tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47449401796649299172024-03-19T12:39:01.034-05:00R-EightTo chronicle my sometimes interesting experiences, deep and intriguing thoughts and accomplishments, such as they are. Mostly so I don't feel guilty that I don't keep a journal.R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.comBlogger508125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-76710205654478323872012-07-25T16:21:00.000-05:002012-07-25T16:22:50.309-05:00Ebb and Flow (part two) or Where do you want to be at the end?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This tide of children and training and activities and progress will continue to go out until it is just Paul and me. Is it bad that I look forward to those days? WIthout diminishing how much I have enjoyed my motherhood, I really love being alone with Paul. Sometimes, in the evening while the kids are busy with one screen or another, we end up outside by the pool, with our feet in the water talking about things. We plan the future, we laugh at stupid situations we've gotten ourselves into, we talk about spiritual things, all of it includes just us. It makes me happy. I look forward the time when it is always just the two of us. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">As the children need me less and I look into the years ahead. I am more and more excited to do many of the things I put off because of money/time/energy. It seems like all during our marriage I was always missing one of those components I needed to start a long term project. I think that is why I liked quilting. I could start on a quilt and work on it here and there and then put it away for years even, then I could get it out and start right where I left off. Quilting has been such a good creative outlet for me and it has been the conduit to some of the most satisfying opportunities and deepest friendships of my life. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Over the years there were a zillion things that sounded fun or challenging or interesting to me and I've been envious of people who seemed to be fitting it all in. It is gratifying to be in a place where all those things are real possibilities, and within my reach.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I think about owning a business with Paul. We've talked about many things over the years; a hunting lodge, a restaurant, a local sporting event or race, another quilt store or maybe a surf shop. How about a store called 'Surf and Sew'? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I think about taking classes and becoming more proficient at some of things that I really like to do but am not as educated as I want to be, for example photography, gardening, and writing. I wonder if I should work for a degree or or not. Should I sit in a classroom or is practical experience a better way for me to learn? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Thinking about traveling with Paul makes me the most happy. There are so many things I want to see. Ever since I learned about explorers in history, I've wanted to sail around Cape Horn. That sounds so scary and adventurous! I'd love to see the Northern Lights and scuba dive off the coast of Guam. India has always captured my imagination, so has Tibet. I hope I get to continue to go to NYC with Regina every year. Goodness, on the subject of travel and this wonderful world we live in, I could go on and on.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A few months ago I had a good talk with Jared. During the conversation he asked me, "What do you want to learn all this for? Where do you want to be at the end?" I think about that all the time. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Where do I want to be at the end? Hmmm.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The tide hasn't gone out yet, Gloria just turned 10, but it is exhilarating to think about all the possibilities out there waiting for me. </span>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-44263921336221016092012-07-18T11:00:00.000-05:002012-07-25T16:21:59.827-05:00An Open Letter to Sam and Ken<br />
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<a href="http://storage.lifetributes.com/Tributes/533441/c11654ee-8292-40ce-8f1f-095b5cb94ecb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Susan Ann Hunnicutt Veach" border="0" id="picImg" name="picImg" src="http://storage.lifetributes.com/Tributes/533441/c11654ee-8292-40ce-8f1f-095b5cb94ecb.jpg" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Dear Sam a</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">nd Ken,</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Lark Montgomery told me that <a href="http://www.caudle-rutledge.com/obituaries/Susan-Veach/#/Obituary" target="_blank">your mother died</a> today and my world just got a little lonelier.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I wish I could express to you what a great friend your mother was to me and how grateful I was to know her. She was smart and hardworking and so generous. When she overheard my husband and I talking about the logistics of getting me home from DFW one day, she offered to pick me up. She hardly even knew me but there she was when my plane landed. When we got to her car she had graham crackers and a bottle of water for me. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, those graham crackers could not have tasted better! She always thought of the details like that.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Your mother was so dear to me. I only met her just five years ago. In just five years she became a very important part of my life and a part of our family. She listened to me fuss about my kids. She helped me organize my cupboards and my time. She checked in on my kids when we were out of town. She once let my husband have it because she saw me unloading groceries from my car while he and my boys were home. “She should not be fetchen’ and carryin’ for you!” She was ALWAYS on time and she was so patient with me because I am ALWAYS late. She supported me in all my projects and activities and plans. But then, she was always so darned self sufficient she rarely needed my help. I was always happy if she would call on me for anything but I feel like I did very little for her in comparison to what she did for me. I loved your mother.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My husband wants to add that in his 21 years of military service. When it came to commanding respect and getting things done, he never knew a Command Sargent Major who could hold a candle to your mom.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Goodness! She loved you boys! I've heard so much about each of you, I feel like I know you two better than I should! If you wanted Susan to talk you just had to ask her how her boys were doing. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sam, Oh! how she adored you! There is a relationship a mother has with her firstborn that is different then any other child. I heard that in her voice when she talked about you. She knows you didn’t always have a perfect relationship but was so glad that neither of you ever gave up on the other. She always said you butted heads because you both knew the right way things should be done and you were both stubborn as mules. I don’t know you that well but I’m just going to take her word for it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She loved to talk about your swim meet announcing and the sometimes exotic places that job would take you. I think she felt some ownership in that part of your life because she described to me on many occasions, crazy, busy weekends traveling to your competitions when you were kids. She was proud of your real estate career too and worried herself sick about you, when the market turned awhile back. Your mother was so proud of you and what you had accomplished in your life. She loved Shay too. She always suspected that it was Shay who influenced you to continue to be patient with her. She appreciated the way Shay softened you up a little. She loved her grand-kitties and puppies too. I heard reports about them many times. Sam, your mom always talked about you with such pride and confidence, like she knew as long as you were walking the earth she would be taken care of, and looked after. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ken, I don’t think it is a secret that you were the apple of her eye. A mother couldn’t be a whole lot closer to her boy than she was to you. She told me about when you left for college. Did you know she went home and cried and sucked her thumb for three days? She told me about when you joined the Marines. She told me about when you were stationed in the Middle East, at an embassy I think. You wrote her a special letter when you were there thanking her for the sacrifices she had made for you. Did you know she’s been carrying that letter around in her purse all these years? She once told me that she needed to remember to take it out of her purse before she died. She was afraid you would think she was pitiful if you saw how she carried it around with her. It was a beautiful letter, she let me read it once. Every mother should be blessed to receive a letter like that from her child. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She told me about your last deployment. She told me about your promotions. She told me about when you brought Kim home. She loved Kim and was so thankful for the way Kim kept her updated on everything that was going on in your home where ever you were. And Oh boy! She told me about your kids! She loved those kids! She loved reporting to me that Brandon was taller than her. She loved telling me about Christopher, his grades and adventures. She loved telling me about Leasha’s cheerleading and other activities. Ken, you and your family made your mother proud beyond description. She loved you so.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Your mother believed that when we die, just like when we are born, the people we love and who love us, are there waiting for us. It makes me happy thinking about her greeting her dear mother and her sweet husband. And it makes me smile to think of her giving instructions to everyone there and making sure heaven is dress right dress. