tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60204623711983128272024-02-19T21:22:21.890-05:00Fresh Daily BreadReflections on parenting, education, and volunteering.
Sometimes served in a steaming hot loaf ripped off one piece at a time, sometimes in nice neat slices.
Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.
~John Muir
FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.comBlogger321125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-43563549589486184162024-01-18T13:20:00.000-05:002024-01-18T13:20:53.760-05:00Maddy in the Music Store<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTMhQHnfniExjN3lyWzWz5XdcFrWmDWtsAcGCSkxLrbl59o_h4qtpFrJVq4bgEF_8q3zFH68Rf1egFSAKJfhu0GucY_VcO9CnOsqrGXjMUb_WaYt8_dZQhwGktndmRM7fDXyVcou_lERd7e20C9yJGriP-mIby-FeoBpjjArR3aoeG8MEPLLIxvd7VEuNt" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="546" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTMhQHnfniExjN3lyWzWz5XdcFrWmDWtsAcGCSkxLrbl59o_h4qtpFrJVq4bgEF_8q3zFH68Rf1egFSAKJfhu0GucY_VcO9CnOsqrGXjMUb_WaYt8_dZQhwGktndmRM7fDXyVcou_lERd7e20C9yJGriP-mIby-FeoBpjjArR3aoeG8MEPLLIxvd7VEuNt=w267-h448" width="267" /></a></div>Nineteen years ago, our family was avid American Idol viewers. We watched weekly, cheered for our favorites and subsequently followed their careers. <br /><br />We listened to the weekly broadcasts and mentally aligned ourselves with favorites. We were so invested that at one point, I wrote a story about the contestants for my then 7 year old daughter, who loved music and Idol. <br /><br />I based the story on a favorite book I read them, Tommy at the Grocery Store, where the child got lost in the store and everyone who found him confused him with a grocery item. Amazon informs me that I purchased this book in 2000. That's some serious history. <br /><br />All that aside, I am compelled to share my own tribute. It involved the 2005 contestants on AI, my daughter and her passions. She loved (s) music. I am sharing this because she just auditioned for a show and it all came back. <br /><br />I proudly present: (written by me, inspired by Bill Grossman and the 2005 season of AI competitors). <p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Maddy at the Music Store</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></p><p style="text-align: left;">Mommy left poor Maddy sitting <br />At the music store. <br />With player pianos and shiny guitars, <br />Mommy walked right out the door. <br /><br />Constantine walked in the store, <br />And picked up the little girl. <br />Thinking she was a microphone, <br />He sang and gave a twirl. <br /><br />His voice didn't get any louder, <br />He put his mouth right next to her ear. <br />"This isn't a microphone, there is no cord, <br />You've got a defective microphone here." <br /><br />"Hey Bo, what do you think?<br />This microphone's broken, I fear." <br />Bo looked at Maddy and loudly proclaimed, <br />"Silly guy, it's a guitar you have here!" <br /><br />Bo picked her up and turned her sideways, <br />Strumming at her belly. <br />Maddy giggled but didn't make music, <br />And Bo made her laugh like a bowl of jelly. <br /><br />"Yo, Anwar, this guitar isn't working! <br />Tell me what you see." <br />Anwar took a look at Maddy and said, <br />"Bo, It's a piano, listen when I play a key!" </p><p style="text-align: left;">Anwar pressed Maddy's nose, <br />And much to his surprise, <br />No sounds came out, so he pressed her ear, <br />Still no sound, pressing the eyes! <br /><br />Anthony ran in and looked at him asking, <br />"What are you trying to do? <br />That's not a piano, it's a tambourine!"<br />And grabbed her by her shoe. <br /><br />Anthony was tapping Maddy <br />From her head down to her toe. <br />"This tambourine's not working, guys, <br />It simply has to go!" </p><p style="text-align: left;">Nadia walked in the store ,<br />Looking at Anthony's confusion. <br />"Anthony, what are you doing? <br />Do you think that is some sort of musician?"<br /><br />Nadia was with Mario, and asked him, <br />"Hey, buddy, what do you think?<br />This doesn't look like an instrument, <br />But rather some sort of drink."<br /><br />Mario tipped Maddy over, <br />Trying to take a sip. <br />Nothing came out and he was confused, <br />And put his hand to his hip. <br /><br />Just about then, Maddy's Mommy walked in, <br />Smiling with great delight. <br />"Oh Maddy, here you are... <br />Let's get home while it's still light!"<br /><br />She grabbed the little girl's hand<br />And walked across the floor.<br />Maddy turned around and waved, <br />As she stepped out the door. <br /><br />Good luck to Maddy at the Music Store. You've got a lot more music in store for your future. <br /><br />With love... </p>FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-59130937205834574272023-08-23T08:57:00.038-04:002023-08-23T10:32:34.018-04:0057 Channels and Nothin's On<p><i>(nah, that's not me, that's </i>Bruce Springsteen<i>)</i></p><p>Time for my quasi-annual birthday letter to myself and the other two of you, possibly three who read my rarely updated blog. </p><p>Tomorrow, I turn 57. It's a prime number, as I noted when I turned 53, but that quip seems a bit tired to keep repeating. Optimists (and Amazon) will tell you every day is a prime one, and pessimists will say that means nothing is special. I'm somewhere in between. I hate admitting that my disposition has tempered as I got older. I just am not as optimistic. Maybe I'm finally realistic? Life deals a lot of cards and they aren't always ones you can play. I remember my grandmother played Canasta, and the cards more than filled her hands. Those cards she managed to play. Sometimes my cards feel like jokers. </p><p>I didn't do my annual birthday post last year at 56. We were in the midst of moving again and closing out my mom's estate. We did do a nice getaway to the North Shore of Minnesota, taking advantage of the last weeks we still lived there. This past year brought us a world of change and for the first time in several years, I may not feel "prime" but I do feel settled. </p><p>We moved back to our hometown last September and lived in an apartment until our condo was finished. I was really ungrateful and a bit horrible. I hated living in the apartment (though it was a lovely place - for anyone who wasn't me). I griped about how unsettled I felt, how I hated having things in boxes, and how I missed having a garden and a home. I look back at 56-year-old me and want to smack her. Yet she is still me. At least until tomorrow at 4:22 PM. </p><p>Instead of smacking myself, I relented and admitted I didn't have the best grip on things and found myself a therapist. Many will find this admission a bit of over-sharing or admonish me for putting too much out there. However, I am a communicator and I also (according to my therapist) have a deep penchant for harmonizing. I am