tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64548624028395237342024-03-05T19:58:12.361-08:00nothing to say reallyLeahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-63227943193515226542010-10-20T19:25:00.001-07:002010-10-20T21:01:25.756-07:00Misadventures in Purple Tights<p>This is going to be long, and no amount of pictures will make it feel less long. I’ve tried and tried to figure out a shorter, punchier way to tell it, but to no avail. I thought of posting it in sections over several days, but whatever, read it all if you want, skim it all if you want, skip it all if you want.<br /><br />I’ll try and condense some of the background story into snippets.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 1:</strong> I was in Hungary for 2 very dear friends’ weddings, one on September 25 and one on October 2.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 2:</strong> Friend 2 (Lídia)’s wedding reception/dinner was on October 2nd from 8 pm till 4 am.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 3:</strong> My flight back to America was leaving October 3rd at 7 am.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 4:</strong> It was determined that I should leave from Lídia and Gergö’s dinner for the airport.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 5:</strong> Gergö’s apartment was very close (walking distance) to the place where they were having the dinner.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 6:</strong> I was staying at Friend 1 (Krisztina)’s apartment while she and Balazs were on their honeymoon.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 7:</strong> I’d been using an old phone of Krisztina’s dad’s.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 8:</strong> I had to, upon departing Krisztina’s for Lídia’s, leave her dad’s phone and drop her keys in the mailbox, which once you drop in you can’t get back out.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 9:</strong> There was to be an interval of undetermined time in which I would be phoneless and keyless.<br /><br />There are still quite a few facts to go, but I thought I’d do a little fact intermission with one of my fav pics from my first week with Krisztina. This was during one of her dress fittings, and she was on the phone with Balazs.</p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieppARN6YtAuhwPOwiyv6OpL7gnKHnmOOjhq-zOs_D99rj0g4mymSdNLu-bLLo07yTIKcRP9oSRTWnxCw3Qf2Ys6tVFmiQX0Ms7vsQupgcmzm1e5zW3Uqolu7q6dB7PgsaJHGdcui0F9rZ/s1600/K-dress-phone.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530315124199945842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieppARN6YtAuhwPOwiyv6OpL7gnKHnmOOjhq-zOs_D99rj0g4mymSdNLu-bLLo07yTIKcRP9oSRTWnxCw3Qf2Ys6tVFmiQX0Ms7vsQupgcmzm1e5zW3Uqolu7q6dB7PgsaJHGdcui0F9rZ/s320/K-dress-phone.jpg" /></a> <p>Here’s is another pic to show you what I did for almost 2 weeks solid, besides tying bows with tulle and ivy.</p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJiy5djaEfmbGFja60CsCm-iCjnk2scYakjZXcUKSPPxXoIOM14TFEDZCct6S2QtCY26sl0GrmvLs8GRWfD1UUIsIPo9FN9orGp-MYkVDKdkCXWMl7EUbWNi3r3vbSLyhVIVhXWUsKKvd/s1600/coffee.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530315124643570050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJiy5djaEfmbGFja60CsCm-iCjnk2scYakjZXcUKSPPxXoIOM14TFEDZCct6S2QtCY26sl0GrmvLs8GRWfD1UUIsIPo9FN9orGp-MYkVDKdkCXWMl7EUbWNi3r3vbSLyhVIVhXWUsKKvd/s320/coffee.jpg" /></a> <p>Coffee . . . lots of delicious coffee in marvelous European coffee houses.<br /><br />Back to the facts . . .<br /><br /><strong>Fact 10:</strong> I had 3 HUGE pieces of luggage, HUGE (I was bringing home the last of my stuff that’s been in Hungary since I left in 2004), plus a camera bag, plus a purse.<br /><br />Here’s a pic of all the books that didn’t make the cut and got passed on to Lídia’s library (which is probably one of the very, VERY few places I would be willing to pass them on to—a fellow bibliophile).</p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7N0Dh0QJrTo__di6R1HT_HTaiheJ47SfyWTMvYltoJ0nDooj06f7v28RRty2bKNwamvDbUoqg-3c0CBgkSHfEpAxUJmQ7NzAV7RKABCHaRZ1CcPXPrm9Bq3URQJFCTu-RC-554E0HXjxZ/s1600/books.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 210px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530315127773318658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7N0Dh0QJrTo__di6R1HT_HTaiheJ47SfyWTMvYltoJ0nDooj06f7v28RRty2bKNwamvDbUoqg-3c0CBgkSHfEpAxUJmQ7NzAV7RKABCHaRZ1CcPXPrm9Bq3URQJFCTu-RC-554E0HXjxZ/s320/books.jpg" /></a> <p><strong>Fact 11:</strong> I was wearing a very short dress. (Work was CRAZY before leaving for Hungary so I bought my dress for Lídia’s wedding in such haste that I didn’t really assess its length.)<br /><br /><strong>Fact 12:</strong> I was wearing very bright pink-purple tights.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 13:</strong> I was wearing shoes that were a tad too big for me. (I can’t find shoes in America that fit me, so my shoes are typically a bit too tight or a bit too big.)<br /><br /><strong>Fact 14:</strong> I had to be at Gergö’s appt. between 7 and 7:20 pm, from there we would leave for the dinner.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 15:</strong> A taxi had been arranged to pick me up at Krisztina’s at 6:30 pm and it was supposed to take about 30 min to get To Gergö’s (traffic can be insane.)<br /><br /><strong>Fact 16:</strong> Gergö lives on one of the main walking streets, meaning cars can’t go on it—it’s full of gorgeous architecture, street vendors, and tourists—meaning, I couldn’t get dropped off, with my bags, at his doorstep (this will be important).<br /><br />Before we get to that here’s a pic of Lídia and her dad at the wedding, so beautiful, even if I didn’t understand a word.</p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPSbJaVqdrOxM4ZeTUe5faxacJlu0c0-L9Dng7EFVbaGofKRH55NPZaZy8_uYRLAsXnha7yz5ekLiOvulDINjmiXOYPdJRjqTjuA-Tzt1jfzQV7zsMzs0s0XAtrvJizkntYtWDw6DutFR/s1600/lidia-dad.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530315143995398386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDPSbJaVqdrOxM4ZeTUe5faxacJlu0c0-L9Dng7EFVbaGofKRH55NPZaZy8_uYRLAsXnha7yz5ekLiOvulDINjmiXOYPdJRjqTjuA-Tzt1jfzQV7zsMzs0s0XAtrvJizkntYtWDw6DutFR/s320/lidia-dad.jpg" /></a> <p>So I was majorly anxious leaving Krisztina’s appt with all my stuff, because of the whole dropping in of keys and leaving behind of phone—it had a strong element of finality to it, point of no return and all that jazz. So I checked and double checked my stuff. Passport, yes. Tickets, yes. Heart medicine, yes. Xanax, yes. Three bags: first, oversized, and weighing 50 lbs (23 kilos); second normal size but still weighing 50 lbs; and third, carryon, packed full to 40 lbs (18 kilos), YES.<br /><br />In my anxiety at the prospect of how many hours I was about to be up and the maneuvering of bags, etc., I decided to go ahead and start taking my stuff down early. I very inelegantly hauled my bags into the little room where the mailboxes are. It’s still in the building, next to the last door that leads outside. I looked, assessed, felt confident, and dropped the keys in the mailbox. Then I started hauling out bags 1 and 2. As I lugged bag 2 out, I let the door close behind me. If you’ve ever lived in Europe or probably any apartment building that requires a key to get in, you can guess my mistake and the wham with which my heart hit the bottom of my rib cage. My last, and hugest, bag was still inside, with the keys irretrievable in the mailbox. I muttered several inappropriate, yet so appropriate, words. I had no idea what to do, and just stood staring at all the Hungarian names on the buzzer that I could buzz and then in a language they wouldn’t understand try and convince them that they should let me into the building. Then I heard the elevator start in the building and someone came down and I hand motioned my predicament to them. They looked at me blankly but let me get my bag.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 17:</strong> The taxi was there early, so we left early.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 18:</strong> Instead of taking 30 minutes it took 10.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 19:</strong> I arrived at the street at 6:30 pm.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 20:</strong> Taxi guy unloaded my bags and zoomed away.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 21:</strong> It’s just a bit of a walk to Gergö’s door.<br /><br />So there I am on this street:</p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8pbOxCF-K-jexuXG6B_lu_UCuxqyyn9bvDqWNjo-gz5vIFbMCCYlRxNhAQHrxdlrh3wUzi1e2xmG8sIqOxDNL3w7b1z7dLGPCsfRtueOJqTX-_lFgYbnC-7YsQI1GURyiAmOJNKMfO_C/s1600/street.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530315136856860978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8pbOxCF-K-jexuXG6B_lu_UCuxqyyn9bvDqWNjo-gz5vIFbMCCYlRxNhAQHrxdlrh3wUzi1e2xmG8sIqOxDNL3w7b1z7dLGPCsfRtueOJqTX-_lFgYbnC-7YsQI1GURyiAmOJNKMfO_C/s320/street.jpg" /></a> With this luggage:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS8wbIKX7WAlpA5SRPHVrbnmUnTeVKzGJP0YmuhyyJQzlQ4w6Ck8beg2i0o0BHzmDIt1iCfPqxFy5zYAaWLjMh_Yp0YiT63viQk3Saw1LKmbRtlPkIxVgyTeYvzMiMypTvxuV9DwPR0OIa/s1600/luggage.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530316023913232130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS8wbIKX7WAlpA5SRPHVrbnmUnTeVKzGJP0YmuhyyJQzlQ4w6Ck8beg2i0o0BHzmDIt1iCfPqxFy5zYAaWLjMh_Yp0YiT63viQk3Saw1LKmbRtlPkIxVgyTeYvzMiMypTvxuV9DwPR0OIa/s320/luggage.jpg" /></a> In a really short dress and shoes that are too big (which there is no picture of). I stood there irresolutely for a bit, because there was literally NO way I could get down the street.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 22:</strong> If you leave anything unattended, it will be stolen. If you attend it, it could still be stolen.<br /><br />So all I knew to do was drag 2 bags 2 inches, go back, drag the 3rd 2 inches, and so on and so forth, ad nauseum. This, as you can imagine, was getting me nowhere. So I stopped again and just stood utterly uncertain of how to proceed.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 23:</strong> No one passing me offered to help.<br /><br />I finally realized I could strap the smaller-huge bag, to the medium-huge bag, but as they were all at their max weight and I was in a really short dress, it was very hard to finagle. After much awkward struggling and after probably flashing who knows what to who knows who, I got the bags strapped together.<br /><br />So then I started pushing one huge bag in front of me and pulling the double decker behind me down the street. They were veering all over the place and the double one kept toppling over. People were having to move out of my way because I couldn't control the veering.<br /><br />I wasn’t exactly sure where the apartment was, I’d only been outside of it once, so I of course passed it. In my effort to get turned back around, I was standing about 1 foot from a vendor guy who was watching me as in mid turn, while trying to guide the turn with my foot, my shoe flew off and my bags completely turned over. As I was trying to get everything righted and my shoe back on he said “Can I help you?”<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> Well I’m just going to that door right there.<br /><strong>Him:</strong> But do you need help getting the bags up.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> No, my friends are there so they can help.<br /><strong>Him:</strong> You need to be careful, that bag is unzipped.