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I just wanted that you could not have been more loved. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">With all my love and a heavy heart,</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Rachel Rodgers</span></span></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-70404674793337475962012-06-01T00:31:00.000-05:002012-06-01T11:17:30.764-05:00Ebb and Flow (Part 1)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I just dropped Dan and Sara off at the church for a three day youth retreat. At home today it is just Gloria and me. Because Pauly is working so much, this weekend will mostly include just Paul, Gloria and me. Okay I lied back there, I didn't just drop them off, I left the keys to the truck in the van and Pauly took it to work so I had to call someone to come and get them. Ugh! Am I ever going to get it together??</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">When Robin and Paul were toddlers, somebody referred to the invisible rope that connected a mom and her ever moving baby. I was amused to see she was right, if I walked away a few steps, the baby would follow (mostly) and if he wandered a little way from me I would follow him. Both of us, never any farther away than was just right and always aware of where our counterpart was. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">I remember during our move to Mannheim, I was unpacking a bathroom and 13 month old Daniel showed up at the door and said, "There you are!" It was sweet because it was more inflection than actual words but I knew exactly what he was saying. The rope was still there. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Then one day with each child, the rope was snipped. These little ones no longer felt bound by the hem of my skirt or even the walls of our home. They figured out how to open the front door, they walked halfway across the park, or saw something interesting and went to check it out unaware and unconcerned about where I was. In Daniel's case he walked away from us at every airport, park, church, grocery store, soccer game and one of the worst moments of my life, he walked away from us in Prague. Holy Cow! That was scary! </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">When that rope is snipped, that is when when I always felt my work really started.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">As our kids have grown and needed me/us less it has been less like a rope and more like the tide going out.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">They learned to walk and didn’t need to be carried anymore; but sometimes they still did until one day they didn't.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">They learned to read and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">didn't</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;"> need me to read with them. But they still liked when I read to them. I still read to the girls at bedtime but not as often I think I should.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">They go to school and come home.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">They go to their friends house and come home.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">They go to a competition/tournament/concert/camp and come home.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">Each time they come home they are a little more independent, they need me a little less; they've become comfortable just a little bit farther away from me.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">It happens so gradually though. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">I don’t even notice how far away </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">they've</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;"> grown until I look up from my book one day and realize they are 50 feet away and the water </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">hasn't</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;"> covered my feet for 30 minutes or so.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My time as a mother with children in my home is ebbing away and that's a little sad to me but it has turned into such an interesting time for me as well. I am feeling reflective of who I've become as a mother/woman/wife/person. I am feeling the pressure of time to teach and prepare the ones still in my charge. I am feeling excited to get this all over with, sometimes a little too eager to move onto the next time of our lives. I'm feeling adventurous, thinking of all the things I've put off for all these years. Things that are now all possibilities. Mostly though, I just feel grateful, for every minute of my time as a mother.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I look at this weekend as an opportunity for Paul and me to soak Gloria with all the attention that was once showered on Robin. She's parched. This opportunity is a good thing, another reason to be thankful. But the tide is unrelenting and even though I know they will be back on Saturday, I am watching as Dan and Sara distance themselves just a little more than they did before I dropped . . . before they left on their excursion.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-59895419584700470802012-02-08T11:48:00.008-06:002012-02-09T10:52:38.902-06:00A Little Memory of Grandpa Stanley<div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">The first half of my senior year I lived with my Uncle Mark and Aunt Robin. I attended El Dorado High School in Placerville, California and while I was there I was cast in a play called ‘The Dining Room’. My Grandma and Grandpa Stanley drove from San Carlos to see me in the play. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">At one point in the visit we all stood in the driveway talking. Mark and Robin, Grandma and Grandpa Stanley and me. I think Aaron was running around chasing a ball or something. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">My grandpa stood next to me. While everyone talked my grandpa took a small step toward me and nudged me with his hip. It was a small movement; I don’t think anyone else even noticed. I didn’t look at him but I smiled and nudged him back. He smiled and he didn’t move away from me. We stood there a little closer to each other and listened to the others until we all went into the house.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">I don't remember Grandpa Stanley ever being any more demonstrative than that, except maybe for a quick hug when we arrived for or departed from, our annual visits. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; "><span style="font-size: 12pt; ">It might seem unimportant but that moment shaped me. In that moment, I knew my grandfather knew me and kept track of me, I knew he loved me and we both knew that we belonged to each other. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-4029191872747401192012-01-25T13:51:00.011-06:002012-01-25T15:09:23.999-06:00What did you do yesterday?<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left; ">This is what I did.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhscZkW2yC7HecfAXyzimNalzOO2_FrYiujirRS9gBYOzz2XHZU5F9ujlvZynKoUlr90UPdxVfzVbn1ds24_gVkBPOXZzLe5il8nb9ny-_NbHdvzjvGy40M4RChpPMQ9hPJ3BWWLm-loJ01/s400/Recently+Updated.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5701666414272815938" /></div><div><br /></div><div>I made this quilt. Did you hear me? I made it in one day! I'm still feeling a little high because I don't think I have ever made a quilt from start to finish in one day. Okay, I'll be honest, I already had the little pinwheels. They were left over from a quilt I made for my sister. But other than that, I cut it, pieced the front, pieced the back, quilted it, bound it and I did it all in about 7 hours. I'm feeling kind of awesome.<div><br /></div><div>Isn't it cute? </div><div><br /></div><div>The pale grouchy child holding the quilt is Sara who is not feeling well and home from school.</div></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-45829424404654471202012-01-24T10:17:00.006-06:002012-01-24T10:25:16.325-06:00#2 of 20 Linked Ribs<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv0wL0XMldjFRBtZH26fK3vegi2Y7c3bU9tdLAQaoHmloDeMv7yCrgt1qJXND__fb3pWxVyqUfgQEwA19KClV75RtCCc8UqF3Wo6QOIgGIDKyvK5dBVCWaMQ20BmyPFOcOChSJGMt50_ox/s1600/%25232+of+20.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv0wL0XMldjFRBtZH26fK3vegi2Y7c3bU9tdLAQaoHmloDeMv7yCrgt1qJXND__fb3pWxVyqUfgQEwA19KClV75RtCCc8UqF3Wo6QOIgGIDKyvK5dBVCWaMQ20BmyPFOcOChSJGMt50_ox/s400/%25232+of+20.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5701235159468475986" /></a><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span ><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span ><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span ><u><br /></u></span></div><br /></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-69741238402556784402012-01-18T10:33:00.007-06:002012-01-18T10:54:16.275-06:00They're afraid you'll knit an Afghan.<div style="text-align: left;">The zillions of different patterns that can be knitted are intriguing to me, so I am knitting a sampler afghan with 20 different squares to teach myself some of them, well, 20 of them. This is the first square, it's called 'Diagonals'. </div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 310px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeX7u6erfMeeGAJcF5Yrxs78SXlIRJkvYoHR49bewOz6Zqlo1Dq8n5XTG_8n3I6Yjh2qoGrzDqhF2SPuSWnBLccBJoeB0XsyvlvzZArcU-UDLm8d-m4Rc5zMHygAuVz9NRmiYDQcwk5xi/s400/%25231+of+20.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699015276595903954" /></div><div><br /></div><div>I am using <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Harmony-Guides-101-Stitches-Knit/dp/1596681004">this box</a> of 101 different pattern cards as my inspiration.</div><div><br /></div><div>~Why don't the airlines like you to take knitting needles onto an airplane?