compelled to help others. It's in my DNA. If telling people I am in therapy takes some of the stigmas away, I am going to over-share. <br /><br />I have always said that birthdays are the only day someone can be "all about themselves". I'm approaching the "all about me" day and probably because of my DNA, I especially relish that because I actively try to spend time in self-reflection. However, I've learned that shouldn't just be once a year. I'm learning a lot this year. <br /><br />We are in a new home that we moved into in July. Most of the boxes are unpacked, at least physically. I am unpacking a lot more emotional things and that is going to take a long time. I've let go of a lot of things that I don't need, and I'm trying to do the same mentally. </p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTf_Jbt8eCla01amiMRgrsTvpZ-AqVjQJhyLchO1BVTjTvWO2Po5t0SW2V4jzLOLnwkYw_cjCPpetW486FkCVyE9Emf-M1yhrMqwZ6ZIB650vy6B3C5GTCQCkJjWVvwEbjJ2C-KV12Q5wxlBSsZr22H40aZFq8Uu1ihamLZ1YmhMr0grZIJgG51lymw4mp/s1439/Garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1439" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTf_Jbt8eCla01amiMRgrsTvpZ-AqVjQJhyLchO1BVTjTvWO2Po5t0SW2V4jzLOLnwkYw_cjCPpetW486FkCVyE9Emf-M1yhrMqwZ6ZIB650vy6B3C5GTCQCkJjWVvwEbjJ2C-KV12Q5wxlBSsZr22H40aZFq8Uu1ihamLZ1YmhMr0grZIJgG51lymw4mp/s320/Garden.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cross-stitch I made several years ago</td></tr></tbody></table>I still think I may finish my book about the empty nest that I so diligently started in 2016 when I turned 50, lost my father, had both children out of the house, and tried to figure out who the heck I was. Since then, we've moved 3 times, downsized, liquidated one parent's house, and seen jobs come and go. Turns out, I still don't have the answers. And maybe that is okay. </p><p>In that time, I've also been trying to grow my business. That was inspired by<a href="https://freshfreeemail.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-day-i-turned-49.html" target="_blank"> my first trip to Europe</a> in 2015. I remember my boss telling me that it would change my life forever. It has and as a result, I opened my own travel business in 2022, <a href="https://loveourworldtravel.com/" target="_blank"> Love Our World Travel</a>. Here's a nod to Lee and his prophetic words. Thank you and yes, you told me so. </p><p>Since moving back, I've rekindled important friendships and learned that distance is completely arbitrary when you truly care about each other. I've met up with friends I hadn't seen in over 30 years. How special! I have spent more time with people I've always loved and just needed to remember than I can imagine. It's been a wonderful year. <br /></p><p>Turns out, the only permanence is change. </p><p><i>(that's not me either, that's </i>The Alarm.) - who incidentally I met a few years back with my friend Don, when we upgraded our tickets for a meet and greet in 2019. </p><p>Who would have imagined that I could reference two of my favorite bands in one blog post? Another nod to another friend, Amber, who used that tool in most of her blog posts. Gone too soon. We writers loved her. </p><p>Yay me, yay 57. Maybe instead of "nothin's on" I prefer to say, everything is on. </p>FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-45170806724523885932023-05-24T19:25:00.005-04:002023-05-25T05:03:13.384-04:00Promises Kept<p>While I no longer blog on a regular basis, or even sporadically, I took the advice of a friend long ago who said, never give up control of your words or your spaces. I fill my time in a multitude of ways. I own a business, travel planning, <a href="http://www.loveourworldtravel.com" target="_blank">Love Our World Travel</a>, and I substitute teach. Those two activities fill my time adequately. <br /><br />BUT, today, while teaching a group of precocious fourth graders, and discussing writing, I mentioned that I am a writer. The questions came at me rapid fire. The answers? <br /></p><p>*No, I've never written a book.<br />*No, you won't find me in a library.<br />*Yes, I am a writer, mostly non-fiction, without by-lines.<br />*Yes, you need to start every sentence with a capital letter. <br />*First person is I, second person is you, third person is he/she/they. </p><p>I explained that writers do lots of things with words, not always with a byline and not always fiction. I write content. I help websites. I do local news. They seemed to understand because they quickly shifted gears and asked if I ever wrote about my students. I do. Often. I hadn't anticipated that they would hold me to task. They are better than the best assignment editor. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84fcbjPCG_X8_YaXEFEsbSSEtuFGD8sNkKAaFaXHEgdTEbhTG1OtJAxg6C1jpghnsDAZj5vQrtJh3IvPD5q9W6i_VZNVL6n3K2zbvLaSQsvsrIQYwSvAGj1RhNoCmXCL-uLt6S3_gKtulVu8Rke_nU8S4ij9GCVZ6I_R4548IV88ywfyWDXV8jgJzrg/s640/dawn-1840298_640.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84fcbjPCG_X8_YaXEFEsbSSEtuFGD8sNkKAaFaXHEgdTEbhTG1OtJAxg6C1jpghnsDAZj5vQrtJh3IvPD5q9W6i_VZNVL6n3K2zbvLaSQsvsrIQYwSvAGj1RhNoCmXCL-uLt6S3_gKtulVu8Rke_nU8S4ij9GCVZ6I_R4548IV88ywfyWDXV8jgJzrg/w400-h266/dawn-1840298_640.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I started this over a month ago and am revisiting it today, because I must fulfill my promise before the school year is over. <br /><br />What can I possibly say about a group of young people who love to learn? I will say that they stand out in a way that excites and disappoints me. By that I mean, I don't always substitute teach for their particular class, and there are other classrooms in their building that astonish me. Not in good ways. <br /><br />I continue to be surprised when young people are uninterested in learning. It shocks me that they don't care. I don't know why they aren't interested in knowing more than they do at this young point of their lives. There are days I walk out of a school dejected and sad. There are days I cry. I know that my impact is pretty insignificant, I know that I spend a slice of a slice of their days with them, but I still wish I had a chance to light a fire. I wish I could tell them what a special time of their lives they are living. I wish I had a magic wand so that they knew that the world really is their oyster. The world is filled with possibility and it is theirs for the taking. <br /><br />I want them to see the world and hunger for it. I want them to know that it's a good place and they have a way to participate and maybe even make it a better place. I take a few hours a week and go and look into their world. I see the future. I want them to see themselves through my eyes. <br /><br />When I see an eager and excited young group of students, kids who want to know more and know that the world has the answers, I smile. They make me want to return. Again. And again. <br /><br />This is my love letter to Mrs. M's 4th grade class at BIS. <br /><br />You fill my heart. You are the reason I know the future is in good hands. Please keep learning and stay excited. There is so much to know and I believe in all of you. When I see an opportunity to spend time together with each other, I smile, because you're all so special. <br /><br />You're going to change our world. <br /><br />I love all of you. Now I kept my promise. The next promise is yours to keep. Go. <br /><p></p><p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p>FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-76209023176644549562022-12-14T15:42:00.003-05:002022-12-15T07:46:32.407-05:00Ghosts of Christmas Past<p>Sitting at my computer, trying to find the inspiration to wrap gifts and get in the holiday spirit, my mind is racing with thoughts. