tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68925445214264228212024-03-04T00:19:17.840-07:00straight toque with tami,eh?Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.comBlogger390125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-86811022080636914912017-08-26T20:17:00.001-06:002020-02-07T08:19:14.324-07:0002YGH8 = My Second Job!Are you looking for a second job you can do from home? Do you have a four-year degree (in anything)? This post is for you. BTW, 02YGH8 is my referral code if you are thinking of applying.<br />
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You really CAN teach a dog new tricks!<br />
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I've had a long and amazing career in education. I LOVED teaching over 840 children in the Provo City School district. My life revolved around those kids. I enjoyed every age: grades 1-5. My favorite being First Grade and my second love was Fifth Grade. But, whatever the grade, it was the students that were my love and the reason I got up every day... because they made me so happy.<br />
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For some crazy reason, three years ago, I chose to leave the classroom and work as a full-time Instructional Coach in the same district. It is an extremely rewarding job to mentor new teachers in the district, to coach any and all teachers who ask for help, to give professional development, to work as the Elementary Language Arts specialist, etc., etc. I enjoy and love this job for many reasons.<br />
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However, I MISSED having my own students. I missed having a connection with students and, yes, maybe to use my God-given acting skills 🤡 Ha! But what?<br />
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Enter the company that changed my life: VIPKID!<br />
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VipKid is an online platform that began as the dream of Cindy Mi. She is an incredible woman with a vision to have American and Canadian teachers to "visit" China every day and teach English to children. This Bloomberg article is fantastic if you'd like to read more about her. Someday I WILL meet her! </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2016-12-19/if-the-u-s-won-t-pay-its-teachers-china-will</span></div>
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Here are a few of my favorite things! Also known as "students"!</div>
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I joined VIPKID at the end of May. June was a little rough. It takes some time and dedication to build up a group of students who become "regulars". I was determined to make it work and do what I needed to do. It paid off. July was FANTASTIC. August, September, and October have been amazing. I absolutely love doing this job in addition to my regular school day job. I love the face-to-face interaction with the children. I fall in love with them just as I did with my "real" classroom of 25 students. Did I mention I LOVE it?</div>
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The platform for teaching is great. I can see my student in the top frame and myself in the bottom. There is a ppt on the left with everything the student needs during his/her 25-28 minute lesson. There is also a chat box on the right! It is extremely organized and I get to use my skills I've developed over the years. Also, the lessons are based on the US Common Core Standards. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcfgUrcM0bLh-1I7meq1zU8_c-eQAz_nDAblQJTvaW89aDpwKULUqroOIi0R-VSRPCwL9dyHOHLcr_p5-VrZbZPyRm031KS4vk4hoJv0zWKBMzdiiGRdbN62NNmQ-Fsr-76jDSXRzwwXw/s1600/screenshot_1163.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="725" data-original-width="1294" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcfgUrcM0bLh-1I7meq1zU8_c-eQAz_nDAblQJTvaW89aDpwKULUqroOIi0R-VSRPCwL9dyHOHLcr_p5-VrZbZPyRm031KS4vk4hoJv0zWKBMzdiiGRdbN62NNmQ-Fsr-76jDSXRzwwXw/s640/screenshot_1163.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This video makes me so happy. Growth happens through this program. It works!</div>
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<span style="font-family: "centurygothic"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 700;">William One-Year-Growth </span><span style="font-family: "centurygothic"; font-size: 11pt;">- </span><span style="font-family: "centurygothic"; font-size: 12pt;">Watch how William improved his English with VIPKID over the course of 12 months by having class with different teachers!</span><br />
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If you are interested in knowing more, message me. You can also go directly to the link https://t.vipkid.com.cn/?refereeId=4966892&partnerId=6843213 I'm happy to help you learn more about this fun job of mine. (I would love it if you'd use my referral code!)<br />
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<br />Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-31375005801881375492017-02-27T19:44:00.001-07:002017-02-27T19:50:18.846-07:00Curmudgeon: A Man Called Ove<br />
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Picture the crankiest man in your neighborhood. If everyone in your neighborhood is perfect... you must live in Utah. (Just kidding!) Think about the crankiest man you have met in your life. </div>
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Got it? </div>
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When I was growing up in Canada, we had a guy that scared the living</div>
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daylight out of me. When I walked to the bus stop, I would give a sideways glance in the direction of his house. I wasn't exactly sure why I was scared of him </div>
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or why he was so cranky. He never smiled. He'd sit on a lawn chair on his porch </div>
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and secretly judge every move that everyone made.</div>
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As if Monday's weren't bad enough, I knew that I would get home from school and my mother would have made several loaves of bread and it was my duty to deliver </div>
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a warm loaf wrapped in a dish towel to the neighbor who lived all alone and rarely smiled.</div>
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It honestly terrified me! </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(If I had known about Xanax at 10 years old, I would have begged, borrowed, or stole one in anticipation of my bread bearing.)</span></div>
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Now that I'm grown, I realize that things are rarely what they appear to be.</div>
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I'm sure my sweet mother knew the story about Uncle Dan.<br />
And she also knew that I needed to overcome my fears.</div>
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I just finished this book that reminded me of my neighbor of my childhood.</div>
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Here it is: </div>
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Meet Ove. (Pronounced Oova) One of the crankiest characters I have encountered in my reading lifetime. "Cranky" may not adequately cover Ove. He's more of a...</div>
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curmudgeon</h1>
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Do you know what a curmudgeon is? According to the Mirriam-Webster dictionary:</div>
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"a crusty, ill-temper and <b>usually old man</b>"</div>
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Yup! That's Ove. He's the man who enforces all the rules in the neighborhood</div>
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He's the man who goes out every morning to make sure there aren't </div>
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cars driving down the "NO CARS" lane.</div>
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He's the man who tries hard to commit suicide but fails at every turn.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(I know, that went a little dark, really fast, sorry!)</span></div>
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He's the man who loses his best friend over </div>
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Saabs vs all other cars.</div>
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He's the man with strict rules for living and smiles.</div>
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But really,</div>
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Ove was mourning. He was mourning the death of his wife. Through </div>
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flashbacks, we see that the one thing he loved was his wife</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Sonja. </span></div>
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She was everything he wasn't. Yet it worked for them.</div>
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Ove took fresh flowers to Sonja's grave every day... pink flowers.</div>
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He would sit by her grave and tell her how he loved her, what was going on in the neighborhood, and he would tell her that he'd be with her soon.</div>
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(hence, the suicide attempts)</div>
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This book shows what can happen when someone actually </div>
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takes the time to show care for an old widower who appears to be the crankiest</div>
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man alive.</div>
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Parvaneh KNEW!</div>
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She, her husband and their two little girls love Ove.</div>
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They melt his curmudgeon heart.</div>
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I know how it feels to lose the love of your life. </div>
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I know how it feels when people don't understand but think they do know </div>
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how it feels to lose a spouse.</div>
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Ove just wanted to be with Sonja.</div>
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When something so significant (love, wife, husband, child) is taken from you, I think</div>
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it is perfectly fine to be a little cantankerous. </div>
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I could go on and on and on about this story.</div>
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There is a movie as well, complete with subtitles (the author is Swedish).</div>
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But, read the book first if you can.</div>
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Finally...</div>
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I am leaving a quote that was the most impactful paragraph in the book for me.</div>
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I can relate.</div>
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I know.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #3d85c6; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />“Death is a strange thing. People live their whole lives as if it does not exist, and yet it's often one of the great motivations for the living. Some of us, in time, become so conscious of it that we live harder, more obstinately, with more fury. Some need its constant presence to even be aware of its antithesis. Others become so preoccupied with it that they go into the waiting room long before it has announced its arrival. We fear it, yet most of us fear more than anything that it may take someone other than ourselves. For the greatest fear of death is always that it will pass us by. And leave us there alone.” </span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">― </span><a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6485178.Fredrik_Backman" style="background-color: white; font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">Fredrik Backman</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">, </span><span id="quote_book_link_18774964" style="background-color: white; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"><a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/21619954" style="font-family: lato, "helvetica neue", helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;">A Man Called Ove</a></span></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Krog3tcuO4M" width="480"></iframe><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-28291391706567775672017-02-19T23:10:00.000-07:002022-02-24T08:50:07.218-07:00Numb: Photoless Edition<br />
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1,826 </div>
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days since the worst day. </div>
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I have been completely overcome with emotion off and on since February began. At times I feel guilt, regret, and weak.</div>
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Numb is the best word I can come up with.</div>
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I've questioned if I need therapy. I've questioned if I need medication. I have questioned if I should just shake my fist to the stars and yell, </div>
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"You get this one God. You win."</div>
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I looked up the stages of grief because, five years should make everything okay and make me "right" again. Don't you think so? I thought I could tick them off one by one to say, "see? I've conquered them all and can move on now!"</div>
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(Source: http://www.recover-from-grief.com/7-stages-of-grief.html)</div>