<br /><br />I then, again, in my short, short dress tried to get the zipper zipped. I finally struggled my way over to the door and realized I was 20 minutes early. They said they’d be making it back to the apartment around 7 pm, but I went ahead and hit the buzzer to their apartment, but no one answered. So I set up all my bags, in my short skirt and blazing purple tights, and waited. The vendor guy came back over.<br /><br /><strong>Him:</strong> No one home?<br /><strong>Me:</strong> No. But they should be here by 7.<br /><br />He then told me some really long story about how he bought his watch off some Muslim guy in Spain, and how it’s always slow but works decently well.<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> (<em>awkward laugh</em>)<br /><strong>Him:</strong> What are you doing? You’re all dressed up, with all these bags.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> Yea, my friends got married and I’m going to their party and then after that, the airport.<br /><strong>Him:</strong> You got married to your boyfriend and are moving in?<br /><strong>Me:</strong> No, my friend, a girl, married her boyfriend.<br /><strong>Him:</strong> They are American?<br /><strong>Me</strong> (<em>looking at clock tower; isn’t it 7 yet</em>)<strong>:</strong> No.<br /><br />Here’s a pic of the clock tower:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvyEeolIqh6qshaD_DNErrcwWroO_dB9InPiR8yV6wRxuM9ip2Syp6-XJtdiWrdvm-KTZeS-DKjPrW3skwgKdzP7vmyK1iVeU59TKbLNRo8Vkj0GcUxuWLyFkHUMvGG77FHM2J8O0RhJ5F/s1600/clock.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 254px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530315821440647842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvyEeolIqh6qshaD_DNErrcwWroO_dB9InPiR8yV6wRxuM9ip2Syp6-XJtdiWrdvm-KTZeS-DKjPrW3skwgKdzP7vmyK1iVeU59TKbLNRo8Vkj0GcUxuWLyFkHUMvGG77FHM2J8O0RhJ5F/s320/clock.jpg" /></a> <p><strong>Him:</strong> Well, would you join me for a drink? (<em>there was a little outdoor restaurant directly opposite us</em>)<br /><strong>Me:</strong> No thanks, they should be here ANY minute.<br /><br />He went to drink and watch me, and I went back to trying not to look so conspicuous in my short dress, purple tights, and massive amounts of luggage.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 24:</strong> I was standing on the step, slightly above my luggage.<br /><br />Two sets of boys walked by and openly gawked at me. And by gawk, I mean intake of air, mouth hanging open, gawk.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 25:</strong> I jumped off the step and hid behind my luggage.<br /><br />The first set came back a bit later but I gave them the most withering of stares and they walked, chagrined, on by.<br /><br />The vendor guy, as the minutes ticked by and my friends still didn’t appear, came back:<br /><strong>Him:</strong> Are you sure you won’t have a drink? You’ll be right there; you’ll definitely be able to see them.<br /><strong>Me</strong> (<em>at now 7:15</em>): No thanks, really, any minute they’ll be here.<br /><br /><strong>Fact 26:</strong> My bags are old and well traveled, meaning they have holes and worn places.<br /><br />As the vendor guy went and sat back down to watch, a very tiny little man from Spain walked up to me, pointed at my bags, and said, “How much?” I started, and trying not to laugh, said, “sorry, they aren’t for sale.” He shrugged and rambled off.<br /><br />By this time it was after 7:20 (which is when we were supposed to leave for the dinner). I got to thinking, what if they are here and I just buzzed the wrong apartment earlier. I didn’t want to buzz again while the vendor guy was watching me because I thought, if they don’t answer, he’ll be back over trying to get me to have a drink with him. So I watched him closely and as soon as he got up and went into the restaurant, I high-tailed it over to the buzzer and buzzed, and LÍDIA ANSWERED. I was like, “WHAT?!!”<br /><br />She sent Gergö down to help me get the bags, but before he got there a guy was coming out of the building and opened the door for me and I started trying to haul my bags in, and of course my shoe, AGAIN, went flying in the process. But I made it in.<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> Sorry I’m late.<br /><strong>Lídia:</strong> We were beginning to wonder.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> Yea, I’ve been downstairs for the last 40 minutes. I lost my shoe several times, was asked by someone if he could buy me a drink, and nearly sold my luggage to a man from Spain.<br /><br />The rest of the evening was far less bizarre and much more beautiful. I haven’t edited any of my pics of Lídia’s dinner, except this one, which I really like. (After midnight, Hungarian brides can change into a new dress, hence her black dress.)</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2dshuqT47uhEuC1v-K6Srcvzngm5g3Wic7Pbted22LkqYrsO_xkvh5lLzl2FW-UPdvfBnsGbRjZ7F8qzzD6IHeieeWG_PiQbxdWV4Or2h7edXgHCaRYLuJukySExM85gbvXbuj8QA4Do/s1600/lidia-candle-small.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 211px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530315833562354578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2dshuqT47uhEuC1v-K6Srcvzngm5g3Wic7Pbted22LkqYrsO_xkvh5lLzl2FW-UPdvfBnsGbRjZ7F8qzzD6IHeieeWG_PiQbxdWV4Or2h7edXgHCaRYLuJukySExM85gbvXbuj8QA4Do/s320/lidia-candle-small.jpg" /></a><br /></p>Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-12864732912681174852010-07-01T07:00:00.000-07:002010-07-01T08:46:59.437-07:00Childhood PlaysSadly, these pictures were taken with my phone and aren't very good, but hopefully you'll get the gist.<br /><br />When I was at my friend Heather's recently, her daughter Molly Kate (<a href="http://leah-nothingtosayreally.blogspot.com/2009/03/inner-workings-of-childs-mind.html">who's been featured before</a>), aged 8, and her cousin Mia, also aged 8, prepared several plays for us. There is a fab, dramatic curtain between the dinning room and the foyer that is perfect for performances. They spent the morning getting ready and then Molly Kate stepped in front of the curtain to set the scene.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Molly Kate:</strong> Presenting Tom and Jerry, when Tom gets drunk.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifgus37NAF1IKz0jqF2-Xw2fkpQR20lJL_VNZsXTbM4E2CJFjcuopVEOKjHqDSTc9jsLBe3PTceLYYTk6bNF3fJwuf7FPcEiGnRzrqlrIyzrEa30g3JcfNf4eCFEk2vCkmimeCTUoDMtwA/s1600/molly.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488938844939974498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifgus37NAF1IKz0jqF2-Xw2fkpQR20lJL_VNZsXTbM4E2CJFjcuopVEOKjHqDSTc9jsLBe3PTceLYYTk6bNF3fJwuf7FPcEiGnRzrqlrIyzrEa30g3JcfNf4eCFEk2vCkmimeCTUoDMtwA/s320/molly.jpg" /></a> she jumped back behind the curtain<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ps-keYFCUSOq_z0xWieUBKDMtjFGdH9iaoOfB0NDGXF8ecO3v0xMXbqy-FGWboqtfC0AeFvI88qgQpVdJ2njjHIEMwAGw3L41en5pK-S8IsYNL0A8X59umoYXxbw7yRlttyRcq-419TN/s1600/curtain.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488938836853230834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ps-keYFCUSOq_z0xWieUBKDMtjFGdH9iaoOfB0NDGXF8ecO3v0xMXbqy-FGWboqtfC0AeFvI88qgQpVdJ2njjHIEMwAGw3L41en5pK-S8IsYNL0A8X59umoYXxbw7yRlttyRcq-419TN/s320/curtain.jpg" /></a> <strong>Mia </strong>(<em>whispering from behind the curtain</em>)<strong>:</strong> You mean <em>hydrated. </em><br /><em></em><br />The curtain then opened on a classic Tom and Jerry tableau. At one point Jerry fell into what we were later told was a vat of root beer. His equilibrium seemed to have been compromised by this encounter as he subsequently ran into a wall and tripped over a pillow, but he was in fact <em>hydrated</em> and not <em>drunk</em>. Which means root beer is far more dangerous than we ever thought.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha5nxDfsK_pF1te1DPfpjvZqBj-5oXq4OeX-0YHh0j98DS2C9hMC0i7ZefeBFksiiC3vDj_8Utg64NyhX56t9K5EqKl6L3SfL4lnv-uwANkNY7EZ3QWQdjTNc5A_xjoNkPOLDJ4ezoerWW/s1600/tom-jerry.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 263px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488938826645698706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha5nxDfsK_pF1te1DPfpjvZqBj-5oXq4OeX-0YHh0j98DS2C9hMC0i7ZefeBFksiiC3vDj_8Utg64NyhX56t9K5EqKl6L3SfL4lnv-uwANkNY7EZ3QWQdjTNc5A_xjoNkPOLDJ4ezoerWW/s320/tom-jerry.jpg" /></a>Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-82274510933499277792010-06-23T07:00:00.000-07:002010-06-23T12:48:24.379-07:00A Smattering of Favorite MomentsI jumped out of an airplane for my 30th birthday. This was an experience, make no mistake, especially since I’m completely phobic about flying. How then do I fly all over you ask? Simple. XANAX! Anyway I was just Facebook chatting with an old high school friend (shout out Jimmy). I was saying that as I exited the plane I thought “this was not a good idea.” And he said, “yea, but I bet you count it as one of your best moments.” Which got me thinking . . . I’ve had such a spectacular life. I mean really! I have a gorgeous family and the most amazing friends that I think anyone has ever had, and I’m not trying to be hyperbolic, it's really true.<br /><br />I started thinking "what do I count as my greatest moments," and this is what started popping into my head:<br /><br /><strong>Making</strong> Minnie Driver uncomfortable at a play in London. (I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Bryan, when you said it was her!) – 2000<br /><br /><strong>Successfully</strong> saddling a horse (thank you Rachel!!). –2009<br /><br /><strong>Playing</strong> a British version of Monopoly with the Nigerians we were staying with in Logos, Nigeria (that was the point we finally looked at each other and thought, “oh, we all <em>are</em> the same here,” up to that moment we had been eyeing each other uncertainly). –1995<br /><br /><strong>FINALLY</strong> hearing my name called at graduation [from Etövös Loránd in Hungary] (I wasn’t sure until I heard it if they were really going to let me graduate) after barely surviving 16 linguistics classes, the writing of a master’s thesis, and that little business of extortion the secretary to the foreign students pulled on me at the LAST minute. –2002<br /><br /><strong>Thinking</strong> and crying, "well, I'll never graduate since they want me to pay them a bribe" (to get them to accept all my general credits and to not have to take a foreign language exam, which for the entire 4 years I was there, every semester they had said they would accept and that I didn't have to take) and then hearing my dad on the phone say, "How much? I'm putting it in your account." –2002<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Unexpectedly</strong> coming upon Anne Brontë’s grave with Jen while roaming around the Yorkshire Dales (it would have been even more sublime if it had been Charlotte’s grave—but I’m not complaining, much). –2000<br /><br /><strong>Landing</strong> in Europe for the first time, granted it was only a layover in Brussels on the way to Africa, but still it was Europe and I was there. –1995<br /><br /><strong>Singing</strong>, completely abandondly, with Jeni, Julie, and Karen, while Karen's parents played dulcimers. –2005<br /><br /><strong>Being</strong> hopelessly lost on the streets of Venice—that’s seriously Magical! –2005<br /><br /><strong>At</strong> a birthday party for a Hungarian friend, looking around, and realizing I was the only American among Hungarians, Nigerians, Cypriots, South Africans, and Australians. (kind of a sequel to the monopoly one. I absolutely love when tons of cultures all come together and form a new community!) –hmmm 2003, maybe<br /><br /><strong>Meeting</strong> Alida, Jason, and Andi at