tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79864997302046417702024-03-19T05:32:38.235-07:00A Discerning MadnessKarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-83849991149131442572016-12-13T22:45:00.000-08:002016-12-13T22:45:38.719-08:00The old maid at the marriage seminar<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Since I originally wrote this a couple of months ago, I've been going back and forth over whether or not to post it. Part of me still can't believe I'm actually considering putting this down in writing where others can read it, but the larger part finds the whole idea therapeutic. If this disappears in a few hours, you'll know I chickened out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Earlier this year, I attended the annual ministry conference for the
ministerial fellowship my family is a part of.
As always, it feels sort of like a family reunion, seeing friends I
haven’t seen in a year (or several) and meeting new members face-to-face for
the first time. Having grown up surrounded by this group of ministers, I am
always assured of being asked the same questions at least a couple of times
during the week--You know, the usual reunion stuff: “Are you married?” “Any
kids?” “What are you doing these days?” etc. (Thankfully, Facebook has made
these questions MUCH less common because most of us stalk everyone else enough to
know who is still single, childless, and working for her dad. Haha)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But this year, I was thrown for an unexpected loop. Since I
hadn’t really paid much attention to who the speakers were supposed to be this
year, I didn’t realize that at least two of our sessions would be on marriage.
**sigh** Yep, that was fun. LOL (Actually, they were both very good, and I hope
the majority of the room was able to suck it up and get over their obvious discomfort
with the subject of sex to learn something from what was said.) Anyway, once I
got over the initial “Oh, great! I have to sit at the same table with my family
while he talks about this? What’s next, parenting lessons?” I started wondering
about the rest of the room. Was there anyone else in the room feeling like the
odd-man-out? Later that evening, someone in my family was joking that they
should have all the single people stand up so they can pair us off. My response
was that I pretty much know who is single in the room (especially the men)
because, inevitably, someone at some point in time has taken the trouble to point them out
to me. LOL (The realization of which led me to another realization: people keep
jokingly pointing out single men to me, but that’s always as far as it goes. “You’re
single? Oh, so is he. Haha”….walks away…Hmmmm...Hello? No introduction? Oh, well, back
on topic…..)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As I was listening to the sessions, however, I came to a few
understandings about myself. (Well, I sort of knew them before, but I now have
it in words.) So, if only for the cathartic release, here goes:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I feel like I’m at an AA meeting: Hello, my name is Kari and….</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">1. <u>I have been hiding</u>. (Please, note the past tense. I'm truly working on this.) I'm not
sure that this was ever an actual, intentional thought of mine past trying to
avoid the terrible anxiety triggers that social situations inevitably caused during my teens,
but somewhere along the way, I started avoiding men. To this day, if someone
tries to introduce me to a single guy, I break out in a nervous sweat and try to bolt like a scared rabbit as soon as possible. If I’m remotely
interested in him, my anxiety will short out my brain, causing me to say something
utterly inane, which means I will avoid him like the plague out of fear of my stupidity. The cycle of stupidity and avoidance will continue until I can pull myself together enough to
manage just enough small talk to come across as civil--of course, causing him to assume I deeply
dislike him. (Facepalm!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">2. <u>I am apparently incapable of
making the first move (or any move at all).</u> Seriously, I can be head-over-heels for a
guy and not be able to do more than stutter out “Hello” when I see him.
**sigh** </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As I stated in #1, my history of anxiety makes for a rather pathetic lack of certain social skills, but the art of flirting is utterly beyond me. I </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">came along rather late in my parents’ lives. (I promise this is
connected.) My parents are Baby Boomers; the rest of my peers were raised by Hippies. My house had
different rules of engagement when it came to cross-gender relationships. I was
raised that a girl does not call a boy. Ever. For any reason. Seems totally
ridiculous (right?), but it was a fact of life in the
1950s. It was drilled into me that boys always do the asking. If a girl
approaches a boy, she’s being forward and immodest. Guys always pay. (See where
this is going?) </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">None of these rules actually work
in today’s society, and I still find myself trying to find my footing in today's dating world. Now, I am still a firm believer that the man should be the
leader of the relationship, but I’ve always envied the women who could show
their interest easily and respond in kind when they were approached. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">3. <u>I am picky.</u> Of
course, I call this having high standards, but for the sake of this list, I’ll
use everyone else’s term and say “picky.” One of the topics our speaker that
week mentioned was “The List.” Any girl in a youth group during the 90s was
told to write down a list of qualities she wanted in a husband, anything from
appearance to talents to personality. Then, she was to hold onto that list and
wait for the guy who would fulfill her every desire. **eye roll** Yeah,
that’s not a set up for disappointment. I ran across a list I wrote once in my
late teens and laughed so hard I cried (or maybe cried so hard I laughed—it was
a toss-up). Out of a page and a half of random wishes, I think only 3 were
things I would actually even think of now, such as: Christian. I kid you not,
the only things on the list that I now consider important enough to make the list were the things that
didn’t even need to be on the list to begin with. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">4. <u>Like I said: Picky.</u> I am, without fail, attracted to the strongest personality in the room. While i</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">t is unfortunately
difficult in today’s society of feminism and metro-sexuality to find a man who
is comfortable as a natural leader, it is even more difficult to find a man
who is confident enough in himself as a leader and as a man to handle being
around a woman who is herself a natural leader. I know that there are many
healthy relationships where the woman is the stronger personality; this isn’t
always an indication of an overbearing woman and a weak man. Each relationship
is different because the people within it are different. However, I personally
cannot exist in that kind of relationship. I do not want to be in charge, make
all the decisions, lead the house. (I hate when a guy constantly defers to me
and won’t make a decision or have an opinion about anything without checking
with me first. Just make a decision. Have a plan. Be open to hearing my opinion,
but please, for the love of sanity, start with a plan! **deep breath** OK</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">, rant over.) It has been my
experience that the guys who are typically attracted to me are the ones who
want me to take charge. They want me to make all the choices and have all the
opinions. Basically, I end up as “Mommy.” Ugh! Is it too much to ask for a guy
that I can respect as a leader as well as love as a man?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And there tends to be one other
obstacle in getting close to these strong personalities: they always have groupies. There was the popular guy on campus with whom I really hit it off, and judging by his attempts to keep in touch, we could have at least been friends, but I was utterly stymied by the gaggle of enamored girls that followed him everywhere. Then, there was the man who was constantly recognized everywhere we went, leaving me feeling like a third wheel. Friends would always laugh at my frustration, telling me to just "get in there" or to "just ignore the others." But, I would always freeze. Being talkative, or even friendly, does not make one an extrovert, and I kinda panic in these surroundings. I am not at my best in large groups; I
tend to revert to my Wallflower state and just watch the others. Introverts
shine in longer, one-on-one encounters; and the depth and quality of a conversation is
usually directly linked to its length. I come across as aloof and unfriendly (and extremely awkward) in
unfamiliar situations or when I haven't had time to mentally prepare for something. (Thus, I may seem very confident in one situation, but turn into a stumbling, stuttering mess in another.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">5. <u>I am a very convincing
actress.</u> “Today, the role of Independent, Self-sufficient Woman will be
played by Kari Yerton. Ms. Yerton has a long history of hiding vulnerabilities
behind similar roles from productions such as<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Too
Busy for a Relationship</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>and<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Not Interested</i>. Everyone will
remember her performance of the power ballad ‘Happy Alone,’ where she garnered
a standing ovation with her show-stopping delivery of the line ‘As long as I’m
busy, I can’t be lonely.’ In her free time, Ms. Yerton can be found
Netflix-binging on her couch in the apartment she shares with her pet parakeet,
a Betta Fish, and more books than a small-town library.” **sigh**</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Well, I guess I'll just leave this here...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">P.S. If you made it to the end, bravo for you! Now, go eat a cookie for me.</span></div>
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Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-64655919365997555962016-10-25T09:53:00.002-07:002016-10-26T13:10:11.758-07:00Burning<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s2" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; line-height: 21.600000381469727px; text-decoration: underline;">Burning</span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.399999618530273px;">Like the leaves that carpet the autumn floor,</span></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.399999618530273px;">My sins have fallen before Your gaze--</span></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.399999618530273px;">Tangible proof of my death, piled in heaps--</span></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.399999618530273px;">Brown, orange, yellow--a blaze of imperfection.</span></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.399999618530273px;">Slowly, deliberately, You gather them together.</span></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.399999618530273px;">I turn from the sight, sickened by my guilt,</span></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.399999618530273px;">When I hear Your voice calling, calling--</span></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.399999618530273px;">A fire--blood-red, scorching--rises to the sky--</span></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.399999618530273px;">Your hands--scarred by the flames You gave,</span></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.399999618530273px;">Purposefully blotting out the record of my wrong--</span></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.399999618530273px;">Reach out to me from the smoke,</span></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.399999618530273px;">Welcoming me with Your embrace.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="s3" style="font-size: 18px; line-height: 1.2;">
<span class="s4" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 15.600000381469727px;"><span class="bumpedFont15" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 23.4px;">--K. Yerton</span></span></div>
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-23134013831439768582016-02-29T19:51:00.000-08:002016-03-01T08:30:02.681-08:00Looking through black-colored glasses<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm currently neck-deep in reference books while I'm preparing for the 3 classes I will be teaching during the two month Spring Co-op session of the homeschool group my sister's family is a part of. The topics are Poetry, Research Papers, and Homer's Iliad. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(90% of you just groaned. Believe me, I'm just as thrilled by that middle subject as any 10th grader. LOL)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway, I decided to pull out some of my research projects from school to take as examples to show them since I will be teaching all of this without the benefit of a library everyday. (Yes, I still have my old papers. English majors have a thing about never getting rid of a paper. haha) </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I pulled them out of their file, though, I found a bunch of other random school papers in with them--crammed in there, I'm sure, in the moving chaos a few years ago.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqODLGnPBOOlI7kYmdiq4WP6w7Zx2Pq1r9BkVMDcYG_yp_5QNtJfUMyCiPOQs0Loh9bkpQeOQf35GEI2K06MY-hNynrHEQ9zeIagN5HkVxFsZ7s2MmQ7TiHpyeo9VygRL_uv0mL5iMAmM/s1600/2016-02-27+14.35.57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqODLGnPBOOlI7kYmdiq4WP6w7Zx2Pq1r9BkVMDcYG_yp_5QNtJfUMyCiPOQs0Loh9bkpQeOQf35GEI2K06MY-hNynrHEQ9zeIagN5HkVxFsZ7s2MmQ7TiHpyeo9VygRL_uv0mL5iMAmM/s320/2016-02-27+14.35.57.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My reading list. Jealous much?</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One thing I found was a list from my senior year of high school. Shortly before graduation, I, as president of our 23-member class, handed everyone sheets of paper with all the class members' names listed on them. I told them that they were to fill them out with the one thing--Keep it positive, people!--that they would remember most about that person; then, in a year, I would mail each person the list of everyone's responses. They filled them out and gave them back, and I didn't look at them again, for a year. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The next May, I pulled out the folder and started going through the pages, compiling the responses about each person; and everything was fine--some eye-rolling, a lot of laughs, a few groans--until I got to the last name on the list, mine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With the last name of Yerton, you get used to being the last at everything very early in your school career. I spent so many first months of school stuck on the back row by the door, that it became my favorite seat in the room. I always knew exactly which person would be sitting beside me in my first classes: the same person who sat beside me last year, and the 10 years before that. But in this case, being the last name was a disaster for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I read what my classmates had written about me, I was devastated and cried for days. To this day, I don't know how anyone else reacted to receiving their lists, but I almost didn't mail them because I was so crushed by mine. I'm still not sure why I kept it, but apparently, my packrattyness kicked in and stuck it in a box for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, here I am, seeing this orange piece of paper for the first time in nearly 2 decades. When I realized what it was, I cringed and almost put it down without looking at it again, but I stopped and decided to reread it because it has been so long. What I found shocked me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's not bad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Let me say that again. It. Is. NOT. Bad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Actually, most of it is completely positive, even complimentary.