tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27147000272522601492024-03-12T17:06:30.599-07:00Joy's StoriesJoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.comBlogger245125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-84667138512935465732024-01-27T17:51:00.000-08:002024-01-27T17:51:51.559-08:00The Sound of Grace<p><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Life keeps ticking away, and with every passing day, I am getting farther and farther away from the era during which my precious mother graced the earth. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-1f4b8851-7fff-71fa-a3d0-b47584e0c772"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It’s as if life is a passenger train, with people getting off and on, the passenger list always changing, even as the train speeds forward. It feels like we left my mom at the last stop – her ride ended there, and she will never see what’s down the line…</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">(Of course I know that the glory she’s experiencing makes our linear train ride seem drab by comparison!) </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">But a couple months ago, I saw a news story about some 1,000-year-old mummified bodies that were found in Peru, and it got me thinking about all the people in all the generations that have populated the earth over the course of time. Or, consider the lives cut short in Pompeii with the eruption of Mount Vesuvius... We once saw a museum exhibit that showed how the bodies of the people who died there were buried in the ash and decayed so that archaeologists later found cavities in the rock that were in the shapes and positions of people in their last waking moments. Those haunting images have stuck with me.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Everyone gets their allotted piece of time and place, with their own unique history and happenings and surroundings, which all inevitably shape their own experience and viewpoint and, even, their resulting impact on history. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Out of all the souls that have lived throughout time, these are the ones (you are one) who were destined to run parallel with my own, in the same era. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">At least for a time.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">***</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The words “I lost my mom last July” always evoke a response of “Awww, I’m so sorry.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It’s a conversation I’ve had multiple times, in multiple situations. But nothing in that exchange (whether my statement or the person’s expression of sympathy) adequately reflects the pain and emotions that have been experienced since “last July.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I know that from the outside, it sounds so normal – After all, if our life progresses the way it’s intended to, we will all lose our mothers at some point in our lives (my own mother was lucky enough to not lose hers, though; my grandmother lives on at the age of 94). But while losing one’s mother is such an everyday, universal occurrence for humankind as a whole, when it happens, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime tragedy for each individual soul.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“I lost my mom last July.” It’s just an ordinary sentence. Six little words. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">But if you listen carefully, you’ll hear all the unspoken heaviness hanging on those words. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">You’ll hear the pain of writing the obituary – reducing 73 years of living down to a few carefully worded paragraphs. You’ll hear the tears shed while choosing photos for the funeral video. You’ll hear the sound of her clothes being bundled up for donation. You’ll hear the silence of her cell phone and the sound of her husband calling to cancel the phone line. You’ll hear the awkwardness at the dinner table – in restaurants, at home, at Thanksgiving – as everyone silently acknowledges the empty seat. You’ll hear the heartache experienced while sorting through her precious things – deciding what should be kept and what else should be given away. You’ll hear the pain felt at knowing what she would say in every situation – but not getting to hear her say it. You’ll hear the hollowness of many days spent just staring into space, wondering what’s next – wondering how it’s possible to live in a world without her. And you’ll hear the unexpected times of laughter and joy and the underlying guilt for finding it’s possible to experience happiness in the midst of grief. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It’s all unspoken, hanging in the balance. “I lost my mom last July.” “Awww, I’m so sorry.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Nothing in that exchange adequately expresses the huge loss the world experienced when Mom drew one last ragged breath on a Saturday morning.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">***</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">In her jewelry box, I found a beautiful bookmark – a thick satin string, with a flower charm on one end and a letter “K” charm (for “Kathy”) on the other end. I’d never seen it before the day my dad, my daughter, and I poured her jewelry out on the bed and lovingly (and tearfully) sorted through it. Ryley kept some of her grandma’s watches and necklaces and the jewelry box itself, while I kept many of her earrings and this lovely, mysterious bookmark (among other things). </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhObNlUKb-uFO5yGPyfRpGb00ntT6IaYQISQ3B0DXwoyFkSe93TPRkrhIGvQx4-QMsGeXtOC8FM3DoqSwvLqNrhLWTyq-0F_Eavy0dw6rN-Kq2WW0EJuyQaxt3awzCTl1yWxz9Ay2RoQiJElP93qSQDWkp6eLs2EWMt0LzrUYsRYBYzYle_beoF1CKz4/s4032/IMG_5088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhObNlUKb-uFO5yGPyfRpGb00ntT6IaYQISQ3B0DXwoyFkSe93TPRkrhIGvQx4-QMsGeXtOC8FM3DoqSwvLqNrhLWTyq-0F_Eavy0dw6rN-Kq2WW0EJuyQaxt3awzCTl1yWxz9Ay2RoQiJElP93qSQDWkp6eLs2EWMt0LzrUYsRYBYzYle_beoF1CKz4/s320/IMG_5088.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">My dad did not know where the bookmark came from; and my imagination has grown wild with wanting to know its story. I like to imagine it was a high school graduation gift that she cherished all her life. I don’t know that she ever used it as it was intended, but I sure have. :-) I’ve been using it for all my books since “last July.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Chances are high that I will never know its origin, but it’s surprising how much comfort I draw from this tiny thing that belonged to my mother – that somehow found its way into her keepsakes.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">***</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">There was a moment in the hospital when the suffering was so much that I made peace with the fact (as much as I could at the moment, anyway) that we would be okay without her, if only she were out of pain. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">What a strange moment of acceptance it is – to say, “Okay, yes. Death is best.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">To acknowledge, as you watch your mother unloaded from the hospice transport ambulance and her gurney wheeled clumsily through the hot, sticky air of a Texas summer night, that this will be the last time she is ever alive in the outside air – All the cumulative hours and days and weeks and months of her life spent outdoors, and </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">this </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">is the last time. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">To reassure her as she’s wheeled into an old, dated room with wood paneling and a weirdly low ceiling, and then transferred to her (death) bed, “This is the last time. This is the last transfer.” </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“It is?” she asked. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Yes, this is it. Now you can relax,” the paramedic said. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And I understood she would never leave that room. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I looked at the ceiling, wondered how many spirits had departed their bodies and flown through that same ceiling (if that’s how it works?). Wondered what rooms were above us. Wondered how many people have died there – how many families have said their goodbyes. For us, hospice was 36 hours. I didn’t even have a chance to find the coffee machine in the family waiting room. How many families have cycled in and out? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">How many grieving souls have looked out that same window and also felt that the hospital was deserted, that they were very much alone? How many others have studied the road in the distance and the adjacent preschool’s playground? How many patients have departed and not had their family surrounding them?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I have always been pretty fascinated by grief and, consequently, empathetic with others in their grief – often putting myself in their positions and letting myself feel all the feels … deeply imagining the heaviness they’re experiencing. Ryan calls it “wallowing” and has often warned me against it.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Because what I had not accounted for was God’s special grace on the griever. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And when grieving by proxy, I was experiencing my own convoluted sort of grief that was not accurate and was absent of the wonderful grace God gives to the people who are actually in the situation itself. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And that’s what we had. I felt a “presence” when she left us. For all its deserted hospital vibes, in the moment she transitioned to glory, I did not feel we were alone. In fact, the room felt quite crowded (angels, maybe? A cloud of witnesses, like the Bible talks about? Jesus, Himself?).</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And there was peace. And there was grace – special, unexplainable grace that hangs on to this day.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I remember Ryan telling me that morning that my face was glowing with it.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">So even when I tell someone that “I lost my mom last July,” nothing more needs to be said, I suppose. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Yes, there is more to it than those simple words convey. So much more.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">If you listen very carefully, you’ll hear the sound of grace. </span></p></span>Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-87094412574805592832023-09-23T19:24:00.001-07:002023-09-23T19:28:00.409-07:00Midnight Memories<p> <span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">It has been nearly three months since my mom left this earth, but tonight of all nights, I cannot sleep. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Grief is unpredictable. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it, even in the middle of the night—maybe especially in the middle of the night.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Earlier in the evening, I was reading a book where a character was wearing a fentanyl patch, and as I lie there thinking about it, I suddenly remember that my mom had worn a fentanyl patch to ease her pain in the days before her surgery—a fact that has managed to slip my mind these past few months. But now, the memory comes tumbling back, and I think I understand for maybe the first time what it means to be “triggered.”</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Because, from there, my mind is gone—reeling down a rabbit hole, and I am back in the hospital room, back in the ICU where she was after surgery and I’m wondering why they didn’t give her a fentanyl patch then, when she was in so much pain. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I am back spending the night in that recliner next to her bed, outfitted with sweatpants and slippers and my sleep machine and a scratchy, beige hospital-issued blanket, being awakened by Mom’s sweet little Middle Eastern nurse, tiptoeing in to check on her breathing. I am feeling the urge to pee, but the public restroom is down the hall and on another wing, so I kick off my slippers and don my sandals for a 2 am adventure past the beeping machines, past the nurse’s station, and through the hospital. I will do this again in four hours to brush my teeth and make myself presentable for the day. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I am back in Mom’s room again, looking out at the 100-degree world, noticing that the view of tall buildings and sprawling oak trees changes depending on the time of day and where the sun is casting its shadows. I’ve memorized this view so that I can see it even now as I lie here in the dark. It’s imprinted on my memory forever. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I am back there, using context clues to parse that Mom’s next-door neighbor in the ICU has passed away suddenly, and there is a hubbub outside our door with tight-lipped nurses and hospital management parading through. But by afternoon, the bed has been stripped and changed and is ready for the next patient. The nurses never utter a word about it, and I am struck by how much death they witness every day. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I am back there with my mom, making small talk with one of our favorite nurses (named Kayla? I can’t remember), as she shares her plans to go wedding dress shopping on her day off. We will never see her again (Mom will be moved to hospice before Kayla’s next shift), and I wonder now if she ever found her wedding dress and whether she is married now. And I wonder if nurses ever find out what happens to their patients on their day off—if they ever find out that the person they cared for ended up dying that week. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I am back there with my mom, and we are laughing together at how the drugs make her loopy and say funny things. And then it’s right before surgery and she is trying to sign consent forms but having trouble holding the pen. So I take her hand and guide it in the scrawl of her signature. And we giggle as we do it. Moments later, the anesthesia has already kicked in and put her to blessed sleep. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I am back in the waiting room, and I remember how the 8th floor waiting room is quieter and cleaner and cooler than the 7th floor waiting room (where it’s always 80 degrees and people move chairs together and lie across them). Nobody seems to know about the 8th floor waiting room; it’s like it’s our family’s little secret. But I am in the waiting room when my dad calls and says the doctor wants to talk to us, and so I take the elevator down a floor and rush down the hallway. Dad is standing at the nurse’s station with a Nigerian doctor who is gently suggesting in hushed tones that we start thinking about a DNR order and end-of-life palliative care. And I can’t believe that this is where we are. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I am back there in her room, taking every opportunity to hold my mom’s lovely hand, memorizing every wrinkle, every mole, the color and texture of her skin. She is asking me to adjust her legs, and I do so, but then I rub her feet too—just older versions of my own. And it doesn’t seem real that there may be a day very soon when these hands and feet are still—that this physical body may expire. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I am back there on the day that they tell us there is no treatment available and that there’s nothing they can do. After the doctor leaves, I ask her if she understands what they’ve said—what’s happening—and she answers (although a little bit gruffly) “yes.” I swallow hard and tell her that we are still asking God for a miracle, but that she may be with Jesus very soon. My voice breaks, and yet seeing her in this kind of pain and agony, I know that going to be with Jesus will be best. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Now, in the present, it is 12:30 in the morning, and tears are streaming down my cheeks and soaking my pillow, the memories of three months ago still fresh and keeping me from the sweetness of sleep. There’s no stopping the barrage of thoughts chipping away at my brain; one memory flows right into another. It’s like the word “fentanyl” is a key to unleashing the memories from where they’ve been buried in a safe room, deep within my mind. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And memories are fine—in their right time and place. But this isn’t it. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">“Jesus!” I cry out silently. “Please help me now. Give me peace!”</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And He speaks to me in quietness, so that I know He’s reassuring my spirit: </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">“She’s with Me.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">She’s with Me.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">She’s with Me.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">She’s Mine.”</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And I know that she is. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I picture my sweet mama right there next to Jesus, staying in His shadow. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">“I am my Beloved’s and He is mine. His banner over me is love.” </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And I know in my heart that, after all she suffered at the end of her earthly life, her passing was actually God’s mercy. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And there’s no place she’d rather be.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">***</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">“So be truly glad, there is wonderful joy ahead.” — 1 Peter 1:6 </span></p>Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-66752348504439281722023-02-10T16:32:00.006-08:002023-02-10T17:30:52.811-08:00Adventures in Empty-Nesting<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">It </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;">got harder, and then it got easier. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Ryley is now in her second semester of her sophomore year, which means she is already nearing the half-way mark of her undergrad experience. This school year has been markedly better than the last, as she's finally getting into her groove as a college student and (literally) living her best life. She has a gaggle of friends who are just as bubbly and crazy as she, and she has a wide array of interests, as seen by her ever-changing major (currently English Lit with minors in History and Linguistics, with sights set on law school). She juggles her classes with a job at the campus museum and, soon, a job at Starbucks, where she just got hired. But she's still a sophomore, so she is not super-stressed about any of it, and she also knows everything there is to know about the world, obviously. </span><span face=""Segoe UI Emoji", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">😉</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face=""Segoe UI Emoji", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">A year ago, I became so depressed after her January return to school following Christmas break that I cried more than I did in the days after I dropped her off the previous August. This year, however, it was easier. August was easier; January was easier. I'm still sad to see her drive away each time (we gave her our second vehicle last February), but it is so rewarding to see her becoming the independent, self-assured person she is meant to be. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">As the months pass, I become increasingly aware that we are simply a home base for her now. She will never again be happy living with us long-term. So then, her visits are "treats," instead of the norm.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Whenever she's on her way home, I find myself spiffing up the house (as if she wasn’t the reason our house was trashed for the last 19 years!). I want it to be a place she likes to return to—a place where she feels comfortable, even though she didn't grow up here. From a fabulously hot summer to our cozy holiday breaks, we've lived up every moment we've gotten to spend with her. Because we know what it is to live without her, we drink up her youth and enthusiasm, her hugs, her joy, her love. We relish in it, feast on it, indulge in it, knowing it won’t last forever.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Actually, her return to home is not always easy on me at first—me, who has gotten used to having Ryan’s ear all to myself. Suddenly, I find myself at war with this freckle-faced gal in the backseat, yammering on as she’s done all of her life. How quickly I'd forgotten! She’s my competition. She and Ryan gang up on me; but she and I gang up on Ryan, too. There’s an ebb and flow of conversation, teasing, nagging, and always, always, trash piling up throughout the house, undoing all the spiffing-up I did before she came!</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">And when she leaves again, we ease back into our routine without her, and it's (gulp) not as hard as I thought. Not anymore.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">They said this would happen, and I believed them—but I also didn't believe them—because obviously I love my child so much more than they love theirs! </span><span face=""Segoe UI Emoji", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">😉</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> But it's true; life continues on. In the same way our bodies are adapting to no longer think 83 degrees is all that hot, we find ourselves adapting to our new normal without her.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">*** </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">In the midst of a personal trial I was going through, and because I needed to make friends in our new town, I did something I’d never done before: I joined a Bible study.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I know, I know. I was never a “Bible study person.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s not that I thought I was <i>too good</i> for Bible studies? But maybe I did think that, deep down. Maybe I’d felt like my relationship with God and my spiritual knowledge were above the need to sit in a circle with other ladies and discuss. Maybe I had some (dare I say it?) spiritual <i>pride</i>.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But desperation will make you do some crazy things. And you can’t expect a different outcome without changing some of your habits, right? </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">And when I tell you that this Bible study was <i>transformative</i> for me … that it opened up my eyes to dimensions of Jesus that I had been blinded to before … It was exactly what I needed at a time when I was crying out internally for divine intervention and guidance.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I think a lot of us were raised with a two-dimensional gospel—one of flannel graphs and recitations and stories you <i>knew</i> … but maybe you didn’t really <i>KNOW</i>. And then one day, you got to thinking about 2,000+ years of Christendom and how, if people were willing to be persecuted and die for their faith, if Christianity had survived through the dark ages and over all the centuries, then those Christians who carried the gospel through that darkness must have known something you don’t know. There must be more to it than your hazy, two-dimensional understanding. It must be more powerful and more glorious and <i>real</i>, or surely the light would have died out at some point. They must have experienced something you hadn’t yet experienced—not necessarily because you didn’t believe, but because, in your experience and understanding, there seemed to be a neat little box around your faith—four walls and a limit to its capabilities.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But if God exists, then God is infinite—or else He wouldn’t be God. <i>What use is a limited God?</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">And if <i>He</i> is infinite, then the potential to <i>know Him</i> is <i>infinite</i>. There will always be more of Him to learn and to know.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">So, desperate as I was, based on these flailing thoughts and that assumption, I asked Him to show me more of Himself.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Over the next couple of months, it’s like the veil over my eyes was lifted, and suddenly I saw the truth in three dimensions and even four (if there is such a thing), and my faith came <i>alive</i>. There had been some major gaps in my understanding. I’ve needed context and answers, and I was finally getting them. <i>There were actually answers and explanations to some of my biggest questions!</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I started reading more scholarly apologetics-type writings, which hit me differently than typical topical sermons. Preaching has its place, absolutely, but I wasn’t lacking good preaching. I needed something more. In my readings, I learned that there was a method and a structure and a plan to each of the gospels. Nothing was willy-nilly. I soaked up what other ladies said in our Bible study discussions and gleaned from their learning, too. I dove into the Bible and listened to commentaries to help further my understanding of certain passages.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I wasn’t looking at a felt board anymore; I was seeing layers and meaning and purpose and an overall story arc and theme written by an infinite God who was <i>good</i> and whose principles were consistent and orderly and <i>true</i>.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">And because He is infinite, our relationship with Him has infinite depth and potential. It’s just based on our willingness to open ourselves up to that (which, honestly, I found a little scary).</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Privately, I wondered why nobody had made it clear to me that there’s a difference between the flannel graph and true life in Christ. But then I began to wonder (somewhat pridefully) if maybe THEY didn’t know either. Maybe they were content to live out the humdrum of a flannel-graphy, two-dimensional, legalistic version of Christianity.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Did I just stumble across something here?</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I thought. <i>Is it possible that</i> <i>I’m the only one God has shown this to?</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Stupid spiritual pride! Ha! I can be so dumb. But I share that just to show you how vast the difference was between the two-dimensional belief and the three-dimensional belief. It was so eye-opening that I wondered how I hadn’t known such a difference existed! </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">And then, suddenly, the person that was kind of the “crazy” happy Christian at church? They didn’t seem so crazy anymore. They’d been <i>living</i> the truth, while I’d been quietly judging them for their eccentricity and excitement. I obviously wasn’t the first that God had revealed His infinity to. But each person has to come to understand the truth of Jesus on their own. And because of my growth in the last year, in case you’re in the same place I was, I want you to know that it IS out there. There are more dimensions and levels and layers.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">And the devil is working every day to make sure we don’t experience it.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I look back at our lives in Colorado, and I feel like I just floated through my 30s in a haze—in survival mode. Sometimes I get down on myself for the clarity I’m having now that I never had before. Like, why did I never have these thoughts? How much time did I waste just skirting through my life? Well, I hadn’t asked Him to show me Himself—not like I did most recently anyway.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">When I look at coworkers’ LinkedIn accounts, I’m a little envious, realizing that at my age or younger, everyone is so much more accomplished in their lives — so smart. I do feel behind. Yet, I know that God was there in those years, in that cloud of mere existence. He was teaching me, and I was learning where I was, even if it doesn’t seem particularly profound now. It was profound to me then.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">But now I have a hunger to be better, to care for myself, to grow in Jesus. So, in addition to the Bible study, I joined another support group, a book club, and a monthly bunco group in my neighborhood. I’m committed to reading more, to writing more, to doing a daily devotional reading, to making friends and reaching out. I’m hopelessly awkward in situations where I feel like an outsider, so it all takes time and a little bit of bravery.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">In all of this, I came to the realization that one of my biggest hang-ups has always been anxiety and a fear of internal pain and suffering—of loss.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I think it started when my uncle was killed in a car accident when I was 11, and it continued when my best friend’s mom was killed in a car accident when we were 16. I became deeply afraid of losing people I loved, and the devil used that fear as a weapon against me for more than half my life. The war between the desire for a pain-free existence and my inner anxiety of imminent pain was brewing within me for years. I still occasionally struggle with the gnawing feeling of impending doom and gloom.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I had to be willing to do some inner work to dig all that out.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I had erred by operating under the assumption that I shouldn’t have pain in this life. And I had some pretty high expectations that were dashed quite low. The truth is, there is no avoidance of pain, whatever that word looks like to each of us.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The prosperity gospel misses the mark on this. It’s taught us to believe that we are entitled to a life of abundance—without pain and suffering. But it’s simply not true. Life is <i>filled</i> with pain. And Jesus wants to show us his abundance of peace in the midst of a storm—His abundance of <i>spiritual life, </i>as opposed to spiritual<i> death</i>. He wants to show us that His yoke is easy, and His burden is light.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I wish that you prosper and be in health, as your soul prospers,” John wrote.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">The given there is that our soul <i>is already prospering in Jesus</i>. Anything above that is just gravy.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">So, that’s where I’m at. I’m still working at digging out all the anxieties and this limited two-dimensional mindset about God, letting Him do what He wants to do in me. And because He is infinitely good and I am inherently flawed, there will always be more work He can do.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">I guess my point is this: sometimes when you’re happily empty-nesting, God will decide to disrupt your little nest with some intense soul-searching. And you’ll finally have to deal with some of the deep-seated issues that have been plaguing you for the last two decades! Because, without the incessant mess and noise that comes along with kids, you finally have the time to think. </span><span face=""Segoe UI Emoji", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">😉</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span face=""Segoe UI Emoji", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Here’s to our souls prospering in Jesus! </span><span face=""Segoe UI Emoji", sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">😘</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-167982023297624032021-11-15T20:56:00.007-08:002021-11-16T09:30:02.436-08:00Musings From the Other Side<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">How is it possible that a fleeting thought <span>–</span> "What if we moved to Texas?" <span>–</span> can become a more concrete thought <span>–</span> "We should move to Texas" <span>–</span> and then an action <span>–</span> "We're moving to Texas" <span>– </span>all within a matter of weeks and months? </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I remember dreading the process ... being fearful of it, having never sold a house before. I remember April <span>–</span> in the midst of going through all our things ... looking at that dumpster we rented for a week, wondering how everything was going to play out. Somewhere out there, there was a couple-thousand-square-foot plot of earth that was destined to become the next Moore family home. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">On Google Earth and Zillow, I'd zoom out and look at the whole of central Texas and think, "One of those pinpoints <span>–</span> those tiny pixels <span>–</span> will become <i>ours</i>. Now, which one will it be??"</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I'd think ahead to August and wonder what life would be like on the other side of all the work of moving. I'd wonder about our new routine and about the emotions I would be experiencing as Ryley packed for college from the safety and security of our new (but then unimaginable) home.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I'd think ahead to November and December and try to picture Ryan and me as empty-nesters, preparing for our first holidays as Texans.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: arial;">What will it be like on the other side of all this?</span></i></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But it was still May, and we had a long way to go. We'd pore over listing after listing, despite the fact that we knew none of them would still be available by the time our house sold and we could move forward. Such a massive task lay ahead of us, and its importance was not lost on us <span>–</span> It was the chance to create the life we wanted <span>–</span> to choose our neighborhood and our Walmart and our doctor's office and the overall vibe of the community. To say, "<i>This </i>is what I want my commute to look like." Or "<i>This </i>is the road I want to drive down a million times." We pictured our lives in Temple, in Belton, in Killeen, in Lago Vista, in Manor, in Cedar Park, in Pflugerville, in Kyle. