tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58778007040437917952024-02-28T15:44:29.942-08:00Just JessSimplify. Minimize. Create. Find joy.Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.comBlogger637125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-10932554454834875132021-06-28T15:42:00.001-07:002021-06-28T15:42:22.349-07:00All Roads Lead Back To Pasta<p>One thing my dad and I always had in common was a love of great food. While his taste became more refined, thanks to his lengthy residencies in France and Spain, mine leaned towards comfort classics and desserts, </p><p>Long before however, when I was a little kid, his pantry was noticeably bare aside from a lone box of Cookie Crisp Cereal. I remember Saturday mornings, while he was still asleep, climbing on the counter to reach it on the top shelf. It felt almost clandestine, but I always knew Dad could care less. If it brought joy to the eater, it didn't matter what it was or when it was eaten.</p><p>If Dad picked me up from my Nana's house she would always send home a bag of groceries for us. Fresh oranges and grapefruits, milk, cold fried chicken, Jiffy Pop and Wonder bread. I wonder if she could see the look of relief on my face knowing we would have food at Dad's apartment. That bag of groceries gave me a sense of security that I never felt at my father's home. Nana's house represented safety and a schedule I could count on.</p><p>Sometimes we would go to the frozen yogurt shop late at night for dinner or the movie theater for popcorn. I would start planning the lie I would tell Mom when Dad dropped me off. She always demanded to know what I had eaten while I was with him. I was afraid if she knew the truth of my junk food, infrequent meal weekend, she would forbid me from seeing him even less than I already was. Even though Dad's artsy lifestyle was unpredictable, I hated the thought of no contact.</p><p>Dad never settled down, but did eventually marry my stepmom after my brother was born. He was forced to somewhat reign in his lifestyle, thanks to her assertiveness. Years later, they both found huge career success as a result of her tenacity and grit. Of course success resulted in a whole new chaotic lifestyle that would eventually break their 30 years together.</p><p>Dinner would often mean pancakes but that was OK because my stepmom made these amazing huge pancakes that were thin and crispy with a slight burnt edge. It was a meal that got us all around one dinner table. The few times I was there for dinner were exciting because I could be with my step sisters and brother. I felt I had the support and camaraderie of siblings dealing with our weird parents. I was less alone and I felt the tiniest bit of normalcy.</p><p>Empty cupboards at my Dad and stepmom's house wasn't always (but I think sometimes in the earlier days) due to lack of funds, it was also due to priorities and lack of time. Grocery shopping wasn't high on a list for two people trying to break into the competitive art and interior design world of California and beyond.</p><p>As we grew older the contents of the fridge morphed from pancake batter and the stale heels of wheat bread to a wedge of Brie cheese and Stone Ground crackers. As their careers bloomed, meals were consumed at restaurants and that's when Dad's love for food really seemed to surface. I think traveling and unlimited financial resources played a part in igniting a passion for it. </p><p>Suddenly he was collecting and reading cookbooks and hosting dinners. He became this know it all foodie. I found it very unsettling. Looking back, I realize it was jealousy. Dad had discovered yet one more talent in his life. He already had plenty. Couldn't he share the talent gene pool a bit? I also found I was angry because he didn't pursue cooking when I was young and in need of security.</p><p>He would call and boast about his latest culinary endeavors and newest food discoveries. He would wax on about regional olive oils, chef friends and the freshest mozzarella cheese. I would attempt to share something about a type of butter and he would act like he already knew. By then he was fluent in 5 languages and the ability to show off his genius was incomparable. </p><p>As I observed his passion soar to new heights, I was terrified for him to try my baking because of his refined palate and sharp critique of flavor profiles.</p><p>The first time I handed my dad a scone, I avoided eye contact. He took a bite and his face brightened. Shortly after he passed away I was told by his friends that he would brag about my baking. He would claim my scones were the best he had ever eaten and he 'should know because he's been all over the world.' I know it sounds silly but the fact a stupid scone brought my dad joy, meant the world to me.</p><p>Food divided us when I was young but reunited us when I was older. Rather than begrudging my dad for his inability to have food in the house growing up, we found connection and comfort in sharing about Nana's cooking and how it shaped our relationship with food and family as adults. </p><p>We said goodbye to the past movie theater popcorn for dinner. We shared some trips to the farmers market and ate pasta and garlic bread at Nana's. He would encourage me to buy dessert at restaurants so we could both try it. He would order all the appetizers because they would change my view of California cuisine. He introduced me to the beauty of restaurant gardens and farm to table meals. We made dinner plans while we were still eating lunch.</p><p>Restaurants became my dad's stage. He could perform for hours by ordering food in another language, running up a huge wine tab, chatting up the staff, flirting with servers, talking about France and art and making jokes to other customers. All of this on a weekday afternoon. Dinner resembled an evening performance of a one man play. Fabulous outfits, a credit card and a desire to impress strangers laid the foundation for the plot, reaching it's conclusion when he settled his tab late at night with promises to call in the morning. </p><p>Towards the end my dad was incredibly sick and led a very reclusive life. Most of us didn't even realize the severity of his illness. His eating (and lack thereof) habits had returned to those of his young Dad days. Going through the receipts in his car proved it. Meals consisted of Taco Bell and daily trips to the Chevron Mini Mart. </p><p>But on Sunday mornings he would show up to my Aunt's and Nana's house for pasta and Sunday gravy. On days he needed to reset he returned to the food that brought him true joy, to a place where he didn't need to perform in order to find acceptance. I only wish he could have enjoyed more of them.</p><p><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TfQNZlPLz0ELtpDl6VCdqdZvho5x-Mlfsi5A49sYZp01K4qOQHmYUlJRNj19KS-Fc7YdAKwYr6fSoh5mLnJ74jZSkKRBtcgQU8GypoC4232MBiKlp5g9_7FTQ7wubvYyMahxKE9Eeho/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TfQNZlPLz0ELtpDl6VCdqdZvho5x-Mlfsi5A49sYZp01K4qOQHmYUlJRNj19KS-Fc7YdAKwYr6fSoh5mLnJ74jZSkKRBtcgQU8GypoC4232MBiKlp5g9_7FTQ7wubvYyMahxKE9Eeho/" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-11913696759491722952020-08-27T11:50:00.000-07:002020-08-27T11:54:34.117-07:00Unprecedented<p> I've never heard the word, "Unprecedented" so much as in the past months but it aptly describes everything in life right now. It's so hard to grasp the times we're currently facing and my heart grieves. </p><p>In the midst of all this mess, my dad died. The dreaded day of losing a parent arrived and when I felt that gut wrenching loss as I was lying next to him in his hospital bed, I realized why I was hoping to die before my parents. The anguish felt (and still feels) unbearable. </p><p>I have always held intense sympathies for those who have lost a family member. My dear cousins have lost a brother, a father, a mother. My step sisters and brother lost a mother. The list goes on but suffice to say, I get it. Now I get the feeling of this all encompassing shock that surrounds you when the person who was responsible for giving you life has left this life. </p><p>Every night I dream about my dad. Vivid dreams. We're talking, we're in the company of family, we're experiencing good times together. When I wake up it makes me miss him even more.</p><p>Even though we didn't see one another often, the world suddenly feels lonelier now that he's not in it. We should have been able to have more years but sadly, his life ended way too soon. I had hopes as he aged that he would settle and find peace in the company of his family. </p><p>As days went on leading to his passing I began to feel an urgency to be with him because he simply wasn't getting better. He was declining both physically and mentally. I would call the hospital multiple times per day, speak with his doctor every night and have conference calls with the palliative care team.</p><p>You're never really ready when that call comes "to get here while he still has some cognition". The hospital graciously made arrangements so I could see him in the hospital and early the next morning I was on a flight</p><p>If you can believe it, there is a silver lining in this. </p><p>Unlike many, my brother and I had the opportunity to spend Dad's last days together. Sometimes it was too difficult for my brother too see dad so debilitated because we remember him full of life, vibrancy and the ability to command a room. </p><p>Our last days together were meaningful and healing. It was the most connected I had felt to my dad in a long time because he became one of us. He wasn't trying to impress or entertain. He was in the most humble state I had ever seen him and it only made me love him more. </p><p>Each day my brother and I would leave the hospital we would blow kisses at him and each time, he would blow them back to us. I will never forget the feeling of his parental love that washing over me and I find myself sitting in that memory with both thankfulness and sorrow. </p><p>On the morning he passed we sat quietly together. The nurse told me hearing is the last function to leave a person so I played Andre Bocelli music and his favorite Jacques Pepin cooking videos. I read him Italian recipes and Bible Psalms. </p><p>He passed very quietly and peacefully. It was just the two us and I will never forget the silence.</p><p>We are two weeks in since his passing and as the messages fade, the flowers die and people resume their lives, mine has stopped movement. I continue to go through the motions of work, family and daily responsibilities but everything looks different now and if you see a smile on my face, please know it's fake.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgROn0Uvy8uyXJKzC9VUEJ5abVjfDJErw7PH-sau-urvF9HuajB75t3AIr7v6i0i-tYtIBeipmTI9yDzPPkj5sGDzZF9JZQGaXYaPdAXf9BxFQj9hFVmdQllnAr9SXN7IrO6MWikZlopiM/s1024/dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgROn0Uvy8uyXJKzC9VUEJ5abVjfDJErw7PH-sau-urvF9HuajB75t3AIr7v6i0i-tYtIBeipmTI9yDzPPkj5sGDzZF9JZQGaXYaPdAXf9BxFQj9hFVmdQllnAr9SXN7IrO6MWikZlopiM/s640/dad.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Now as I attempt (in a futile way) to settle his affairs, I ask myself how Dad would want things handled. Frankly on some things, I'm not quite sure. On others, I know with absolute clarity. One thing Dad and I shared is our inability to stand up and advocate for ourselves but I'm doing the best I can in order to honor him. </p><p>I have discovered I possess a fierce protection over my father and I'm OK with that. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-1457340297501756012020-07-30T09:50:00.001-07:002020-07-30T09:50:35.005-07:00Love In The Time Of COVIDA lot has changed since we last spoke....<div><br /></div><div>In the midst of COVID and unpacking the global impact of systemic racism and how I can educate myself and my family, my parents took ill.</div><div><br /></div><div>If we're comparing illnesses, my dad has the 'greater' one. My mom is in a holding pattern as she goes through tests to see where the root of her problem lies.</div><div><br /></div><div>My dad however. That's another story. Out of respect for his privacy I will refrain from details. Suffice to say my brother found him in great deal of physical distress and got him to the ER. I believe he saved his life.</div><div><br /></div><div>2 weeks in and my father remains gravely ill in California. Because of COVID I am not allowed to see him. Kaiser has been incredible in their management of his case. They have also become very creative in terms of "seeing' a family member.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today they have arranged a video call in my father's room along with a palliative care team to talk about next steps. I'm not sure my dad will be able to verbalize sufficiently but I'm hoping he can somehow express his wishes how he wants his ongoing care to look like.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have all sorts of worry about this. I'm worried he will refuse to see me on video. I worry he will refuse to share (as best as he can) his wishes. I worry about the shock I will be in when I see how debilitated he has become.</div><div><br /></div><div>If anything however, I hope that a new voice and a new person might cause at least a change of scenery for him than scrubs and clinicians. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've been planning. I put on a nice(r) shirt and earrings. I made sure I washed my face (work from home life, right?) </div><div>I have my computer ready for outside so I can hopefully provide a background of sunny weather. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even at 49 I want to my make my father proud of me. All my life I wanted to impress him. I can honestly say, my dad never once questioned my choices. He never was disparaging to me. He was never cruel. </div><div>We align on so much. Our politics, love for animals, great food and the arts. He passed down his genetics of turning grey early on. My mom sees similarities in our appearances. We share the same Italian eyebrows. We could eat our weight in pasta. He says I make the best scones he's ever eaten.</div><div><br /></div><div>That being said, my relationship has been complicated with dad all these years. Our communication very sporadic. Growing up, my step-father dictated when I could see my dad and even during the times dad made himself available, my step-dad wouldn't allow it. I'll always despise him for that.</div><div><br /></div><div>My dad doesn't really know my kids. My kids refer to him by his name or "your dad" </div><div>They used to think he was their uncle. I think it was hard for my dad to admit he had aged to the point he had grandkids. I think interpersonal relationships are difficult for him. He has a tendency to disappear and would frequently do so even when I did make it down to visit. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not excusing his choices but I also want to acknowledge that perhaps a lot of his actions were held hostage by disease. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have an amazing supportive family. Not only the ones I live with but my beautiful step-sisters, my brother, my incredible aunt and uncle, my dear sister/cousin and my 100 year old Nana.</div><div>My mom who divorced my dad 47 years ago calls every day to check on him, even in the midst of her own health issues. </div><div><br /></div><div>Today I will try to smile through my tears when I 'see' my dad. I regret we haven't had a close relationship, especially now. I pray in the time we have left this might change.</div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-49617784963429068362020-02-28T10:58:00.000-08:002020-02-28T10:58:36.932-08:00Teen Years Are The Loneliest For ParentsRecently there's been an influx of parents calling out the truth behind the typical teenager and I'm here for it. We have lived under a rock long enough. Parenting teens has been one of the most isolating, lonely experiences of my life.<br />