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Let me list the "stages" of grief. And, also let me give my own uncensored interpretations of the stages. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(The numbering system that shows below has nothing to do with anything. Please ignore!)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.6px;">You will react to learning of the loss with FULL awareness that it happened... especially if you are the one who discovered the body. There is absolutely NOTHING that you can do to "avoid the pain". It was real... my husband was dead.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.6px;">Guilty feelings? Immediately following, and ever since, for not taking him to the hospital the night before. Even now, I can't let that guilt go. </span></span><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.6px;">I have guilt of being angry at him for being sick and if he would have just done this or that, he'd still be here. I have guilt for resenting the life he had before mine where he raised four beautiful children and was healthy. Guilt, guilt, and still more guilt. It never goes away. This is a phase that comes and goes when you least expect it. And, probably the worst guilt of all... sometimes, a little thought would whisper in my head that maybe it would be better for him if he did die to relieve his pain, to lessen my worries. Now, that is selfish and greedy. I urge anyone reading this to read or watch the movie "A Monster Calls". I bawled through the entire thing. I almost felt it was written for me and all those who grieve in a way that creates shame and guilt and secret thoughts.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px;">The only time I really felt anger was at the family gathering on the night before Terry's funeral. My brother, Bruce (who had travelled from Vancouver, BC) and we ended up alone in the hallway together. We chatted a bit and then I just said "I hate him! I hate him for leaving us!" Bruce took me in his arms... my only sibling who could fully understand my anger and loss. He just held me while I fell apart. It only lasted for a very short time. Bruce has his own story to tell with it's own twists and turns. I would let him tell his own story as it isn't mine to tell... except to note that he lost TWO of his children in the same car accident several years earlier. One daughter, a young mother, and one son who was still in High School. Bruce knew. Bruce knows.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">As far as "bargaining", I never did because I knew Terry wasn't ever coming back. Plus, why bargain with a God who would do something so cruel as to take away my first true love way too soon.</span></span></div>
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<b style="color: #5a4a30; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><span style="background-color: #fce5cd; color: #435616;">"DEPRESSION", REFLECTION, LONELINESS-</span></b><br />
<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; color: #5a4a30; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you. This is a normal stage of grief, so do not be "talked out of it" by well-meaning outsiders. Encouragement from others is not helpful to you during this stage of grieving.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; color: #5a4a30; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">During this time, you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you. You may isolate yourself on purpose, reflect on things you did with your lost one, and focus on memories of the past. You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Oh boy! The one phrase that kills me over and over again is, "You will see him again!" "God needed him more than we did." "Blah! Blah! Blah!" I'm not listening to you.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">This weekend, yes, I have experienced the true magnitude of my loss. Yes, it depresses me. Yes, I isolate myself on purpose. And YES I reflect and reflect and reflect. I have thousands of memories that I treasure. Over time, I will forget them or they may become clouded. That thought terrifies me and it's then that I mention him to real live people. My love can't be measured or understoond.</span></span></div>
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<li style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: url("about:blank"); background-origin: initial; background-position: left top; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-size: initial; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 35px;"> I agree with this statement. Life does become calmer after a while. I can look at his belongings now and can sort through what I want to keep, give away, or donate BUT, he's still there in the back of my head telling me to "Get rid of it all. It's just junk." No, sorry, that's not going to happen.</li>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.6px;">This one happened about a week after I (along with some 60 people including some I have never seen, showed up on moving day and move me to my new home. I have nieces who send me surprises through the mail during February) People are good... it I let them be.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">Honestly, I am an optimistic person who people look at and automatically think I'm happy-go-lucky. .. balanced. I DO look forward to seeing and doing awesome things. I KNOW I'm okay that way. I can find joy in most situations. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">If we could just block February, that would solve my deeply emotional anxiety concerning the big fat hole Terry left in our family.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">After thinking over why I feel more upset over this anniversary is (other than marking a big year... (FIVE years!) time is that one of my most dreaded fears from the beginning are now manifesting. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">• I'm l feel like I'm losing touch with Terry's kids. We text, we Instagram, we group text sometimes. But it's not like before. People have lives to live and families to raise. Life gets busy. I get that. But, when I'm the last to know of a </span></span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">suffering</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">grandchild, or parents and children with celebrations of promotions, and milestones accomplished... my heart hurts.</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">I remember after the funeral, I hugged Terry's daughter, Melissa. I whispered in her ear, "Please don't forget me. You are my link to him." His children really are a part of my life and I love each and every one of them with my whole heart. But, people move on and... I'm the step-grami and shouldn't expect to be at the top of their lists. I understand that. It's hard for me to remember that life moves on with or without me. I am dispensable . It hurts. But I understand. (However, I refuse to turn into Grandma Neen!)</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">• I worry about my own daughters and their families. About three darling granddaughters he never met. He would be the doting grandparent. I can visualize him with each one. He would love to hear Eloise read to him. He'd enjoy cuddles from Hazel. He'd fight people just to hold Poppy. He would think Zoe is the funniest little kid he'd ever met and he would melt at Zoe's toothy smile!!</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">• I wondered if I would make it this far. Honestly. I have not exercised or been at a healthy weight for a long time. In short, I let myself go and I'm so upset with myself.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">• Considering I believe in (sort of) an afterlife, I worry that he has found someone else to love. That would be awesome for him... not awesome for me. In my church is is understood that polygamy will be reinstated in the after life in order to receive "exaltation"! If that turns out to be true, I would rather live in Hell. True or not, I still worry about it. And I hate the notion. (Someday I will be brave enough to write a post about my feelings toward the religion in which I was raised.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">• I worried about contact with Terry's extended family. I haven't seen his brother, sister, nor any of their children since the funeral. I miss them. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">So, here I sit... numb. I'm not feeling anything good OR bad. Just counting down until tomorrow is over.</span></span></div>
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Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-25789728952893611432017-02-13T20:16:00.002-07:002017-02-13T20:16:33.805-07:00My Muslim Friends And A Story (Warning: long)<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have a story to tell that is 32 years in the making. That story will start and end after I post a few photos first. 32 years ago, I was living in Colombo, Sri Lanka (11 months), Singapore (1.5 months), and Malaysia (1.5 months). I began the journey in June of 1983 and ended in November 1984.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">First, let me raise my hand high that I have, indeed, talked to a Muslim face to face. In fact, I've spoken to many, many Muslims and have close friendships with a few. I have visited their beautiful mosques, seen them pray (at all hours of the day... seven times, in fact). Imagine ME! A little Mormon girl from Cardston, Alberta Canada, strolling through a mosque, teaching English to many Islamic people, feeling the reverence as they pray, admiring their dedication to their religion by wearing sacred pieces of clothing that show reverence for their god. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You may think I was freaked out. NOT for one second. I was wide-eyed, yes, to see new culture and religion but... it was the most incredible experience of my young life. How lucky I am to have had that wonderful experience. But, my memory is long and keen and I remember how it looked, smelled, and felt to be in the presence of so many different cultural and religious lifestyles. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Let's take a look, then on with my promised story...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> The most beautiful mosque (and the tallest) in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"> Same mosque on the inside. These halls were silent. The most silent moments I had ever experienced in my life. Soft sounds could be heard in the distance of Muslims in prayer to Allah.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOc2GXYv5PBUAQWuouzTcMZu9yQY7S4ygNMejaXjNY_03RPyvULgk_LjGLTLTdnxJnJOjaujVN003DjSWO_5kKaD0ijNHNwP8DGZOf6wVhvzxRx9U0w8zrYyAkHT7nGyPgkyyWJywKxU/s1600/PICT0039.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="534" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOc2GXYv5PBUAQWuouzTcMZu9yQY7S4ygNMejaXjNY_03RPyvULgk_LjGLTLTdnxJnJOjaujVN003DjSWO_5kKaD0ijNHNwP8DGZOf6wVhvzxRx9U0w8zrYyAkHT7nGyPgkyyWJywKxU/s640/PICT0039.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />The Muslim women pray on long white sheets about 3/4 of the distance from the wall where the men pray. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6YS75XOoKjRazk9Uy3sXHCOE6WpYdWbh35geOpEVuanYiboHCZtTVS-yK-oqkR0P_8nsggbhwb7d1ISTzEaQvPwN8dpq7EFPIn_OlsprN3QCUHfpuZ8uf7FRw5QB4d_Ym4EptjZb_c4/s1600/PICT0055.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6YS75XOoKjRazk9Uy3sXHCOE6WpYdWbh35geOpEVuanYiboHCZtTVS-yK-oqkR0P_8nsggbhwb7d1ISTzEaQvPwN8dpq7EFPIn_OlsprN3QCUHfpuZ8uf7FRw5QB4d_Ym4EptjZb_c4/s640/PICT0055.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">When entering a mosque, shoes are left at the door and all women must cover their heads. Here's proof I obeyed all the rules and felt honored. It was peaceful and beautiful.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWMuyXQX3JdLUhjPFcVDxUtlOC92fyxzh-QsqH-XtJhAQS9kR3RLGgZBv2C9C0Umvc0iAp4xeyrxw7uszgxgpAR-TEYa3fayaPnp0o9feR59j2DzmRPdG86i-QVTopBdsNt7aJpJTpn0/s1600/PICT0020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWMuyXQX3JdLUhjPFcVDxUtlOC92fyxzh-QsqH-XtJhAQS9kR3RLGgZBv2C9C0Umvc0iAp4xeyrxw7uszgxgpAR-TEYa3fayaPnp0o9feR59j2DzmRPdG86i-QVTopBdsNt7aJpJTpn0/s640/PICT0020.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"> Outside the mosque with six lovely ladies. There was a language barrier but the eyes can speak volumes. I was so blown away to be standing there with them. I wanted to</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">hear their stories... every one.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-lrUk7Pp06Jv6Naetkx9u6Lr1qMas40AUQe53AdcXuLnUKrCKcM2PFbBJirIkK3QDv0o92YVZSKVjQQYml8q6r-6uAZMvA3pEpRh737aUTzFNnF-ikj9oFcLSwn4DiSVF8wMAmc3rbc8/s1600/PICT0056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-lrUk7Pp06Jv6Naetkx9u6Lr1qMas40AUQe53AdcXuLnUKrCKcM2PFbBJirIkK3QDv0o92YVZSKVjQQYml8q6r-6uAZMvA3pEpRh737aUTzFNnF-ikj9oFcLSwn4DiSVF8wMAmc3rbc8/s640/PICT0056.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> These three school girls were headed to their studies, at the same school. All were Muslim. All dressed according to their particular orthodoxy. They each spoke English and told us about their studies in Malaysia.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Sri Lanka</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEY35PO8jJm4MY47IjKD6e3v9PoJXgm7JMZBFUNFcA7PkqxuWagGsRY-RdwcOc9iGikhmmsoHbj7P93YvD8AiKAEknWkzsked55VQBmoAT7FrTnB_9CpMAXVIMiNVCb_k98c3uz8smzHg/s1600/IMG_0738-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEY35PO8jJm4MY47IjKD6e3v9PoJXgm7JMZBFUNFcA7PkqxuWagGsRY-RdwcOc9iGikhmmsoHbj7P93YvD8AiKAEknWkzsked55VQBmoAT7FrTnB_9CpMAXVIMiNVCb_k98c3uz8smzHg/s640/IMG_0738-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">This is one of my all-time favorite photos. This beautiful woman is Zaira! She was in my 6-month Spoken English class. She is a Muslim. Her wedding was incredible. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"> Look at the love. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNvACZ89YtrTdTu_eR_AY3ocFkBnrihS-lH1jO42LPKcncsvTCwtc9Z9GmYiKKGbBdu4vr3oxOBGw5ddS-bzwYLkzEOcYQYkvuPRtG5YtvfJJMJa7givsfF60Xctc7GsOEFm-AfAdO774/s1600/IMG_9981-1.