~</div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-61894672809764136862012-01-16T09:38:00.004-06:002012-01-16T09:45:08.620-06:0024 years<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7mBXvLTTM0A6VvopUJbdOpTog4l4QEoPcI6vqToC5KhQSbM9QLTXsbRipATljIuUFFUAnslKtWS7e-2BRN25_Oy-XgOrNICL13v16HAL9Ty1u4e81vHFR78eVl4mGdZVx1gATlG7VMUh/s1600/IMG_8591bw.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7mBXvLTTM0A6VvopUJbdOpTog4l4QEoPcI6vqToC5KhQSbM9QLTXsbRipATljIuUFFUAnslKtWS7e-2BRN25_Oy-XgOrNICL13v16HAL9Ty1u4e81vHFR78eVl4mGdZVx1gATlG7VMUh/s400/IMG_8591bw.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698255171174221266" /></a><span style="color: rgb(24, 24, 24); font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><div style="text-align: center;">“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” </div></span><span style="color: rgb(24, 24, 24); font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><div style="text-align: center;">― <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/81466.A_A_Milne" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0); ">A.A. Milne</a>, <i><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1225592" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0); text-decoration: none; ">Winnie-the-Pooh</a></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Oh how incredibly lucky I am!</div><div style="text-align: left;">I love you Paul and I'll miss you when you're in Japan.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Hurry home.</div></span>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-59343236202947111182012-01-12T12:07:00.012-06:002012-01-13T19:15:02.174-06:00Closure, for lack of a better word.<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiBFZOjHHgOUBvncwZ1FiCRY9Y6fIb8K5EXsBQBTwj_knJIKUT37nOgT2MawzHBDBWoESMr3TEgmopOxDfRs8YUj-sVAg6RDUo_UVdZuILc-d-EjpbYRETJ7S2K1ifN-sdx3zlBVblPrXj/s400/happy+josh.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696814982426905314" /><br /><span style="text-align: left; ">There was a definite end to my grieving. Although I didn't recognize it until a few weeks later, I know the moment it happened. Afterward, I accepted my loss and was able to move forward. I wasn't in survival mode anymore. I felt motherhood calling me back to Robin and Paul. When I played with them, I wasn’t just going through the motions. I put thought into our meals. I cleaned the house. I got Robin ready for kindergarten and took Pauly for walks around the neighborhood.</span><p class="MsoNormal">A high school friend Angie Giles sent me <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; "><a href="http://www.boston.com/bostonglobe/ideas/articles/2011/09/04/the_myth_of_closure/?page=1&fb_source=message"><span style="font-family:"Georgia","serif";color:blue">this article</span></a></span> a few months ago. She and I have discussed loss, grief and closure on and off over the past year or so. I have been thinking about closure ever since she sent the article.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I don’t know that I have ever believed in closure, the way it is usually used. Yes, I moved on. Yes, the pain grew to be less and less in the everyday. But closure? On what? It sounds so final.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Joshua would be 17 today. He would be a senior and would have been driving for a year now. That means I wouldn't be driving to seminary every morning. I wonder what scars he would have added to our van. He and Dan would be sharing a high school and a room. He would probably have asked for some video game or a cool phone for his birthday. Would he have a job? I wonder what he would request for dinner tonight.</p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvrsMr01mCPe7x7Y5P7V2WdxVS_gBaHgvCxDj-iaztbAOi9fE0O4wT5ESDFTIBHhIDx9rI6EUGjRGofSiNdO77bsmrM3DHH8HwmYgQzcvtkKOYvdccU14o-QJwyMz6NyzP7BDoNrdYYu1Z/s400/Church+Rock.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696820896955275506" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px; " /><div></div> <p class="MsoNormal">It has also been 15 years (last week) since my dad died. Because he was apart of my life so much longer, I am reminded of him even more often than I am reminded of Joshua. A certain color yellow, the sound of a VW engine, books that I saw on his night stand, a bald head, a round belly, when my brothers lick their bottom lip, when I close my right eye in the sun, when I teach my children to dive like he taught me. "Now lean over and let your body drop in. Your hands touch the water first, then the top of your head, then everything else." I miss my dad.</p><div> <p class="MsoNormal">Where I wonder about Joshua’s life and sort of stick him in where I think he might fit, I really don't know. On the other hand, I recognize what my dad is missing and what he would love. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I wish he could see his sons and the courageous, smart and interesting choices they've made. He would be so proud of each of them. Seeing them do the things that they love while providing for their families, that would have brought him great joy. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wish he could see what Gabby and Jordan have done with their blogs. He would be over the moon seeing what they've been able to accomplish and you can bet he would have spent some time in France over the past year. I wish he was going to ALT next week; Sara always threw Dad for a loop and I think Alt would blow his mind. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oh! How I wish I could have sent him Robin’s article on Monday; I wish he could know all his grand children. I wish he could Skype with them. Man! Wouldn't he have loved that! “Grampa, go put on shirt.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wish he could use an iPhone among a zillion other things.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So closure, what does it mean? Is it real or does it just need a new definition? Does it mean we stop loving those we've lost? Or is it just the end of our grieving and the acceptance of our loss? Does it mean that we don’t think of them often? Or does it just mean that we get to a point where we can move on, continue to grow and learn without those people in our lives? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">My opinion is that we need a different word. Although I was able to close the door on my grieving and go back to my life, my grief has never completely left me. I still have moments of deep sorrow but I'm not driven to distraction, unable to think about anything else like in those first terrible months. I certainly never closed the door on my feelings for those I love and when we see each other again, I'm sure we will continue pretty much where we left off. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now who’s going to break it to dad that he missed out Craig’s List? </p></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-13304395797590856222012-01-10T13:53:00.006-06:002012-01-11T08:32:40.961-06:00Robin Bobin Beautiful and Lovely<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj7LCEqx4ssLBH6ou3fdRiEtMP5J0B2jJCgjK1DLBPJM1Q-7qPudXgUD27cNIMDsTWpIHL_FU58vcht2TU41IxZKx4smpWzb1Vc36TeOJAXPHQJ6yROVi8lARTdNDSiGnf2luszqMoV5hR/s1600/IMG_8689.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj7LCEqx4ssLBH6ou3fdRiEtMP5J0B2jJCgjK1DLBPJM1Q-7qPudXgUD27cNIMDsTWpIHL_FU58vcht2TU41IxZKx4smpWzb1Vc36TeOJAXPHQJ6yROVi8lARTdNDSiGnf2luszqMoV5hR/s400/IMG_8689.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696102081817630226" /></a><div>So yesterday was a big day! Robin wrote her first article as a reporter for the Daily Universe, which is the campus newspaper for BYU. She reported on a fireside at BYU Sunday Evening. <a href="http://universe.byu.edu/index.php/2012/01/08/elder-jensen-teaches-of-the-gift-of-the-holy-ghost/">You can read it here.</a> It might not be the most exciting subject but it is well written and we are so proud of her!</div><div><br /></div><div>As it was also the eve of her 21st birthday, I couldn't help thinking about all that she has accomplished. I smiled as I thought about those moments of learning and growth that sometimes only I was privy to. </div><div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><div>Did you know that Robin taught herself how to read?</div><div><br /></div><div> She was a little over 3 and 1/2 and she was sitting in the living room in our little apartment near Ft. Benning. She was coloring in a coloring book that Grandma Stanley had given her with ABC's and pictures that went with each letter. I was in the kitchen making dinner and I heard her say, "Ball, ba-ba-ba ball. Mom, does ball start with B?" I stopped what I was doing and I excitedly answered, "Yes!" Taking advantage of the moment we sat down and I showed her how the letters stood for sounds. I couldn't wait to tell her dad and call the grandparents! I don't think any of them were as excited as I thought they should be but I knew it was red letter day.</div><div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><div>After that she figured most of it out by herself. Once in while she would be stuck and ask me something like, "What does thumb start with?"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><img src="http://actuallyuptodate.net/bl0gging/media/users/patricia/LOVES.jpg" border="0" alt="" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 640px; height: 455px; " /></div></div><div><br /></div><div>About six months later we had moved to Ft. Hood. We drove past a "LOVES" gas station. I heard her say, "Love-s loves!" Again, "Yes! that says Loves!" She was reading words!</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://r-eight.blogspot.com/2009/08/bye-mom.html">When she started kindergarten</a>, I was concerned that she would be bored as she was already reading short chapter books. Her wonderful teacher, Mrs. Davis called all the parents the day or two before school started to talk with them and take care of any concerns the parents or teach might have about the kids. I told her what I worried about. She said kindly, "Well, sometimes we think they are reading but they have just memorized their favorite books." I answered that Robin read verses from the scriptures before bed. She laughed and said, "That's reading!" Robin was well taken care of and wasn't bored for even one minute during her time in Mrs. Davis' class. </div><div><br /></div><div>I could go on and on but I won't, at least not right now.