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Why? Because we can only share the good stuff. Our kids are of age now where anonymity matters. They are on the brink of adulthood and privacy is something they deserve. They determine what is shared and what isn't. Due to this we have to keep close the intimate details of our teen's lives. Its easy to share the good and a whole other story to share the bad. Fact of the matter is, we can't.<br />
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We don't have the same support group we had when our kids were little. It was easy back then to share the latest diaper blowout and whether or not they preferred peas over carrots. Heck man, those were the GLORY DAYS! Playdates at the park, gym and splash pads? Oh yeah baby, bring it on. We were a team! We were in church and play groups together. We met up for library story time and swim lessons. We grabbed coffee while we took our kids for walks in their strollers. We shared the minutiae of our days because we understood each other.<br />
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Now most of us are back full time in the work force. Our teens are gone more than they're home. Dinners have become making 4 different meals for 4 different people. Grazing at the counter has replaced dinner around the table. Buying shaving cream has replaced buying diaper cream. Pampers have been replaced with boxer briefs for my son and bras for my daughter.<br />
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By the way if you think its expensive raising a toddler, just wait. Oh have mercy...<br />
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There have been and will continue to be many sleepless nights in which I grieve over some of my kid's choices. I have experienced great anger and loads of tears. Parenting teens is similar to menopause. The highs and lows are exhausting.<br />
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Yesterday my son was describing (oh my gosh, he was actually speaking in sentences and not grunting out one word sounds) what it feels like to be him. How he sees the mountain ahead of him and how its so difficult and exhausting to consider climbing on top of it for fear of what's on the other side. There isn't a whole lot to look forward to because there is just another mountain waiting for him. There is a sense of hopelessness about the future which in turn decreases his motivation. His mountain is made up of anxiety for what lies ahead, school, relationships and responsibilities. Its made up of how to pass Chemistry when there are only 8 days left in the trimester. Its made up of exhaustion, stress, procrastination and what he's going to do with his life.<br />
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I think he summed up what most teens are experiencing in life right now. Teens have so much going against them in these current days. They are faced with situations that many of us who have gone before have never experienced. Not only are the waters difficult for teens to swim in, the waves have become downright tsunami style for parents.<br />
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There are still the old standbys for teens. Trying a joint, drinking some booze and messing around under the guise of 'we're just watching a movie'. But now we have new players on board. Social media, comparisons, body shaming, cyber bullying, first person shooter video games, snap chat, selfies with mass amounts of filters, getting those scholarships and whether or not will there be job when they graduate college. Will they go to college? Will they do an apprenticeship? Will they take a gap year? If they take a gap year how will they support themselves? Wait, they need a car. Will they break up after graduation? Should they live at home while attending whatever it is they're attending? Will they enter the work force immediately?<br />
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Dang, its hard. That pressure, right?<br />
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I try to keep these things in mind as we navigate through the teen years. As a parent I want to fast forward and get to the other side. Don't get me wrong there is PLENTY I will miss. My kids are amazing humans and I'm grateful.<br />
Every day as my kids leave for school a piece of my heart goes with them What will the day bring? What new challenge will they face? Will I need to respond to an email from a concerned teacher?<br />
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Today I'm thinking of fellow parents out in the trenches with their teens. I'm sending up a flare to alert you and remind myself, we aren't alone on the journey. Let's just be honest and admit there's more to the story, our kids are struggling and now more than ever we need to know we aren't alone.<br />
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Gone are the days of playdates and I would be lying if I said I didn't miss them.Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-63043381335711145782020-02-11T09:23:00.001-08:002020-02-11T09:28:02.643-08:00My Love Affair With Farmers Markets<div style="text-align: center;">
Recently I was asked at a presentation where my passion for connecting community to local food comes from.</div>
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I love this question. </div>
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Call me a romantic but I get all gushy when it comes to talking about food grown locally. </div>
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Anyone who has traveled with me understands that part of the journey will include hunting down area farmers markets to visit. My people know this and are patient with me. While they may stand in a corner drinking coffee while I cruise my way through the vendors, they understand my passion.</div>
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Back when I was younger nothing thrilled me more than visiting the Wednesday afternoon market in the town I (kind of) grew up in. It was a time when farmers would drive up to the town square, back up their old pickup trucks and sell freshly harvested produce straight off the tailgate. </div>
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Gorgeous peaches, flats of berries, ripe tomatoes and vibrant colors of peppers would light up the perimeter of the park with the true essence of summer. I was excited because I loved to cook and bake so I was completely inspired.</div>
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Years later I found myself growing produce off of my family's property in a small rural town in Oregon. The soil was so rich that the harvest was abundant, enough that we didn't know what to do with it all. Huge heads of cauliflower and broccoli were harvested by the wheelbarrow full. In an attempt to share the bounty I started hauling it every week in a pickup truck to a food bank. I knew fresh produce availability was minimal so it was a great opportunity to share the abundance of fresh vegetables with a community.</div>
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I think working in the farmers market industry is something I was born to do. Every time I attempt to pursue a different career my path always redirects to a market. Now I'm embracing it as part of who I am and excited to move into a new role of market management within my own city.</div>
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I have a routine every Saturday morning at the market where I work. As daylight appears the farmers start driving their box trucks into their assigned space, jump out and start unloading their week's offerings. In a couple of hours they will be ready to start selling to a community of eager customers. It humbles me to watch because I'm reminded by the amount of hours and back breaking labor farmers have endured the past week in order to feed people healthy food. </div>
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I hope I never get too busy that I neglect to take that moment to offer thanks and appreciation for both the farmer and the customer that supports them. Its a beautiful relationship,</div>
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-21608002576062322932020-01-10T12:37:00.000-08:002020-01-12T16:24:09.062-08:00How I January<div>
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<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-0dce0a0d-7fff-8a91-34b0-2fc2a5cdc2d0" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Creativity has been eluding me these past several months. I feel like my brain gets wrapped up in the mundane routine and I fall into patterns that are more automatic than thoughtfully pursued.</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tend to get really depressed in January because a new year means I'm turning another year older, my kids are one year closer to adulthood and my parents are aging. I become so pessimisstic I actually leave extra food for the dogs and a copy of our will on my desk in case we get in an accident. Don't worry, I'm in therapy for it.</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Despite all of it, there are aspects to January I appreciate, especially the stormy days. I am one who loves the fact it starts getting dark at 4 because it signals the time I can put on jammies. </span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am enjoying my time off from work (we are in our 'off season' until February because farming) It has allowed me to slow down and absorb more. I'm embracing silence.</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Self care has become a bigger priority. Lots more yoga, lots more walking, more water, better sleep habits, less spending on the frivolous and washing my face at night!</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My book list has grown, only this time I'm actually reading most of them. I'm in process of trying to 'break up with my phone' which is harder than it sounds. </span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm lighting more candles, cutting fresh rosemary for the house and simmering homemade stove top potpourri. I minimized the house after Christmas which has allowed me to enjoy it more. </span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>
<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-ac613a03-7fff-f6e9-980b-e8151e93052d" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm trying out a bunch of new recipes thanks to the New York Times and a collection of new to me cookbooks. I cooked beans and tomato sauce 'from scratch' and made pie dough. I finally perfected a vegan alfredo sauce.</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I bought a shredder and found satisfaction in shredding 3 years of old files. I got all adulty and washed the vacuum filter. I cleaned out my wallet. I ventured under my son's bed and pulled out all the old Chinese food he had stashed because he's 15 and lazy...</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I've become our in home barista and it has given me so much pleasure to make coffees for people I actually love rather than crabby customers. The tips aren't so good but the grateful smiles from my people make up for it.</span></div>
<br />
I guess creativity takes on different forms. No, I haven't created a macramé wall hanging or illustrated greeting cards. I was creative in my own way and that's enough.<br />
<br />
Embrace January in a way that serves you best, my friends.<br />
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here are some of my January faves if you are interested in checking them out....</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>BOOKS</b>:</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><b>Ask Again, Yes</b></i> by Margaret Keane
</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><b>Normal People</b></i> by Sally Rooney
</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><b>The Great Alone</b></i> by Kristin Hannah
<b>MUSIC:
</b></span></div>
<b></b><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>
<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-26ff3724-7fff-a5dc-e0e6-e471b8763db7" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Local Natives</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>The Revivalists</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Leon Bridges</i></span></div>
<i></i><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Vegan Alfredo Recipe
</b>
https://www.noracooks.com/vegan-alfredo-sauce/
</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial;">Favorite Candles:
</span></b>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Highgarden Scent</span></span></div>
https://penrosecandles.com/<br />
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>My Espresso Maker:</b></span></div>
<b></b><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Breville Barista Express
(FYI - We got it <b>MUCH CHEAPER </b>thanks to Cyber Monday)
https://www.williams-sonoma.com/products/breville-barista-express-espresso-maker/?catalogId=21&sku=2101673&cm_ven=PLA&cm_cat=Google&cm_pla=Electrics%20%3E%20Espresso%20Makers&msclkid=49997935a1381f33cfeb272e14c09457&adlclid=ADL-5274e149-3b9c-48d0-ab28-0b327911dc31</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Best Coffee:</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Coava</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(plus they ship for anyone outside of Portland)</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>TV/Movies:
</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Crown Season 3</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br /></div>
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-37013397042955646972019-09-01T13:49:00.001-07:002019-12-04T11:53:46.607-08:00A New Chapter<div style="text-align: center;">
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This is a photo of me at the end of August. We hiked up to Mt. Constitution on Orcas Island and it was magical.<br />
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I notice my extra pounds, paunchy belly and soft upper arms which is really unfortunate because look where I'm standing. I'm on top of a glorious mountain with a view that reaches Canada. For me to degrade the beauty of the photo by criticizing my appearance is really fricking sad.</div>
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I'm nearing the end of my 40's and I'm keenly aware of the ticking clock. My kids are almost done with high school. They are much busier now with friends, significant others and activities. Parades of teens come through our home but only for a bit before they're headed off to the next thing. I feel the silence of the house.<br />