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNvACZ89YtrTdTu_eR_AY3ocFkBnrihS-lH1jO42LPKcncsvTCwtc9Z9GmYiKKGbBdu4vr3oxOBGw5ddS-bzwYLkzEOcYQYkvuPRtG5YtvfJJMJa7givsfF60Xctc7GsOEFm-AfAdO774/s640/IMG_9981-1.jpg" width="604" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">This is a page from my scrapbook. The top left is an actual "Prayer cap" purchased on the street from the men in the photo next to it.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">Those cute boys were at the only "hamburger" restaurant in the city! </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDGsV7U3puUVT-MOP9GRG50Sc2OieqEvuEzbmpfYoqPt4p-F9G6DYb7Ht1-_tzkEZKaHX_1iIGDzOaMmcFL-W0IrsrbHn2ffziY0-sPS0-Qq1zzSUUBG_MXQjzFZ95oTLFeUuQnw3LUE/s1600/IMG_2334-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="620" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDGsV7U3puUVT-MOP9GRG50Sc2OieqEvuEzbmpfYoqPt4p-F9G6DYb7Ht1-_tzkEZKaHX_1iIGDzOaMmcFL-W0IrsrbHn2ffziY0-sPS0-Qq1zzSUUBG_MXQjzFZ95oTLFeUuQnw3LUE/s640/IMG_2334-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was invited to the wedding of my friends Nuzath and Amal. It was THE most incredible wedding I have or have to date EVER been to. They served us an entire meal of chicken biryani (all 400+ of us). We watched the Muslim wedding rituals (which were beautiful). So very memorable!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">SO... Who is Nuzath? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Nuzath is a jeweler.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He is the son of Zubair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They pray in their small closet at their jewelry store SEVEN times a day on their prayer rugs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They were the jewelers I purchased many beautiful pieces for my mother, my sister-in-law, and her mother.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They were the jewelers I took any couple or tourist stopping through on their way to India. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They invited us to their home to feed us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They were kind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They were extremely warm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They were generous...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaUXQCdO1rb9-PZirs6PFp61DQ5YSfAihIugfHLs0kT6XjV0d1D17GzPBQXlWuf8aNVfobrj-aonBH16aDd5XfQofRTjdQiF3F_rGrn1AYOiDSXF0duwTU98K5ckkCC9Hs0zOFVrcKWYI/s1600/B7D9CB3A-3CEB-437E-90E8-6DCC2B4E8F18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaUXQCdO1rb9-PZirs6PFp61DQ5YSfAihIugfHLs0kT6XjV0d1D17GzPBQXlWuf8aNVfobrj-aonBH16aDd5XfQofRTjdQiF3F_rGrn1AYOiDSXF0duwTU98K5ckkCC9Hs0zOFVrcKWYI/s640/B7D9CB3A-3CEB-437E-90E8-6DCC2B4E8F18.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here they are... son with his father. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My friends.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My friends who are Muslim.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My friends who, on one of my last days in Sri Lanka, as I was making my rounds and saying my "good-byes", they were at the top of my list.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I tearfully said goodbye and thanked them for always welcoming me to their shop and taking such good care of my friends I had brought in over the fifteen months I was there...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Zubair asked me to sit down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He pulled out a large ledger (no computers at this point) and turned to a page</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(apparently, my page)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He ran his finger down the figures then asked me to wait a moment and he disappeared into the back of his shop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When he returned he had two beautiful Ceylon sapphire gems that were over a carat a piece. He said:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"THIS is your commission for bringing us so many customers!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was shocked! I had no idea, nor did I expect anything.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Just as I said... generous.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He wouldn't take no for an answer and so I took home the two stones and have looked at them in their little original box for the past 32 years!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This past Christmas, I decided to do something with the sapphires.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have two lovely daughters who are now mothers and I wanted something extra special for them this year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I searched for a local jeweler and found this guy:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mr. John Beesly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I LOVED his small, messy office.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">His "cash only" policy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">His advice about life: "Keep a stash of cash between your mattresses!" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And, I loved what he did with my precious jewels for </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">MY precious jewels. (awwwwwe!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I decided on pendant necklaces with beautiful gold chains.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hoped my dear girls understood what a long, long, journey of love these beauties have been through.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The stones traveled over 8,265 miles...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">from Sri Lanka to Canada to the US then back to Canada and then back to the US.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I loved them all my life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But when I found something I loved more, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Melissa and Erika,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">my daughters,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I was finally able to pass them on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All thanks to my amazing Muslim friends in a little shop, in Colombo, Sri Lanka,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">in 1985!</span></div>
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Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-7047312156855343232017-01-14T21:31:00.001-07:002024-01-06T05:33:16.145-07:00An Update on my Bucket ListWell, let's just say that I haven't gotten very far. I finally saw Adam Levine in concert with my girls. It was so much fun. I sold some doodles and made it to Europe. And, yes, I am now past Level 200 in Candy Crush! <br />
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Three years since I wrote this list and I can see that some of my items are things I'm no longer interested in doing. I can take them off, right.<br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;">(Updated January 6, 2021)</span><br />
For instance. I no longer want to learn to groom dogs, ride a mechanical bull, nor take a week off of all things technical (I love it too much.)<br />
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I would also like to add a couple of things. For instance: Watch all Oscar nominated videos before the Oscars is aired each year, learn how to sew a zipper into something, live authentically to who I am inside, get healthy for my grandkids and myself, and smoke weed... just once! (Don't be mad)<br />
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So, you see, the thing about a bucket list is... it changes. It probably will change each year or sometimes even day to day. We evolve. We change. Change is good!<br />
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• Plant a full on vegetable garden...and keep it alive! <span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="background-color: white;">(No longer interested... no space)</span></span><br />
•Visit Washington D.C<br />
• Learn at least five "go to" origami sculptures<br />
•<strike> See Adam Levine Live</strike><br />
• Learn to make sushi<br />
• See the Mona Lisa in the Louvre<br />
•<strike> Go on a cruise</strike><br />
• Learn to groom dogs<span style="color: #3d85c6;"> (No longer interested)</span><br />
• Learn the Thriller dance routine<br />
• <strike>Run a marathon Run</strike> <strike>Run another 5K </strike><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> (No thanks!)</span><br />
• Round out my list of continents: <span style="color: #3d85c6;"><strike>Asia</strike></span>, <strike><span style="color: #3d85c6;">North America</span></strike>, <strike><span style="color: #3d85c6;">South America</span></strike> Africa, <strike>Europe</strike>, <span style="color: #3d85c6;"><strike>Australia,</strike></span> and <span style="color: #3d85c6;">Antarctica.(coming in 2025) </span><br />
• Ride a mechanical bull <span style="color: #3d85c6;">(No thnaks!)</span><br />
• Visit the Galapagos Islands<br />
• Go back to Sri Lanka<br />
• Embrace Veganism for at least one consecutive year <span style="color: #3d85c6;">(I did it for one month and it nearly killed me!)</span><br />
• Watch every movie to ever win the Oscar for best picture award <span style="color: #3d85c6;">(I usually do this every year)</span><br />
• Attend a "Forks Over Knives" convention <span style="color: #3d85c6;">(Nope)</span><br />
• Ride a camel on a Wednesday (get it? Hump Day!)<br />
• Stay up all night and go straight to work the next morning<br />
• Bake a bagel from scratch<br />
• Visit all 50 states<br />
• Walk through a drive-thru<br />
• Be on a game show (preferably Hollywood Game Night, The Price is Right, or Jeopardy)<br />
• Be on a reality TV show<br />
• Get my National Board Certification<br />
• Attend EVERY grandchild's baptism (just like my parents did!) [already blew that one!] <span style="color: #3d85c6;">(Also, I no longer believe in the whole baptism at 8 years old thing)</span><br />
•<strike> Sell some doodles</strike><br />
• Refinish my bedroom furniture <br />
• Do Habitat for Humanity<br />
• Learn to play the harmonica<br />
• Tour the "Downton Abbey" house<br />
• Learn five magic tricks to mystify my friends<br />
• Teach abroad for one year<br />
• Learn to shoot a pistol<br />
• Eat at the number one ranked restaurant in the world: El Celler de Can Roca (Spain)<br />
• Take a one week hiatus from technology<br />
• Drive on the Autobahn<br />
• Attend Mardi Gras<br />
• <strike>Chase a tornado</strike> Chase an ice cream truck<br />
• Try my hand at geocaching<br />
• Chop vegetables the way professional chefs do<br />
• Meet up with my online/real life friend, Pam, every year.<br />
• Teach school abroad for at least one year.<br />
• Learn to ski (I live in Utah! I should know this by now) <span style="color: #3d85c6;">(Now my knees couldn't handle it so... maybe sledding?)<br /></span>
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• <strike>Get to level 200 on Candy Crush (so sad)</strike><br />
• Become a Yogi! (Yoga expert) <span style="color: #3d85c6;">(Ummmm... no.)</span><div><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #3d85c6;">A lot can change over the course of seven years! </span></div>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-53960846179615851592014-02-15T22:17:00.001-07:002014-02-15T22:17:53.238-07:00Whoa! Didn't see that coming!First of all, let me say that I turned my calendar page. Yay! Go me. <br />
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Next, I have been thinking about all the things that sneak up on me and rattle me when I least expect it. I think about Terry every.single.day. Every thing, every place, every decision, every worry, involves me picturing what his opinion would be if he were here. But, he isn't, and I am the ultimate decision maker about my reactions and decisions. At least I know I'm still giving him reference. Though I know, it is futile.<br />
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I miss him.<br />
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I miss him in a way that no one will ever be able to understand. And, though he is in my thoughts on a daily basis, in the end...it's just me. And I keep moving. Keep on without him.<br />
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I've been thinking that as the second anniversary of my boyfriend approaches, that I'm doing pretty well. I've got this. Time passes. I should be over this by now. Nope. I have discovered that small things happen that show up out of nowhere and shake my soul.<br />
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For example: Last week, we (the girls, their husbands, and children) went to Cafe Rio. Erika and Tyler are moving to Southern California soon and taking my little darling grand girls. We keep having "Good bye dinners"! It's great. We laugh and enjoy food together. Bask in the cuteness of Eloise and Hazel. It's the best. And, while I'm going to cry and cry when they actually leave me here, I am just drinking in the happiness we all have when we're together. Happy as little clams. (How are clams happy? I never got that one. Oh well.)<br />
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Then, when I least expect it, and for pretty crazy reasons, something happens and I'm filled with longing for Terry. After our dinner, as we prepared to leave, I saw one of Melissa's friends from High School. He gave me a long, tight hug. The kind of hug that isn't just a regular hug. I don't know if you've ever experienced this kind of hug. I call it the "You don't have to say anything" hug. His soul told mine that he missed Terry and that he was so sorry for the void left in my life because he had a hole in his, too. <br />