</div><div><br /></div><div>We are so proud of you Robin and the woman you are becoming. This is an exciting year as you begin your work as journalism major and car owner. I know you will continue to blow my mind with how brilliant you are and give me many more opportunities to brag about you. I love you my girl and I'm so glad you born! xoxo </div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-29587012466430043842012-01-09T13:49:00.001-06:002012-01-11T08:32:21.657-06:00UpdateA couple of the things I wanted to do at the new year were to blog more consistently and also make some changes and to move to Wordpress. I thought it would be much simpler and quicker than it has been. I am slogging through though and will be up and running soon I hope. <div><br /></div><div>Wish me luck.</div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-26834471006776642122011-10-20T08:30:00.007-05:002011-10-20T14:47:47.480-05:00Vanity, Aging and Jan Brady<div style="text-align: left;">I really don't think of myself as vain. Actually other than the 30 minutes I spend getting ready for the day, I don't really think much about how I look. In fact I'm a little put out when I accidentally see myself in the mirror in the middle of the day and think to myself that I really should go and put on some lipstick or redo my hair. Don't get me wrong, I can be very narcissistic and selfish, those things just manifest themselves in other ways.</div><div><br /><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZQidqvuuqszLTgPaU7pwSkhGtmDiJ5ROEnt-0qYBXscvucnV_RCl_lbDEM26BVtZ9fI-_iiqsv4nd79AgBt0GJCJbWFoXwcNyNO6kbo8ATIY_bkd_v1tFvlRCjDYSd8mh16p-rvbManVT/s400/IMG_8792.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665620619509500674" /></div><div>I guess I like how I look, since I really couldn't do a lot about my facial features, I have just always accepted them. I do like my large eyes. I like that they are so expressive. I have a big nose but it hasn't ever really bothered me. I have a large wide smile that I know is friendly. Big eyes, big nose, big mouth, that pretty much sums me up.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also have freckles. I do love freckles across the tops of little noses. It isn't that I liked or don't like mine, they were just a part of my face so I accepted them. I remember when Jan Brady put lemon juice on her freckles to get rid of them and I thought that was strange. I must admit that I do feel self-conscious about my teeth (I wish they were straighter) but the only times I really think about them is when I am getting my picture taken. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, a few of weeks ago as I was getting ready for church and I saw some, well, I guess they are age spots, on my cheek. (think large faint freckles) What?! Age spots? This discovery has kind of thrown me for a loop but have been unsure why. I mean I had no problem telling my hairdresser I didn't want to color my hair even though I've got some noticeable gray. I can also see lines around my eyes that weren't there a few years ago, that hasn't bothered me either. Why then are these age spots bugging me so much?<br /><div><br /></div><div>Maybe I've always taken my clear skin for granted. Maybe because the lines and the gray came on so gradually, it hasn't been shocking. Maybe I was just surprised. And, well, maybe I am vainand just never thought so before now. I still only think about it during that mirror time in the morning but I think about it almost everyday. Hm, well, I hope I don't sound too whiny, I really just wanted to journal this unexpected event. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>When I showed Paul the spots on my cheek, he told me that they made me look distinguished. :)</div></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-31582574998635912472011-10-18T08:00:00.005-05:002012-01-12T11:20:02.747-06:00"What can I do?"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtc41XjVxdcEpKUbThQtJr6QbNNEfnVxJtm6cQDQRjWbTEdaz-oTNjwuf_i6YtwCJmLfGjK5xsS_BswSCThH1LdCHUH2zvUM1mcxSLbWCyUF_Gk6Qbz5IpdPtDBYFUG-14B4KpIWTOYZ9j/s1600/josh+and+steeds.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtc41XjVxdcEpKUbThQtJr6QbNNEfnVxJtm6cQDQRjWbTEdaz-oTNjwuf_i6YtwCJmLfGjK5xsS_BswSCThH1LdCHUH2zvUM1mcxSLbWCyUF_Gk6Qbz5IpdPtDBYFUG-14B4KpIWTOYZ9j/s400/josh+and+steeds.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664868154539011394" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Joshua and Pauly at the Steeds. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;">This is one of the pictures Sheri brought me. </div><p class="MsoNormal">I have great compassion for people but I don't have a talent for putting those feelings into practical actions. <span> If we hadn't been forced down the road of loss when Joshua died, I still wouldn't have a clue where to start. </span>I was amazed (I'm still amazed)at the thoughtful things people did for us. I wanted to share some of those things here partly as a way to show gratitude for the tremendous kindnesses people showed us and partly because I learned some very sweet lessons that might be a help someone out there.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Lesson: Money is a good thing to give.</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">I had no idea that people gave money at the time of a funeral.<span> </span>It felt crass to talk about something as pedestrian as money when we were dealing with this monumental shock and sorrow. <span> </span>The expenses of funeral arraignments, as well as estate settlement have been known to ruin people.<span> </span><span> </span>We were young and naive and vulnerable and we were lucky to have people around us who looked out for us and helped us make good decisions.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Until we were dealing with Joshua’s funeral arrangements I didn’t know how expensive funerals are.<span> </span>Caskets, funeral directors, preparing and transporting the body, burial costs, headstone and that doesn’t count all the medical expenses that commonly accompany death. It is a very expensive time.<span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span></span>People were so good to us.<span> </span>Our parents bore the brunt of the expenses.<span> </span>Our bishop made sure we knew the resources of the fast offerings were at our disposal.<span> </span>I don’t remember everything but I think the church paid for the casket.<span> </span>Paul’s unit 2/5 Cav did a fund raiser to pay for our plane tickets to Utah. (I love that)<span> </span>The ward I grew up in took up a generous fund to help pay for things in St. George.<span> </span>My grandmother bought the headstone. I can not express the gratitude we felt for so much generosity.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>The lesson: Your instincts and talents are the best way to bless those around you.</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Something that always makes me smile is when I think about Ellen Keuhl calling me.<span> </span>She said apologetically, “Rachel, I don’t bake and I can’t take care of your kids but I am a really good shopper.<span> </span>Would you please let me buy you something to wear at the funeral?”<span> </span>It was a funny request and up until that moment I hadn’t really thought about what I would wear.<span> </span><span> </span>I accepted her gracious offer partly because I didn’t know what else to say and partly because I didn’t think that I had anything suitable to wear.<span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span></span>She asked me for sizes and color preferences.<span> </span>She bought me the most beautiful dark green dress and black boots to go with it.<span> </span>It is in my closet next to my wedding dress. <span> </span>I don’t think I will ever get rid of it. <span> </span>I was stunned and so thankful when she also bought me another dress or two and several outfits, just because.<span> Ellen also bought a dress for Robin to wear. </span>How thankful I was that I didn’t have to worry about what to wear.<span> </span>I felt appropriate and more than presentable but most importantly, I could focus on the significant moments of the day.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Lesson: It might feel awkward.<span> </span>It might feel too practical.<span> </span>But it might be exactly what is needed</b>.<span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">I mentioned the book that Holly Glines Wilkinson made and brought to us.<span> </span>It was waiting on the entry table at my mom’s house when we arrived home from the burial and lunch.<span> </span>It is probably the most valuable thing we were given, mostly because of what it holds.<span> </span>It isn’t <span> </span>fancy, just a blue 3 ring binder with the picture from the funeral program in a plastic sleeve and extra plastic sleeves ready to be filled.<span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span></span>I have been <i>so thankful</i> for that binder.<span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span></span>Without it I would have 100 cards bound together with a rubber band sitting in a box somewhere.<span> </span>I would have lost important papers in stacks of unimportant papers; they would have been thrown away long ago.<span> </span>And what in the world would I have done with that lock of curly, soft, light brown hair the nurse took from the back of Joshua’s head?<span> </span>Because of Holly's thoughtfulness, I had a place for cards and letters, hospital records, organ donation letters, the headstone order information, and my memories of that day.<span> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Do you think Holly has any idea what an ideal gift that was?<span> </span>Do you think she has any inkling of how precious that binder is to me?<span> Do you think</span> she knows that I think of her and her kindness every time I walk through my living room and see the blue binder sitting on the book shelf?