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Another season. Another step in the journey.<br />
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Recently my boss called me out on what he and other male coworkers described as "memory lapses" and "concerns for my stress and emotional stability"<br />
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I felt humiliated, embarrassed and criticized. I felt I had just experience ageism. I knew a line had been drawn (or perhaps crossed) and that it would forever follow me in my employment with the company.<br />
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After giving myself a week to consider, speak with other colleagues and reflect, I went home from the job and never returned.<br />
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Because I decided that I deserve better.<br />
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In the past I would have just assumed this is how life is in the workplace. This is normal. I must be a failure. I'm not good enough.<br />
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These narratives are designed to break us, to tear us down, to make us believe we aren't worth the trouble.<br />
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It felt great to stand up for myself but it was really scary. It came with sleepless nights, nervous pits in my stomach, fear of the repercussions, hot criticism from the company and loss of my awesome paycheck.<br />
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However nothing in my spirit could rest until I left it behind.<br />
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I've been reminded what matters most and I'm grateful for the time to embrace it. Even in the midst of my son's mountain of laundry, dirty plates left under his bed, empty snack boxes left in the pantry, my husband's pursuit of like the most expensive sport in history, my daughter's current state of her closet and 4 dogs that get me up more than a newborn...<br />
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-80195080836364182682019-02-21T08:44:00.003-08:002019-02-21T09:08:50.314-08:00What 9 Months at the Beach Taught Me<br />
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When I was about 4 years old, my mom decided to move us from California up to the Oregon coast. She was burned out on the California vibe and eager to start over in a new town.<br />
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Mom was 27 years old and divorced my dad when I was two. My dad was against the idea of her taking me out of state but she had full custody. Even at 4 years old I knew. My mom was not one to argue with.<br />
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We moved in with a guy my mom had been dating. He decided to move to Oregon and invited us to join him in a tiny fishing town called Winchester Bay. Jack rented a small beach cottage and set up his leather business in the garage. When he wasn't hand stitching leather goods, he was fishing or listening to the Doobie Brothers (with a doobie on the side).<br />
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We flew up to Oregon and outfitted the cottage with thrifting finds. Mom found bark cloth material and made window curtains. She cut a large piece of floral oil cloth to use as a table covering. She hung peg board behind the stove for a place to hang cooking utensils. Back then it was easy to find homemade quilts in excellent condition at second hand shops. Mom used them as slip covers for the old sofas. She was upcycling way before upcycling was cool.<br />
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Mom says Jack treated me as his own daughter but I already had a dad and certainly didn't need another. I don't remember much of Jack other than the time I decided to hitch hike my way out of town (spoiler alert, no one picked me up) and the fact he chose to walk around the house naked. I'm sure he was a nice guy and all, but his pale, freckled ass made me hate him.<br />
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Mom quickly found work as a part time waitress and along with Jack's leather business, it was enough to live on. Hello, 1970's. I became fast friend's with Joe's 5 year old nephew and we would play for hours outside. Mom found a Sherpa lined jean jacket and heavy brown hiking boots for me at the thrift store. I was set for blustery coastal weather.<br />
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Often mom and I would beachcomb, bringing back huge glass Japanese fishing balls that had broken loose from Japanese fishing boats, shells and unique pieces of driftwood. It was a treasure trove of wonder on that beach. Other days we would pack a picnic and hike up Smith River where fields of daffodils grew in abundance. We would pick bouquets by the armful and eat our sandwiches on the porch of an abandoned house.<br />
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Every morning when she was done with her breakfast shift at the café, Mom walked a few doors down to the smokehouse and bought the fresh catch of the day. Often, she would purchase one avocado and a lemon, come home and create gigantic shrimp louies, dressed with her homemade thousand island dressing. She made crab cocktails, mixing up her own sauce with lots of horseradish. I couldn't get enough.<br />
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Her cooking really took off during those months. At night she would fry up fresh sole in panko crumbs, lemon and butter or grill salmon outside on the little Hibachi grill. She taught herself how to make homemade bread out of an old McCall's cookbook. When mom mixed up a new batch of bread dough she always cut off a portion for me so I could make my own loaf. She had a mini sized loaf pan for me to use. We would have the best time shaping our loaves together and enjoying them warm out of the oven, sliced thick with lots of butter.<br />
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We lived in that little beach cottage for 9 months before moving back to California. Mom hated to leave and in a sense, I did as well. Those 9 months instilled in me, at the ripe age of 4, a love for cooking. While my grandmothers played integral roles, it REALLY began with my mom.<br />
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Today when I bake my own bread, the fragrant, yeasty smell of rising dough transports me back to Winchester Bay. I'll always remember the tiny beach cottage, the fog rolling in, the bundles of daffodils, fresh seafood and of course, Jack's butt.<br />
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Mom is 70 years old now and even though 43 years have passed, the memories remain vivid. It was there my life became rooted in the beauty of creating meals, cooking from scratch and sourcing local foods. Simple appreciation and comfort found while seated around a dinner table.<br />
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Often, our passions take hold in our lives when we're very young and I have my mom to thank for being intentional in showing me a different way of life. A better way of life. A life where contentment is found in the simple things.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg23c6-hdx7l4us0BvYxDz5P-fNKXfIr9FUKedqNOxdiO4mkKi431-Wwi-Rn7nSJhsoSibdoGafP5TJY2rcR6ZkwJ2ihrnUwG78zvB_EmWhoHbaGWbegXsGp0bpAOhGiUp2e93O8ya7StQ/s1600/IMG_2726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg23c6-hdx7l4us0BvYxDz5P-fNKXfIr9FUKedqNOxdiO4mkKi431-Wwi-Rn7nSJhsoSibdoGafP5TJY2rcR6ZkwJ2ihrnUwG78zvB_EmWhoHbaGWbegXsGp0bpAOhGiUp2e93O8ya7StQ/s640/IMG_2726.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Mom and I later on when I was in 4th grade</div>
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<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-39965698084880508932019-01-12T10:31:00.002-08:002019-01-12T10:31:14.296-08:00The Easiest Way To Make Cherry Pie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here's an idea: let's get over ourselves, bake a cherry pie, and go fall in love with life. - Tom Robbins</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As a kid growing up in California, Oregon felt like a million miles away, shrouded in dark days, rain, and mystery. So when my grandma baked her Christmas cherry pie made from fruit grown in Oregon, it felt magical.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My grandma was known for her baking but pies and cookies were her jam. I will always remember her big tin filled with a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies, each layer nestled between wax paper to keep them fresh. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Biting into her cherry pie felt nothing short of nirvana. Her crust to fruit ratio was perfection. The tartness of the cherries mixed with the sugared filling tasted like summer, even though it was Christmas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Her method was pretty simple. All she did was follow the recipe on the inside of the can but of course added her own touches which can't be duplicated.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now I'm living in Oregon and it feels less mysterious. I make my own cherry pies, using the same brand of cherries with the recipe on the inside of the can. Just like my grandma.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's a way of honoring my grandma's memory and keeping her spirit alive in my heart by baking her favorite recipes. I miss her every day. She was and remains one of life's most precious gifts.</span></div>
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(see below for some of my tips)</div>
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P.S. Instead of a butter and/or shortening pie crust, I use this one from #minimalistbaker.<br />
<a href="https://minimalistbaker.com/coconut-oil-pie-crust/">https://minimalistbaker.com/coconut-oil-pie-crust/</a><br />
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P.S.S. I don't use almond extract because I'm not a big fan. Instead, I spike it with a little vanilla vodka but you do you...<br />
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P.S.S. Here's the recipe in case you rip the label like I do The recipe is so easy. Just one pot on the stove.<br />
<a href="https://www.oregonfruit.com/recipes-and-inspiration/category/desserts/cherry-pie">https://www.oregonfruit.com/recipes-and-inspiration/category/desserts/cherry-pie</a><br />
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P.S to infinity: My grandma always wanted her cherry pie to be really vibrant in color so she would add a couple drops of red food coloring to the filling. While it looks lovely, I don't use it. Alternatively you could use a natural food coloring, available at Whole Foods and the like...<br />
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Finally, this isn't a paid ad. I just love #oregonfruitproducts red tart cherries!Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-72634892586764538572019-01-07T20:49:00.000-08:002019-01-09T12:31:31.339-08:00The Fruitful Vegan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Every summer when I grumble over the amount of berries I need to prep, I remind myself it will be worth it all when winter arrives....</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Because it means...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Strawberry jam...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Seriously, how good is fresh strawberry jam in January? Especially, when spread on this vegan 'buttermilk' biscuit?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And raspberry scones....because freshly zested citrus, juicy raspberries and a vanilla vodka spiked powdered sugar glaze taste like a warm summer morning. Don't we need a little of that during our winter hibernation?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Oh, and let's not forget about this blackberry galette. Thanks to the Marionberries I froze, I can make this on a grey rainy day in Oregon and enjoy a bit summer while cuddled up in front of the fire.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Want to know a secret? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's so easy. All you need are some freezer bags, your favorite berry and a little room for storage in the freezer and you're set. I'm lazy so I know if I make it easy for myself, I'm more likely to see it through. Lately I don't even freeze the berries individually on cookie sheets first. I just throw them in the bag, make sure it's flat so I can stack them on a freezer shelf.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the dark months of the year I can open up that freezer and welcome the warmth of summer, all because I threw some fruit in a bag.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">All of the baking recipes are vegan, even the pastry crust. Swapping out butter for coconut oil, cream with almond milk and eggs with flax meal and water sounds crazy but I would be lying if I said it wasn't legit and tastes amazing. Also, if you're chillin' with a plant based/vegan diet then these baked goods fit the bill.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've customized all of these recipes to our family's specific tastes but the base components come from a blog I enjoy called, Minimalist Baker. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">If you're interested in the recipes just drop me a line and I'll be glad to share. In the meantime, winter may be here but with these berried beauties, one would never know...</span><br />
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-38543754385380207362019-01-03T12:14:00.002-08:002019-01-03T18:25:49.896-08:00Minimize<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-3d9d7d8e-7fff-64bd-e9f3-726b8393221b" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Welcome to a new year, fresh starts and a new blog.</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I refuse to make New Year’s Resolutions because I never keep them. After years of trying I finally let myself off the hook. </span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">However, this year I AM trying something new. In addition to a new blog which I will write about in a bit, I am also implementing a new practice to keep me mindful.</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Something gave me pause as I pondered the arrival of 2019. I’m not much for trends but this one I kind of dig. It involves choosing a word for the year. A word that perhaps challenges an individual to seek a new path in their life or holds special meaning. I have been contemplating changes, goal setting and vision casting. As I reflected on what that looks like the word “Minimize” kept popping up. I like it because I believe minimizing can produce effective change, growth and ultimate joy.</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I want to reduce my carbon footprint, be gentle to the earth in how I use it’s resources, give more and take in less, read more, lessen screen time, grow in my faith life, increase my support of small businesses and local living, pare down the non-essentials, clean out, create, reduce my Target visits (a biggie for me), save more and spend less.