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In that five full second hug, I relived those content feelings of many weekends where our house was full of teenagers who were comfortable in our home. The friendships and fun. The thousands of fruit snacks and cans of soda. The games. The noise! (Oh, that noise. I loved it!) The second hand couch those kids put on our porch to have a place to hang out. And I KNEW they were there because they loved Terry. Of course, my daughters were gorgeous and pretty awesome and so were the other teens I helped raise who were also there. But...in the end...they loved Terry the most. They were there because Terry made them feel at home and special. Sam's hug reminded me of that. I cried in the car the whole way home.<br />
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Then, just this past Wednesday, I was rushing into my classroom to start the school day. I had been gone from those dolls Monday and Tuesday because of meetings so I was extra excited to be back. As I hurried along to put all of my "stuff" down, I fell off of my favorite, adorable shoes and broke my ankle. Not pretty. But, I didn't cry. It hurt but I was mostly laughing at myself because I kept picturing my fall. (Why do we laugh when people fall down? Because it's hysterical, that's why!) The administrators and other teachers came to help me out. But, before I could get up, I was told I had to give a call to Worker's Comp to give my information. No problem. <br />
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That was the second thing this week that I didn't see coming. <br />
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Operator: Name?<br />
Me: Tami Anderson<br />
Operator: Birthdate?<br />
Me: June 7, 1963<br />
Operator: Marital Status?<br />
Me: .....umm....that's a hard one.<br />
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I looked at all the people staring at me. Then fixed them on my best sister/friend Kathe and started sobbing as I willed myself to say: Widow<br />
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That's a hard word to say. If you've ever had to say it when you're describing yourself, you know what I mean. It was really the first time I'd said it out loud. "Widow" I hate that word.<br />
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So, now I'm bracing myself for the coming week. I realize it will be of no use. I can be as strong as I will myself to be. But, guess what? Somethings, you just don't see coming.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: 0px !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-14318151565559078832014-02-01T20:24:00.002-07:002014-02-01T20:24:37.672-07:00Why I Will Always Hate February<br />
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February is the pits! Valentine's Day without a my valentine. President's Day when all the good presidents are dead. Punxsutawney Phil will most likely see his shadow tomorrow...six more weeks of Winter. Erika and Tyler are moving to So. California (but, I'm not going to talk about that). The Olympics start on the 7th (yay!) but will have to close on the 23rd (boo!). They're in Sochi, Russia (where??) and the public restrooms there have double toilet stalls (double boo!!). <br />
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Worst of all, it will be the second anniversary of my boyfriend's untimely death.<br />
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Last year on February 1st I wrote about "Turning Pages". Calendar pages. I wrote about how difficult it was to physically turn the January page to February. It would somehow reinforce that my Terry would be gone for an entire year. Impossible. As if not turning a calendar page could bring him back. As if. But, I eventually turned it and the world didn't fall apart. Most likely because it had already done so a year before. You can read that post here: http://candadiantami.blogspot.com/2013/02/turning-pages.html if you are so inclined.<br />
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So, here I am facing another turn of the calendar. It has got to be easier this year right?? I mean, two years is a long time. I should be a little more "together" when it comes to silly little calendars. I've learned many things over the past two years. One being, I can NEVER just assume that my life and feelings will play out the way I imagined them. This crazy heart inside has a mind of it's own and is usually connected to my tears. <br />
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I faced my beautiful new calendar from Melissa Rae last night. It was like facing off with a boxing opponent. If I turned January to February, I just knew I'd get punched in the face. So, I left it on January again. Take THAT, February!<br />
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Last night I reread all of my blog posts from last February...the year anniversary of Terry's death. I was sobbing my eyes out (as I knew I would) and feeling all of those feelings all over again. I should have stopped. But, it felt good to hurt. What? I know. I can't describe it. Sometimes when I hurt, I feel better. Maybe I need a therapist. <br />
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So, after reading the post from February 1, 2013, I remembered that I had Eloise with me last year. As luck would have it, I have her this year as well. Just the two of us. We went to lunch with some friends then headed out to the Provo Cemetery to visit Pop Pop. We arrived to find a LARGE group of people waiting to bury their departed loved one. We walked closer and I started to worry that the group had congregated on top of Terry's spot. Getting closer and closer, I could feel all of these wonderful people actually exuding a palpable love for their dear one. It was peaceful. Like an invisible shield around that sacred occasion. We found my boyfriend's spot...within three feet of the mourning family. We'd have to make it quick. There wasn't enough snow to fashion snowball hearts like last year. Just some hard snow/ice left over from the last snowfall. So, we made heart imprints with our feet, said "We love you, Pop Pop!", and that was it. A tradition has begun.<br />
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I guess I can be grateful that it isn't a leap year and that February is just 28 days long. Hopefully, I'll have turned that calendar page by then.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5FGEw6NKXyMKN4mwrApBp6MDS0UwNrBF0ruJcZfKZwe7hvJghqISHVQPsABn3ss3hkuNytDpknD_3RhVPJ8ByqnB1ett3gNZzYUdR3yOrTXiKVXCCMPKPyHUJKbfeNR-aTnNiuJkx6nY/s1600/IMG_5873.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5FGEw6NKXyMKN4mwrApBp6MDS0UwNrBF0ruJcZfKZwe7hvJghqISHVQPsABn3ss3hkuNytDpknD_3RhVPJ8ByqnB1ett3gNZzYUdR3yOrTXiKVXCCMPKPyHUJKbfeNR-aTnNiuJkx6nY/s1600/IMG_5873.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo has me so confused. Those hearts are actually pressed into the snow by our shoes.<br />I have stared at it in every possible way and I can only see them<br />popping up.<br />I'm not going crazy...am I?<br />Please tell me you see it that way.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-46233285878332765462013-11-28T00:36:00.001-07:002013-11-28T00:36:24.482-07:00In the Spirit of Thanksgiving<br />
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I LOVE the message of this video. Every November, it causes me to reflect about what I'm grateful for...family, friends, food, a job. Thankful to have loved a wonderful man who shaped me into the person he left behind to wallow in self-pity every now and again. But, I love those who have blessed my live even in the tiniest of ways. So...thank you! I appreciate each one of you.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/Tuwid8_O8dk" width="480"></iframe><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-16372295233445231852013-11-08T19:12:00.001-07:002013-11-08T19:28:44.200-07:00LifeI'm usually a VERY optimistic person. I can take trials and turn them upside down into learning experiences. If someone tells me I can't...I will. If someone says things could never get better, I find a way to make them even better. I have huge wrinkles in my forehead from trying to smile all the time. You get the picture. It's in my nature. I know it bugs a lot of people who just want to complain and look for the negative in the world. "Wo is me." Not in my vocabulary.<br />
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But not today. It's been a hard day (and 10 days for that matter). I've had horrible chest congestion, pain, and coughing fits like I've never had before. I haven't felt like myself. It could be the medicine (Prednisone) I was prescribed. The pharmacist told me "It will certainly put you on edge". And it has. Only, not in a mad or angry type of an edge but a "Wo is me" type of edge. I cried and cried today after school for no real apparent reason other than a couple of sweet little first grade journals I was reading. Then when I got to my house, I had an overwhelming sense of loneliness. I needed my boyfriend sitting in his chair working on his latest art piece, waiting for...me. Why isn't he still here with me? I need someone to vent to and to talk to about my day. I miss that daily tradition...more than usual. And, I realized that it was only HIM that I wanted today. Things only HE could listen to and understand. Today there was no replacement for him. So the tears have been my solace.<br />
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One of my fellow teachers asked me this today, "Did you go through those stages of grief after Terry died?" My answer was that there is NO cycle. The cycle doesn't exist...only pieces of that cycle that come along whenever they feel like it. Randomly. Ever so randomly. Just when I think I've got the whole thing under control, it hits me and punches me in the throat. <br />
I know that this giant lump in my throat will one day (most likely tomorrow) go away. The worst part is not knowing when it will lodge itself there again.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: 0px !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-72773153830506265802013-07-21T20:31:00.000-06:002013-07-21T20:31:57.139-06:00Old Lady's Bucket ListI know, I know! Bucket lists are silly and cliche. But, do I care? Nope. I gave lots of thought to my 50 life goals for my 50th birthday. I've got some good ones and some iffy ones. But, now I have some things to work on to keep me alive for 30-50 more years. So, here you go...no mocking allowed.<br />
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• Plant a full on vegetable garden...and keep it alive!<br />
•Visit Washington D.C<br />
• Learn at least five "go to" origami sculptures<br />
• See Adam Levine Live<br />
• Learn to make sushi<br />
• See the Mona Lisa in the Louvre<br />
• Go on a cruise<br />
• Learn to groom dogs<br />
• Learn the Thriller dance routine<br />
• <strike>Run a marathon Run</strike> Run another 5K<br />
• Round out my list of continents: Africa, Europe, Australia, and Antarctica)<br />
• Ride a mechanical bull<br />
• Visit the Galapagos Islands<br />
• Go back to Sri Lanka<br />
• Embrace Veganism for at least one consecutive year<br />
• Watch every movie to ever win the Oscar for best picture award<br />
• Attend a "Forks Over Knives" convention<br />
• Ride a camel on a Wednesday (get it? Hump Day!)<br />
• Stay up all night and go straight to work the next morning<br />
• Bake a bagel from scratch<br />
• Visit all 50 states<br />
• Walk through a drive-thru<br />
• Be on a game show (preferably Hollywood Game Night, The Price is Right, or Jeopardy)<br />
• Be on a reality TV show<br />
• Get a Phd<br />
• Attend EVERY grandchild's baptism (just like my parents did!)<br />
• Sell some doodles<br />
• Refinish my bedroom furniture<br />
• Do Habitat for Humanity<br />
• Learn to play the harmonica<br />
• Tour the "Downton Abbey" house<br />
• Learn five magic tricks to mystify my friends<br />
• Teach abroad for one year<br />
• Learn to shoot a pistol<br />
• Eat at the number one ranked restaurant in the world: El Celler de Can Roca (Spain)<br />
• Take a one week hiatus from technology<br />
• Drive on the Autobhan<br />
• Attend Mardi Gras<br />
• <strike>Chase a tornado</strike> Chase an ice cream truck<br />
• Try my hand at geocaching<br />
• Chop vegetables the way professional chefs do<br />
• Meet up with my online/real life friend, Pam, every year.<br />
• Read every Newbery Award winner<br />
• Learn to ski (I live in Utah! I should know this by now)<br />
• Attend Time Out For Women<br />
• Get to level 200 on Candy Crush (so sad)<br />
• Become a Yogi! (Yoga expert)<br />
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•<br />