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Lesson: Sometimes you will just know what to do.<span> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Brother and Sister Calvert had been Robin and Paul’s nursery teachers at church.<span> They loved my kids and my kids adored them right back. Brother Calvert</span> found out the kids were at the Steeds where they were staying while we were at the hospital.<span> </span>He went to see them on his lunch hour and just played with them.<span> </span>He read to them and he wrestled with Paul.<span> </span>He knew their lives were about to change forever and he just wanted to be with them.<span> </span>Sheri tried to fix him lunch.<span> </span>He didn’t want it; he was just there to be with my children.<span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">There is a special corner in my heart that will always be reserved for Brother Calvert. Is it even possible to repay such kindnesses?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Lesson: Remember the anniversary.<span> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal">Sheri called or wrote to me the next two or three years either on Joshua’s birthday or near the anniversary of his death.<span> </span>Those first years were especially important but even now it is so touching to me when someone sends me a note/email/text in January telling me that we are on their mind.<span> </span>It is so comforting to know that someone else in the world acknowledges that something horrendous happened to us and that we are not alone. The idea that someone else is shouldering just a little bit of our pain, even now makes a difference.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b>Lesson: Help provide proof that the child existed.</b> </p><p class="MsoNormal"> When an adult dies, there is a lifetime of relationships, achievements and memories from those around them, that provide evidence that they spent time on this earth. When I child dies, other than grieving parents and siblings, there is little proof they were ever even here. Sheri found every picture of Joshua she had taken at her house at the park, during our Sunday dinners together. It may seem simple but it was huge to me, emotionally and psychologically. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>Lesson: If at all possible, attend the funeral.</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">I can't seem to put into words the strength I gleaned from huge rooms full of people who dropped everything, stopped their lives and came to mourn with us at the funerals; many who traveled very far. During the darkest days of my grieving, when I was so alone in my sorrow, I drew great peace and comfort from the idea of being surrounded by all those people who loved me. People who I knew would have willingly taken the crushing weight from me, had that been possible, at least for a little while. <i>Attending the funeral is important.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>Lesson: Just do something.</b> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Other generous things people did that we still remember and touch our hearts: <span> </span>Tammy Calvert brought me a book on grieving.<span> </span>She gave me her own copy, the one that had helped her through her loss when cancer took her 8 year old daughter. How precious that book is to me.<span> </span>Others brought different books, meals, flowers, plants.<span> Ladies from church, cleaned our house. </span>The Cloves offered my family hotel rooms in St. George. People wrote the most beautiful letters. My grandmother sent me funny cards throughout the year. I could go one and on. </p><p class="MsoNormal">This certainly isn't a complete list, in fact I have been slow to write this post because people were so good to us and I know, after 15 years I would probably miss something or someone. I am sorry if that is the case.</p><p class="MsoNormal">It was so strange to feel such intense grief and loss, and to feel such deep gratitude at the same time. Some of those feelings have never gone away.</p></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-53343865626650346472011-10-07T08:04:00.004-05:002011-10-07T09:23:50.022-05:00Thank Mr. Jobs<div style="text-align: left;">When he stepped down in August from his duties at Apple, I knew Steve Jobs was probably going to die soon but I was still surprised at how emotional I felt. Really? Tears for a man I never met?</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5dACTvwShFD-zNITQ0D0FF7Ncv6jVgbXo7yCofe1IkrpxURzhiIKlRQ-mdJl_FFBY3ir041vaqz4pkKl3JUvhjZ7tqPTz8LmXgy5hRpbdNBTBBWhh59_em7qjWBnB0uzSOJdPes1Xs0g/s400/steve_jobs.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660751561373299618" /><div><br /></div><div>I have such a special place in my heart for him though. I loved what <a href="http://www.designmom.com/2011/10/steve-jobs/">Gabby wrote here</a> and I can ditto everything she said. I loved reading the tributes and blogs and tweets about his life and his genius and that he was just a good person. The best thing about it is that everything I read or learned about him just made me like him even more. I think that is rare. </div><div><br /></div><div>Usually, after someone of Steve Jobs' stature dies there are the tributes and then there are skeletons that come creeping out of the closets. That doesn't seem to be happening. The worst thing I've read about him is that he was hard to work for because he was so exacting and a perfectionist. </div><div><br /></div><div>I love his life story. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1R-jKKp3NA">I love is philosophy on life.</a> I love that his CEO salary from Apple was $1.00 annually. </div><div><br /></div><div>His creations have had a direct impact on the Rodgers family. Of course we love iPods and iPhones and Apple TV and we are really excited for Santa to show up with an iPad or two this Christmas. And am I the only one who can't bring themselves to throw away the Apple packaging for months after I open something? It is so beautiful!</div><div><br /></div><div>It was only 6 months ago that I learned that Steve Jobs was responsible for<a href="http://mashable.com/2011/10/07/steve-jobs-the-pixar-story/"> Pixar's continuation and survival.</a> (The Pixar Story is a documentary and is on Netflix 'watch it now'.) If he did nothing else in his life, that alone was such an amazingly beautiful thing. I supposed that could be said for many of his endeavors, but those movies played in extremely important role in the childhood of each of my children. Because of that I have a particular love for them. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've read many stories about Mr. Jobs, a majority of them in the last few days but this was the dearest to me: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204); line-height: 16px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-size: medium; ">For all of his single-minded dedication to the company he built from the ground up, Jobs actually skipped a meeting to take Laurene on their first date: "I was in the parking lot with the key in the car, and I thought to myself, 'If this is my last night on earth, would I rather spend it at a business meeting or with this woman?' I ran across the parking lot, asked her if she'd have dinner with me. She said yes, we walked into town and we've been together ever since."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; ">It came from <a href="http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/technology-blog/8-things-didn-t-know-life-steve-jobs-172130955.html">this article.</a></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">All this to say that Steve Jobs will be missed and I believe that in 100 years people will still know who he was and what he was responsible for. He made The Rodgers' world a more beautiful place.</span></div><div><br /></div></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-4016950463038384892011-10-05T08:10:00.007-05:002011-10-05T16:45:18.566-05:00Doctors and Socks<div style="text-align: left;">So last week was full of trips to dentists and doctors for check ups. I like doing them all at once so that I don't have to remember or think about any of it for at least 6 months. Plus I sort of get into an appointment making mood. I start calling about Dan's sports physical and I remember he needs a teeth cleaning and then I might as well do all the kids at once and while I'm at it, everyone needs haircuts . . . it just snowballs from there until my phone is beeping at me constantly, every day, for two weeks, getting me from one appointment to the next.</div><div><br /></div><div>The point is that even though I don't have a lot to show for it, I got a lot done.<img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" alt="Add Image" border="0" class="gl_photo" /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>I did get these finished . . .</b></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlIiV1_C516AEZ7k5-xXX5UDbP0W0YvV_pgcG8_0pPBZLyGlVEnBJLeLB2YQPOsH5ZAi0dvuz_M_0QotGG-PuCYAxE-v3tSck1Gjy8o1TlWpbW1lfskBN-uvAgobkNskSlcKii5VuMqEQ9/s400/blue+socks.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660039075478964066" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></div><div>I actually started these way back in <a href="http://r-eight.blogspot.com/2011/03/progress.html">January</a>. I chose this chunky yarn because it is thick and cotton and because it knits up fast so I get some immediate gratification. I was also trying to memorize the pattern. The socks are toasty and slouchy and perfect to wear around the house on a chilly morning. </div><div><br /></div><div>These were knitted in Patagonia Nature Cotton by Araucania on size 6 circular needles, using the 'Chunky Cozy Cotton Sock' pattern from <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Knitting-Circles-around-Socks-Circular/dp/1564777391/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top">Knitting Circles Around Socks</a>.</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><b>. . . and I started a new pair. </b></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ9fR7z8YGBi00hkyMDJj7nUOc59OpWe4UQJmCw_cQstgHTdKdZlKrD5X40fSAYjWYWDUcFeMprONE3OCI-EPJgkduPlzCfpiQTFC89XwuVfIl6G3W6-UTGqnG8Mc2qV5wXoYyj9tLl1R8/s400/start+red+and+white+socks.