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLWEE0C5VgbbovnWoOa8377nV18uhnUqQVjJqTBQ9GKz6Rj1diVrPvsH6K7vNNsOcUj_hOomAs3OWPWXHxhqhH4i8qxQ_M4dYA_uiOD6VNMNaG-KwFu313tLonzBolg4-gOSaBGe8EmU/s1600/2016-02-29+21.19.35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLWEE0C5VgbbovnWoOa8377nV18uhnUqQVjJqTBQ9GKz6Rj1diVrPvsH6K7vNNsOcUj_hOomAs3OWPWXHxhqhH4i8qxQ_M4dYA_uiOD6VNMNaG-KwFu313tLonzBolg4-gOSaBGe8EmU/s320/2016-02-29+21.19.35.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Infamous List<br />*names have been removed to protect the innocent ;)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm still a little in shock about it. I've had nightmares about this list and wondered how my classmates could've spent so many years with me and still known me so little. It colored how I approached new relationships in college and changed my opinion of myself.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKO2ZvMbwEIVhl8xs27-505BW6Qn2nGKdpK1YKUnYS7v2HzuxCtfdKukPVfrBiqVRoZEqsRSGHXSYfKEgTC3qYpjKzZCRHDQ36hHxsnDg9gIMkGpOXVWa6WztyLlIK_GOlGA_zqro952M/s1600/1929248_51751986031_6867_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKO2ZvMbwEIVhl8xs27-505BW6Qn2nGKdpK1YKUnYS7v2HzuxCtfdKukPVfrBiqVRoZEqsRSGHXSYfKEgTC3qYpjKzZCRHDQ36hHxsnDg9gIMkGpOXVWa6WztyLlIK_GOlGA_zqro952M/s320/1929248_51751986031_6867_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As a college Sophomore</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How could I have been so wrong, have seen it so incorrectly? One word: Depression.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I've realized much about Depression and its insidiousness over the years since I first began treatment, but I've never before seen just how clearly it alters one's perception of events. I looked at this list of what 22 people thought about me and, not only did I only remember the 1 or 2 negatives, I didn't even notice all the good things they had to say. In fact, some of the ones I remember hurting me aren't even negative; they are things that I would take as a compliment or just laugh at now. But I couldn't see it then. I couldn't hear it. My perception was completely twisted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is what makes Depression so dangerous: It literally changes how you see yourself and the world around you. Depression had me convinced that I was a failure, that no one liked me, that I had to act all the time to keep others from seeing how pathetic I really was. I was so convinced that I was ugly that I became terrified of dating and developed severe social anxiety that made me sick anytime I had a date, so I just avoided guys and hoped they would leave me alone. (Most successful thing I've ever attempted in my life, by the way. haha)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My point is, if you are suffering from Depression, don't take your world at face value. Don't trust yourself to be seeing things clearly. Get help. Reassess. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And if you have a loved one who is dealing with this monster, remember that their view of the world is warped by their pain. Just like physical pain can cause other symptoms, emotional pain taints every aspect of a person's life. Support them. Help them. But whatever you do, DO NOT back off!! They will do everything they can to get you to leave them alone and go away. Ignore it! It's the last thing they need and, truly, the last thing they really want.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just remember, silver linings are real. The sun really is shining. And it does get better.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Love, me!</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-22128191633679258422015-09-18T17:41:00.000-07:002015-09-18T17:41:14.127-07:00The suicide question<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This morning, a friend who writes fiction posted a query on
Facebook asking a question about a certain character’s development,
specifically why a 17 year-old girl would commit suicide.<span> </span>Now, she gave more details about the
situation, and several fellow writers and friends—including me—commented with
ideas and suggestions; however, I couldn’t help but feel she was asking the
wrong question.<span> </span>Like most adults, she
was asking, “What could be so bad or serious to drive a kid to throw away her
future?”<span> </span>But this isn’t the question the
suicidal kid is asking; therefore, no answer given will be sufficient.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I have recently begun teaching a weekly writing class for
secondary students in the homeschool group my sister’s family is a part of. I
was talking to my all-girl class today about figurative language, and spent
some time on the subject of hyperbole. <span> </span>We
all had a good laugh about how teenage girls live in a world of hyperbole;
everything is a disaster or a miracle. The truth, however, is that all teens
are residents of a very small world; that’s why everything causes drama,
everything is life-changing and important. One must realize this in order to understand
what question the suicidal teen is asking.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The human brain is an amazing thing—how it develops,
changes, learns—and it dictates much of how a person responds to a certain
situation at a specific time.<span> </span>For
example, a 5 year-old, a 15 year-old, and a 25 year-old will all respond
completely differently to an event. This is why adults are so easily frustrated
with their teenage children; their brains function differently. Your son’s not
just being reckless; his brain is actually telling him he is invincible—it’s a
developmental stage.<span> </span>Your daughter’s not
just being a drama queen; her brain honestly can’t see past this current
situation, so of course, it has monumental importance for her. <span> </span>When you add to the mix the high pressure of
our modern American society, the ridiculous obsession with appearance and
social status (the two things most in flux during the teen years) and the
break-down of the nucleus family unit, you have a recipe for stressed-out,
confused kids.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In my opinion, the issue facing this teen, the question she
is trying to answer, isn’t, “What is so bad?” but rather, “What is so good?”<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Most people have either extremely good memories of high
school or extremely bad memories; very few of us fall somewhere in the
middle.<span> </span>This has a lot to do with how
teens view the world in general, but also much to do with how the world
interacts with them.<span> </span>To a kid facing
high expectations on the sports field, a blown game can be life-changing; to
one focused on high grades, a failed test is a disaster.<span> </span>A girl desperate for love and acceptance from
anyone sees a break-up as a direct reflection on her worth as a human
being.<span> </span>A boy trying to figure out to be
a man views that argument with his dad as proof he is a failure.<span> </span>These kids see themselves as disposable,
perhaps even replaceable.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Now, before someone gets upset, let me clarify that I’m not
saying that all kids who have dealt with suicide has had a person, or persons
deliberately, repeatedly telling them they are worthless. Self-harming isn’t
proof of abuse or bullying, and even when another person is involved, the act
was usually indirect.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Our society over the last 100 years has created a world of
disconnected people.<span> </span>Where once a child
was born, grew up, married, lived, and died all in the same town or
neighborhood, surrounded by family and familiar people; now, we are constantly
on the move, never really knowing our neighbors.<span> </span>It is now unusual to find an unbroken family
unit, and often, the pieces of the family live far apart.<span> </span>Our heroes and celebrities have changed from
great leaders or statesmen to entertainers and athletes.<span> </span>Where popularity used to hinge on the
opinions of a few people you knew personally, it now lies in the hands of strangers—the
nameless, faceless internet.<span> </span>It used to
be expected to learn about manners and courtesy; now, our world is all about
self-gratification and expression, without regard to whomever it may affect.<span> </span>It is no wonder that bullying is more
prevalent than ever; abuse—in all its forms—is also more common. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We, as a society, must stop trying to convince these kids
not to die, but instead, give them a reason to live.<span> </span>Talking the jumper down off the ledge will
always be more effective if there is someone he loves, and who loves him
standing beside you.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I’m sure that you may be wondering why I took the time to
write all this and what right I have to give my opinion (although I did just
point out we live in an age of opinions).<span>
</span>This topic grabbed my attention this morning because I can remember so
clearly what it was like to be the kid wondering if anyone would care if I were
gone, thinking it would probably be easier for them all, and trying daily to find
a reason to hang on.<span> </span>I’m not sure when I
first began thinking about suicide, but I was very young. I remember getting
the gun out of Dad’s hiding place and mentally walking through how to load it
and fire.<span> </span>I remember standing by the
road one day as a semi drove by, wondering if it would hurt to step in front of
it. I remember the years where I couldn’t drive over a bridge without thinking
about driving off.<span> </span>I remember all of
this, but I don’t remember once thinking about the future, how things would
change, how this was just a season.<span>
</span>Never.<span> </span>Not once.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This is how I know.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It’s been said that suicide is a permanent solution to a
temporary problem.<span> </span>That is true, but
only for those on the outside.<span> </span>When you’re
on the inside, it’s the only thing you can see.<span>
</span>Your world shrinks down until the problem facing you is your entire
horizon, as far as you can imagine.<span>
</span>Nothing else exists.<span> </span>This is why
they do it.<span> </span>This is why it seems like a
viable choice, the only choice.<span> </span>You
reach a point where the only thought in your head is, “Make it stop.” Make the
pain stop. Make the abuse stop. Make the inferiority stop. Make this problem
screaming at me day and night stop. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We must be louder than the screaming, louder than the
incessant pounding that says, “You’re worthless. You’re a failure. You don’t
have a reason to go on.” We must find a way to show what we can see because we’re
on the other side of adolescence. We know life changes; we can see how
situations alter. We must keep telling them through our love that they are
worthy and important.<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We have to answer the right question.</span></span></div>
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-28740538317507373372015-08-20T18:31:00.001-07:002015-08-20T18:34:38.605-07:00Something old.....something new<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I’ve been waiting to show you all this beauty for a while
now. A couple of years ago, my dad and I found this poor thing sitting on the
side of the road. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMBRQEP8owv_ylcTpRxqdXMqwj1VknjFcT2N2p5DBmxe0aVd9K0qAbz9QyQRwZUksMlz3Vce1Ue9JUHxnHWcadEmZ-NxhuYlqN1ibJ3Y0s19ypHxpE4qO-twDe12wOfV8t1fVTfl1lDg/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMBRQEP8owv_ylcTpRxqdXMqwj1VknjFcT2N2p5DBmxe0aVd9K0qAbz9QyQRwZUksMlz3Vce1Ue9JUHxnHWcadEmZ-NxhuYlqN1ibJ3Y0s19ypHxpE4qO-twDe12wOfV8t1fVTfl1lDg/s320/01.jpg" width="251" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Please ignore the messy garage. They had just moved.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It was obvious from the dirt and apparent termite damage
that it had been sitting in the barn on the property for a long (read:
looooooong) time. But it was a beautiful old secretary, and I begged Dad to
turn around and let me get a better look at it. Even though it was starting to
rain, the desk seemed sturdy and didn’t appear to have any water damage, so we
crammed it in the back of the Corolla and drove it to my parents’ house. </span></div>
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</span><br />
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2qH_zVBZg1X3nXbVI53YMVxVVIqMAGE8ORI7YPvu9JlH2DguornjJK9HThPpKG94BnQR1fdmHxug9JRSgriTJXztPoh52svrXMY-yRRo_lLbrVMIGKXT3jiWqhGRsuoF8lFdqxWHLF6s/s1600/02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2qH_zVBZg1X3nXbVI53YMVxVVIqMAGE8ORI7YPvu9JlH2DguornjJK9HThPpKG94BnQR1fdmHxug9JRSgriTJXztPoh52svrXMY-yRRo_lLbrVMIGKXT3jiWqhGRsuoF8lFdqxWHLF6s/s320/02.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Seriously, my mom will probably kill me for posting these photos. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I knew immediately what I wanted to do with it, but I didn’t
have the space in my current apartment for the extra piece of furniture. So, my
parents kindly allowed me to leave it in their garage until I could fix it up.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRqmnjDjctdnXrPK3xOdeY7MEKiqDMIiJdu9_9xWzVNR85t6sJIDr3HDj6D-pEKDNnayCBqrdFPUq6JCmVd9G-emdD17Fp5AIk1dvjkJtJnCmDDezruXTYtuORDhqg428DZjbrH9gTUSo/s1600/03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRqmnjDjctdnXrPK3xOdeY7MEKiqDMIiJdu9_9xWzVNR85t6sJIDr3HDj6D-pEKDNnayCBqrdFPUq6JCmVd9G-emdD17Fp5AIk1dvjkJtJnCmDDezruXTYtuORDhqg428DZjbrH9gTUSo/s320/03.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I decided to not use the drawer because it was completely unattached.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Well, I finally moved into a larger apartment earlier this
year, so it was time to tackle this redo. I had tried sanding on the piece earlier,
but I realized that any remaining stain had completely worn off the piece. What
it really needed was cleaning. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It looked 100% better after just the initial cleaning with a
T.S.P. Cleaner substitute. After it dried completely, I repeated the process
once more before doing some spot sanding. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFnPO8cb_43PYuNQ3qaLhLH6gWjxbob2QNiOm_fDyEwbqM-Xt2v-jgvMgN5PrgVYpQtOX5AkWNIl6Qzcthnx2jKvLlYAQ538laH_f3BZdbO8jMLa9hl7bF_oVYTqx_WvSC6MaZPEL1n3M/s1600/04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFnPO8cb_43PYuNQ3qaLhLH6gWjxbob2QNiOm_fDyEwbqM-Xt2v-jgvMgN5PrgVYpQtOX5AkWNIl6Qzcthnx2jKvLlYAQ538laH_f3BZdbO8jMLa9hl7bF_oVYTqx_WvSC6MaZPEL1n3M/s320/04.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Still wet from the first cleaning, but already looks amazing!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> One of the legs had been replaced at some point because it
was slightly different from the others, and the table wobbled a bit. Dad helped
me lay the beast on its side, and we discovered that leg was slightly shorter.