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I made it to 48! I will fill in the last two with your suggestions. Most creative wins! <br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-11640646601175258692013-07-15T23:20:00.000-06:002013-07-15T23:20:13.276-06:00FIFTY!<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Have I mentioned that my daughters are the best daughters in the land? Well, they are. I turned 50 on June 7th this year. Those darling girls made me feel like a queen. They were surprising me at every turn. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So...are you ready to hear all about it? There are a lot of pictures. You've been warned. Here we go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We decided to spend the day in Salt Lake City. I hadn't been on the new <a href="http://www.rideuta.com/mc/?page=UTA-Home-FrontRunner">Frontrunner</a> so we parked our cars and hopped on the train. I loved it. It was clean and air conditioned. And I was with my four best gals.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhra7ZsJIxQbQDarbfr8kti90tNP9zKiWjXfD3yVOjauya3AZ9npvMrLBgeAacol030S9cy5sXonUGWb5S3JmoFarHE8go_Xu2ZBlBxS3MOj6MeVYxAupIuhQI7-aF7AMeb_GzHBzE4Y/s1600/On+the+train.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhra7ZsJIxQbQDarbfr8kti90tNP9zKiWjXfD3yVOjauya3AZ9npvMrLBgeAacol030S9cy5sXonUGWb5S3JmoFarHE8go_Xu2ZBlBxS3MOj6MeVYxAupIuhQI7-aF7AMeb_GzHBzE4Y/s640/On+the+train.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. Erika, Hazel, and me<br />2. Melissa and Eloise<br />3. Pretty little Hazel<br />4. Melissa and Hazel<br />5. Me with every wrinkle I've earned over the past 50 years.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">During the ride up to SLC, the girls made an <a href="http://instagram.com/">Instagram</a> hashtag #50gramsforgramitami. They tried to post 50 pictures of the day but only made it to 33. That's okay because that's how old I feel! :) </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AtytUePIuimOtQFvMiil1GTwpalv7iKDy7D4AWHwA8xb4DFQM6OwcC6ruWJSDIeCYo-HQtoU35-6OoH6V6PBj6QOLQO6w37yvuPfmj8DZf1MtWQIGl-K6zXCGaZb8lsSTvaEnLhN784/s1600/other+grands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AtytUePIuimOtQFvMiil1GTwpalv7iKDy7D4AWHwA8xb4DFQM6OwcC6ruWJSDIeCYo-HQtoU35-6OoH6V6PBj6QOLQO6w37yvuPfmj8DZf1MtWQIGl-K6zXCGaZb8lsSTvaEnLhN784/s640/other+grands.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here are just three of the Instagrams added:<br />1. My Colorado cutie, Isabel<br />2. Her adorable twin brother, Milo<br />3. A sneeze from my newest granddaughter, Ivy!<br /></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We made it to downtown <a href="http://www.shopcitycreekcenter.com/">City Creek Center</a> and shopped our hearts out. Every time I picked up something to buy, those daughters of mine would step in front of me and pay for it. I had planned to buy myself some fancy readers from <a href="http://www.brighton.com/product/readers/36956-24132/-alcott-readers.html">Brighton</a>. When I realized they were paying for everything, I just couldn't act excited about the glasses (even thought I was!) and said I'd just get them later.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. Shopping at LUSH to buy some bath bombs. Notice Erika in the background. According to her fingers, I'm only 5 years old! Thanks, E.<br />2. Melissa giving me a high five as I left a kids store. Why? Well, as I was leaving, the worker looked at Eloise in the stroller and said TO ME: "Your daughter is so cute!" YES! I've still got it!<br />3. Melissa paying for two orange cups I fell in love with at Anthropologie.<br />4. Eloise polishing off my Diet Coke.<br />5. Eloise and me trying on the Tangled wigs in the Disney store.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We ate lunch at The Blue Lemon. I had a delicious <a href="http://www.ourbestbites.com/2013/07/dirty-diet-coke/">Dirty Diet Coke</a>. Perfection. Eloise even mocked a little kid who was screaming and not using very good manners. Picture her screaming right back and then laughing hysterically. Yup, that's what it was like.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being the "city girls" we were, we hopped back onto TRAX and wound our way to Trolley Square so that Mel and Erika could go to Lulu Lemon and I could go to Whole Foods. We had to walk a few blocks and it was so hot. But we made it and no one cried. Not even me.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbi9lasHrixU-xmfssQGxLbXc4XWDnkribK7ARquSwtxd2YiYO2TeS5zbJxxrSGggQBroSeJ1mmTmpyhTqAlNeyOF0W4i7JXLTw5Cu1IAnn_mUreqhJHs37DHV_x1NFk-IwieECUWOFYs/s1600/trolley+square.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbi9lasHrixU-xmfssQGxLbXc4XWDnkribK7ARquSwtxd2YiYO2TeS5zbJxxrSGggQBroSeJ1mmTmpyhTqAlNeyOF0W4i7JXLTw5Cu1IAnn_mUreqhJHs37DHV_x1NFk-IwieECUWOFYs/s640/trolley+square.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. Melissa and Hazel cooling off in Pottery Barn.<br />2. Erika looking cool in Pottery Barn.<br />3. E and H in Whole Foods<br />4. MACARONS<br />5. She hasn't stopped wearing her shades since she got them at the Disney store.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was time to head back to Provo. We navigated our way back to the Frontrunner and barely...and I DO mean barely...made it on time. The doors had closed and then miraculously they opened them back up, saving us about an hour! We were all deliriously tired and happy all at the same time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">BUT...we weren't done yet. We had to meet the husbands later for dinner. So, the girls suggested pedicures. We headed to our favorite place. I have never taken youngsters to a nail salon and let me tell you, it probably won't happen again. I held Eloise on my lap the whole time with Hazel in the car seat at my side.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. Sleepy Hazel and me waiting for TRAX.<br />2. She's done.<br />3. My view whilst getting my toes done.<br />4. The little Vietnamese lady handing Hazel off to her mom. By the way she was holding Hazel, we didn't know if she thought Haz had cooties or what. We were terrified that she' drop that little girl. She didn't...hallelujah!<br />5. Our finished toes.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After pedicures it was close to 6:00 and Tyler ended up having to "work extra hours and wouldn't be able to meet us for dinner." That was just fine. We went to a favorite spot, Mountain West Burrito! Yum! Veggie and Vegan options there. Luckily, Danny was able to come with us. We had a fun, leisurely, and delicious meal. I was ready to head home. But the girls suggested we go to "The Chocolate" for their famous Kazookie. My plan was to switch to a Vegan diet the next day so I thought a last bite of ice cream would be just the thing to end the day. Luckily, Tyler was able to meet us there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">WEeeelllllll...I was carrying Eloise up the stairs chatting with Tyler as I went. When to my SURPRISE I looked up and there was a room full of friends and family. At first I thought "What the heck are Rachel and Janelle doing here?" Then many people in my life came into view. Then it hit me: I was at my very first surprise party and it was for ME! Those girls! I had no idea. I usually pick up on those kinds of things. Not this time. Maybe turning 50 had dulled my senses. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(This time I'll label top to bottom, left to right)<br />1. My delicious Mountain West Burrito<br />2. Brant (my nephew), Janelle and Rachel (my fellow first grade teachers), Me w/Hazel, Angela and her daughter Lecshia (next door neighbors from Lehi), Adrianne (my niece), and Erika.<br />3. Kathy (her husband was there as well but not pictured) and Melissa my friends from work. Melissa moved to Blanding last year and drove five hours just to come to my party. Ahhhhh!<br />4. Me with Eloise and the green wall.<br />5. Me with Hazel, Sarah (one of my fake daughters), Erika, and Melissa. See that space? That was a special place for another pretend daughter, Mallory, who couldn't come because she lives in Belgium! I'll forgive her. Her mother, Sue, came in her place (no picture, unfortunately).<br />5. No comment.<br />6. Those two amazing daughters of mine!<br />7. Melissa and me, again, with Rachel (another friend I used to teach with).<br />8. Again: I just realized that this is the same picture as number one but with Brant cropped out! Sorry Brant.<br /><br />I can't believe I didn't have photos of: Sue, Ariel (Brant's wife), Lynn (Kathy's husband), Danny!, Tyler!, Danny's mother, Linda, his sister Mia, and Mia's boyfriend, Kiegan. Plus, I missed: Jordan (Sarah's husband) and, of course, I missed my boyfriend.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went to bed a very happy woman that night. I was reminded what a great family I have. Also, what amazing friends I have (both old and new). I'm a lucky person. I know it. Another thing I know...my first 50 years were awesomely unique and never boring. I really am looking forward to the next 50. I have the bucket list to prove it. (Another post for another day).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">PS: Those girls had one more surprise for me...Erika had secretly sneaked back to Brighton and bought me my insanely expensive readers. I think of this lovely birthday every time I put them on.</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-33964381420338391682013-06-27T20:48:00.003-06:002013-06-28T15:12:52.624-06:00Comfort<h2 class="title" itemprop="name" style="color: #f88000; margin: 42px 0px 12px;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The most comforting words I have heard or read since the worst day were sent to my by a friend. (Thanks, Julie) Every time I have read it through, <i>every time</i>, I hear Terry speaking the words to me. I love them. I love him. </span></h2>
<h2 class="title" itemprop="name" style="color: #f88000; font-size: 1.583em; margin: 42px 0px 12px;">
<span style="font-size: 1.583em;">Death is Nothing at All</span></h2>
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Death is nothing at all.<br />
I have only slipped away to the next room.<br />
I am I and you are you.<br />
Whatever we were to each other,<br />
That, we still are.<br />
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Call me by my old familiar name.<br />
Speak to me in the easy way<br />
which you always used.<br />
Put no difference into your tone.<br />
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.<br />
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Laugh as we always laughed<br />
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.<br />
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.<br />
Let my name be ever the household word<br />
that it always was.<br />
Let it be spoken without effect.<br />
Without the trace of a shadow on it.<br />
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Life means all that it ever meant.<br />
It is the same that it ever was.<br />
There is absolute unbroken continuity.<br />
Why should I be out of mind<br />
because I am out of sight?<br />
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I am but waiting for you.<br />
For an interval.<br />
Somewhere. Very near.<br />
Just around the corner.<br />
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All is well. </div>
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--Henry Scott Holland</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYU0H1tEUXhGWPsDMquayx64u1vgwR-NYEo6kUiOeiMr4sMHThl_Ffbqnw4PgERH-C5AJaLcKVrk3QD7nNshrhDZt3yhqTszJBuBQRJHXm_QV6ftkOcsW057eHHfYfQfl08Fs2WY0ebNg/s1600/_NCC2598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYU0H1tEUXhGWPsDMquayx64u1vgwR-NYEo6kUiOeiMr4sMHThl_Ffbqnw4PgERH-C5AJaLcKVrk3QD7nNshrhDZt3yhqTszJBuBQRJHXm_QV6ftkOcsW057eHHfYfQfl08Fs2WY0ebNg/s640/_NCC2598.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-38814063560150406442013-06-01T21:09:00.002-06:002013-06-01T21:13:08.956-06:0050/50This Friday, I will turn 50 years old. There. I said it. I've been thinking a lot about that number. When my own dear mum was 50, she had a 10 year old...me. I can't imagine having a 10 year old right now. She was quite the woman. Several of my friends have turned 50 this year and some had turned 50, years ago. I will be 50. You will be 50. I'm beginning to understand that 50 is just a number. A number I'm sort of proud of.<br />
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With this upcoming milestone, I've been thinking a lot about bucket lists. Things that, now that I'm "over the hill" I will aspire to complete before my life is over...I'm on the downside now ya know! I have a great list. I'm going to share it here on the old blog. But not today. Today, I've been thinking of all the things I've actually DONE with the first 50 years. I've been told I should write a book about my life. No one would read it, I'm sure. BUT, maybe they would read my life's story in list form? Please realize that this list isn't meant as a big, braggy "look at my awesomeness" blog pose. I like to think of it as a reminder to myself that my life hasn't been wasted so far. That I've had some unique experiences that I won't have to add to my future Bucket List, because, for better or worse, I've already lived them. They have shaped and molded me into who I am today...for better or worse!<br />
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So, here is the completed First 50 Year Bucket List I Didn't Know I Had Made:<br />
(in no particular order)<br />
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• Rode an elephant through the jungles of Sri Lanka.<br />
• Saw the Atlantic Ocean.<br />
• Saw the Pacific Ocean.<br />
• Dipped my toe in the Indian Ocean.<br />
• Ate a cricket (or two)<br />
• Used an Eastern toilet every day for three months.<br />
• Met Jared, the Subway sandwich guy.<br />
• Lost 150 pounds.<br />
• Visited the following historical or iconic North American cities: NYC, Boston, Chicago, LA, Seattle, St. Paul, Portland, Boise, Phoenix, Helena, Denver, Sacramento, Kansas City (Missouri), Kansas City (Kansas), Las Vegas, Reno, Sante Fe, New Orleans, Albuquerque, Houston, St. Paul, Nauvoo, Cheyenne, Miami, Toronto, Calgary, Edmonton, Vancouver, Regina, Winnepeg, and Tijuana! (Yes, that last one is an iconic city!)<br />
• Kissed a pig.<br />
• Born and raised in Cardston, Alberta, Canada.<br />
• Taught myself to quilt.<br />
• Graduated from Ricks College<br />
• Graduated from BYU<br />
• Wrote a Master's Thesis on gender equity in elementary school.<br />
• Sang Karaoke (Kanye West's "GoldDigger")<br />
• Been to Disneyland.<br />
• Have successfully constructed many pieces of IKEA furniture.<br />
• Have taught for 26 years.<br />
• Went repelling in Southern Utah.<br />
• Have lost many family and friends to the next life: <a href="http://www.candadiantami.blogspot.com/2008/02/my-pops-its-fitting-that-i-begin-with.html">My dad</a>, <a href="http://www.candadiantami.blogspot.com/2008/02/my-sweet-mama.html">my mom</a>, <a href="http://www.candadiantami.blogspot.com/2008/03/donna.html">my sister Donna</a>,<a href="http://www.candadiantami.blogspot.com/2009/04/kasz-and-kyle.html"> Kyl</a>e (nephew), Randi (niece), both sets of grandparents, my love...my boyfriend...my all.<br />
• Have spoken at four funerals. (Mom, Dad, Donna, and Terry)<br />
• Saw my first marriage die after only three years in it.<br />
• Birthed two daughters only 13 months apart. (My biggest accomplishment thus far!)<br />
• Was a single mother for 7 years.<br />
• Wed the man of my dreams (Terry Anderson)<br />
• Became a step-mother to 4 children and 2 in laws.<br />
