Thanksgiving…if you are “feeling” down or desperate, reach out to someone else. Because we all are in this game of Life together and reaching out to someone else is the best way to take focus off of ourselves and spread the joy around. Kind of a “pay it forward” way to look at things. It’s good for the soul.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Happy Thanksgiving!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-28282029430805635072010-06-22T17:30:00.001-07:002010-06-22T17:30:28.186-07:00Little Egypt<meta content="" name="Title"></meta> <meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 11" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 11" name="Originator"></meta> <link href="file://localhost/Users/shelleyhurliman/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-a6Dl06DGSN8FHNnD7oEX0_OVvjMBHuGTY8FACa7wAN8OWhJFhWrJGdCDCtsI1xVLHskIfq77fqbuJ7SbbX7ilC6KfW-4EDiPEMB6KR9c55RxYyExuq4yKQvQvSWiIrhCUswYCNzu4Sg/s1600/dadlarryspitlowres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-a6Dl06DGSN8FHNnD7oEX0_OVvjMBHuGTY8FACa7wAN8OWhJFhWrJGdCDCtsI1xVLHskIfq77fqbuJ7SbbX7ilC6KfW-4EDiPEMB6KR9c55RxYyExuq4yKQvQvSWiIrhCUswYCNzu4Sg/s400/dadlarryspitlowres.jpg" width="341" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Southern Illinois...Little Egypt they call it. Different from the rest of the State of Illinois. Very southern in speech, foods and traditions. Most of the folks here are descendants of pioneers that migrated north from Tennessee, Kentucky and Georgia in search of fertile farmland and homesteads. They brought with them their southern traditions and ways of living that have traveled down through the generations. My dad is one of these people. He says "karn" instead of "corn" and "tarlit" instead of "toilet." In fact, I have been accused by some of slipping into a hillbilly tone when I'm excited or tired (that's "tarred." :)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Back to why they call the region "Little Egypt." The southern part of Illinois is very fertile farmland, wedged between two great rivers; the Mississippi River on the west and the Ohio River on the east. In the 1800's there was a drought in the northern/central part of Illinois and food was scarce. However, Southern Illinois farmers were blessed with successful crops, so people from the north traveled south to buy food, just as Jacob's family traveled to Egypt in Bible times to get food from their brother, Joseph. This is when the region began to be known as Little Egypt. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The path my ancestors took to Southern Illinois began in the Carolina's, then on to Georgia, then Central Tennessee (the Nashville area) then to Saline County, Illinois. My dad's family settled in Franklin County in a small town named Christopher, Illinois.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I was a child, the family farm on Parker Street just north of Christopher was our annual summer vacation destination. We would leave the cool Pacific Northwest and drive for 3.5 days to Illinois. When we reached our destination, I remember the pungent smell of the warm, humid Illinois air, the music of crickets and the evening sight of lightning bugs. Everything seemed different than I was used to, and it was. I was used to the crispness of the marine air and the chill of dewy mornings and evenings. Everything in Southern Illinois seemed older and more "down home." It is older, there is many more years of history here compared to the West.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For several years I was unable to make the trip to Southern Illinois. I was busy raising my children and running a farm. Now my children are grown and I am able to make the trip with my parents. I have had the opportunity to sit with my father and hear stories about his childhood and young manhood days. I have discovered things about our family that enable me to see my father in a clearer way.