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtjDGo8dh2KoIyD3KucErFuliLidF1LO0gcibDxTHiGA94biylv5ojMO7rVryNopfigI3N1tiPIentYB4Cct7j4Jq96EH5sU0e5Wc387X9-kEldJ3w6PVHganEHrnwxIltW6iyiiujsd2ct60qgEMrBmRlX2NV-ryNPg0vBpqnSe4HYM0unkDSmCy0w/s1537/747.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1537" data-original-width="748" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtjDGo8dh2KoIyD3KucErFuliLidF1LO0gcibDxTHiGA94biylv5ojMO7rVryNopfigI3N1tiPIentYB4Cct7j4Jq96EH5sU0e5Wc387X9-kEldJ3w6PVHganEHrnwxIltW6iyiiujsd2ct60qgEMrBmRlX2NV-ryNPg0vBpqnSe4HYM0unkDSmCy0w/s320/747.jpg" width="156" /></a></div>I cannot quite let go of the years when Christmas was purely about the kids, not the adults. The adults orchestrated the magic, but what happens when the magician no longer has an audience?<br /><br />Instead of magic, how about a little time travel with a stroll down memory lane? I listen to a podcast called <a href="https://www.poppreservationists.com/" target="_blank">Pop Culture Preservation Society</a> and they keep those Generation X memories alive. (highly recommend if you prefer to have an auditory stroll). But for today's blog post? It's all literary. <br /><br />Who remembers the Sears Gift Catalogues? Oh the page upon page of anything you could ever scroll past and all you had to do was fold the page to find it again. The toys, the clothes, the games, all my childhood dreams in one tidy book. <p></p><p>In 1973, I decided the only thing I wanted was the Barbie 747. I have no idea why. I wasn't allowed to have Barbies. I never had been on a plane. But I was obsessed. All I needed was the 747 and a good dose of imagination. My cousin Krissy had Barbies and they would probably come visit if I had a 747, right? <br /></p><p>That's a piece of holiday memories. Spending time running around the house with the cousins who were close enough to our age to bond. She lived in Texas and I lived in Ohio, but she was only a few months older than me, so we were practically sisters. <br /><br />Another memory is the giant annual Christmas party my parents had while they were still married. Please know that this memory in no way indicates that I wish they had stayed together. They were better apart. But in the mid 70s, their parties rocked. Mom would create a theme and Dad would invite the guests. They got a babysitter to keep my brothers and I entertained upstairs while the party guests took over the main floor of our old farmhouse. As the preparations for the party ensued, we got to sample foods and treats that were rarely allowed in our house. Call it crazy, but I cannot think of Christmas without thinking about Sprite and ginger ale. We were never allowed soda/pop in our house. Crack open a can of Sprite or ginger ale and it feels like a party! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8c-m8nLKya2W-sTE1qKFniL-b7qtKaQShjZ1xNGGI5jETiav9qtIhdlnKJJnwJR_6je5D0MLwvBTMZM9biFZNfegiSh9vezN-S4Pyo7pffF6l1TmQNe7-rbwmh3VFxsZcdDmUiZipdJljZ2lBCdVnrGRDt_CedQ05gay-RNhPbvTHBZcS784cqSaunQ/s1537/1973.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1537" data-original-width="1114" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8c-m8nLKya2W-sTE1qKFniL-b7qtKaQShjZ1xNGGI5jETiav9qtIhdlnKJJnwJR_6je5D0MLwvBTMZM9biFZNfegiSh9vezN-S4Pyo7pffF6l1TmQNe7-rbwmh3VFxsZcdDmUiZipdJljZ2lBCdVnrGRDt_CedQ05gay-RNhPbvTHBZcS784cqSaunQ/s320/1973.jpg" width="232" /></a></div><p></p><p>I would be remiss if I didn't mention my two aunts. They bookended my dad's side of the family. Aunt Marlene was the eldest, Aunt Denise the youngest. We were blessed with nurturing and cool in one stroke. Aunt Marlene inspired how I would treat my future nieces and nephews because she just doted on all of us. Aunt Denise taught me to be a strong woman. She inspired me to get educated and to pursue life on my terms. If Aunt Marlene never knew how she inspired me, Aunt Denise will. <br /><br />Absent from this stroll down memory lane are my parents until now. This is the first year I am without either of them. Yet that tie to the past is unbroken. My father and mother gave me such a foundation. I separately and together love them. They are my roots. Plus, they bought me the Barbie 747. Something I never ever thought would happen. <br /></p><p>As we go forward, let's promise to honor the past, cherish the present, and look forward to the future. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><p><br /><br /><br /></p>FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-10587341526668589442022-09-16T15:13:00.004-04:002022-09-16T15:16:24.069-04:00Who says you can't go home? <p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2lIpWoBM2OYSxjMi2jg2jb67habWZlLvS4bGMrq_QJ8-rTtyr0ocAgPy0sFtBWOCmrqlqH3ASnhfmZTnyO9R3PnaH6AksPhtJmisarPLTQ35FTIlRNxueuQj4ZKmL1ITf2jkIVBhg_FNApFeBgXiID9GanxUhevQVSuVOXpqB_zvEtPD0WFWHiuLIw/s2048/old%20farm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1010" data-original-width="2048" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2lIpWoBM2OYSxjMi2jg2jb67habWZlLvS4bGMrq_QJ8-rTtyr0ocAgPy0sFtBWOCmrqlqH3ASnhfmZTnyO9R3PnaH6AksPhtJmisarPLTQ35FTIlRNxueuQj4ZKmL1ITf2jkIVBhg_FNApFeBgXiID9GanxUhevQVSuVOXpqB_zvEtPD0WFWHiuLIw/s320/old%20farm.jpg" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br />Nah, that's not me. That's Bon Jovi. </i><p></p><p>I'm borrowing a technique from a writer friend of mine who was gone too soon. She always began and ended her blog posts with borrowed quotes. I always thought it a cool tie into pop culture, and so on. (Amber, you rocked). <br /><br />The past seven days have been a deep dive into my childhood. When Mama Green passed away in March, we began the exorcism of her years of hoarding. <br /><br />Mama was a lot of things, but nobody will ever accuse her of minimalism. If 1 was good, 20 were better. And in the piles were buried treasure. <br /><br />But I must digress to the home of my childhood. I grew up on an idyllic farm, about an hour away from Cleveland, OH. We had produce, livestock and open spaces. We had come from the city to the country, but our home remained a retreat. Friends and