the train station, as they passed through Budapest, to pass off a video and then being convinced (correction: dared!) by Alida and Andi to jump on the train (I was moneyless, phoneless, id-less), skip class the next day, and go back to Miskolc (2 hours away) to watch the Sting: Behind the Music tape Jason’s parents had just sent them. (It’s a very dangerous feeling [the next day-riding back] to be in a foreign land, where your ability to communicate is basically nil, riding a train without anything to help you should you miss your stop.) –hmmm, 2000 or 2001<br /><br /><strong>Landing</strong> in Australia the first time and feeling that overwhelming sense of camaraderie from everyone I met. We were all on the same team, I didn't know what we were playing, life perhaps, but we were winning. –2005<br /><br /><strong>Trying</strong>, with Julie, to read a Midsummer Night’s Dream with British accents by the River Avon in Stratford Upon Avon, laughing hysterically, and switching to southern accents. “Ill met by moonlight fair Titania.” “What, jealous Oberon?” –1995<br /><br /><strong>At</strong> the opera house in Hungary watching a completely inexplicable opera by Wagner, while Jen “translated” the German for me. Oh did the other boxes cast us disapproving glances! It was the entrance of the dinosaur while the Klingons in big boots were belting out their song that really pushed things over the top. –1999, maybe<br /><br /><strong>Standing</strong> at the rail of the boat with Katrina on the way from Athens to Kos as we prayed over our ouzo bottle containing our pact, and then tossing it out into the Agean Sea (not anywhere near enough of our pact has come to pass, but it was a marvelous moment). –2004<br /><br /><strong>Hiking</strong> up to the top of that “mountain” in Norway with Katrina and Stian, and cooking out on the little grill Stian had lugged up there, while listening to the tinkling of the bells on the sheep that were even higher up. –2004<br /><br /><strong>Going</strong> in the back door, and bypassing all the security, at Versailles with Alida and Ildi. (the memory of you guys flashing your entrance passes at the other tourist who was trying to get out is CLASSIC). –1998<br /><br /><strong>Sitting</strong> outside in Newcastle with Katrina and Stian drinking mint tea from her tea set from Jordan and enjoying other Jordanian treats, and talking and talking. –2009<br /><br /><strong>Sitting</strong>, exhausted, in the marble, chandelier decorated McDonalds in Budapest after bussing back from Romania, while Edo and Krisztina got our food. When they came, laughing, back to the table, I was so keenly aware of how much I loved my life at that moment. –2003<br /><br /><strong>The</strong> way Krisztina would plop down on my bed, very late at night, as I would be trying to fall asleep, in spite of my constant insomnia, and say, “Wait, don’t go to sleep yet, we haven’t even chatted. What happened today?”<br /><br /><strong>Belly </strong>lauging with Jen and Lídia in the tiny back portion of the school café that was semi smoke free.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Thirsty </strong>Thursdays with Rachel and Michelle.<br /><br /><strong>Riding </strong>horses with my dad.<br /><br /><strong>Taco</strong> Casa stops on the way to SawGrass.<br /><br /><strong>The</strong> many delightful cups of coffee and pastries with Alida, Andi, Ildi, and Jen.<br /><br /><strong>Hearing </strong>all the latest fascinating things Jen, Heather, and Katrina have discovered.<br /><br /><strong>All</strong> the moments involving twinkly fairy lights.<br /><br /><strong>All</strong> the glorious dance floor, backyard, lounge room dancing that has been danced around the world.<br /><br /><strong>Being </strong>overwhelmed to the point of tears when I was little over how lucky I was to have such a great family. I couldn't figure out what I had done to deserve that from God.<br /><br /><strong>Fifteen</strong> billion little, seemingly inconsequential moments when, surrounded by brilliant family-friends and/or brilliant scenery, I thought, “I’m really happy right now.”<br /><br />This doesn’t even come close to all the great moments, which means, basically, I’ve been the luckiest girl to ever live. It’s good to remember that, because I may also be the most spoiled girl to ever live, meaning I often forget my luckiest girl status.Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-30382564758160262942010-06-22T06:25:00.000-07:002010-06-22T07:48:26.054-07:00Employee of the WeekI'm blogging! Mainly because I have an easy work to blog crossover, which requires very little work with the words on my part. (granted it's still taken me 3 months to get this up)<br /><br />Every week at work we have an employee of the week. They're chosen randomly so don't think this means we are exemplary in anyway, it just means we were drawn from a hat. But when you are chosen EofW you get a nice, close parking space, which is rad if you are frequently a tad late and all the good spaces are gone. You also get featured in the weekly work email, where they have a little Q&A about you. This year we've been giving pics of ourselves from when we were young.<br /><br />All the pics of my early youth still live at home with my parents so I stole this one off my Aunt Laura's Facebook page.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Bji492LYebgq9dQ4LDV8o6-aH1t9IBwbUfyBMCZK0CJ7XGdIetQzeWMJViO34ArpbylQCidWi_6YtI5QrNEfZDwzjR-oPR1Swy6mSaWsSGXUugLNSGrqREWNfq3wfetTzprJFmajalPf/s1600/Leah.jpg"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Bji492LYebgq9dQ4LDV8o6-aH1t9IBwbUfyBMCZK0CJ7XGdIetQzeWMJViO34ArpbylQCidWi_6YtI5QrNEfZDwzjR-oPR1Swy6mSaWsSGXUugLNSGrqREWNfq3wfetTzprJFmajalPf/s1600/Leah.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 274px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485588968814919378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Bji492LYebgq9dQ4LDV8o6-aH1t9IBwbUfyBMCZK0CJ7XGdIetQzeWMJViO34ArpbylQCidWi_6YtI5QrNEfZDwzjR-oPR1Swy6mSaWsSGXUugLNSGrqREWNfq3wfetTzprJFmajalPf/s320/Leah.jpg" /></a> <p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">me and my cousin Jonathon, aged 3 to 4 or 5<br />I still totally adore Winnie the Pooh, that bear is genius!</span></p><br />Here's my feature:<br /><strong>Name (and nickname you prefer to be called):</strong> Leah<br /><br /><strong>Birthday (month and date):</strong> August 24<br /><br /><strong>Date you began working at WMU:</strong> February 2006 (intern/temp) April 2007 (as a real employee)<br /><br /><strong>Job title at WMU:</strong> Web Technician (though I’m actually the Web Designer)<br /><br /><strong>What is your favorite WMU artifact/piece of WMU history?</strong> The map of the world that shows where it’s day and where it’s night. (<em>we have loads of antiques and artifacts from missionaries and lands far and wide)</em><br /><br /><strong>Favorite vacation spot:</strong> can’t commit to just one: England! Australia! Norway (in the summer)! <a href="http://whatsupwoodwards.blogspot.com/2010/05/dads-mr-no-shoulders-and-dunk.html">SawGrass!</a> All places green, vast, and beautiful that lend themselves to dramatic horse-back riding, preferably while wearing a cloak.<br /><br /><strong>Three words that describe you:</strong> frenetic, loyal, noncommittal<br /><br /><strong>Favorite cartoon:</strong> Smurfs and Muppets (not technically a cartoon)<br /><br /><strong>Something you miss about your childhood:</strong> my grandfathers<br /><br /><strong>Favorite movie:</strong> can’t commit: Sound of Music, Moulin Rouge, The Village, In America<br /><br /><strong>Food you “just can’t live without:”</strong> Hamburgers. Rather uninteresting but true. I'm also very, very fond of pizza, curry, and pineapple<br /><br /><strong>Favorite toy or game from childhood:</strong> saving the world as Luke Skywalker (when the neighbor boys would let me be him); learning that I was a long-lost princess from another planet, and then subsequently saving that planet, which was embroiled in a horrible civil war; winning Wimbledon and the Tour de France—the usual.<br /><br /><strong>Hobby or interest you’d like to start:</strong> Polo. I’ve no doubt I’d be mortally wounded in seconds, but I’m pretty sure those brief moments right before would be awesome!<br /><br /><strong>Favorite book (fiction):</strong> <em>Jane Eyre</em>, hands down! Though as a true bibliophile there is a long list of runner-ups clipping at her heels: The Lewis and Tolkien omnibuses, obviously; most of Dickens, even the ones that aren’t that great; P.G. Wodehouse (he is hysterical. he describes one of his characters who is plagued by the coming socialism to England and has bad indigestion as looking rather like "a pterodactyl with a secret sorrow"); Harry Potter (all of them, but 2 and 5 just a bit more than the others)!Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-3274021257131341962010-01-26T07:00:00.000-08:002010-06-22T13:20:54.116-07:00A funny thing happened on the way to the Opera HouseSo . . . (a digression after only one word: I REALLY overuse the word “so” in writing. I’m not good at beginnings; I am definitely a concluder—cut to the chase, get to the bottom line. ((digression in a digression: the irony is not lost on me!)) This trait always posed a problem for me when it came to writing papers; and as a Lit major, that was a LOT of papers. I had no idea how I was going to write my 80-page thesis. What is there to say? They came; they wrote.)<br /><br /><br /><p align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 226px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431148576738544530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGb59HZS5lLqVN5fjDHjTfE6jCNuR9QcTeDJYWvZKPgVKdCht0FpUxpunN_i8nm8ShZ3mUEXrq-KRf2K7St6dCWHfQh-g4gBWXmTwBrbKWjBzAcr5LJCY5Zd3KvGCCPdQ9RbDR4_7ekTw/s320/tolkien.jpg" /></p><span style="font-size:85%;">Here’s a pic of Tolkien. Why? Because blogs should have pics and I wrote my thesis on him. He’s awesome, seriously, look at him. Holla Middle Earth!<br /></span><br />So, anyway, this entry is, eventually, going to be about my Australia trip. You’d think my blog would be brimming with tales of that trip. And it should be, but I’ll just conclude: I went to Australia; it was freakin’ awesome! Holla Newcastle!<br /><br />Stian, Katrina, Oskar, and I all went to Sydney for the last 2 days I was there. I was flying out of Sydney, and even though this was my second trip down under, I’d never seen SY other than while flying in and out, which is a shame because it’s really quite fabulous. I felt like I was in London. Except London has tons of Arabs and Sydney has tons of Asians.<br /><br />So that night we wandered around Sydney, marveling at its insane gorgeousness. It was a perfect night. The moon was huge and everything had that ambery glow. It was a bit after Oskar’s, aged 2, bedtime, and we thought for sure he’d just fall asleep in his stroller, right? What aged 2 child wouldn’t? The lovely amber moonlight; the slight crispness in the air; the millions of people chattering, loudly; the sudden booming of the trains (which Oskar is obsessed with); the fireworks! If all of that isn’t conducive to sleeping, then I don’t know what is!