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But it was the charming and quaint town of Buda, nestled between Austin and Texas' gorgeous Hill Country, that would steal our hearts. The delightful marriage of rustic and city convenience, with big, sprawling century-old oak trees hanging over the streets. The two-lane road from Main Street to our subdivision passes a mule farm and a historic settlement and cemetery of freed slaves. We have both cows and a Starbucks within a half mile of our house. Haystacks and a Sonic. An old drug store and a modern CVS. And food trucks selling the best BBQ we've ever tasted in our lives.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I had not relocated out-of-state since I was 26. At 44, I'm impressed with how I've adapted <span>–</span> impressed with my know-how of all the adulting tasks, like signing up for a toll pass and transferring our prescriptions. I've joined the online neighborhood pages, where I've both sold and bought furniture. I've arranged to give away moving boxes and spent several Saturday mornings tinkering with our sprinkler system to see how it worked. While shopping for college, Ryley and I visited every Walmart and Target within a 20-mile radius, as well as the outlet mall. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The sweet tea and tortilla chips from H-E-B are worth the extra grocery store trip (and groceries are cheaper in general!). Ryley and I also learned that if we don't get to the farmer's market right when they open, they'll run out of doggie ice cream before we get to buy any for Juliet. My salsa gal is hit or miss on farmer's market attendance, it seems, but my plant guy is there every week, tempting me with unique houseplant species to add to my collection.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The intricacies of what makes up a culture fascinate me ...</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Strands of bulbs stretch between trees and around almost every patio, lighting Texas backyards with warmth and ambience. Sidewalks are regularly cleaned with pressure-washers; I'd never heard of that, myself, but I can't deny that the sidewalks here do seem to need a good scrub-down every now and then.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">People are people wherever you go. But the ones in Texas? So friendly and hospitable, so polite. Yes, ma'am; yes, sir. The neighbors actually want to get to know each other here; our cul-de-sac even gathered for a pre-trick-or-treating BBQ on Halloween. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As friendly as they are in person, however, Texans' aggressive driving game is strong <span>–</span> especially the big, oversized pickup trucks that ride our backside. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It took us awhile to catch on, but the infrastructure of one-way service/frontage roads along the highways actually makes some sense. We only had to drive several miles past our missed exit a few times before we learned that these roads are extensions of the highways themselves, consolidating the entrances and exits. And the U-turn lanes that flip you around to the other side of the highway? Brilliant.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I still don't get why Texas highway interchanges have to rise 300 feet up in the air. Everything here is bigger just for the sake of being bigger and more dramatic, as if to say, "We have so much <i>room </i>here; look how <i>high </i>and <i>wide </i>we can build!"</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Storms don't just come from the West <span>–</span> they come from the Gulf, too. I'm relearning everything I thought I knew about weather patterns. And because we're so far south, it stayed dark until almost 8 a.m. (pre-Daylight Savings). But the bushes and flowers and plants are so tropical-looking <span>–</span> so alive and colorful even into November. We haven't had any frost yet! And while the <i>fall </i>colors here aren't as brilliant as they are in Colorado or New England, there's something cozy and comforting about the way the Hill Country brush is beginning to rust, turning a dullish burnt-orange.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We counted more than 80 vineyards between here and Fredericksburg, and 70 of those were within a 30-mile stretch! The topography is unlike any place I've lived before; magnificent oak trees with gnarly branches dot the brush-covered hills, alternating with meadows and creeks, a honey stand, a food truck <span>–</span> unpredicted treasures lying around every bend and tucked into the valleys behind thick woods.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">There's so much <i>new </i>to explore. New roads lead to new towns where we find new scenery, new markets, new restaurants, and new people. At this time in our lives, the ability to follow new paths and fill our eyes and minds with new things, new ideas, and new beauty ... is simply priceless. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Texas life is a good life. I marvel at God's creation <span>–</span> at how vast and different it is all over the world. And yet, in a lot of ways, it's the same.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">***</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I thank God multiple times a day for giving us this house; it is <i>absolutely </i>too good for us. We bought it for less than what our Colorado house sold for, and yet it is bigger and newer and has everything we asked God for <span>–</span> down to the pretty backyard and the soaking tub in the master bathroom.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You're going to think we'd been living like savages, previously <span>–</span> and rightfully so. But here is just a partial list of the things in this house that have changed our lives:</span></p><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The doggie door</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The air conditioning</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The sprinkler system</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The filtered water/ice dispenser in the fridge</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A garage door</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A two-car garage</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/STORAGE-MANIAC-Laundry-Section-Rolling/dp/B07X4GRMTH/ref=sr_1_1_sspa?keywords=laundry+hamper+cart+on+wheels+4+section&qid=1636846540&sr=8-1-spons&psc=1&spLa=ZW5jcnlwdGVkUXVhbGlmaWVyPUEyTThHMVdTQ1ZGQjRWJmVuY3J5cHRlZElkPUEwOTQ5ODU5M1BZVVhZRlhTSFQwSiZlbmNyeXB0ZWRBZElkPUEwMDY2ODQ0Mk1OSU9BQUU4OEVISCZ3aWRnZXROYW1lPXNwX2F0ZiZhY3Rpb249Y2xpY2tSZWRpcmVjdCZkb05vdExvZ0NsaWNrPXRydWU=" target="_blank"></a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/STORAGE-MANIAC-Laundry-Section-Rolling/dp/B07X4GRMTH/ref=sr_1_1_sspa?keywords=laundry+hamper+cart+on+wheels+4+section&qid=1636846540&sr=8-1-spons&psc=1&spLa=ZW5jcnlwdGVkUXVhbGlmaWVyPUEyTThHMVdTQ1ZGQjRWJmVuY3J5cHRlZElkPUEwOTQ5ODU5M1BZVVhZRlhTSFQwSiZlbmNyeXB0ZWRBZElkPUEwMDY2ODQ0Mk1OSU9BQUU4OEVISCZ3aWRnZXROYW1lPXNwX2F0ZiZhY3Rpb249Y2xpY2tSZWRpcmVjdCZkb05vdExvZ0NsaWNrPXRydWU=" target="_blank">This rolling four-part laundry hamper cart</a> we bought from Amazon</span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When I think about the way God <i>delivered </i>us from our Colorado house, with all its quirks and needs? (Don't get me wrong; that house was a true blessing to us for 14 years. But the upkeep an older house like that required was beyond our means). It's like He plucked us out of the miry, stinky pit and set us upon a rock. And He set the whole move in motion a year ago, by giving me a job that I can do from anywhere. He was laying it all out for us, piece by piece.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We are not worthy.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">At the Halloween get-together at our neighbor's house, someone asked, "So ... are you renting? Or did you buy it?" </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"We bought it," Ryan and I answered in unison.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I think someone squealed with glee.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Perhaps the curse is broken!" they joked.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As it turns out, this was a rental house for many years and, apparently, always a centerpiece for drama. In fact, the most recent renters ran a marijuana grow operation <span>–</span> They filled every room with pot plants (even the attic) until one day the cops showed up and busted the whole thing. That's when the landlord decided to put the house up for sale, just in time for the Moore family to stumble across it in June.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My biggest takeaway from this is that apparently this house is a great growing environment for my lovely new houseplants. 👍</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">***</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I think I'm ready to talk about August <span>–</span> which was, arguably, one of the most difficult months of our lives. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ryan has had back issues since Ryley was a baby; it's been an ongoing rollercoaster for years. Every six months or so, he reinjures it, but after he rests for a few days, he's typically good to go. It's become a pretty predictable pattern.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Of course, the last thing we needed was for him to hurt himself during the moving process, so with his history, he made it a point of going easy; we even hired movers to load and unload. Throughout the drive down in the moving truck, however, his back started to really stiffen up. And within a few days of our arrival, he found himself laid up in bed.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>No worries,</i> we thought. <i>This has happened before. Just a few days of rest is all he needs.</i></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Except it wasn't getting better. It was getting worse by the day.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We'd just barely pulled into town, but here we were googling urgent cares and doctors and pharmacies. Mobility was almost impossible. I bought him a walker so he could drag himself to the restroom or to doctor appointments and MRIs and injections that didn't even seem to put a dent in the pain.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Most of you know the story, so I'll be brief. But I just want to say that I had personally never experienced seeing someone in that kind of excruciating pain, for that long. It was wearing on all of us. For the first time I began to notice and pay attention to ads for pain management doctors; I have new-found sympathy and respect for my friends that deal with unmanaged chronic pain.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I dropped Ryan off at work on his first day of his new job (teacher in-service), and my heart broke watching him drag himself across the plaza and into the building, one walker clomp at a time. He made it through four days at work before he simply could not anymore. On a Sunday morning, Ryley and I dropped him off at the ER in downtown Austin (COVID protocol wouldn't let us stay), and at his urging, went to breakfast at a snazzy hotel brunch place. Two days later he would have emergency surgery, and even after the operation, he would go through three to four weeks of intense pain as the compressed nerve went through its wake-up process. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Months later, I can look back and <i>mostly </i>forget how utterly awful and scary it was in the moment. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But there was one particular day, five days after I dropped Ryley off at college, that I hit rock-bottom emotionally. Ryan was two weeks post-op, and the nerve pain was worse than the back pain had been pre-surgery. He was crying out in agony ... again. He had spent more time in our bedroom than anywhere in the house, and though I tried to keep him comfortable and keep him company, the very thought of being in our bedroom made me depressed. But I felt guilty being anywhere else.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We'd lived in the house for more than a month and Ryan didn't know where Ryley and I had unpacked anything. He'd never even made it as far as the closet to see how I'd organized our clothes. While he was tethered to the bed, I had the whole house (even the whole town) to explore, but I felt frozen. I didn't want to live in the rest of the house without him. I didn't want to drive around town without him. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I'd driven our daughter to college and dropped her off myself. Now, the house was big and empty without her. Big and empty without Ryan. I was lonely and tired and bored and afraid. All my excitement about this grand adventure had melted into a heap of disappointment.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My courage crumpled. I cried for an entire day.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Ryan would later say that the whole back injury situation was very humbling for him. The staff and parents at his school came together and graciously blessed us with gift cards for meals. The administration was so supportive. We were held up in prayer by so many friends and family members. And because of that, we kept going. I dropped him off at work in the mornings and picked him up in the afternoons. He was on so many painkillers that he'd fall asleep in the car and then crash in bed as soon as we got home.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But ever so gradually, things began to improve. Eventually, he could bear the pain without taking meds. Then, he felt like walking a little bit. At some point, he wanted to see what our grocery store was like, so we took an after-work field trip. One weekend, we went for a long drive to see Ryley. And then one day, about two months after our move and the start of the whole debacle, he could finally drive himself. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Today, his back is still a little stiff. But he's come such a long way. I still don't let him bend over to pick things up or lift anything heavy. But he is <i>so </i>much better. Thank You, Jesus.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">***</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We've seen Ryley a handful of times since she left for college. She's been home three times, and we've gone up there four times, I think, for different reasons. It's maybe getting a <i>little </i>easier to say goodbye? </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After we drive away, and for the next day or two, we feel her absence deeply. We miss her. But it's just the transition between two existences <span>– the one with her and the one without her. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This applies to her, too. She cries when we drop her off at the campus, but as soon as she's back in her dorm, her life there resumes and picks up where it left off. Mom and Dad are but a distant memory.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After a couple days, Ryan and I get back into our routine. We are comfortable with it. It's quiet and peaceful. I mean, <i>I </i>talk more <span>–</span> It's like my tongue is finally loosed to tell Ryan everything on my mind, just like in the olden days, before we gave life to a chatterbox and I suddenly couldn't get a word in edgewise. 😂</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We take care of Ryley's dog. We try to provide her with the level of care that Ryley would approve of, but we fall painfully short. I refuse to let her lick my face; I have to draw the line somewhere.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The house stays clean.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Laundry is done in three loads instead of five.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">There are no water cups or half-empty cans of LaCroix sitting around, and I don't know what to do with all the space!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We're a little bored.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We eat out, and we marvel at how cheap it is with just two people instead of three. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We go to an antique fair and have an absolute blast <span>–</span> but we're mindful of how much Ryley would love this place, and when we leave, we commit to coming back with her in tow.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She calls here and there.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We text her, but we don't hear back. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I'm sad when we don't hear from her, but I'm happy, too. Because it means she's okay. She's thriving. She has overcome the bad bout with homesickness she had in the beginning of October, and she's developing her ecosystem of friends. She's gaining knowledge and wisdom. She's becoming empowered and confident and Spirit-led. She's where she's supposed to be. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">For a fleeting moment, I let sadness wash over me that we didn't have more kids, because then her absence wouldn't feel quite as raw. But I quickly remind myself that this was the lot we were given, and we've always made the best of it. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We build new furniture from a kit, and we can't wait for her to see it when she comes home. We need her help hanging our wall art, too; she calls herself a "human level," after all, and she's always had strong opinions about the way we decorate the house. She's always the biggest cheerleader for any kind of home improvement! </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We fill our weekends with home projects, coffee, football, farmer's markets, church, good food, TV series, books, day trips to new places, and deep conversations, and we slip easily back into our pre-parenting selves, like pulling on a comfy pair of old snow boots from our previous life in Montana. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It's amazing how easy it is to remember how to be with just each other, almost like we haven't been preoccupied with child-rearing for nearly two decades <span>–</span> almost like a sassy green-eyed cherub hasn't been the very center of our lives.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I kill 20 wasps in our house over the course of a day. When Ryan gets home, I suggest that they're coming from the fireplace. He sticks his head in and sees a dozen wasps flying around the inside of the chimney. He lights the fireplace, and we roast the wasp nest. He calls me "The Wasp Slayer" in honor of my bravery and 20 conquests.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A neighbor's cat sneaks into our house via the doggie door in the middle of the night, laying a present on our sofa. For the next several nights, I lie awake waiting to hear the doggie door flap open and shut so I can catch the perpetrator in the act. I get close a couple of times, but the sensor light on the patio scares it away. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We still have our adventures. We are still ourselves, this side of parenthood.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But the farther we get from the last time we saw Ryley, the harder it becomes. Two weeks go by, then three. Our hearts ache. We can hardly wait for her to be home <span>–</span> to simply be together in the same room.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A Marvel movie comes out. Ryan wants to go, and he knows I will go with him. But Ryley is his movie buddy, and it just won't be the same. He puts it off. He hears she's going to the movie with friends, so we talk briefly again about going, just the two of us. But it doesn't materialize.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Then she calls. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">"Dad, my friends are going to see the movie tonight, but I'm going to stay back and do homework and get the dorm ready for a surprise birthday party. Can we go see it together when I'm home for Thanksgiving?"</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It's a date. 💕</span></p>Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-35883767574720318812021-05-16T20:54:00.004-07:002021-05-16T20:54:58.098-07:00One More WeekI’m here to tell you that it happens. The earth keeps turning, the seasons change, and before you know it, you’re merely a week away from your child’s high school graduation.<div><br /></div><div>A week.</div><div><br /></div><div>One more week of our years-old school routine—of that predictable rhythm and cadence. </div><div><br /></div><div>One more week of meal-planning and rushed mornings and fights over the bathroom. </div><div><br /></div><div>One more week of "What's your homework situation?" and "Get your stuff done!" and "Ryley, hurry up!" and "Mom, are the jeans in the dryer?" </div><div><br /></div><div>The cycle repeats itself week after week for years. And then, eventually, the weeks whittle their way down to one.</div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">***</div><div><br /></div>All the jokes about holding her back a year (or Ryan failing her on purpose) are pointless. Questioning ourselves about whether or not we should have waited another year to start kindergarten? Too late. That ship has sailed. </div><div><br /></div><div>Flipping through the "Friday folder" and saving all the A+ work? Everything she wants to keep is now neatly stored in a tub in the garage.</div><div><br /></div><div>Writing a check for the Scholastic book fair, or a field trip, or school pictures, or Skate City night, or the yearbook? Done, done, done, done, and done.</div><div><br /></div><div>Reading monthly school newsletters? Stopped that years ago (shhhh!).</div><div><br /></div><div>Letting our school lunch bill get built up until it's way behind and then scrambling to pay the balance before they deny her a meal? Done, thank goodness.</div><div><br /></div><div>Receiving threatening letters in the mail about her tardies? Just five more days, guys. Five more days.</div><div><br /></div><div>All the worries I had each spring about finding good, affordable summer childcare? Over. </div><div><br /></div><div>Early-morning donut sales for Outdoor Lab and D.C. trip fundraising? No more.</div><div><br /></div><div>Trying to brainstorm for a good science fair project? Never again.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dragging ourselves to school music programs on a seasonal basis? Been there, done that. (And let me tell you: I strongly believe that when choosing a spouse, people need to consider that that's the kind of doldrum required in marriage; when you choose a husband, you're saying, "I want to sit next to YOU at all those school events and concerts and award ceremonies, heretoforth and forevermore." So, find a good one.)<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Letting her drive by herself for the first time? And then letting her drive again? And again? Ugh. It IS getting easier ... </div><div><br /></div><div>Finding a prom dress? Check!</div><div><br /></div><div>Ironing the graduation gown? I hung it up today. Now it's starting to get real. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">***</div><div><br />There have been some developments. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last summer, my friend from work announced that she and her husband (in their 50s, and empty-nesters) were moving to Houston. As I talked to her about their plans and the super-trendy neighborhood they chose to live in, I found myself living vicariously through her. How fun would it be to just uproot and go on a new adventure? And what do we have to lose? We're still young. We don't have any other kids to put through high school. Ryan's a teacher and could theoretically work anywhere.</div><div><br /></div><div>Though a bit daunting, the idea percolated in my brain over the next few months, and the wheels started turning.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the fall, through my brother-in-law, an incredible job opportunity pretty much landed in my lap—and by December, I was working completely remotely, in a new field, with co-workers all over the globe. One more tie to Denver snapped as, suddenly, it didn't matter where I lived. At the time, the perk I was most excited about was being home with Ryley while she completed her senior year virtually. But in retrospect, I see that God's plan was so much bigger than that. </div><div><br /></div><div>Shortly after Ryley decided to attend Baylor, Ryan started researching the Waco area, Austin (a place he's always loved), and everything in between.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I can't get it out of my head that we should be within reach of her," he said.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The three of us have always been extraordinarily close. I recently read the book <i>Upstairs at the White House</i>, which is a great read, all about the presidents and first ladies from the mid '40s to the early '70s. The family that stood out to me was President Harry Truman, his wife Bess, and their 21-year-old daughter Margaret. The three were very close, with two of them often teaming up on the other, and according to staff, there was always lots of laughter amongst them.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ryan and I always wanted a bigger family, but when we didn't get that, we threw ourselves into raising the kiddo we <i>did </i>have. As a result, our family dynamic is pretty close-knit—we're a bit of a trio—a unit. We want Ryley to have her space to grow and do her thing in college. We don't want to smother her. But would it be so bad to be an hour or two away?</div><div><br /></div><div>In addition, my parents and my brother's family are in Dallas, and travel to see them is always such a pain—and then it's hard to leave at the end of the visit. It just kind of makes sense that we move closer. Not <i>next-door</i>, but within an "easy weekend trip" distance.</div><div><br /></div><div>All of that is to say that Ryan started exploring the cities of Texas. He applied for many a teaching job, and we put it in God's hands.</div><div><br /></div><div>From the very beginning, we asked Ryley what she thought. We wanted to make sure she wouldn't be bitter (later on in life) that we left Colorado and moved her "homebase," so to speak.</div><div><br /></div><div>"As long as you don't live IN Waco," she told us, "I don't care where you live. YOU GUYS are my home."<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>My heart <i>melted</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>We diligently started working to clean up our house so we could put it on the market. We've lived here 14 years—we raised Ryley here from the age of 3, and this house has endured many versions and seasons of us as people, so the clean-up and clean-out was no easy task.</div><div><br /></div><div>Every weekend for a month, we tackled a different part of the house. There were 14 straight days in April where the individual pieces of Ryley's entire childhood lay strewn across our living room floor, as we lugged boxes and tubs down from her room and in from the garage so she could sort and make decisions. We rented a dumpster for the driveway and did some pretty hefty yardwork and garage organizing. We took four loads to Goodwill. </div><div><br /></div><div>But even then, we wondered if we were doing the right thing. Ryan was going through countless interviews (it seemed) and even flew down to Austin to teach a demo lesson at his "dream school." Our lives were in limbo, just a month and a half before our daughter was to graduate. And it was <i>our doing</i>. Why were we doing this??</div><div><br /></div><div>Two days before we were scheduled to list our house, Ryan found out that he got the job! That made it so much easier to wrap our heads around selling our house! Then, after a busy three days of 109 showings and 13 offers, the house went under contract. It was a week of miracles!</div><div><br /></div><div><div>"Do you feel like us selling the house the same month as your graduation is taking attention away from this milestone?" I asked Ryley.</div><div><br /></div><div>"No, I'm glad it keeps your mind busy," she responded. "This way you're not so emotional."</div><div><br /></div><div>She knows me well. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>So that's where we're at. The move to Austin is on the backburner until Ryley's graduation and celebration are behind us. Then, we will kick everything into high gear with finding a house and moving before the end of July—when we'll happily trade the aroma of legalized marijuana in the air for the more appealing smell of barbecue.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sure I'll have more to say about this soon. But we are excited for a new adventure—a new area of the country to explore, while still living relatively close to both Ryley and my family. We've seen God's hand at work through this whole process—from planting the idea in my head a year ago, to the new job for me, to the dream job for Ryan, to our house selling so quickly. The pieces are all falling into place. </div><div><br /></div><div>For now though, I'm going to soak up this very last week of "normalcy." True to form, and similar to many Sunday nights over the last 13 years, Ryley has asked me to watch her rehearse her senior thesis presentation right now. </div><div><br /></div><div>Happily, sweetheart. Happily. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-67801833857050285322021-03-18T19:57:00.002-07:002021-03-18T19:57:33.632-07:00How We Got From 5,300 Colleges to One<p>The moment we'd been waiting for arrived when we least expected it--and not at all how I imagined. </p><p>Since September, every Thursday has been "HER Day" at our house for Hannah, Egla, and Ryley (aka H.E.R.). It's the designated day where these three besties try to cram a week's worth of missed in-person socialization into 8-10 hours. I'm eternally thankful that the other girls' families have been as dedicated to it as we; Ryley looks forward to it all week. They sprawl out all over our living room and attend classes on their laptops--separately but together. Then, around lunchtime they'll head to the thrift store or to get boba or to meet another friend for pho, then come back home for more online classes, movies, and general shenanigans.</p><p>Anyway, so it was HER Day, and they had just finished gallivanting around Aurora, getting a haircut, and hanging out in Barnes & Noble. Around 6 p.m., just as the sky was getting dark, Ryan and I came home to see police officers sneaking up on the house across the street from us. There's always been drama going down over there, and we have watched many a transaction transpire over the years. (In the week since, they've been evicted! Story for another time). So, of course, we assumed our nosy neighbor routine; we went inside, turned off the lights, opened the front window, and called the girls up to watch.</p><p>We were all squished up by the window in the dark, whispering, and trying hard to make out what was being said, but the situation fizzled, ending peacefully. I leaned back on the sofa, and absentmindedly, I opened my phone and clicked on my email. At the top of my inbox was an email from Baylor University:</p><p>"We have a special message for you!" it read.</p><p>I swiped to open: "Log in to your goBaylor account to see a special message from Baylor regarding your application status."</p><p>I could feel the rush of adrenaline. Ryley and her friends were still gathered on the carpet, chatting a mile a minute. </p><p>One of the biggest frustrations about digital college admissions is that Ryley alone has the login info to her multiple accounts, so we're dependent upon her for updates. </p><p>"Ryley, check your email," I urged, my voice shaking.</p><p>She pulled out her phone, took a look, and jumped to her feet to go get her laptop. And then the laptop was almost dead so she had to find her charge cord. And then we had to wait for it to boot up. You know how it goes. </p><p>Meanwhile, H&E had gone back down to the family room, and because I watch a lot of internet, and Baylor is Ryley's first choice, I readied my phone to record her reaction in a video.</p><p>"No, Mom. Don't record, please," she said, while Ryan shook his head and shot me a disapproving glance. </p><p>"Come on, guys. Please?"</p><p>"No," she answered firmly.</p><p>So the moment will be fixed in the memories of the three of us alone. (Not <i>my </i>fault.)</p><p>With Ryan looking over her shoulder, Ryley logged into her Baylor dashboard and was greeted by an animated display of fireworks and the words "Ryley, you're accepted!" It caught her off guard, and she sucked in her breath in excitement. </p><p>"Heeeeey! Congratulations!" Ryan cheered, reaching over to give her a hug and a peck on the cheek.</p><p>She beamed, and we told her again and again how proud we are. After all, Baylor only accepts 45% of applicants, and it's, by far, the most prestigious school she applied to. Her friends were there to celebrate too, and after they left, she called her grandparents, who were possibly even more proud and excited than we. 😉</p><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">Now that all of the acceptance letters had arrived, I was suddenly hit with an unexpected worry: how she'd be able to pay for <i>any </i>college at all. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We'd been working diligently toward the goal of getting <i>into </i>colleges for so long ... The applications alone had been such a chore. And then the visits. And then the long wait for admissions letters. We hadn't wanted to put the cart before the horse. But now it was time to think about the <i>money</i>.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Anxiety over money (or lack thereof) used to plague me constantly. But in recent years, I've been fairly free of worry in general. I've gained new confidence in the fact that God always takes care of us and that there's nothing that my anxiety can do to change the situation. I've seen Him work things out in our lives again and again and again. Now, though, I felt that familiar darkness come rushing back and a rock forming in the pit of my stomach.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Ryley is super-bright, and we are thankful that she's been offered generous academic scholarships at every college. But these days, unless you're extremely, <i>extremely</i> gifted (we're talking crazy-smart), the much-talked-about "full ride" doesn't seem to exist. And each school has its own special scholarship program that you have to apply for separately--a program that, if you're accepted to, will require interviews and a much higher level of finesse under pressure just for the privilege of <i>competing </i>for scholarships. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Ryley was accepted to Seattle Pacific's scholarship competition and went through that whole process in January--virtual interview, virtual lecture with panel discussion, etc. But she hadn't yet heard back.</p><p style="text-align: left;">So what about the kids that are just of average grades? Are their parents millionaires? One school quoted that Ryan and I would have to pay $2200 a month (after her scholarship was applied) if she didn't want to take out loans. Um, WHAT???