However, the bottom of one of the other legs had been damaged, so we decided to
cut them all off to the same length. Remember I said there was apparent termite
damage to the legs? Well, when Dad sawed off the legs, he discovered that the
termites had given up because the Oak wood was so hard. None of the holes were
anything but superficial, and the center of the legs was still so hard that his
circular saw was smoking trying to cut through.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7LBhy171Px9BBurfBVnSc8Q4-z9oB7EmMqc1hrALoKpXkkoZsF5GMLnq2FLEPFL9NGo7m110hUwz5qHg5gzEy0jfbkjrc8jQzxqEiJzfiEni2uc3EXlqHbHnRMED7uoToS6RkqxNF_4k/s1600/05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7LBhy171Px9BBurfBVnSc8Q4-z9oB7EmMqc1hrALoKpXkkoZsF5GMLnq2FLEPFL9NGo7m110hUwz5qHg5gzEy0jfbkjrc8jQzxqEiJzfiEni2uc3EXlqHbHnRMED7uoToS6RkqxNF_4k/s320/05.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Fully dry and ready to be filled in and painted.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Now, the only problem left to address before painting was
the hole that ran across the center of the desk top. I’m not sure what caused
it or if it was built that way, but I wanted to fill it in. Dad was going to
try stripping a board down to the correct width to fill it in, but I found a
much easier solution. I bought 2 36”-long square dowels that were the correct width.
The width of the desk inside was 38”, so I used one dowel as it was and cut the
other for pieces. Here’s a diagram of the inside of the desk.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0lCZPyfjlyuIHJ_acPPzDj5YOTvd3_3ay3tOsu0X6Row8mUA1ssiGpVH9caKKL9ss8HGLy1xT05YUhJBfh5maCKpIW9G3IFajJ7iPrqlGDpo-ClqJ-FGoxeRDRsLhRWhqdP89GdlCtA/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN0lCZPyfjlyuIHJ_acPPzDj5YOTvd3_3ay3tOsu0X6Row8mUA1ssiGpVH9caKKL9ss8HGLy1xT05YUhJBfh5maCKpIW9G3IFajJ7iPrqlGDpo-ClqJ-FGoxeRDRsLhRWhqdP89GdlCtA/s400/11.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9zB1D7Fi-Eg_aHVsR4q0lg6NyCcghs6y-ZAtJXoCyuFvBqW3YOOD8wTZioT-gMLoCMbljdO5Bw-QO_33xsjZI8pmSTp9_WrTnXclpiDKDLw8Q1p78F3iYr58vxuvNjs8fkR77UmLKkc/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="97" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9zB1D7Fi-Eg_aHVsR4q0lg6NyCcghs6y-ZAtJXoCyuFvBqW3YOOD8wTZioT-gMLoCMbljdO5Bw-QO_33xsjZI8pmSTp9_WrTnXclpiDKDLw8Q1p78F3iYr58vxuvNjs8fkR77UmLKkc/s640/12.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I doubled the dowel so it could be glued into place to be
flush with the desk and still be supported by the frame. The small 1” pieces on
the ends are glued to the inside and outside of the frame as extra support.
After the glue dried, I used wood filler to fill in the gaps around the dowel
and smooth out some of the imperfections in the rest of the desk.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Finally, I started painting. I used a spray paint because I
wanted a glossy finish without brush strokes, but I realized after the first 2
coats that I had to use a brush to fill in the grain more evenly. Luckily, I
was able to get the exact shade in a pint and did 2 coats (well, one full coat
and spot touch-ups) with that before finishing off with the spray paint again.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbi_gZONj1IbDZLuIqScKW0aWsNQVawEtgc2z7cFKAB8-4OiEFgvu7GIGDkhyphenhyphen4Sw7q8LqktkzQt8Vc72gNdeqdDeQHxpjWEjpAMZW9uQTIYV3qLSGXmsmkosRUjWHbE-CWmk10PrTsPno/s1600/06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbi_gZONj1IbDZLuIqScKW0aWsNQVawEtgc2z7cFKAB8-4OiEFgvu7GIGDkhyphenhyphen4Sw7q8LqktkzQt8Vc72gNdeqdDeQHxpjWEjpAMZW9uQTIYV3qLSGXmsmkosRUjWHbE-CWmk10PrTsPno/s320/06.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Love me some Kelly Green!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Dr_Y09P2DLAaS5HKPpoEGy7c6kHPxev7xLUBXPLVKrMXiTUwzN62UvbH_PN0xROrNs3vR1WLXpCjE_x59k8jhVPbf2fXWlQ6WrbkhPTdFfUl5ju89B5M_Y_Ead1205pZgtAoM18KJUg/s1600/08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Dr_Y09P2DLAaS5HKPpoEGy7c6kHPxev7xLUBXPLVKrMXiTUwzN62UvbH_PN0xROrNs3vR1WLXpCjE_x59k8jhVPbf2fXWlQ6WrbkhPTdFfUl5ju89B5M_Y_Ead1205pZgtAoM18KJUg/s320/08.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Already looking beautiful!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0xMIijonsvJeKqUFoyB0U7qHnW6BdA_vWOpf7R3dV8prfIx4gODR2vNkaxtt4FwpX_04xtLnFXOjD-az3fQzHaimy4feSM8iXzhZrkZ8tcNS7NBgJ2yvcNliTslmCTdw_tpEd0rJHFk/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0xMIijonsvJeKqUFoyB0U7qHnW6BdA_vWOpf7R3dV8prfIx4gODR2vNkaxtt4FwpX_04xtLnFXOjD-az3fQzHaimy4feSM8iXzhZrkZ8tcNS7NBgJ2yvcNliTslmCTdw_tpEd0rJHFk/s320/10.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">You can see how well the gap filled in.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3LAKDwSM-BL3aVSCiSjdbcg_1oF_XCZb8COQKnYoJSMJSVGpfVK3JCI83lu5KEUxrsh-LTjMCtaPaqR8GCGuvHhjkMBDACs7lwoXql2RgofRTHCdTidDGCcmCpyP8D9pu5anib4c7hU/s1600/09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR3LAKDwSM-BL3aVSCiSjdbcg_1oF_XCZb8COQKnYoJSMJSVGpfVK3JCI83lu5KEUxrsh-LTjMCtaPaqR8GCGuvHhjkMBDACs7lwoXql2RgofRTHCdTidDGCcmCpyP8D9pu5anib4c7hU/s320/09.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">All her gorgeousness!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The end result is just loverly!</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It was a long time coming, but I’m quite happy and proud
with how this project turned out!</span>Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-73175322304944973722015-03-26T15:58:00.004-07:002015-03-26T15:58:34.676-07:00What It Means To Be a Teacher<div class="MsoNormal">
As most people close to me would know, I taught high school English for exactly one disastrous year after college. =) If anyone doesn't know the details about that experience, suffice it to say that I learned much about myself and my inability to function in the American public school system. **shudder** </div>
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This does not, however, mean I changed my opinion about education and educators. I love learning! I could probably be a lifelong student and be perfectly happy. =) And, I deeply respect those who have made it their life's mission to teach. Unfortunately, this opinion is not necessarily shared by everyone in America today. Too often, I see teachers berated for things out of their control or forced on them by inept leadership. The public demands excellence, but gives no support and little resources. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I thought I would share with you what I feel it means to be a teacher. I send this out to my many, many friends and relatives who work tirelessly day in and day out in an oft-times thankless job.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I love you all!</div>
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<br /></div>
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________________________________________________________________</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><u><span style="font-size: large;">What it means to be a teacher:</span></u></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be a teacher means working 8-10 hour days and still
bringing 1 or 2 hours of work home with you each night.<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It means spending thousands of dollars of your own money on
everything from tissues and notebook paper to new technology or resources in
your attempt to catch the imagination of just one more kid.<br /></div>
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It means watching children struggle with schoolwork and
disciplinary issues and knowing they are going home hungry and alone.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It means being able to do little comfort or help that needy kid because--<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to be a teacher means being constantly suspected and
mistrusted because of the selfish, deviant actions of a few.<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It means being told how to do your job by those with no
training or experience in your field.<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It often means being forced to choose between the education
and growth of your students and the financial health of your school and
district.<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It means spending your summers attending conferences and
working part-time jobs for extra money, all while trying to spend quality time
with your family and loved ones.<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be a teacher means you will be bullied, belittled,
challenged, threatened, and verbally assaulted by both students and their
parents when they aren’t happy.<br /><br />It means you work 4-6 years for your degree, then spend
another 1-3 years in a “trial” position under a mentor before you gain your
full certification.<br /><br />It means having to supervise other functions outside of
regular hours such as dances, games, and field trips.<br /><br />It means working with curriculum and supplies that are
sometimes past their prime because the budget can’t allow for their
replacements.<br /><br />It means watching new stadiums and gyms being built while
using those old supplies.<br /><br />It means you will probably spend the first few years of your
career in the hardest classes with the most difficult schedules.<br /><br />To be a teacher means bringing home a paycheck that is
roughly the same as a McDonalds shift manager’s.<br /><br />It means spending your lunch hour and planning periods
prepping lessons, grading papers, and setting up activities—all while
attempting to swallow at least half of a sandwich.<br /><br />It means having to justify and explain in five different
ways why you taught what you taught in the manner you chose to teach it.<br /><br />It means grading papers and writing lessons on the weekend.<br /><br />It means never having a moment to yourself during the day.<br /><br /><i><span style="font-size: large;">But…</span></i><br /><br />To be a teacher also means watching a child’s face light up
when he finally grasps a difficult concept.<br /><br />It means watching a student everyone thought would drop out
in a cap and gown preparing for college.<br /><br />It means gaining a new family of “your kids” every fall and
sending a little bit of your heart with each of them every summer.<br /><br />It means knowing the joy of seeing a kid read for the first
time, succeed for the first time, or try for the first time.<br /><br />To be a teacher means choosing every day to invest in the
next generation whether you receive credit for their successes or blame for
their failures.<br /><br />It means caring when everyone else gives up, working after
everyone else leaves, and showing up when everyone else stays home.<br /><br />It isn’t about a paycheck, a career, or a job; it’s about
the students and opening their eyes to what life could be and what they could
be. Because teaching isn’t about what happened yesterday or what is going on
today; no, teaching is about building the future one child and one idea at a
time. Indeed, the future of our society does not rise or fall in the
marketplace or the political floor. Our
future is created in the classroom.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-47684262167776372862014-03-10T13:26:00.002-07:002014-03-10T13:26:47.386-07:00Some weird math...<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the most common misconceptions I have encountered among
Christians is that the church and the pastor are somehow responsible for one’s
spiritual growth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, I completely agree that we should find a church home
where we can receive nourishment and be challenged; however, the public church
service should never be our only (or even our main) source of spiritual food.