<br /><br />So we were roughly here:<br /><br /><p align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 311px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431148570264635954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PyIZnz4nX3zjoY4rPKDYawSw1FCDfzxVOQMFRVHXLD-W6nKreiE9OFdtEuNRLfFfBU4d56CdssocvXhWBAWS5j8gN5BVMgW9ZATNTT3A0PhQpibSSc9HLB-wxyDuDPcptBpP56OcberM/s320/syd.jpg" /></p><br />when a sudden burst of fireworks, the big 4th of July kind, went off over the opera house. We could only see the very tip top of them as they burst up above the trees and slightly behind the OH. Katrina grabbed my arm and took off running towards them. I am not in shape, at all, and we were not close. We were making our way around the harbor and towards the fireworks, when she said, “come on, this is a short cut” and headed up a huge mountain staircase that looked like it was cut for giants. She was scampering up, two huge steps at a time, as I pulled myself up slower and slower. It was at this point that I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I tried to get her to go on, but she wouldn’t leave me, and so we did not reach the opera house in time to see the last of the fireworks.<br /><br />We waited for Stian and the not surprisingly awake Oskar to catch up with us. Stian was like, “seriously, trains and fireworks?!”<br /><br />We ambled on over to the opera house, where there was a really cool photography exhibition going on outside. Katrina and I looked at that as Stian wheeled Oskar on past to the back part of the OH that faces the water.<br /><br />And that was when the fireworks started again; Trine and I raced to the back of the OH as Stian raced away from it. We passed each other, K and I full of delight and S full of consternation and incredulity. And then, finally, there we were, directly under the fireworks. It was spectacular.<br /><br />I am happy to say that sometime after this, 10 pm or a bit later, Oskar did eventually, in spite of chatter, trains, and fireworks fall asleep.<br /><br /><p align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 265px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431148566053136546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMt1ggQMyEmjEtUgeZp-gwLfSBKKl-AiX3um4Kw2DASvt2CUiquDvAbMzrqp4j-0u3dIzDFeeFNrBleZwBCPce_xgPZyUlJJmzZZ0bfAYIbYbZ7NfErCY_QQZThsq122FVPnXReKbW3y5K/s320/sy-stroller.jpg" /></p><span style="font-size:85%;">K and S concocting a sort of barrier between Oskar and all that would thwart his sleep.</span><br /><br />That was the second time I’ve ever been directly under real fireworks; it’s pretty incredible. The other time was while I was living in Budapest. I was watching the first Lord of the Rings movie, with my friends Jen and Greg. We were at the part where Pippin knocks the skeleton down the well and then you hear the booming. I remember reading that in the book and being totally freaked out. Well, anyway, at the EXACT same moment the booming started in the movie, we heard a booming outside. We sat bolt upright, stared at each other for a few seconds, and then ran outside, where, at the house across the street, they were setting off fireworks—the real kind. Bizarre.<br /><br />Oh, I’ve come full circle. Tolkien to Fireworks. Fireworks to Tolkien. I love symmetry!Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-32969216435157911322009-11-17T19:30:00.001-08:002009-11-17T21:41:57.924-08:00Australia, how I love thee...<span style="font-family:georgia;">I'm in Australia (Newcastle to be specific; lower right-hand side).</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDA3KqtvxxJO89oiWts3Lwz3FKiHuDlpcdOyRqvM7nh5SYBxEh7zc-w4OwMcwnP4beEV48ITmiFO8exjopbtl4aOD_FQ4nBKDUpbjCUmFa8i3KpEN2CiAJBe2DXHUDofqpaEWZII_Pbsy-/s1600/map_australia.gif"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 298px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405312976049955618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDA3KqtvxxJO89oiWts3Lwz3FKiHuDlpcdOyRqvM7nh5SYBxEh7zc-w4OwMcwnP4beEV48ITmiFO8exjopbtl4aOD_FQ4nBKDUpbjCUmFa8i3KpEN2CiAJBe2DXHUDofqpaEWZII_Pbsy-/s320/map_australia.gif" /></a> <p></p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;">I'm really wishing I had one of my euphoria pills, and that I didn't possess any of the scruples that would prevent me from using it simply for it's side effects. (In case you haven't read my </span><a href="http://leah-nothingtosayreally.blogspot.com/2009/04/non-readers-beware.html"><span style="font-family:georgia;">April 14</span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> and </span><a href="http://leah-nothingtosayreally.blogspot.com/2009/04/tale-of-two-drugs.html"><span style="font-family:georgia;">15</span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> post, I'm not a total drug head; there is a completely innocent explanation.) My longing for said euphoria pill has nothing to do with a lack of euphoria; I'm more naturally euphoric than I have been in years . . . well, probably since the last time I was in Australia (summer 2005). I really just want that marvellously prolific-writing side effect the pill induced, because I’m chock full of thoughts and impressions and experiences, but not the focus or motivation to get them out.<br /><br />I absolutely love Australia and for so many reasons. They get all jumbled in my head and trip and tangle up in each other when I try to think them out. I never use to really think that much about Australia. England was always my obsession. (And still is to a great degree), but Australia completely surprised and enchanted me the first time I came.<br /><br />It's so familiar in many ways. While we aren't the same culture, we are more alike than not, and the differences are fascinating and fun. It fools you by making you feel settled in and on familiar ground, and then it totally surprises you with how unique it is. I love that. Each morning I get woken up by magpies with their </span><a href="http://www.birdsaustralia.com.au/australian-bird-calls/australian-bird-calls.html"><span style="font-family:georgia;">fascinating calls</span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;">. The trees, many of which we don't have in the Northern hemisphere, are full of parrots. Parrots! Like the serious kind. The red and blue headed kind. There's a pair that whistle and gibberish to each other each morning outside my window.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405312854128285698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpG2PWQmqKGmnNJQSMxaY1Wp7lz6jLbih4-RvNvM58s2TJTjXNJuuygKgZITarSKUNWlu-lPykHDhY0YK5xj_vEkM8V-Hq3qg6fbbvATK_h59TxE8svR6BQlDjkeGU9lgIoCPHmLWn58Tj/s320/Lorikeet_Rainbow_Cook.jpg" /><br />Flocks of cockatoos fly over, and there have been two black cockatoos, which are huge, sitting up in Katrina's tree breaking off limbs with their beaks. Limbs, not twigs, limbs. When they first flew up on Friday Katrina said, "Do you hear them? Don't they sound prehistoric?" I imagine they sound roughly like what a pterodactyl probably sounded like.<br /><br />I love it; I love the familiarity, while simultaneously being shocked by how unfamiliar and wild it is. And we aren't even in the outback, just the suburbs, the wild Australian suburbs.<br /><br />(so the above photos are all stolen, of course. i only just got my luggage this afternoon after waiting for SIX days, but hopefully i can get some real shots soon.) </p><p></p>Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-50814586458176213722009-06-24T14:26:00.000-07:002009-09-23T06:39:25.771-07:00Copyright InfringmentI was going to upload these to facebook but it asks you, do you have the right to these, and so I chickened out, because I don't. As if the big words across the center of each picture wouldn't give that away! Not that it's any more legal here, but at least blogspot doesn't ask.<br /><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351008977859582258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2e9REmqcejvXwdu-8DpirAMFJLpDNSV5TD_uePct9xuKW_5IxzI6udym4Ia2esjMU5dc90ySkMwYZRk0ronY4LHrBcOsmztAeO-Mzv8TbzRcrwKOpngWVveNnez1WjNXLO0x2hCFNV2kG/s320/6-63-08.jpg" /><br />But anyway, these are from my horse riding competition from June. I was in two classes. I won the first and lost the second. The horse I was riding, Bingo, went a bit crazy right after this. And I totally lost control during the second class. He was afraid of the people standing on the outside of the arena. He's also afraid, terrified actually, of donkeys. I am given to phobias myself, so I have nothing but sympathy for him. <p><br /></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351008975561670754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Ha2EL3gA-dGY3x7fDufZQzeK4-9kSp-VFkR7bnyCPJLk3yRxo7IGLEpkJuaUOimrpebiY_ni3oxJHmYIcOEuBSV1arA7GJk264C2NWGrwyqiA3MI4WKBZZF5RGKqNl3-XpMV8kP7w5D7/s320/6-63-05.jpg" /><br />He looks so alert, so ready for anything, and he is, he's ready to run like the wind should any donkeys, random people, scarves blowing in the wind, or any thing else he deems a potential threat come his way.<br /><br />In fact we were supposed to go from here to stand by the judges in front of a big wreath and have pictures, but he was sure the flowers all clustered together like that were definitely up to no good and so he did what any sensible horse would do, prance and dance and snort, so we just did our victory lap and got the heck out of there.<br /><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351008981601068930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSEHEL9a9oyYb9tknWDldrQ1DOj3ubynecCuo76taxEFmtmx8n5kB1WrxIxxdjL53EDiGSxWlos997GElQLUne8NKfCwb2VYfFlq56THkRzzHdjcEgBqtj0ObqqVMx1DuNehd1TMHuwAJQ/s320/6-63-09.jpg" /> </p>Note the blue ribbon, blowing in the wind. Ah, if only the day had stopped right here, and there hadn't been the debacle that followed. It was full of yelling (by my teachers), confusion (me and Bingo), snorting and fear (mostly Bingo but a little bit me), and the vaproizing of my dreams of representin' in the next Olympics! </p><p>He is gorgeous though!Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-33689141620542461952009-05-27T06:21:00.000-07:002009-05-27T12:14:49.578-07:00Memories of a Five Speed<div align="left">So I recently test drove a 5-speed for Rachel and Jared. There was quite a mishap with one of her dad's ATV's a few weeks ago at SawGrass, involving a very spectacular fire: <a href="http://whatsupwoodwards.blogspot.com/2009/04/until.html">Until...</a> so to replace the ATV they got him a Suzuki Sidekick: <a href="http://whatsupwoodwards.blogspot.com/2009/05/sidekick-for-four-wheeler.html">A Sidekick for a Four-Wheeler</a>. On our way to test drive it I gave my brother a quick call, "So can you just remind me how to drive a standard." His reply, "Lord help them if you're the pro at this!" Anyway, all this got me to reminiscing....</div><div align="left"><br />It was a cold, rainy Sunday afternoon, January 2003. I was living in Sugarland, Texas with the delightful Copelins and working with Karen. I had exactly one evening to learn to drive a standard before I was to be let loose on the roads of Sugarland, with its stoplights and stop signs every .2 cm. There are really no words to adequately describe this period in my life so I’ll just give snippets of memories.<br /><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340496233082988114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 241px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbryWFAjjuMpraUi2ojRTqgNsUZuXBmD230dHnzL7XwgfxC5kOOugvV1GPzvpahPdb1Ayud1k-Aa5UOlprZnq7yO8ZXygrqcVgJSzSfaMwCuSGYeYe4mkSq1jglVHiz0UH3bTbw009_Vij/s320/jayne.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><small>This is kind of what Jane-with-a-Y looked like.</small></p><br /><br /><strong>Lurching</strong> (literally, lurching) my way to work. I rode with my hazards on at all times and basically just whacked my head over and over again against the head rest as I tried to navigate all the stops between me and my destination. I was frequently stalled beneath a stoplight; hazards flashing, hands clutching the steering wheel, screaming in furry and frustration at the top of my lungs.