</p><p style="text-align: left;">We're not against loans. But we are, I believe, against <i>$100,000+</i> in loans! </p><p style="text-align: left;">Ryley had been awarded a generous merit scholarship with her Baylor admission, but the remaining amount still seemed insurmountable. So we prayed for a miracle.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: center;">***</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">The process of choosing a college is overwhelming. There are 5,300 colleges in the nation, and some, of course, aren't an option. But what if you overlook a good, viable option by accident? </span></p><p style="text-align: left;">Three years ago, we started attending college fairs with Ryley. Approximately 160 colleges were represented, each with their own booth. We went up and down the aisles, trying not to make eye contact with the reps for "lame" colleges, and waiting in line for the chance to talk to someone at the "cool" colleges. Ryley was drawn to nearly any school in the Northwest ... George Fox University and Seattle Pacific were two favorites. But I remember her having a particular attachment to a tiny college in Alaska and then another one in Hawaii. She spent lots of time letting those reps talk her ear off about their offerings while she imagined her new parent-free life outside the continental U.S.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"Um, no," I said. "You're not going to a school in Alaska that only has an enrollment of 300 students. That's a waste of time and money."</p><p style="text-align: left;">I might be a bit opinionated.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But then, for the next three years, our mailbox and email inboxes overflowed with information from colleges we've never heard of -- Knox College, Willamette University, Hofstra University, Sierra Nevada University, Dixie State University in, um ... Utah? I'd stack mailers on the stairs for her to take up next time she went to her room; but they sat and sat until I threw them away. </p><p style="text-align: left;">With thousands of colleges across the nation, how do you ever narrow it down to a handful--and then to <i>one</i>? What if a wonderful future awaits Ryley at Hofstra? What if throwing away their brochure is limiting all the possibilities? </p><p style="text-align: left;">Two things were for certain--Ryley was wholly against any school that was a "college" and not a "university," and she would refuse to look at anything in the entire state of Texas.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Last spring, I convinced her to go to an overnight college visit at Ryan's and my alma mater in Tulsa. She was painfully clear that she would <i>not </i>be attending ORU, but we told her we just wanted her to see what <i>our </i>college experience was like. She agreed to it, but she had a bit of an attitude the whole weekend.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We had planned to visit more colleges in the summer between her junior and senior years, but the pandemic nixed that idea. So, then came September ... and then October. </p><p style="text-align: left;">"Apply by November 1 for a decision by winter break!" most schools advertised.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But getting our girl to apply <i>anywhere</i>? Not easy.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Ryley has a tendency to ignore and procrastinate when it comes to stuff like this. Deep down, she's a little anxious and sad about the impending life changes, so she pushes it out of her mind as long as she can. Thankfully, Colorado's Free Application Day in mid-October was a good incentive for her to at least apply to the colleges in our state. Even then, she stubbornly refused to apply to a few that I suggested.</p><p style="text-align: left;">One decision we made early on was to eliminate any state colleges that weren't in Colorado. Why should she go to a state college in, say, Kansas or Nebraska, when she could get the equivalent education in Colorado for in-state tuition prices? I don't know if that was good logic. But we had to start eliminating somewhere.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Meanwhile, I reached out to an acquaintance who happens to be a guidance counselor. She gave us a list of suggestions of respected Christian colleges that offered linguistics (Ryley's field of interest), which was a great starting point. Honestly, Ryley wasn't wild about going to a specifically Christian college (not for any other reason than the fact that she likes to be different). But she did her due diligence and researched them. Then, before she <i>actually </i>applied, she narrowed it down even further. She wasn't interested in anything in California, and other than the University of Chicago, she really wasn't wild about any of the options in Illinois (and there were several). At her core, she still liked Seattle Pacific the best.</p><p style="text-align: left;">My mom mentioned Baylor, which had also been on our friend's list. It has a widely respected linguistics program and would only be 1.5 hours from my parents. Plus, it's pretty prestigious, as colleges go.</p><p style="text-align: left;">"I'm <i>not </i>going to Texas," Ryley reiterated. "I'm not. I hate Texas. It's hot; it's humid; it has big bugs. And I hate that 'Texas state pride.'"<br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Regardless, I contacted Baylor to see if they were doing in-person tours over the Thanksgiving week when we would be in Dallas. They were. I figured, at the very least, it would be another college campus for Ryley to see.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Sometimes my decisions aren't popular with Ryley.</p><p style="text-align: left;">The tour, however, was really impressive. Ryan was sold right away. Baylor has a high level of excitement and energy on its campus, and it operates like a well-oiled machine. Ryley got a free t-shirt, and we were all given free BU masks. We rode on a shuttle around the sprawling grounds, hopping off and on as our guide directed. Ryley barely said a word, except for when our tour guide showed us the bear exhibit. I think she may have cracked a small smile. Later, she made us go back and look at the bear enclosure up-close. :-)</p><p style="text-align: left;">Over the years, I've learned that Ryley needs time to process every experience before she's ready to talk about it. And if we badger her about something, she'll just dig her heels in against it. So we can't push. We have to wait. </p><p style="text-align: left;">But based on the dismissive attitude I was picking up during our tour, Baylor was not an option. After all, it was in Texas, and her heart was in Seattle.</p><p style="text-align: left;">That night, she got on the phone with her friend Hannah, and they started making plans to visit Seattle Pacific, where they had both applied. They were ready to book their tickets right then and there. I was so frustrated. She was already moving on, and Baylor wasn't even cold in its grave! Looking back, I think seeing a college campus had just inspired her, and she was anxious to visit the others on her list. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Even so, Baylor percolated in the back of her mind, and about a week after we got back, Ryley decided to apply there just in case. I should never underestimate what's really going on in her head. She thinks deeply about things and holds her cards close to her chest.</p><p style="text-align: left;">We did visit Seattle Pacific in January. But a funny thing happened. While Ryley had had this "image" of SPU on the brain during her entire visit to Baylor, she couldn't get Baylor out of her head the entire time we were at SPU. It was a small and sweet campus--pretty, and built on the side of a hill. But it was painfully quiet. We only saw a handful of students while we were doing our self-guided tour, whereas Baylor's campus had been bustling with activity. That had a big impact on Ryley.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Also, I think SPU has a great marketing department. I had looked at going there 25 years ago, and the picture I had formed in my head was vastly different from reality. We were all disappointed.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Sometime in January, she heard from the University of Colorado--she was being offered admission to their honors program along with a nice scholarship. It lurked as a backup option--a safety net in case nothing else worked out. The offer of the honors program would also give her a place in the honors dorm, which made me feel immediately better about her going to a school with a party reputation.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Meanwhile, for one reason or another, she was crossing other colleges she had been accepted to off her list. Ryan and I began to wonder if there was anywhere else she should apply, since February 1 was most schools' application deadline. But she insisted she was happy with her three choices.</p><p style="text-align: left;">However it happened, somehow we'd managed to weed through thousands of colleges and narrow it down to three.</p><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: left;">While we waited and waited for Baylor's acceptance letter, Ryley had pretty much decided that--should she be accepted--that's where she wanted to go. She told us she didn't feel good about CU's party school atmosphere, and though she liked SPU, it just didn't feel right either. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Even though it was in Texas, Baylor was the kind of college experience she was looking for. She could deal with the heat and humidity and "Texas state pride" for a few years, for the sake of a quality education from a respected institution. And she could still come home to Colorado.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Then, within a span of four days:</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>She received her acceptance letter and a scholarship to Baylor</li><li>She received a rejection letter from the full-ride scholarship competition at Seattle Pacific</li><li>She heard that a party at CU turned into a riot with students attacking cops</li></ul><div>It couldn't have been more clear to her, she said--except for the fact that Baylor was still really expensive. We resigned ourselves to the fact that, over spring break, Ryley would need to apply for every single outside scholarship that she could--and that if God wanted her to go there, He would need to perform a miracle before the registration deadline of May 1.</div><div><br /></div><div>We have a spreadsheet of outside scholarships for her to apply to; the disheartening thing is that she won't hear if she's won any of them before the deadline. So, then, do we let her commit on May 1 and pay her deposit without knowing how she's going to swing it financially?</div><div><br /></div><div>No, God would have to make it <i>really </i>clear before then. We kept praying and giving the situation back to Him. </div><div><br /></div><div>I emailed the admissions counselor and asked if Ryley took the SAT one more time and improved her score, would it qualify her for any more scholarships. She wrote back that SAT/ACT scores (Ryley took them 4 times, mind you) weren't even considered this year, due to COVID. Scholarships were awarded based on grades. </div><div><br /></div><div>Another couple of days went by. There had been an issue with our FAFSA information, which made me nervous.</div><div><br /></div><div>My imagination always goes wild:</div><div><br /></div><div>"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Moore, we've never seen anything like your finances. We're gonna have to rescind Ryley's admission."</div><div><br /></div><div>I kept trying to remind myself that there is nothing so odd about our financial situation that it would keep them from processing her financial aid package.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thankfully, Ryan looked into it, and it was an easy fix.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then, it happened. The official Baylor financial aid package arrived, and Ryley had qualified for a <i>second </i>scholarship that was even bigger than the first! Suddenly the price of Baylor (while still requiring some loans) was <i>much </i>more do-able. In fact, it was more affordable than SPU. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was a <i>miracle. </i>No other word for it. God had answered our prayers.</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Ryley came and showed me the financial aid package, and I hugged her, tears streaming down my cheeks. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, Mom. Are you crying? It's okay," she said.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, sweetie, I'm crying because I'm overwhelmed at God's goodness and love. We didn't even know this scholarship existed!"</div><div><br /></div><div>We called Ryan at work and shared the exciting news with him. </div><div><br /></div><div>And that's how we got from 5,300 colleges, to one. And wouldn't you know it? It's smackdab in the middle of Texas. ;-)</div><div><br /></div><div>Never underestimate what God can do.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-40025762991062105602021-03-02T21:22:00.005-08:002021-03-03T09:17:42.930-08:00The Runaway TrainThis is, undoubtedly, a unique time in our lives—a suspenseful and eventful chapter in our story. <br /><br />And as someone who so faithfully chronicled my daughter’s early childhood on this very blog, I feel a nagging sense of guilt for staying quiet now. <br /><br />This is it—this is the final stretch that we’ve been dreading since the moment our precious baby Ryley entered the world. We’re standing on the caboose of a runaway train, watching the looming canyon grow closer and closer, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. We can try to sneak in last-minute life lessons here and there, or say, "Hey, have we ever taught you how to (fill-in-the-blank)," but at this point, it kind of feels too late. It’s in God’s hands now. When the train hits the cliff, she’ll sail into her future—protected by Him alone.<br /><br />The thickening plot in Ryley’s life story is not unlike a "Choose Your Own Adventure" book: all the other plot points to come and all the characters she will meet are hinged upon some pretty big choices she's making right now. Will she do her virtual homework or not? Will she waste her asynchronous class time on TikTok or will she apply for scholarships? Will she go to college? If so, will it be in Seattle? Will it be in Texas? Will it be 45 minutes from home? What will her future be? I wonder ... <br /><br />I’ve always taken great consolation in my ability to express myself through writing. But over the last few months, I’ve had nothing. Just overwhelming awe and pride at her beautiful spirit—mixed with fear about how she’ll ever hear her alarm clock go off without us. Ryan is convinced we’ll need to live within 10 minutes of her college so that we can drive her to class or work while she ties her shoes and applies her makeup in the front seat. 😉<br /><br />This indecision about college and the anxiety surrounding where she’s going to be in six months is beyond my brain capacity. Our entire household feels on edge. I'm coining the term "virtual senioritis" to describe her mental state. My emotions vacillate from one minute to the next: viewing her as a competent almost-adult, yet still seeing my sweet baby ... feeling excitement for her, yet feeling extreme sadness for me. I don’t think there was a day in January or February that Ryan or Ryley didn’t barge into my home office and see mascara running down my face. <br /><br />When she told me she wanted to stay home and go to a state school here in Colorado, I knew she was saying it out of fear of going far away. I responded, “If that’s where God wants you to go, that’s fine. But don’t make that decision because you’re afraid of going out of state. Don’t make a decision based on fear.” And I thought, <i>What am I doing? She just said she wants to stay close to you! Why are you telling her to go?</i><br /><br />Because I’m almost 100-percent certain it's the right thing for her—to forge her own path.<br /><br />I told her months ago that, though it was hard to see it then, at some point she would just <i>know </i>where she should go. Just like every other decision in our lives, God would make it clear, and He would give her peace. And now, she feels a strong pull toward a college that wasn’t even on her radar before November, and we wait (quite impatiently) for that coveted acceptance letter. The anticipation and anxiety can make you crazy, and everything is made even more complicated by the pandemic and the uncertainty of whether classes will be held in person. It’s hard to plan even the basics of your future when the very fabric of normal life itself seems to have unraveled.<br /><br />After the sounds of her various Ryley-noises have bounced off our walls for almost 18 years … after she’s literally filled every square inch of our home with her personality, her hair, her boundless energy, her love … How the heck are we supposed to live without her? How is Ryan supposed to teach at the school without her poking her head in his classroom and dumping her heavy backpack on a desk before flitting off to after-school activities? How are we supposed to fill our evenings? Will we even remember to eat?<br /><br />The truth is, we’ve been empty-nesting for some time now. When she got her driver’s license 18 months ago, a friend told me that this is when it starts. She’s already been creating a life for herself at work, in her youth group, with her friends. But always, after being away for a few hours, she comes home—and tells us all about it, leaving a trail of her belongings from the front door all the way down to the family room (while often bearing Starbucks drinks for her dear ma and pa). Soon, she won’t. Maybe she’ll text us. If we’re lucky, she’ll call. It will be a quiet existence, I think. Maybe we’ll pursue some of our budding hobbies—gardening for me and a forge for Ryan. More reading, perhaps. More travel. Whatever this new existence looks like, it will definitely have less of the physical presence of Ryley. And that makes me sad.<br /><br />Just like I did when I was pregnant and scared to death of childbirth, sometimes I have to remind myself of where I fit in the big picture. Every human being on the planet is the result of a pregnancy and childbirth. I convinced myself 18 years ago that if billions of women could give birth, I could do it, too. In the same way, I realize that every adult on the planet (well, all adults living on their own, anyway) had to grow up and leave their parents behind at some point. I did it. Ryan did it. Our parents did it. Of course we’re not so self-involved to think that what we’re going through is anything new.<br /><br />It’s the natural order of things—the circle of life.<br /><br />“I just can’t believe we’re at the end,” Ryan said in the midst of a somewhat emotional talk he and I had one evening.<br /><br />Oh—not the end of our parenting, of course. Just the end of the "day-to-day." The end of her childhood—which, my goodness, has been a lot of fun.<br /><br />Truthfully, we want her to go and be all the things she wants to be and do all the things she wants to do. Nothing would make us prouder than having raised her to be self-sustaining, self-sufficient, and confident. But I also remember how after my first semester at college, I returned home for Christmas, and everything felt different. Because <i>I</i> was different. That knowledge creeps around in my head, reminding me that even when she comes home, it won't be the same.<br /><br />Part of me wants to just soak up this precious remaining time and not worry about finding words for it. But I know, deep-down, that I have to write it. This is how I process my deepest feelings and come to terms with them. It’s just me and my emotions, fighting it out with words. Not even the pandemic affected me enough to inspire me to write about my personal introspection. <br /><br />But this? Of all the parts of her story thus far, this is the most important one. This is the part where she flies.<br /><br />Stay tuned.<br /><br />Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-51483753990452936482019-07-23T21:58:00.001-07:002019-07-23T21:58:18.110-07:00"She Is Sixteen, Going on Seventeen"I think if there's any occasion worth busting out the ol' blog, it's our little one's Sweet Sixteen.<br />
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Sixteen years ago this afternoon, on a sweltering 100-degree day, in a community hospital in small-town Montana, our little bundle of spunk entered the world. Never before had we known the kind of love that overwhelmed us when we first held her in our arms and kissed her sweet little face.<br />
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The first thought that crossed my labor-exhausted brain? "Wow, she looks just like my Great-Grandma Blackburn."<br />
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We had no way of knowing who this little person was -- or whom she would become. But over these past 16 years, we've sure had fun figuring it out!<br />
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Eventually she'd collect a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks ... and eventually those freckles would fade. (Under makeup, perhaps? Who knows?)<br />
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Over time, she'd learn to love reading, and she'd gobble up books from our local library -- though stubbornly and steadfastly refusing summer after summer to read my recommendations of "Anne of Green Gables" or "Gone With the Wind."<br />
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She'd learn to love all kinds of music -- and learn to enjoy <i>making </i>music even more.<br />
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She'd make friends with every dog she'd ever meet, especially her own.<br />
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She'd learn to enjoy traveling and seeing new places (27 states so far) and <i>crave </i>an adventurous road trip. But she'd also learn that there's no place like home.<br />
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She'd get into trouble at school almost EVERY DAY for talking too much.<br />
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When she was 10, we'd notice for the first time that her thumbs are noticeably different from each other -- one looks like mine, and the other looks like Ryan's. And we'd feel guilty for not ever having noticed that before.<br />
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She'd <i>always </i>be very, very slow in getting ready each day (that's why I have time to write this now, actually). She's just livin' life at her own pace, "Ryley-style," with Korean pop music or Broadway tunes blasting in the background. She insists that music doesn't slow her down, but we all know the truth.😉<br />
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Speaking of winking? That's something Ryley's never been able to do with any kind of smoothness.<br />
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German food, like sauerkraut, is her fave; and she prefers fruity desserts to chocolate.<br />
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Puppets freak her out. But she <i>loves </i>puns. Ever want to make her laugh? Work a pun into your sentence.<br />
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She's obsessed with checking expiration dates on food items and is horrified to find expired foods in our fridge or pantry from time to time.<br />
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Even at 16, she has a soft spot in her heart for mermaids, balloons, bubbles, and all things fantastical. But at the same time, she can be very practical and pragmatic and extremely black and white.<br />
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Her bossiness and competitive nature can be off-putting sometimes (something she's working on!), but we are confident that her determination will take her <i>far </i>in life.<br />
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Every movie she sees is her new favorite. She greets every new thing with loads of enthusiasm.<br />
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And when she wants something from us, she's super-pushy -- campaigning and squawking and chipping and poking until we either give in or, more likely, explode in parental "rage." #honesty<br />
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Museums will always hold a very special place in her heart. They're where she and her daddy like to spend their Ry days. Marvel movies, too.<br />
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This lovely young woman is an absolute joy to raise. She's funny and smart and witty and -- best of all -- tender, compassionate, and loving.<br />
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This afternoon, we stopped by a coffee shop, and an elderly man was sitting out front. He asked if we had 75 cents for the bus fare. I told him I didn't have any change, and we walked on. While we stood in line, I could tell something was bothering Ryley.<br />
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Come to find out, she knew she had cash in the car, and she had been mulling that man's request over and over in her head. She knew what she had to do, so she went and did it. On her birthday. Handed the man a $1 bill while Ryan watched from our nearby car.<br />
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That's what I'm most thankful for -- a daughter who, though still growing in her faith, hears the voice of the Holy Spirit and doesn't hesitate to do what's right. I pray that only gets stronger in these next few years, as she makes tough decisions regarding college and course of study and friends and roommates and relationships. It won't be easy; it's tougher to be a young adult than it's ever been. But with Jesus living in her heart, she's going to be just fine.<br />
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Happy sweet 16, my lovely Ryley. We love you with all our hearts.Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-45990835679757151192018-12-28T21:23:00.002-08:002018-12-28T21:33:19.935-08:00How a Crushed Stock Pot Reminded Me of How Special Marriage Is<br />
Twenty years of marriage can be best explained like this:<br />
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A few days before Christmas, Ryan and I were shopping in Walmart. Not knowing what exactly to get each other for Christmas or our upcoming anniversary, we found ourselves in the pots and pans aisle, looking for something we desperately needed -- a brand new skillet -- one free of scuff marks and Teflon chunks that flake into our food.<br />
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As we browsed, a large stainless steel stock pot caught my eye. It had been badly crushed on one side -- obviously unusable -- but the sight of it immediately took me back to a past life, something from 15 years ago. I turned to the only other person I know who would <i>also</i> know.<br />
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"Ryan! Look!" I pointed to the pot on the shelf. "What does this make you think of?"<br />
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Ryan glanced at the pot, and I watched as his eyes lit up.<br />
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"Well, I don't know if this is what YOU'RE thinking of, but it reminds me of that grain silo on the road from Bozeman, right before the road curves toward Helena."<br />
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<i>Nailed it. </i><br />
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A crushed stock pot on a shelf in a Colorado Walmart in 2018 instantly took us back to a crushed silo in circa 2003 Montana.<br />
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Such a weird thing. Soooo weird. But I kissed him right there in the middle of the Walmart pots and pans aisle.<br />
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Because what is marriage if it isn't thousands and thousands of shared experiences and inside jokes and conversations that nobody else in the world knows about but us? That's just the tip of the iceberg, honestly.<br />
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Twenty years ago today, a 21-year-old version of me walked down the aisle and tied the knot with a 20-year-old version of Ryan. We were just kids. Seriously. But when you know, you know. :-)<br />
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And now we have 20 years of life experiences together. It's honestly overwhelming to think about. All I know is that there's nothing sweeter than being married to your very best friend.<br />
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Here's to another 20 years, and many, many more. ;-)Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-11144834418033773852018-04-23T22:18:00.003-07:002018-04-24T06:26:31.880-07:00NYC Day Six -- Our Final Adventures and My Final ThoughtsThis is it -- the final blog post about our trip to New York City! This one is a long one, but I think it's worth the read. 😉<br />
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Here we go with ...<br />
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<b>FRIDAY, MARCH 30, 2018 -- DAY SIX</b><br />
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On the last day of the trip, we only had one thing planned in advance, and that was our tour of the NBC studios at Rockefeller Center. If you plan a trip to New York, we highly recommend doing this tour, AND if you do, you need to book it months in advance. I looked online a few weeks before our trip, and they had some availability, but I wasn't ready to book it yet. I didn't realize it was such a hot ticket item! The next time I looked, everything was gone. I was <i>crushed</i>. Then, on a whim, the day before we flew to New York, I checked one more time, and they must have had some cancellations because we lucked out with three spots for Friday morning, March 30!<br />
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The NBC Studio Tour is highly enjoyable, and it's led by the network's very personable pages, who are witty and knowledgeable and fun. Unfortunately, no photography is allowed. But trust me: Ryan and I were looking for opportunities to sneak pics! Those pages have eagle eyes, though, and we were never left unattended.<br />
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They took us to see three studios: "Nightly News with Lester Holt," "The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon," and (our favorite!) "Saturday Night Live". It was pretty surreal to sit in the yellow balcony seats and overlook the set where SNL is taped each week. We didn't see anyone "big" because both late-night shows were on hiatus for Easter week, and it was too early in the day for Lester and his crew.<br />
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We did, however, see Rev. Al Sharpton next to the elevators. I have to admit that I didn't recognize him on sight. He walked past our tour group with his body guard, and he was on his cell phone looking very "busy," and one of the guys in our group gasped, then nodded to him and said, "'Morning, Reverend." The tour guide stopped talking, and asked, "Did you say something?" And he answered, "Oh, I was just greeting the reverend there," to which everyone craned their necks to see, and hushed whispers spread throughout the group, "That's Al Sharpton." "Al Sharpton." "Reverend Al Sharpton."<br />
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I looked at Ryan and whispered, "Was that Al Sharpton?" And he just shrugged and said, "Seems like it."<br />
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Celebrity Sighting No. 3! And sadly, that concludes our celebrity sightings.<br />
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After the tour, we spent a decent chunk of time in the very fun NBC gift shop at the base of Rockefeller Center.<br />
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Ryley chose a Central Perk t-shirt, and I chose a Central Perk mug in honor of our "Friends" obsession. 👍</div>
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Even if you don't go on the tour, I recommend stopping there! There's a ton of memorabilia for "Friends," "Parks and Rec," "The Office," "Seinfeld," "SNL," "The Today Show," and a couple others! Nothing for "30 Rock," though, which seemed to us like a missed opportunity!<br />
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(In the course of our week we also stumbled across an HBO gift shop, which -- though very small -- is also fun if you're into any HBO shows like "Game of Thrones").<br />
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The next thing that we had planned was a dinner reservation at a fancy-schmancy hamburger place in Greenwich Village. With about five hours to kill, we decided to have a quick lunch via the street vendors (we lovingly called this "street meat") right outside Rockefeller Center. I had something (Greek?) from a Halal food truck. The Rys chose food trucks that had more American offerings. And wouldn't you know it? We actually found a place to sit. Hallelujah!<br />
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We walked through Times Square, then, which was colorful and brilliantly lit and fascinating as always ... Pictures don't do it justice. </div>
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Even the Statue of Liberty was taking a lunch break ... </div>
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Then we walked south on Broadway for what seemed like a looooong time. After being in the city for a week, we had a pretty good feel for the layout. Even so, it was interesting that we'd find ourselves within a block of the Empire State Building, or within a block of the library, without meaning to. Everything is so compact, and distance becomes relative.<br />
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I sit here in my house, and I think about the grocery store on the corner, 7/10ths of a mile away. It would seem outrageous and impractical to walk there within the course of our daily routine; it seems so far. Yet, if you put that same stretch of distance in New York, .7 miles is the distance between Times Square and Central Park to the north, or Times Square and Macy's to the south. And in that .7 miles you fit in TONS. You'd probably find five Starbucks within that space, and it wouldn't even seem over-saturated. At any given time, you're within a mile of a lot of well-known people, a lot of well-known places, but because there's so much of all of it, it <i>seems</i> like you're farther than you really are, which is why it's such a surprise to stumble upon the Empire State Building from a different angle, a different direction.<br />
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I think you might actually be able to fit the length of Manhattan island between our house and my office in the Denver Tech Center. And when you put it in those terms, you realize how small of a place New York is -- it's just extremely dense and <i>deep</i>.<br />