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660039081932584274" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>For these red and white socks, the yarn and needles are tiny so this pair is going to take me a while. A super accomplished knitter told me once that it takes her about 8 uninterrupted hours to knit one pair of socks. I guess I have something to shoot for.</div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-26165394622252635882011-09-26T08:35:00.007-05:002011-09-26T12:38:15.341-05:00Slideshow and Book Club and What I Learned<b><span class="Apple-style-span" >I finished that . . .</span></b><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b><br /></b></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYMgvgq1u-n_BhyISHPEb-KhVwqbbzEHwy5vT-4lQwrMX5zcz4ifXUpSEGSI65hPhiJnbS4rKqVBuIkIYgUVJn7QVnmdaQYAolw0T991QaXAMNavtjFS2jPc7T-cMjhpuL8MZnNcbQH6MQ/s1600/zzzzzz.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYMgvgq1u-n_BhyISHPEb-KhVwqbbzEHwy5vT-4lQwrMX5zcz4ifXUpSEGSI65hPhiJnbS4rKqVBuIkIYgUVJn7QVnmdaQYAolw0T991QaXAMNavtjFS2jPc7T-cMjhpuL8MZnNcbQH6MQ/s400/zzzzzz.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656675505341931858" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">This was my favorite picture in the slideshow. I found this photographer's photos really fascinating. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><u><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:"Century Gothic","sans-serif""><a href="http://www.wicked-halo.com/2008/08/subaquatic-beauty.html">Photographer: Alix Malka</a></span></p></u></span></div><div>So last week I finished putting together the sideshow for Kirtsy.com which was so much fun. I found so many great pictures it was hard to whittle them down to the 15-20 that they wanted. The best part was that I learned more about how to manipulate pictures and text from the internet.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" >. . . and I started this.</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b><br /></b></span><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwgIWq5pAs8NkrDbP1EkMCcooVOEKuOYkB6r8Z_HPDriOiYBwIkcf7oiDJXDkYJwQkf-vRNb0YN2rWNWDeyXD70g2oRQsMSsXxYSXasXJ5iKR1n47jFhdAQQHFiu6nuYWSqm74UxYr4tCH/s400/SCAN0172.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 182px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656670836937780626" /></div><div><b><br /></b></div></div><div>Last week I started a neighborhood book club. I noticed that there are quite a few people home during the day and I have been wanting an excuse to get to know our neighbors better. I actually planned to start it when school started at the beginning of August but I have been a big scaredy cat. I made myself print them up last week. I'm cheap and I hate to waste ink so I knew I was committing myself to that date. Once they were printed I would be forced to hand them out in a timely manner. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because we've only met a few of our neighbors briefly, I was so nervous about how I would be recieved but off I went. I received lots of different reactions. </div><div><br /></div><div>Surprise "Oh! What a good idea!" </div><div><br /></div><div>Suspicion, "I'm not going to buy anything." </div><div><br /></div><div>Rejection, *hands me back the invitation* "I have chemical allergies, I can't be with groups of people." (I wonder if I could set her up on Skype?) </div><div><br /></div><div>Mostly graciousness, "I love this!" "I'll be there." "What can I bring?" "Count me in."</div><div><br /></div><div>True story: One of my neighbors has a long white beard and is named Santa Claus. He showed me his drivers licence. :) </div><div><br /></div><div>I headed out the door so nervous but it ended up being a lovely evening visiting with my whole street. </div><div><br /></div></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-22775698567784748632011-09-24T08:22:00.006-05:002011-09-24T08:36:13.364-05:00Underwater with Kirsty.com<a href="http://blog.photoshelter.com/image/JASONAPPARICIO_THE_JAMAICAN_SURF_TEAM_POSTER.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 522px; height: 322px;" src="http://blog.photoshelter.com/image/JASONAPPARICIO_THE_JAMAICAN_SURF_TEAM_POSTER.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div><br />Every morning my Sara and Gloria run downstairs and the first thing they say is, "What's on <a href="http://kirtsy.com/">Kirtsy</a>?"</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.designmom.com/">Gabby</a>, who is one of the three geniuses behind Kitsy.com, was kind enough to let me try to curate the slide-show for today. <a href="http://kirtsy.com/2011/09/24/underwater-curated-by-rachel-rodgers/">Check it out here. </a> </div><div><br /></div><div>It was so much fun to think of a theme and then search for cool pictures to share. I really loved doing it and I learned a ton.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope she will let me do it again. </div><div><br /></div><div>*<a href="http://blog.photoshelter.com/2008/07/riding-a-wave-with-insights-dopamine.html">image by Dustin Humpfrey</a></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-958698149837670592011-09-23T05:43:00.008-05:002011-09-23T14:04:37.750-05:00More Honesty<div style="text-align: left;">When I was at Josh and Erin's a couple months ago I was getting <s>Brian</s> Julian up from a nap and I was dismayed to see this quilt that I made for one of their kiddos. I'm guessing that is was Colin but I'm not sure. I was so dismayed I had to concentrate to not cry.</div><div style="text-align: left;" div=""><div style="text-align: left;" when="" i="" saw="" put="" julian="" down="" and="" took="" the="" blanket="" off="" closet="" t="" believe="" how="" much="" liked="" went="" into="" a="" room="" with="" more="" light="" because="" thought="" my="" eyes="" were="" playing="" tricks="" could="" it="" be="" so="" do="" love="" sweet="" little="" mitered="" div="" on=""><div><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazhfL6Hr9XPeI5Jifx2dSmyj748JEZNVTHLhIxf3X6GE8mYGk2htzKl3tFGLwxIBEmoqW1BXvdVbkP1FJDheBzsY75kukLzY5rGxUARzCVLmiZ6u2b93jiScJ-0GXrd84TKOObovSA-pl/s400/quilt+for+collin+2.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647762975180966786" /><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, it is beautiful. I used blue scraps of fabric that I had left over from past quilts and projects. I used a pattern that I had seen earlier. I liked it because it was simple and wasn't different variations of squares which gets tiresome to me. I love the <a href="http://www.daystyledesigns.com/stippling.htm">stippling</a> that I did for the quilting. It is playful and busy and offsets the sharp angles of the design. </div><div><br /></div><div>Are you wondering why it brought me to tears? I am ashamed to say that when I thought of that quilt, I remembered it being hokey and amateurish. I remembered that I wasn't happy with my choices of blue fabric but that they were all I had. I remember that I had trouble with my machine and wasn't happy with how the quilting turned out. I remember hurriedly finishing the binding so that Josh could take it with him when he stopped at our house in Kansas on his way to New York. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I saw it again, I was just sick. How could I have remembered it so differently? Why am I so critical of my work? Why do I always think someone somewhere is doing the same thing better than me?</div><div><br /></div><div>I have been thinking about this for a couple of months now, I hate that I have so many memories like this one. I remember an event/project/time as unpleasant and then find out later that it was really lovely. I also have many thoughts running around my head about why but I won't bother with those.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Normally, I would stress about this until it was unhealthy but I am trying to make some changes in how I deal with this kind of thing. So this is how I am going to move forward.<br /><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>*Post Edit</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>I have been thinking about a conversation I had with Jared about his wife <a href="http://www.sayyestohoboken.com/">Liz</a> several years ago. </b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span class="<b"><b>Me: Liz is amazing! I can't believe everything that she can do and does so well</b>.<br /><br /><b>Jared: Yeah, she's great. You know what else? When she does something and it doesn't work out, she doesn't dwell on it. She just learns what she can and moves on to the next thing.<br /><br />Me: You mean she doesn't fret and worry about the mistake and beat herself up for weeks?! Again, amazing!</b><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><br /></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>In my next life I am determined to come back as one of my sisters-in-law. . . um . . . I mean . . . I will just make <s>better</s> different choices when it comes to husbands.</b><br /><br />First, I am to keep a quilting, knitting, cake, project journal; it will include my original vision and a picture of the finished project, as well as sketches, dates and names. I went to a photography workshop recently where the teacher walked us through her creative process and it was fascinating to me. I wish I had a record of my own. I think If I do that I will be forced to remember things correctly.</span></span></div><br />Second, I am going to be positive and not so critical about what I do and what I have to offer. I will focus on the positive side of things, ie: how I adjusted and adapted to make the project work and how well it turned out, instead of what went wrong and how different it is from my original idea.<br /><br />Third, I am going to trust my own judgement. In the past I have been so worried about failing that I would paralyze myself then I would run my idea through two or three people thinking that would get my courage up. Three things happened when I did that. 1) I would get talked out of it altogether. 