<br /><br /><strong>Lurching</strong> my way into a parking spot outside Julie’s apartment, and then upon going in, seeing her doubled over laughing, “I could hear you coming!”<br /><br /><strong>Stalling</strong> out about ten times as I tried to exit the Copelin’s driveway, and then Wayne coming out the front door holding a set of keys saying, “ Stop, stop. Take my car.”<br /><br /><strong>Going</strong> with Wayne to pick up the car from Bravo’s (a fine Mexican establishment we frequented) to jumper cable the car after I had left the lights on the night before. And after getting back to the house him saying, “Just wait here and I’ll have you follow me to drop off my car to be washed.” I got out and thought to myself, “Do I have to pull the emergency break or is it fine in neutral...no I think I can just leave it in neutral.” Then watching as the car rolled down the driveway towards the trees and mailbox of the house opposite, seeing out of the corner of my eye as Karen came out of the house, took in what was happening, and immediately went back in as Wayne ran after the car. (Luckily, surprisingly, thankfully, nothing was hurt: man, car, tree, or mailbox!)<br /><br />Ah Jayne (pronounced Jane-with-a-Y) we had some grand times!<br /><br />(<em>sidenote: As an ex-editor and fill-in copyeditor, I am aware that my tenses and voice are all over the map up there. It annoys me, but the work of sorting it all out would annoy me even more! So to those who know about these things or notice these things, I am profoundly sorry!</em>)<br /><br />I don't have any actual pictures of me driving the car so I'll just put up some of the Copelin girls that I have on my computer here. They crack me up.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340511941175662866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 206px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPJ-RtPWOwMCg-0aCt0pqcOUe0niMbZjiQythF3anWLf114Y5Mzb_c2Hoq4Z0uyJRL1wnnPvzap26YxH5heSoZLXf-yFabmxlm8o29vNMrtsaeUV5voH3jsf9IYUW1BpjCaXgTr-L_iZr/s320/sc00fe579501.jpg" border="0" /> Me (age 18) Julie (age 17) On a bus, who knows where!</span><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /> </p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></p><br /><p align="center"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340509624495435042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 280px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinN6gxXeyki4HgA9JAa5LuJpJmDvD_-6xbICB-IAYkIEQIMo93SAspN5S2VIRchnb38ScyRLAO22yaA7nUyZA3NfblWbhffUgciXgLwT6QfF83zmR003Ql-Ng1F8pSUEJkSiH7Ddverx1V/s320/n1321690407_30070600_5928.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">Jeni and me, totally winning at cards!</span><br /><br /></p><p align="center"><br /></p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340509630478201890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 276px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiteMHX-jinSbtt7EvDAZ0amfthztzhq564nbOuZUBQLYMQFRLYfQYUMNzYe-5bbvX16ZeBeP8oWP7Vvb2FfzOnXxUkDroOGEHuRDYr2AL1oAc6gCSCNw1vxRWwU0LVbz4L9ezeSLKi8C_V/s320/n1348368895_25543_3593.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;">(Jeni, Julie, Me) My 3oth birthday skydive! </span><br /></p><br /><br /><br /><p></p><p></p>Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-52712518963256467532009-05-03T18:49:00.000-07:002009-05-06T08:29:01.955-07:00Geographically ChallengedOnce upon a time I kept very tidy journals. I had a perfect pen in the perfect shade of blue black; sadly, one day, this pen ran out. Now this pen was from Hungary and I was in America, so I could not replace my perfect pen. And, as I could never write in my tidy journals with any ordinary blue or black pen, I was forced to move to make-shift notebooks and countless scraps of notebook paper. It was my hope that these mediums would serve merely as repository journals till I could obtain another perfect pen, upon which time I would transpose all my thoughts back to my tidy journal in my perfect shade of blue black ink. Well, that was almost 5 years ago and my perfect pen and I still haven't found each other.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332446000304619058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 96px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7P-F4sUHlqa1zIhFogO-A674JVRqeCKOepEdLqekJtzkx8fBpJCcxlYxQXIIY0N9uehLXP1oNzAeYJG9Uzq1pCU3cRXpv7wZyEhVbkRk6GnLryQ9zBt4JAU3QF5ERbBEMlEW_mWxi0nX/s320/pen.jpg" border="0" />So recently I decided to just move everything to my laptop. And that is how I came to discover how very hard it must be sometimes for my Mensa sister-in-law (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">holla</span> Lori) to hang out with me and my brother, whom she loves dearly (you can read about them and my lovely niece Lucy <a href="http://www.ourlifewithlucy.blogspot.com/">here</a>). <div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>I remember the below exchanges quite well, but didn't realize they happened the same exact day or that they both had to do with mine and my brother's geographic prowess till I started gathering up my journal bits! </div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">January 16, 2006</span></strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div></div><div><strong>Morning<br /></strong>Lori and I went shopping and I was wearing a shirt that said <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Sri</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Lanka</span> on it. I went into an Old Navy dressing room and had the following conversation.<br /><br /><strong>Old Navy guy</strong> (<em>looking at my shirt</em>)<strong>:</strong> I want to go there.<br /><strong>Leah:</strong> Yea, me too!<br /><strong>Old Navy guy:</strong> You wanna go? Let’s leave tonight.<br /><strong>Leah</strong> (<em>delighted</em>)<strong>: </strong>Okay! Do you know how to get there?<br /><strong>Old Navy guy:</strong> We could figure it out.</div><div><br />I was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">completely</span> enchanted by this conversation, which I felt was extremely clever and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">whimsical</span>. I went and told it to Lori, who said:</div><div><br /><strong>Lori:</strong> Did you tell him you’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">ve</span> been there?<br /><strong>Leah </strong>(<em>shocked and slightly confused</em>)<strong>:</strong> I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ve</span> never been there.<br /><strong>Lori:</strong> You haven’t?<br /><strong>Leah</strong> (<em>bemused</em>)<strong>:</strong> No; it’s a mythical place; nobody’s been there.<br /><strong>Lori:</strong> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Sri</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Lanka</span>’s a real place! </div><div><strong>Leah: .................................................</strong><br />(<em>light dawning</em>)<strong>:</strong> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">SHANGRI</span> LA! ………… </div><div>(<em>rethinking conversation with Old Navy guy</em>) Oh no! </div><div><br /></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332446871897204338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FARacPBuIz3wqVKhm9Q6WYZs1-lLVzR3zaFcM4DPTInXdU1t1bFJG_KdXhFBnVvuAw6IDB7QgYcb-vtO8Bg7nJF-JBxIorjTiS3w72Dwrwjc8ANO2oE_0s2UzoT2D8eU0v26-jp5bNmC/s320/sri-lanka.jpg" border="0" />pic of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Sri</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Lanka</span>, which looks pretty magical! </div><div><br /><div></div><div><strong>Night</strong><br />Later that evening Bryan, Lori, and I were watching The Bachelor Paris. The bachelor was having a one on one date with one of the girls. He called her mom to find out what her favorite food was. It was Italian.<br /><br /><strong>Bryan:</strong> That’s good considering where they are.<br /><strong>Lori:</strong> They’re not in Italy.<br /><strong>Bryan:</strong> Right…no…I know.<br /><strong>Lori:</strong> Bryan, where is Paris?<br /><strong>Bryan:</strong> Rome…?<br /><strong>Lori and Me </strong>(<em>which in light of the above is somewhat laughable</em>)<strong>:</strong> WHAT?!<br /><strong>Bryan:</strong> No, no…I mean…<br /><strong>Lori:</strong> Bryan, WHERE is Paris?!<br /><strong>Bryan:</strong> Spain….??<br /><strong>Lori:</strong> BRYAN!<br /><strong>Bryan:</strong> No, no….<br /><strong>Lori:</strong> FRANCE! PARIS, FRANCE!<br /><strong>Bryan:</strong> I know that. I was just having brain freeze. I know it’s in France. “<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Oui</span>” that’s French. “<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Bonjoir</span>” that’s French. I know Paris is in France…………………………..I’m just foggy. I drank most of that wine by myself. </div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332449020432529714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBI1rfqY9kaw6GPqMXC_vvpE2jV3rjt52FZdotP03plhSx6OUWrlDxWA6x_wKHatYjWALWIPy2Ug1gYV_issGBEI9754_aTxPIbWN7ITGwmq8z8_3jGMn_uv6MRngaM5nfOocEyyO2pcWb/s320/paris.jpg" border="0" /> <div></div><div></div>"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Sacre</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">bleu</span>! What do they teach these kids in school?"<br /><div></div><br /><div></div></div>Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-50390578140413595922009-04-30T06:54:00.000-07:002009-04-30T10:55:21.640-07:00My Friends are Funny!I feel incredibly fortunate to have so many truly clever and eccentric people in my life. It makes this journey so much more interesting. Here is a brief dialogue from my recent time in Tulsa with my delightful Gilmore-witty-esque friend Jeni Copelin. <div><div><br /><strong>Jeni </strong>(<em>to me</em>)<strong>:</strong> I have a haircut at 1:45, help me remember.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> Okay, but you know I can't remember things either.<br /><strong>Jeni:</strong> I know.<br /><strong>Julie</strong> (<em>Jeni's aunt</em>)<strong>: </strong>Write it on your hand.<br /><strong>Jeni:</strong> Yea, I'll write a little note in marker. Oh, I'll draw a line for a hair. When I look at it I'll wonder, "Why do I have a line on my hand? Oh yea, it's a hair. Why do I have a hair? Right, I have a haircut." And I'll put a 10 by it, because 1 plus 4 plus 5 is 10.<br /><strong>Julie</strong> (<em>sarcastically</em>)<strong>:</strong> that makes sense<br /><strong>Jeni:</strong> I don't want everyone knowing my plans. </div><br /><div>We took almost no pics while I was there and as I feel most blog entries should have at least one pic I'm including these from our fav <em>Gilmore Girl</em> epi. </div><div></div><br /><div>I want to go to a secret gauzy tent party in the forest!</div><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330486908831887938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 239px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8-OaCMBeM4LeLsDiswTBw5R41nPcuenihzqiah-37NFq-ZqmTZYy6T9cPfZgEBqaY5-gI1jDWYMKcq1TpKjXZWpgneEdZHGDoY4xWjMZELl7WiXde4jbK9POrMroH07YXSdR4igOSxLw/s320/tents.jpg" border="0" /> And I REALLY want to jump off a tall scafoldy thing with an umbrella... <div></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330487051780759394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjER2GeYHEIYezAF7aljg9eD64wuhgNOcPQRI4_yzxAiHsfGZawf3Z3YmzD73vs57Rig_VKNdCkm5j0ZdgIVWSrXTQrUR0hfDaDzFe2ixWMDbRM_i9245YqqcXXPD_SNG5Yjay3P3B1AE6c/s320/umbrellas2.jpg" border="0" />while wearing a fancy dress!