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And then -- when I think <i>again </i>about the distance to our grocery store? I look at it completely differently. I could walk that, easy, if I had to. Sure, the space looks different than the space did in New York. It's more wide open, of course. But the distance between Times Square and Central Park and the distance between my house and the grocery store is the same.<br />
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When we arrived home and felt the spaciousness of Colorado in the airport, on the road, in our house -- I felt like we were wasting space! Haha. But I've jumped ahead of myself ...<br />
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We definitely made good use of the subway system while we were there, and the only Lyft/Uber we took was from the hotel to the airport on Saturday morning. But our most valuable mode of transportation was <i>ourselves -- </i>our poor, numb feet.<br />
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The problem with the subway is that you emerge from the stairs into the daylight, and it takes a few minutes to get re-oriented, to figure out which way is north or south, to become acclimated to a new neighborhood. You can hop on the subway in one world (bustling and energetic) and hop off in a completely different one (quiet and charming). And that definitely does have its perks when you're in a rush!<br />
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But with walking? You get to <i>feel </i>the city. You get to witness the <i>progression </i>of the neighborhoods....how one neighborhood gradually <i>evolves </i>into the next. You get to smell the rotting trash mixed with the savory aromas from the food trucks, and you get to hear the impatient honking car horns or the echoes of the city's ongoing construction bouncing off the buildings overhead. And there's something incredible about all of it.<br />
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We never once felt unsafe. People there are too busy surviving to worry about ripping people off -- at least in the areas we were in. Local pedestrians have the crosswalk routine so down pat that they start confidently crossing the street before the walking sign changes, while still looking down at their phones. They <i>feel </i>the traffic patterns. And cops aren't anal -- They don't give tickets for jaywalking (like they would in some places) because they have bigger fish to fry.<br />
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We also did not see a single gas station in Manhattan. I saw some in Brooklyn and Queens, but not in Manhattan.<br />
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So, anywho, back to Friday afternoon ...<br />
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We walked down Broadway toward Macy's.<br />
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Weird interactive street art ...</div>
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And then Macy's! Voila!</div>
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It truly is the world's largest store. It also was in the middle of its annual spring flower show, which is super impressive and elaborate, if a little extravagant for us country folk ...</div>
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We took the escalators all the way to the top floor. 8? 9? I can't remember. But the higher we got, the older and narrower the escalators became. And wooden! We'd never seen wooden escalators before!</div>
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Pictures don't do it justice. They had a McDonald's on the 4th floor, a Starbucks on the 2nd floor, a salad place on the 5th floor (I think). And every floor had a theme.</div>
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I remember at one point, we were coming down an escalator, and Ryan just gasped at the sight of all the people and flowers and makeup and perfume and <i>stuff</i>. And he made some snarky, cute comment regarding "a tribute to American consumerism." 😉</div>
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After leaving Macy's, we actually saw a Target across the street, and Ryley and I <i>had </i>to go in to see how New York does Target! Basically, you enter at ground level, and it's a quite narrow store with just a few items for sale and all the checkout counters. An escalator leads into the ground to where the rest of the store is, sprawling out beneath the surrounding buildings. Even then, it was probably a quarter of the size of a normal Target. Aisles were small and displays were crammed together. Fascinating!<br />
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We walked past Madison Square Garden then and over to Penn Station where we caught the subway to Greenwich Village.<br />
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Madison Square Garden</div>
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Humans of New York ...</div>
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We'd had such a lovely time at Washington Square Park the Monday before that we thought it would be fun to hang out in the park for a couple hours before our dinner reservations at Minetta Tavern.</div>
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But alas, no sooner had we sat down on a park bench than it began to rain.</div>
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We ran for cover to an apartment building's awning across the street and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with other park refugees, including a man and his piano. Yes, a piano. </div>
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We ran from awning to awning trying to find a more comfortable place to wait out the storm. We stepped into a high-end vintage clothing shop for a bit, but it was so small and we felt really out of place. Where in the world do you go in an unfamiliar upper-class neighborhood on a rainy Friday afternoon? </div>
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We thought about that chess forum we'd discovered earlier in the week, but it had smelled so bad in there. 😁 We passed a board game coffeehouse, too, but they had a $5 cover charge and looked pretty packed already.</div>
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We walked around a couple city blocks in the rain and finally came upon a regular coffee shop that just happened to have a few open seats. We charged our phones and sat and talked and sipped coffee for an hour. So lovely.<br />
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At 5:30, we wandered over to Minetta Tavern -- known for legendary hamburgers and celebrity sightings! That's it on the corner.<br />
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Let me tell you: this place was a tight squeeze, and since we were slightly damp and coming off our day on the streets, we felt slightly under-dressed.</div>
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Take special note of the picture below, and how close the table next to us is. When the lady next to me needed to use the restroom, they actually pulled the table all the way out so she could get out.</div>
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The close proximity also made eavesdropping on conversations very interesting. </div>
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The man sitting next to Ryan was telling his wife(?) all about how he had put $10,000 in a charity March Madness pool, along with his buddy Michael Bloomberg. She reacted rather nonchalantly, like she was supportive (but $10k was really no big deal after all!). He asked her about her work, and she gave him some brief updates. She complained about having to come out in the rain after having her hair done that day. Also, he went on and on about how probably only 10 percent of the people in the entire restaurant could say that they were born and bred in Manhattan and he was one of them. Good for him!! It felt like he was talking loudly to intimidate us and patronize us in some way, but maybe that's my own insecurity coming out! Very strange conversation, and from what we heard, it didn't sound like they talk on a daily basis. Maybe one of them travels a lot.</div>
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So, the food ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqjxEoZTJK_H9S6wvM975_XctJfCVpMA-eBSymIM1PWnFpEbNjgsp7CXpsxJnvHPv6J-YY9FreoCDVMQNbGmXECAMOh2yo27f7-h7Njg_TrdW6e4zkGcQPkdGjq5Tp6agn5YnjR_Pjc4/s1600/IMG_0309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqjxEoZTJK_H9S6wvM975_XctJfCVpMA-eBSymIM1PWnFpEbNjgsp7CXpsxJnvHPv6J-YY9FreoCDVMQNbGmXECAMOh2yo27f7-h7Njg_TrdW6e4zkGcQPkdGjq5Tp6agn5YnjR_Pjc4/s400/IMG_0309.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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This cheeseburger was mine, and I think I may have been the only one of the three of us that was truly happy with my dinner. </div>
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Once again, how good can a burger really be when your hopes are up so high? You're bound to be somewhat disappointed, right?</div>
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After dinner, we had promised Ryley we'd stop by this ice cream roll place we had spotted about half a block away.<br />
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Yes, THAT was as delicious as it looks!</div>
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With that, Ryan led us through a rainy SoHo back to the subway train that would take us to the Upper East Side.</div>
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Our friend Jenny had recommended the Roosevelt Island Tramway, and she had specifically stated that we should take it at night for the lovely views. The tramway ride was free with our Metro subway card, so why not?<br />
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It was still a little rainy and windy, so the tram seemed to dangle and sway precariously over the water. A couple times, a gust of wind briefly caught the car, and we were almost knocked to our knees!<br />
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The strangest thing was that the tram passed within 20 feet of this apartment building, which didn't have any curtains in the windows. Look right between Ryan's head and arm for a view into their living room ... We could see someone sleeping in a bed, a little kid running around, and even what they were watching on TV. <i>How </i>is that okay? The car literally passes by every 15 minutes or so. Why wouldn't you want <i>something </i>hanging in the windows for privacy?</div>
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I thought the Roosevelt Island Tramway was a great way to wrap up our trip. I do think it would have been better if it hadn't been rainy and windy. 😏</div>
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Serendipity -- the famous frozen hot chocolate shop -- is not even half a block from the tram! </div>
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We went in, but their hand-written sign clearly stated that they strictly enforced a minimum charge of $8.65 per person in each party, which we felt (at this point in the trip) was a bunch of crap. "Don't tell me how much money I have to spend!" </div>
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Also, the wait was at least 45 minutes. It was already 8 p.m. by this point, and we had to get up early for the airport the next morning. I took one look in Ryan's eyes and knew we were all <i>done</i>. The restaurant looked cute and colorful and adorable, and it would be fun to make a point of going there next time we visit. But we had spent enough money on the trip, waited in enough lines, consumed enough sugar... We had absolutely no regrets. All we wanted now was our comfy room at the Roosevelt Hotel and a good night's sleep. </div>
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Slowly, we made our way back to the subway and drank it all in, knowing full well that this was it.</div>
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And as we wearily climbed our way back up to the main terminal, we heard the <i>most</i> beautiful violin music echoing through the maze of hallways and train tunnels. It was almost dream-like.</div>
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What a <i>beautiful </i>way to conclude our trip to a city that quickly captured our hearts, as we'd always known it would.</div>
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Now, when we watch the opening sequence to SNL, we actually recognize some of the featured landmarks. We've seen them with our own eyes, walked those paths with our precious, tired, <i>underrated </i>feet. We've breathed in the air, heard the ruckus, talked to the people, <i>watched</i> the people, eaten their food, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with 'em on the subway. We've <i>been </i>there. </div>
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Yes, it's just a place. But travel is an amazing thing. It has a way of putting life in perspective, of making the world feel smaller and bigger all at the same time. And travel has a way of making you greedy for more of it. </div>
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Thank you, Ryan, for this trip of a lifetime -- definitely the biggest trip we've ever taken together. Almost 20 years of marriage, more than 40 years of life, and there's nobody I'd rather travel with -- or tackle adventures with -- than you. 💓 You're my favorite.</div>
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Total miles walked on Friday: 8</div>
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THE END</div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-4863225234107196182018-04-21T19:12:00.001-07:002018-04-22T11:45:11.100-07:00NYC Day Five -- A Walk in the Park<div class="tr_bq">
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By our fifth full day in the city, we'd done most of the touristy sightseeing stuff that we <i>had </i>to do, and we still had two days to fill with all the <i>extra </i>things we wanted to do and see. And that's a great situation to be in! So on Wednesday night, we mapped out a revised Thursday route that involved working our way up the Upper West Side -- seeing Grant's Tomb, stopping by Hamilton's house, experiencing the 91st Street garden where they shot the final scene from "You've Got Mail," and seeing The Cloisters -- which is a small museum that belongs to The Met.<br />
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Don't get too excited about this itinerary, though. Because <i>none </i>of it happened.<br />
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The great thing about Thursday was that we woke up and decided we needed a lighter day. We were tired of pushing ourselves so hard, always maxing out on adrenaline. Our poor brains were all museum'd out. And with all the walking we'd been doing and no place to ever sit down, we were certain our feet (though obviously resilient) were never going to be the same again.<br />
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So we scrapped the plan we'd devised the night before and asked ourselves, "What do we <i>really </i>want to do today?"<br />
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And the answer was "spend more time in Central Park."<br />
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We also wanted to keep our walking total under five miles for the day. Wouldn't it be amazing to return to our hotel at the end of the day <i>without </i>feeling like our feet were well on their way to permanent damage? 🙌<br />
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As we got ready that morning, I finally found the words to express what I had been feeling in my heart for days ... Here's what I posted on Facebook:<br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Yet knowing how way leads on to way, </span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt;">I doubted if I should ever come back.” </span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt;">— Robert Frost</span></i></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt;"></span></i></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt;">I find myself reciting these words silently, constantly, on this
trip. There are so many paths to take, so many places to see. But there isn’t
time for everything. I am just one traveler, after all. </span></i></span></span><i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt;">The problem with falling in love
with a place is that you want to stay or, at the very least, come back to that
very spot. You want to follow this path, or that one, so you do — promising
yourself that you’ll retrace your steps later and see the same place again,
possibly from a different angle, or at a different time of day. </span></i><i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt;">But way leads on to way, and very
rarely on this trip have we seen the same place twice. </span></i><i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt;">The problem with travel is that
your eyes become opened to new places — and now that you know that they exist,
you’ll just have more places to miss when you’re gone. </span></i><i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt;">Living in the moment takes on an
entirely new meaning. You drink in the experience and soak it all in, knowing
that THIS is it. This is the moment you get in THIS spot. </span></i><i style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 10.5pt;">And you find a bit of solace in
the fact that more moments and other spots await you down the road...</span></i></blockquote>
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<b>THURSDAY, MARCH 29, 2018 -- DAY FIVE</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYU0xuYmUCSt2up5Dll_QsHbcDLImiLE_Gv3eAsfy3XiT-zPM2qBvCQ7H-Npeip2HNP_WSYzcf4WBwrlTaX735hC6FkLhFjqWn6PaYnaGq4issbxiWVhEB-4Ij12iRePGe-oaUZv8Iw8/s1600/IMG_0522.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYU0xuYmUCSt2up5Dll_QsHbcDLImiLE_Gv3eAsfy3XiT-zPM2qBvCQ7H-Npeip2HNP_WSYzcf4WBwrlTaX735hC6FkLhFjqWn6PaYnaGq4issbxiWVhEB-4Ij12iRePGe-oaUZv8Iw8/s400/IMG_0522.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Since we'd happened upon The Hello Deli on Saturday night, we'd been looking for an opportunity to eat there, and Thursday's lunch seemed like the perfect time. We headed to 53rd and Broadway, and we could see Rupert Jee's friendly face even before we even got inside (Celebrity Sighting No. 2!). Poor Ryley is too young to understand Rupert's significance to Ryan and me, but as big "Late Show with David Letterman" fans (not so much Colbert), Rupert holds a special place in our hearts.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-GVPXodmrT5e3lrIriyqrxAQ2pQ-32i-SkRuClDozXn-L3vn0oF9wEI-xiTWNh_NdmNIabQrAKFA0gdWu8_lCsbuVbwFoMYiaVHsFk7qGHHuUt-yeAzPo1JzLSFggCbxXY99DoYnd_c/s1600/IMG_9702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-GVPXodmrT5e3lrIriyqrxAQ2pQ-32i-SkRuClDozXn-L3vn0oF9wEI-xiTWNh_NdmNIabQrAKFA0gdWu8_lCsbuVbwFoMYiaVHsFk7qGHHuUt-yeAzPo1JzLSFggCbxXY99DoYnd_c/s400/IMG_9702.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05yflXgHfVs3BWzPRmRgwruGWbCA8-GJBPeNkVWKgg56qyMIKi0Eoh14TVcaa6cHGEpUMT_KyY6uYk4VfulSUECjUVCCPvyB9WfW6G4E60HjLsfTTYn6YguCVAWDS88A80jCgFHiMm4I/s1600/IMG_9703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05yflXgHfVs3BWzPRmRgwruGWbCA8-GJBPeNkVWKgg56qyMIKi0Eoh14TVcaa6cHGEpUMT_KyY6uYk4VfulSUECjUVCCPvyB9WfW6G4E60HjLsfTTYn6YguCVAWDS88A80jCgFHiMm4I/s400/IMG_9703.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Super low-key and practical! We'd expect nothing more and nothing less from our good buddy Rupert.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy-AHYKBFvD2N7Xva_bTXPMCC_paSXBfQMo_YsIGXKlH625VJsv7IzHBq45NELvpCfP0Tksjm2ESxNHhnRvp2rY-It_uh-ywczNhovwc8bmi1Dbv80o1X9I7iwOFGSCelIzgB7JLklKuk/s1600/IMG_9704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy-AHYKBFvD2N7Xva_bTXPMCC_paSXBfQMo_YsIGXKlH625VJsv7IzHBq45NELvpCfP0Tksjm2ESxNHhnRvp2rY-It_uh-ywczNhovwc8bmi1Dbv80o1X9I7iwOFGSCelIzgB7JLklKuk/s400/IMG_9704.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKAxfphJdijEqhM7JGnR9POXliQDbMIJpJaMtlTXAtyXjagy8bfPPZ7YI62RwMxe3XX8Oa6qtDrjcujK3zjU3uTaC1Tw_ZjZoMBlG2RlyWqqV9s-7IcRfg9afwr8p5ZAbEvxCEgpQxFk/s1600/IMG_9705.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKAxfphJdijEqhM7JGnR9POXliQDbMIJpJaMtlTXAtyXjagy8bfPPZ7YI62RwMxe3XX8Oa6qtDrjcujK3zjU3uTaC1Tw_ZjZoMBlG2RlyWqqV9s-7IcRfg9afwr8p5ZAbEvxCEgpQxFk/s400/IMG_9705.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I had "The Shaffer" (named after Paul Shaffer, of course), and it was absolutely delicious. Best wrap I've ever had! And, I think the three of us ate for $32, which would make it very possibly the cheapest meal we had the whole time we were in New York.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRC4zPy4UxoO-A05dx1IVhYBc3dFi_Gh6Ser8FjoxwPlIOFO2KxY6yltlycAu0CxU_mfmZnpRXJ_IGC3EvBWkirAizF9j6WTMYLcBMzrKEgD4hh63yDu-qZJ3G-XJdIoCmxP91VKjquMU/s1600/IMG_9706.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRC4zPy4UxoO-A05dx1IVhYBc3dFi_Gh6Ser8FjoxwPlIOFO2KxY6yltlycAu0CxU_mfmZnpRXJ_IGC3EvBWkirAizF9j6WTMYLcBMzrKEgD4hh63yDu-qZJ3G-XJdIoCmxP91VKjquMU/s400/IMG_9706.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This place has star appeal, great food, cheap prices, and A PLACE TO SIT WHILE YOU EAT. Can't get much better than that.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWL1bEgZ0NS97LEcVP1R-2E91WNSOa1ENk9rBUYf1aGc54gGZuUMVHpPgrh5pa58673TKZCRj9E6rSjEhkVj2aqdrQun0rPmNp03z-Y3wUskFhyO7aMBHHdTYkcKrWAY7JklanepocYc/s1600/IMG_9709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWL1bEgZ0NS97LEcVP1R-2E91WNSOa1ENk9rBUYf1aGc54gGZuUMVHpPgrh5pa58673TKZCRj9E6rSjEhkVj2aqdrQun0rPmNp03z-Y3wUskFhyO7aMBHHdTYkcKrWAY7JklanepocYc/s400/IMG_9709.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmbeCXp9TdqtUtW82jPnnvrzXPT0LoV23XMJRElPi8GPIWJiJ80Je67mtqcF6yxu9pDG5HmXf9CIF7RLVOZM50FgYKjkjWEQloYSzgp9Otg66JhOzDRB9SqsOAHUKKXWIu8TXTrb8JiS4/s1600/IMG_9712.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmbeCXp9TdqtUtW82jPnnvrzXPT0LoV23XMJRElPi8GPIWJiJ80Je67mtqcF6yxu9pDG5HmXf9CIF7RLVOZM50FgYKjkjWEQloYSzgp9Otg66JhOzDRB9SqsOAHUKKXWIu8TXTrb8JiS4/s400/IMG_9712.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I think it horrified Ryley that I would actually ask Rupert for a picture, but he was totally cool about it. I told him we were big fans, and he replied that "it was fun while it lasted." He's just a normal, hard-working guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time and caught a TV host's attention. His wife was super-sweet, too, calling all customers "sweetie pie" and saying, "Have a seat; lunch will be served shortly," in her adorable Asian accent. </div>
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Next on our list was to walk up the west side of Central Park, get some more cookies (of course!), and then eat them in the park.</div>
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So on our way to Levain Bakery, we walked a couple blocks north to see Columbus Circle ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJ0ni3K2h6oJE0sQIZHY3IDAq9zcJ2SGT47BF9hsvXBUKE2ens8O1aDtcsSCb_DfhfcNjmmrTeqeKNcoIjudAiREP2USdEL1CthF7WONHvPL68aP7A92AyXui72uiMUNAlIq0Thk18Ks/s1600/IMG_9715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJ0ni3K2h6oJE0sQIZHY3IDAq9zcJ2SGT47BF9hsvXBUKE2ens8O1aDtcsSCb_DfhfcNjmmrTeqeKNcoIjudAiREP2USdEL1CthF7WONHvPL68aP7A92AyXui72uiMUNAlIq0Thk18Ks/s400/IMG_9715.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ZkD3j1XGZBJdy50B2aK08OuxKpwtcVJa5iRDeT6QkjqEBUgplA1btJ597NSvWJP1RmO9nyOt6HFcWH3GNcerBKxiYgWuLCCYM6Y6uhpeSYhUYoT11TMoaA19fm97yyemcyKsh3jrOt0/s1600/IMG_9716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ZkD3j1XGZBJdy50B2aK08OuxKpwtcVJa5iRDeT6QkjqEBUgplA1btJ597NSvWJP1RmO9nyOt6HFcWH3GNcerBKxiYgWuLCCYM6Y6uhpeSYhUYoT11TMoaA19fm97yyemcyKsh3jrOt0/s400/IMG_9716.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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And then up to Lincoln Center, where the Juilliard School is located and where the city's symphony, ballet, and opera performances take place.</div>
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We even found the building where "Live with Kelly and Ryan" is taped! I went in to see if they have a gift shop, but the security guards told me the show was on break for the week, as were souvenir sales. 😉</div>
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We swung by Levain Bakery's second location (which is bigger, but still has no seating) to pick up some cookies "to go," then headed toward Central Park. We made a point of stopping by John Lennon's 72nd Street apartment on the way, which is just a half block from the park.</div>
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From what we understand, he was shot and killed in the driveway there. </div>
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Then upon entering Central Park at the Strawberry Fields entrance, there's a memorial to him, and there was also a singer/guitarist performing Beatles songs. </div>
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Ryan and I wondered if there's a bit of an issue with guitarists having to take turns being that day's designated memorial performer. Like, what time do they have to get there in the mornings to call dibs on the spot? Have they put their heads together and developed a schedule so everybody gets a turn? Is there a hierarchy in place? What happens if two people decide to play at once? Do they duel?</div>
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These are the things Ryan and I wonder sometimes.</div>
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Anyway, Central Park is so vast. I could have sworn we were in this area on Wednesday, but it was an entirely different corner.</div>
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Magical.</div>
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And this was where we decided to take advantage of the ample seating and enjoy our chocolate chip cookies.</div>
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This was also an interesting place to people-watch. There was a guy was hanging around awkwardly with his bicycle right here in this spot, where there's a good view of the bridge. Finally we realized he was waiting for everyone else to finish taking their pictures so he could take a pic of his bike with the bridge as a backdrop.</div>
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It was such a foggy, misty day -- just the way we like it! I loved it so much.</div>
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Bethesda Fountain ... without water.</div>
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We recognized this area from that scene in "Elf" where Santa and his sleigh are having trouble!</div>
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There were musical performers taking advantage of the acoustics in this place, too.</div>
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And when we came out on the other side, there was a man making gigantic bubbles ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVfIlEJqEtAIfizPz9pagX9qBzEaba7nb8udlMxmAT8M_vNznBBMqNWSfULomIXhVXJB79hq6-72rTh3POqu2BZcbLoJy4-sB1AHDrSVLWXWXHvFVj9X8W7btxFvPzsspQEQT2UCKFWvQ/s1600/IMG_1768.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVfIlEJqEtAIfizPz9pagX9qBzEaba7nb8udlMxmAT8M_vNznBBMqNWSfULomIXhVXJB79hq6-72rTh3POqu2BZcbLoJy4-sB1AHDrSVLWXWXHvFVj9X8W7btxFvPzsspQEQT2UCKFWvQ/s400/IMG_1768.JPG" width="223" /></a></div>
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Ryley was in a crazy-good mood, so we took advantage of it and had some fun with photography!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2QAdRAPJ4wrCVeVtIUYoAsafxq9yFr8SagCPvRLdFRdtQzTuaoSE7fWVcSbAS0tpw9TVs1vqeawVrYI2NCaJkT2SqF_0zqWLiqU1DxIK8Lh_r1gEzv4OOkvl8rI4ypI4-JnIXh9h0ZSI/s1600/IMG_9896.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2QAdRAPJ4wrCVeVtIUYoAsafxq9yFr8SagCPvRLdFRdtQzTuaoSE7fWVcSbAS0tpw9TVs1vqeawVrYI2NCaJkT2SqF_0zqWLiqU1DxIK8Lh_r1gEzv4OOkvl8rI4ypI4-JnIXh9h0ZSI/s400/IMG_9896.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Like with any kid, you take the silliness when you can get it!</div>
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Creepy ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggEbIHNfR2dCfIA0AGdhElPknQQkDX1Kow4a_5j9Vf3_a85_WgEM1MoCgwej1HWcoEdx70ukyCyO9ybgmdJOwH5cr0Dvyv17U-yDp65wHsNfzFFIM_VdeVomrmSh3AiHMyggYMXNOkXSk/s1600/IMG_9915.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggEbIHNfR2dCfIA0AGdhElPknQQkDX1Kow4a_5j9Vf3_a85_WgEM1MoCgwej1HWcoEdx70ukyCyO9ybgmdJOwH5cr0Dvyv17U-yDp65wHsNfzFFIM_VdeVomrmSh3AiHMyggYMXNOkXSk/s400/IMG_9915.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Creepier ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVlWauW1_35dnP6_tIo_p6biHcJ7bhoXSvo1INBvFMKo3PWEjeyscMUoNAKzhw2egZVg3wyfLelz2KP68pmSydqg_UD5OyVZ-kSTko9ex_rqqcDzOt8cKtM8JjRdR-YjYIcMcPbytC540/s1600/IMG_9916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVlWauW1_35dnP6_tIo_p6biHcJ7bhoXSvo1INBvFMKo3PWEjeyscMUoNAKzhw2egZVg3wyfLelz2KP68pmSydqg_UD5OyVZ-kSTko9ex_rqqcDzOt8cKtM8JjRdR-YjYIcMcPbytC540/s400/IMG_9916.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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??</div>
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Fun with her boyfriend, Hanny (Hans Christian Andersen) ...</div>
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Hanny likes the smell of Ryley's hair.</div>
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Alice in Wonderland ...</div>
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What I found especially interesting in Central Park was the number of joggers wearing sunglasses --on a misty, overcast day. I made it a point to look every one of them in the face to see if I recognized any as being famous. Unfortunately, I didn't. </div>
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But I also noticed dog walkers (sometimes with several dogs) and nannies with fancy strollers, and I couldn't help but wonder if any of those dogs or babies belonged to famous people we'd know of! </div>
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And, at the very least, an average person walking their dog in Central Park in the middle of a Thursday afternoon is fascinating to me just because they obviously manage (somehow) to live in Manhattan. So what do they do to support themselves? What's their story?</div>
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We headed back to Midtown via 5th Avenue and especially took time to notice the brick and paver patterns on the sidewalk, as well as the oddly shaped trees.</div>
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For some reason this seemed like an especially long stretch, and I remember that all of us were complaining about our achy feet. We were too far from the subway, and we couldn't figure out if our subway/mass transit passes would work on the city bus. Looking back, maybe we should have called an Uber or Lyft. </div>
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But you miss so much when you don't walk. We really believe walking is the best way to take it all in (I'll have more thoughts on that in a future post!).</div>
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And if we hadn't walked it, we wouldn't have done all the high-end window-shopping that we did. We even went into Tiffany's.</div>
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Of course, we felt way out of our league, but I guess the older you get, the less you care about what people think of you. 😉 #40s</div>
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Look at all the interesting Trump-themed businesses in Trump Tower. </div>
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And the photo doesn't do this Dolce & Gabbana shop window justice. It was so bright and colorful! I think those are fresh flowers. </div>
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A motorcade passed us while we were right by Trump Tower, and the road to the building's vehicle entrance was blocked off. We read Trump was in Ohio that day or something, but maybe it was someone in his family? Who knows?</div>
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Anyway, we got back to the hotel in time to rest for a bit before Ryley and I got ready to go to our Broadway show! (Ryan had opted out of the experience back when we purchased tickets.)</div>
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We ordered an Uber to save ourselves the walk over to Broadway, but when it still hadn't arrived by 6:20, and it looked like it was stuck in traffic, we canceled it and headed to the theater on foot.</div>
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Times Square was especially magical-looking in the fog.</div>
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The theater had a very interesting set-up; it was open to the lobby area, and then the lobby was just a couple feet from the exterior doors. Ryley's and my seats were probably 10 feet from the theater doors, and we could actually hear street traffic and passers-by during the show, as I'm not sure they ever completely closed the doors.</div>
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Going to a Broadway show ... talk about a dream come true for both of us!</div>
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Funny story... We got there at 6:45 and found our seats, but as soon as we sat down I realized I couldn't find my phone. I knew I had had it recently because we had just taken pictures outside the theater. So I was rummaging desperately through my purse, and Ryley was looking under the seats, and then the people around us got involved, and then the usher brought his flashlight over. How embarrassing! Anyway, after several minutes, we finally found it under the seats in front of us!</div>
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I just found it strangely ironic that you plan and dream for this (expensive) experience, and you get there, and it doesn't always go as smoothly as you imagined it would! We were trying so hard to be elegant theatergoers, and we definitely did <i>not </i>make a good impression right off the bat!</div>
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Anyway, we saw "Dear Evan Hansen," which won the Tony Award for Best Musical in 2017, as well as a Grammy this year. The show was pretty amazing (same writers as "LaLaLand" and "Greatest Showman"), and we really enjoyed it. </div>
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More than anything, I love sitting next to Ryley during Broadway shows because of how she claps so enthusiastically after every musical number. She lets her guard down during musical theater and allows herself to get caught up in the story and truly appreciate it -- completely uninhibited. It's truly my favorite thing.</div>
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The show got out around 10 p.m., and since we only had one more day in the city and weren't sure if we'd be coming back to Times Square, Ryley and I stopped in a couple shops to grab some quick souvenirs we'd been eyeing all week.</div>
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Then we realized we'd never had dinner! The last food we'd had was Rupert's Hello Deli around 11 a.m., followed by Starbucks and a cookie around 1 or 2. </div>