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We will be here for a few more days, then on to Tennessee. In the meantime I will etch the vision of the small towns and forgotten buildings that hold stories that will never be told. I will visit the places I experienced as a child and commit them to my mind's eye. I will laugh at the lightning bugs and watch out for snakes. I will photograph the moments that inspire me and regret the moments I did not catch. I will enjoy my vacation and file away another years worth of memories.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then I will come home...</div>brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-69640746251903275492010-06-22T17:20:00.000-07:002010-06-22T17:20:20.575-07:00Parker Street<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7Hk7XA4mhWYV7GZMAhl0UjhbrSNayg9EGGAV25RjtRlj2fGgKl9KMmmlz8q22HPPi3nQyc7GBJ4ZPKzm3og_uGJncZElov9yN6b6-Oy2jr-xTMXVC646j4G4rVhJfpE_-zfovZQfi7U/s1600/parkerroadlowres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7Hk7XA4mhWYV7GZMAhl0UjhbrSNayg9EGGAV25RjtRlj2fGgKl9KMmmlz8q22HPPi3nQyc7GBJ4ZPKzm3og_uGJncZElov9yN6b6-Oy2jr-xTMXVC646j4G4rVhJfpE_-zfovZQfi7U/s400/parkerroadlowres.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>A view down Parker Street in Mulkeytown, Illinois. Looking east toward the farm that was my dad's home.brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-17099652218139947912010-05-15T18:11:00.000-07:002010-05-15T18:43:04.951-07:00Digging Through...and Other Odd Subjects<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrR7RRiGKi_vJ5pKPbRBGmvSAy5UC3WVq_h5tC1MCVVEUqx8LH5l6EPRu4FTXV0ipLCYaXCeVSFYONRvhcbmNx2Yb7mTiUEFs_3GnlsKqaR8sXm6WMZh8A2I6swKMysGjcm4CukxKRLlk/s1600/IMG_0144_as.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrR7RRiGKi_vJ5pKPbRBGmvSAy5UC3WVq_h5tC1MCVVEUqx8LH5l6EPRu4FTXV0ipLCYaXCeVSFYONRvhcbmNx2Yb7mTiUEFs_3GnlsKqaR8sXm6WMZh8A2I6swKMysGjcm4CukxKRLlk/s320/IMG_0144_as.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471669558174959074" /></a><br />There's a song I heard on the radio as I was driving to work on Thursday. It's called, "I'm Forgiven." When I heard the words, <span style="font-weight:bold;">"I don’t have to carry the weight of who I’ve been cause I’m forgiven"</span> I knew there was a reason I had turned on the radio to at that moment in time. I'm one of those types that are very hard on myself. I always believe I could have done better or should be doing more and sometimes, that gets very defeating and tiresome. I'm not the same person I was seven years ago and I have to accept the fact that I can't right all of the wrongs and I can't take all of the hurtful words and actions back. I can only ask for forgiveness and more importantly, forgive myself. Regret seems to weigh me down and I am tired of carrying that burden. <br /><br />Looking forward, I promise myself that I will do what I can and that will be ok. I deserve to love myself and when the past wafts through my mind, I will appreciate all that was good and learn from the parts that were regretful. Where I thought I was going seven years ago is not where I am now. Life took a detour and brought me to today and you know, it <span style="font-weight:bold;">is</span> all good. Through the days of feeling rejected and homesick for my "old life" I somehow made it through the dark days and silent nights of loneliness. Bitterness did not defeat me, although there are moments when I am angry at the unfairness of life. I like to think it's "righteous anger" (and I'm sticking to that belief!) I have my time at the "pity party with attendance of one" and then try to gather my feelings and go forward. <br /><br />Strength courage and wisdom cannot be purchased, it must be developed from all that life brings. I have a job that I love and friends that are family. Not everyone can say that, and I know that I am blessed. There is something to be said for those that carry on and keep taking the baby steps forward. Who cares if you take a few steps backward at times? As my dear friend, Susan says, "There is no timeline." That is so true. When it comes to matters of the heart, there are no time lines. Thank God!