• Became a step-grandmother.<br />
• Sealed in the temple to my Terry by my very own father!<br />
• Been white water rafting.<br />
• Flown in a two seater airplane over the Arizona desert.<br />
• Teacher of the year 2012.<br />
• 97% computer savvy.<br />
• Was a radio show host of "Scripture Stories" on The Mormon Channel.<br />
• Drove a school bus about 50 yards.<br />
• Got kicked off a school bus when I was in Grade 3 for making lewd comments that I didn't know I was making...thanks a lot Scott Olsen!)<br />
• Drove a three-wheeled taxi around a parking lot in Sri Lanka.<br />
• Served an LDS mission to the Singapore mission which included Malaysia, and Sri Lanka.<br />
• I taught English in a Buddhist girls school, a Hindu college, and a Methodist college. (see above)<br />
• Picked tea leaves alongside "real" tea leaf pickers in Sri Lanka. I have the lice to prove it! (just kidding)<br />
• Visited three continents: North America, Asia, and South America.<br />
• Have eaten entire meals just using my right hand...no utensils. It tastes better that way.<br />
• Young Women's President<br />
• Became a Diet Coke drinker (best decision of my life! Hm.....)<br />
• Took up yoga and love it to this very day.<br />
• Stood on the equator. <br />
• Raised over $1000 for charity.<br />
• Am a member of an online community whose members I consider dear friends. They were amazing at keeping me afloat after Terry died. I love them.<br />
• Had 11 major surgeries...and lived to tell about them.<br />
• Taught myself how to make French Macarons.<br />
• Created and maintain an <a href="http://www.solesundae.com/">online business</a>.<br />
• <a href="http://www.candadiantami.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-just-found-this-cnn-news-footage-from.html"> Been on CNN</a><br />
• Had the same BFF for the past 23 years! <br />
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There you have it! 50 +2 accomplishments in my life. Now...on to the next 50!<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-30543107739250360392013-05-14T21:17:00.005-06:002013-05-14T21:17:59.343-06:00Happy 58th Birthday, Terry!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">April 29, 2013 was my boyfriend's 58th birthday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We celebrated in true "Anderson Style".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On Saturday, we invited Terry's daughter Melissa and her twins Lyla and Olivia to hang out at Hangtime in Orem. So much fun. Those trampolines are the bomb. I've still got some energy left in my body. I could go there every day. Remembering Terry by doing something enjoyable is the best way to remember a special occasion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We did it up right.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then, on Sunday, the 29th Melissa and Danny, Erika and Tyler, and Eloise and Hazel all met at the cemetery. Melissa baked a delicious cake. I brought the 58 candles, forks, kazoos, and a ribbon wand for impromptu dancing...which we did.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Terry was there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We felt him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All it took was for darling Danny to pick up a match and light a kazoo on fire. I caught myself chastising him in the exact same way I would have told Terry to blow it out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Because, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">let's face it...lighting a kazoo on fire for the fun of it would be exactly what Terry would have done.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Kudos to Danny.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After digging into the cake, we had an impromptu dance off with the ribbon wand. I'm not really sure who won. Secretly, I think that I was the winner because I got to witness my </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">children being silly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>I was so in love with them all.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Which made me love my boyfriend that much more...if that could be even possible.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Daughter's, sons-in-law, and babies somehow balance a world of hurt and longing for the love of my life who was taken way too soon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>I miss him terribly.</b> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But, I love him and know we will meet again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the meantime, I have all of these precious children to love.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>I'm so lucky.</b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oops! We left him a little bit of his favorite food: chocolate!</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-66040999154479239772013-04-21T13:07:00.001-06:002013-04-21T15:06:48.553-06:00A Few Things I Have Learned From "Pretty Little Liars"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWRpqfLQ9vQwrsDRnGnXbn9HXmludUX_yD-HT9wvidfkrFeRRHeqWrzYr9NFoS0rU583XRPmX4t3C7gI6hRcy4EPOi3UcbTn2MT_INOL1-nrQ2Y2OpABXcN1SsjLljNgBP_QVicKJMaE/s1600/screenshot_864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWRpqfLQ9vQwrsDRnGnXbn9HXmludUX_yD-HT9wvidfkrFeRRHeqWrzYr9NFoS0rU583XRPmX4t3C7gI6hRcy4EPOi3UcbTn2MT_INOL1-nrQ2Y2OpABXcN1SsjLljNgBP_QVicKJMaE/s320/screenshot_864.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<ol>
<li style="text-align: left;"> People sure do drink a lot of coffee</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"> Mom's are super skinny.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"> All high school kids wear designer clothes.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"> It's okay for high school teacher to have a fling with one of his students...if she's hot.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"> If you send an anonymous note to your frenemies make sure that you sign your name with the first letter in your name --A</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"> When a "bad" guy starts chasing you in a church, DO NOT run UP the stairs to the bell tower. There is a pretty big chance there will be nowhere else to run.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"> Thank goodness for cellphones </li>
<li style="text-align: left;"> Rich people don't own dogs.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"> Toby reminds me of Rip Esselsyn. (google it)</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Don't wear you dead friends clothes, even if it is for a fundraiser.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"> It doesn't matter if you turn on a light, you can see just as well in dim or no light at all.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"> Never trust a shifty police officer. </li>
<li style="text-align: left;"> What would we ever do without texting?</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">If I want to be a good liar, I should probably let my hair grow.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Everyone needs a satchel two times bigger than her head.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;"> Always, Always explore the basement of a hospital if given the chance.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">When told to walk more quietly use the comeback, "It's FINE! Jenna's blind!" umm?</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Apparently the best liar boyfriends have to have dark hair.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">If your dad leaves your family, don't worry, he'll most likely sleep over every now and then.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">NO ONE looks good in a candy stripers apron...well, maybe Spencer but that's it!</li>
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BONUS: I'm predicting here and now that "A" really is Jenna. AND that she spies on everyone through a small recorder inside those tacky stuffed animals.</div>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-83213172293523528872013-03-05T21:49:00.004-07:002013-03-05T22:22:26.195-07:00Hazel Rae Senneff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-IUThjWkEV3Mm-3BEAh_dj8RD1zJzptj5VHPwwT5WkW6Hzcm0dQHYcgWvviS0LtwVHQUbUXZzn0aO4Bm4bGNEBJgegrRfz72ukxBgXqpvr4BumBqQPj4Yj8p01ig8i4koP1RRYN5XYyg/s1600/IMG_9184.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-IUThjWkEV3Mm-3BEAh_dj8RD1zJzptj5VHPwwT5WkW6Hzcm0dQHYcgWvviS0LtwVHQUbUXZzn0aO4Bm4bGNEBJgegrRfz72ukxBgXqpvr4BumBqQPj4Yj8p01ig8i4koP1RRYN5XYyg/s400/IMG_9184.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Guess what? I'm a grami again. I'm sure that if you even remotely know me, you would know that already. But, nevertheless, I am. I am ecstatic! Here's are my numbers where the grands are concerned:<br />
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Josh: 1 grandson: Royan (15)<br />
Spencer: 2 grandsons: Milo (9) and Keeler (4) 1 grand-daughter: Isabel (9)<br />
Melissa: 2 grand-daughters: Olivia (5) and Lyla (5)<br />
Abbie: 1 grandson: Eli (6) and 1 grand-daugher: Audrie (4) AND one due in May!! (I know it's a girl but they are waiting to find out...which I LOVE!)<br />
Erika: 2 grand-daughters: Eloise (22 months) and HAZEL (one month old!)<br />
Melissa: TBD<br />
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Hazel Rae was born on Martin Luther King Jr. Day just before midnight. The Monday holidays are a big thing in our family. Well, we'd like to think so. You see, Eloise was born on Memorial Day and Terry passed away on President's Day. Now, we have a MLK birthday. I can't wait to find out what will happen on Labor Day!!<br />
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Remember when El was born? I do. I was there and witnessed her first breath. It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. This time around, Erika and Tyler wanted to go it alone. I definitely respect that...expecially since I got to watch Eloise while they went in. <br />
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Erika was in labor for a short THREE hours. ONLY THREE HOURS! I was so proud of her. She was such a trooper. Melissa and I claim full credit for sending her into labor. The night before, Erika expressed that she was so sick of being pregnant. She was uncomfortable and ready to pop. She had already tried the regular ways to spur labor on: walking, bumpy car rides, exercise, etc. Well, I asked my online friends to suggest labor inducing techniques they had tried. One of them suggested reflexology. We were on that one quick.<br />
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We looked it up on Youtube (best invention ever) and found out the sweet spots that would help bring Hazel into the world. We even added our own zen-like chanting. As we each had a foot and leg we were massaging, we got slaphappy and chanted "TO THE EARTH!" trying to summon little Hazel to make her entrance.<br />
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It worked!!<br />
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Hazel came "to the Earth" the very next day, less than 24 hours after her invitation. <br />
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No amount of words could express or describe meeting a grandchild for the first time. The love that exudes and fills the hospital room is otherworldly. Something I am always overcome with is an intense love for my daughter. What a brave girl my Erika is. She made me proud of her strength once again. She's twice as strong as I ever was or will be.<br />
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For lack of words...here are some of the photos from the day. Pictures truly speak louder than words. Enjoy!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdMPrLGpNELy-8wbVtNhM1CM92DS0C1c_h4jMLc5c5gNTq91oh1E6UmUxw_a4bVb3ReQHUviBOiStK4leb40DginklltMyZaq4Bj0Jc7QR17igRJ2kixCKVu4tLNP_1-6uD2AhUrVJdt4/s1600/first+bath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdMPrLGpNELy-8wbVtNhM1CM92DS0C1c_h4jMLc5c5gNTq91oh1E6UmUxw_a4bVb3ReQHUviBOiStK4leb40DginklltMyZaq4Bj0Jc7QR17igRJ2kixCKVu4tLNP_1-6uD2AhUrVJdt4/s640/first+bath.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We felt him there.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg88QVCZk9TkiP80QLQtuEjb-UbO0Re_vurzIS9GcTC9ii1Zx4ONkpbieCg-S6xwfXPPhwoQvMlD84nWZ62j81hukBYvhZOXY9Kz01l3qhnodYf2PTHli5e1aNK-dGpiUdKEKc2wMAgxyQ/s1600/IMG_9360.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg88QVCZk9TkiP80QLQtuEjb-UbO0Re_vurzIS9GcTC9ii1Zx4ONkpbieCg-S6xwfXPPhwoQvMlD84nWZ62j81hukBYvhZOXY9Kz01l3qhnodYf2PTHli5e1aNK-dGpiUdKEKc2wMAgxyQ/s640/IMG_9360.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Being a Grami is my favorite!</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-91326296729564489572013-02-21T22:08:00.002-07:002013-02-21T22:09:47.835-07:00The Worst DayThere is actually a lead up to "The Worst Day"...the day I lost my boyfriend. My love. My life. My Terry. As many of you know, Terry's physical life was a struggle with chronic pain. He had several back surgeries throughout his life beginning in High School. His back was his main obstacle but after a car accident earlier in our marriage, his neck injuries left him in a constant state of pain. We tried everything to treat that pain so that he could have some quality of life. Pain medication, trigger shots, prolotherapy, exercise, and more. Anything to manage his pain.<br />
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Terry always put on a great face for everyone. He was more concerned about how you were doing than with himself. His infectious smile may have fooled others (which was what he wanted) but, it didn't fool me. I could always tell when the pain was raging within him. It breaks my heart to think back at the handful of people who unkind to Terry because he was a little "off", or that he was slow (I'm guilty of impatience on this one). Those who brushed him off for whatever reason. His valiant spirit and strength to work and play through his pain.<br />