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You'd be amazed at how hard it is to find food in NYC. I mean, you <i>think</i> it's everywhere, but if you're not willing to pay an arm and a leg and/or you're not wanting to wait an hour for a seat at a nicer restaurant, your options are fairly limited. And, surprisingly, some places do close at 8 p.m.! Also, even if you were okay with fast-food, you <i>won't</i> get free refills, and you <i>won't</i> have a place to sit. It's just the reality!</div>
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So, after we were done in Times Square, we headed toward the hotel and actually ended up at Chick-fil-A. We took it to-go and carried it three blocks to eat it in our hotel room. </div>
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One more thing: the lack of restrooms. There aren't any. I guess your bladder just kind of shuts down (except for that poor lady we watched pee in the street; <i>her </i>bladder didn't shut down!). I went into a Starbucks to use the restroom once, and theirs was closed for maintenance. But a lot of places don't even have publicly accessible restrooms for customers. </div>
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Anywho, so that was Thursday! So much for a light walking day! But the important thing was that we spent precious time in Central Park, and it was time (and footsteps) well spent. #noregrets</div>
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Total miles walked on Thursday: 9.4 😀💪</div>
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Stay tuned for the rundown of Day 6 -- our final day -- coming soon!</div>
Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-91181013933022082522018-04-20T22:16:00.002-07:002018-04-21T12:06:49.009-07:00NYC Day Four -- Epic Sights and Grandeur<br />
Even in the very early planning stages of our NYC trip, I knew where Ryan would want to spend his 40th birthday. He's a lifelong learner, a lover of knowledge, a bonafide nerd, and a real smartypants, so as you can imagine, he likes to take his sweeeeeeet time in museums. He's one of those who has the patience (and desire) to read the fine print for each exhibit while I'm off exploring what the museum has to offer in terms of cafes and eateries. 😏<br />
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We saved The Met -- the mother of all art museums (outside of Paris's Louvre, perhaps) -- for Wednesday, Ryan's birthday. And much to my surprise, when we look back at the week as a whole, The Met stands out as very possibly the most <i>epic </i>experience. I am truly taken aback at how much I enjoyed it and how the memory of it has stuck with me weeks after the fact.<br />
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<b><span id="goog_1932804072"></span><span id="goog_1932804073"></span>WEDNESDAY, MARCH 28, 2018 -- DAY FOUR </b><br />
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Before we ever made it to New York, I always pictured The Metropolitan Museum of Art as being right in the middle of downtown, with modern-ish, angled windows and a sleek, slick look. And I'm here to tell you that I was wrong.<br />
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The Met has been located on the edge of Central Park since 1880 (!!!), and the building is so vast (two million square feet) that it takes up the space of four city blocks. Our original plan was to spend a leisurely morning at The Met and then walk across the park to spend the afternoon at the Natural History Museum (yay, museums!). But The Met demanded our full attention and respect. It said to us, "You are here, and I will lure you to stay with all my amazingness. I am better than any other museum." As I'm sure you understand, we had no choice but to listen and obey.</div>
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Something to point out: Up until a few weeks before we went, The Met apparently had a "pay as you can/wish" entrance policy. Unfortunately for us, the policy changed on March 1, and out-of-state visitors are now required to pay $25 for adults and $17 for students. That's not bad, considering what you get to see! Even so, a bit of a bummer!!<br />
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Okay, onward ...<br />
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We started with Egyptian art, which meant we chose to go to the right when we entered the museum. Next time, just because we didn't have as much time exploring European art as we would have liked, I think we would choose to go left.<br />
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Of course, Ryley wanted to help plan out the route. Did I mention the museum has two million square feet? You could get lost in there (and we did!).</div>
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In the American art, we saw "George Washington Crosses the Delaware." You don't realize how big the real-life version is when you see it in a history book.</div>
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This below is the world's oldest surviving piano. It comes from 1720 Italy!</div>
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A painting by Raphael ...</div>
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They had a small section of French-inspired "garden" paintings. </div>
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One of the most incredible, awe-inspiring things about art is that we are able to connect with people who lived centuries before us. This piece -- the picture an artist paints, like the one below by Claude Monet -- allows us to come face-to-face with another person's mind's eye -- to see and experience the product of their inner-most imaginings. Art makes you feel closer to people you've never met and connect with the greater human experience as a whole. </div>
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You're standing there, thinking, "I am seeing what Monet imagined in his mind." And you feel connected to him somehow -- in this eerie but incredible way.</div>
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And another Monet from that same garden exhibit ...</div>
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Also, it is truly amazing to me to see how different cultures and countries and artists have portrayed Jesus' death over time.</div>
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The actual field armor that Henry VIII of England wore ...</div>
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And then we moved on to Greek and Roman sculptures ... Since Ryan teaches classical literature, this area is of specific interest to him!</div>
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"Ode on a Grecian Urn"</div>
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Rodin's "The Thinker"!!! Amazing.</div>
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So the museum closes at 5 p.m., and when we got to this point, it was about 4:30. We had seen everything we thought we wanted to see, so in typical Moore family fashion, we headed for the gift shop. But at 4:45, Ryan comes running to me where I'm trying to decide on postcards to purchase and says, "I have to go back up. We missed something I really wanted to see."</div>
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"Well, do you want me to go with you?" I asked.</div>
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"Yeah, if you want."</div>
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So we told Ryley we'd be right back and then ran through a maze of back stairways and hallways and galleries all so we could find this:</div>
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Vincent Van Gogh's self-portrait.</div>
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So that's what Ryan wanted to see, but lemme tell you: the gallery where we found it was an absolute gold mine for Impressionism:</div>
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Van Gogh and Monet galore. Rooms and rooms FILLED with paintings. I couldn't believe we'd almost missed this. Ryan and I lost track of each other in each of our own musings and then couldn't find each other again. I cannot express how absolutely massive, confusing, and overwhelming The Met is as a whole. </div>
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Ahhhhhhh. *deep sigh*<br />
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Hordes of people were heading to the exit, and Ryan and I reconnected somewhere near the grandiose lobby. NOW we were done with The Met. It was about 5:10 p.m. at this point, and Ryley was freaking out that they were going to kick her out of the gift shop if we didn't come back soon. But all's well that ends well, and we even bought my customary magnet and postcards. 😀<br />
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We still had two and a half hours to kill before our birthday dinner reservation in Midtown, so we decided to stroll through Central Park over to a cookie shop we'd heard about in the Upper West Side.<br />
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This Hamilton statue was in the park right behind the museum. Not as cool as seeing his grave, but still!<br />
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For all that New York City seems to (strategically) lack in seating space, they more than make up for it in Central Park.</div>
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It was such a pretty early-spring day. </div>
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So many paths, so little time.</div>
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Belvedere Castle</div>
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Then, the cookie bakery! It's called Levain Bakery, and it is a hole in the wall, tucked beneath a fancy-schmancy salon. There was a line out the door and onto the sidewalk when we got there, but it had calmed down by the time we left. The bakery is mostly kitchen. You seriously stoop through a door, go down six stairs, order, and have just enough room to stand and eat your cookies at a counter by the window.<br />
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We did manage to pull together some stools like greedy suburbanites who needed to sit for a spell.<br />
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But OH. MY. GOODNESS. I am not kidding when I say this is the best chocolate chip cookie I've ever had in my life.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7G7L3kqvbXhk-Rj-NMpC67oJkuWZnWyIQBAeKkI61quToF4QeoLsAtYXQ7BlrrRQ7LNW8RO8e_8yOo_GnvPPwfmsKrIktwvEexF0zzCCcY32jf2dCOotvkYPmzFMkQ9x4_5S-pv59qX0/s1600/IMG_9678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7G7L3kqvbXhk-Rj-NMpC67oJkuWZnWyIQBAeKkI61quToF4QeoLsAtYXQ7BlrrRQ7LNW8RO8e_8yOo_GnvPPwfmsKrIktwvEexF0zzCCcY32jf2dCOotvkYPmzFMkQ9x4_5S-pv59qX0/s400/IMG_9678.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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It has set us on a bit of a quest to find the best cookie bakeries in Denver. We haven't actually gone out and tried anything yet because we're trying to clean up our eating, "post-trip" -- for awhile at least. But the quest lives on in our hearts. </div>
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Next was dinner, because, you know, Moores like to have dessert first! We hopped on the subway and headed back to Midtown, right off of Broadway.</div>
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We'd set a reservation at Gallaghers Steakhouse, which actually has a room dedicated to aged meats....</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibzyAKVyC5jnSLP_UHfA-KR-uSsubBs4pG08xaSsjs4hLaY7dkCq29DTngDth_P77R1gt0E0k0YeWfAEn6BteHbYlZajWXc4qG7tbgvRSvkyT9ouSt4bWTxBGQWcyb_t9zwVJkbkmmUO4/s1600/IMG_8475.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibzyAKVyC5jnSLP_UHfA-KR-uSsubBs4pG08xaSsjs4hLaY7dkCq29DTngDth_P77R1gt0E0k0YeWfAEn6BteHbYlZajWXc4qG7tbgvRSvkyT9ouSt4bWTxBGQWcyb_t9zwVJkbkmmUO4/s400/IMG_8475.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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So yes, after MUCH research and reading lists about the best steaks in New York (and in full transparency, we had TWO reservations so we could choose at the last minute between Ryan's two front-runners), the birthday boy settled on Gallaghers.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7RXZ3eUFG2RJNW8sFWgs0QbtzBh2kwVqjR5ipZhKKYGfQcwgPoNaK7pjlcl0HkkmQamq-VIOmLhNQ0FcjikbvGUHXrcxY6bCLH2ItrgY5QuSAyjvEYAZ67yWa-uFnbQD8UTRMVmVa4Q/s1600/IMG_9670.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7RXZ3eUFG2RJNW8sFWgs0QbtzBh2kwVqjR5ipZhKKYGfQcwgPoNaK7pjlcl0HkkmQamq-VIOmLhNQ0FcjikbvGUHXrcxY6bCLH2ItrgY5QuSAyjvEYAZ67yWa-uFnbQD8UTRMVmVa4Q/s400/IMG_9670.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Ryan and I split the Porterhouse, and while we weren't disappointed, it wasn't the best steak we've ever had in our lives either. But then again, I wonder sometimes if anything can live up to expectations when we set them so high. 😉But the wait staff were wonderful, and they even brought out a birthday dessert and sang to Ryan, even though the only mention of a birthday that I had made was on the online reservation. </div>
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And Wednesday was a wrap! What a wonderful way for Ryan to enter a new decade of life. Museum, cookies, and steak = happiness. </div>
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And like I said before, the beauty of The Met is that its grandeur lives on in our memory, and we almost appreciate it more now than we did at the time we were standing there soaking it all in. I would definitely go back and spend more time there if we ever get the opportunity to visit New York again.</div>
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Total miles walked on Wednesday: 9</div>
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Stay tuned for Days 5 and 6! A couple freelance projects have gotten in the way of the timeliness of my postings, but I'm hoping to finish up this weekend while I'm between projects. 😙</div>
<br />Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-71463041983270065072018-04-11T21:01:00.000-07:002018-04-11T21:01:48.956-07:00NYC, Day Three -- Midtown <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's becoming harder and harder to find time to write these reviews of our trip! Choosing pictures, uploading them, and then going through the day's events is a time-consuming process. Collectively, we took 194 photos from the top of Rockefeller Center, and every single one of them is beautiful! How do I settle on just a few?? #firstworldproblems<br />
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But as time goes by, the memories start to fade just a bit, which is why it <i>is </i>important that I recount each day while it's still fresh! I know we'll appreciate it years down the road.<br />
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<b>TUESDAY, MARCH 27, 2018 -- DAY THREE</b><br />
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In all the reviews and travel blogs we'd read, one of the biggest, consistent complaints about visiting the Empire State Building was the looooooong lines. I mean, if Meg Ryan's character in "Sleepless in Seattle" were rushing to meet someone at the top of the building <i>these </i>days, it would likely be a long, boring account of her waiting in line after line after line.<br />
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We heard several accounts that said getting there when they opened at 8 a.m. was our very best bet for a quick, wait-free experience, so that was our plan. (We'll do almost anything to not have to wait in a line!) So we got up early, walked 11 (short) blocks south, and arrived at the Empire State Building at 7:50 a.m.<br />
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There were already about 15 people ahead of us in line (not bad!), and at 8 a.m., they started ushering us through security. We'd packed light, so security was a breeze, and we'd bought our tickets online in advance, so we got to skip that little line, too.<br />
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So when we arrived at the top of the building, the staff greeted us warmly, while one man lowered his voice and spoke into his walkie-talkie: "We have guests on the floor."<br />
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"Are we the first ones up here?" I asked one of the guards, an elderly black gentleman.<br />
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"Yes, you are!" he replied with a huge grin.<br />
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I'm not sure what took everyone else so long to get up there, but it was a good 5-10 minutes before anyone else joined us. A couple of the guards greeted each other, and one (I think he may have been a supervisor) asked the other if everyone had shown up for work that morning. Fascinating! In the meantime, I asked the friendly guard to take our picture. They don't usually agree to it, but he said he would since we were the only ones up there!<br />
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How lovely it was to watch the city wake up from high above! Ryley took this shot of the sun. I love it!<br />
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And courtesy of Ryan ...</div>
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(View to the north)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcr_NeeGMviPqOtJFi3xtL_4FBXWF4ZDJmVk1DG63najopo695Hm2PGFPK7_HEoc3oCaDVhlAd8Ne3cSsrKwajoFg43VgUOXj1MId00miEtUm_DUFb_tw5X4dj6HOBovlv_O4eRRKicFE/s1600/IMG_9463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="619" data-original-width="1600" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcr_NeeGMviPqOtJFi3xtL_4FBXWF4ZDJmVk1DG63najopo695Hm2PGFPK7_HEoc3oCaDVhlAd8Ne3cSsrKwajoFg43VgUOXj1MId00miEtUm_DUFb_tw5X4dj6HOBovlv_O4eRRKicFE/s400/IMG_9463.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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(View to the south)<br />
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Hey, look! Wouldn't you know it? It's the Flatiron Building! We were just there yesterday!</div>
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It's amazing how the Freedom Tower literally <i>towers </i>over the other buildings in Lower Manhattan!</div>
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What an epic experience! </div>
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Next, we grabbed coffee and headed to the New York Public Library, which was just a few blocks north, the way we had come. </div>
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This place is monstrous, and I think it took us about 20 minutes of wandering before we actually saw any books.<br />
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These are the original Winnie the Pooh stuffed animals that belonged to A.A. Milne and his son, and served as the inspiration for his famous stories!</div>
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It's not your typical reading library -- it's a research library. So while seriously impressive, it was honestly a little dry for my tastes. We looked around for bit (aka got lost) and then Ryley and I explored the gift shop. 🙂<br />
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Right behind the library is Bryant Park, and it was a beautiful place to rest our feet for a few minutes and plan out our next steps!<br />
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One of Ryan's biggest loves is <i>art</i>. And his favorite artist is Vincent Van Gogh. So from the very beginning planning stages of our trip, MoMA (the Museum of Modern Art) was on the must list, specifically because it is the home to Van Gogh's most famous piece, <i>Starry Night</i>.<br />
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We walked to the museum, but there was a lot of activity in the area due to a firefighter funeral which was happening at St. Patrick's Cathedral down the street (the church we had visited Sunday night). We were also very hungry, and seeing that the museum cafe food was a little too formal and expensive, we decided to walk around the block to Xi'an (a NY chain that features hand-pulled noodles) so we could explore the museum on full stomachs and non-cranky brains.<br />
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We'd heard about Xi'an on a Travel Channel segment or something, so I'd been keeping an eye out for it. Anyway, it was delicious, but like every other fast-casual restaurant in the city, there was limited seating, and all of it basically consisted of stools shoved up against narrow tables that lined the walls. And as soon as any seating opened up, people attacked it like vultures. It was insane. The three of us had to sit separately to eat, but oh my gosh, it was tasty.<br />
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Now that we were no longer hangry, we ventured into MoMA, and like with everything, Ryan had a plan. He knew that the Van Gogh paintings were on the top floor, so we took the escalators all the way up and marched into the exhibit like we were on a mission.<br />
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And there it was.<br />
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Now, don't be fooled. It took a lot of patience to get this picture. This is the typical view of it:<br />
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People crowd around it all the time!<br />
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It wasn't Van Gogh's only painting there, though. In fact, I would venture to suggest that I actually like this one better:<br />
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Anyway, the MoMA had so much to look at, and I was personally impressed by their collection of works by Claude Monet. Specifically this one, which took up three walls:<br />
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Ryan really likes abstract art, and Pollock has always fascinated him.</div>
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And this very interesting, thought-provoking piece by Andy Warhol. It says so much.</div>
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Anyway, so that was MoMA. We didn't spend more than two hours there, and I think we saw almost everything! I have to be honest and admit that I actually found a bench and rested my tired feet for quite awhile. 😏<br />
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We were only a couple blocks south of Central Park, so we decided to hoof it up there and get our first peek! In full transparency, though, we were dragging. We were exhausted and whiny and thirsty. So we did not end up staying long.<br />
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We just cut through the southeastern corner and walked back down 5th Avenue toward our hotel.</div>
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It was about 4:30, and we had pre-purchased tickets to go to the top of Rockefeller Center at 6:30 (prime sunset viewing). But we found time to take an hour-long nap in our hotel. 💤 We woke up feeling refreshed and ready to walk again!<br />
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From "The Top of the Rock"!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxibliBVcA9ji3JVAgszRrv2Yn9p44RtEm3dVsbRS0rGMfES_1t-W6Y5o5UAUwbtj4C3I1kW1BbT1rLertYIJPCRnMBiceFZdi473qH-F_itnrdl_-AxBLb4F1m7F_XvjeMFOFE1JlQY/s1600/IMG_9364.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxibliBVcA9ji3JVAgszRrv2Yn9p44RtEm3dVsbRS0rGMfES_1t-W6Y5o5UAUwbtj4C3I1kW1BbT1rLertYIJPCRnMBiceFZdi473qH-F_itnrdl_-AxBLb4F1m7F_XvjeMFOFE1JlQY/s400/IMG_9364.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This building in the photo below is the tallest residential building in the nation. Jennifer Lopez has a penthouse here, among other <i>very</i> wealthy people.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmlfYuKQyhkySN5TzFEZjyW6PJF7-Q6Bnf3kgZxCCfypVMQbY3E7DyYEZnnX55vNAkR9cyTJ1BddjmCo1wT_i8IvVh2h97sDhWpYIW6nqGgtrHgr3-svHE3QwvjPhEXyTIyya2lgqbDI/s1600/IMG_9450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmlfYuKQyhkySN5TzFEZjyW6PJF7-Q6Bnf3kgZxCCfypVMQbY3E7DyYEZnnX55vNAkR9cyTJ1BddjmCo1wT_i8IvVh2h97sDhWpYIW6nqGgtrHgr3-svHE3QwvjPhEXyTIyya2lgqbDI/s400/IMG_9450.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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So we had made our reservations to go to the top around sunset, per recommendations. But a lot of other people had the same idea. And then we just stood around on the crowded, chilly rooftop of a New York City skyscraper waiting for the sun to set. I have to be honest here and admit that at times I wondered if it would be worth it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib1ddk1Y5Vgyzn3muy57IndaFlynA7PivbxEQ1hYE1WXq9EIcCzlbsxjo9eve8Te2dVzoJLhBPzlvMUfKz5x2yJsEg0otg1rMj8S4Urq-2TOgmLLHq84bdhyjSMDfQqwzCRXyAk7lQPqQ/s1600/IMG_9372.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib1ddk1Y5Vgyzn3muy57IndaFlynA7PivbxEQ1hYE1WXq9EIcCzlbsxjo9eve8Te2dVzoJLhBPzlvMUfKz5x2yJsEg0otg1rMj8S4Urq-2TOgmLLHq84bdhyjSMDfQqwzCRXyAk7lQPqQ/s400/IMG_9372.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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It was.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuUbifVzUzis_jg-iCs89f1XGT_qbyz-63taRGg_Ob1SOH74HP9rSgsjrTzP5z-CVzBqTZ9L4gIkzhalC8FgL3WdLEIc5HPdW8gEI3ZoDKMZUr7ABsw0hjGz7hFFuV_3aPo3gDsCVRSgo/s1600/IMG_9392.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuUbifVzUzis_jg-iCs89f1XGT_qbyz-63taRGg_Ob1SOH74HP9rSgsjrTzP5z-CVzBqTZ9L4gIkzhalC8FgL3WdLEIc5HPdW8gEI3ZoDKMZUr7ABsw0hjGz7hFFuV_3aPo3gDsCVRSgo/s400/IMG_9392.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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It looks lovely, right? But I really shouldn't sugar-coat it. Those who had scouted out a place up against the edge were pretty stingy with it and unwilling to let other people take a turn. This picture below is more accurate as to what our <i>real </i>view was!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9sH6oWZsKsPLXhwpER5BlLydAYZ6vc2-_9OIgtZy2kzEf0-McnN3B3FEvSrng2eVIFSjmvJPxAB543jEwlT4kihvBen4XEXyAMFpWwRVJ2Pe1TGKE3uGuLFTqO8jpL6p9xipdQiEB0j8/s1600/IMG_9414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9sH6oWZsKsPLXhwpER5BlLydAYZ6vc2-_9OIgtZy2kzEf0-McnN3B3FEvSrng2eVIFSjmvJPxAB543jEwlT4kihvBen4XEXyAMFpWwRVJ2Pe1TGKE3uGuLFTqO8jpL6p9xipdQiEB0j8/s400/IMG_9414.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Any good pictures we got (and like I said, there were 194 total that we attempted!) were the result of strategically lifting up our phones to try to get a better view over people's heads. A lot of mine ended up crooked. 😂</div>
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Anywho, we did end up with some beauties, though.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI2-W6lE5lCDi_ln33W_cXJhWd-p-fzbMTxgcxMZNbzC1GYDsoPBE1U2v_o4W-O7FfUDzii5LN0fDghZUjBzWWnXNCoouFc2RDnizi5dVHE1SMbam7pKzZNApwaYiqBidXh42xWGYx2i0/s1600/IMG_9389+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI2-W6lE5lCDi_ln33W_cXJhWd-p-fzbMTxgcxMZNbzC1GYDsoPBE1U2v_o4W-O7FfUDzii5LN0fDghZUjBzWWnXNCoouFc2RDnizi5dVHE1SMbam7pKzZNApwaYiqBidXh42xWGYx2i0/s400/IMG_9389+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Do you see any people on the Empire State Building's observation deck?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ngKtQqReRj86C9RMh3JvTR5I2tTphQHDsb94bR5wlch8Y0CfaoMIOiDl458C27xOqf1OjxYeVk60Qy-_6oYJHNl2EpoNXJGPlF39LuX2E_4XtmNOUlNMj1PDWxVmSugdiKCj-P3XPtI/s1600/IMG_9388.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ngKtQqReRj86C9RMh3JvTR5I2tTphQHDsb94bR5wlch8Y0CfaoMIOiDl458C27xOqf1OjxYeVk60Qy-_6oYJHNl2EpoNXJGPlF39LuX2E_4XtmNOUlNMj1PDWxVmSugdiKCj-P3XPtI/s400/IMG_9388.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Oh look!!! Is J-Lo at home?</div>
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We ate burgers for dinner at a sit-down place called Bill's Bar and Burgers. It was very good! And they had free re-fills on drinks, which not everybody offers, so that was a plus.<br />
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Challenge: which burger belongs to whom?<br />
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Shortly after we finished this meal, we stumbled back to our hotel and went to bed. It had been a very long, good day. There's nothing more exhilarating than standing on top of a tall building, and we'd done it twice within 10 hours!<br />
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Total miles walked on Tuesday: 10.8<br />
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Stay tuned for Day Four, Ryan's 40th birthday!<br />
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<br />Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-68588589247466502302018-04-09T22:28:00.002-07:002018-04-10T06:23:12.218-07:00NYC, Day Two -- The "Villages"One of the most fascinating things about New York (in my opinion) is the <i>people -- </i>all nine or so million of them. They live there and work there -- all piled up on top of each other, stacked high.<br />
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They ride the subway trains, crammed in shoulder to shoulder, face to face, invading the parameters of normal personal space without complaint. In fact, I'm not even sure they notice. Each one is so insular, completely closed off from the rest of the world with ear buds, a smartphone, and a backpack. They've each built for themselves (within themselves) a wall of self-containment and self-sustainability. One could literally be surrounded by people on the train, hemmed in from all sides by other warm bodies, and still feel completely alone. But I think that's how they like it.</div>
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Maybe that's the only way to survive in such a compact environment. You have your routine, your destination, and your intense focus. You go, go, go. Always alone. <i>You </i>are enough. Your environment is what you create by the music or podcast that you pipe directly into your brain.</div>
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I marveled at how I hadn't really heard much cursing or cussing (Who knew New Yorkers had such clean language?) -- and then it dawned on me that I hadn't really heard much talking at all. </div>
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When we were planning our navigation of the city, one important thing to us was seeing <i>how </i>people live. Their daily life is so different from our suburban existence, and our curiosity was piqued as to how they make it all happen. We wanted to go off the beaten path a bit -- visit some of the local spots and walk the side streets and see some actual neighborhoods.</div>
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For that reason, I think Monday will live in my memory as (very possibly) my favorite day of the trip. </div>
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<b>MONDAY, MAR. 26 -- DAY TWO</b></div>
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North of Downtown, but not quite Midtown, lie the villages, as we will call them -- The East Village, Greenwich Village, and the West Village. (We were working our way up the island, see?)</div>
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We had heard amazing things about a famous NY bookstore called <a href="https://www.strandbooks.com/">Strand</a> on Broadway, so we made that our first stop of the day. </div>
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It was similar to what the Tattered Cover is to Denverites -- a hip, happening piece of paradise for book lovers. I could have spent much more time there than we did. Doing what, I really don't know. I mean, now that I think about it, I didn't really see any chairs for lounging with a book, and I didn't have my eye on any book in particular anyway. </div>
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I just think that, in general, bookstores make me want to be the best version of myself. A good bookstore makes me just want to <i>be</i>.</div>
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But we couldn't stay, so we purchased a couple small items and headed across the street to a local coffee shop, which was rather psychedelic and delicious.</div>
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I believe it was at this point that Ryan realized how close we were to Madison Square Park and the iconic Flatiron Building, and not knowing if we'd make it back to the area, we went off-script and walked a few blocks north to see it. </div>
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We passed a farmers' market on the way. Really, there aren't too many accessible grocery stores (that we saw, anyway). I think a lot of locals depend on these markets for fresh produce. I'm always a sucker for a good farmers' market, but we had places to go!</div>
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Look what was right up the street! The Empire State Building! But we were saving that for another day.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3MsZrt9sgc5Yn_moxlbYmiFiARo0JhtrBZeeP_SGxhMNUR2KmpN-yWORWc5Ml8AcFI8Ccd1iqEGlk3JS_NlTxHXgWtQapeLHrvpYHgPmPw02SFzrlhvxlSzfNKaf69gSxUxzprqeRkY/s1600/IMG_8860.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3MsZrt9sgc5Yn_moxlbYmiFiARo0JhtrBZeeP_SGxhMNUR2KmpN-yWORWc5Ml8AcFI8Ccd1iqEGlk3JS_NlTxHXgWtQapeLHrvpYHgPmPw02SFzrlhvxlSzfNKaf69gSxUxzprqeRkY/s400/IMG_8860.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Behold, the Flatiron Building!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51rpP2A5IjkI8P0eD5xQXqxd6aCkBPWqh7HDZUbVnlqmPpSCkfCM0g8ZMkhaFUx4ttS_W2kt_9VJcGkhKquKTTfzDj8IM0_hbo2xhcq2g-PnXxeyvynh8WUDEW0IB5gJts7L7MS-DyaA/s1600/IMG_8969.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51rpP2A5IjkI8P0eD5xQXqxd6aCkBPWqh7HDZUbVnlqmPpSCkfCM0g8ZMkhaFUx4ttS_W2kt_9VJcGkhKquKTTfzDj8IM0_hbo2xhcq2g-PnXxeyvynh8WUDEW0IB5gJts7L7MS-DyaA/s400/IMG_8969.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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And Madison Square Park, where we rested for a bit ...</div>
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And the Flatiron Building yet again!</div>
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And ... another angle of the Flatiron Building!</div>
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Wait. Hold up. Is that -- ? Yes, I think it is a <i>closeup</i> of the Flatiron Building! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlkJZbsPVEmH3jm7UHLJRih1XHejX3XI-bKiDvzF8tFCvpRLyRfDLUGP4P9TRL6mZNd2TY66g2zYP14a5DqiGdcg0kYVCg5K6-Eha96aptaEvPzQNkv01LlDkKCIZzxRs2-hO-UPoBVA/s1600/IMG_8865.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlkJZbsPVEmH3jm7UHLJRih1XHejX3XI-bKiDvzF8tFCvpRLyRfDLUGP4P9TRL6mZNd2TY66g2zYP14a5DqiGdcg0kYVCg5K6-Eha96aptaEvPzQNkv01LlDkKCIZzxRs2-hO-UPoBVA/s400/IMG_8865.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Remember what I said about 2,500 photographs? Don't judge. 😉</div>
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Lunchtime! We took the subway to the famous Katz's Delicatessen, a real Jewish deli known for its appearances in "When Harry Met Sally" and (our favorite) "The Jim Gaffigan Show."</div>
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This place had a line out the door and down the block, but we were willing to wait.</div>