We are each responsible for our own spiritual growth and development.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, if
you are feeling underfed or that you've stopped growing, that is not the pastor’s
fault, but yours.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you disagree with me, here’s a couple questions.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Whose fault is it when your love of McDonald's
gives you extra pounds and high cholesterol: the doctor’s or yours?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Whose fault is it when your speeding car
hydroplanes in the rain: the weatherman’s or yours?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 7pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Whose fault is it when the kitchen fire spreads
too quickly because the batteries in the smoke alarm haven’t been replaced: the
fire department’s or yours?</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Whose fault is it when your car runs out of gas:
the mechanic’s or yours?</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most of us are mature enough to accept that our actions—or lack
of action—will bring consequences in other areas of our lives, but when it
comes to our relationship with God, we often fail to make the connection.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We understand that all human relationships
require some kind of maintenance and investment, and that the depth and
strength of each relationship is proportionally determined by the amount of
time and effort paid into it. And yet, we think that by spending 1.5-2 hours in
a church service a few times a month and throwing a occasional $20 in the
offering, we should have flourishing, rewarding spiritual lives. (Can you imagine if that were your marriage?)<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Think about it, people. It just doesn't add up.</div>
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-10921912749705700182013-12-29T22:37:00.001-08:002013-12-29T22:37:54.020-08:00WhisperClimbing.<div>Blue sky above--</div><div>I grope for a hand-hold. </div><div><br></div><div>No ropes. </div><div>Deep well below--</div><div>Will this toil ever end?</div><div><br></div><div>I've been on the edge,</div><div>Peering through the abyss. </div><div>The water's covered me</div><div>When my last strand broke. </div><div><br></div><div>Keep me on the wall. </div><div>Keep me in my path. </div><div>Only from my labor, can I</div><div>Ever hear the birds again. </div><div><br></div><div>K. Yerton</div><div>2003</div>Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-29675653944997051152013-11-19T13:11:00.002-08:002018-06-19T20:53:42.111-07:00Friendship (Through the eyes of a kid)I am one of a group of teachers who rotate weeks in the middle school Sunday School class at our church. If you haven't noticed, 5-8th grad is my favorite age group! =) They're old enough to have intelligent, rational conversations, but young enough to still intimidate with my "superior" wisdom. LOL<br />
<br />
Actually, I just love watching as their worldviews and ideas begin forming. If you want to see why an adult is the way he/she is, look back to these ages. Things that happen during those years will shape their whole lives.<br />
<br />
Our curriculum focuses on character traits and lessons each month. For November, we are learning about Wisdom: where to gain it, how to use it, etc.<br />
<br />
This past Sunday, the lesson was "To be wise, hang out with wise people." I split the girls and boys up to do an activity where they wrote down characteristics of the ultimate best friend on sticky notes. Each group had a poster on the wall with a stick figure that they then attached the note to the corresponding body part. (For example, "Speak kindly" would go near the mouth.)<br />
<br />
They had a great time, and I didn't really pay much attention to what exactly they were writing down, other than to give some hints and advice occasionally. So, yesterday, when I was doing some cleaning up at the church, I took all of their notes down and read them. Much hilarity ensued! LOL I had to take them with me to share with the family, and now, I share them with you.<br />
<br />
Enjoy!<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Describe the ultimate best friend:<br />
<br />
Answers from 4-6 grade students (with some observations and initial thoughts from yours truly)<br />
<br />
(I have left them exactly as they were written, odd capitalization and misspellings, and all.)<br />
<br />
<div class="WordSection1">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><b style="text-decoration: underline;">Girls</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">wear appropiate things</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">listen to me.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Talk nicely to people.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Tell people about the love of Jesus (<i>I guess they thought I would be grading them.</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">never tell my secrets.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Help others in need</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">See the good in everything</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Not be a sore loser. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Kind heart</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Would not gossip and make me look bad </span><span style="font-size: 18.88888931274414px; line-height: 21.111112594604492px;">(<i>I'm assuming there's a story there.</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Doesn’t make fun of my make makeup (<i>Makeup? You're like 10!</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">touch a bug and not be grossed out. (<i>Umm...This is on the girls' list?</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Give nicely</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">love sleepovers and not be afraid of the dark (<i>Another story, I guess.</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Helps you feel better when your sad</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Say people smell good Not Bad (<i>Lord, I hope there's a story behind that! LOL</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Respect other peoples things.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">hang with everyone even when they are mean</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Don’t sit around and play Halo (<i>Apparently, someone has brothers.</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">responsibility</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Be wise and smart</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">keep in mind everone has Feelings (<i>Was the emphasis intentional there?</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Have patience</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Wants to be your friend no matter what</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">not let their dog poop in my yard (<i>Well, that story I know. LOL Gotta love "that" neighbor.</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Invite people to come to church. (<i>Again with the grading...</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">not lead me in the wrong direction.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">not be in a hurry to leave. (<i>Leave you? Church? Life in general?</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Would come to church.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Would not make fun of people’s clothes</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Under stand me and laugh at me jokes (<i>We suddenly became Irish.</i>)</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="WordSection1">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"><u style="font-weight: bold;">Boys</u> (<i>Hold on to your seats, folks.</i>)</span></div>
</div>
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</span>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">go through the right path (<i>Through the path? Is there a gate?</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Love others even your enemies</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Help others no matter who it is.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">do not sneak out (<i>Sneaking out? Who sneaks out at the age of 10? Seriously? Is this a big problem?</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Give to the needy</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">use words insted of fist (<i>This sounds like a teacher quote.</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Play Good Video games (<i>Play the games well or play good games? This could go several ways.</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">do not hit (<i>I guess it's a recurring problem for him.</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Have good intintians </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">give people a 2 chance (<i>Is this like a second chance?</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">wach your words </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">wach your toung </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">listens to other</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">wach what you hear (<i>Not sure how to do this anyway.</i>) </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">See the good in others.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">wach what people you hang out </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">do not think about bad stuff</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">thing mo npgativp thouts (<i>I swear that's what it said.</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">watch apopiate things –not freaky—I know **** ("<i>Name removed to protect the innocent."</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">wach what you wach </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">En corugases others. (<i>wait...what?</i>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Has a good mind</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">think befor you Speak </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">listen and obay</span></li>
</ul>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 21.111112594604492px;">Ok, I'm crying again! LOL</span></span></div>
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-32793102511780933262013-09-29T23:53:00.002-07:002013-09-29T23:53:57.791-07:00Masquerade, paper faces on paradeThis song has been ringing through my head ever since I heard what the sermon series for the month of October will be at our church. =) The title "Masquerade" sends me off into the famous scene from "Phantom of the Opera," picturing the fancy costumes and elaborate dances. Movie scenes and images from classic stories all meld together into some fanciful idea of a masked ball that has always made me want to attend one--clearly I have forgotten my complete inability to dance and the total lack of that kind of culture in my social circles. =) But, hey, a girl can dream, right?<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, in my mind, I have always pictured these balls as a type of amalgam of "Phantom" and Poe's "The Masque of Red Death." I suppose that is because underneath all the gaiety and fun of adults in fancy dress dancing the night away, there always seemed something slightly sinister about the whole idea. Some would call that the romance of the idea, I guess--not really knowing absolutely who anyone is. Modern recreations of the masquerade ball have tended to lose a bit of the complete anonymity that they used to bring. Everyone was masked, and no one was supposed to remove his mask until the proper time, usually midnight. Costumes were closely-guarded secrets that, often, only one or two people in one's own party knew. And, of course, if you have read very much classic mystery fiction (thank you, Agatha Christie), you are aware how often the change or replication of a costume was used as a plot device to carry out some evil deed. Someone could carry out a heist or even murder someone without being missed or recognized, or all suspicion could be laid on someone else in an identical costume.</div>
<div>
<br />
What is my point, you ask?<br />
<br />
Today, we are often told that we need to be authentic and real with the people around us, but as someone who has spent her entire adult life struggling with depression, I can personally attest to how difficult this is. Some days, it just seems easier to smile and say everything is fine, to keep working when you want to crawl away and hide, to pretend than risk rejection or misunderstanding. As a freshman in high school, I was having a very difficult time fitting in and feeling like I belonged--in the school and church and social circle I had grown up in. I was intrigued by acting and begged my mom to let me join the church drama team. Now, I am well aware of the bad rap that church drama has given itself over the years, and how poorly the concept has adjusted to a changing culture. However, for me, in the 1990s, it was a life-saver. I, ironically, found myself by being other people. It may have been that I had simply finally found something I was good at, but I was a different person on stage and in character. Unfortunately, my difficulty came from being unable to translate that to real life. I only knew who I was when I was acting. <br />
<br />
When I went away to college, I lost this aspect of my life--and, I might add, it just about broke me. I had no outlet for the emotions and frustrations I had formerly been venting through my other characterizations. I desperately longed to get involved in theater at school, but I was paralyzed by auditioning. You see, I didn't practice well with others because I didn't know how to moderate my performance for rehearsal. I scared people because I was the girl who was constantly injured or bleeding from throwing herself in a role, even during practice. On stage, I was just as intense. I didn't act the role; I became that character. It was my only release, my sanity. <br />
<br />
All the stress finally came to a head in my senior year, when I finally began to realize what was wrong with me. It had never occurred to me that I might have inherited the familial tendency for depression; I just thought I was stupid and lazy and a big fat failure. I asked my mom, who has the same problem--I know, another indication we missed, right?--to get me an appointment with her doctor when I came home for Christmas that year. I will never forget that day--December 18, 2003; it was truly a turning point in my life. I began taking antidepressants that day.<br />
<br />
The doctor told me it could take up to 2 weeks to know if they were going to work, but it only took 3 days. In three days, my whole life changed. I could get ready for class without feeling like I was dragging a 2-ton weight out the door. I could talk to other people without being terrified. I could be around my family without dissolving into fights every 5 minutes. I could make friends, go to work, teach. Basically, I could live. My college friends were shocked at the complete change in me, and people who had known me my whole life were almost suspicious at the sudden turn-around. <br />