2) I end up with a product I don't like because I changed it to please others. And 3) I didn't learn anything because I didn't work through my own process. I loved <a href="http://zenhabits.net/the-only-way-to-become-amazingly-great-at-something/">this blog post</a> discussing how to master a skill. He says mostly, "do it, practice it, and then do it some more."<br /><br />I have been doing this for a while now and I feel liberated. I will keep you posted on my progress, I know you'll be glued to your computer chairs waiting. </div></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-86903609477119973422011-09-22T13:06:00.005-05:002011-09-22T13:19:44.945-05:00Sit up straight!<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Rachel, I dare you to find a 20 year old, less than flattering picture of you and a bunch of friends where every single person is slouching.</span></div><div><br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_oklFR-iPHU2oThnrqsX3tFn8nckE_4hyhCv_-v6Qf44qUs-BXF_dxWdOiqqXmdaCXL1VEH7EIMAt6Aw6VWofe_vQ6ZeOayVJxxmPBN1fGVwDjRu5CTrBQLImjNI9X0OR5megxPTkZEb8/s400/SCAN0014.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 281px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655249369279715138" /></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-75312984975405554032011-09-20T09:36:00.007-05:002011-09-20T12:47:04.409-05:00An Open Letter to Myself<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRisfHQiYYXNbAEwDE33iwENmmmIzlu7jKho8Pdpcsmgc9AQz30YsLXJiBH3CMNOzeB_is-cDNFIAYjZagQtg4TqVEZII0yRj6lT59haF-p0xymbN_AmAwCgX2N8rPs02xfQ_UKc8Y2sgm/s1600/dance+fest.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 326px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRisfHQiYYXNbAEwDE33iwENmmmIzlu7jKho8Pdpcsmgc9AQz30YsLXJiBH3CMNOzeB_is-cDNFIAYjZagQtg4TqVEZII0yRj6lT59haF-p0xymbN_AmAwCgX2N8rPs02xfQ_UKc8Y2sgm/s400/dance+fest.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654488169683220402" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" >St. George Dance Festival with Mitchell Blake who was kind enough to be my partner. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Is it safe yet to admit how much that I LOVED wearing this dress? </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><u><br /></u></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br />Dear 14 year old Rachel,</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I'm so happy for this opportunity, I hope that what I tell you will be well received. Don't get wrapped up about how this is possible, I don't really understand it myself. It has something to do with a flux capacitor. Actually, you aren't going to get that reference because that movie isn't coming out for a couple more years. Sorry.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >First of all, Relax. Don't worry and don't panic when things don't go as planned. Things will work out, and usually better than if they had gone the way you planned them. Also, you are mean when you get stressed out. Don't do that. Being stressed out doesn't give you permission to be a jerk. You look like a moron and are always sorry later.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Spend time with your dad.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Never let a curly blond hairstylist cut your hair. Just trust me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Find the good in each season of your life. Wonderful or terrible, comfortable or trying, it is just a season.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Learn stuff. I know that formal education isn't working for you right now. Talk to your parents about an alternative, they will be more open to the idea than you think. I know you already love to read but read even more. You'll be glad you did. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Drink some caffeine before you read or when you need to concentrate. You'll understand why later. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Be generous. I know you don't feel like you have a lot to give right now but you do. Use your sense of humor to put people at ease, not to cut and hurt. Sarcasm might make you feel clever in the moment but it is not generous and will never, ever make you feel proud of yourself. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >You are good at noticing what people need emotionally. Tell people the nice things that you think about them. A sincere compliment is always appropriate.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Buy Apple/Mac stock but not until 1997. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >You're beautiful and smart. Don't believe that crap you keep telling yourself when you look in the mirror. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Most people are good, some are not. When someone shows you who they are, believe them. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span">Last, I know you dream about that knight in shining armor and wonder if he is really out there somewhere. Don't worry, he is. You'll find each other and it will be great. You'll know as soon as you see him. Trust yourself, trust him. </span><span class="Apple-style-span">Don't listen to those who are discouraging to the two of you. Not only do they not know what they are talking about. They are just plain wrong. And just so you know, he is even better than what you imagine he will be. He is going to save you.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Have fun and don't worry so much. There is so much good ahead of you! Enjoy it!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I'll see you in about 28 years. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Love,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">42 year old Rachel</span></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-58753000407054082212011-09-14T11:01:00.011-05:002011-09-20T12:47:32.743-05:00Start and Finish<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKl2aKGa0RpZ3RkTECmWu1omKgZQPJQcbMovp_uc1j_hbKLvKC_bNRkmtDGlmT-v6YP6a9dQg3EzNIoxRxKAnl-je0iTrRFNkkwC49DPqlzLFUlMWY5bHKX59PKqBHLX5UyCItHBWv7-Y/s1600/swing+after.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKl2aKGa0RpZ3RkTECmWu1omKgZQPJQcbMovp_uc1j_hbKLvKC_bNRkmtDGlmT-v6YP6a9dQg3EzNIoxRxKAnl-je0iTrRFNkkwC49DPqlzLFUlMWY5bHKX59PKqBHLX5UyCItHBWv7-Y/s400/swing+after.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652264636725099090" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">So one of the things Regina taught me when I was working at Rose Path, is to have several different projects going at once. That went against my nature or maybe my training; I really thought I should finish one project before I started another. Regina's reasoning was that she would just get sick and tired of looking at the same stuff for weeks on end. I thought about the endless projects that I had grown bored with and never finished. I had to concede that I hadn't been very successful with my way of doing things.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Now I too have several projects going at a time. It is so refreshing to be able to put down what I am working on and pick up and work on something else that I like equally well. </div><div><br /></div><div>This summer I am afraid I went a little overboard however, I started one project after another, a quilt, another quilt, an afgahn, a scarf, a pair of socks, a hat, skirts for the girls, projects for the house as well as other projects that were begun in Texas. Almost all, I am afraid to report, sit unfinished in my quilt room. Last week I decided that I needed to get to work on all these projects because frankly when there are that many, it is just depressing. </div><div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My new rule: Rachel is not allowed to begin a new project until another project is completed. </span></div><div><br /></div><div>This is a problem because this week the weather has cooled off considerably and fall is in the air. On top of that I have been planning our Christmas trip so I have the holidays on my my mind too. I keep thinking of projects I want to begin or go shopping for but I stop myself. </div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Holding myself to my new rule, instead going shopping or trolling the internet for the Christmas quilt pattern I have in my head, I have been working feverishly on several things. I showed you the <a href="http://r-eight.blogspot.com/2011/08/another-pair-of-socks.html">pair of socks that I finished last week. </a> </div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwu1S1rc7i2C5dvcqSbbNd0sBr6BH-v9dv6NEn9YK0Nz3LNh3-kz5Vr1Sd4Gqs1PR3WhFQSop48JFMrALBOFEJBD0ox9Hqhv-PJXSzYIbyEwYq0gvecTJZYGn90jEE7qrkySwMVfl8nJjE/s400/socks.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652263310341812994" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 338px; height: 400px; " /></div><div>I am halfway through the second sock on this pair too. I should have this finished in the next day or two.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; "><div><div style="text-align: center; "><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggi5KBZo-Gy3HsOIduMg5LvJ0Dj5K_jS57yXQIaD0VG2D5vENo9LteAaWRGyS5ZQV-b_biB5l_SwvdqrfGZd_3G_YWgaVFDi7k4B0SO0jlX6NKbXkJ821z1MgICeXSQ-FejPaae3kUj8GT/s400/swing+before.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652263872424801026" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></div><div></div></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div><br /></div><div></div></div></div><div>I also finished giving this swing, we inherited with the house, a cheery makeover. What do you think? We talked about throwing it out but $20 in stripey outdoor fabric, a trip to Target for clearance cushions and 3 cans of spray paint later I think it's really fun and good as new.