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Katz's Deli is unique in that they hand you a ticket when you enter the door. At each counter where you order food, the deli employee will add the amount you owe to your ticket. You pay when you exit the building. So if you don't have your ticket with you when it's time to pay and leave, they'll just assume you ordered two sandwiches and two drinks, and they'll automatically charge you $50. So, of course, we guarded our tickets with our lives! And yes, if you're doing the math, that does equal out to two $20 sandwiches.</div>
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I took one for the team and ordered a $4 hotdog. I've gotta say, it was delicious!</div>
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Ryan ordered brisket, and Ryley ordered turkey. The sandwiches came with lots of pickles.</div>
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That was a very good lunch, all-around. We'd definitely go back there if we ever get the chance to return to New York. I think it was Ryan's favorite part of the trip!</div>
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On our way back to the subway, we passed this playground, and Ryan made the comment that it reminded him of Sesame Street! He said he grew up believing that this was how all playgrounds were <i>supposed</i> to look. 😙</div>
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Aaaaand, apparently they have a rat problem.</div>
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So, here we were in the East Village on Houston Street, we'd just finished the lunch of Ryan's dreams, and we were trying to figure out where the entrance to the west-headed subway train was. (If I had a nickel for all the times we headed down the stairs into the subway, only to find out the train was headed the wrong way, I'd have three nickels. And this would have been one of them).</div>
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We had just crossed the street when, all of a sudden, Ryley sucked in her breath and grabbed me, a look of horror passing across her face. I thought maybe she'd seen a rat.</div>
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"What? What is it?" I asked.</div>
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"You didn't see it? The woman peeing?"</div>
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I turned around, and there, less than 10 feet from us on the sidewalk, a woman had pulled her pants down around her ankles and was completely bent over as if she were touching the ground, her naked lady parts and bottom high in the air for all to see. And that's not all -- No, there was actual urine spewing from her like a fountain onto the sidewalk, forming a puddle, and trickling into the street gutter a couple feet away. </div>
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(Side note: There were other people there. Not one person even blinked an eye. We don't know if they were so into their focused, insular lifestyle that they just didn't see her? Or possibly they see this kind of stuff every day, and so they chose to ignore her. Bizarre!)</div>
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I wonder someday if my biggest life regret will be that I did not snap a photo in that instant -- not to publish, of course, but for my own personal use -- to prove to myself that it actually did happen. But I didn't (largely because Ryan grabbed my arm and ushered me away with the words "Don't you dare take a picture"). And then, we were suddenly surrounded by people as we waited for the crosswalk, and I couldn't see her, but Ryley reported that she finished and pulled her pants up. After we crossed the street, I looked back and saw her walk down the street, her purse slung over her shoulder like nothing had happened.</div>
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That was, hands down, the <i>craziest </i>thing we saw on our trip!</div>
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With that odd situation behind us, we were on to Greenwich Village and Washington Square Park, known for being the home to celebrities!</div>
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So we were moseying along, en route to Washington Square and the famous arch, and we were again crossing a street when Ryan leaned in close to me.</div>
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"Do you see this guy on the bike?" he asked quietly. "Watch him."</div>
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This dark-haired good-looking guy rode right past us on a gold, shiny bike.</div>
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"It's gold," I said aloud -- loud enough for the guy to hear. And then immediately I felt kind of stupid.</div>
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"That was Justin Theroux," Ryan said, as soon as the bicyclist had passed. I whirled around and looked after him, but it was hard to tell from behind.</div>
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After we sat down in Washington Square Park, Ryan looked him up on his phone, and sure enough, Jennifer Aniston's ex lives in Greenwich Village, somewhere around Washington Square, and he is often spotted riding his shiny gold bike -- his preferred mode of transportation.</div>
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See Exhibit A, via the internet:</div>
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That was totally him! Ryan said he even got a bit of a nod out of him, as Justin probably noticed the hint of recognition on Ryan's face. Ryan didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but I'm so glad that he nudged me and made sure I saw him, even though I didn't recognize him offhand. </div>
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So we saw a woman peeing on the street <i>and </i>a famous actor -- all within about 30 minutes! 👍</div>
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Washington Square Park was one of those places you wish you could stay forever ...</div>
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Such a happy, sunny place, with people playing chess, performing street art, playing the piano ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1u2I7Yu3D_sdiXohM3486tHfX0a3AocTXgFQhdc0sHqlaj0yjFa1qhm5VkVRdpqbEMWCqNpN7pEKe5VdOXN_xM3OgSvXxJbs7a3N1JaK2xRL4f7wHfBxt81DktWwhToXe1AkOkTIt6v8/s1600/IMG_8900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1u2I7Yu3D_sdiXohM3486tHfX0a3AocTXgFQhdc0sHqlaj0yjFa1qhm5VkVRdpqbEMWCqNpN7pEKe5VdOXN_xM3OgSvXxJbs7a3N1JaK2xRL4f7wHfBxt81DktWwhToXe1AkOkTIt6v8/s400/IMG_8900.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Dogs posing perfectly for a picture ...</div>
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Pretty amazing!</div>
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Because chess is popular at the park, and because it is popular with Ryan and Ryley, we found ourselves in a chess forum/shop down the street. That's where "the locals" go to play chess matches in a back room.</div>
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You can see them playing just beyond Ryan's arm. It was a cute shop (totally authentic hole in the wall with creaky floors), but the whole place <i>reeked </i>of old B.O.</div>
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Like, not just <i>B.O</i>. -- but B.O. that you know has been stanking it up for awhile. KWIM?</div>
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Next on the agenda was to just walk through the nearby neighborhoods and work our way up Bleecker Street through the West Village. </div>
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We stopped for cookie dough, and the people who worked there were just the nicest!!!</div>
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But just look at this neighborhood, though ...</div>
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I mean, I practically expected to see Meg Ryan skip past us a la "You've Got Mail."</div>
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Guys, I couldn't help but glance casually into the windows as we passed each home! I mean, everything's adorable, and I'm insatiably curious about the lifestyles of people who manage to live in The Village! And we could not believe how peaceful and quiet it was. I seriously did not expect any Manhattan neighborhood to be this sweet, with birds chirping ... We didn't even hear any traffic while we were off the main streets. If I were going to live in New York, it would have to be in Greenwich Village or the West Village.</div>
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Ryan looked up where the exterior shot of the "Friends" apartment was taken, and it just happened to be a block off of our path! So we had to stop there ...</div>
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And right across the street was this amazing set of brownstones. So I guess technically Ross would have lived there? 😂</div>
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Finally, we wound our way to The High Line Park, on the west side. It's an old elevated railroad track that they have re-purposed into an artistic walking path. </div>
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There were beautiful views of the Hudson River and New Jersey.</div>
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This was an odd, ominous-looking building, near the Meatpacking District.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExnykHnfDBREKyo-i1LiXC1M2M0W_R17Rc4FLw9VLOQaox-aZ0I06etQwAz4NU5ceqYZhyphenhyphenGrzS2Q7lakxCu_rLt11SkB0O9QxZP5qHZUj3ZpgMj9z9nsfB_sqeess8vnuZyZG_12Wsns/s1600/IMG_8961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExnykHnfDBREKyo-i1LiXC1M2M0W_R17Rc4FLw9VLOQaox-aZ0I06etQwAz4NU5ceqYZhyphenhyphenGrzS2Q7lakxCu_rLt11SkB0O9QxZP5qHZUj3ZpgMj9z9nsfB_sqeess8vnuZyZG_12Wsns/s400/IMG_8961.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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It was a really lovely walk, with lots of tourists coming and going.</div>
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So, we realized it was dinner time, and beginning to understand what a <i>problem</i> dinner in New York is when you don't have money to burn -- and most fast-casual places don't have any actual seating (because Manhattan business owners apparently <i>want </i>our feet to wither and die) -- we decided to hop on the subway back to Times Square and Midtown (our side of town).</div>
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We saw Times Square for the first time in daylight ... It's so colorful!</div>
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We ended up grabbing Shake Shack to-go (again, no seating), and walked with it six blocks to our hotel to collapse and eat (and watch our office neighbors across Madison Ave.) in peace. </div>
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This is Grand Central Station at night, by the way (passed it on our way back from Shake Shack).</div>
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Have you ever seen <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0047396/">"Rear Window"</a>? The old Hitchcock movie starring Jimmy Stewart? He solves a murder simply because he's holed up with a broken leg and has nothing better to do than watch the comings and goings of his neighbors for six weeks! In case you can't tell, I'm a huge fan.</div>
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Anyway, watching these tax accountants burn the midnight oil was fascinating. I watched a lady walk a piece of paper over to the shredder in another office. I watched co-workers chatting. I watched people just sitting there working at their computers. I watched the custodian go from office to office, emptying trash. I totally felt like Jimmy Stewart! I was just missing binoculars, haha!</div>
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Stacks and stacks of papers ...</div>
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I watched them order Chinese take-out and have dinner together in the corner conference room. Some nights they worked until 11 p.m.</div>
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Ah, what it takes to survive in New York. </div>
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I wonder where each of them lives ... Do they take the subway home to Queens or Brooklyn? Maybe they make enough money for a place on the Upper East Side? I don't know. Where <i>do </i>accountants live? </div>
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People and their stories just fascinate me! And to know that God made each one of them -- that He cares intimately about each person and knows all their worries, their joys, everything -- whether they acknowledge Him or not. I feel really small in comparison to how big the world is, how many people there are. And a city like New York is just the tip of the iceberg. Just think about the billion people in China and the billions of others scattered across the earth. We're just scratching the surface at beginning to understand how big our God must be to be able to <i>know </i>all of it in his omniscience -- know all of <i>them</i>, <i>love </i>all of them. It's overwhelming and beautiful. Perfect love.</div>
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That would be a great place to end this blog post, but I have a surprise for you! </div>
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One thing that struck us over and over again, especially when we were out late at night, was the amount of garbage piled up on the sidewalks. Every restaurant has tons of trash, and no matter what place it's from, it all tends to smell the same (which is weird, right?)! They produce so much waste that they actually have garbage service every night, I'm pretty sure. </div>
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And I took pictures to prove it:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBAAGt402aKKNdcZm_6Uc62akGLqHKObPW0_5L8rI-_MmZahBhjeofOwqRsyid9-03y2oep-qWB9dD6hxyUWcr1yoXgANf9fxG2TpUJQcSkifg_V-XJiDjKn67GI_IPBFKSpcEznIXJLE/s1600/IMG_0085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBAAGt402aKKNdcZm_6Uc62akGLqHKObPW0_5L8rI-_MmZahBhjeofOwqRsyid9-03y2oep-qWB9dD6hxyUWcr1yoXgANf9fxG2TpUJQcSkifg_V-XJiDjKn67GI_IPBFKSpcEznIXJLE/s400/IMG_0085.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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So, yeah. Think on that for a bit. That's how much trash New York produces every single day. </div>
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Sorry to leave you with that, but it's something I've wanted to mention, and I just wasn't sure when I'd find the right time. You're welcome! 😀</div>
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Total miles walked on Monday: 10</div>
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Stay tuned for Day Three, featuring the Empire State Building and more!</div>
Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-63947206823364802852018-04-08T21:10:00.003-07:002018-04-09T06:40:48.750-07:00NYC, Day One -- Downtown In our six and a half days in New York City, the three of us took approximately 2,500 photos on a total of five phone/camera devices. So when I manage to narrow down the 450-some photos we took on a given day to, say, 50? I think that deserves an award (cue applause)! 👏👏👏 😉<br />
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<b>SUNDAY, MAR. 25 -- DAY ONE</b><br />
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Sunday dawned cold and windy, but we were determined to stick to our original plan, which was to knock out all the touristy things on the southern tip of Manhattan.<br />
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Up until this trip, I had always pictured Times Square and all the Broadway shows to be placed toward the bottom of the island, close to the World Trade Center. But they're not. They're farther north, in Midtown (which is where our hotel was) -- though not as far north as Uptown. Downtown, Midtown, Uptown. Got it? 👍 Downtown is primarily the Financial District (aka the dry, business-y side of town).<br />
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In our original planned route for Sunday (traced in red pencil), we planned to see the 9/11 Memorial, take the free Staten Island Ferry past the Statue of Liberty, see Wall Street, walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, and then end the day in China Town.<br />
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I had worried that we wouldn't get to everything. But I hadn't fully understood how compact New York is, and also, I had largely underestimated our ability to walk. We had plenty of time for everything we wanted to do, and then some. We did, however, rearrange our order once we figured out where the subway ran on Sundays.<br />
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So after grabbing coffee and hopping onto the subway at Grand Central Station ...<br />
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We arrived at New York City Hall for a brisk morning walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.<br />
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But since Ryley was still carrying her breakfast croissant, the squirrels in the City Hall courtyard started circling her -- kind of scarily, to be honest. They were much more habituated than the Colorado squirrels we're used to. Also, we'd never seen a black squirrel before.<br />
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Anyway, so the Brooklyn Bridge! In all its Sunday morning glory ...</div>
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Our first glimpse of the Statue of Liberty, from the bridge ...</div>
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A whole group of very kind people waited behind me while I took this shot! We didn't even ask them to. They were just courteous and nice like that. :-)</div>
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It was really chilly and windy, and it seemed people were always right on our heels, so we pulled over from time to time to let them pass us. It was a pretty epic experience, though! On the other side, we sat in a park for a bit while Ryan searched his phone for which subway train would take us back.</div>
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Our next stop was the 9/11 Memorial ... </div>
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I actually started fighting back tears before we even got to the memorial because I was dreading seeing it so much. </div>
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The reality, however, was a little underwhelming, compared to the <i>terror </i>we know happened there. Maybe it was that we chose not to do the 9/11 Museum, but it was hard to imagine the attacks and really let the gravity and magnitude of them sink in. I had trouble translating the holes in the ground and the beautiful, sleek fountains into the horrible picture in my head of the towers falling.</div>
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I would like to do the museum someday.<br />
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It ended up being a good thing that we didn't do it, though, because we took the subway a few blocks to Wall Street (we were newbies to the walking scene and were still underestimating our walking power) and ended up passing an old church cemetery that looked enticing. Old cemeteries fascinate me! A group of tourists stood just inside the gate, so we felt comfortable taking a quick detour.<br />
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What a find! A quick internet search informed us that this was the Trinity Church cemetery where none other than THE Alexander Hamilton was buried! </div>
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We also heard that there were a few of his family members buried there, too, so we set off on a bit of a hunt. The problem, however, was that the headstones were so old that it was hard to decipher names and dates.</div>
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Can you tell that I <i>love </i>old cemeteries? And it was so amazing that we had just <i>happened </i>upon it!</div>
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A block away, we found Federal Hall, which was the United States' first capitol building and the place where a BUNCH of U.S. history went down. We would have taken a free tour of that, but it was closed since it was Sunday.</div>
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Right across the street was the New York Stock Exchange.</div>
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And then, winding our way back to Broadway, we found the famous Charging Bull statue ...</div>
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At this point, we meandered to the very tip of the Manhattan island, where we boarded the Staten Island Ferry. Yes, it would have been nice to go to Liberty Island or Ellis Island and to actually go up <i>into </i>the actual Statue of Liberty. But those things cost money, and we had to make some hard decisions (just like with the 9/11 Museum) per our already stretched budget. The Staten Island Ferry is a FREE 30-minute ride (👍) that passes right by the Statue of Liberty, for an incredible view! Good enough for us! 😊<br />
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Here's the view as we pulled away ...<br />
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New York on the right, New Jersey on the left -- Statue of Liberty in the middle.</div>
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My phone battery had already dipped down to 10 percent, so on the ferry ride back, I found an electrical outlet in the middle of the boat and stood there charging it. I really enjoyed watching the "huddled masses" stand in awe of the Statue of Liberty as we passed by -- so poetic. </div>
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After this, we took the subway to China Town for dinner. I didn't mind China Town at all, largely because I've been to China, and it brought back some fun memories. </div>
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But Ryan and Ryley were generally miserable there. The situation only worsened, however, when we had finished our meal (which I alone thought was delicious). We left cash on the table for the bill and tip, but the waitress <i>chased us down</i> at the front of the restaurant to ask us why we hadn't left <i>more </i>of a tip. Totally caught off guard, Ryan dug into his wallet and gave her way more than she deserved.</div>
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I mean, seriously??? We're not cheap -- I promise. It takes a lot of gall to chase people down and ask for a bigger tip.</div>
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So no pics of China Town. You can imagine it, I'm sure.</div>
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We took the subway back to Midtown and crashed in our hotel for a few hours to let our feet recover and (just being honest) surf our phones for a bit.</div>
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Around 7 or so, we decided we were feeling adventurous again and that we wanted to explore our area some more. We knew that St. Patrick's Cathedral was just a few blocks away, and since it was Palm Sunday, we figured it would probably be open. We were right.</div>
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Isn't it beautiful? </div>
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Ryley had a lot of questions about Catholicism and "praying to the saints," and I answered them quietly while we sat together in the pews, only for Ryan (the former confirmed Catholic) to correct me and re-explain the facts when he finally sat down with us. Oh, well! </div>
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I know how churches work, of course, but these boxes of Palm Sunday palm branches -- just casually shoved in a corner -- made me laugh. It reminded me of how in Sunday School when I was 7 or 8, my dad cut some of the leaves off of our big, leafy houseplant so we could have "palms" in children's church to re-enact Jesus' entry into Jerusalem!</div>
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The cathedral is only a block from Rockefeller Center (have I mentioned how <i>compact </i>the city is??), so we headed over there to check it out. </div>
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Rockefeller Center is where they light the gigantic Christmas tree every year, and I just want to say that the plaza was not how I pictured it -- at all.</div>
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Rockefeller Plaza is also known for the ice skating, and we could hardly believe that during the last week in March it was still in season! FYI, in case you go: It's actually open until mid-April!</div>
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In one of those last-minute, live-in-the-moment decisions, we let Ryley skate! It's something she'll never, ever forget!</div>
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Tired and worn out, we slowly made our way back to the good ol' Roosevelt Hotel and our bottle of ibuprofen. 😏</div>
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Total miles walked on Sunday: 9.9 </div>
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Stay tuned for Day Two, coming soon!</div>
Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-45153531595748854262018-04-07T22:17:00.000-07:002018-04-08T16:30:50.844-07:00The Greatest City in the WorldI can't go through any big, epic moment in my life without processing it, picking it apart piece by piece, trying to make sense of all the little details. Our trip to New York is no different. I know, I know. It's just a trip. It's just a place. "Please, Joy -- for the love of all that is holy -- STOP talking about your trip to New York!" I will, eventually -- I <i>promise</i>. But this is my space to unpack it all, air it all out, and reflect -- so that years down the road we don't forget all the tiny, minute details.<br />
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For as long as I can remember, visiting New York has been a dream of mine. I had a layover once in JFK Airport. I was just 20, and I didn't really know where JFK was in relation to the city, so I peered desperately out of every window, hoping for a little peek of the tall buildings (to no avail, of course). I think someone even told me it was pointless ("You're too far away," they said), but I figured that a city that big had to be visible to some extent. Slumped in an airport seat in defeat, I looked at every business person that passed me with envious longing, thinking, "<i>You've </i>been there. You've seen it. You know what New York is like."<br />
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We live in a world that is saturated with New York City obsession. From our earliest years watching Sesame Street, to nearly every TV show and movie these days, we've all been told <i>countless </i>times that New York is where it's at. Nowhere else matters. If it did, we'd do shows about those places, right? I mean, why do a TV series based in Denver when we could do it in New York? <i>Seinfeld. The Cosby Show. Friends. Saturday Night Live. How I Met Your Mother. The Mindy Project. 30 Rock. Mad Men. Mad About You. Elementary. Rules of Engagement. Law and Order. Will & Grace. </i>Just off the top of my head! ;-)<br />
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We're told over and over again that it's the greatest city in the world. David Letterman used to say it on his show nearly every night, while handing out "cuts of meat" to lucky visitors from Pittsburgh and Tucson. So for those of us in the Midwest and beyond, we've grown up feeling like New York is untouchable. It's too much. We're not smart enough, rich enough, or good enough for it. I know I'm not alone in feeling this way. We're intimidated. And if we're not within driving distance (or have any family or friends to visit out that direction), then we might as well give up the dream of seeing what all the fuss is about with our own eyes.<br />
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I feel a little ridiculous that even at 40 years old, it was still such a big deal to me. Ryan knew. And being able to count the <i>big </i>trips we've taken together on just one hand, he decided it was time.<br />
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On my birthday, back in November, he surprised me with plane tickets for the three of us to spend a full week -- spring break -- in the city of our dreams. The trip would fall over his 40th birthday, as well, so it would be our way of celebrating the milestone for both of us.<br />
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I was floored. Overwhelmed. Anxious. Excited. Stressed. Undeserving. Nervous. But over the next five months, we carefully formed a wish list of everything we've always wanted to see and do in New York City. "There's no way you can see everything in one trip," they said. Well, darn it if we weren't gonna try! We jotted down ideas and recommendations from various friends. And then one day, in early March, I bought a big, detailed map of Manhattan. Because I <i>love </i>maps.<br />
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As our basic itinerary developed, we used colored pencils to trace our proposed daily routes (a different color for each day, of course). It was an unwieldy process -- us sprawled out awkwardly on the family room floor with a laptop, our destination wish list, colored pencils, and the unfolded map -- being oh so careful not to wrinkle or tear it. But you've got to give us points for planning and organization!<br />
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And finally, on March 24, we embarked ...<br />
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<b>SATURDAY NIGHT</b><br />
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We'd done some online research and determined that the very best way to get from LaGuardia Airport to the Roosevelt Hotel in Midtown Manhattan was to catch the free Q70 shuttle bus to a subway station in Queens. While Ryley and I waited for our bags on the carousel, Ryan headed to an automated machine to purchase each of us a 7-day subway pass.<br />
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But let me tell you this: Once we got to the station, dragging our 50-pound suitcases up and down several flights of stairs to the elevated train was NO JOKE. Nightmarish, really -- because there were so many people on our heels, and we were trying desperately not to be in anyone's way, so we just kept pushing ourselves. Thankfully Ryan was following the signs and seemed to know what he was doing while Ryley and I just tagged along behind him.<br />
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Grand Central Station is a maze in and of itself. I seriously cannot adequately express what it was like to blindly navigate the white-tiled tunnels in the very depths of the station, dragging our suitcases, tackling stairs, dodging fast-paced New Yorkers. It was all adrenaline. Next time we'll take a Lyft.<br />
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Our hotel was only two blocks from Grand Central, but we were disoriented upon emerging from the station and ended up taking a longer way by accident (haha!).<br />
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We got settled in our hotel room (they upgraded us to a larger room for free when I asked if they had any rooms with a mini-fridge!). The Roosevelt Hotel is old and historic and beautiful, but there's a reason it's more affordable than others. They seemed to have trouble with keeping their elevator fleet up and running, and the carpet was a little dated, but it was clean! No complaints from us!<br />
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Once we'd rested for a bit, we decided to head down to Times Square -- just three long blocks away. It was already almost 8 p.m., so it was quite dark out, but the streets were busy with people. We followed the throng, and then suddenly, Let there be light!<br />
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There will never be anything like that first experience of seeing Times Square lit up in all its glory. In all honesty, it was an absolutely overwhelming experience.<br />
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We were hungry, though, so we walked further up Broadway and ended up having pizza at an Italian place next to Colbert's studios. Then we wandered through the M&M's store and the Hershey's store (obviously we like chocolate!) before raiding a Walgreens for drinks and snacks to stock our fridge. By the time we'd toted our groceries back to our hotel room, it was time to call it a night!<br />
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Total miles walked on Saturday: 5.6<br />
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Stay tuned for an oh-so-detailed account of our Sunday adventures ...Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-75088173477822381812018-03-24T11:50:00.001-07:002018-04-04T20:30:45.599-07:00Our Adventure Begins....<div style="color: #454545; font-family: ".sf ui text"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">For 40 years, New York has been the untouchable, iconic mystery to me. The obsession started with Sesame Street, was only fueled by The Cosby Show, then cemented by Friends. And of course,there were countless books, other shows, and movies along the way, all adding to the NYC question in my mind, creating a vision for it in my head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve. Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. I have 40 years worth of piecing together two-dimensional images and creating some kind of imaginary framework for them in my mind. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">It’s important to me that I record all this before we get there because I know that everything that I’ve seen and believed to be true up to this point — everything i have imagined — will change soon enough. It will pale in the face of the reality. And then I’ll look back and wonder how I ever saw it differently, how my mind hadn’t imagined it for what it truly was. I want to remember this feeling. It’s like an old friend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I can’t explain why NYC is so important to me. It just is. Maybe it’s the writer in me, but I’ve heard that New York is a writer’s paradise. I love life and all its moving parts. And the fact that this historical city encompasses the moving parts of so many people over so many centuries fascinates me to no end. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">For the first 40 years of my life, I have lived without understanding and fully knowing New York City. Now I’ll get to go the rest of my life knowing it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">I am furiously typing and posting this before our plane takes off in Cincinnati. T minus two hours until two-dimensional becomes three.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext";">Our adventure begins...</span><br />
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-34089800307088603602017-11-02T19:40:00.001-07:002017-11-02T19:40:56.908-07:00We Are 40<div class="MsoNormal">
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When the sun rises tomorrow morning, I think I might finally <i>feel </i>like an adult. </div>