<br />
You are probably wondering what this has to do with masquerade balls. Well, my whole life had become like one big masquerade. I had to spend so much energy just trying to function and get through the days that I didn't have anything left for self-discovery or development. So, I had discovered it was simpler to be the person that the situation needed. No one ever saw the real me because that was too difficult to deal with. I had my standard go-to identities I pulled out as needed: student, friend, employee, church kid... I had worn masks for so long that I couldn't remember what was real anymore. I was 23 years old, and had absolutely no idea who I was. I had one real friend, my family, and a stranger looking back from the mirror. <br />
<br />
The past 10 years have taught me a lot about myself: I'm insanely stubborn; I am fiercely independent; I love to learn (mostly because I just like being smart); I'm creative; I still have difficulty making friends; I'm still clueless about guys (arent' we all, though?); etc. I've learned many things I am not. But mostly, I have learned how to recognize when I start fitting a mask on. Do I always choose authenticity? I wish I could say I do, but I'm still human; and humans have a long history of hiding. But, I am learning, and getting better, and discovering more each day.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
I don't often re-post poems on here, but this one was simply too appropriate.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://discerningmadness.blogspot.com/2011/02/masquerade.html">Masquerade</a><br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Bow<br />
<div>
Spin</div>
<div>
Turn</div>
<div>
One by one,</div>
<div>
We take our places,</div>
<div>
Twirling and bending,</div>
<div>
Dancing around the room,</div>
<div>
Safe behind our masks.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Dip</div>
<div>
Reach</div>
<div>
Step</div>
<div>
Midnight approaches.</div>
<div>
Slowly, we weave</div>
<div>
Across the floor,</div>
<div>
Moving toward discovery,</div>
<div>
Toward You.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Stand</div>
<div>
Sway</div>
<div>
Twirl</div>
<div>
Maskless,</div>
<div>
You enter the floor,</div>
<div>
We stare at Your beauty.</div>
<div>
The chimes ring:</div>
<div>
One---</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Bow</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--Kari Yerton</div>
<div>
10/30/2010</div>
</div>
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-39281077064313299312013-09-06T19:09:00.001-07:002013-09-06T19:09:21.056-07:00The one I need to clarify....I was just going to post the poem below without any kind of an introduction, but it suddenly occurred to me that it might need some background information. :)<div><br></div><div>First of all, let me clarify for anyone who is still confused after reading the poem: I. Am. Not. Pregnant.</div><div><br></div><div>Thank you. :)</div><div><br></div><div>Keep reading...</div><div><br></div><div>I wrote this poem at the end of a nine-month program that I was a part of a few years ago. As the year was winding down, I was thinking back over the changes that had happened in mine and everyone else's lives during that time period, and it suddenly occurred to me how similar it was to the nine-month period of pregnancy. So, I grabbed a pen and started scribbling; what came out of it is what you'll read below. This is the first time I have really shared this poem because I was unsure that others would appreciate the analogy.</div><div><br></div><div>That being said....</div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><b><i>9 months</i></b></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><b><i><br></i></b></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Unexpected--</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Unplanned--</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Accidental--</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Then,</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Nine months</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Months of pain--</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Months of sickness--</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Weeks and days of sorrow</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">And exhaustion--</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Feeding from us--</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Growing in us--</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">This new life has</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Consumed us for</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Nine months. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Now the urgency comes--</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Push!--</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Breathe!--</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Work!--</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">It all comes down</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">To one final act. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Do we run away,</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Abandon this piece of us,</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Or with pride</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">And resolve, </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Pick up the new life</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">And carry it into</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Tomorrow?</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">5/2011</span></div>Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-38854671855857719822013-08-12T08:00:00.000-07:002013-08-12T08:00:03.942-07:00In which things get a little spicy...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
As a natural-born collector, I spent most of my childhood as the bane of my poor mother's existence. She--hyper-organized, neat-freak that she is--was constantly attempting to get me to sort through my "treasures." Thankfully, those tendencies faded a bit with age, but I still love a good collection! </div>
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So, today, I am introducing you to one of my favorite things....my collection of salt & pepper shakers.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSOC_-WDuiTwwYKDOgMwJKihSTSdAxueaQCa3wrN0rI6fURev2hEAFKppmdiUvZs2IKEM1d4XoffrlQkM4l9ugn5PioBxqyd6tUHpPC6EPyv1uhc6QnGwz6b_bGn205EChVQarIehGBDM/s1600/SnPcoll01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSOC_-WDuiTwwYKDOgMwJKihSTSdAxueaQCa3wrN0rI6fURev2hEAFKppmdiUvZs2IKEM1d4XoffrlQkM4l9ugn5PioBxqyd6tUHpPC6EPyv1uhc6QnGwz6b_bGn205EChVQarIehGBDM/s320/SnPcoll01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Most of them are vintage, but I do have several new ones as well that have been given to me over the years, or that I just loved too much to pass by (Thank you so much for that, Cracker Barrel!).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjagJjJcvPcOBOpIZADE72JbBZOoZ_62vy1WsDu-zzV_QJcL6Kz7cDqkQ7Fjhy7XwuoHPwsjLDxsJtvviP3gZsZhmXfaTJMtM24Wwyarw3_jejrk4RiQ2RRItjXcTZV_8TXbkB18sYHj8M/s1600/SnPcoll02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjagJjJcvPcOBOpIZADE72JbBZOoZ_62vy1WsDu-zzV_QJcL6Kz7cDqkQ7Fjhy7XwuoHPwsjLDxsJtvviP3gZsZhmXfaTJMtM24Wwyarw3_jejrk4RiQ2RRItjXcTZV_8TXbkB18sYHj8M/s320/SnPcoll02.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Some of them have background stories--like the quirky pair of busts below that I talked myself out of buying for six months before giving in to temptation--but most have been happy finds while junking in stores all over the country.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUcqmQjL23EnKwoV6HV8GeGsHGVZ8KpbdzJ7vgWR3sXVOVbiUPYVTg46Y27cIUDLiIpBo9xpMtkOW3zOrp79jbfbVYmXWucgXQlfPH1KjcZfuFMbJZnA0EJMpH0FRlJLBx1WdXF4jdV4/s1600/SnPcoll03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUcqmQjL23EnKwoV6HV8GeGsHGVZ8KpbdzJ7vgWR3sXVOVbiUPYVTg46Y27cIUDLiIpBo9xpMtkOW3zOrp79jbfbVYmXWucgXQlfPH1KjcZfuFMbJZnA0EJMpH0FRlJLBx1WdXF4jdV4/s320/SnPcoll03.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The style that got me started collecting is the kind that has the vegetables in some sort of container, usually a leaf or basket.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtI3lM91flSvgB7jm3yuzlavuu_WCL-6ZZuCPhyphenhyphenbs4pvEwtIIsNPJ9KUFrVLdyZfwZZVcDzQRkgbZN6WL2mWBTGMGc_w0eJs1ptg-6DQZBOkDm_fPAEdanhDD1Uq_lmHIauiqLIp4BaVY/s1600/SnPcoll04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtI3lM91flSvgB7jm3yuzlavuu_WCL-6ZZuCPhyphenhyphenbs4pvEwtIIsNPJ9KUFrVLdyZfwZZVcDzQRkgbZN6WL2mWBTGMGc_w0eJs1ptg-6DQZBOkDm_fPAEdanhDD1Uq_lmHIauiqLIp4BaVY/s640/SnPcoll04.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I have also have several that have been passed down to me through the family. The cows belonged to my paternal great-grandmother, and four of my sets were from my maternal grandma.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtDoVOGrBZBR_ji6YkEFGdBKBOHurFUxyePkCDCrlMeRY1zU0pneEXup2HdNltxC6WJpKmPVZBR1ijk26A-gCisUDJkT5_VPKMO8l0HOY6bjft6kraNhJ3bRe_SxT3uatmGzG3YcOipY/s1600/SnPcoll05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtDoVOGrBZBR_ji6YkEFGdBKBOHurFUxyePkCDCrlMeRY1zU0pneEXup2HdNltxC6WJpKmPVZBR1ijk26A-gCisUDJkT5_VPKMO8l0HOY6bjft6kraNhJ3bRe_SxT3uatmGzG3YcOipY/s320/SnPcoll05.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I only actually use one of the pairs on a daily basis. The reproduction jadeite set below was my very first set and is the one I use all the time. I grew up using the Pepsi-Cola bottles, and saved them from my mom's sudden need to purge the kitchen a couple of months ago.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2G6vp2S0x0AfGIEQusCmu-FTEfouwMhWp1mV3f5Fo6RxDSJDtvheSNxjTmhyphenhyphenlaEG9Xf_JKGI7OoINex5k6lMLF9de8uiMBhzc3COZ7-LuFhfzvIoM_OfolzAh7Z2LgegkrUc3gpLgxk/s1600/SnPcoll06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2G6vp2S0x0AfGIEQusCmu-FTEfouwMhWp1mV3f5Fo6RxDSJDtvheSNxjTmhyphenhyphenlaEG9Xf_JKGI7OoINex5k6lMLF9de8uiMBhzc3COZ7-LuFhfzvIoM_OfolzAh7Z2LgegkrUc3gpLgxk/s640/SnPcoll06.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The five-piece set of spice jars above was my grandmother's and probably is what inspired this deep love of mine. She had a small shelf running around the top of her kitchen walls that she filled with salt & pepper sets and little knick-knacks her family had brought her from different trips. When my mom and her sisters were cleaning out Grandma's house, I asked if I could have the stuff from that shelf if no one else wanted it. I think they all thought I was a little crazy, but those little pieces of kitch had fascinated me as a child. Having them in my kitchen in almost like having a little bit of Grandma & Grandpa around.<br />
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Hope you enjoyed my Show & Tell!Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-3199577203509072372013-07-29T14:16:00.000-07:002013-07-29T14:16:00.457-07:00The Radio Room<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In my last post (Two posts in less than a month! Can you believe it?), I mentioned how I've been sorting through old files form my college days. Here is another essay I wrote for one of my writing classes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>The Radio Room</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After greeting my grandma, I slip out of the back room
where Mom and she are talking and walk to the other end of the house. I pass through the kitchen and living room
and step out on the porch; however, I am not coming to visit Pepper, as the
little dog is obviously hoping. Instead,
I open the door on the left side of the porch and step up into a small
room. Closing my eyes and concentrating,
I can still smell the combination of oil and Old Spice cologne. This room may look differently than it did a
few years ago, but it still holds the essence of the man who once occupied and
loved it. Before his death, I spent
hours in here with him, playing and talking and listening to him talk. He was my Grandpa Tapp, and I’m standing in
his old radio room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The room is positioned in the center of his domain of the
house between his bedroom and his porch, and I would estimate that 75% of his
indoor life was spent in these three rooms.
As the room is in the back corner of the house, it has two doors
connecting it to both his bedroom and porch.
The porch stands lower than the rest of the house; therefore, a large
step provides access to the radio room.
Faux-brick linoleum with its turned-up corners and rolled edges still
covers the floor. Although it is now filled
with bookshelves and plant stands, two years ago the room was overflowing with
metal shelving units. Standing in the
doorway between the porch and the old room, I stop to think about how it looked
two years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The room is not very large, maybe only 12’x10’, and he
had every available inch of it crammed full of radios, batteries, microphones,
light bulbs, and whatever else he could find a spot for. His large chair, where he sat to call out on
his radio, stood directly in the center of the room with its back to the porch
door. The only other seating the room
could offer was an old, decrepit thing slumped in front of the window to my
right. I say “slumped,” for it was perpetually
drowning in an ever-growing collection of papers and abandoned tools. Grandpa’s acquired mass of forgotten items
covered the whole floor of the room and most of the walls and shelves. Besides the length of shelves and radio
paraphernalia that faced where I am now standing, he also had the corner to my
right filled with three metal shelving units, two shoved into the corner and
one mounted on the wall directly beside the door. These were overflowing with his collection of
<i>National Geographic</i> and <i>Reader’s Digest</i> magazines. From these corner shelves to the radio wall
and all around the old chair, the floor was piled high under mountains of
papers and tools under which there was always a liberal sprinkling of birdseed
from Grandpa’s bringing Amadeus, his pet cockatiel, into the heated room during
the winter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the wall opposite this hoard of paper, the floor area
was relatively clean. Directly beside
his radio shelves, in the corner, the trap door to the cellar forced a no-pile
zone. On the wall were hung various
certificates and photographs he had accumulated down through the years and a
medicine cabinet that mostly contained screwdrivers and nuts and bolts. The only interruption in this wall was a
doorway in the other corner which stepped down into his bedroom. A lone throw rug covering the worn area in
front of this door gave testimony of his love for this disheveled corner of the
house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After his death, Grandma cleared out the room, giving away most of the equipment to her only son.