family would visit the farm. It remained idyllic, until it didn't. <br /><br />Today, following the absolute auction that we held to close out mom's estate, I went back to my childhood home to inventory the things left behind. <br /><br />There was a lot. In the piles of hoards that mom accumulated, the liquidators found themselves in a place of stopping. They sold and sold and sold, and still things were missed. <br /><br />Home I went. I walked again the property, thinking, "is this the last time?" as I have for the past 8 months. I really didn't shed many tears, though my heart was heavy. I cursed that "stuff" took over. </p><p>I was there to inventory what was left. We have a few weeks to shed those things. Multiple articles tell us that "nobody wants this stuff" and yet, I think, it has a soul. It has history. <br /><br />I want to tell that story. <br /><br />Instead, I am left with shells of rooms and echoing memories. I walked the farm. I started to carry rubbish out of the basement to the dumpster, while quietly vowing, I just want to remember this place in a way that isn't gross. I want to look and see memories not piles of stuff. I'm a little raw today. But once I comforted the raw, I saw the yard where family laughed, where kids ran, and the house where love lived, however temporarily. </p><p>I was home. I walked around the empty rooms and talked to mom. I talked to dad. I talked to my brothers and my grandparents. I talked to everyone who had a lovely memory there. I apologized to all the folks who didn't and I realized that a lot of things land a little tenderly. The inclination is to tell only good stories, but like anywhere, the stories aren't just good. <br /><br />In the end, I didn't go home. I only visited. Because in the end, "home is just another word for you."<br /><br /><i>Nah, that's not me, that's Billy Joel. </i><br /><br />Thank you everyone for being you. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-16729197738910763772021-12-28T12:18:00.000-05:002021-12-28T12:18:07.438-05:00Embracing the Unknown and Imperfect<p>As 2021 comes to a close, I received news that two peers of mine, one from high school and one from college, had passed away. It hit me and my sense of invincibility like a gut punch. While it's been over 30 years, in my mind, we are all still those young people ready to take on the world. I have very specific memories of both of the people. <br /><br />I ran to my photo album, filled with touchstones from the past, back in the day when we metered out photos, as a roll of film only had 24 opportunities to capture the moment. That film was not to be squandered. I'd slowly fill a roll of film, patiently drop it at the Fotomat and pick it up a few days later, or when I was really impatient, I paid a premium to have my prints following day. Often, I would optimistically get double prints on the chance that a photo came out so good that I could share a copy with the others in the picture.<br /><br />More often than not, they were pictures with eyes closed, stray hairs, or unflattering looks that today would be either airbrushed or deleted into oblivion. But for me, it was still a reminder of the time and place, and I diligently added those unflattering photos to my scrapbook, with captions, articles and other ways to preserve the memory. <br /><br />Those images are magical talismans with the ability to time travel. Unlike today, most of the moments were not chronicled with photos, but with stories, told from person to person until they became quasi-legends. Like a game of telephone, the word spread through the social circle. There were no hashtags or clever captions. There was no airbrushing or deleting. There simply was the ability to live in the moment and enjoy whatever it brought. <br /><br />In our stories and conversations, we relived those moments until they became perfectly imperfect and knowingly known. </p><p>I resolve for the coming year and onward to embrace the moments of unknown and imperfection. We owe it to ourselves to live in the moment. I'm not going to share the unflattering photos I found, at least not on this public blog, but instead encourage anyone reading this to smile at the mental pictures you have of our peers. <br /><br />Gone too soon, MK and LL, who made our collective stories better by being part of them. </p>FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-54847963083097539072021-08-24T08:11:00.005-04:002021-08-24T10:14:19.137-04:00Studio 54 closedSince the day I announced myself a writer, I have tried to gather my thoughts on paper, especially on my birthday. Birthdays are a big deal, not just my own, but also for anyone in my world. A birthday is the only day of the year that it is perfectly acceptable to be all about you. <br /><br />Today is my day. I'm going to practice what I preach and be all about me. If you're still reading, thank you for indulging me and following along. <br /><br />I am 55 today. I am just as close to 60 as I am to 50. Those mid-point birthdays always hit me mentally as I try to assess where I'm going, and where I thought I would be. My default (as a Virgo, just barely) is perfection and planning. I live to think ahead. I am punctual and I always have a plan along with two or three back ups. Rarely has life worked out the way I imagined or planned, yet I still find having a plan comforting. <br /><br />When I turned 15, we had just moved away from my childhood town to Florida. Turned out that my very first day of school at a new high school was also my birthday. I remember thinking that day how much I couldn't wait to get out of high school and be on with my life. I didn't know a soul and just wanted to be anywhere but trying to find my way around a building I didn't know. Yet, today, through the wonder of social media, I have gotten back in touch with the few friends I made during my two years there and I wonder why I was so scared. <br /><div><br /></div><div>When I was 25, I was not quite a year into our marriage. I assessed my life with mixed emotions. I thought I would be well on my way to becoming a lawyer, yet I wasn't even close. However, I had a job I loved and was starting my life with a man I loved. Becoming a lawyer never happened, though at 27 I started to pursue my Master's Degree in Labor Law to move in that direction. Yesterday, my youngest child started her first day of classes at Law School. I am so proud and happy that I have a birds' eye view to her achievements. If I'm being honest, I suppose a piece of that pride is vicarious-- don't parents always want their kids to achieve what they never did? <br /><br />When I was 35, I was a stay-at-home mom, who couldn't see far enough past the world of toddlers and play dates to imagine a future where I'd be navigating my days without children. I had a solid group of neighborhood mom friends. Our children's social circles became ours. Today, I marvel at the adults those young people have become. Next month, we are attending a wedding of one of those kids and I cannot wait to hug everyone (COVID protocol permitting), and bask in what a good job we did.