It’s a tall order but again, goals.</span></div>
<br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the subject of social media. I have an app through my phone that calculates my weekly screen time. Guys, over the Christmas break my usage on social media increased by a whopping 22,000 percent!
How is that even possible?
</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial";">Unfortunately I think <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.66px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was living Christmas holiday through a bunch of people I had never met. My feed was full of gorgeous tablescapes and home décor, beautiful people posing in snowy fields with color coordinated outfits and meals that would make Saveur magazine envious. While most of it isn’t truly reality (let’s remind ourselves of all the crap that happens behind the carefully decorated front doors), it still made me think, “Aw damn, I failed”. </span></span><br />
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Anyway...<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">M<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.66px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">y blog refresh is part of my new start. It is very plain, which can be murderous to one trying to build a reader base. You probably won't see visually stunning photos or thought provoking quotes from The Economist. What you will see is my reality which is honest and unfiltered because we all need transparency. What better way to remind myself than sharing my journey towards minimizing with you.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">However, you should<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.66px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> plan on plenty of dog photos. Because, as I wrote earlier, priorities...</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial";"></span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<div dir="ltr" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 22.08px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thanks so much for following along.
P.S. If you're so inclined you can sign up with your email via my subscribe link. This allows you to receive updates when I post something new.
</span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-69410546969276247602018-09-05T16:57:00.001-07:002018-09-05T16:57:15.259-07:00Blackmailing My Teacher, Cheating And Other Fond Memories Of High School<div style="text-align: center;">
My daughter is beginning her junior year of high school this week. I'm overcome with all the feels because how in the world did she get to be this old and oh my gosh, I hope she likes her junior year better than I liked my upper class years. I remember specific details from high school and I think some of it has shaped me to be the person I am today. Depending on who you ask, this is both good and bad. </div>
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I am so grateful for restoration and I'm thankful my daughter has better opportunities than I did at her age. Granted, high school was a lifetime ago but some of the same issues kids deal with have stuck around and I find that unfortunate. On the other hand, so much growth has occurred and many kids are going to do (and already ARE doing) amazing things for their generation.</div>
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My daughter is excited about returning to school. She is looking forward to taking classes like Criminology and Honors English. </div>
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She is a person who will stroll into class wearing AC/DC shirts and ripped jeans one day and a homemade skirt featuring teddy bears and pumpkins the next. She knows Bible verses by heart and quotes Lewis Carroll. She's teaching herself guitar riffs from Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" and the theme music to the movie, "Pulp Fiction." </div>
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She bakes bread and watches Mr. Rogers. She listens to crime Podcasts. Her musical tastes are all over the place. She loves everything from the Les Miserable soundtrack to the obscure Primus song.</div>
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Her friends are all ages with diverse backgrounds, orientations and ethnicities. She's introverted and doesn't want me posting photos of her on the internet. One of her most favorite things to do is hanging out with family.</div>
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The thing is, she is learning not to care what people think about her and that's what makes her so damn amazing. She is everything I wanted to be at her age.</div>
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She likes who she is becoming and it gives me so much hope because I was the complete opposite. I hated myself. I battled low self esteem and couldn't make decisions for fear of making the wrong one. I kept quiet and didn't stand up for anything. I just wanted to be liked and accepted.</div>
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I started my high school career at a Christian private school in California where graduation requirements included a semester of Old Testament, a class on Cults (which basically included steps how to handle a Mormon or Jehovah's Witness at your doorstep) and in my case, church choir because I needed elective credits and my parents believed that singing Christian songs would rid me of the evils that might have snuck in at school.</div>
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As far as music I only knew a couple songs from Duran Duran and The Thompson Twins but could quote every lyric of Amy Grant.</div>
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My books were mainly the Sweet Valley High Series, Janette Oak's prairie novels gifted to me from my grandma and the entire series of Nancy Drew and Anne of Green Gables. I read the entire Flowers In The Attic series and kept the books hidden under my bed because those books 'were from the devil.'</div>
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My parents made me wear skirts to school three times a week. I would bring jeans and change when I got to school because who the heck makes a rule as stupid as that one?</div>
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All this to say, the legalism was taking its toll on me. I think my parents were trying to carve me into a person that played by exacts, rules and laws but it only made me want freedom because I felt so confined.</div>
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Later on, high school landed me in a tiny rural high school in Oregon where everyone had known each other since they were little. I felt alone and completely out of my element in my turtlenecks, long skirts and penny loafers.</div>
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Speaking of turtlenecks, I'll always remember when the principal called me out one day in the hall, in front of other students and accused me of hiding hickeys on my neck since I wore them all the time. I was horribly embarrassed and hated him for making me look like an ass.</div>
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Where my Christian school had the Old Testament Bible classes and anti heavy metal propaganda, my rural country school offered wood shop as an enviable elective and Future Farmers of America groups. Kids would arrive late to school during hunting season and haul hay during the summers. A fun Friday night was considered drinking beers down at the river.</div>
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In both of those settings, I had no idea where I fit in. Neither looked promising to me. I wasn't sure who I was. I missed more school than I attended and was in a general state of confusion about which direction I would take. </div>
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In the beginning of my junior year the only friend I made (initially) was the new history teacher. Not in a weird way. My parents let him use our river property on the weekends where he could fish, smoke his pot, use our boat and drink beers undisturbed. I made a deal with him because I was the one who caught him on our property smoking pot in the first place. I wouldn't report him to the school administration if he would agree to give me A's in his classes all year. So in a way, we were pretty much best buds (pun intended).</div>
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I cheated my way through my other classes, as well. Occasionally I would help out a friend on her biology exams by passing her the answers to the questions I knew ( she was having a secret affair with her 30 year old Driver's Ed instructor and didn't have time to study) but mostly it was me writing cryptic test answers on my palm for a Bible exam (oh the irony), copying answer sheets and positioning myself so I was sitting next to the future valedictorian on test day.</div>
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People assumed I was sheltered and while my reading, clothing and music choices leaned in that direction, they were terribly mistaken. Inside I was a girl raging to be let out and bloom into the person I was meant to be. Even though I didn't know who that was quite yet, I wanted the opportunity to find out. I wanted to believe I was more than penny loafers, a test cheater or Amy Grant cassette tapes.</div>
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Time has a way of dimming our memories and those four years of high school have melded into a blur of bad hair, stupid choices and Whitesnake's, popular ballad, "Here I Go Again." What I did as a high schooler makes me cringe now that I'm an adult. We all had our moments, its all part of being a teenager but I still have regrets.</div>
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I wish I had stood up for myself during my high school years.</div>
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I wish I had studied instead of relying on cheating to get by. I wish when I said, "No" to that guy pressuring me for sex, it had meant something. I wish I had told the girl who regarded me with judgment over my bad outfits that her shirt was on backwards. I wish I could go back to the teacher that said I would never be anything and show him my degree and I wish I had stood up to that stupid principal by calling him out on his unprofessional behavior.</div>
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I share this not only as a reminder to myself but as a testament for my daughter. I want her to know she can do hard things. I want her to be true to herself, not someone we as her parents think she should be. I want her to say, "Nope" to anyone who pushes her to do something she isn't comfortable with and be respected for it. I want her to speak up for the person being harassed. I want her to be a friend, even when it isn't convenient. I want her to run from legalism and think for herself. I want her music choices and reading material to be based on her interests, not mine. I want her to encourage the turtleneck wearing girl because even though she seems quiet, she is really cool and is just trying to figure out who she is.</div>
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My daughter is proving that my past carries lessons for her, not only for today, but also for her future.</div>
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-6654236396185012492018-08-20T19:56:00.000-07:002018-08-20T20:29:13.511-07:00How Blackberry Pie Saved Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Part of my teen years were spent living in a rural area of Oregon. I was fresh off the boat from California and clueless about what it meant to live in the country. My mom and step dad had purchased a 55 acre neglected piece of property. It was 7 miles from the nearest town which had a population of around 100. My folks were intent on turning the property back into the farm it once was. Even though they knew nothing about developing property from the literal ground up, they felt hard work and commitment would be enough. </div>
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It was a particularly dark time in my life and the years spent in that area are full of more bad memories than good. We moved the summer prior to my junior year of high school and that August in 1987 was really hot. In between clearing brush, we would take refuge from the heat down in our creek and river frontage we owned along the Umpqua River. It was shady and cool and provided a much needed respite from the penetrating sun.</div>
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It was during that time we discovered how prolific blackberries are in Oregon. Our bushes were laden with ripe, purple fruit and the sweet smell of them lingered long after the sun set for the evening.Up until that time I had never even tried a blackberry but our property was full of them and my parents were all about free food so we starting picking them by the bucketful. I ended up eating way more than I picked, my hands and nails stained purple from all the juice.</div>
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While developing the property to becoming somewhat livable, we rented a small dumpy house in a neighboring farm town. One evening after we finished working on the property I decided to use some of the berries I had picked and try making my first pie.</div>
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Turns out we only had Crisco and wheat flour for the crust and I forgot about any sort of thickener for the berries. It was so horrific it made the enchiladas from the high school cafeteria actually look legit.</div>
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After I turned the oven on and slid the pie in, I noticed a plagues' worth of unidentified bugs racing out from underneath the oven. Upon further investigation also known as screaming, jumping and pointing, it was determined they were cockroaches. Not only were they were under the oven, they were in it as well. I opened the oven door only to be greeted by very toasty cockroaches crawling across the most ugliest pie ever made.</div>
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I took a long hiatus from any baking after that.</div>
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Only when we had a new oven and a new place to live did I try my hand at baking again. It was a slow process and resulted in many disastrous outcomes before I finally mastered fruit pies. In the midst of living with an abusive step father, baking blackberry pies became my therapy. The simple act of picking the fruit, stirring in the sugar, rolling out the crust and crimping the dough edges revived me and brought me back to life. Only when I was baking did I experience true peace.</div>
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I was living with a rage filled, volatile person but for some reason, my step dad would leave me alone when I baked. By the end of it all, I lost count of how many pies I made. </div>
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I know I'm giving way too much credit to a blackberry but I like to believe it was God's way of allowing me to create something good during the bad.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBnfyuGwmTYf3nB36aU4sU0C1MlsMMNUDzSGxLN32Fisz1zVziO8xucvmealxXeBzIgfcxl5RLJ94f4-ICgxWYinOU9_FhPBO7B03ann64Av_lnq-pgKy9FlsQZiHtnnxefcb43pMHOk/s1600/IMG_1901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Yesterday I went out to the country. In the middle of nowhere. To a place 7 miles from the nearest town. To a piece of property long forgotten in my mind. This time with my husband. We picked warm sun ripened blackberries, their scent heavy in the late summer heat. Our dogs played in the river. We picked them by the bucketful and once again, I ate more than I picked. This time I laughed at my purple stained hands and nails. I looked at the former home site where I used to bake away my fear and felt a spirit of thanks for my life. I couldn't wait to get home. I had a blackberry pie to make.</div>