Thus, this room is always closed off now, for no one uses it anymore. In fact, I may be the only person that
regularly intrudes upon its calm. I
still love to go in and sit on the floor listening to the quiet and remembering
the hours I spent in there with Grandpa.
His shelves and radios may be all gone now, but even through the books and
plant stands Grandma has put in there, the room still seems to be waiting for
him. </span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-2857328601982805622013-07-17T13:48:00.002-07:002013-07-17T13:48:39.840-07:00Friend-Losing: A How-ToYou know how it goes: you change computers and back-up files, but don't remember what they contain or what program opens them. So, years later, you open a memory stick or disk to discover all items contained are from some ancient, forgotten file-type that nothing is able read. =)<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is the problem I've been trying to fix lately; I've been clearing out my external hard drive with all its old files from as far back as my college days (and before). Re-formatting all of these old papers in my pack-rat tendency to keep every school paper I've ever written (Thanks for that, Mom.) has reintroduced me to some little gems from my scholastic endeavors. haha Of course, as an English Education major, I wrote more papers in college than most people dread writing in their entire lives. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As a kick-start to this poor, neglected blog of mine, I'm going to post a few of them on here. It's been a laugh for me; hopefully, it will be for you, as well.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Friend-Losing: A How-To</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 200%;"> Many people
would probably say that losing a friend is a simple thing to do.<span style="font-size: small;"> This misconception comes from their
accidentally stumbling across a specific path of action. The art of friend-losing is very technical, but
can become natural if practiced long enough.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"> The first
step to losing a friend is to lay the foundation for a rocky relationship. This can be accomplished in several ways, but
the most effective method would be to use all these ways in tandem. Make sure that you seldom, if ever, confide
in your friend; keep your secrets secret.
Remember that you are the expert…in everything. Always one-up your friend’s stories or
memories, and you should correct your friend often, preferably in public. Finally, fight to have your way all the
time. What good is sharing?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"> The second
part to ridding yourself of this person is to cause a problem of some
kind. This, however, is the most
delicate stage because the problem must appear to have been caused by the other
person. A good way to start is to lie to
your friend, or, at the least, keep the truth to yourself. If possible, date the person your friend is
interested in or steal a promotion from them.
Tell your friend that you are crushed and shocked by the quandary you
are in, but do not, by any means, get out of the relationship. As time progresses, begin to tell people what
your friend is doing to you. Make it
look like your friend is trying to ruin your life. Do not let your friend ever see you upset
about the situation--even if your friend dissolves into sobbing tears. Always act like nothing is wrong. As a last stab, be sure that your side of the
story makes the gossip circle before your friend’s; this assures your friend
will appear guilty and petty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"> After you
have laid the foundation and caused your problem, it is time to close the
deal. Now that you have spoiled your
friend’s reputation and probably made this person almost hate you, you must act
stunned by the turn of events. You must
look more than innocent. Absolute horror
is the best attitude for this stage.
Cling to your friend as if you are terrified that the friendship will
end. Drag the misery out as long as the
dead relationship will last; make your friend feel horribly guilty for wanting
to get out of the relationship and away from you. If a holiday is near, buy your friend
sentimental gifts that will always bring back memories of you and this
friendship. Follow your friend around
all the time, forcing your friend to be rude in order to get away. Be shocked and hurt when your friend gets
angry and retaliates or rails back at you.
After a sufficient time of playing the victimized innocent, tell your
friend, “I forgive you,” for the problem that you, yourself caused. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"> This last
act of selfishness should seal the death certificate of this friendship. Do not be discouraged if your particular
friendship takes longer than you expected to kill. Some relationships have been known to last
for several years before the foundation was strong enough for stage two, and
every now and then a friend will endure the punishment of problem after problem
before closure can come. </span>However, sooner
or later, this fool-proof method will always obtain the desired end--you will
lose your friend.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-47507631302997786672013-02-21T08:46:00.001-08:002013-02-21T09:30:18.745-08:00A recipe....sort of...Well, I never thought that I, of all people, would be posting a recipe on here, but the photo garnered such a response on Facebook that I thought I would share what I did. =) So, here goes<br />
<br />
My (totally not really a recipe) recipe.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_4z9pCozOTJPKC5adDCddsldnebKyMYKmH0DVHru2lz77c84l9v9qu7R4x2LFaiYWFYiYzw_NWv_2qj4UnpcfpvlKbeWoHZNWC3vKrWx0mogKbt2iyivkwvG8nFOFa8Tt8wnfwNcZjw/s1600/267952_10151331345401032_1534840916_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_4z9pCozOTJPKC5adDCddsldnebKyMYKmH0DVHru2lz77c84l9v9qu7R4x2LFaiYWFYiYzw_NWv_2qj4UnpcfpvlKbeWoHZNWC3vKrWx0mogKbt2iyivkwvG8nFOFa8Tt8wnfwNcZjw/s320/267952_10151331345401032_1534840916_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sorry it's not a better picture,<br />
but I didn't take it with the intention of posting it.<br />
And, yes, the plate is sitting on my lap. =)</td></tr>
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<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Bacon-wrapped Raspberry Chicken</span></u></b></div>
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<br />
<b>Ingredients</b><br />
Boneless Chicken Tenderloins<br />
Bacon<br />
Raspberry Salsa (<a href="http://www.robertrothschild.com/product/product-details.aspx?prodid=241&name=Raspberry+Salsa+%22Original%22">This is my all-time favorite!</a>)<br />
Olive oil<br />
<br />
Heat olive oil in a frying pan.<br />
Wrap each chicken strip in a strip of bacon.<br />
After chicken has cooked a few minutes, baste the top with Raspberry Salsa. When you flip the strips during cooking, baste the other side.<br />
<br />
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Roasted Asparagus</span></u></b><br />
<br />
<b>Ingredients</b><br />
Fresh Asparagus<br />
Olive oil<br />
Seasoned Salt<br />
<br />
Wash asparagus and cut off the bottom tips.<br />
Place in baking dish.<br />
Drizzle with olive oil and shake the dish to roll the asparagus in the oil, coating it.<br />
Sprinkle with Seasoned salt.<br />
Bake until tender. (I think I baked them for 10 minutes at 350.)<br />
<br />
<br />
That's all. Enjoy!<br />
<br />Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-4406417817673906582013-02-14T20:11:00.002-08:002013-02-14T20:11:30.173-08:00Dancing with imaginationThe over-excitement with my finally found poetry notebook continues....So sorry if I'm boring you. =)<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Creation</b></span><br />
<br />
A sculptor at his block,<br />
An artist with his brush--<br />
A writer's scratching pen,<br />
A farmer's tending hands--<br />
<br />
Incarnation all around us--<br />
Divinity, worshiped intrinsically,<br />
Shines out of creation<br />
Bringing me to my knees.<br />
<br />
Oh! We are wonderfully made!<br />
You, beautiful One, surround us,<br />
Piercing through our world,<br />
Dancing with imagination.<br />
<br />
Only One of all creativity<br />
Can deserve such adoration!<br />
Designing, shaping, speaking--<br />
Inspiration flows from Inspiration.<br />
<br />
K. Yerton<br />
03/2003Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-71609379646775471102013-02-10T17:32:00.001-08:002013-02-10T17:32:09.449-08:00Happy, happy, joy, joy...After several months of looking, I finally found the notebook of my poetry! I was nearing panic stage. =)<br />
<br />
So, here is a poem I wrote on my Blackberry a few years ago, while sitting under a tree at a local park.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Burning</span></u></b><br />
<br />
Like the leaves that carpet the autumn floor,<br />
My sins have fallen before Your gaze--<br />
Tangible proof of my death, piled in heaps--<br />
Brown, orange, yellow--a blaze of imperfection.<br />
<br />
Slowly, deliberately, You gather them together.<br />
I turn from the sign, sickened by my guilt,<br />
When I hear Your voice calling, calling--<br />
<br />
A fire--blood-red, scorching--rises to the sky--<br />
Your hands--scarred by the flames You gave,<br />
Purposefully blotting out the record of my wrong--<br />
Reach out to me from the smoke,<br />
Welcoming me with Your embrace.<br />
<br />
--K. Yerton<br />
(11/2010)Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-20755547008545238292013-02-05T09:37:00.000-08:002013-02-05T09:37:12.654-08:00Just make it happen....the first timeIdeas tend to drop themselves on me at the weirdest times. For example, I was painting my fingernails last night when I was struck with today's thought. (Of course, my nails were wet at the time, so I'm typing it out the next morning.) But, before I dive straight into that, let me set up the scene.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As previously stated, I was painting my nails. Now, I make no claim to be a good manicurist, mainly for the simple reason that I am too impatient. I hate waiting for that stupid polish to dry! Thus, I am always slapping on a really thick layer and then denting, smudging, or just generally destroying it. Just in case you are one of the 3 people on this planet who have never held a paintbrush, here's a tip: several thin layers > one thick layer. I, unfortunately, very seldom uphold that rule; instead, I tend to try to rush through the steps to reach that so satisfying feeling of completion. Of course, it doesn't work, though. I almost always have to fix something because I was in a hurry the first time. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There! That was my whole point in that tirade! =) "Haste makes waste." My shiny, wet fingertips made me think about all the time I have wasted re-doing things in my never-ending attempt to get things done. Oddly enough, however, in issues not pertaining to crafts or nail polish, I tend to be a front-end planner. If I'm decorating, I will get all of my ideas organized (at least mentally) and planned through before I start. If I'm tackling a new task at work, I will go through the steps and see if there is any way of improving or stream-lining the process. If I'm building something, I will read all the instructions before I start. This means that I sometimes do things non-traditionally because I've figured out a different method that will be more effective or faster; but I also get it done correctly the first time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now, to my "big thought." I have spent my entire life in church, in ministry: minister's kid, youth worker, intern, worship leader. I can't tell you how many times I have heard the phrase "Make it happen." (This is especially true in youth ministry.) Now, don't get me wrong; I am completely aware that we have almost always been understaffed and underfunded. In fact, I don't think there is a single area of any church, most especially in youth ministry, that has a more than sufficient budget and more than enough workers. However, this concept of "making it happen" does so much more harm than good.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was involved with a particular ministry for a while several years ago. It was a very good ministry, accomplished a lot, made an impact. However, there was an over-whelming attitude of "Make it happen." In fact, the phrase was a running joke we heard it so often.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Build a 40' wall out of boxes in two days?"</div>
<div>
"Make it happen."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Prepare a meal for 100 people in an hour?"</div>
<div>
"Make it happen."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Put together a meaningful service in 15 minutes?"</div>
<div>
"Make it happen."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If I heard it once, I head it a thousand times. </div>
<div>