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyBC80MCozW4quL8Cb_nwZK7GB8fvA8NyFt7bnTCTpex8jcNy01_syfCTDBkp5xYSFTiYePbLdUlHtKg8woC21T2ChcdhwZxNARh2nKWxbY2OssChmx8V1Fyk548xQNYJz5CKchOhdvAsO/s2048/Stylin+Card.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Kim Twin" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1394" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyBC80MCozW4quL8Cb_nwZK7GB8fvA8NyFt7bnTCTpex8jcNy01_syfCTDBkp5xYSFTiYePbLdUlHtKg8woC21T2ChcdhwZxNARh2nKWxbY2OssChmx8V1Fyk548xQNYJz5CKchOhdvAsO/w273-h400/Stylin+Card.jpg" width="273" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Card from my cousin</td></tr></tbody></table>When I was 45, I was really starting to struggle with the impending empty nest. As the parent of two teenagers, we had moved away from the safe haven of our toddler neighborhood. I was trying to be involved yet wanted also to have an identity that was mine, not as "so and so's mom". Though I knew I was coming to the end of an era, I still hadn't figured out what was next. I felt and still do that going back to school is not really what I want to do. I've discovered through years of volunteering a passion for non-profit work and a love of children. I continued to write and process my world in words. I blogged and found a modicum of success as a green living blogger. That experience helped launch my next 10 years. <br /><br />Today I am 55. I have found remarkable success in my ability to write. I have run PR campaigns for neighborhoods, I have spoken to city councils, I have traveled the globe, putting those experiences into words. But my life isn't just about what I achieve professionally. I have two children in their mid 20s taking the world by storm. I like to think I'm their #1 fan. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you read some of my earlier posts from this year, we recently relocated again. We are over 800 miles away from our hometown. If I toast with friends, it will be on video, not in person. The COVID pandemic prepared us somewhat. In fact, it set me up in such a way that the relocation didn't change my work. I still am writing for a company back in Ohio. <br /><br />As I reflect today on this mid-decade birthday, I see that 10 years can bring so many changes. Today, I'm going to create a word time capsule- what do I think will be true in 10 more years? <br /><br />When I am 65, I pray that we begin to take our planet seriously. Mother Nature is angry. We do not care for our earth and it's gross. We use, throw away, and use more. We spew chemicals and toxins into the water, the air, the soil, and our bodies. I hope we as a society become more thoughtful about the world we inhabit. I hope we work with instead of against Mother Nature. <br /><br />In the next 10 years, I hope that I have seen another continent. Maybe all of them. That's a 20 year goal. The world is huge. There is so much to see and I want to see it all. <br /><br />In the next 10 years, I hope to finally publish that book, Actually, I think that is more like a 1 year plan. I have been circling around my book for 5 years. Perhaps this is my accountability announcement. <br /><br />In the next 10 years, I hope we are are back in Ohio and retired. Retired from the rat race, but not from thinking and doing. I want to be that adventurous couple that enjoys everyone and everything that is around us. I want to spend more time with our children and whoever they bring into their lives, I want to spend more time with my bi-coastal best friends, "The Jackies". (I apparently only pick friends with the same name). I want to enjoy whatever elderly members of our family are left in 10 years. I hope many, but I am realistic. The elder generation has so much to share with us. I want to absorb as much as I can to pass along. </div><div><br /></div><div>But mostly, in 10 years, I want to just be a better version of me. I'm not as stressed at this midpoint decade as previously. I look forward to the future because just like a birthday, it's all mine. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><br />FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-51372698081653367022021-07-06T17:40:00.000-04:002021-07-06T17:40:02.131-04:00Take a chance on me<p>If you're of a certain age or a fan of musical theater, you may even have an automatic soundtrack that starts up by hearing the title of this blog. But this is about something slightly different. <br /><br />If you had followed along with my last few blog posts, we just made a huge relocation. We liquidated nearly half our possessions and moved 800 plus miles away from all that was familiar. This all transpired in late May. <br /><br />The past month has been spent unpacking boxes, putting things into place, and finding ways to replace the things we shouldn't have sold as well as get rid of more things we should have. Note to the peanut gallery: it's really difficult to know what you will or won't use until you are living in the space. <br /><br />While most of our move was efficient, we have quickly noticed those areas of inefficiency. We have significantly fewer linens to wash and fold - fewer sheets, towels, and tablecloths. We have fewer dining service ware - fewer plates, fewer glasses, and fewer serving platters. Yet, in accordance with the laws of physics, we have an equal and opposite reaction. We have added area rugs, a footstool, and cabinet hardware. <br /><br />All that mass that has either reduced or increased our space is insignificant to the hole left in our social lives. We went from "knowing everyone" to "not knowing a soul" in a 12 hour drive. <br /><br />That reality hit me like a ton of bricks and with a similarly frantic action. My brain went into overdrive. Must. Meet. People. Find. People. etc. <br /><br />I found a Facebook group dedicated to meeting new friends in our state. I made what I hoped was a friendly and welcoming post, introducing ourselves with a little background. <br /><br />Sure enough, someone from our hometown area commented and we were quickly exchanging private messages. We actually met the following evening, when we both were attending the baseball game to see our hometown team. Unfortunately, the team lost, but in the bigger picture, socializing won. <br /><br />We clicked well enough with these newly-found hometown friends and invited them to celebrate with us over the holiday weekend. <br /><br />Wow, am I glad we took a chance, and I am so glad they did, too. We met a couple that I think we have enough in common with to do things together over the next several months. We laughed about hometown things and lamented the absence of those things in our new location. We