<br /><br />If you know me, you know I have been talking about "life after divorce." It's true what they say that "divorce is like a death" and somehow my life has taken a "before" and "after" pattern. Before divorce, or as I call it, "my old life" was full of raising my much loved children and trying to be a good wife. I had my identity as wife and mother. After divorce, or my "now life" I have raised my children and I am learning to appreciate my own identity as simply ME. To be truthful, there is nothing "simple" about it. Everyday different...everyday good...sometimes you have to look long and hard for the goodness, but it's there. This I choose to believe.brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-48019340789952401592010-04-13T19:36:00.000-07:002010-04-13T19:46:06.572-07:00Little Girl<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQwK6h7xV2jXvQS7ZpDubwOugTTyxEs7A_stLms0RH4mZL8NIGPIULH7SD3Su5bSJe432TN9B0rdpFAKHOFUFye7KyChudDj8-zQZY0iAFLoMzO11m0b40-i2NamH_SQuhyphenhyphenQmSqHMY0A/s1600/Shelley1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 293px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQwK6h7xV2jXvQS7ZpDubwOugTTyxEs7A_stLms0RH4mZL8NIGPIULH7SD3Su5bSJe432TN9B0rdpFAKHOFUFye7KyChudDj8-zQZY0iAFLoMzO11m0b40-i2NamH_SQuhyphenhyphenQmSqHMY0A/s320/Shelley1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459816811997690226" /></a><br />From the past...a little girl with blond curls, a smart red jacket and red plaid tennis shoes. She's a sweetie pie and only knows happy days. Who is she and where did she go? <br /><br />The years go by and she grows older. She marries, she has a family. She dreams and deals with life. She makes mistakes, learns from them and moves on. She has her heart broken by those closest to her. Those she puts on pedestals fall and crash. People leave...friends come and go...She learns, she cries, she laughs she tells great stories. She's faithful and a good friend. She's a dreamer and a poet. She's a rocker and a roller. She's fun, yet can be cautious. She looks back a few too many times and it bites her in the rear. She finds she cannot fix everything. She cannot solve all of the rhymes she can't find all of the reasons. <br /><br />She adores her children. They carry the best of her heart. She has regrets and misgivings, but offsets those with a sense of hope and promise.<br /><br />She is me.brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-975115217559922482010-04-05T21:15:00.000-07:002010-04-05T21:32:47.241-07:00Monday Night Muse<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSU2s3HfRedgqfksfVDI3rApaVfvsnUqhBJL0CWUIuD795-JSeCHFVJL9y7f49yX3vpMnZuYcH5-7OGMSkQcOSwiU9V7scH1BP1uJWpXwZE6QddAbUtwm_OFRklFR1k3VsOoy9Jm8qQ8I/s1600/IMG_0890.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSU2s3HfRedgqfksfVDI3rApaVfvsnUqhBJL0CWUIuD795-JSeCHFVJL9y7f49yX3vpMnZuYcH5-7OGMSkQcOSwiU9V7scH1BP1uJWpXwZE6QddAbUtwm_OFRklFR1k3VsOoy9Jm8qQ8I/s320/IMG_0890.