"MAKE. IT. HAPPEN!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now, believe me, after nearly 33 years in a preacher's family and 15+ years in youth ministry, I understand that sometimes you just don't have enough warning or plans have to be changed last-minute. I am not denying that fact; however, so much of this frantic running around could be saved with a little forethought. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was constantly frustrated with the complete lack of planning on the front end, but the most baffling part was that everyone seemed proud of the fact that there was no method. They loved that they could dive into a project and cobble something together without "wasting" time. Unfortunately, they also seemed to be blind to the fact that they had to rebuild the project three times before they were done. Sure, they had to completely scrap their original attempts and spend more money on supplies, but by George, they "made it happen!" I watched the leadership "delegate" tasks without giving any instructions or guidelines for the desired result. My fellow-workers would be half-way through a major project before the leader would check the progress, and 9 times out of 10, it wasn't what was desired and had to be torn down and re-started. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now, for all of you who have hackles rising at my audacity to criticize something that has seemed so effective for so long, I would like to ask you one simple question: </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Could it have been better?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The videos that were created in less than 2 days; could they have been technically better with more time for filming and editing?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The full-length scripts that weren't written until 2 weeks before the performance; could they have been smoother and more professional with more time for character development and rehearsal?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The worship sets that were planned 30 minutes before service; could they have been more anointed with more time for prayerful consideration?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The illustrations that were "inspired" at the last minute; could they have been more effectively executed with more time for integration?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Could it have been better?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am very much afraid that, in our quest to make things good, we have utterly given up on great. We have gotten so used to the idea of last minute panic, that we don't think any more time is necessary. Because God has graciously used our efforts, we don't feel that we have to try harder. We think frantic, last minute, busyness is as effective as careful, purposeful design.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Unfortunately, however, it's just laziness.</div>
Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-2780999518701970202012-10-29T22:04:00.004-07:002012-10-29T22:04:35.365-07:00Missing Muse<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm sitting here tonight desperately wishing I could write something. Have you ever been there? The Muse has left the building, and you have no idea how to find her? It's moments like this when I deeply miss college. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the 8.5 years since I graduated, I have really missed being in an educational environment. Something about being surrounded by learning and teachers brought out the creative side of me. I rediscovered it a couple of years ago when I went through the MC program at my home church. I was finally once again able to write poetry. </span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I don't know what causes the block, but it is very evidently there. Of course, when I first started writing, I typically only got poems when my emotions were high. And I use the phrase "got poems" because that's truly the only way I can describe it. If I try to think of something, my mind goes blank. Then, suddenly, I'll get a phrase, and the rest all comes in a rush. I shocked my roommate Sarah one night by flying out of bed and demanding some paper. She stood there sort of bemused while I scribbled for about 2 minutes; then, I handed her the notebook and saying, "I was afraid I'd forget it," I went back to bed. She was amazed that the poem (<i><a href="http://discerningmadness.blogspot.com/2011/02/masquerade.html">Masquerade</a></i>) was complete and didn't require any editing. All I could say was that is how they always come to me: whole, finished. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But, returning to my lack of inspiration...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
Does this ever happen to any of you? You have an ability or gift that sometimes seems to go on vacation? <span style="font-family: inherit;">It's very frustrating to know that you have something inside of you that you don't know how to access. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here's one of my poems from my college days:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>Fall</b></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Clouds, lightly roasted,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Eager for little hands--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Bonfire nights--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Cider apples--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Two-eyed sheets, howling for candy--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Brightly-colored showers<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Blanketing the yard--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Frosty, leering lanterns,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Grinning out at straw men--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Families, meeting, eating--<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">"We thank Thee for this bounty,"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ringing over turkeys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">--K. Yerton</span></div>
<i><span style="font-size: 9pt;">9 October 2002</span></i>Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-23974940959864695192012-10-07T20:12:00.001-07:002012-10-07T20:57:04.749-07:00Don't tell me it's not worth fighting for...I seem to frequently write blogs on relationships. Maybe it’s because I’m single; I’m not sure, but their dynamics fascinate me.<br />
<br />
Tonight, I was reminded of a conversation I had with some female friends where the topic turned to—surprise, surprise—men and relationships. One girl was expressing frustration over the lack of movement in a new relationship. After much analyzing (as only women can analyze), the statement was made that “maybe he is waiting for a signal from you.” That, of course, led to another 30-minute discussion on how she could give-off said signal.<br />
<br />
Remembering this conversation, and hundreds like it that I have been part of over that past 32 years, I kept coming back to the same thought: “What signal? And why is it the girl’s job to wave this flag of welcome?”<br />
<br />
Ok—Pet Peeve Confession time: I hate what Feminism has done to romance in our culture. There have been many good things to come out of the movement (higher wages, more opportunities, etc.); however, it has just about destroyed the male/female romantic relationship. Women have worked so hard to prove that they are “just as good as (or better than)” men that they have left men feeling almost unnecessary. For example: If all the players on the football team decided they were all “as good as (or better than)” the quarterback, you would have an absolute mess on the field. Who’s catching the passes or running the touchdowns or protecting the ball? No one can be the quarterback if everyone is trying to be.<br />
<br />
The same principle holds true in relationships: if both people are trying to be the man, who’s actually the man, and who’s left to be the woman? Unfortunately, we have all seen couples where the roles have been fully reversed (and they always make us cringe, right?). In my opinion, the same confusion has been forced on our modern dating scene.<br />
<br />
Women are told “If you want something, go after it.” Naturally, they apply this to men, but something odd happens when they do. It has been my experience that most guys don’t like being actively pursued. Now, they will all admit it is a nice ego boost, and some will even say they are fine with it. But for the most part, the relationships that I see that work and last and have 2 contented, happy partners were mostly initiated by the man. We all know the old adage that we will work and fight for what we value, so women who have to chase down and convince a guy to date them should know that they have just proven how little the guy values them. <br />
<br />
Of course, the truth of how women feel and are intrinsically wired is seen in the love stories they adore so much. Think about it: women absolutely love love stories! Here we are all saying how much we have the right and ability to go after what we want and initiate a relationship if we want, but we idolize these classic romantic heroes. Think of the most popular movies. I personally didn’t like Titanic, but I can totally understand why every other woman in the world (apparently) did. It’s not Rose, or Leonardo DiCaprio; it is the character of Jack. He knew what he wanted, and he went after her and got her. He was willing to take a crazy risk to get the girl he loved, and nothing was going to get in his way. It’s the same story with Mr. Darcy or Robin Hood or even Edward Cullen; these men flouted society, money, protocol, and expectations to try to win the heart of their women. And deep down, all women want to be the heroine that the hero will risk ridicule and rejection to win. <br />
<br />
Now, understand that I totally get that we can’t necessarily live our lives just waiting for Mr. Rochester to knock down our door, but as women, we must realize that whoever initiates the relationship will probably be in charge of it from that point on.<br />
<br />
I guess the simplest way to state it is the way I always describe my attitude about it: I won’t chase a man or try to get his attention; initiating is his job. I won’t fall all over myself making it easy for him, but I will be friendly and make myself available if he should decide to approach me. Watching me, you may think I’m standoffish or uninterested; but quite frankly, I can’t flirt to save my life, and I’ve always thought the fan-girl groupie act to be childish and irritating.<br />
<br />
It all comes down to one question: Do women want the right to pursue what we want, or do we want to feel cherished and respected and desired?Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-70152829021536981932012-08-13T23:28:00.001-07:002012-08-13T23:28:18.713-07:00You<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><b>You</b></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You don't know how much</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have ached for you</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In all your pain. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I have rejoiced</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For your success. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In times of uncertainty</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And despair,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have longed to</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Reach out a hand</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And help bear the weight. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You don't know I'm here--</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Always watching,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Waiting for my chance</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To be a part of</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Your life, your dreams. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Still, here I will stay. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And one day, you</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">May look up and see</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That I have always</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Been right here. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">--Kari Yerton (8/2012)</span>Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-55476799059084715052012-06-20T15:26:00.001-07:002012-06-20T15:28:10.126-07:00A Birthday, a Tutorial, and Yoda<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This month was my nephew Mr. B's 7th Birthday, and since he is such a huge Star Wars fan, we had a very SciFi month. =) The party featured things like Darth Maul dogs and Yoda Soda and pretzel stick light sabers. The kids played hard with their party favors of light sabers made out of pool noodles and popped balloons with pictures of the Emperor and his lackeys.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And of course, then there were the gifts... Mr. B's current fascination is Legos (Personally, I'm hoping this never changes.) so we got him several new Star Wars building kits. And I found a really cute retro lunch box with C-3PO and R2-D2 on it. However, my favorite gift that I gave him (Because, of course his gifts are all about ME! lol) was a Yoda shirt that I "painted" with bleach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's how to make a shirt this way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The internet has several tutorials for making shirts with freezer paper stencils, but this one was a little different because I was using a negative stencil. Since the shirt was black and I was using bleach, I wanted the parts that would normally be painted to stay the original black. This meant that instead of cutting out a normal stencil that I would fill in, I had to cut out and keep the void areas.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u><b>STEP 1:</b></u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gather your supplies.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Freezer Paper (like wax paper, but with wax only on one side)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Image (For this kind of project, you'll want a silhouette that is as simple as possible.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pen/Pencil </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Scissors/X-acto knife</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Spray bottle</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bleach</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKFrsqRUDy_xJfVzufXlzfh-q2ybP_E855dEoEW6eNoLu1BjQ7Db5RuahyphenhyphenP6bfes9iMTu2XsMHM1HlPzD6k3rCAOPdaA7NNHqTgJg04KCgP-7T3N9axJEv23kR8gI-wRM7yfYGniOZOc/s1600/01+Supplies.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKFrsqRUDy_xJfVzufXlzfh-q2ybP_E855dEoEW6eNoLu1BjQ7Db5RuahyphenhyphenP6bfes9iMTu2XsMHM1HlPzD6k3rCAOPdaA7NNHqTgJg04KCgP-7T3N9axJEv23kR8gI-wRM7yfYGniOZOc/s320/01+Supplies.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>STEP 2:</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trace your image onto the paper side of the freezer paper.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Make it as detailed or simple as you want.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfbzdXJwHXRAFqCOXPhL7s3VlBM25RNd84ge1zsVDNAPZ5R33XwsBENcCmjunuhYMEGAQ-UJUHywJ5pCqZnKozEGcvhvBkvjU1ago-70ZeCimiUkgk0cyydlyTp0Hxs4dWZ11obIBIBD4/s1600/02+Trace.