</div><div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330486975039994322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPx6ah9YjlONVYZvjcP8YR_P8H03yAO_NNEdvtqhGIpZNLwsBEUiuaxwM8LVRR_fI5Uk7Uj2KAsPJM86p9f0NCQ1LDthznyWUriZlRZevhuUO7PNX8JoYX2SgsVE43Fmk8cAj9o38uqGWj/s320/umbrellas.jpg" border="0" /><br />(photos of Season 5, Episode 7 <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0588233/">You Jump, I Jump, Jack</a>)<br /><div> </div><div> </div></div>Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-27269925339916150082009-04-15T19:21:00.000-07:002009-04-30T09:50:49.423-07:00A Tale of Two DrugsI have some new insight into why my last blog and all my facebooking on Tuesday came so effortlessly, in fact, so joyously. There was nothing in the world I wanted to do more than write, chat, muse. Already I’m finding the writing of this blog and subsequent replies to all my Tuesday correspondence a bit harder. It isn’t in the least that I don’t want to communicate, I do, but with a chemical free brain I just find it so much harder.<br /><br />So I posted that I was given a new pain pill to replace my old marvelous one that made me totally pain free typically in one dose, occasionally two. The new one I got did not work nearly so well. I took the first one at 1 AM, after which I never went back to sleep. It lowered the pain enough to survive, but didn’t get rid of it, at all. However I did feel mentally very on. And this is why:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">Side effects <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDU-JFOhEIkIH3AK7Bf7gq7T24_8m7rSfIT4HNuFx5PlDo0t7TnejiT63h_FjTGsLvmJrt_PsntfIQtjqNZB9yyWvWsphE2omKCIMNtMy_WcPSuBeufhy5VQiol8M52H1yRx0gcXpQtFav/s1600-h/drugs.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325384677443530498" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 180px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 120px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDU-JFOhEIkIH3AK7Bf7gq7T24_8m7rSfIT4HNuFx5PlDo0t7TnejiT63h_FjTGsLvmJrt_PsntfIQtjqNZB9yyWvWsphE2omKCIMNtMy_WcPSuBeufhy5VQiol8M52H1yRx0gcXpQtFav/s320/drugs.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></span><em>Commonly reported side effects for butalbital include: </em><br /><br /><ul><li>Dizziness</li><br /><li>Drowsiness</li><br /><li>Intoxicated feeling</li><br /><li>Light-headedness</li><br /><li>Euphoria</li><br /><li>Addiction</li><br /><li>Severe impairment of judgement</li></ul><p>I’d again like to highlight the two that really made Tuesday special: Intoxicated feeling and Euphoria, which translated into a most delightful time spent on the computer and watching TV. Usually if I watch TV for too many hours in a row I start feeling depressed. Many people have thought this quirk insane, but it’s true. However Tuesday I actually commented to myself, “I’m in pain, but I feel great. I could watch TV all day. I could watch TV and write emails ALL DAY!”<br /><br />The bottle said not to exceed 6 pills in 24 hours. Well in 12 hours I’d had 7 (this could have been the "severe impairment of judgement" side effect kicking in). I was having a very hard time walking straight, speaking coherently, or putting my glasses on without poking my eye out. I called the pharmacist to discuss the dosing.<br /><br /><strong>Me:</strong> I just need to know how serious this don’t exceed clause is?<br /><strong>Pharmacist:</strong> Quite serious.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> But I’ve had the max dose and there are a great many hours till I can go to the doctor tomorrow. When this wears off I’m going to be in serious pain, emergency room pain.<br /><strong>Pharmacist:</strong> If you exceed the dosage you will be in the emergency room.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> ....<br /><strong>Pharmacist:</strong> I suggested you go ahead and go to the emergency room now.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> ....I’ve been awake since 1 AM; it has no bearing on anything, I just feel the need to say that.<br /><strong>Pharmacist:</strong> I think you should go to the emergency room.<br /><br />He was very lovely.<br /><br />Rachel called me on her way home from work and I broke the news that I might need her to take me to the emergency room. It should be stated that it was also Jared (her husband’s) birthday. She, without hesitation, agreed. They are both very, very good roommates!<br /><br />We chose an urgent care place over an emergency room. I think it was a good call. I took my old empty bottle of pills that used to work and my new full bottle of pills that didn’t work, at least not in the way I needed them to.<br /><br /><strong>Nurse:</strong> This old medicine was for stomach pain, ulcers, etc. This new one is for headaches and it has caffeine.<br /><strong>Me </strong><em>(light dawning</em>)<strong>:</strong> I’ve been awake since 1 AM.<br /><strong>Nurse:</strong> I don’t want to speak badly about another doctor...but...<br /><strong>Me:</strong> I’ve been awake since 1 AM<br /><br />(I’ve never fully understood why you have to tell your story twice. Once to the nurse who you think is maybe the doc, and who after you’ve poured out your heart and feel somewhat connected to, says, “Okay, the doctor will be in in a few.” Then you have to tell it all over again. I’m usual tired the second go round and leave stuff out.)<br /><br /><strong>Doctor:</strong> So what’s going on with you?<br /><strong>Me:</strong> My stomach hurts and I’ve been awake since 1 AM.<br /><strong>Doctor:</strong> This medicine is for headaches and it has caffeine.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> I know.<br /><strong>Doctor:</strong> I don’t want to speak badly about another doctor...but...<br /><strong>Me:</strong> I know.<br /><strong>Doctor:</strong> Here is a prescription for a pain pill that’s actually for your stomach.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> I’m so tired.<br /><strong>Doctor</strong> (<em>patting me on the knee</em>)<strong>:</strong> This will help.<br /><br />And it did. The new, new drug works WAY better; but I must be honest, while I don’t miss the pain or insomnia, I do miss the euphoria; that was nice. </p><p>p.s. I will be making an appointment with a GI doctor very soon...and I promise not to blog about it. </p>Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-27985166270411273142009-04-14T01:54:00.000-07:002009-04-14T05:42:49.194-07:00Non-readers BewareIt's 2:42 A.M.; I'm awake and my mind is roaming wide plains of thought, and so I anticipate a wildly stream-of-conscious blog. The first roam being that the use of pen and paper has become, in my life, highly obsolete, resulting in an odd clenching of my entire arm and hand as I write. I have an absolute death grip on this pen. And yes that means this was first a hand written blog entry, because its 2:44 A.M. and I've heard that the light from a computer, much like that of a TV and hand-held video game (another option I considered), interrupts the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Circadian_rhythm"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">cardia</span> rhythm</a>, which is entirely the wrong term. But word on the insomnia street is that those lights are decidedly bad for inducing sleep.<br /><br />The reason I'm awake at this awful hour is because my stomach is killing me, and by stomach I don't mean the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">euphemismly</span> vague catch all term of stomach, but the actual organ located here (I did write that on paper in anticipation of a google image search):<br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324483344113241474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 272px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 272px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwHquPz4tP6-xj4JAvPRMXHHlpnYMo16m-vZkH_wHDp4AFT5q3HTm7WdU0vC46jfcHYH78a_hXaXlgh_w1LKGgTgaTNlgPEgeiEY2rpNAdRv_0tDjPGWMD27D79HBJkiC4oNzIhjeGyaid/s320/stomach.jpg" border="0" /> I had/have (?) <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H.pylori">H.pylori</a>. You can get it in America, but my stomach pain seems to date back to sometime after a trip to Mexico (94 or 95 ?). And it's pretty much the worst pain in the world (at least my world) and I've had malaria.</p><p>It's panic-inducing pain; a pain that I've always been certain ought to kill me. I've thought, one can't be in this much pain and continue to be alive. At its worst it feels like a creature, made of fire, trying to eat it's way out of my stomach (yes, think <em>Aliens</em>). I actually passed out a couple of times, but I think I was just hyperventilating. </p><p>I saw an ER <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">epi</span> once about a severely burned guy. His breathing got really odd and the docs ran around trying to figure out what was wrong and toyed with the idea of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intubating"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">intubating</span></a> (any ER fans notice how in every <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">epi</span> <strong>at least</strong> one patient was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">intubated</span>?). (Okay, I've no idea if that's actually how the scene played out, but I'm going with it.) My memory is vague but I think the dialogue ran <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">thusly</span>:</p><p><strong>doc 1:</strong> He's hyperventilating.<br /><strong>nurse 1/intern doc 1:</strong> Why?<br /><strong>doc 1:</strong> He's in so much pain.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324483352728101122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 222px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9v3RUMDD9p3eutPgN9aoAc2qYzxXtEdJdH3Qo6exbaGgMzl1YCl56OiPi9SHgb5Yf7qxKbjX6RscFzL9fMLVbrNeXRCMFxZUqzGvymfZ9-zlNBmHYjkCNT4vBU3sv4GjXbBBnqaGaIIJ_/s320/er1.jpg" border="0" /></p>Anyway that's this kind of pain, well not right now since I'm able to write out a blog, but that's the kind of pain this can become. I used to have an absolutely beautiful, divine, sent from heaven pain pill that nipped it in the bud, but I recently ran out and when I went to have it refilled, discovered that it's been taken off the market because of adverse side effects; like what, sweet relief?! There's nothing to take it's place, so the doc gave me a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">dif</span> pain pill, and since I took it two hours ago and I'm still awake and my stomach still hurts, I'm going to say it's not sent from heaven.<br /><br />So with that monstrously long disclaimer on why I'm awake, at now 3:04 A.M. I'll move off this old lady ramble of ailments and drugs.<br /><br />I need a new phone with a higher pixel camera, or, here's a thought, I could keep my actual camera on me at all times. I took this pic many months ago. You can't tell, but there's a fawn outside the window (I wanted to write baby fawn, but that's rather redundant):<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324483348983325826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVZXP21S7R3v2zsWXIiaI2WbuCJeSxGIwawNCs2F2wKUaF11VS1OFQojz_lrWIKQnYkh3eGAiKBxssaCBRZNr56rK_f45AmgFG9Tx0h0t4zoMzn6GehcPSB41YdaFvJyJ7QksvPMar8fES/s320/fawn.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>This is roughly what it looked like. (I stole this off the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">internet</span>).