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizLv4b_hFUMUXMAi94mukKwFM3TbM7yZUVWXO1fdzrZ-z3lY_NDpO4BCA5v6OcZ3WSa30QUaHxw_3MJEWX16Qg0gmLSDYgUOD4F-LNV-cnWiKdFihEnN54fNDgZ60qLOaJfxKf7CR7rQL1/s400/swing+after+1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652263869082586450" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></div><div>To keep myself on the straight and narrow, I am going to be reporting on projects I have begun and others that I have finished. Your job is to tell me how wonderful I am every time I show you a finished project. You have permission to lie to protect my feelings. </div></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-52654089361082924942011-09-13T11:06:00.007-05:002011-09-13T15:59:08.153-05:00Five Things Michael Phelps and I Have in Common<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95Aaro0alKyWE22f6_Rxtc_kDjXo7mq_D57jnb6bVEM3_1XJIUJHL7H-hTWncyKcgqdypv7k0Tgy0UZv-ylUWRl3-Rk3D_TJRQPROms9eUZ7zi6UYWvjZhPpwRn9z9rVauOPASfuqsDm4/s1600/rachel+and+phelps.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95Aaro0alKyWE22f6_Rxtc_kDjXo7mq_D57jnb6bVEM3_1XJIUJHL7H-hTWncyKcgqdypv7k0Tgy0UZv-ylUWRl3-Rk3D_TJRQPROms9eUZ7zi6UYWvjZhPpwRn9z9rVauOPASfuqsDm4/s400/rachel+and+phelps.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651894606212294674" /></a>1. We both swam competitively in high school.<div>2. Both of our first names end in 'L'.</div><div><br /></div><div> . . . that was all I could think of. </div><div><br /></div><div>Every morning since school started, I have been getting up, getting Dan off to seminary and then swimming laps in our pool. I swim 60 laps, 20 backstroke, 20 freestyle and 20 breaststroke, it takes me just over 30 minutes. I love it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I love how my toes scrap a little and how the water rushes along my body as I first kick off the wall. I am always the most comfortable swimming a freestyle stroke and I love watching the bubbles that stick to my fingertips as I stroke. I love the stiffness of my arms and the drips on my face when my arms come straight up out of the water as I do the back stroke. I love the reach and pull and my head being forced out of the water when I do the breaststroke.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love how graceful and beautiful my body feels when I move in the water. I have to say it is a little intoxicating to me, especially when I haven't swam in a long time.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also find myself thinking some of the same things every morning. As I get into the pool, I hear my parents telling me, "Never, ever swim alone!" I always feel a little guilty. My next thought is of the time dad came in the house bleeding from his head. He had been swimming and had miscalculated and hit the side of the pool, hard. They called us together and used that as a good lesson on why you should never, ever swim alone. What if he had been knock out? He could have drowned! It <i>was</i> a good lesson, it has definitely stayed with me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think of our coach (Sara or Josh, do you remember his name?) telling me he didn't want to see my chin come out of the water when I did the breaststroke. I still notice anytime it does. </div><div><br /></div><div>I also think of my dad doing the butterfly. I loved how powerful and strong his shoulders looked as he broke the surface of the pool. Once in a while I think I want to teach myself the butterfly stroke. I try it and almost the moment I start, I remember that there are only a few things in the world that make me look like a bigger dork so I stop and go back to being graceful and beautiful again. </div><div><br /></div><div>I get out of the pool feeling like I have worked every muscle in my body. I feel completely spent and energized at the same time and every morning I feel very, very lucky.</div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-54730913126516032732011-08-30T13:02:00.004-05:002011-08-30T13:23:35.343-05:00Another Pair of Socks . . . Finished!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga1gZgh2TPWQjh6YuFDSDkpV38QCT5zTqXjuSSu0vpstBY1yHBbCGI5KbEeUvFJKZkTu7kkyZXRazL0_DkxrMSjfNNjlNS9j5p992XH_gXHfyUIIbjZTfYYZ2Df08xQ66lmcW1sKrfYNdj/s1600/P8300083.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga1gZgh2TPWQjh6YuFDSDkpV38QCT5zTqXjuSSu0vpstBY1yHBbCGI5KbEeUvFJKZkTu7kkyZXRazL0_DkxrMSjfNNjlNS9j5p992XH_gXHfyUIIbjZTfYYZ2Df08xQ66lmcW1sKrfYNdj/s400/P8300083.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646711757800663666" /></a>Actually, this isn't <i>another</i> pair of socks. To be honest, these are my very first pair of socks. I started them in the spring of 2010 but then I got going on The Quilt Room and put all the knitting aside. When we knew we were moving and I closed my little shop, I started knitting my socks again but I got halfway through the second sock and realized my sizes were off. Ugh!<div>
<br /><div> </div><div>I hated the idea that the socks weren't the same sizes but I couldn't bring myself to frog the second sock and start over again. So much work!! So there they sat, one and a half socks, in my knitting bag. I swear every time I looked at that bag those socks would flip me the bird. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>I haven't been able to face doing any knitting this since we moved. There are lots of reasons why. It is hot. I am homesick for Rose Path. There is no one to help me when I mess up. There is no one to cheer for me when I am done. Finally, last week I grabbed my knitting bag on the way to piano lessons, which was my routine in Texas. As I looked at the different projects I had to choose from, those socks started cussing me out and making fun of me. They really hurt my feelings. I decided that I was going to finish them just as they are. If no one every wears them I don't' even care. I just want to stop thinking about them. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>I finished them this morning. :)</div></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-75747946266644070472011-08-25T11:38:00.005-05:002011-08-25T14:54:52.464-05:00Alright, which one of you was it?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9An62dvxvp1CZuxAC7gCYfedrYlsafdAJW6_ivYncMaZS2Yh10PqlceHYNK8_3steBvDsvxfqhkDsqGCTUe3gEIKXmsd_-Nwiw2rlCdylYn1lBCxhMHIU7F1sZx2Vto_acRkODDN8Qtv/s1600/ornage+tree.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9An62dvxvp1CZuxAC7gCYfedrYlsafdAJW6_ivYncMaZS2Yh10PqlceHYNK8_3steBvDsvxfqhkDsqGCTUe3gEIKXmsd_-Nwiw2rlCdylYn1lBCxhMHIU7F1sZx2Vto_acRkODDN8Qtv/s400/ornage+tree.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644834388966549122" /></a>
<br />Some time this morning between the time I left to take Dan to seminary at 5:30am and the time that Paul left for work at 7:45am, someone planted an orange tree in our yard. I don't even have an inkling who it could have been. <div>
<br /></div><div>I keep going outside to look at it and I can't help smiling.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>What a lovely way to start the day.</div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4744940179664929917.post-78712442828398913692011-08-19T13:23:00.002-05:002011-08-19T08:11:35.924-05:00More honest than I am comfortable being.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmkXP0AdIgy4ZgAoYA7HNoNCA4ydH4VRZIckW5Dh77bSMamUNFlJ_iLSyMu2K1v76zoW74Xn7uskAwKiTz27I075iIsNLefrcsBXnuoqhBuEclxYb2BPKLnREd-r9CYMLIlWW0ZXtpE1kJ/s1600/lemon+couture.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 204px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmkXP0AdIgy4ZgAoYA7HNoNCA4ydH4VRZIckW5Dh77bSMamUNFlJ_iLSyMu2K1v76zoW74Xn7uskAwKiTz27I075iIsNLefrcsBXnuoqhBuEclxYb2BPKLnREd-r9CYMLIlWW0ZXtpE1kJ/s400/lemon+couture.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642550608990003794" /></span></a><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span style="color: black; " >Call it wanderlust, discontent, restlessness, immaturity or just plain covetousness; whatever it is, I have been fighting it since the day I was born. I have always had a hard time being happy with where, what, or who I am at the present. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Our friends moved to Abu Dhabi this summer. I want to move to Abu Dhabi! I watched "The Best Thing I Ever Ate". I want to taste a chocolate truffle from that confectioner in Chicago! I just read <a href="http://www.sayyestohoboken.com/2011/08/stinson-beach.html">Liz's blog.</a> I want to make lemonade with lemons from the tree outside my bungalow!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span><o:p> </o:p></span>It isn't a very attractive trait, it is ungrateful and selfish and spoiled and when people discover this about me I feel very superficial and small. <span> </span>In some ways this trait has been good because it has made me reach for more and push myself when I don't know that I would have otherwise. Mostly though, it has just made me feel dissatisfied and unhappy and I am sorry about that. It is particularly ugly and unfair when you are my husband and are forever trying to please someone who refuses to be truly happy.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I am saying this now because for the first time in my life I feel content. Yes, I'd love to do all the things I just mentioned but I no longer feel despondent and depressed because I don't get to do those things. Maybe it is because everything I've ever wanted is within my reach now. Maybe it is because I'm 42 and I'm more mature. Maybe it is because I feel like things in my life are in order.<span> </span>I am even willing to admit that it is just because we have a pool in the back yard.<span> </span>Maybe it is a little bit of all of these things.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >The other day I was reading about Jordan's trip to Greece. "I want to go to Greece!" I whined. "I know," Paul said, "but in the mean time, how about if I just give you a great life where you have everything you've always wanted and other things you never dreamed of?"</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >"You already gave me one of those!"</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I love you Paul. I'm so glad you're coming home today.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span class="Apple-style-span">*photo by <a href="http://speckleofdirt.com/">Speckle Of Dirt</a></span></p></div>R-Eighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06882796639488572020noreply@blogger.com4