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456877330661653234" /></a><br />Monday night...a rainy, windy Monday night. I'm sitting at my dining table working on a graphic design job and decided it's time to quit for the day. The house is quiet. I'm getting used to not having T.V. any longer. Decided to save some bucks and also save some time and dropped T.V. service after Christmas. So far so good. I watch Netflix movies online, catch my favorite T.V. shows (Cougar Town, Modern Family & 30 Rock) on hulu.com, so still have entertainment options. Also have the DVD player and T.V., so movies are the menu. It's not that bad...I can always go up the road to my mom's and watch the tube up there. <br /><br />Ok...can you tell I'm stressin' a bit about not having T.V.? It's like a drug and I'm in recovery :). <br /><br />Thought...do you know anyone that is just plain mean? I'm talkin' to the bone, angry, bitter and a master (or mistress) of holding a grudge? I do...and I actually feel pity for them...they know who they are. I'm stepping aside and letting God deal with them. I don't need their negativity in my life and I am bound and determined not to let their dark vibes poison my life. It's too bad, relationships that are broken are sad. Think about it...<br /><br />Enough rambling...Keep your smile sweet and remember to laugh...brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-68444609383028032732010-03-29T21:41:00.000-07:002010-03-29T21:50:42.103-07:00Birthday<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfO2Ipc-JtRbt9wzjus_RVQ09WafIkuN5YBpoGDUMtVw3M6jJ1AMVSLbwRWqOsgTiMnBUYJtLsLXTzte8jrAR6TcV6bmzsY2npekZn5oBNx02DLT1ZUJ063zgR7HrUuoqAuLWDdV3Djss/s1600/dad+chris+1+week+oldJPEG.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfO2Ipc-JtRbt9wzjus_RVQ09WafIkuN5YBpoGDUMtVw3M6jJ1AMVSLbwRWqOsgTiMnBUYJtLsLXTzte8jrAR6TcV6bmzsY2npekZn5oBNx02DLT1ZUJ063zgR7HrUuoqAuLWDdV3Djss/s320/dad+chris+1+week+oldJPEG.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454283894180183970" /></a><br />Tomorrow, March 30 is my kid's dad's birthday. Rick will be...hmmm...let's see...53 years old. In this picture, he is 26, the same age as our son, Chris, who he is holding. Chris is one week old, just a little guy. From the way Rick is dressed, it appears he had just gotten home from work at Safeway, where he was the assistant manager. <br /><br />The years roll by, people change...sometimes it's too bad.<br /><br />Happy Birthday, Rick. You'll always be older than me...brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-11398908630155976022010-03-27T16:09:00.000-07:002010-03-27T16:21:51.895-07:00Bon Jovi Boys<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKITG7eBJg9eD6XioOWS9BkVKnE2WRSXuT_4oTQxYzC6OyuJeNWjU-1lhpSRfysEcnmYzY-qPz-xJHWmJvSwwP5bAVu0p1HC57-HHKBbVvJaATTrhF5T7PNxeTXzAYNwdbGNk9T7L4w0/s1600/jon_bon_jovi_richie_sambora_spl107731_024.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKITG7eBJg9eD6XioOWS9BkVKnE2WRSXuT_4oTQxYzC6OyuJeNWjU-1lhpSRfysEcnmYzY-qPz-xJHWmJvSwwP5bAVu0p1HC57-HHKBbVvJaATTrhF5T7PNxeTXzAYNwdbGNk9T7L4w0/s320/jon_bon_jovi_richie_sambora_spl107731_024.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453456347969885010" /></a><br />My "virtual" boyfriends...Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora. Two extremely hot and attractive men that can really rock. I discovered a "new to me" song of Bon Jovi;<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">A Seat Next to You</span> and it is so sweet. Here's some of the lyrics:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Long slow drive down an old dirt road<br />You've got your hand out the window, listening to the radio<br />That's where I wanna be...<br /><br />On an old park bench in the middle of December<br />Cold hard rain fallin', can't find no cover<br />That would be alright with me...