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<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-61013904663598065012018-08-07T19:26:00.004-07:002018-08-07T19:27:16.719-07:00Apparently I Have A Lot To Say...<div style="text-align: center;">
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These past months have sped by but wanted to check in and say "Hi" to my nonexistent readers and share what has been brewing in my head...</div>
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<b>On Writing:</b></div>
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Recently I downloaded an app to check my grammar. Apparently my grammar is so bad they want to charge me 139.00 for a subscription in order to fix it. Obviously they don't want me to write well, otherwise they would have comped the charge.</div>
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All this to say, some need a live in nanny. I need a live in editor.</div>
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The reason I downloaded the grammar app... I'm attempting to write a piece that is becoming increasingly difficult to compose because the comparison game is real and I'm the queen of self sabotage. Other's success makes my stomach clench with jealousy which in turn paralyzes my mind from forming sentences. I'm also finding it difficult to translate my deep emotion about my subject matter into a document worth reading.</div>
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<b>On Recent Revelations:</b></div>
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I've discovered the hard way the amount of time I'm wasting on Instagram and other social media outlets. Its amazing what one can accomplish when the bill doesn't get paid and the WiFi goes out.... BUT I STILL CAN'T STOP TAKING PHOTOS OF FOOD!</div>
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Seriously though, I'm living vicariously through the experiences of others. In turn, I'm denying myself new adventures because I'm wasting time watching everybody else's! </div>
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<b>On Antidepressants:</b></div>
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Ever since I had my son 14 years ago I've been on one form or another of antidepressants. I believe they have helped me navigate through some tough seasons. I'm doing OK but I'm terrified to stop taking them. Less than a year ago, my doctor made a switch to a more effective med and lucky for me it came with the side effect of weight gain. Its really fun especially when it comes to putting my underwear on and I fall over. I know you're jealous. Ideally, I want to have natural remedies instead of drugs but yoga isn't quite cutting it. In addition, the meds are helping me deal with my anger issues in a proactive manner when it comes to subjects such as separation of families, misogynistic men and bad films.</div>
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<b>On My Anger Issues:</b></div>
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See above</div>
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<b>On Veganism:</b></div>
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For the 'most' part I've been a vegan for the past year and a half. It has been really hard for me because I'm all about cheese and butter. I call myself 'veganish' because I struggle with the cravings and give in to the occasional laminated dough perfection that is a chocolate croissant. My reason for trying to be a vegan is based on ethics only. Yeah, I get it. A plant based diet is a lot healthier than a carnivorous one but I hate the abuse so many living creatures endure so that we can have a BBQ. Also, I apologize for the judgmental vegans. They're a tough bunch but it doesn't represent all of us. I've had to kick my husband under the table a few times when he starts getting a bit overzealous with meat eaters.</div>
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<b>On Raising Humans</b></div>
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At 47 I am keenly aware that time moves quickly. My kids are both in high school now. I have two summers left with my daughter before she ventures out on her own, most likely in a van traveling to see the biggest ball of yarn. And yes, in case you're wondering, she wants to see it.</div>
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My boy is testing his wings, surrounding himself with friends more than his mom. Answers to my questions come in the form of grunts. If he asks for anything its for cash, potato chips or hair product. He seems to think he is going to live in our basement when he's an adult. Thankfully we don't have a basement.</div>
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I want to absorb every minute of my daughter's mood swings, my son's opposition to facial cleanser, their messy bedrooms, overflowing laundry bins and empty cookie packages in the pantry because trust me, this time is almost over. Parents of younger kids, I implore you to hold on to every single minute of this parenting gig. From stepping on a Lego with bare feet to cleaning a flooded bathroom from the kid who clogged the toilet with an action figure, you will miss all of it when they're gone. Well, maybe not the clogged toilet.</div>
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And while your house will finally be quiet, it will also be empty (and really, really clean).</div>
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I love my kids with a ferocity, it hurts me to the core. I worry for their futures. We've done a piss poor job of preserving a healthy planet for them to exist in and I feel like I owe my kids an apology. As parents we can only do so much. We can be examples. We can point them in the right direction. We can encourage and support them but ultimately they will decide their path. Right now they have an opportunity to see a generation taking action, working tirelessly to create lasting change. I pray my kids will find a cause they feel passionate about and join in the work.</div>
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<b>On Reading Books And Watching Netflix</b></div>
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This summer I've been trying to put the phone down and pick up a book. These have been some recent favorites.</div>
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Books:</div>
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<b>Memoirs Written By Women:</b></div>
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Jamie Wright "The World's Worst Missionary"</div>
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Roxanne Gay "Hunger"</div>
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Janelle Hanchett "I'm Just Happy To Be Here"</div>
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<b>Fiction:</b></div>
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Kristin Hannah "The Great Alone"</div>
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Jill Santopolo "The Love We Lost"</div>
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Aimee Molloy "The Perfect Mother"</div>
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<b>Netflix</b></div>
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Hannah Gadsby - Nanette</div>
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(My words can't do it justice so just watch it)</div>
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Arrested Development</div>
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(if you need a break from living on planet earth)</div>
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Apparently I needed to get a lot out so thanks for listening to my word diarrhea!!</div>
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-64052907935039972602018-01-03T16:19:00.003-08:002018-01-03T16:19:45.785-08:00Actually, I Can.Since my childhood I've battled self worth issues. I'm told I'm my own worst enemy and if I could really see what I've overcome in my life, I would be much kinder to myself.<br />
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Admittedly, I find myself addicted to social media which in my case, only heightens my symptoms. Comparisons plague me. I'm caught in the hamster wheel. She's thinner. She's more beautiful. She does it all. She has it all. She's so creative. She earns a better income. She has more influence. She's funnier and so on....<br />
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I could blame it on my weird, dysfunctional upbringing or perhaps negative comments as I got older. It doesn't matter because I have the ultimate say in how I feel about myself. Yet at times I feel overpowered by it.<br />
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My favorite mantra of "Actually, I can." quickly turns into "Who am I kidding?"<br />
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Now I'm 46 and I have a daughter who battles the same ailment. I know I am largely responsible for this because all her life she has seen how cruel I treat myself in terms of comments about my appearance, failures and shortcomings.<br />
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About a year ago she decided to delete her social media accounts because she was tired of the comparison game she was finding herself caught up in. It was exactly what I was (and am) battling. However, she did something about it. She changed the narrative and took control over something that was affecting her mental health. I respect this about her in a mighty way.<br />
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Recently my step daughter got married and it was a lovely wedding. But rather than celebrating a beautiful event when the photos came back, I immediately started criticizing myself. Keep in mind, my daughter was standing beside me, watching as I raked my appearance over the coals.<br />
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"Oh my gosh, my hair looks horrible. My boobs are practically hanging down at my waist. I'm so fat. Look how pale I am. What was I thinking when I chose that dress?"<br />
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Soon she chimed in about her OWN appearance which echoed much of what I had just said. Thankfully she left out the boob portion.<br />
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My daughter watches. She observes. She contemplates. She considers. She's taking everything in and when she sees my negativity about my body, I am in essence telling her that it's OK to be negative about hers.<br />
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But then she went and got all 'adulty' and offered a challenge. Any time I put myself down, she gets to put HERSELF down.<br />
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Challenge accepted. No way would I let her get away with it. I can put myself down all day but my daughter? I won't have it. Funny how that works.<br />
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Quicker than NBC announcing Matt Laurer was fired, I failed the challenge.<br />
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It's been one of my hardest yet. How do I reset my thinking when my past 40 years are filled with self deprecation? There aren't enough juice cleanses in the world to get rid of that toxic BS.<br />
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I hate living in the present. I hate positive self talk. I hate trying to maintain a prayer life, I hate revamping my thought processes. Its hard and it requires something of me because I'm lazy when it comes to self care. But, this is what I'm finding necessary in order to protect myself from burrowing further into my cocoon of worthlessness. I'm struggling but I am trying to engage my filter before I speak negatively and I'm learning to treat myself with a little more compassion.<br />
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Maybe it will take another 40 years to peel away the layers of ugly self worth, but who cares? Every layer peeled means I'm closer to revealing who I was meant to be.<br />
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<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-43205433705639539572017-06-01T08:26:00.001-07:002017-06-01T08:35:46.000-07:00Letting Go Of Curly's TailWhen I was a teenager my parents decided to move from the bustle of the San Francisco Bay Area to a tiny rural town in Oregon. Having no previous traditional farming experience, my step dad thought it would be cool to lay down cash for 55 acres of undeveloped land.<br />
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This all occurred over the course of a weekend.<br />
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It was awesome. <br />
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No, it wasn't.<br />
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And because my step dad didn't want to hire out the work to develop it, the majority of the labor fell to himself, my mother and yours truly.<br />
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I was expected to have the strength of Serena Williams and because of that I grew very stubborn. I wanted to prove my ability. I wanted favor in the sight of my step father and the only way I could achieve that was to work my butt off. Sometimes that still wasn't enough.<br />
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Eventually he bought some cows to help as a tax write off and keep the fields grazed. In reality, there were just pets which of course, I loved.<br />
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We had a young heifer named Curly and she decided it would be cool to try and break through a weak spot in the fencing. The idea of this terrified me because I was worried she would never come back. As she headed towards imminent fence breakage, I grabbed her tail in an effort to catch her. She was undeterred. She took off even faster and in my stubbornness, I refused to let go. What followed was perfect fodder for a YouTube video as I was drug across the pasture on my stomach by this wayward cow.<br />
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Even in the midst of my field sledding I felt if the cow got out, I would be responsible for it and therefore guilt was already sinking its claws into my vulnerable soul.<br />
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By the time it was all over I was seriously beaten up. And while she didn't get out, I had only made the situation worse by not letting go. Because let's face it, who really likes having their tail grabbed?<br />
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My stubbornness has continued to get me in trouble over the years because I still feel guilt if I don't see something through, even if it is making me miserable in the process. I have intense fear of disappointing others.<br />
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And while I admire my tenacity at times, is it really worth it? Is it really worth to make myself and those around me miserable?<br />
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Its been 27 years since my cow incident and I still can't seem to let go of Curly's tail.<br />
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So I'm taking a leap of faith and replacing "I have to" with "I'm choosing to".<br />
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Its scary for me because of the unknowns and fear of making a mistake but sometimes the scariest risks ends up being the best.<br />