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfbzdXJwHXRAFqCOXPhL7s3VlBM25RNd84ge1zsVDNAPZ5R33XwsBENcCmjunuhYMEGAQ-UJUHywJ5pCqZnKozEGcvhvBkvjU1ago-70ZeCimiUkgk0cyydlyTp0Hxs4dWZ11obIBIBD4/s320/02+Trace.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVAujb_8zQu4O3_J1FAlfGA4LUo_ZdEBaAwD5iGXLaZzp2G83Tcs0sj2fb0y3Ae6MscUyzbsmWl9glGFkkqMlPqtMe1x8JdI6ElLq2zV-LDJ6hv5LQH6-0iuobGOcxZIz7udsff-5us-A/s1600/03+Traced.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVAujb_8zQu4O3_J1FAlfGA4LUo_ZdEBaAwD5iGXLaZzp2G83Tcs0sj2fb0y3Ae6MscUyzbsmWl9glGFkkqMlPqtMe1x8JdI6ElLq2zV-LDJ6hv5LQH6-0iuobGOcxZIz7udsff-5us-A/s320/03+Traced.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>STEP 3:</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cut out your stencil.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Make you keep the dark areas of the image.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0E7hHvQdDZfnZYKOkUr5wLs0Bc4cc7wjOE57NaMHH3Ef9n-GhEKVUGAGAw5MelQPaQLpxIFnhxag_phMwAXR9TAsgMOpZaOFfuui4kj0vx4sN4Cd9OSdfCOZ9RJqUnhDcgeqDeO757ac/s1600/04+Cut.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0E7hHvQdDZfnZYKOkUr5wLs0Bc4cc7wjOE57NaMHH3Ef9n-GhEKVUGAGAw5MelQPaQLpxIFnhxag_phMwAXR9TAsgMOpZaOFfuui4kj0vx4sN4Cd9OSdfCOZ9RJqUnhDcgeqDeO757ac/s320/04+Cut.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>STEP 4:</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Iron your stencil to your shirt. (Sorry. I forgot to take a picture of this step.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Use your image as a guideline for positioning the stencil pieces, ironing on only a few at a time. Also, put a large flat piece of freezer paper or cardboard inside the shirt to keep from transferring the image to the back of the shirt when you bleach it. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2AvAML_vX9WpYLH0LkHNHbggQr7JP1zyIM1FFhdhwEe6gjtevBVAIFVY6DrOC7JqKiLwc6curbZaMYvahyeKTNqEypmlyfwxMDYtZ29Msz5AY5tc5mOkQhHBal3CiBT_M_mlMUZcIOuU/s1600/05+Iron.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2AvAML_vX9WpYLH0LkHNHbggQr7JP1zyIM1FFhdhwEe6gjtevBVAIFVY6DrOC7JqKiLwc6curbZaMYvahyeKTNqEypmlyfwxMDYtZ29Msz5AY5tc5mOkQhHBal3CiBT_M_mlMUZcIOuU/s320/05+Iron.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>STEP 5:</u></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bleach shirt.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Using a spray bottle filled with a mixture of 1 part bleach to 2 parts water, spray around the image. Remember, a black shirt will turn a brown/orange color (If you leave the bleach on for a really long time, it will eventually turn grey.) I always spray lightly all over the shirt and then flip it over to spray the back, too. This makes it look more uniform.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixGjbZDfzPg2m7Nx6l_z4neH39vTFkX21U8AiIEEfmhNBHOkgutycL1MIM_YH9l4ZTIRu7b1kLlarCvQaiJSWf1pLyh88xZ_tOD-ETQGmKXxzMY4aNrL_prI9xRZVZ5fv4Jui9B30Vogw/s1600/06+Spray.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixGjbZDfzPg2m7Nx6l_z4neH39vTFkX21U8AiIEEfmhNBHOkgutycL1MIM_YH9l4ZTIRu7b1kLlarCvQaiJSWf1pLyh88xZ_tOD-ETQGmKXxzMY4aNrL_prI9xRZVZ5fv4Jui9B30Vogw/s320/06+Spray.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>STEP 6:</u></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rinse out the bleach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once you can see it has started turning, remove the paper pieces and rinse out thoroughly using water. The water will turn brown as you are washing it, so be careful to not splash it on anything. After this initial rinse, you need to launder the shirt to make the image color-fast. Be very careful that you don't wash it with anything else (unless you make several shirts) because it will fade all over them.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MCfA29_LYOW3PYc5_NDgL2d_c58q9wRFTWxuNENMAnlTu_MiIUeT_1GDkzUM1TAME2THEDbR6fvfKsI6F3Eu6x7I5Jw5ssS4zXzm3lLVKYSJ9k9EizpjLVgm5UZ94fyVstH3eSdypj8/s1600/07+Rinse.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MCfA29_LYOW3PYc5_NDgL2d_c58q9wRFTWxuNENMAnlTu_MiIUeT_1GDkzUM1TAME2THEDbR6fvfKsI6F3Eu6x7I5Jw5ssS4zXzm3lLVKYSJ9k9EizpjLVgm5UZ94fyVstH3eSdypj8/s320/07+Rinse.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<b><u>STEP 7:</u></b></div>
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Wear and enjoy! =)</div>Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-19659158419697265622012-04-28T21:49:00.002-07:002012-04-28T21:55:33.034-07:00Take 2....I must be the world's worst blogger! haha Amazingly enough, I never feel as if I have anything to say--you would understand how hysterical that comment is if you've ever tried to get me to stop talking. One would imagine that between my natural tendency to logorrhea (<a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/logorrhoea">look it up</a>) and English Education degree my life would provide me with an overabundance of material to share with the world. But, for some strange reason, when it comes down to writing something and posting, my mind blanks. <br />
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Ironically, the only other situation where I am consistently speechless is if I'm interested in a guy. I am a well-educated, intelligent, loquacious woman until "he" walks through the door; suddenly, I'm Baby in Dirty Dancing: "I carried a watermelon..." Well, that was impressive! I'm just gonna go bang my head on that wall for a while.<br />
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Of course my lovely big sister Lora over at <a href="http://myblessedlife-lora.blogspot.com/">My Blessed Life</a> has proven herself to be such a wonderful blogger that I wish I could keep up. haha And even though that does not seem to be in the cards for me, I would like to maintain some sort of connection to the great blogosphere.<br />
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Thus, I will post when I post and cease feeling guilty about it as of today....<br />
<br />
(I'll let you know how that goes.....) =)<br />
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For now, I'm going to leave you with another poem.<br />
<br />
All Hope<br />
<br />
The black fog is<br />
Rolling in again--<br />
Blotting out the<br />
Sun and--with it--<br />
All hope.<br />
<br />
These days are like<br />
Endless funerals--<br />
All of my own<br />
Dreams, plans, hopes--<br />
All die.<br />
<br />
Nothing can stand<br />
In the onrushing<br />
Sweep of this<br />
Relentless sadness;<br />
All pales.<br />
<br />
Your face alone<br />
Pierces through the flood<br />
Of pain and doubt,<br />
Bringing with it, light--<br />
All light.<br />
<br />
Help me through the<br />
Suffocating clouds<br />
To Your side, Your<br />
Faithful love, and<br />
All hope.<br />
<br />
K. Yerton (2011)Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-56847500484799467722011-07-01T18:13:00.001-07:002011-07-01T18:23:28.847-07:00Two Perspectives<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">My Rose<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Many a time, I have looked for you</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And seen only masks.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Many a summer, I have walked through<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Fields and searched.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Even in spring, with the world abloom,<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">I didn't find my rose.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Tears come so easily in loneliness.<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Pain comes with time.<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">A single heart cannot see its chance<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">To right the wrong.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I miss what I have never kissed,<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">What I have not held.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">How long does a heart long for unattained</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Desires and needs?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">When does love reach its own end?<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Times bring change<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">To many points and longings. Winds</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Blow time by slowly.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:78%;" >--Kari Yerton<br />02/2000</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">_________________________________</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: verdana;font-size:130%;" >Wallflower</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So much time--<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Wasted.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So much effort--<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Gone.<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">So many days--<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Lost.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">How long have I</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Been looking--<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Searching--<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Hoping--</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">For that perfect fit?<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">My other half?<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">You stand in the</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">Corner--</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Watching,<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Calling,<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Trying to catch<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">My eye.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The author of this<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Hole,<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">You know,</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">You hold<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">The answer--<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">My heart's need.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:78%;" >--Kari Yerton<br />02/2011<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;"><span>What can I say? 11 years make a big difference!</span></span>Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7986499730204641770.post-21346718919375723882011-06-28T09:19:00.000-07:002011-06-28T09:31:05.961-07:00Finish Line!!<div style="text-align: center;">Well, we are done!<br /><br />Sunday was the Graduation for the 2011 Class of Master's Commission Remix at Harvest Time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCe0W2mKfpGEDt4NFZx-gEI7gTC010dF3H09P5Rebt3lPwJzhI2Eze4WLyBKe7xfIxqQqBY2_9bpPE2viJaM76XjH5FukIO64kUI8N7RVmkjJJ-sfHJvBlDnNOI5Hi060vUWQO35LAkHg/s1600/258891_1877600744499_1375659983_31754780_5192881_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCe0W2mKfpGEDt4NFZx-gEI7gTC010dF3H09P5Rebt3lPwJzhI2Eze4WLyBKe7xfIxqQqBY2_9bpPE2viJaM76XjH5FukIO64kUI8N7RVmkjJJ-sfHJvBlDnNOI5Hi060vUWQO35LAkHg/s320/258891_1877600744499_1375659983_31754780_5192881_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623307541432034962" border="0" /></a>It's been a long nine months, but I wouldn't trade the experience for anything! =) I've made life-long friends and grown so much closer to God.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lwBwdGbD41ad-qUUXJEuQIGoWFY5NYEcEH5aOFR7qrXzsStZbhW1suf_DDXRDYEYYVXftW5-T2W2_2ABxThQLhSuKC1L1bxqTleRedAEp5VUQyZn_ILEud3RTWvp5ARAKJZHxwGNkKI/s1600/272191_1877605544619_1375659983_31754789_7258132_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lwBwdGbD41ad-qUUXJEuQIGoWFY5NYEcEH5aOFR7qrXzsStZbhW1suf_DDXRDYEYYVXftW5-T2W2_2ABxThQLhSuKC1L1bxqTleRedAEp5VUQyZn_ILEud3RTWvp5ARAKJZHxwGNkKI/s320/272191_1877605544619_1375659983_31754789_7258132_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623307552557584114" border="0" /></a>However, I am more than ready to move up and on with my life. Going back into a college atmosphere after 6 years out of academia was, at times, stretching and, at other times, frankly annoying! lol<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-rQguML-o42UNFUbTalMh_Cr2cybRFEpE4CuYeThA_2VVcMoApUBBjqG6hReAqonov-8mDKSN98mVR78cZ155Dyc9GPWM-qV4ofbS20Imm67T3G-yJuRd6LNHXpfKpo6jlAAKn5V5Dk/s1600/272191_1877605504618_1375659983_31754788_3704073_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-rQguML-o42UNFUbTalMh_Cr2cybRFEpE4CuYeThA_2VVcMoApUBBjqG6hReAqonov-8mDKSN98mVR78cZ155Dyc9GPWM-qV4ofbS20Imm67T3G-yJuRd6LNHXpfKpo6jlAAKn5V5Dk/s320/272191_1877605504618_1375659983_31754788_3704073_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623307544479129378" border="0" /></a>But, God was good and faithful. I've truly found the answers to my questions of "Why am I doing this program?" and "Why now?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQkhwVzrcapvsYX7ZMvS3DKsw9_s6RAKXfrfarNkBq4iIK2Cd2baxK5BLofTB_Hx6TMHRKcUBQku8j43pdAIfZOchxyBpDUPkIPOEKuVY1Qeq2UHcoR8-dPIxS0qDDVwIP1N3l-X2Gc0/s1600/272191_1877605584620_1375659983_31754790_3879141_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQkhwVzrcapvsYX7ZMvS3DKsw9_s6RAKXfrfarNkBq4iIK2Cd2baxK5BLofTB_Hx6TMHRKcUBQku8j43pdAIfZOchxyBpDUPkIPOEKuVY1Qeq2UHcoR8-dPIxS0qDDVwIP1N3l-X2Gc0/s320/272191_1877605584620_1375659983_31754790_3879141_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623307555642291554" border="0" /></a>So, we've crossed our finish line, received our diplomas, and raced out the door!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNrdTxFouDQRkx43wXD0_Y6jUqj1ySc60OA5k8lQR1FjJa0Y1C8lpgyMCJ_qot826s1Ye3e0re7rQw97fp_YiSHbNKeGoBZEZ3oKyb8v2jeRVyMT8jxmC9528S67_p8Ik3KZi_LfNbis/s1600/272191_1877605624621_1375659983_31754791_6981419_o.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNrdTxFouDQRkx43wXD0_Y6jUqj1ySc60OA5k8lQR1FjJa0Y1C8lpgyMCJ_qot826s1Ye3e0re7rQw97fp_YiSHbNKeGoBZEZ3oKyb8v2jeRVyMT8jxmC9528S67_p8Ik3KZi_LfNbis/s320/272191_1877605624621_1375659983_31754791_6981419_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623307305132519426" border="0" /></a>Ready for the next phase, God! Let's go!<br /><br /></div>Karihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16836957322797971855noreply@blogger.com1