<br /><br />Hard days, good times, blue skies, dark nights<br />Baby, I want you to take me ... wherever you're going to<br />Maybe say that you'll save me ... a seat next to you<br /><br />In the corner booth of a downtown bar, with your head on my shoulder<br />Smokin' on a cheap cigar...that would be alright with me<br />In the back row of a movie or a cross-town train<br />I wanna hear your voice whispering my name...that's where I wanna be<br /><br />Hard days, good times, blue skies, dark nights<br />Baby, say that you'll take me ... wherever you're going to<br />Maybe say that you'll save me ... a seat next to you<br /><br />Life is like a ferris wheel, spinnin' around<br />When you get to the top it's hard to look down<br />Just hang on ... we'll make it through<br />Save me ... a seat next to you<br /><br />When you get to the gates and the angels sing<br />Go to that place where the church bells ring<br />You know I'll come runnin' ... runnin' to find you<br /><br />Baby, say that you'll take me ... wherever you're going to<br />Maybe I want you to save me ... a seat next to you</span><br /><br />Now if that isn't one of the most sweet set of lyrics, I don't know. But Jon and Richie can sing this one to me any old time!brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-67100384445384947972010-03-25T23:47:00.001-07:002010-03-26T00:00:22.823-07:00Cannon Beach<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJqV0T6fGoek1JCl6QpQX7e8nc8VDwg7Tr1pZMUmcZCpzYyh6dup7BspiLe-ZzxjmPR4gX_LZ2iFiRnm3sFXkz03AIsZap7y6flWTqpbpnryGSB3gEGMfp5BVDpcnhZHc4g8fAGOFMSUw/s1600/Cannon_Beach_02.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJqV0T6fGoek1JCl6QpQX7e8nc8VDwg7Tr1pZMUmcZCpzYyh6dup7BspiLe-ZzxjmPR4gX_LZ2iFiRnm3sFXkz03AIsZap7y6flWTqpbpnryGSB3gEGMfp5BVDpcnhZHc4g8fAGOFMSUw/s320/Cannon_Beach_02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452830762388805058" /></a><br />Spring Break 2010 is flying by. I've taken some enjoyable day trips this week. Monday I went to Portland with a friend. We parked at 185th Avenue and rode the MAX downtown to Pioneer Square. Went to a movie and lunch and hit some art stores. <br /><br />Tuesday went to McMinnville to the holy grail of hillbilly shopping, Walmart and the Dollar Tree. Yaw Hoo! <br /><br />Today, a friend and I went to Cannon Beach. I haven't been there in years. Seems like I always pass it by on my way to Seaside or Astoria. We toured the art galleries and had lunch at the Lumberyard, a really nice logging theme restaurant. I had the best martini in the world, the White Chocolate Mochatini. Yum! White Godiva, Vanilla Vodka and Kaluha within a chocolate rimmed glass. Pretty and sweet and now my favorite new drink.Today was topped off by a dinner with friends and a great movie. Good times.<br /><br />It's back to work on a graphic design job tomorrow. Can't be all play this week. <br /><br />Enjoy Spring...it's here and color is busting out all over!brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-5647330541167628742010-03-19T13:51:00.000-07:002010-03-19T14:14:48.662-07:00Grandpa George<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcW6U80Ts1fcn5O2WhtE07eBh9nlfV_XS7qp5KCs6GtdUUYjF6b5aqRpE1bEa65CJDMVIiM3Iisrcw2ezkdjsEAluJgAPcbLMokNvVQR76d4qF84PTh8LeesC6Bpq9SNFzF7EHERRXL5c/s1600-h/chris+1st+bd+w+grandpa+hurliman+84.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcW6U80Ts1fcn5O2WhtE07eBh9nlfV_XS7qp5KCs6GtdUUYjF6b5aqRpE1bEa65CJDMVIiM3Iisrcw2ezkdjsEAluJgAPcbLMokNvVQR76d4qF84PTh8LeesC6Bpq9SNFzF7EHERRXL5c/s320/chris+1st+bd+w+grandpa+hurliman+84.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450454221794801250" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Grandpa George & Chris on Christopher's first birthday, 1984</span><br /><br />My kid's Grandpa George...active, talkative, funny, smart (he can fix anything) and a very hard worker. He's in the hospital after a farm accident and is not used to being cooped up. I was married to his oldest son, Rick for over 20 years and there definitely is a soft spot in my heart for him and his dad. Our two kids, Chris and Lesley love Grandpa George and everyone is praying for a speedy recovery. <br /><br />Thanks Grandpa George for being such a good grandpa to my children. I sincerely wish you well and you are in my prayers. Here's to you, George...