</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324483350966454450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 298px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1OKVcjx690y9KWNH4VQi3MFh_tS4-5NmPyXLiVRtM5xDUz-hTrLWYnOB-IojyF1GLDfSUI_dR0_KeXx3chTxs-F6hH4PaiII_nI9J1kvBmYbG5gk2eJR5DDMSj6X7yBeGhrqrPkY6PGvu/s320/fawn2.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>Where I work I frequently see wildlife. I've seen a doe, rabbits (personal <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">fav</span>), chipmunks (another personal <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">fav</span>), turkey, and the fawn. I feel like a Disney character, except I can't sing and these animals run from me rather than help me clean my humble, yet homey, cottage in the forest. But anyway, I stopped my car so I could just bask in its little fawn sweetness. This was a bad idea as that meant stopping here:</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_TfqWdGyUzWVzcHXiGOWYpLBbjpvV5btOZ-0fqv1OuSoAoPyI7C0AL26T6iUBmjPEJQMZ2G5lhoeYH41bxSzunSPFXD7o378sTd0E6yvI8h3-0biAoqML8gp4kHLhVw_L1eSspQvnGiY6/s1600-h/road.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324483886396790514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 205px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_TfqWdGyUzWVzcHXiGOWYpLBbjpvV5btOZ-0fqv1OuSoAoPyI7C0AL26T6iUBmjPEJQMZ2G5lhoeYH41bxSzunSPFXD7o378sTd0E6yvI8h3-0biAoqML8gp4kHLhVw_L1eSspQvnGiY6/s320/road.jpg" border="0" /></a> I nearly caused a three car pileup; embarrassingly, all three were coworkers.</p><p><strong>Coworker 1:</strong> I thought your car had broken down.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> There was a fawn.<br /><strong>Coworker 2:</strong> I almost plowed into the back of coworker 1.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> There was a fawn.<br /><strong>Coworker 2</strong> (<em>as Coworker 3 silently looks on</em>)<strong>:</strong> That was a really bad idea.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> But there was a fawn. A FAWN!</p><p>I later told Jen, who really is a Disney character. She can sing; and once, we visited a sheep farm and while they wouldn't come within a mile of me, they were draped across her lap looking languidly and adoringly up at her.</p><p><strong>Me:</strong> (fawn story)<br /><strong>Jen:</strong> It was alone?<br /><strong>Me</strong> (<em>sensing she has made a keen and undesirable observation</em>)<strong>: </strong>Yes. It was just on the edge of the woods.<br /><strong>Jen:</strong> That's not good; it shouldn't have been alone. That means something happened to it's mother.<br /><strong>Me:</strong> ....oh, that really changes my feelings about this story. </p><p>Months and months later, while carpooling with Rachel, we were recounting all the animals we've seen driving up to the building. The fawn story came up and she said, "Oh yea, I saw that fawn too. I called animal control since it was alone." (the good animal control, the kind that takes sweet, abandoned fawns and rehabilitates them, resulting in email chains of little fawns curled up with the center's cat, dog, or rabbit, as the case may be). </p><p>So, Jen, I don't believe I ever told you the ending to this story, but it's a happy one...I think...I hope.</p><p>I doubt anyone is still reading this; it's WAY too long, but I've tried to throw in pics for today's word-adverse society.</p><p>So my tum still hurts, my mind's still roaming, and my death-grip-clenched hand's spasming; I think I'll just stare at the ceiling for a bit, and/or rummage through my drugs and see what other treats I can find. </p><p>"Adieu, to you and you and you." (My <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">fav</span> movie)</p><p><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0059742/"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324483880538667826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU4eAQRu371lhNzclTaT4-wkzsTdGG1O3hua5YaKVMrtIo7t33eyp50uf72TtIv5pzypfTgBaAKd_Z1i9zk0V8mBLRjf_NwqxK906wRuGGN2ST2npVUbTTyswvakE6n4h8bG1u7iywz3C5/s320/sound.jpg" border="0" /></a> </p><p>Well, except for this one: </p><p><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0119843/"><span style="color:#0000ff;"></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324483885822418802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 215px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 304px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9cn-8HdB11svF-m2iJxusG_l-MFS7bNk7FHx_EK1dxSr6mzBkL9gA0wTHAhnUfFWhM6RXP-OiF7foE0Zl3mehVUbaQzeForryuqPuKQbdS-PvwerrhrBxFEYYTLgNmeGQN7PogvRTP6Rw/s320/ol.jpg" border="0" /></a> And this one:<a href="http://www.imdb.com/find?s=all&q=moulin+rouge"><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324483887284686162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_gixtlLiK9mqeru2Q9DEjy_UMDO_pSc2DfKAi9hGCxe_cjheQNv3FYwhmSoDrB8_O-1Pfkxpeun0EeSQuvwE4bLJKJLTP1Fi5k8D6aw1Cp71FIEmms8KmlbZttmEA4NFNNNaeVGTVvWBP/s320/rouge.jpg" border="0" /></a> </p>And this one:<br /><br /><p><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0058331/"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324483889365627810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 257px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7Zc7bQ6zG2fT1bFtT7j3g57vh2Gw6fK5Yo3c-MEOrkHVTRFWK1uvXPNSwwbnxVdfx-_2zLLadaA7EI2CDS3fE0ajzowfZ8WGo57yESNqhal3LanWW7qrxPeyk5vYCMmLXG9F06PhqeZ1/s320/mary.jpg" border="0" /></a> And: <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0339291/"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324502338161912898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 251px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8SuhvLLsT9RoUMjobmpd7UX4btOxkCy_XuCmBdHE5gSD6wY4PE1rOQxM-X7khzPFUT4z2qs6X1j_6WG47Km7JjvpC1zTThIU27wtn_GjSKrYog90lSa9JrgnTmUv6dhzWjpxNMZSwGF3B/s320/lemony.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p>(I hate that they didn't make a sequel. I LOVED the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">gothic</span> feel to this. It was visual amazing!)</p><p>So anyway, Sound of Music is "one of the top thirty [movies] of our time. Anyway, at least." (a nod to, yes, another top <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">fav</span>)</p><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324483346190091954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 255px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 255px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtcgYRTO5C47IE_KKf-8t5Oc0bsgOiqAw7B6KcgSVR-00gRP7P2NuGsmTHcGMMnMRUv2QhPfuWm1RIRphPtsQpn5wicI7lNn_bkG9uHVKD1X9iROAnV7QjtqNtZAa8sCHxO_vULm7Y97-4/s320/bridge.jpg" border="0" />For real, I'm done. </div><br /><div></div><div>(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">shoutouts</span>: Google earth; random <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">internet</span> images; copyright infringement; <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">photoshop</span>; <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Samsung</span> camera phone; <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">wikipedia</span>, which all my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">copyediting</span> friends will scoff at, with good reason; <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">stong</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">barbiturates</span>, even when they don't quite remove the pain they still make you chatty)</div>Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-48790392594888649122009-04-06T06:51:00.000-07:002009-04-07T07:56:19.021-07:00Toby, Wrinkles, and Deer, oh myWell, it was another delightful weekend. I'm not even sure what to do with myself and all my plesantly spent days. I'm used to being asked, "What did you do this weekend?" and replying, "Nothing really."<br /><br /><div><div><div>I went with Rachel to her parent's house to stay with her younger brother while her parents where out of town. Her cousin Codie, who has featured in earlier post, came as well and we had a merry time of movie watching, sunbathing, snacking, and reading. You can of course read about it all here: <a href="http://whatsupwoodwards.blogspot.com/2009/04/twilight-directionally-challenged-and.html">Twilight, the Directionally Challenged and Sun Bathing</a> and here: <a href="http://whatsupwoodwards.blogspot.com/2009/04/good-eatin-and-movies.html">Good Eatin' and the Movies</a><br /></div><br /><div>Toby found a basketball, which is the joy and delight of his life. He can play like this for hours, literally! He won't stop, even when he's exhausted. I have to take the ball away from him or he'll just keep playing until he throws up. That's Miami (Rachel's dog) doing the fly by.<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwj7uIN5UVxcKljCYzBKBIQUuos86CMmHia3R6PXGgXzk1eVMlAfgb68U_rM-Ty_Q8n5ZJB3hCJQpuiHopTqw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321961784727853730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 301px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSzL1DDnUoAP8Zx7AyCLm1MB_LMR-Hax-HVHKv34FeVv8KM_0NKR7lZKB9sGRIw3rE4FeSTFj6qzqPGstBPEVdXt8cViRjfBuS-JeHS3p88Tlj8y97duwIoCcyh9aJYGVVCoJHByozl3t0/s320/group.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>I have reached that age where the sun is no longer my friend, gone are the days when it kissed me, leaving that nice glowy color of health. Instead now it cackles at me, trying to lure me with it's seemingly innocent comfy warmth, all the while leaving sunspots and crepeing up skin that doesn't have the collegen count it once had. I stayed covered with 30 sunscreen, a hat, and as many clothes as possible. I still had a perfectly lovely afternoon reading under all my protection. I'm reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/qid=1239115284/ref=sr_nr_i_0?ie=UTF8&rs=&keywords=the%20sisters%20grimm&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Athe%20sisters%20grimm%2Ci%3Astripbooks" target="_blank">The Sisters Grimm</a> series. They are for kids, but way fun! (leah, rachel, codie)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YXIFWc9X44U4Xqf04vWXemdB_Lt6Nr6GN-Lg67PJ9xlhalYR85KTKrR-Bnx46R3x332TiOfRiZ6Ub9gTuCvxiuawVFsXVgXH8L7AyLZWYlevgsG0hmA-YWszl_yr21JVS6gF36_-wasy/s1600-h/pier.jpg"></a></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321962064282111042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 249px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOG4YTAanT7C0BtDMnSaygT7iP7lbXqVxk-7LK_PG4d_-9ok-UtGcg5HvvbWiStQJA1MWGW2zgV1BbiDVLbXvdN86NpAnsuxyLUGAyw7Lqr1Upw1GEfeBcHLQwGhukEtJVme3Vxy9tOvor/s320/pier.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div>The pier we reposed on. (codie)<br /></div><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUWHvlkctVuQNnO0YcpvByaPsxIlufs-F1OK-0-gdLPJvKzs_eLmk29dy69-dRpWgyuIihMJefUjxkaULBIxSGmfNq8RZnnYl4E8CNw0qSxKkzERmbrL7jLqBpP8egy-5T2bsKf8ltwiup/s1600-h/view.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHEakwtYkzhiJbd_U0Q5ITfHK1X_Uj-Dd7zNX7sYZl26yvKImEzpUnrfa5YzNwIcIUmPk-R1OXzr0-TfcFF0FZfh3udA4wkxHVuhD18EsOER_yEw1NjAZi9RkiPXKtwLUOM-UNfNOLYQx/s1600-h/view.jpg"></a><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321962893322178146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie_olkyGzgeW_qL97d6T3yagUpgtAC_MpNauy6ROxSjvhHLRBAFNpbwUdW8BCiyJWjVOM3r2gDZ-NLuiPPbmzZQURyvEIrI1FTSw7WO5xuguaCgikgORNNo8Rl-vrvRNQ6WR1R_vM7W6F-/s320/view.jpg" border="0" /><br />View from the pier. </p><p><br />I got up early on Sunday and was sitting by the window that looked down to the water. Codie had told me the morning before that sometimes you could see deer swimming from the island back up to the shore. I was thinking about how cool that would be when down on the path a little fawn stepped out. Then another one came after it. Followed by several does. I jumped up and sprinted to the bedroom for the camera. </p><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJomj9Z7vy7YI7lRcznxKYDGzK8dsYKfldWP0ZBBYFv7qY_38iUYTchsUZy33RZR0pTv5ee04jlFLdNJnIXdwyErLqvLB8qwNbpuWnyr5U89QYf-65ePmiXiZjdnixyZP60WkkUnVnwbH/s1600-h/deer.