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I mean, it's been heading that way for some time, what, with my recently realized penchant for Tupperware, my enjoyment of school board meetings, and the realization that sometimes it actually is cold enough to wear a coat. But I've still been 39, still abiding in my yellow decade, bright with youth and promise. So even though I've matured and grown and become a better person, I could still say I was in my 30s. And that doesn't sound so old.</div>
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But 40? When I was a kid, 40-year-olds were <i>grown-ups</i>. They had investment portfolios and carried briefcases. They used big words and signed important documents. They wore nylons and dress suits with shoulder pads. Blazers. I've never been a grown-up before. At least, not like that.</div>
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But I've always been me. I've always been Joy. And as I cross that magic line tonight and step into a new decade, I'm choosing to accept it as a milestone -- as a celebration of the gift that I've been given -- of getting to be <i>me </i>for an even 40 years. My rate or depth of maturity is up to me. Not <i>all </i>old people are wise. Other people -- young people -- can be astoundingly wise beyond their years sometimes. The human experience has so much depth, regardless of age -- it's undefined by it. Of course, it would be ideal if one's maturity was reflective of their number of years on Earth, and it is in most cases. But people are just people. Just grown-up kids. They're just themselves, at their core, collecting and accumulating life experiences and translating them into some sort of meaning through their own one-of-a-kind filter. </div>
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It's not fair to look at an elderly person and just see an "old fogey," not giving them credit for the person they are inside, for the life experiences they've accumulated. It's also not fair to look down on someone younger and think of oneself as better, more mature. I've thought a lot about this in the last six months. I work with a bunch of 20-somethings -- millennials -- kids that were born when I was in high school. I could have babysat them. I was considering colleges while they were learning to walk. But you know what? They're smart. They're fun. I genuinely like them as people. I recognize that they're smarter than me in a lot of ways, and just as I didn't want to be looked down on when I was their age, it only makes sense that I give them the benefit of the doubt -- get to know each of them for who they are -- their individual cores, their unique filters -- despite the fact that we're currently living in different stages of life.</div>
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So 40 isn't what I thought it would look like. It isn't what I thought it would feel like. </div>
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So what does it feel like?</div>
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All my life, I've hated doing dishes. Like <i>really </i>hated them. Our kitchen has often showed it, too, and seen the brunt of it. And all my life, I've noticed that my mom, my dad, and my grandma don't necessarily mind doing the dishes. It's not like they <i>like </i>doing them. But when the dishes need to be done, they do them. And I've never understood it. I mean, my grandma is 88 years old; how is she <i>not tired </i>of doing dishes?</div>
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So what does 40 feel like? Surprise! It feels like doing the dishes. Like, actually <i>feeling like</i> <i>doing </i>the dishes. Not minding them. Finding a little bit of pleasure and peace in it. </div>
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This is a new development for me, something that's been growing steadily over the last year. But it's true. I find peace in doing dishes, in taking care of what belongs to me, in properly utilizing my resources. </div>
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40 also feels like having a real concept of how much I don't know, of admitting that I don't know it all and that I never will. I love writing and editing. I do it for a living and have often prided myself in being <i>perfect</i>. But am I always right? Absolutely not. Do I make mistakes? All the time. Do I miss things? I did today. I once heard it said that nobody knows more than a college sophomore, and I believe that to be true. The older I get, the more I come to terms with the fact that I don't know what I don't know. And I am absolutely fallible. I am far from perfect.</div>
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I'm also getting worse at parking, if that's possible. Every time I walk up to my vehicle after work, I think, "Nice parking job, Joy."</div>
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So, this is 40. An ex-know-it-all who enjoys doing dishes and packing my food into Tupperware containers that I then dutifully carry up the elevator with me in to work. A bad parker, yes. But still me. </div>
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Still a word nerd. Still an amateur detective, always curious about the scoop. Still into colorful things. Still into weather and all the things it affects, like pinwheels and wind chimes. Still into good coffee and music. Still into things that smell amazing and taste delicious. Still indulgent, probably to a fault. ;-)</div>
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So this next decade will be "emerald" for my funnily wired brain -- not yellow. A bright, translucent, iridescent gem-green will serve as the backdrop for the next 10 years of my life. I think I could do a lot worse.</div>
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Hello, 40. I'm still me.</div>
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Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-86636484527870996162017-08-07T20:44:00.001-07:002017-08-07T20:53:55.969-07:00Happy High SchoolingHave I told you about my daughter? The newly-turned 14-year-old? The high school freshman? The math-loving Anglophile? The champion of refrigerated foods' expiration dates and (to my great pride) user of the Oxford comma?<br />
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I haven't written in way too long, and I feel somewhat guilty for that. But life has been so busy. I meant to write all summer long; I meant to write around her birthday a couple weeks ago -- a lengthy tribute to 14 years of Ryleyness. But we were just too busy traipsing around Chicago seeing the sights and living.<br />
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I suppose now is as good of a time as any. Because tomorrow -- yes, <i>tomorrow</i> -- she starts high school. My sweet little baby girl.<br />
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She's a good kid, our Ryley. Much different than I ever could have imagined she'd be when I laid eyes on her for the first time -- she's just completely and totally <i>herself</i>.<br />
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We re-did her bedroom this summer. We just painted the purple walls a pretty shade of gray and added teal accents here and there, boxed up all her stuffed animals and gave her an airy space in which to breathe and stretch and grow. As we sorted through all 14 years of her packrat-ness, we basked in the glory that is "Ryley," finding countless little notebooks wherein her six-year-old self had scrawled titles like "Ryley's Memories," or "Things I Love about Mom," followed by blank pages -- no other words -- as she no doubt had become distracted and ended up moving on to the next thing in the way she always has. It was like a tiny little window into the chaotic, beautiful mind of my little girl. We laughed and laughed. We filled an entire storage bin with just costumes -- Halloween, Comic Con, dress-up stuff -- because she's always had a flair for the dramatic.<br />
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Summer has always been her season -- the time when she spreads and fills whatever space is around her with her larger-than-life personality and hilarious sense of humor. But she's starting to feel more comfortable in her own skin -- becoming more at home with who she is -- just like we knew she always would, even though it seemed at times like it would never happen. She's witty and funny and quick, and she keeps us gloriously entertained.<br />
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Have I told you about her tiny bottle collection? That in itself is everything you need to know about her. Nothing makes her giddier with excitement than finding tiny bottles.<br />
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In most of her travels this year -- from her class trip to Washington, D.C. this spring, to her trip with my mom to South Dakota and the Black Hills in June, or on our family trips to northeast Ohio and Chicago, she was always on a quest for tiny bottles to commemorate her experiences.<br />
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She scours gift shops and antique shops wherever she goes, always on the prowl. There are 87 now that have made the final cut -- that are worth being on display and considered part of the elite.<br />
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It is a great privilege being her mom -- being here for every moment as she becomes such an interesting and beautiful young woman. The freckles that once clearly peppered her nose have now faded, and the ones that <i>haven't </i>faded are often covered by make-up that she applies oh-so-carefully via YouTube instruction. Her hair is bleached (we've learned a lot about hair this summer, she and I), and shopping for clothes isn't nearly as painful as it was a year ago. <br />
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It's so much fun to introduce her to our favorite shows, our favorite things, our humor -- now that she's old enough to appreciate it all. We marathoned "Downton Abbey" in the last few weeks, and then somehow found ourselves watching the "Twilight" movies, punctuated by her and Ryan's bantering quips. All three of us have practically memorized the soundtrack to "Hamilton," and it is now the soundtrack to our lives.<br />
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If I text her while I'm at work and ask her what she's up to, she'll send a cheeky response: "Just living the good life, man." Because she knows it makes me laugh.<br />
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I know she's nervous about high school, about making new friends, about making the right choices, about her dad being her English teacher (!!!). But she's only nervous because she understands the weight of it all -- she knows how much it matters. She's always loved math because there's always a right answer; there's nothing ambiguous, no gray areas. She likes things to be black and white, everything to be very clear. And we know that as she navigates these next four years, God is with her -- and with us, just as He always has been. He'll guide each and every step.<br />
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Happy High Schooling, Ryley! We can't wait to see what God has in store for you! :-)</div>
<br />Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-53172264351910301672016-12-14T21:18:00.002-08:002020-12-22T12:37:18.621-08:00Too Tired to Think of a Title <span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="background-color: white;">This “parenting a teenager” thing is serious business, isn’t it? I’ve sat </span><span style="background-color: white;">here for several minutes trying to process exactly what it is that I want </span><span style="background-color: white;">to say, but I’m coming up empty. This, after months of longing to write it </span><span style="background-color: white;">all out but never finding the time, experiencing fleeting moments of </span><span style="background-color: white;">clarity and a string of words that articulate perfectly what I’m thinking </span><span style="background-color: white;">(but always at work or while I’m driving and never at a time when it’s </span><span style="background-color: white;">actually convenient to write). The feelings, emotions, epiphanies, </span><span style="background-color: white;">and visions that I experience regarding this single child are deep and </span><span style="background-color: white;">plentiful, layered and wide. I could fill a novel – but </span><span style="background-color: white;">stream-of-consciousness </span><span style="background-color: white;">style, with no particular plot, no apparent climax or finale. I would call </span><span style="background-color: white;">it “My Experiences in Parenting Are All Over the Place and Change Daily" or "I Don't Know What I'm Doing.”</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Part of it is that we don’t really know <i>who </i>we’re parenting exactly. I </span><span style="background-color: white;">mean, she’s still trying to figure that out herself. She’s coming alive -- </span><span style="background-color: white;">she’s quirky and light and lively and melodramatic and headstrong and </span><span style="background-color: white;">spacey and opinionated. There’s no better example of this than when we’re </span><span style="background-color: white;">shopping together. There was a holiday dance at the school last Friday </span><span style="background-color: white;">(adorably called “The Snow Ball”), and choosing a semi-formal outfit </span><span style="background-color: white;">proved to be a real adventure, mostly because she doesn’t have a clear </span><span style="background-color: white;">understanding of what “semi-formal” means. But maybe I don’t either. I </span><span style="background-color: white;">lugged an armful of knee-length dresses into the dressing room at Target, </span><span style="background-color: white;">and she said, “Paisley patterns are <i>you</i>, Mom; not me,” and I flashed back </span><span style="background-color: white;">to my own middle school years when I, too, was resistant to my mom’s </span><span style="background-color: white;">suggestions, yet so desperate to fit in with my friends, afraid to launch </span><span style="background-color: white;">out and set my own fashion trends based on what I thought was pretty. </span><span style="background-color: white;">Apparently it was paisley.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">“Keep an open mind,” I said. “You keep an open mind, too,” she shot right </span><span style="background-color: white;">back at me, teenager-style. Eventually we settled on black – plain and </span><span style="background-color: white;">simple – because I’d read that every girl needs a “little black dress” </span><span style="background-color: white;">that she can dress up or down depending on the situation. She likes it but </span><span style="background-color: white;">claims it’s too formal. It’s not, of course. Because it’s from Target. ;-)</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">It seems like everything is an argument these days. I could say the kettle </span><span style="background-color: white;">is black, but she would say it’s a triangle. And looking back, she’s kind </span><span style="background-color: white;">of always been this way, I suppose. It’s exhausting. So many simple </span><span style="background-color: white;">conversations spiral out of control over semantics or details or tone of </span><span style="background-color: white;">voice. How many times do we hear, “I know!” or “I am!,” to which we end up </span><span style="background-color: white;">channeling our early 1990s parents, with, “Well, you don’t know or else </span><span style="background-color: white;">you’d stop doing it!”</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">There are other moments, though. Like when Ryan was scrolling through the </span><span style="background-color: white;">channels and came across “Fiddler on the Roof” (which, of course, we own </span><span style="background-color: white;">and have watched three dozen times). “Ryley!” he called. She came bounding </span><span style="background-color: white;">down the stairs two-, three-, four-at-a-time and plopped down on the sofa, </span><span style="background-color: white;">a stupid grin plastered to her face. Then, for the next three days, she </span><span style="background-color: white;">belted out the songs and even dug out my “Fiddler” soundtrack CD for </span><span style="background-color: white;">accompaniment.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">For being one person, she is certainly the source of a lot of noise! Ryley can’t </span><span style="background-color: white;">empty the dishwasher without blasting Panic! At the Disco from her iTunes, </span><span style="background-color: white;">or Twenty-one Pilots or Michael Buble from Pandora or Spotify. She’s </span><span style="background-color: white;">performing as Gertrude McFuzz in our school’s spring production of "</span><span style="background-color: white;">Seussical," in which she has four (!!!) solos, so we hear a lot of that </span><span style="background-color: white;">around the house, too. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="background-color: white;">Then, in November, she learned that she was </span><span style="background-color: white;">selected for Colorado All-state Middle School Choir, which is a huge </span><span style="background-color: white;">accomplishment! So now we have five more pieces to rehearse and memorize </span><span style="background-color: white;">before the first weekend in February. We are so proud of our girl….I am so </span><span style="background-color: white;">glad she loves music and has finally found her “thing” – her long-pursued </span><span style="background-color: white;">talent. I could listen to her sweet, strong alto singing all day long.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">But back in September, she had toyed with <i>not </i>auditioning for these </span><span style="background-color: white;">things….just helping with stage crew for the musical and not worrying </span><span style="background-color: white;">about the difficult audition for all-state choir. How different would our </span><span style="background-color: white;">school year (and her life experience) have been if she had just fizzled </span><span style="background-color: white;">out on these opportunities before they even began?</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">School is difficult. Just this last weekend, she had three big projects </span><span style="background-color: white;">due on Monday alone, with another project and two presentations due </span><span style="background-color: white;">yesterday, three big final exams happening today, and another essay due </span><span style="background-color: white;">tomorrow (for which she's forgotten her notes at school). I get overwhelmed just looking at her homework assignments, </span><span style="background-color: white;">grateful that it’s her and not me. I think I still suffer a little bit of </span><span style="background-color: white;">post-traumatic stress disorder after the marathon that was “getting </span><span style="background-color: white;">through college.” I’ve already paid my dues, right? It’s her turn.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Not exactly. I truly believe that behind every well-put-together child is </span><span style="background-color: white;">a parent pulling the strings, providing the choir outfits and participation fees and homework support.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Sometimes, late at night, when I’m quietly doing dishes at the sink while </span><span style="background-color: white;">she writes an essay at the kitchen table, I think to myself, “Across our </span><span style="background-color: white;">suburb, across the country, other moms are also staying up tonight helping </span><span style="background-color: white;">their kiddo with a creative writing portfolio or Googling the ‘equation </span><span style="background-color: white;">for y intercept.’ Or saying, 'You know what? Close the math book, and go to </span><span style="background-color: white;">bed. It will be okay.'”</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Because having a child at an academically-demanding school feels like having a second job.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> Back in October, I came to the realization that though we needed more </span><span style="background-color: white;">money and needed me to take on more freelance work, my </span><span style="background-color: white;">family needed me <i>more </i>– my presence and my help. In Proverbs 31, the “the </span><span style="background-color: white;">wife of noble character” is praised for selecting wool and flax and </span><span style="background-color: white;">working with eager hands, making and selling linen garments, securing </span><span style="background-color: white;">trade deals and buying fields and planting vineyards, all while the lamp </span><span style="background-color: white;">burns late into the night. But my big epiphany has been that sometimes in this </span><span style="background-color: white;">modern society, spinning wool or planting a vineyard also means learning </span><span style="background-color: white;">8th grade physics at 11 p.m. or just being in the same room as your baby </span><span style="background-color: white;">fills out her history study guide until midnight, just so she’s not alone. You’re so </span><span style="background-color: white;">tired, but you fight sleep, knowing that you're doing what’s best. Sometimes it </span><span style="background-color: white;">means running down to the thrift store in the middle of the Broncos game </span><span style="background-color: white;">on a Monday evening to buy a $1 cane for your husband and his injured </span><span style="background-color: white;">back. Sometimes being that quintessential “Proverbs 31 woman” means </span><span style="background-color: white;">knowing how to invest your time in creative ways, understanding when to </span><span style="background-color: white;">snap the laptop shut, and canceling potential freelance projects, trusting </span><span style="background-color: white;">that God will provide for all your needs.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">In the midst of volleyball and play practice, choir auditions and D.C. </span><span style="background-color: white;">trip fundraising, podiatrist appointments and contact fittings, car </span><span style="background-color: white;">repairs and Ryan’s ruptured disc (resulting MRI and physical therapy), </span><span style="background-color: white;">his unrelated car accident and losing his car to the body shop for more than a month….in </span><span style="background-color: white;">the midst of all that and more, my family needs <i>me </i>more than we need the </span><span style="background-color: white;">money. They need <i>all </i>of me – not the muddled, distracted version of me. </span><span style="background-color: white;">They need the stability only <i>I </i>can bring. After all, that’s why God put me here, </span><span style="background-color: white;">planting my own little vineyard called the Moore family.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Most nights over the last few years, I've defaulted to my freelance work on my laptop on the downstairs sofa while Ryan </span><span style="background-color: white;">has graded papers at the desk across the room. Meanwhile, Ryley is left to her </span><span style="background-color: white;">own devices with her heavy backpack dumped out and spread out across the floor </span><span style="background-color: white;">in our living room upstairs – within ear shot of us, but away from the </span><span style="background-color: white;">distraction of the television we have on in the background.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">But last weekend, on a whim, Ryley took the love languages quiz, and we </span><span style="background-color: white;">discovered that she gives and receives love in “quality time.” I’d never </span><span style="background-color: white;">thought of her that way before. I mean, that’s my love language, too, but </span><span style="background-color: white;">it had never occurred to me that some of the forlornness she feels and the </span><span style="background-color: white;">hours it takes to get her homework done is because she has been “banished” </span><span style="background-color: white;">from us. She feels lonely and thus loses momentum and motivation.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">That insight inspired me to try something new during the Crazy Weekend of </span><span style="background-color: white;">Multiple Projects. I pledged to be her right-hand person. I stayed with </span><span style="background-color: white;">her in the front room and just remained "available." I tried not to push my own </span><span style="background-color: white;">agenda; I let her tell me what she needed my help with. And you know what? </span><span style="background-color: white;">She got her work done in a timely manner, and she was less combative about </span><span style="background-color: white;">it. <i>Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles!</i> It was a relatively peaceful </span><span style="background-color: white;">weekend, all things considered, and we didn't even have to burn the midnight oil. Normal bedtimes were kept. Now, is it always practical or even in her </span><span style="background-color: white;">best interest for me to be present during every homework marathon? No, of </span><span style="background-color: white;">course not. But sometimes she just needs somebody to be there, supporting </span><span style="background-color: white;">her.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">And sometimes she just needs help prioritizing… “Hey, sweetie, so you have </span><span style="background-color: white;">an A+ in Algebra, so maybe since it’s already 9:30, we skip these last two difficult </span><span style="background-color: white;">problems and move on to English, which could use a little more attention.”</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">“Wait. Are you telling me not to finish my math homework?”</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">“No, not exactly. I’m telling you to use your time wisely.” :-) Who knew </span><span style="background-color: white;">I'd ever advocate for <i>not finishing</i> homework? Crazy how people change. ;-)</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">At the very base level, we are always on her side. Whether being on her </span><span style="background-color: white;">side means disciplining her or defending her, her dad and I will always be </span><span style="background-color: white;">in her corner. She’s a special kiddo. She’s ours. Definitely not perfect and many times a little mouthy, but overall, she is a really good kid. We might get on her </span><span style="background-color: white;">case, and she might perceive it as coming down hard on her, but we always </span><span style="background-color: white;">have her best interest at heart. She doesn’t see that or have the </span><span style="background-color: white;">capability of understanding that right now. But I trust that someday she will. I'm sure my parents thought the same about me at one point!</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Maybe we’re on to something with this whole love language revelation, though. I’ve </span><span style="background-color: white;">been asking God for wisdom, and maybe understanding this aspect of her </span><span style="background-color: white;">personality is the key. She just likes to be <i>with </i>us.</span><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">“Someday when I’m grown, I think sometimes I’ll just drive over here for a </span><span style="background-color: white;">hug and a long talk,” she told me one time. </span><span style="background-color: white;">My drive would be about 850 miles, but that’s how I feel about my mom and </span><span style="background-color: white;">dad, too. :-) A hug and a long talk do wonders.</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="background-color: white;">So that's the gist of it -- my thoughts on parenting after 13 years and 4 months. We don't have it all figured out, by any means, and just when we think we have, we fall flat on our faces, Ryan and I. We offer each other regular high-fives though, whenever one of us does a particularly good job. We need that kind of encouragement and comradery. :-)</span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="background-color: white;">Christmas break starts tomorrow afternoon, and I'm not sure we've ever needed it more. I probably say that every year, though. :-) Here's to Hallmark movies and cozy fireplaces and toasty mugs of hot chocolate -- passing around the coffee and pumpkin pie -- and doing absolutely nothing. </span></span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="background-color: white;">The vineyard planting and cloth-spinning can continue in January. </span></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white;">;-) </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; background-color: white; padding-inline-start: 0px;" /></span>Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-65463133328832328242016-08-08T20:01:00.000-07:002016-08-08T20:01:49.045-07:00CavingI always reserve the right to change my mind.<br />
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That may not be the best policy, parenting-wise, but for the most part, I <i>try </i>to remain honestly open-minded. ;-) What's best for one person may not be best for another; what's best at one time may not be the best choice later on.<br />
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When Ryley was begging for social media a few months ago, our answer was a firm no. There was just too much she could be exposed to, we reasoned. She didn't need any more negative influences in her life. I even wrote a lengthy blog post about this.<br />
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But as her 13th birthday drew nearer, I began to soften my stance. I think I began to understand that social media is ultimately inevitable. It's not going anywhere for the foreseeable future. In fact, even if our current forms of social media do phase out over time, there will always be something trying to pollute her mind. The world is changing rapidly, and as much as I want to hold on to her innocent childhood and the wholesome way we've tried to raise her, I had to come to terms with the fact that she will live in this world forever, and it's time to start teaching her how to keep her light -- how to counteract the darkness when those influences seems overwhelming.<br />
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So we allowed it. And in the last two weeks, we've had to address a LOT of stuff -- things as simple as what kind of posts are appropriate to find amusing (silently) but shouldn't be "liked" or "shared." We've talked about not allowing one's name to become associated with anything dark or inappropriate. This has meant adding restrictions so she can control what her friends post to her timeline and watching what posts she's been tagged in. It requires work on our part, and we don't catch everything. But this new realm has opened up a ton of conversations that we hadn't had previously, and they're presenting opportunities for maturity and growth. Someday she'll successfully navigate the world with grace and without compromise, and that all starts right now. With our guidance. ;-)<br />
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I have to say that being Ryley's mother has truly changed my life. Of course, there are the obvious ways that being a parent changes anybody. But Ryley has truly changed me with her deep, contagious compassion.<br />
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It all started seven years ago when our tiny kindergartener prayed every night that God would give her a puppy. I hated dogs -- hated animals being indoors at all. I could not even fathom having an animal run loose in our home. But my heart softened over time, and I finally agreed to let Ryley have a puppy. When I look back on it in retrospect, I truly see how God performed a miracle on my heart. I could not have changed on my own.<br />
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Our sweet Juliet has become such a precious part of our family, with a personality that reflects Ryley's spunk and playfulness. They are the best of friends, and I have become much more tolerant of her running loose in the house (with well-placed baby gates!). ;-)<br />
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Fast-forward about five years, and Ryley suddenly developed an affinity for pet bunnies. </div>
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"Ha!" was my initial response. "Absolutely not." Like, seriously. I was pretty set that we would never have a bunny. </div>
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But gradually I have seen Ryley's undying compassion....the way she stops by the pet store to drool over the animals every time she and her friends go to the mall...the way she raved about her teacher's pet bunny all last year...the way she came home from the summer camp at the animal shelter in such a good mood after cuddling with bunnies, puppies, and kitties all day. </div>
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"Who could really be in a bad mood after cuddling with baby animals all day?" Ryan reasoned. And I saw his point.</div>
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I started to realize that a pet bunny may not be the worst thing in the world. A hassle? Yes. Messy? Yep. My favorite thing? No. But would I trade my daughter's sweet, caring heart for anything in the world? Absolutely not.</div>
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So off she and her daddy went to the animal shelter, with the intention of spending her birthday money on rescuing a rabbit. But after spending more than an hour with a certain rabbit up for adoption, she just wasn't feeling it. We knew it had to be the right one, and I encouraged her to pray to be matched with the right fit.</div>
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A week later, Ryley and Ryan brought home the sweetest mini-lop bunny we've ever seen! She is a DREAM, as pet bunnies go. She is 7 years old (the same age as Juliet!), has been raised in a home with children and dogs, is pretty friendly and tame, and has been primarily handled by a 13-year-old. The only reason the family gave her up was because of an allergy one of the children had. I feel like the fact that she is litter-trained alone is God's personal gift to me for understanding my little girl's heart and allowing her this precious animal. :-)</div>