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<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-25653164232611014552017-04-27T09:59:00.002-07:002017-04-27T09:59:35.997-07:00Telephones And Greeting Cards<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
Almost 4 weeks ago my mom had a total knee replacement and as I've mentioned in my previous post, her recovery has been long and arduous.<br />
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I basically moved in for 2 weeks, interspersed with quick visits home, in order to care for her.<br />
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Mom lives in a remote area, her home sits atop a hill surrounded by grass seed fields. I can't convince her to move closer because she lives where she wants to live, end of story.<br />
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Life is different in the country and after living in Portland proper for a few years now, I've grown accustomed to convenience and a busy lifestyle. Essentially it has become a life with less focus on relationship and more on the rat race.<br />
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When I settled into mom's, I felt a sense of restlessness and nervousness. I felt distracted. I felt isolated and alone. The quiet was unnerving.<br />
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My mom doesn't have WiFi, she doesn't have Netflix, she doesn't own a dishwasher or modern conveniences. She uses her woodstove as her main source of heat. She has a telephone that cuts out on the regular due to sketchy phone lines. She doesn't own an IPhone and her water comes from a well.<br />
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It turned out I had a thing or two to learn once I settled in at mom's, one of which was telephone etiquette. Apparently you answer the phone when you live in the country. But instead when her land line rang, I just ignored it because we all know that's what text messaging is for. <br />
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Finally mom called from her bedroom, "Aren't you going to answer that?"<br />
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"Of course not. Why would I answer a phone, especially one without caller ID?"<br />
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But because I try to be a good daughter, I finally picked up the 'receiver' only to hear a concerned voice on the other end. They even knew my name."<br />
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It was freaky.<br />
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The caller turned out to be one of my mom's good friends calling to check on her and offer any help that might be needed.<br />
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It didn't stop there. Phone calls started coming in on the regular and the more I answered, the more agitated I got. <br />
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Finally I asked my mom, "Why in the world aren't these people sending text messages instead of using something so archaic as a land line?"<br />
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"We do things different up here and besides, we don't have IPLUGS", she told me. <br />
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"They're called IPHONES" I yelled, as I stomped off to answer yet again, another phone call.<br />
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When I got her mail, I discovered her mailbox was full. I started rifling through all these brightly colored envelopes, similar in size. All were written in cursive, adorned with pretty stickers, addressed to my mother.<br />
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<br />
They were Get Well cards. Obviously my mom's friends had way too much time on their hands because each passing day brought more cards, more phone calls and hand delivered flower arrangements.<br />
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It was quickly becoming a part time job, being her 'secretary'.<br />
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But after a week of this nonsense, I found myself answering her phone on the first ring and looking forward to what was in the mailbox that day.<br />
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It was then I found the source of my original restlessness.<br />
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I was in the process of detoxing.<br />
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I was coming down off of city life, of dishwashers and water dispensers on the front of fridges, of Starbucks, of WiFi, of social media, of Target, of noise and distraction, of close neighbors and commuting.<br />
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My mind was beginning to still. I found stress dissolving. I found joy in scattering bird seed for all of my mom's mourning doves and building fires in her woodstove, in reading a book and washing dishes by hand.<br />
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With each passing day, my agitation began to ease. My mom commented that I appeared less distracted and more present.<br />
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Then I took things a step further. I felt inspired to be creative so I took out a stack of greeting cards from my mom's coffer of stationery and started writing cards to family and friends, in cursive. <br />
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I addressed all my mom's Easter cards from her handwritten address book.<br />
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I sat at her roll top desk and watched the deer out her windows. I brewed tea in the afternoon and swept her porch. I watched nature shows on PBS.<br />
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My mom lives in the land of greeting cards and telephones, of neighbor's impromptu visits, of mid day pie and tea with her friends and after church luncheons. I'm a little jealous now that I've seen first hand what it means to live with intention.<br />
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It didn't take me long to revert back to my old ways when I left mom's and headed back to my life. <br />
Sadly, the allure of the convenient becomes the norm when really, it shouldn't.<br />
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Even though I'm not at the point of making phone calls or dropping by friend's houses without warning, I just might send out some random greeting cards to friends. Of course, only AFTER I text them for their address.<br />
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Baby steps.<br />
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-86273758137853918922017-04-20T09:50:00.003-07:002017-04-20T09:53:40.471-07:00My Life Is Starting To Sound Like A Country Music Ballad<div>
I have reached the conclusion that my life is morphing into a typical country music song. Don't get me wrong, I love Rascal Flatts but this is just plain old school country right here...cue Merle Haggard.</div>
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Because of this, my usual cheery optimism is stuck inside one of those nasty Starbucks Unicorn Frappucinos. I pile all my negativity on random strangers and unsuspecting co workers in an effort to get free therapy.<br />
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Back in November our offer on a house was accepted and with that came both happiness and fear. Fear of starting over in a new community and leaving my familiar bubble of security and routine. Transitioning into a different house, town, school and commute is harder than it sounds and frankly, it has rocked me. I comfort myself in the familiar and so instead of dealing with change, I'm binging on episodes of Shameless because let's face it, an evening with the Gallagher family will remind you that your life is awesome.<br />
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Soon after the news came that we would be moving, our dear Greyhound was hit by a car. It was so completely horrific that for days I could barely get out of bed. The loss of her rocked me and my family to the core and we are still grieving.<br />
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My children's amazing grandfather on their father's side passed away in February. I always considered him a father because he was a man that stood out from amongst the rest. He was a tremendous human who possessed a spirit of love and kindness. I first met him in 1992 and decided right then that I would love him forever.<br />
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A few weeks ago, my step father suddenly died as a result of a massive heart attack. He died on my daughter's birthday and while we weren't in contact, the loss was shocking.<br />
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My mom just went through her third knee replacement surgery which is weird because she only has 2 knees. But anyway...this one has been the worst in terms of recovery. After 2.5 weeks of leave from my job, my mom still needs plenty of assistance. I've felt her struggle keenly as I see on the daily her pain and attempts at therapy. This has been her 7th surgery in 6 years and each one becomes a little more difficult, with good reason. I worry for her well being and see the days approaching where she will need me full time.<br />
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I don't mean to share my woes to depress or solicit sympathy. I think we can all agree we are living in trying times and 2017 has been a butt.<br />
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I guess what I'm trying to say is now more than ever, we need each other. We need community. We need relationship.<br />
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But I'm not pursuing any of that.<br />
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Instead, I'm pulling away more and more into my own little cocoon of reflection and quietness.<br />
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When I finally did share this with a medical professional I came away with a bit of <br />
bit of encouragement. Whether its a move or poor health or a death or a change in a job, it all comes with a sense of loss or grief. How we deal with it can manifest itself in a variety of ways. <br />
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What's important to remember is these seasons are temporary and its OK because seasons change.<br />
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I have forgotten what it means to treat myself with compassion and kindness and to allow myself the time to grieve is a gift I can give myself.<br />
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Right now I'm where I need to be. I'm not going to lie though, I'm ready for this country music song to turn into a Justin Timberlake jam.<br />
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-23079582294850741862017-03-21T09:46:00.001-07:002017-03-23T08:32:03.829-07:00A Time To MournI met my stepdad 40 years ago. I remember the day well. I was 5 years old and my mom was introducing him to me as her new boyfriend. I was angry because he wasn't my dad so I promptly slammed my bedroom door in his face.<br />
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Thus began our complicated relationship. Mom had a few boyfriends since she had divorced my dad but somehow in my innocent mind I knew this one was going to stick. Life with just my mom was about to change. Drastically.<br />
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My stepdad never really wanted kids although much later in life he wishes he had chosen differently because he felt bad I didn't have a sibling to play with. Honestly, I don't think parenting was one of my stepdad's strong points. All of a sudden he had this crazy 5 year old running around. I can't really blame him for his hesitancy. Nevertheless, he dove in and for years we attempted to forge some sort of relationship.<br />
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There were years of good and there were years of bad. Unfortunately the bad outweighed the good at times which truly altered the course of my future as a teenager and young adult. <br />
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To wade through the years of dysfunction feels pointless now. It was part of our journey and history can't rewrite itself. For some reason we had to go through those experiences in order to be stronger. What I can do however is reflect on the things that were good and there are plenty of good memories.<br />
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My stepdad had a fantastic sense of humor. We would watch Beverly Hills 90210 together. He would make me huge bowls of popcorn. He paid for years of private schooling, we would play 'band' together and sing Amy Grant Christmas carols into microphones. On his good days, he was my biggest cheerleader.<br />
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But on his bad days...threats, violence and verbal abuse infused the four walls of our home.<br />
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Many years later my children were born and he lived as if he were a new man. The times he had missed out on being a father were now being experienced as a grandfather. My children absolutely doted on him. I felt a sense of redemption and hope as he fully embraced his new role. I think those years when my kids were younger gave him a sense of purpose and joy as he actively participated in their lives. I was cautiously optimistic.<br />
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The day my daughter was born my stepdad was at the hospital in the delivery room. As it became apparent I was getting close to the "pushing stage" he went to make his exit. However he didn't get very far before the bed I was delivering on, broke. The entire leg stirrup piece gave out as I began pushing so there I was with one leg flailing about with a baby coming out. Since the doctor and nurses were obviously otherwise engaged, there was no one to fix the bed so my stepdad had to crawl underneath and hold up the stirrup portion of the bed as I delivered my daughter.<br />
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Let's just say he had a bird's eye view of a birth that he would have preferred to miss but I will always remember that event with humor as he saw my daughter enter the world from a most 'unique' position.<br />
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But mental illness and alcoholism are cruel. It ravages both the mind and body. It has the potential to leave irreparable damage to both the one suffering from it and those that are closely connected with the person battling it. We saw the power it held over my stepdad and it grieved us to see such a now vibrant person fall into it's clutches. <br />
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Yesterday my stepdad died. <br />
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Suddenly and most unexpectedly. <br />
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On my daughter's 15th birthday. <br />
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The irony is not lost on me and I'm grieved by it.<br />
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However my stepdad took advantage at a last chance of redemption before his death. He started over from a place of complete brokenness. Thanks to a wonderful, compassionate, supportive group of friends, he found joy again. He found a church community he embraced and felt loved by. He was in a healthy, happy relationship. This brings me joy. Even though we were no loner in contact, I'm glad he left this world in a place of peace.<br />