shared stories and common points of reference. <br /><br />All in all, it was a really good "first date". <br /><br />It's not easy to make friends as adults. It is even more difficult as the world emerges from the social distancing protocol of the COVID-19 pandemic. It's a complicated place and the rules can be a little confusing. <br /><br />For all that and more, I just want to say, today I am basking. I think we made some friends and it was as simple as taking a chance. Thank you B & R. <br /><br /><br /></p>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-crgQGdpZR0" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-10842630182287756602021-05-14T17:14:00.007-04:002021-08-18T15:28:27.805-04:00Sold to the Highest Bidder <p>I grew up in the country and auctions were not only a way to liquidate, but a good auction also was a social event. Locals gathered from near and far to participate in the selling of their neighbor's goods. Sort of like a garage sale on speed. <br /><br />Things came and went as quickly as it took to raise a hand. The instant gratification was the impetus behind the decision to hold an auction to liquidate most of our belongings as we navigate an out of state relocation. Alas, in this time of COVID-19 precautions, our auctioneer assured us that an online auction would still accomplish the goal. <br /></p><p>Skeptical, but committed, we signed on to use a virtual auction to liquidate. We were not necessarily comforted when the first few days netted little interest, despite our auctioneer's assurances that most of the bidding comes at the end. <br /><br />Selling your personal belongings is a strange beast. We place an inordinate value on those things, yet not enough value to keep them. In other words, we don't want them, but are seemingly astounded when nobody else does either. <br /><br />I was married in 1990. The first thing we did on our wedding registry was include fancy things like porcelain and crystal-- because if we didn't get it for a gift, we may never have it. (I appreciate a generation that is much more practical-- if we never have it? We didn't need it, right?)<br /><br />However, we proceeded to fill and furnish entire rooms dedicated to this stuff known as fine dinnerware -- buying tables, chairs, and cabinets to store and occasionally use those valued belongings. Then one year the top shelf on our cabinet collapsed, breaking most of our porcelain and crystal, but still leaving us with a room of appropriate use storage and furniture. A cabinet for our fine dishes, sans the fine dishes. <br /><br />We moved, and found ourselves with another room dedicated to the same pursuit of dinnerware. We owned the furniture, but not the accoutrements that went along with the furniture. Alas, without the appropriate numbers of porcelain and crystal, we wound up renting the necessary place settings and still gathered around, sharing meals and never noticing the plates. <br /><br />Today, we sold our cabinet and I repeatedly bemoaned the fact that it sold for pennies on the dollar. Yet in that moment, I realized, the reason I was selling it was that I no longer had anything to display in it, that I borrowed things for that once a year event I needed them. How could I possibly presume that others had the need we had over 30 years ago<u>?</u> Times change. </p><p>However, I observed the online auction closing and friends were messaging me. I am going to share a few messages, with context to lead up to my point. <br /><br />One friend is a local business person that I bought a wall clock from in the past. She would have no way of knowing (until now) that when I bought the clock, it was because we couldn't afford to fix one that was a family heirloom. My plan was to hang a clock in that space until we could fix the other one. But shortly after buying her clock, we saw that my beloved aunt had the SAME EXACT CLOCK on her wall. It felt like we needed to keep that clock. And now that same friend has a handful of things that we once owned. I look forward to hearing the accompanying stories. <br /><br />Another friend is a bit further away, but we have bonded over the years through shared life experiences and similar politics. We originally met online and felt an instant kindredship. Life made it difficult to be in the same space at the same time (or perhaps the universe really needed to prepare?). We met once in the most unexpected way possible, and were so thrilled to meet that folks still mention it. </p><p>That same friend had the winning bid on two of the things we're selling and is traveling to pick them up. I believe (she can confirm yay or nay) that the pick up is as much about our friendship perhaps more so, than it is about the "stuff". <br /><br />What I've learned in my 50+ years is that stuff is just that. It is stuff. It is the memories, not the ability to touch it, that matters. I'm saying goodbye to several dear possessions, fully realizing that there just is no place to put them in our next abode. <br /><br />I'm saying goodbye to my daughter's armoire/chifforobe. I bought it for her as a toddler for her "big girl" room. It was part of a strategic purchase of a guest bed and her trundle bed from the same furniture line. We are keeping the beds, but there isn't a ceiling in the next house tall enough. I feel like I am breaking up a family. <br /><br />I am saying goodbye to a beautiful, albeit uncomfortable, chair. It is an antique, probably once was altar furniture as the original set had another chair and a settee. I used to curl up there as a child and read, and felt very fancy. It sold to the highest bidder. <br /><br />We watched over 200 groupings of our items sell. As always, with an auction, it's shocking what people want, and what they have no interest in. We sold our lawn and garden equipment for an amount we expected. Some of the furniture was a dud. I caution anyone against buying fine furniture in a trendy color. Mauve leather recliner couches will not EVER make a comeback, despite what my 1990s sensibilities said. Also, just say no to golden oak. <br /><br />In the end, it's all just stuff. I am delighted that I can follow the stories of some of it. My one friend bought the luggage that was a traditional high school graduation gift from my grandparents. A full set of burgundy, hard sided American Tourister luggage. It has taken me around the globe, filled with hopes and dreams. My family jokingly referred to my big suitcase as "Big Red" but Big Red and I had many adventures. We explored life and now I find it apropos that I pass that torch to a friend whose own daughter graduated from high school today. <br /><br />That luggage doesn't come with <i>baggage</i>, it comes with stories. It comes with the hopes of a life well-lived and the people it touches. <br /><br />Because without the human touch? Stuff is just that. I am okay with passing it