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWNWyaQiaZ3_XKhrpzrcwbWp7FGA76lGe7i5cC5Eyp9dmOnnLXPjXN0WCFcUZ18vDk8sfXFWfc0i46vrYEo8DtMt8Qt19lsMeUyOmO1lysgk-N7yTbkZ8Hzv1XPZ2_1KnCw8RKUrrk2U/s1600-h/george_T.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWNWyaQiaZ3_XKhrpzrcwbWp7FGA76lGe7i5cC5Eyp9dmOnnLXPjXN0WCFcUZ18vDk8sfXFWfc0i46vrYEo8DtMt8Qt19lsMeUyOmO1lysgk-N7yTbkZ8Hzv1XPZ2_1KnCw8RKUrrk2U/s320/george_T.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450454758780534962" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">George winning one of his many Pig N Ford trophies</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQthzvmWmBYlVbyu7JgioTal86eyKICbqEtvsBMgwfxDkIo_PCeLnNbyFH4s7ureXPxv9z86EVS9ewHmP9fmqBXBwfLXS_uUkOm4ZjtzZThfarCbFdzaXjt90yQ00Fg7QJF3VbLwrvws/s1600-h/george_horse.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 236px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQthzvmWmBYlVbyu7JgioTal86eyKICbqEtvsBMgwfxDkIo_PCeLnNbyFH4s7ureXPxv9z86EVS9ewHmP9fmqBXBwfLXS_uUkOm4ZjtzZThfarCbFdzaXjt90yQ00Fg7QJF3VbLwrvws/s320/george_horse.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450454755754520354" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">He loves his horses!</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOi4L7b8TWD3FW_fBXa5Q8kI5Qxlk30Q_dr7-NGJ0EP998hTClYv9EDzayJT9q_jDcTMRQmITnO555_7qI_9Fkg7LbHbuWYtVWMkOFTsSip5CHk1YOCwU8u7VosBlH1L-aejNTDcVD6rs/s1600-h/rick_dad.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOi4L7b8TWD3FW_fBXa5Q8kI5Qxlk30Q_dr7-NGJ0EP998hTClYv9EDzayJT9q_jDcTMRQmITnO555_7qI_9Fkg7LbHbuWYtVWMkOFTsSip5CHk1YOCwU8u7VosBlH1L-aejNTDcVD6rs/s320/rick_dad.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450454745217466082" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">George with baby Rick, 1957</span>brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-91698347821605460062010-03-05T17:32:00.000-08:002010-03-05T18:49:27.753-08:00A Fine Friday NightFriday after work. A time to let out a big sigh and look forward to the weekend. I remember when I was young and in school, I loved Friday night because there were still two days to look forward to. I remember the bittersweet feeling of a Sunday afternoon when thoughts of Monday began creeping into my brain.<br /><br />Fast forward to Friday night of now. A time to crash on the couch and stare at the wall while trying to slow down my mind from the hustle of the workday. A time to fall asleep early without the pressure of the alarm clock. Boy how times have changed. No going out on a Friday night. Only staying in and regrouping.<br /><br />Maybe I'll watch a movie...if I can stay awake.<br /><br />Happy Friday!brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7668442238924763692.post-67109170310431556612010-01-20T18:56:00.000-08:002010-01-20T19:00:57.714-08:00Mom & Dad<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5lcmC-oLgadr9Erz3JfiRQaKRGUyi_fZFs88WSHrPbxDKApfo4RYSy_6EpnS5WEiXWukQA2U8S_gCXbxr3akhgyduw6dFBm0BKJhwYMILMgyo9iVzoilGpxFu9tXukRl63AzrKyoviwo/s1600-h/momdad50th.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5lcmC-oLgadr9Erz3JfiRQaKRGUyi_fZFs88WSHrPbxDKApfo4RYSy_6EpnS5WEiXWukQA2U8S_gCXbxr3akhgyduw6dFBm0BKJhwYMILMgyo9iVzoilGpxFu9tXukRl63AzrKyoviwo/s320/momdad50th.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429022694664233010" border="0" /></a><br />My mom and dad celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary on November 5, 2009. Fifty years is a long time...my parents have stuck it out and although life hasn't been pretty at times, it has been constant. There is something to be said of "sticking it out." I should know. I was divorced after 23 years of marriage and will never celebrate a 50th anniversary.<br /><br />Yeah...I believe it's better to hang in there and roll with the years...brave girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03842965655503837678noreply@blogger.com0