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Today I'm crafting how will I tell my children that he has passed away. I'm choosing my words carefully because I want them to remember the good times, the good memories and the times of laughter that we were able to share in between the difficulties. That even in his moments of despair, he loved them.<br />
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It feels a bit freeing when I say that I'm choosing to focus on the things that were good because wallowing in any past hurt will accomplish nothing and honestly, I don't want to remember him in that way.<br />
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He's finally found true peace. Who am I to try and take that away? Rest easy, Jim. You are finally free....<br />
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<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-73828724961249371462017-03-15T10:06:00.002-07:002017-03-15T10:06:04.635-07:00Second ChancesOver the weekend I was cruelly reminded of my age when I took my daughter to Forever 21. I was one of the oldest customers.<br />
<br />
Talk about a reality check.<br />
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I almost bought myself a Def Leppard T Shirt in an attempt to reclaim my youth but sadly they only carried it in an X Small. Go figure.<br />
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My kids are delving into their teenage years, meaning they aren't needing me as much anymore in terms of the daily needs a small child requires. It is a unique season, a time in which they are discovering more independence which is allowing me the freedom to take a nap, finish a book, do errands or watch a show uninterrupted. And as mothers of small kids know, you can't put a price tag on that.<br />
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Instead, our conversations include deeper subjects instead of the latest Paw Patrol episode. They can make their own lunches, do laundry and are becoming functioning members of society. They are starting to vision cast about their futures such as careers, college or in my son's case, a post graduation backpacking trip through Europe (hold me).<br />
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But with it comes another season. A season of redefinition. After 14 years of (grateful) stay at home parenting with intermittent employment, who am I? I've lost all sense of my identity as a woman. <br />
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We find resistance when trying to reenter the work force. We discover our education from years past really has no relevance now due to a ever evolving market. <br />
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In interviews I've been asked, "What have you been doing during your lengthy time of unemployment?"<br />
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Aside from wanting to answer, "Raising humans', my work experience is outdated unless you consider running the bake sale at my son's school viable employment.<br />
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So I decided to do an experiment as a way to build a little work history and test the waters for something that might click, something that might ignite some inspiration or even a new passion. I decided to start over.<br />
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Over the past year I worked as a nanny, a barista and most recently employed at a Montessori school. I'm grateful because these jobs have revealed to me what I <b>DON'T</b> want to do. That alone has been enlightening. It also has allowed me the opportunity to reflect what I <b>DO</b> want to do based on my interests, strengths, weaknesses, likes and dislikes from present and previous jobs.<br />
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I'm entering Part 2 of parenting which is revealing it's own set of challenges and joys, intertwined with sadness over the fact my children are on their way to adulthood.<br />
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It feels weird as I start paying attention to myself again, wondering what's next. This time of uncertainty can be considered a second chance. A chance for a new career whether it comes from a new educational pursuit or perhaps from a passion that has been lying dormant.<br />
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Whatever it is, I think those of us who find ourselves in this stage of life deserve the opportunity to discover the importance of finding fulfillment. <br />
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And if your passion is running the bake sale long after your kids have finished school, more power to you. I have to keep reminding myself that every experience we journey through allows us the opportunity to learn more about ourselves.<br />
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Take time to figure out what drives you, what excites you, what inspires you, what challenges you and GO FOR IT. As a fellow sojourner I can say you won't regret it.<br />
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<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-58414854327717093282017-02-22T10:06:00.001-08:002017-02-22T10:06:04.614-08:00My Month At Starbucks<br />
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After being an avid consumer for 12 years, I decided to find out what all the hype was about when it came to working for Starbucks. I figured it would be ideal. Sling espresso while my kids were in school and challenge my quickly growing introverted self into an engaging member of the community in which I lived.<br />
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I applied and was hired the very next day. Their desperation for staff was keenly felt as I witnessed the frantic partners with too long of a line and not enough baristas to cover the shifts.<br />
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I was excited. I longed for a fast paced environment because it made time pass quickly and wouldn't be a complete yawn fest. Plus, I loved coffee. What could be better?<br />
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Not only was I going to make espressos and frappucinos, I was going to make pour overs and learn the beauty behind the Flat White and the definition of a ristretto shot.<br />
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I was heck bent on demystifying the glamorous life of a Starbucks barista. I had wanted to work for them for years and had applied no less than a dozen times. I had read "How Starbucks Saved My Life" by Michael Gill and eagerly absorbed Howard Schultz's book, "Onward". Needless to say I could barely sleep the night before my first shift. <br />
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But what I encountered was anything but glamorous...<br />
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I dumped disgusting amounts of trash, cleaned the café table bases and waste cans, scrubbed dried chili off the walls from someone who snuck their lunch in, mopped up the teen girl's dumped Venti Green Tea Frappucino, and learned that people mean business when it comes to 3 or 4 pumps in their mocha.<br />
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If you're going in with the thought of whiling away hours honing your latte art skills, think again.<br />
You aren't a true barista unless you have scrubbed the floor drains with bleach and a toothbrush.<br />
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I think my moment of clarity that people are seriously messed up came when a customer asked me to weigh her cappuccino in order confirm her ratio of milk to foam was even. Another moment soon followed when a woman produced a rose petal and asked me to steep it in her Pike Place Roast brew.<br />
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And while there are plenty of opportunities to hone your craft, the fact remains that being a barista is not as glamorous as one might think. Because contrary to popular belief, the majority of your time is spent doing dishes, refilling cups and restocking the condiment bar.<br />
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But I learned so much in the short month and a half I was employed. I learned that for the past 12 years I have been spending an obscene amount of money on basically sugar and water. <br />
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I learned the garbage and waste that goes out in one 4 hour shift, is staggering. I learned that people get really snotty about their coffee and need to visit a third world country for a while.<br />
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I learned that I'm a gross consumer of Starbucks. I learned that even though I realize this, I will still be a faithful customer.<br />
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I learned that baristas deserve a heck of a lot more money. <br />
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I discovered baristas hold a great amount of power since they are the direct link between you and caffeine. <br />
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I discovered we are considered drug dealers to many and the longer you make a customer wait for their hit, the more dreadful your morning will become.<br />
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I discovered that I personally contribute to the obesity problem in America when I make a Venti Caramel Frappucino with extra caramel. <br />
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I learned that hell hath no fury than a white girl in yoga pants discovering you ran out of pumpkin spice. <br />
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I've also discovered a lot about myself and it's been quite illuminating. I don't know about you but being trained by a girl 25 years my junior is a lesson in humility. <br />
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I've learned that these kids can run circles around me, leaving me in a cloud of latte foam.<br />
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I've learned that while there is the potential of weight gain from sampling product, the odds are pretty much in your favor to lose weight. Working for this company requires serious work and I basically crawled home.<br />
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I've discovered that I love making coffee and if you're nasty to me I will pull decaf shots instead of regular espresso because I'm vindictive like that.<br />
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And in case you're wondering, don't ever NOT tip your barista or worse, drop in your 3 pennies. The person that just made your drink does not earn a living wage so cut them some slack and cash up! I figure anyone that makes your morning bearable deserves quality compensation!<br />
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-11985634273625321602017-02-08T09:06:00.001-08:002017-02-08T09:20:27.114-08:00My Favorite Feminist Is My 15 Year Old DaughterI never envisioned myself having children. Everyone told me having children was a very selfish act. I always thought the opposite because I knew once the bun was out that oven you started living life for someone else. To me, that's the most selfless thing a person can do. It scared me because I was (and still am) a selfish person by nature. <br />
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But the biggest deal breaker? The physical part you have to endure in order to get the baby. I have a very low pain tolerance and so the thought of either pushing a child out of my nether regions or worse, having my child cut out of me, was unthinkable.<br />
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Yet at 31 years of age I discovered I was going to be a mother. I studied everything I could on labor and delivery, caring for an infant and surviving toddlerhood, then wish I hadn't because no matter how hard you prepare, you are never prepared.<br />
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But on the first day of spring in March 2002, after three days of labor, my daughter was born. It was the most terrifying event of my life but I fell in love at 4:15pm with a tiny little creature who would one day call me, "Mama."<br />
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When people tell you the old cliché of how fast the years will go, believe them. It will seem unimaginable at that moment of sleeplessness and lack of showers, but the people that tell you this have walked the road, they know. <br />
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Now on the cusp of turning 15, my daughter is everything I never even knew I wanted to be. Fierce, strong, opinionated, educated, independent and aware, she possesses grace and assurance as she lives out her beliefs. She has a whole life ahead of her, new experiences and opportunities await her. She has a chance in this messy world we live in to make a difference. She is coming of age at a pivotal time in our world and while I'm fearful for her and what she may encounter, I'm also hopeful. People like her are essential in creating change for the future.<br />
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At times I find myself jealous of my daughter. I wish I had half her tenacity when I was 15. Instead it consisted of boys and failed grades. And so I pray for her strength to endure and to always stand up for just causes, despite any backlash she may receive. She has a deep, abiding faith life and bases her choices on the core principles she has known since early childhood. That alone has the power to sustain her in times of adversity.<br />
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One of her biggest attributes is the fact she puts up with me. She endures my version of carpool karaoke and my Elaine from Seinfeld dance moves. She puts up with my attempts to clothes shop for her and my nagging about cleaning her room. She consoles me when a driver honks at me and I honk back. She graciously waves back when I yell, "I love you" as she gets out of the car for school.<br />
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While she is reading Metamorphosis by Frank Kafka and 1984 by George Orwell, I'm browsing Pinterest. She gets invited to protest rallies, I spend too much money at Home Goods. She attends LGBTQ groups as an ally to her gay and transgendered friends who lack support from their families while I sit at home, safe behind my computer screen. I don't mean this as a comparison but I do mean it as my wake up call.<br />
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We have open, frank discussions, everything ranging from sex to our current government. The mind of a teen is so deep and complex. I will never fully understand how my daughter processes information or how she interprets her innermost thoughts but I'm grateful for a glimpse into her psyche and the truth she speaks. <br />
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For almost 15 years I've been expecting my daughter to learn from my example, to listen to me and to follow my lead. Turns out it should be the other way around. I have so much to learn from her. <br />
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-80646101787237392272017-02-02T09:02:00.004-08:002017-02-02T09:03:53.303-08:00Multi Faith FamilyMy first experience with religion was as a young child. I prayed with my grandma and asked Jesus into my heart. As life progressed I would ask Jesus back into my heart about once a year in case He had made a hurried exit due to some unconfessed sin. I'm all about being over insured, so to speak.<br />
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Needless to say I was scared into believing thanks to a childhood of going to different churches as a result of a hard core, religious step dad that believed people were hell bound if they weren't baptized a certain way. He felt we were the enlightened ones and it was our duty to evangelize those who didn't know the truth.<br />