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Much to my surprise, I have been genuinely excited about the addition of Addie to our family! And I would much rather have Ryley spend her birthday money on a sweet little pet bunny than waste it all on emo merchandise at Hot Topic. :-) She has so much love to give. Either we could let her lavish that love on a bunny, or we could watch her try to aimlessly funnel the abundant love in her heart down other less-lucrative avenues.<br />
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And that's how our family got a bunny.<br />
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That's how I changed my mind.<br />
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That's how my daughter <i>changed me</i>.<br />
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And that's what it feels like to <i>cave</i>. ;-)Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-27178584318687388282016-05-26T19:04:00.000-07:002016-05-29T20:58:59.503-07:00Livin' the DreamTomorrow is the last day of school, and with it, Ryan's first year as a teacher comes to a close. There aren't words to express how proud I am of him....how proud I know his mom and dad would be had they lived to see it. Because for Ryan, teaching isn't just a job. It's a lifelong dream, a career, a calling -- something he was born to do. Something he had long given up on.<br />
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Because, when you've found a way to provide for your family, and all your time, effort, and energy are spent on keeping that thing afloat, how do you ever find the time and effort and energy to find a way out? Hours roll into days, and days roll into weeks, and weeks into months and years, and suddenly you're 37, and you've spent nearly two decades in survival mode, unhappy in your profession, just trying to pay the bills. Why would anybody take a chance on you?<br />
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But they did.<br />
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On his application, the question was asked: "Are there any skills/abilities or other information you would like to mention?"<br />
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Ryan answered: "While my work history is unusual, I have a lot of experience dealing with high school students as employees. I would love to use my degree to educate them."<br />
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There's so much wryness in that response. Or should I say Ryness? Either way, I wouldn't expect anything less from him.<br />
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We've learned a lot in Ryan's first year. For instance, did you know that the kids in this generation don't use the word "sir"? They say, "mister." "Mister, can I go to the bathroom?" Just an observation. :-) Ryan says it bothers me way more than it bothers him!!<br />
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For the first time in our 17.5 years of marriage, Ryan has been home <i>every </i>night and <i>every </i>weekend, for nine months straight. That is <i>huge </i>for us. It has been amazing in every way. Our quality of home life has improved by leaps and bounds. We don't know what to do with all our time together!<br />
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For the first time since he's had a cell phone, Ryan doesn't dread texts or phone calls. The very sound of his text notifications used to make him feel sick to his stomach with impending doom. Did the auditor show up? Did the health inspector show up? Did somebody call in sick? Whatever it was, it was his responsibility to take care of it, no matter the time of day or if it happened to be his scheduled day off. So the sound of a text equaled negativity.<br />
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In fact, it took him about a month into the school year before he didn't feel stressed when another teacher called in sick. They didn't have many subs at first, so teachers were asked to cover absent teachers' classes during their planning periods. Ryan's managerial experience sent him into responsibility mode, and he'd be trying to figure out how to shift things around to fill the gaps when he finally realized <i>his </i>job was to teach. The <i>Administration's </i>job was to coordinate the coverage. A load was lifted. He could certainly step in and help where he could, but it ultimately wasn't his responsibility.<br />
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The most incredible thing I've witnessed this year is Ryan's revived love for reading and discussing philosophy. When I fell in love with him, we were "deep-thinking" college students who loved to let our random thoughts work their way into a semblance of meaning. Our first date was spent discussing a book, and having been friends for quite awhile, I had already fallen hard for the unique way his mind worked. But in the face of jobs, bills, and a child to raise, the 18-year-old version of ourselves faded. It was still there, but it was buried by our 20s and then our 30s, by <i>life </i>itself. And watching the Ryan I first loved come back to life has been my greatest privilege as his wife. He read more than he has in years. He studied methods and came up with projects and assignments and lessons. He led his students into Socratic discussions about Greek and Roman literature, about pride, about belief, and about the meaning of our existence. He challenged his students to read and to <i>think</i>.<br />
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"My worst day teaching is 10 times better than my best day in restaurant management," he said.<br />
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I don't think he expected to love his students as much as he does. He genuinely cares for their well-being, is concerned for their future, and will miss them as they move on to 10th grade, other schools, etc. And I'm pretty sure they love him back. :-)<br />
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It <i>is </i>pretty bright....and shiny! And he's so handsome. :-)<br />
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This is a tribute to his parents that Ryley and I made for him at the beginning of the year. His mom taught math and was the Indiana State Teacher of the Year in the '70s. His dad taught science for years and made the newspaper when he opened a planetarium in the high school. He has a great legacy!<br />
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When Ryley was in kindergarten, she was tickled pink that her school uniform was the same as her daddy's work uniform for Panera. "He makes bread for all the peoples," she used to say. Little did she know that someday she would become a "TK," when her daddy was given the opportunity of a lifetime -- to live his dream.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvw53zuN7WHzH0_hUb6CGdNX6uZ_eltnspUqASyzg3luud5Crl1FKy8Br4TK9wS2lFtGpcxd90GnoW8o8kS983VrHqf7zDmnobiDJin4vYYUOoUrQLa2z_xvQLHIwkWrln3rs0FKh0Dc/s1600/IMG_9844.JPG" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALb6vVVGYoV9GTGgS6FcAyU1z2QWsIkm3g_JG_fsxqnxkfpFXlE8sXYovGlFkx5LxjnSKbHCdIlzq5kv3mJhE0qbNOyMIiI_jtg-yEzEcRBQZCt7joEY3vZGtmoYGZaU0ek5LH84jj0c/s1600/IMG_0712.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALb6vVVGYoV9GTGgS6FcAyU1z2QWsIkm3g_JG_fsxqnxkfpFXlE8sXYovGlFkx5LxjnSKbHCdIlzq5kv3mJhE0qbNOyMIiI_jtg-yEzEcRBQZCt7joEY3vZGtmoYGZaU0ek5LH84jj0c/s640/IMG_0712.JPG" width="360" /></a><br />
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Congratulations, Ryan, on an incredible first year. I am so happy for all that you have accomplished and learned and become. I am thankful to God for opening up the opportunity for you, and I am thankful to the administration for taking a chance on your "unusual work history"! And I am so, so glad those lucky highschoolers got the opportunity to be educated, taught, challenged, led, and impacted by <i>you</i>.<br />
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xoxoxo<br />
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******Addendum as of 5/29/16******<br />
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I wrote this post about Ryan in all gratefulness for God's goodness in opening up the perfect opportunity to become a teacher. But even as I wrote it, it turns out I didn't know the full story. We've learned some new information in recent days, and I want to make sure I share this extra piece as the full story of what God has done!<br />
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Two days ago, Ryan ran into the woman who replaced him as general manager of his restaurant when he resigned. He hadn't talked to her in eight or nine months. As it turns out, she no longer works for the company. And as he pressed further, he learned that she quit in February when things became too stressful and intense <i>after their boss was fired</i>, and <i>their boss's boss was fired</i>. We're not sure what went down exactly (both of them seemed like upstanding people, and Ryan's direct boss at that company was specifically very fair and integrous). But there was suddenly a ton of upheaval and change and stress, and as a result, many of the managers at other locations either quit or were fired.<br />
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While we have no reason to believe Ryan would have been fired had he stayed, we also know that those situations are extremely stressful, and he would certainly be working even longer hours and desperately trying to find a way out, if he even still had a job at all.<br />
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As Ryan recounted his conversation to me that evening, I started feeling that familiar heaviness I used to feel when he would come home from work weighed down with unhappiness, fear, frustration, you name it.<br />
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"Wow, even as you're telling me this, I am having flashbacks to what it was like....to that heaviness..."<br />
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"Yes!" he answered. "I started getting stressed out just talking to her about the whole situation!"<br />
<br />
We are completely awed. Not only did God piece together a series of situations and miracles to open up a place for Ryan in education, and not only have we been enjoying our new quality of life and been living with the benefits of him feeling like he's actually making a difference in his career, but unbeknownst to us, God also reached down and lifted him out of a situation of impending doom. He saved him from it. He knew something bad was coming, and we didn't, so he divinely stepped in and just removed Ryan from the situation, with five months to spare.<br />
<br />
Here we've been praising God for this amazing first year as a teacher, and we didn't even know the full story. But God did! Now we're praising Him for delivering Ryan from that former position too.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><i>"And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose." </i>-- Romans 8:28</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">"You will not fear</span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-15401I" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-15401I" title="See cross-reference I">I</a>)" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">the terror of night, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">nor the arrow that flies by day, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">nor the plague that destroys at midday.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">A thousand may fall at your side, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">ten thousand at your right hand, </span></i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><i>but it will not come near you." </i>-- from Psalm 91</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">:-)</span></span><br />
<br />Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-89811198194603025342016-05-22T15:09:00.001-07:002016-05-22T15:09:31.092-07:00Operation Scripture MemoryI'm not a super crafty person, but every now and then I get inspired. :-)<br />
<br />
Ryley knows a lot of Bible stories, but honestly, we haven't done a really good job with scripture memorization. Early on, we were pretty consistent with it, and over the years we've been sporadic at best, choosing a handful of verses that we've worked on from time to time.<br />
<br />
But the fact of the matter is, that to live successfully, peacefully, and powerfully for Jesus in this world, the Word of God needs to be hidden in her heart. How can we expect her to walk through life if she doesn't have a "lamp for her feet" and "light for her path"? Life-giving scriptures need be etched on her soul...buried so deep in the well of her personhood that when she needs them they bubble up to her mind as living water, accomplishing whatever she needs.<br />
<br />
Enter my inspiration! I'm not even really sure how this all came together, but basically I took my cousins' idea of hanging photos on a "clothesline" at a high school graduation reception last weekend and combined it with scripture memes I found online. And I decided that since it's a central place that not a lot of other people see, our bathroom would be the perfect place to hang them. I mean, if we're going to spend so much time in there, we could be meditating on good things, right? Just being real, folks! :-)<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9G2dXIjQ-AosItnGb3LWeHqop6rHGtZ2ISZIfyK5mMUEkrw2xqvAHsUGTIyCuIvFMymAV9rGT08-kflJhwwKw5vSmK0N4Sj2x7SqW9u-C9AgTOSJvs66YvBf1EauTE0As3l9_MDm0N4/s1600/IMG_1477.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9G2dXIjQ-AosItnGb3LWeHqop6rHGtZ2ISZIfyK5mMUEkrw2xqvAHsUGTIyCuIvFMymAV9rGT08-kflJhwwKw5vSmK0N4Sj2x7SqW9u-C9AgTOSJvs66YvBf1EauTE0As3l9_MDm0N4/s400/IMG_1477.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOdcxGwS945fJZRv7AcUCrNGoW8n6yvWIV_mTRoip9Ye3ozC4wSy6M2FFj2aS5DQEVNdGWLovUeVGcOHVJywjglo57Do5c_hJAGy_yv9t2BMRvvitdVqbTR6_EjyW4l3j08CMPteu0N8/s1600/IMG_1480.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOdcxGwS945fJZRv7AcUCrNGoW8n6yvWIV_mTRoip9Ye3ozC4wSy6M2FFj2aS5DQEVNdGWLovUeVGcOHVJywjglo57Do5c_hJAGy_yv9t2BMRvvitdVqbTR6_EjyW4l3j08CMPteu0N8/s400/IMG_1480.JPG" width="400" /></a><div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixrVa_apQNsxc1CHk8N2RQ-YCgEGG2VIWHQ4xUR0ozp_Xj2q-R9fxaqSfEJokaEL93hjgz5ZS39gGFmOxzVTeQ2uSIfDB4TgktRLGN8OTPs_cRXOxu6VZc2doIt7lSQuzcaf2LgoI4LAw/s1600/IMG_1482.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixrVa_apQNsxc1CHk8N2RQ-YCgEGG2VIWHQ4xUR0ozp_Xj2q-R9fxaqSfEJokaEL93hjgz5ZS39gGFmOxzVTeQ2uSIfDB4TgktRLGN8OTPs_cRXOxu6VZc2doIt7lSQuzcaf2LgoI4LAw/s400/IMG_1482.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm4VF2_KGFuq0S6D22IgtmebPJSJuplWkUrvqfcypq2Jn7amSaXFqGgWb2HMBGQQ0XsuNpjM4-wvyImZ74uQN1hkWqRpfJGg0Oh2q_pz8D4OvztoQhLpg0ZeIgwNKvbA1-ZADBffMMgkc/s1600/IMG_1478.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm4VF2_KGFuq0S6D22IgtmebPJSJuplWkUrvqfcypq2Jn7amSaXFqGgWb2HMBGQQ0XsuNpjM4-wvyImZ74uQN1hkWqRpfJGg0Oh2q_pz8D4OvztoQhLpg0ZeIgwNKvbA1-ZADBffMMgkc/s400/IMG_1478.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgrdu9CDLXzExjrPQPHTFFX03UQ23HnFoq5ikws6sphJmtisELZVjDVbt-MwuDt7Pz92EM1oFL8fZ6IiWkBvE4K07k9HWy1Abj7HmocIjgKrlLZ8kNWfXku8YoGXzKRpaf558QowrpqM/s1600/IMG_1488.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgrdu9CDLXzExjrPQPHTFFX03UQ23HnFoq5ikws6sphJmtisELZVjDVbt-MwuDt7Pz92EM1oFL8fZ6IiWkBvE4K07k9HWy1Abj7HmocIjgKrlLZ8kNWfXku8YoGXzKRpaf558QowrpqM/s400/IMG_1488.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9cVY_Ckt1d2Y5Sv4SA9hWM9BUgu2Ja3Mhmx9Hq_4vx_SzWjoFCEl66RIza9FpweHYH8AzNlryF0AaC4xPA4d0bvQtdUQ33mbQvVO41urdUN81Tz6sqvJTwOYUNX4rXCzlCSAsark0Ec/s1600/IMG_1489.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9cVY_Ckt1d2Y5Sv4SA9hWM9BUgu2Ja3Mhmx9Hq_4vx_SzWjoFCEl66RIza9FpweHYH8AzNlryF0AaC4xPA4d0bvQtdUQ33mbQvVO41urdUN81Tz6sqvJTwOYUNX4rXCzlCSAsark0Ec/s400/IMG_1489.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Did I overdo it? Probably. :-) Once I got started, I just couldn't narrow it down! But God's Word never returns void, so I figure that by putting these in front of us several times a day, they will soak in! I'm pretty excited about how it turned out. It looks cheerful.</div>
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I hung a few above Ryley's bedroom doorway too!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxiomLrTbw1SUGTD2HA2dGq7dOOzuY51SPNc6rFszwghqOjFXm_JzGdgA6W1inwvW0fsXLWgzhvhYXZqDfqcBn4CWUha1dP0J6m844djTSZjKG3FUD15dAFJmS3m3Clp3SsjEnzv-gB4/s1600/IMG_1490.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxiomLrTbw1SUGTD2HA2dGq7dOOzuY51SPNc6rFszwghqOjFXm_JzGdgA6W1inwvW0fsXLWgzhvhYXZqDfqcBn4CWUha1dP0J6m844djTSZjKG3FUD15dAFJmS3m3Clp3SsjEnzv-gB4/s400/IMG_1490.JPG" width="400" /></a><br /><br />
The coolest thing was that while I was organizing all the scripture cards on our living room floor, Ryley said she really liked the one with the castle:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZy9byokMeajG1VF5Sb6qI8a3CBJw_ZDQPpNvdxyWmJuOSKzsLnfIzr4n9nvA7Q_D5WN1cHEkqni_iJ7QOPZ2IUQwOwWcys8RnaZahzgV8LrvF5bb48E4tIKTOvYhlw4PHp6vH1XGrvgI/s1600/IMG_1485.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZy9byokMeajG1VF5Sb6qI8a3CBJw_ZDQPpNvdxyWmJuOSKzsLnfIzr4n9nvA7Q_D5WN1cHEkqni_iJ7QOPZ2IUQwOwWcys8RnaZahzgV8LrvF5bb48E4tIKTOvYhlw4PHp6vH1XGrvgI/s400/IMG_1485.JPG" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
I told her that's one of my favorite scriptures. She responded that it reminded her of another scripture I taught her when she was little -- one about a fortress and how we stay in God's shadow.<br />
<br />
"And there was a song about it! You taught me the song, and we sang it on the way to school!" she said, trying to jog my memory.<br />
<br />
"Oh, Psalm 91? He that dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty--"<br />
<br />
"Yes! That's it! How did you know the reference?"<br />
<br />
And this is why we're doing this. :-) We might be a little late, but better late than never, right? I'm excited to see how this little plan works out!</div>
Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-14150298760370643602016-04-04T17:36:00.001-07:002016-04-04T17:36:57.376-07:00Parenting: A Thickening PlotWhen I was a young mother, someone once told me that parenthood is a
constantly changing journey….Once you think you’ve got it all figured out, baby
throws a new challenge at you and you have to figure that one out too. For
instance, when baby-proofing the house, you start when the baby starts crawling,
somewhere around six months. You remove anything small and swallow-able from the
floors, and you generally rearrange things for the safety of baby. You even make
room for a play pen. Then, once you’re satisfied with your baby-proofing skills,
baby throws a new one at you by learning to pull herself up. Suddenly the coffee
table is no longer safe, and the prized super-trendy Zen garden and
marble-filled glass vases from your twenties have to be carefully packed away
out of reach (and, in our case, lost). A month or so later, baby starts walking,
then running, and it’s been a long time so I don’t remember exactly what we did
to baby-proof, but it seems like our décor was pretty bare bones for quite
awhile.
<br />
<br />
When you’re tired and sleep-deprived, you see 18 years of sleepless nights
stretching out before you as your inevitable destiny. But one day, she sleeps
in. And then all of a sudden, she’s capable of getting breakfast for herself,
even if she awakens before you do.
<br />
<br />
One day you wouldn’t even imagine letting your kiddo use a public restroom by
herself, but then the next day it seems logical.
<br />
<br />
The page turns, and a new chapter begins. But with that new chapter, the
story progresses, and the plot thickens.
<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
<br />
<br />
Ryan and I have talked about this a lot recently. We knew when she was a baby
that we would hold her to high standards. We knew we wouldn’t be popular with
her at times. Back then we couldn’t picture the exact scenarios—I mean,
Instagram, Facebook, and Snapchat didn’t even exist yet. But we knew that
whatever the situation, parenting would not be easy. As every generation of
parents has had to discover for themselves, the road to a healthy, well-adjusted
adult is bumpy and washed out, unpaved and unmapped.
<br />
<br />
But I’m not sure we understood how much our own childhood insecurities
would have an impact on our parenting decisions. We each remember being the kid
who wasn’t allowed to watch certain shows (Smurfs) or read certain books (Sweet
Valley High). Sometimes we weren’t allowed to go to movies with friends or go on
class trips. It’s never fun to feel left out – to be the only one who can’t
participate in a conversation. But our parents knew what was best for us. I once
had to leave a get-together with my girlfriends early because I had a piano
recital the next day. After I left, the girls TP’d the house where the boys were
and dumped a toilet on their front porch, which prompted the guys to egg the
house where the girls were staying. The night has notoriously been called “The
Night of the Toilet,” and I missed all the excitement.
<br />
<br />
Ryley is a bookworm – an avid reader who loves Percy Jackson books and Star
Wars books but who is not allowed to read Harry Potter or anything by John
Green. Her friends are absolutely befuddled by this, and she is absolutely
embarrassed. “How can you be such a bookworm and NOT have read ‘Harry Potter’?”
they ask. She can’t explain it without sounding like a weirdo. She is allowed to
watch Doctor Who and PG-13 comic book movies, but half of the live action shows
on the Disney Channel are banned for her. I know she would love Glee, but the
decision on that one is still up in the air. In fact, Ryan and I don’t always
agree. Some of the sci-fi stuff gets a little too weird, in my opinion, and the
Rys are always teasing me that I all too often call things “demonic.” I would be
more apt to let Ryley watch an episode of Friends, but the occasional sexual
talk is bothersome to Ryan.
<br />
<br />
To an outsider it would seem that there is no method to the madness. But we
have our reasons, and we are constantly re-evaluating her maturity –
emotionally, intellectually, spiritually, and otherwise. We don’t forbid things
without good reason. We discuss and pray and ask for God’s wisdom.
<br />
<br />
But that still didn’t stop me from bursting into tears with her when we
handed her a big fat NO on the subject of Instagram.
<br />
<br />
Her little heart was broken. In a group of friends where she already feels
like the oddball out, not letting her have Instagram means she can’t see the
funny pictures they all post, and she can’t share in the inside jokes and silly
conversations. Her friends are hilarious and intelligent and witty. I get it.
She lives only in the real world, while her friends are able to participate in
this sort of underworld. She arrives at school a step behind everyone else.
<br />
<br />
On the flip side, by not allowing Instagram, we are doing her a favor….When
the school day ends, so does the friend drama. She can come home and enjoy her
evening in a stable environment. She doesn’t have to see any of the pictures
that her emo friends post showing the horrific scars from where they’ve cut
themselves. She doesn’t have to see any of the melodramatic conversations
regarding self-harm, suicide, or sexuality. She doesn’t have to read any more of
the cuss words that she hears all day long. She doesn’t stumble across
inappropriate content that will haunt her and spark her curiosity.
<br />
<br />
We can’t protect her from everything. I realize that. The 21<sup>st</sup>
Century world is absolutely SATURATED with sex. And Ryley is INQUISITIVE. She
knows way more about the world than I ever knew at her age. Thus far, we have
created an environment where she can ask us anything, and we answer her
honestly. But what happens when the middle school culture has advanced way past
her age and maturity, and suddenly the answers are too heavy for her 12-year-old
shoulders?
<br />
<br />
Self harm is all the rage among her classmates. Seriously, it’s become
“trendy.” The girls disassemble their little pencil sharpeners, use the blades
to cut themselves, and then hide the blades inside of markers or chapstick tubes
so parents and teachers can’t find them. Ryley overheard one girl approach the
“queen bee” and say, “Hey, I need some advice; I tried cutting, and something
went horribly wrong.” It makes me sick. Our school administrators have been
doing an excellent job getting these girls into counseling, but it’s like a
wildfire that’s gotten out of control. Some of them are for sure doing it
because they have inner pain, and they want to have some control over the pain.
But others are doing it because all the cool kids do it. I’m not sure which one
is worse.
<br />
<br />
So with all this going on, why would I want my daughter subscribed to a site
where she can become even further inundated with this darkness?
<br />
<br />
Some of Ryley’s friends wear long sleeves to hide the scars on their arms.
She wears long sleeves because someone told her that her arms are too hairy…her
beautiful, perfect, unscarred arms with their little dusting of blond peach
fuzz.<br />
<br />
It’s time for the mothers to get involved. I have just recently proposed to
the administration that we hold a mother/daughter meeting for 7<sup>th</sup>
graders, where we can come together as a community and get to know one another
better. If moms knew each other…if we could organize get-togethers over the
summer and work together to create a positive environment or even outreach
opportunities for our girls, I think we could eliminate some of the “emo”
depression. I believe that regardless of race, religion, or family background
(one friend told Ryley, “Your family is abnormal”), we can all find common
ground in the fact that we love our daughters and want them to be kind,
successful, and happy. Only good can come from it.
<br />
<br />
In the meantime, we’ve been trying to get her more involved in our church
youth group so she can make some more Christian friends. Yesterday, on the way
to a church laser tag event, she was trying to think of a good laser tag name
for herself. She wasn’t sure if she should do anything Star Wars-related,
because her youth pastor has preached that Star Wars is bad. We told her not to
worry about it and to just be herself.
<br />
<br />
“But,” I added, “between games, don’t forget to talk about ‘the Lord’!” She
giggled. :-)
<br />
<br />
It turned out that lots of kids chose Star Wars and comic book-related names.
And in her silliness with her church friend, she chose “TheDorito.”
<br />
<br />
As a Christian, I’m finding that the only way to help our daughter navigate
these challenges is through constant prayer – for her and others. Sure, she
doesn’t cut, but Ryley has a lot of other hang-ups and issues that affect her
and her relationships. Whenever we remember to, we pray for her classmates, and
we pray for her to have opportunities to be a light. We pray for ourselves that
God gives us wisdom to make the right decisions that will protect that light
from becoming snuffed out by the world.
<br />
<br />
If or when this mother/daughter meeting idea takes off, I know it’s
inevitable that the chapter will eventually turn, and the story will progress in
other ways. That’s just the way the world works. Just when we think we’ve got it
figured out, the girls will outgrow the cutting and move on to other kinds of
drama. But whatever that drama is, at least we’d be facing it as a community.
<br />
<br />
Best of all, we know the Author of this story, and despite the plot’s twists
and turns and all the many intriguing characters that are woven throughout, we
know He is famous for His amazing endings. And we can trust Him with our
girl.Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2714700027252260149.post-26283003877390137072016-02-22T21:15:00.000-08:002016-02-22T21:15:28.702-08:00Our MouseIt’s now been three nights in a row that our bold little mouse friend has
decided to join us in whatever room we’re in. It doesn’t matter that the TV and
lights are on. It doesn’t matter that we’re talking or laughing. He must think
we sound friendly. Or, better yet (and disturbingly!), he knows that where we
are, there’s (more than likely) <i>food</i>.
<br />
<br />
In fact, on Saturday evening (also known as Night 2), we spent the better
part of an hour watching the little guy run from under the sofa to underneath
the ottoman to under the sofa to the middle of the carpet, all while I sat a
mere three feet away on the chaise lounge. (This was before I watched a
startling YouTube video about how high mice can jump, mind you.) Ryley watched
from her safe perch on the stairs, while Ryan retreated to stand on the exercise
equipment in the corner so his feet would be off the ground. Finally he set a
wooden snap trap right in the middle of the carpeted area, and we waited. But
though he sniffed at it, the mouse was not interested. We literally watched him
poke around our carpet, sniffing madly and feasting happily. He was actually
kind of cute up close—not nearly as menacing as the mice are when I picture them
collectively in my head. Apparently there were just too many goodies, even
though I had thoroughly vacuumed earlier in the day. Eventually we sent a sleepy
Ryley off to bed while Ryan and I continued the vigil, not wanting to lose track
of the mouse’s location. But then, he started moving toward the stairs, darting
out from behind the couch and then back under, out and back, out and back, out
and back. Ryan, who had moved to the stairs by this point, slowly backed up a
couple steps, not sure what the little dude’s intentions were. All of a sudden,
the mouse got up his nerve and, like a flash, leapt up to the bottom stair,
disappearing into an open space under the second step.
<br />
<br />
Ryan took off to the grocery store while I stood watch, and he came back with
a package of glue traps, which he laid out all along the step where the mouse
had disappeared. Then, he got busy refreshing our existing snap traps throughout
the house with drops of peanut oil. But after accidentally setting off a trap
which caused him to spill peanut oil on our end table and then stepping on the
forgotten glue traps on the stair no less than three times in his travels up and
down (and having to pry them off his shoe each time), his poor nerves were shot!
It was almost midnight by this time, and the mouse was obviously somewhere in
the depths of our house walls, having had his fill on our family crumb
collection. So we went to bed.
<br />
<br />
There was no sign of mice yesterday for the majority of the day until alas,
as we were watching Downton Abbey in bed last night, I thought I saw something
skitter from the bathroom door to underneath our arm chair.
<br />
<br />
“I think I just saw something,” I told Ryan. “Maybe not. It could have been
my glasses. Probably my glasses, actually.”
<br />
<br />
He sat up. “No, you probably did see something.”
<br />
<br />
You have to understand that since our first bout with mice back in October,
our eyes have been constantly searching for movement, for signs of droppings,
for activity on existing traps. We’ve seen things moving out of the corner of
our eyes…heard creaking and crunching…only to realize it was the sunlight
reflecting off the brass finish of the fireplace, or our dog chewing her bone
next to the running dishwasher.
<br />
<br />
And for a few months, we lived in peace. We did not catch a mouse from
November 14 until February 14…long enough to feel like the problem was solved.
So we had become confident that our mouse prevention methods were
working…peppermint oil in the diffuser, sonic nightlights, snap traps in a lot
of hidden corners, glue traps along walls, gaps closed as much as possible,
collection boxes placed outside the house to lure them before they even got
inside… We had exterminators out twice, but they did <i>nothing</i>. None of
their traps caught anything. Ryan voiced several times that with our experience,
he and I know more about the habits of mice than the incompetent kids that
exterminators hire. The exterminators are charlatans, he says. Snake oil
salesmen and such. We originally caught 14 mice with our methods; they caught
none.
<br />
<br />
But after the dual-mouse Valentine’s Day Slaughter in our laundry room, we
were jumpy again. For three months, we’d learned to tell ourselves it’s nothing.
But suddenly it’s wasn’t “nothing” anymore.
<br />
I paused our TV show, and as we sat on the bed, we watched as the mouse
reappeared from behind a laundry basket and ran to the hallway, apparently
taking cover behind a small table we have at the end of the hall. We couldn’t
prove where he went. But after looking the table over with a flashlight, we
thought it must have crossed the hall into our office. So we wedged the office
door shut (hoping to trap him in there with the snap trap) and Ryley’s bedroom
door too, and placed heavy books in front to block any cracks. Sure, there are
probably access points all over our house that we haven’t discovered yet;
closing doors most likely makes no difference. But it sure makes us sleep better
thinking we’ve kept it from running out in the open, from room to room, using
our house as an amusement park or carnival in the dark dead of night (think,
Templeton the Rat).
<br />
<br />
“Tonight I want to go to bed early,” Ryan said this morning. “Before—“
<br />
<br />
And we said this part in unison: “the mouse makes his nightly appearance.”
<br />
<br />
We’ve set the traps. Ryan’s even put out poison blocks for them to nibble on.
AND, he ordered 10 more traps (of amazing design!) from Amazon, arriving
Wednesday. We’ve made a “no food in the family room rule.” We’re literally doing
everything we can. My poor husband goes to bed thinking about mice, he dreams
about mice, and he wakes up “on-edge,” ready to go check the traps, like Pa
Ingalls did in the Big Woods. His competitive nature has come out in full force,
and he is angry with the little boogers. He’s constantly researching how to
outsmart them, outthink them, kill them….to the point that he wished he had a BB
gun that night we watched it snacking out in the open.
<br />
<br />
As I tried to explain to Ryley this morning, we <i>know</i> there’s a mouse
(or mice) running loose in the house. There’s no reason to be afraid. The most
awful thing about it is the element of surprise and not knowing exactly where it
is and where we’ll see it next. It won’t hurt us. It’s not like it’s going to
jump in our laps and bite us.
<br />
<br />
Even so. Though we haven’t seen neither hide nor hair of him, tonight we are
in bed earlier than normal, trying to get to sleep before any mouse drama has a
chance to begin. Because once it’s begun, it’s a whole “thing.”
<br />
<br />
If we lie flat, we can’t see the floor, right? So.
<br />
<br />
As I was reading the beginning of my blog to Ryan just now, he suddenly sat
up and looked anxiously around – a mannerism I’m become familiar with.
<br />
<br />
“What? Do you see something?” I asked.
<br />
<br />
“I’m just looking. I felt this vibe….It would be just like ‘our mouse’ to be
listening to you reading about him and just prance in here because he can.”
<br />
<br />
And with that, I think I’ll lie down flat and try to forget about Templeton
and the fair carnival in the dead of night. :-) Eventually one of our traps will trip him up. It's got to.Joyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02493227701276335601noreply@blogger.com0