along and I hope that the next people who touch it find something worth holding onto. <br /><br /><br /></p><p><br /></p>FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-30462587852502156482021-04-27T19:29:00.002-04:002021-04-27T19:29:44.738-04:00Emptying the Nest Even More<p> In 2016, I embarked upon chronicling the emotions and changes taking place as our second child moved to college and our house truly became quiet. <br /><br />I blogged a weekly column for 18 weeks living the emotions and changes I was experiencing mentally. The intention was to write a book about it. So much for intentions. In my desire to wring every last drop of angst out of the experience, I also found employment, new projects, and a renewed sense of purpose. I put the book project on hiatus to revisit at a later date. <br /><br />Then came COVID-19. The child who emptied our nest found her job prospects in limbo with the pandemic and moved home, almost exactly a year ago. She finished her college career online and had a you-tube commencement. Frankly, it was pretty lame and a bit of a let-down for such a stellar college career. But she's been under our roof again. <br /><br />I cannot pretend to know her stress, but for the better part of this past year, we have been each other's sole companions. A nest of three, but mostly two, as she and I have been engaged in work-from-home ventures. She has been tutoring and consulting, I have been doing content creation for a local boutique marketing firm. <br /><br />Then the bomb dropped. My husband was offered a new job in another state (one we never lived) and he took it. Suddenly the nest of the past 13 years needs to be emptied. Talk about a clean sweep. We are moving 805 miles away. Time to assess everything. Marie Kondo maybe lives in a condo? I don't know but I have never looked at all our stuff with such a critical eye in my life. I am purging and emptying. <br /><br />I spoke to auctioneers who will help us liquidate. I am debating every single item we own. Wow. <br /><br />Our daughter will be heading to law school in the Fall, the year at home helped her pivot her career trajectory. Things are coming full circle in many ways. We began our marriage in a city neighborhood, on a city lot, in a 1920s home. We walked to the store, park, library, and post office. <br /><br />Thirty years later, that is our plan again. <br /><br />In a way, it will be nice to break from our current town and neighborhood. Admittedly, I still get a little sad walking around and seeing all the school spirit signs and realizing that each year takes us farther away from those days. But we are closer again to being that couple that fell in love and built a life together 30 years ago. We didn't really empty a nest, we simply shifted it to a new location. <br /><br />Yesterday things got even more real. I held a "house-cooling" (versus house warming) party to say goodbye to all my local friends. Today, our household items went live on the auction site and tomorrow the new buyers do their final walk-through. (Thank goodness they've already committed to purchasing because the house is a maze of boxes! Certainly not showroom ready.)<br /><br />As I sorted through a lifetime of memories, really trying to cull what matters, I flashed back over and over. I found notes from long-lost friends, photos of my children when they were little, so many things that sparked memories. I found an autograph book I received for my 13th birthday, that I proudly took to all my family members and had them sign. My eyes welled up as I saw the notes of so many relatives who are now gone left for that new teenager. 40+ years of loving wishes. That will be making the trip. <br /><br />Home is so much more than a roof, so much more than walls or tables, chairs or decorations. Home is where there is love. Love cannot be contained and love is not location-specific. So as scared as I am of the uncertainty, I also am confident that if the first thing I unpack is love, I will be home. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p>FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-39679169630612003992020-06-27T08:11:00.001-04:002020-06-27T08:11:43.962-04:00It's... it's... something elseSometime back, I sat with my teenage children and we watched some old videos. My oldest was about 5 and she was going to be a flower girl in a wedding. I had taken her to get fitted for the dress and was explaining the whole wedding thing to her so she would know what she was doing. My husband was playing with his camcorder when she was recapping her adventure. Her earnest voice explained how she picked out a white dress, but it was saggy baggy, but it wouldn't stay that way because they were going to sew it and make it fit her. Then she sternly looked at her little sister and said, "stop interrupting!" and looked back at the camera and said, "and then I ride with the wedding people in... not a car... not a truck... it's... it's... <i>(long pause, thinking very hard, then a definitive)</i> it's Something Else!" she proudly announced.<br />
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One of my <a href="http://bubblesdeux.com/" target="_blank">blog friends</a>, Dee Dee Mozeleski has done a glorious reflection in her space of what we wish for, what we dream about, what makes our hearts pump faster. It's all about love. I began this blog chronicling my loves after telling someone I'd been in love 20 times, or maybe 100. I love easily and generously. I don't keep track of love, I just invite it in on a regular basis. Love is drop-in company, welcome at any given moment. I will stop in my tracks for love.<br />
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While the word love is fraught with fear for many, for me, it's the only thing worthwhile. There is no point in a relationship of any sort with any person if love isn't where it begins and ends. But it's weird the baggage that comes with that word. Say "LOVE" too early or too late or not at all and suddenly it's just the wrong word.<br />
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From time to time, I even sign my posts with "Love, Me", and it's sincere. I appreciate the warmth that even words on a screen brings to my world. I love it, and by extrapolation, I love you for giving me the gift of your words. I tell my friends I love them, I tell my kids and family, I tell my dog, I tell everyone I love them. It's something that should be said early and often. I don't love from a place of fear. Love isn't what hurts. Love only heals. Don't believe me? Think about a heartbreak you've had in life. What hurts is NOT love, but the ABSENCE of it.<br />
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So why do so many folks fear love or even uttering the word? Why does something so beautiful have so many ugly conditions attached to it? Maybe that's the point - when you attach conditions to love, it dilutes its power. It becomes... not a car, not a truck, but it's... it's... something else.<br />