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Thankfully I realized Jesus doesn't work that way. <br />
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I was so grateful to leave that part of my life behind and frankly, I'm still burned out by church attendance. Even so, I still claim Christianity as my strength because I've seen enough in my life to know that grace exists and there is hope beyond my present. My faith sustains me, even in periods of tragedy and uncertainty. <br />
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My children are also Christians and teach me on the daily the value of faith. I'm not always happy these days to claim Christianity as I've seen first hand just how cruel Christians can be. I see more faith in those that claim other faiths, simply by watching them in action and fighting fiercely for the rights and justice of others. They are living Jesus core teachings, to live justly, love mercy and walk humbly with God.<br />
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My husband is a Buddhist. While not a practicing, lotus flower floating, incense burning, orange robe wearing monk, he does respond to the Buddhist philosophy. Living life with intention and mindfulness, loving his neighbor and looking out for the oppressed. I know most Christians would argue, "Well, that's not enough." <br />
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My husband loves Jesus. He loves what Christ stands for, he loves the principles Christ taught. He loves His humility and selflessness. Its His followers that frighten him the most. Time and time again he has witnessed the abuse of the Christian faith, of those going against the very principles that Jesus stood for. <br />
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While I go about my daily nonsense, my husband is buying groceries for strangers, supplying first aid dressings and giving gloves to the homeless. He works in the less desirable area of downtown Portland and so his opportunities for service are abundant. <br />
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As a Christian, I am humbled. I thought I was supposed to be the one doing all the service because of my faith. But its my husband and countless others of various faiths living a life of service and intention. Meanwhile I'm sipping coffee and judging Christian legalism from afar.<br />
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Despite people's difference in beliefs, I think there is a common denominator that intertwines us.<br />
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Love. <br />
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Its the core of our existence. The decree set forth from the beginning to love your neighbor. If I only would embrace it like the many others who are forging a path of resistance against cruelty and injustice. Instead of simply talking about it, they are taking action. All this to say, for one that embraces Christianity, I have much to learn.<br />
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My husband respects my faith and I respect his. It works for us and I believe we are better for it because it opens new doors of communication and respect for one another. We have learned something profound. Our core beliefs aren't so different after all....<br />
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Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-18724376461897073832017-01-25T08:13:00.002-08:002017-01-25T08:13:30.344-08:00Do What You LoveOne of the questions that haunts me, especially as I grow older, is the age old cliche "What should I be doing with my life?"<br />
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At times I long for the days of my 20's when that answer seemed more attainable because life stretched out before me. Now that I'm 45, I should have my stuff together so it concerns me that I still ask this question in my 40's. <br />
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So many times I thought I had the answer but before long that familiar twitching of discontent would start rearing its head and I would be back at square one, mind racing at 1am from fear of missed opportunities.<br />
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When I've bemoaned my lackluster career I am reminded by loved ones that parenting took priority over working on career advancement. I was a grateful stay at home mother for quite a few years and for me, that was the right choice and I'll always value that decision my kid's father and I made. But now my kids are teens and this question is hovering over me once more.<br />
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Right now there are so many opportunities in which we as women can engage. The call has been set forth, a challenge given to plead the cause of the oppressed and down trodden. So asking myself this question on a personal level seems a bit trivial when there is so much work around us that needs to be done.<br />
We merely have to walk out our front doors to see it. I'm scared though. I'm scared my contribution won't be enough to make a difference. I think that's why community is so important - imagine what can happen when we all join together. We've already seen the result of it. I'm encouraged by story after story of people engaging in protecting the rights of others. I consider it a revival of sorts. The world needs more of it. Perhaps through these days of uncertainty we will find even greater love amongst us.<br />
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In light of this, however, I know my personal life needs fueling otherwise what good am I to those around me? While I feel selfish at times for concentrating so heavily on 'my needs', I also realize there is a balance and a healthy person in turn exudes health to others.<br />
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My husband told me "Do what you love." Sounds so simple, doesn't it?<br />
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Doing what I love can mean so many different things, like drinking coffee. Or eating brownies. Or watching my British crime dramas. Or reading the latest novel.<br />
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But something that I know that I truly love (in addition to the above mentioned) is writing. Writing stills my chaos. As I've said, my writing drives me crazy but NOT writing would make me even more crazy.<br />
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Even my kids have noticed. If they see I'm writing, they encourage me to keep it up because they see a healthier me. My husband supports it, more than I even realized. My dear real life and social media friends have reached out in my times of uncertainty. I'm so grateful but now I'm starting to understand that my story is MY story. Your story is YOUR story and I need to write because <b>I</b> want to.<br />
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This is what I'm learning. To write all of it. The good stuff, the ugly stuff, the embarrassing stuff. Write it, share it and write some more. Make people uncomfortable, make them think and in turn, teach myself. Push harder to be honest and vulnerable. Understand there will always be the naysayers. Listen for the words of wisdom from those that have walked similar paths. Surround myself with my tribe, my people and wash my hands of those who lack disregard for transparency.<br />
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I'm curious to observe what God can do when I give Him the chance.<br />
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<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5877800704043791795.post-78409738987333475792016-11-10T13:17:00.002-08:002016-11-10T13:48:29.798-08:00How The Election Has Affected My KidsTuesday night I told my daughter when she woke up on Wednesday morning, a woman would be President. I felt excited that she would be witness to this historical event in her lifetime and I envisioned what she would be able to share with future generations.<br />
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Wednesday morning she anxiously checked the news for the final results and turned away, stunned. "I can't believe it, how did this happen?" was all she could utter in that dreary early morning hour.<br />
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We watched history being made on Tuesday. As a collective we chose to keep media off in terms of the news commentary and simply watched the electoral votes coming in on the New York Times election coverage. As our greatest fear was starting to become a reality, we chose to remain optimistic. My kids would hover over the numbers and then run out of the room when the electoral votes grew higher.<br />
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However, in my heart I knew. I knew it was over. Secretly I was having my own personal panic attack yet was trying to encourage my kids at the same time.<br />
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I told my husband as we turned in for the night that I hoped I would never wake up because the fear in me was real and mind numbing. I knew that was a cowardly statement but it in the midst of my panic, felt it was easier.<br />
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Wednesday morning none of us could speak on the way to school. My son had no words, my daughter sat in disbelief and I was completely non functional. But we showed up. My kids went to school, my husband and I went to work. We found solace in fellow friends and co workers and I found I was glad to be amongst colleagues who were equally shocked. I reminded myself and my children that God is God and we are not. We carried on with as much normalcy as we could muster. I encouraged my kids to be open in their dialogue at school and to call out any messages of hate.<br />
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Yet their sadness was evident. They were discouraged. My proud Feminist daughter witnessed a backward step for women and the acceptance that discrimination was not only tolerated, but encouraged. <br />
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I tried. I really did. I tried to encourage my kids yet it was hard because inwardly I was struggling right along with them. But I know we have a greater hope than this world so I pray I adequately conveyed that message. <br />
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My son asked if we could move out of the country. He texted me that his teacher was crying and he didn't know what to do.<br />
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So you can imagine the irony when I picked up my daughter from school that afternoon. Her first words to me upon opening the car door were, "I don't know if I want to continue attending this school."<br />
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Now before I write this let me preface with some facts about the town we live in. We live in a predominately white, upper class community. Kids go straight to Harvard upon graduation and the PSAT exams are offered to 8th graders. We live in a community that shirks away from diversity and prides itself on living within a safe bubble - a very rich bubble, mind you. A bubble that feels comfortably numb against the atrocities in our world. <br />
A bubble where any homeless people that happen upon our town are quietly escorted out by the police and local police calls consist of reporting chicken walking down the street (yes, it was ours).<br />
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Our family does not fall into that camp. We are blue collar. We are union supporters, We use a budget. My husband's daughters are Chilean. We don't have a house cleaner and we do our own yard work. We don't own a beach house or a time share in Hawaii. We are known as the hippie house because we have a garden and chickens. Yet sadly, I've become jaded. Even though we fall under a different status, I've grown accustomed to the wealth and low crime rates in this town. I'm proud that we are able to send our kids to one of the best public school districts in the nation. I don't mind paying extra for groceries because we have some of the highest quality grocery stores at our disposal.<br />
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But now? Now I'm even more disgusted and outraged. Now I want out. Now I want to move.<br />
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My daughter showed me the front page of the school paper as it depicted in horrific, graphic detail threats that were made to students of different ethnicities and color. The article shared Facebook posts which threatened Jews and African Americans in ways I can't repeat. The posts were left up on the senior class Facebook page for ONE MONTH before a student came forward and reported it. And while no one commented or 'liked' on the post, it didn't matter because no one stood up and denounced such egregious behavior so they're just as guilty. In addition a poster describing what should happen to Jewish students was discovered in the school cafeteria after a teacher discovered students taking photos of it and laughing over the content. And that's just the beginning, if you can believe it.<br />
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A timeline was included which detailed 16 years worth of discrimination and hatred towards minority students. Of course, we know there is more. Plenty more of unreported threats and persecutions.<br />
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I started crying in the car as my daughter read me the articles. To the editorial staff's credit, they were stating in no uncertain terms that these words and messages of hate needed to be addressed, the perpetrators called out. They meant well and it was written with the greatest of intention. Yet it was the same rhetoric despite their best efforts. Letters from the district superintendent and principal followed soon after, explaining that such behavior wouldn't be tolerated and that 'education' was necessary in order to bridge the gap and build acceptance and equality. <br />
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I'm sorry, but if you need to be educated on the basic principle of human decency and equality, you're dumber than I thought and your parents are as well.<br />
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My first instinct was to send my kids to different schools but their father had a better point of view. "Don't just talk about change, BE the change." and I have to agree. Several of the affected students have chosen to stay in the school in hopes of "BEING" the change. I am humbled by such bravery and tenacity in the midst of such hatred.<br />
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This school needs more that are willing to stand and be counted as the ambassadors of equality, compassion and love for one another, especially in light of these current events that have shaken any hope of forward progress. I hope and pray my children are some of those ambassadors and that it will be a movement unlike any seen at this high school.<br />
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And it doesn't stop at my kid's school. It needs to be a world wide movement. As for me and my family, if we don't join in this fight we are just as bad as the students that allowed the Facebook posts to remain, shrouded in silence, contributing to the demise of humanity.<br />
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That bubble I spoke of? It needs to be popped.<br />
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<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05541714637101311805noreply@blogger.com0