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321958123873805730" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 210px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJomj9Z7vy7YI7lRcznxKYDGzK8dsYKfldWP0ZBBYFv7qY_38iUYTchsUZy33RZR0pTv5ee04jlFLdNJnIXdwyErLqvLB8qwNbpuWnyr5U89QYf-65ePmiXiZjdnixyZP60WkkUnVnwbH/s320/deer.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>It's a tad too far away to see but I circled the doe.<br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_M1S-PdB-QE370fCvvtCiZex4jYeYoQKFb5eWOATwCpmXT6p8pa0u6LW23jFlQ8Lv45ipgtj0dzPHrpYqnFQQt6bX5sy5HMMfHnUt1MPRKUUpLbH95GZAO3rjNNIIUvB6hL9tHmAFJHLR/s1600-h/deer-close.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321958314290406594" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 271px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_M1S-PdB-QE370fCvvtCiZex4jYeYoQKFb5eWOATwCpmXT6p8pa0u6LW23jFlQ8Lv45ipgtj0dzPHrpYqnFQQt6bX5sy5HMMfHnUt1MPRKUUpLbH95GZAO3rjNNIIUvB6hL9tHmAFJHLR/s320/deer-close.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Low pixel, close up. </div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-10282325430258648622009-04-01T07:22:00.000-07:002009-04-01T07:50:18.403-07:00More Piggy-back BloggingMy very exciting weekend (by Rachel):<br /><a href="http://whatsupwoodwards.blogspot.com/2009/03/lost.html">LOST</a><br /><a href="http://whatsupwoodwards.blogspot.com/2009/04/geiger-first-united-methodist-church.html">Geiger First United Methodist Church and Riding Horses with New Friends</a><br /><br />These are a few of my fav things, all of which took place over the weekend:<br />1. Spontaneous adventure<br />2. Land so vast you can get lost in it (seriously, I've always wanted enough land to get lost in)<br />3. Nature<br />4. Fried foods<br /><br />Thanks Rachel!! Life is WAY fun with you!!!<br /><br />(sidenote: What she didn't relate in her post about breakfast was that I had gotten up early-ish. Her dad and his friend were off turkey hunting and she was still asleep. I assumed they'd have already eaten so I began to rummage for food. There were plenty of very tasty, sugary substances that I would have loved but knew would make me feel awful...then I spied the eggs. There weren't very many of them and I debated and debated. Should I eat them, should I not. What to do?! I thought, "we'll they've probably already eaten so okay, I'll just go ahead and have a few." After about an hour of very merry morning reading and coffee sipping, everyone returned and awoke. Rachel's dad said, "Now we'll have breakfast. Rachel get the eggs." My heart skipped a beat, but they were kind and there were JUST enough eggs to give them a taste. But I think next time I'll go for the Oatmeal Creme Pie!)Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-58351576929209649742009-03-30T17:52:00.000-07:002009-03-31T09:28:25.165-07:00The Inner Workings of a Child's Mind<strong>Setting:</strong> abode of dear friends of many years Heather, Bill, Kenzie, Molly Kate, and Landon Duncan<br /><br /><strong>Time:</strong> few weeks ago<br /><br /><strong>Players:</strong> myself and Molly Kate, very newly aged 7<br /><br />I was passing through the kitchen on my way to the bedroom when Molly Kate asked, "Ms. Leah, did you know about me?"<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319387626633745650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2e-l6WUPyzYCbVPKpH6sleNf_7EXCyLql_dZpnHGbFkxhBLYfBt4Nv3u2woKAZB79OOzZfD0MiaUWbYO4MPJekn4qTsRTYavMFejxOtqocZ3o9fyvq6Fj4ZCzyiH65bXjOAQlqHTIAdZ/s320/MolyKate.jpg" border="1" /><br />Did I know about her? I've been friends with her parents for over ten years, and I've been visiting them over the last several years with some regularity, perhaps not as much as we all would like, but still I don't feel myself a stranger at their house. We've been camping together. We've been to museums together. I've been her chaperone to and from the bathroom. I've played Nintendo DS with her and her older sister Kenzie.<br /><br />Did she mean did I know about her before she was born? Children so often want to know if you knew them when they were still in their mommy's tummy. That blows their minds!<br /><br />I walked back into the kitchen and confusedly asked, "Did I know about you?"<br /><br />"Yea," she replied. "Did you know about me? That I've been making eggs since, like, last year."<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319388112401653682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYCouBDIAp94yQjddbUNX-_jRF2i8Vm4Lx43uB5Jc6O10rzBw3dkLmNgk4KTlEJgATpBP924p7-i8cMJ_MSZain0eNc-WhgXFj21ER7q6v8jiEjTKUSwQPLaOoWaacM63VfbZC9mJsOvYj/s320/eggs.jpg" border="1" />Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-78356158824605828342009-03-17T07:18:00.001-07:002009-03-17T07:30:18.694-07:00My slacker waysSo clearly I'm a lazy blogger. I didn't expect it to last long. Even this blog is really just a piggy-back blog. It's nice to live with someone who blogs because when they blog they also blog your days and you can just provide a link.<br /><br />My life can be summed up in a few words: work, cook, work, cook...and waiting for Rachel to speak these melodious words, "Do you want to go to SawGrass today?"<br /><br />This was my delightful weekend (blogged by Rachel):<br /><a href="http://whatsupwoodwards.blogspot.com/2009/03/wet-sawgrass-and-tombstone.html">Wet SawGrass and Tombstone</a><br /><a href="http://whatsupwoodwards.blogspot.com/2009/03/dinner-at-sawgrass-and-big-fish.html">Dinner at SawGrass and Big Fish</a><br /><br />Funny incident: I am pleased to announce that I successfully put on several saddles this SawGrass visit and none of them headed for the underside of the horse. Before we headed out I heard Codie (Rachel's cousin) say to Rachel, "Can you check my saddle? Leah put it on." Wise girl! :)Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-62756859333781134452009-02-24T11:30:00.000-08:002009-02-26T07:03:32.872-08:00Everybody's Doing ItSo blogging is everywhere, and while I don't much like writing (its too stressful trying to be witty, brilliant, and good with the words), I feel the need to put out into cyber land the minutiae of my life as well. I can't bare to be left out!<br /><br />I'm trying to take the equine world by storm. And though I've been taking weekly lessons for over a year now, Sunday showed just how far I still have to go.<br /><br />I recently moved in with a girl from work, Rachel, and her husband, Jared. It's great to be with fun people again <em>and</em> helpful with the bank balance!<br /><br />Rachel's parents have this gorgous 2000 acres of land in Tuscaloosa with horses. I've gotten to go out there several times now and it's fabulous! We went this Sunday and took three other people with us. Rachel had me put the saddles, etc. on for two of them (a husband and wife) and then take them out while she got her horse and her cousin's horse ready. It was a bit of a disaster. First, these saddles are totally different from the ones I am used to using. Second, I don't have a clue how to take people out, and, third, its 2000 acres and I'm crazy directionally challenged. So I put their saddles on and said "Rachel you should probably check behind me just for good measure" (she forgot).<br /><br />We headed out and it was VERY windy so the horses were getting all hyped up, and the guy was a bit uncertain and was pulling on the reigns, which hyped the horse up a bit more, which in turn made his wife's horse skittish. I was on one of the less easy going horses, so I was working hard to keep him relaxed and not join in their hoopla (the only thing I succeeded at).<br /><br />Their horses kept trying to break into a trot, which can be unsetteling when you haven't actually asked the horse to do it. This produced more pulling and tugging and "whoa-ing". Everyone was dancing around in circles and I kept throwing encouraging tidbits, "Try to relax more." "Loosen up on the reigns." "Relax your butts!" (Horses can feel your anxiety and tension in your derriere). As all this was happening, I noticed the girl's left leg getting farther and farther down the side of her horse and her right leg getting higher and higher. I said, "Is your saddle too lose?" Within seconds she was hanging on to the side! I stopped and tried to help her get down and as she came off, the saddle came with her, still fastened. It slid nearly underneath the horse...It was a fiasco! I couldn't figure out how to unbuckle it because it was at such a crazy angle I couldn't get the clasp to come undone. I finally just undid the other side and it fell to the ground. As I was resaddeling, the horse decided to step on my foot and stay on it, and I had to put all my weight on him to shove him off.<br /><br />Once we finally got everyone back on I was like "let's just go back to the house and wait for Rachel." On our way the guy's horse got to dancing and turning again and I looked back just in time to see him come off (not fall) and get into a tug of war with the horse on the ground. All I could think was "please God don't let him rear and pummel the guy to death, just let us get back to the house." We did. Rachel fixed everyone's saddles and we went back out and I think a good time was had by all. But the moral of the story is I DO NOT need to be in charge of ANY horse riding expeditions!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4OuPwJTKdd1KC5lrx9deG192uqY_eq9wz16fExzqzQd0QR-cSRFIb3ynGLSIMME2LeMNqGzAjKO95mvWHOG4OA6Un_4k_YR2w4eCz56Jla4Oe2jlNmOuC_VbDFGn5R_3NtBhdUjzz8SK/s1600-h/DSCF1436-sm.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307121565851783298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 217px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4OuPwJTKdd1KC5lrx9deG192uqY_eq9wz16fExzqzQd0QR-cSRFIb3ynGLSIMME2LeMNqGzAjKO95mvWHOG4OA6Un_4k_YR2w4eCz56Jla4Oe2jlNmOuC_VbDFGn5R_3NtBhdUjzz8SK/s320/DSCF1436-sm.jpg" border="0" /></a> The happy part of the ride!<br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div>Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-85263555866998689072008-07-26T22:41:00.001-07:002008-07-26T22:46:00.449-07:00poision updateWell, I've had a lovely time with emergency <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">poison</span> control. They had me stay up for two hours to make sure everything was okay. They said if I felt lightheaded to call 911. They called me after the first hour and the second hour. I found their phone-side manner to be very pleasant. There were jokes and quips and laughter going back and forth, diffusing possible stress with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bubbliness</span>. Now if I were a real blogger I'd link this to life and mankind at large, but I'm not so I'm just going to go to bed.Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6454862402839523734.post-82208185158561379592008-07-26T21:42:00.000-07:002008-07-26T21:44:18.405-07:00Nothing to sayI'm up late, having taken too much heart medication and to kill time while I make sure I don't die, i'm setting up a blog, which is funny because I don't like to write.Leahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15755766786168306353noreply@blogger.com0