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He contracted pneumonia at least once each year. It was always pretty bad. His fever would rage into dangerously high numbers. Many times we had to take him to the ER to get it back to normal.<br />
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The two weeks leading up to Terry's death he was not well. I would suggest he go to the doctor but, he thought it would pass and everything would be okay. But it wasn't. The night before "the worst day" he was in bed all day. He tried to come down to visit the girls and their husbands...and Eloise. However, Melissa saw him heading for the stairs and told me he was up. I rushed upstairs to turn him around and to head back to bed. I gave him a glass of ice water and cooled his head and face with a cold washcloth.<br />
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I would often sleep in the guest room when Terry was ill. That night was no exception. After the girls left, I once again went in to Terry and refreshed his drink and cooled him down again. I told him I'd check on him in a while. Then, around 11:00pm, just before I headed to bed, I went in one last time ("one last time" makes me so sad). I found him kneeling on the floor by the bed. It looked like he might be looking for something. So, I went to him and asked "What are you doing?" I was a bit perturbed that he hadn't followed my orders and stayed in the bed. He didn't answer so I asked it again, maybe with a little sharpness in my voice, "What are you doing?" Then he replied with the last words I'd ever hear from him:<br />
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<b>"Well, maybe I was just trying to say my prayers."</b></div>
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<slap> I felt like a heartless wife when he told me that. Of course he was praying. He always prayed before getting in bed for the night. Why hadn't I thought of that and knelt down beside him? Instead, I helped him back to bed. Put the sheet on him and asked if we should go to the ER. He shook his head "no". I told him that if he wasn't better in the morning, we were definitely going to the ER. He shook his head "yes" and I kissed his forehead for the last time. Then, I went to bed. And that was the last time I saw him alive.</slap><br />
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The next morning, being President's Day, I slept in until about 8:30 before I went in to check on Terry. I quietly opened the door in case he was sleeping. Sleep was always a gift for him so I didn't want to run the risk of waking him if I didn't have to. I peeked into the room. All was still. Leo, out little maltese, was sitting upright by Terry's head. "Good" I thought. And I quietly closed the door to let him sleep.<br />
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Around 2:00 pm, I repeated the last scenario. Nothing had changed. Leo was still sitting in the exact same position as before. This was very strange because Leo would have normally jumped down to come to me. I knew that something wasn't right. I decided to wake Terry to take his temperature again and to see if his fever had broken. What I found there has changed my life forever. It's the scene that has tortured my life since then. I grabbed his hand. Of course, I knew. I knew he was gone. I knew he wasn't coming back to me. I didn't know what to do. I still felt for a pulse. I was hyperventilating. How could this be? I touched his face. I looked into his eyes. It was just a body.<br />
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I didn't know what to do. So, I called my best friend, Kathe. I remember saying something like "I think Terry's dead". She asked if I'd called 911 and then quite forcefully told me to do it and I did. The rest of the day was a blur. People say that all the time and now I know what it means. I have muddy memories of ambulance and police car sirens. Of the EMT showing up. Of the pity that was in their eyes as they confirmed that my boyfriend was gone. Of people arriving. Of sending people away. Of the excruciating pain in my daughters's eyes...probably reflecting my own.<br />
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I remember that my son-in-law took on the difficult task of notifying all of Terry's children. Bless him. I remember that Kathe and her husband made it to me in record time from Springville. The calls, the texts, the emails, the Facebook notes...all a blur. All I wanted to do was be alone and to go back to bed and to wake up again and find that this had all been a dream.<br />
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It wasn't a dream. It was real. I had lost the only man I had ever TRULY loved. And the only man (besides my dad) who had TRULY loved me. It was the worst day. The worst. I prayed and prayed that the image I had when I found that Terry could be taken from my memory. It wasn't. Even now, the scene replays in my mind and I feel like my insides are on fire. Maybe someday it will be erased.<br />
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I love him, so.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-17008870661485879842013-02-18T14:09:00.000-07:002013-02-18T14:20:35.858-07:00The VoiceThis is not about my favorite tv show "The Voice" but rather it is a short post about <i style="font-weight: bold;">the </i>voice. This morning I've been playing and replaying my voicemail. I have six messages from Terry that I've never (or will never) delete. <br />
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His voice.<br />
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He had the greatest voice. I'm so blessed to have heard it every day and night for 15 years. It is torture to listen to the messages. Torture to sit here crying and longing for him to be beside me. Torture to still be able to read into the words he was saying and know when he was sad, cold, nervous, optimistic, and (most tortuous of all) in love with me. <br />
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The message I repeat over and over contains these words:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>"Hi! I love you. I just wanted you to know that. I hope you've had a great day today. We'll see you when you get home. Bye bye."</b></div>
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Just 28 words. How can I treasure 28 words above all other words I have heard spoken or that I have read? His voice was like none I have ever heard before. He had a great way of expressing himself. He was a man whose voice could calm a hysterical grown child when injustice was served to her. He was a man whose voice could reassure a daughter in the troughs of child labor to know that she could push that baby out because she was made with "Canadian blood" in her veins. His voice could ward off questionable suiters yet be perfectly welcoming to the many young men and women who spent their youth in our home every weekend. His voice could summon angels to the many family and friends in need of special blessing. His voice could pray with fervent strength and thanks when he prayed. His voice could always lift me when I was sad, make me laugh hysterically when I needed a laugh, and could help me fall into sleep at night with just a soothing whisper in my ear, "I love you"<br />
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His voice. I miss it. And him.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyIY7BiZDCdNui8lju5zxMmpf7MYERSY3dx_1byJ6nLpcWx8fTl-Z7_B-OfBnFiD2XAKF_dNyt3vuUrsYw-O91Pom2ESVBpFin-5pCwaoVKAMB4BfLLpZBkTbRLGgGUsorz2UXL3iKwpE/s1600/_NCC2807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyIY7BiZDCdNui8lju5zxMmpf7MYERSY3dx_1byJ6nLpcWx8fTl-Z7_B-OfBnFiD2XAKF_dNyt3vuUrsYw-O91Pom2ESVBpFin-5pCwaoVKAMB4BfLLpZBkTbRLGgGUsorz2UXL3iKwpE/s640/_NCC2807.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdGAfYjIFRXekXlIBUrbcZL6XPCz81u9qXa17tSElENB7H2ORWci1zdK7pmVhNBY6eiI5jCkjN3Ye-hFAxCLkuE52GsnW4TQZxVNXnGfkgiHXc64iOnuZKif6fBQ624qmOiF8EX5B6Ll8/s1600/_NCC2808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdGAfYjIFRXekXlIBUrbcZL6XPCz81u9qXa17tSElENB7H2ORWci1zdK7pmVhNBY6eiI5jCkjN3Ye-hFAxCLkuE52GsnW4TQZxVNXnGfkgiHXc64iOnuZKif6fBQ624qmOiF8EX5B6Ll8/s640/_NCC2808.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll bet it was a GREAT story!!</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-30642345079549949922013-02-15T23:14:00.002-07:002013-02-15T23:14:55.141-07:00One Last Date<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yesterday was the one year mark of the last date night I ever went on with my boyfriend. Of course, it was Valentine's Day. We went to Outback. It was delicious. Looking back now, I realize that I had some feelings then that I dismissed but have bothered me ever since. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">First, all of the good thoughts I had. I remember looking at him sitting across the table and thinking that I was a lucky, lucky woman. Here was a man who loved me without question. Even when I was a brat or quiet or moody. He was so polite and personable with the hostess, the waitress, the manager, the strangers sitting across the aisle from us, the couple who returned looking for a cell phone they thought they had left in our booth, and to me. I felt proud. Just proud that I got to be part of his life. To know that he loved me for being my flawed self.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then came the confusing feelings I felt. As my heart filled with an overwhelming love for Terry, I also had thoughts come to mind that THIS was an important date with him. I looked at his hands intensely. I love his hands. I felt as though something way, way deep inside of me wanted to memorize everything about him that I'd seen a thousand times before but felt like I was just noticing for the first time. Then, (and this is the weird part) I had this feeling that I wouldn't have him with me much longer. He wasn't well. He had been suffering from the flu off and on for a long time. He also had been having trouble with his lungs...pneumonia! He just couldn't shake it. But for that one night, he was <i>there</i> sitting across the table. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He must have been having similar thoughts. When I told him that I expected him to make it to our 20th anniversary, he just laughed. He said "You know I won't last that many more years." That only made me mad. He had always told me throughout our entire marriage that he would die young. His dad had died young of a heart attack. His brother-in-law had died young leaving his wife to raise small children on her own. The same with his nephew. I always thought that he was merely saying those things because the odds were stacked against him. And they were. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He suffered silently for so long. Of course, I probably knew him best and knew when he was struggling. He put on a good front to hide all the pain he had the burdon of carrying since his High School years. He suffered emotionally as he hoped and prayed that his children would make a connection with him after his divorce. (which they did!) He was such a good man. He would always tell me that my job was harder taking care of him that it was for him to live with chronic pain. Always thinking of others...that was my Terry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, this picture is one of the last pictures I would ever take of Terry. It was taken from an app I had called "Action Movie". He got the biggest kick out of it. He wanted to see it over and over. But, what was hysterical then, is morbid now. You can film a short clip and then a bomb comes flying through the air and blows up the subject. Like I said, not the greatest thing NOW. But he did love seeing it. I can hear his laugh now. Oh, that laugh.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I love him. I miss him. I hope I can hold it all together over the next few days.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1CLbW1ibepBn5wkCMkWd9kw1O_zXCQFtzaSOPVPzejol3Zrs9urGrIQLMP8rV7YDjlqIlzcvNckMUwXJpGVB_QmydoYg1RKkf9XVFtupYiWOLIs2_T4mJNNduNW2hW49ikxRUN6wPLnY/s1600/IMG_4703.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1CLbW1ibepBn5wkCMkWd9kw1O_zXCQFtzaSOPVPzejol3Zrs9urGrIQLMP8rV7YDjlqIlzcvNckMUwXJpGVB_QmydoYg1RKkf9XVFtupYiWOLIs2_T4mJNNduNW2hW49ikxRUN6wPLnY/s400/IMG_4703.PNG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: 0px !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-325855264427707972013-02-13T09:01:00.003-07:002013-02-13T09:01:48.121-07:00In The Beginning...The other night I was looking through some files trying to find pictures of Terry from when we were dating. I couldn't find any of them (but I will) and instead, I came across some cards and letters that I wrote to him throughout our marriage. I found the love letter I wrote to him before we were married that he always declared as "The moment I knew I'd marry you!" I found a letter I wrote when I was 16 years old "To my future husband" (HA!). THAT was interesting. I found little notes I had written and put into his luggage when he had to travel to Portland for work. I remember tucking them throughout his pants, socks, shirts, shoes, etc. They are super corny and I love them.<br />
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Terry and I met at (of all the embarrassing places) at a single's dance! After Terry had been divorced for a while, his bishop challenged him to go to a few of the dances so that he could get out and meet people. My friend, Tina, made me promise to go to ONE with her. I guess the stars were aligned when I met Terry at my first dance! I remember dancing a couple of dances with him and talking a little about who we were. You know, the regular chit chat. I thought he was a nice guy (even IF the shirt he was wearing had a mandarin collar and he was wearing cowboy boots).<br />
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The next dance rolled around and Tina <strike>asked</strike> begged me to go again. So, I did. I remember that I was standing with my friend when Terry walked by. I reached out and touched his arm and said "Hello, Terry!" We spent the rest of the evening together. He told me that no one ever remembered his name. We ended up going to Denny's. He had mozzarella sticks and I had fries. We talked and talked. And I really loved it when he asked "Do you prefer holding hands THIS way (fingers enlaced) or THIS way (hands cupped)?" I mean, who asks that?? That became a running joke over the next 15 years.<br />
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When we got back to my car, he opened my door (as he would do 1000 times over) and gave me a sweet kiss on the lips. <br />
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And so it began...<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/AVvXsEgoYSGSfJo6VjxrZhzO8KT6el_nlpToCvdA7RlXoGTy6GQ9eWZcV7q8TqYcoTq4SjedjKT4zc9b8l5LTIT1Jiuf_TS_WZ2fgI2kWLTZo_6gUDMF2BppVRjfqmh6wsjUlE6XfYNMgrmUeMM/s1600/IMG_4671.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoYSGSfJo6VjxrZhzO8KT6el_nlpToCvdA7RlXoGTy6GQ9eWZcV7q8TqYcoTq4SjedjKT4zc9b8l5LTIT1Jiuf_TS_WZ2fgI2kWLTZo_6gUDMF2BppVRjfqmh6wsjUlE6XfYNMgrmUeMM/s400/IMG_4671.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The very first picture I ever took of my boyfriend.<br />(notice the sunflowers in the background?!)</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: 0px !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-46835792320457717792013-02-03T21:31:00.000-07:002013-02-03T21:47:47.446-07:00Super Bowl XLI<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As most of you know, Terry's favorite football team in the history of football was the Chicago Bears. He had been a fan since they won Super Bowl XX. He had every Chicago Bears cap ever made! It was rare to see him without a Bears cap on. Seriously! He actually had a "dress" Bears cap for when he went to "fancy places". The way he talked, it seemed he knew every player personally...that's just Terry! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, when the Bears returned to the Super Bowl in 2007, you can imagine the energy in our house. The girls and I really weren't <i>that</i> big into football but we knew how much Terry was. (I just wanted to watch Prince perform...or was it the artist formerly known as Prince? Whatever.) So, we all donned Bears shirts and hats, gathered every food that had anything to do with Bears, or was orange or navy, and put on a Super Bowl party of the year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The Bears lost to the Colts 29-17. (ya, I had to look that up) But, Terry wasn't heart broken. He didn't even swear. He was just proud of his Bears!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We missed him today.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: 0px !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-67457224453093088382013-02-02T21:21:00.000-07:002013-02-02T21:22:04.367-07:00Photographs<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.”</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"> </span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">--Ansel Adams</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOObMuKtVOM7hbtuHlqTvO9XD8buUSmlUkFhzv-GScXwHZKVX_ubhVYXWMX0q2kyLctDTxrNO25kJ7Dt1z_CX9JMpsCOgcSLDFy6Rpw3_7jgEMJ54LF1C23-0m364WgR0fJ4o3zK0OOwQ/s1600/IMG_1419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOObMuKtVOM7hbtuHlqTvO9XD8buUSmlUkFhzv-GScXwHZKVX_ubhVYXWMX0q2kyLctDTxrNO25kJ7Dt1z_CX9JMpsCOgcSLDFy6Rpw3_7jgEMJ54LF1C23-0m364WgR0fJ4o3zK0OOwQ/s400/IMG_1419.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-47392264926972079592013-02-01T20:34:00.000-07:002013-02-01T20:51:28.861-07:00Turning PagesI had no idea that when I woke up this morning, I'd feel the feelings I experienced all day. When I went to my paper calendar, ready to turn the page to a new month, I couldn't do it. I couldn't turn the page. February punched me in the face and I froze. If I turned the page, I would see that it had been a year since I lost my Terry. Turning the page would make it real. I would have to admit that I'd been a widow for an entire year. So, I didn't turn it. I left it on January.<br />
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I thought about Terry for the rest of the day. I have been teary and sentimental and I don't think it will get any easier as the month goes on, regardless if I turn that page or not. Last year on this very day, I had only 20 more days with my boyfriend. I wish I'd have known that. Maybe then I would have been kinder. More patient. More affectionate. More. <br />
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Erika needed my help with Eloise today. I was more than excited to pick her up for a change of scenery...both for her AND for me. Yesterday, I took her to the mall and to do a little shopping. I wasn't sure where I'd take her today. When we got in the car, though, I had a yearning that pulled me to visit the cemetery. I honestly haven't gone very often. Mostly for special days or on visits with the family. So it was odd that I felt that need.<br />
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The cemetery was covered with snow. Here and there were headstones that families had cleared and placed flowers, plants, the usual. I felt guilty that Terry's remained under snow. I found it easily because I had marked the grave with an Oilers windmill from my nephew Taylor. It made me smile to see it poking out of the snow like a waving hand saying "here I am". <br />
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I carried Eloise over the snow and kicked off as much snow and ice as I could then set her down. I uncovered his name and missed him more. I didn't bother to uncover my name. That's just too weird still. I had El "help" me fashion two hearts out of snow...One from me and one from her. It felt very sweet to be there with her. When it was time to go, I picked her back up and started walking away. I told her to say "bye bye". She put her little hand in the air and waved and surprised me by saying "Bye bye, Pop Pop!" I stopped in my tracks. "What did you say?" "Bye Bye Pop Pop!" The tears came again. I'd never heard her say that before. I still can't believe it. We talk to her about Terry as "Pop Pop" quite often. But, how did she know to say it then?<br />
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I've resigned myself to allowing my feelings to manifest in any way they might during this month. I'm not going to stifle them. Sometimes I think that when I try to hide my feelings or say "I'm good" when people ask, that I'm only making things worse inside of me. I'm sick of being strong and acting like everything is moving along swimmingly. Yet, I suppose, that's who I am. I can't publicly mope. I can't publicly cry. Like Terry would always brag "You've got that strong Canadian blood in you!" I will just go on. I will pretend everything is fine. But somedays it tears me up inside. <br />
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I returned home tonight determined to turn that calendar page. When I stood back in front of it, I just couldn't do it. So, for now, I'll pretend that January has 32 days and hope that I can turn that page tomorrow.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGLk-dazi968GY5h5_mk0eJvJQW4Zqr6xtIH-T-JWx8tX8E36o5i6DnOTlJt52jf9nhkWFnIfrVzJvasMaYxyBjXzFL14c70RQBJNoNsjippxwoJmmQ0ACKW-hEYGGS__i80RrNqGH8E/s1600/550042_10151239469185740_227111411_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGLk-dazi968GY5h5_mk0eJvJQW4Zqr6xtIH-T-JWx8tX8E36o5i6DnOTlJt52jf9nhkWFnIfrVzJvasMaYxyBjXzFL14c70RQBJNoNsjippxwoJmmQ0ACKW-hEYGGS__i80RrNqGH8E/s640/550042_10151239469185740_227111411_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-52922088590574421762013-01-28T22:30:00.000-07:002013-01-28T23:06:17.406-07:00CreationSometimes, I look at my daughters and can't believe they came from me. Both are so much better than I could ever hope to be. Better than I ever was. Better wives. Better humans. Better. Their minds are keener than mine. Their faith stronger. Their drive and ambition are limitless.<br />
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Somedays my heart is so full of pride that I feel I might burst. Just see if you don't agree...<br />
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Melissa created THIS:<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/AVvXsEhKUHgG7JmuXeC0pUoJ-vvpCwLGkaAViebvGM4q-3acztZhPGcAuiLRQEwx_ApqdNgmQGSeUdj9n9TAvGS0HFN-v4-gy_FWyssA-Sgi59aYcZ0etF6TRHkpBwHDK0qfXlMJgVVUNQyRQ8E/s1600/IMG_4494.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="539" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKUHgG7JmuXeC0pUoJ-vvpCwLGkaAViebvGM4q-3acztZhPGcAuiLRQEwx_ApqdNgmQGSeUdj9n9TAvGS0HFN-v4-gy_FWyssA-Sgi59aYcZ0etF6TRHkpBwHDK0qfXlMJgVVUNQyRQ8E/s640/IMG_4494.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A knitted and original design<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(sorry so blurry)</span></td></tr>
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Erika created THIS:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMo1OEbP8pr39yXIZLGsOlbApenuVko5xmbV5x1_234hh8MMICDMauNbHxUd89_X_9RniCV989-94RKR16pi6kTt1T09NksHtF_MRXELQedOvp_WaCfyrxRLf4TTA7Lc0Wr1c6whLfzj4/s1600/774276_522187231134805_873751752_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMo1OEbP8pr39yXIZLGsOlbApenuVko5xmbV5x1_234hh8MMICDMauNbHxUd89_X_9RniCV989-94RKR16pi6kTt1T09NksHtF_MRXELQedOvp_WaCfyrxRLf4TTA7Lc0Wr1c6whLfzj4/s640/774276_522187231134805_873751752_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An original design!</td></tr>
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Together, they created THIS:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEpwzHpy8KpeS7vXvqRRpBvealWWcZdxKJ0Do5mvREe_e5EN5UDD43spIfUgyD1EiFU7m74kCKFPiRTMenhnU_3grWgcdm-ah-7lQ69z3raT0ilf0o0edfe5pZP4Si4ztUPM7376UVmHc/s1600/IMG_4512.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEpwzHpy8KpeS7vXvqRRpBvealWWcZdxKJ0Do5mvREe_e5EN5UDD43spIfUgyD1EiFU7m74kCKFPiRTMenhnU_3grWgcdm-ah-7lQ69z3raT0ilf0o0edfe5pZP4Si4ztUPM7376UVmHc/s640/IMG_4512.PNG" width="554" /></a></div>
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See what I mean?<br />
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6892544521426422821.post-85085361674506161922012-12-23T18:13:00.002-07:002012-12-23T18:13:47.650-07:00Hundreds of Little Pieces...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm just going to come right out and say it, "Christmas without Terry is not easy." I've tried over and over to put it out of my mind. I thought that if I tried some aversion tactics that I could somehow avoid the knot in my stomach and the rubber band around my heart. I thought that if I skipped the men's socks aisle at Costco, I could forget that I bought him a huge package every year. If I walked with my eyes facing straight ahead when I walked past Fanzz, where they sell the annual Bears cap, that I wouldn't "see" the black background with the bright orange "C" emblazoned on all the merchandize. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I won't need to buy a pair of 501 Levis this year and I made every attempt to avoid going to that area of each store. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> And the candy!! Every bit of it reminds me of him: Terry's Chocolate Oranges, Almond Roca, ZCMI (Macey's) chocolate mints, almonds, chocolate dipped marshmallows, fudge, Book of Lifesavers, and on and on. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">None of it worked. Terry is all round. I can't avoid him. He is in every good thing this time of year and always.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There were two tasks in particular that I dreaded. One was putting up the Nativity. The other, decorating the tree (more about that in another post). I chose to do the Nativity first since that was the only responsibility I "let" Terry have when it came to Christmas. We had purchased the set together just three months after we were married. I thought that if I did it first, I could get it out of the way with minimal tears and then move on to the other things. After pulling the boxes out of the basement crawl space, I set them on the piano bench and then reached around behind the piano to plug in the lights. But, when I pulled out the piano, it knocked the Nativity box off of the bench. It crashed to the floor, breaking several pieces. Worst of all, though, was Mary. She had been broken to pieces. I couldn't believe it. I sat down on the floor and sobbed. I cried and cried and cried again. I felt like I had ruined everything. I tried to glue her back together but couldn't see what I was doing through the tears. The glue wasn't working and I was falling deeper and deeper into dispair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I kept thinking about how if I just hadn't put that box on the bench. If I'd saved the lights until last. If I'd waited and put it up later. If. If. If. It occurred to me that I was mourning for Mary the same way I had been mourning for my boyfriend. Why? Why? Why? A creche is not a creche without Mary. My life is not a life without Terry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, I have since glued part of Mary back together. She can sit up now. She can hold her baby. She is lovely. But, she isn't whole. In fact, there is a huge gaping hole in her body that no one can see. I know it's there because I could hide it if I turned her just so...like I hide mine. The Nativity LOOKS normal but the heart is broken...like mine. It's broken into hundreds of little pieces...just like me.</span></div>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNj_W6YHGZBp3Us3R7zFcOomthknorT3dwbtTLm3YrWQETL22rHz5u5P31PJwAO0GRKnnO4XoYoLsX7y8tzc4aFv_AdC1DEEK0KqFlEhLEYTYWE77f_4lu21cL7JrEBCFr8RQgyWpeL3c/s1600/creche+crush.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNj_W6YHGZBp3Us3R7zFcOomthknorT3dwbtTLm3YrWQETL22rHz5u5P31PJwAO0GRKnnO4XoYoLsX7y8tzc4aFv_AdC1DEEK0KqFlEhLEYTYWE77f_4lu21cL7JrEBCFr8RQgyWpeL3c/s640/creche+crush.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mylivesignature.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://signatures.mylivesignature.com/54488/51/C561EA1977D80F581F186040804D361B.png" style="background: transparent; border: 0 !important;" /></a>Tami Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09777813687822816255noreply@blogger.com8