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Speaking for myself, I invite love into my life and I give it easily. I'd much rather have LOVE than something else.FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-67167586824564779412020-02-03T12:47:00.001-05:002020-02-03T12:51:14.764-05:00"Getting" a LifeOver the years, I've tended to internalize a lot of comments that folks have made to me over the years. As I've tried to meet an assortment of societal expectations and juggle my own wishes, the messages have been conflicting.<br />
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But one of the comments that I never have forgotten was made to me early in parenthood. My husband and I decided that I would stay home and leave my job. I had worked for someone else from the time I had turned 15, so this was not an easy decision personally, and it was fraught with those messages about women that we cannot help but hear, both positive and negative.<br />
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Shortly after our children were born, we built a house in the suburbs. I found myself with little outlet. Most of my fellow moms in the neighborhood worked outside the home and my time never seemed to belong to myself.<br />
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I carved out an hour a week to go to a stained glass making class. It was something that had always fascinated me and I just wanted to learn the art. Now while churches will never call me to complete a window, I made a very simple replicate of a Frank Lloyd Wright design to hang in our entryway.<br />
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One of my friends upon seeing my new hobby remarked, "You really need to get a life."<br />
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I never forgot how that remark stung and how quickly we are to judge how someone chooses to spend their time.<br />
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That entire exchange came back to me today as I researched the right way to make French baguette bread. It's a time-intensive process, though I imagine with practice, it would be as easy as riding a bike. However, beginning last night at 7 PM, when I mixed up the starter, until today, after 12 PM, as I wait for the finished product, I've invested a chunk of time in making these baguettes.<br />
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That little voice kept echoing, "You really need to get a life."<br />
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I recoiled a bit, as the past few years have been exactly about that. After raising our children, the younger who left for college in 2016, I have fervently tried to "get a life". I have volunteered, I have worked, I have organized events, collaborated with several organizations, and successfully nominated two of my dear friends for community awards.<br />
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Today, as my bread was baking, those mean-spirited, soul-sucking, esteem-crushing words reverberated as I waited for the bread to finish.<br />
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Then I realized, I have a life. Life isn't something we go out and "get". It's not something defined by what others value. My life is about caring for the people I love and pursuing things that make me smile. Whether that be making a stained glass window, raising money for a worthy cause, praising my friends for their talents, or making three long skinny loaves of bread to share with my friends...<br />
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I have a life, thank you very much.<br />
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And if you're nice to me? I'll share some of that bread that I made.<br />
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"If I survive, I will spend my whole life at the oven door seeing that no one is denied bread and, so as to give a lesson of charity, especially those who did not bring flour." ~ Jose Marti<br />
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<br />FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-91077075663089205822019-12-01T09:45:00.000-05:002020-02-04T08:34:17.329-05:00Looking past the pictureOne of the frequent criticisms of social media is how perfect and flawless everyone makes their lives look, and how that portrayal can cause serious anxiety and stress if your own life doesn't match up.<br />
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My family has often joked that I don't know any short stories, but for a long time now, I've enjoyed using social media to tell the story, citing that I saved 1000 words by just posting a picture. But a picture doesn't tell the entire story, so forgive me for going back to my long-winded ways. It's the only way you'll know the story behind this year's Christmas tree photo.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWcRWlrC-DiTuyQrED9oeRsE2ZIPh3Agj3d639rqsMr-g7JX63NDe6SdHVnlJrQaA69eILc2icl-BLfO4ZGM2yE3Ew3FZd36TJWk2kBJT1nGMXEyGcU9k1AmoSqK-IKA_vdowaPFZZhe8_/s1600/image000002+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; clear: left; color: #0066cc; float: left; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWcRWlrC-DiTuyQrED9oeRsE2ZIPh3Agj3d639rqsMr-g7JX63NDe6SdHVnlJrQaA69eILc2icl-BLfO4ZGM2yE3Ew3FZd36TJWk2kBJT1nGMXEyGcU9k1AmoSqK-IKA_vdowaPFZZhe8_/s400/image000002+-+Copy.jpg" width="300" /></a><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWcRWlrC-DiTuyQrED9oeRsE2ZIPh3Agj3d639rqsMr-g7JX63NDe6SdHVnlJrQaA69eILc2icl-BLfO4ZGM2yE3Ew3FZd36TJWk2kBJT1nGMXEyGcU9k1AmoSqK-IKA_vdowaPFZZhe8_/s1600/image000002+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>We are using the current tree for the 13th year in a row. Last year, as the joints got weaker and the artificial tree was shedding more and more needles, it was beginning to look ragged. The pre-lit lights were a thing of the past, as they stopped working around year 2 or 3, but the tree was perfectly good, so we would use our own strands of lights. We decided last year when we took it down, that we would try to get one more season out of it, so I decided that I would like to flock the tree to give it a little more bulk and hide the bare spots that had shed needles.<br />
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Pinterest and YouTube to the rescue. After reading several articles about how easy it was to flock a tree, and watching video demonstrations, I chose the product and rolled up my shirt sleeves. The articles suggested that it was a job best done outdoors, but with unpredictable weather in Ohio, I opted for the garage.<br />
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The procedure is fairly straightforward. You mist the sections of your tree with plain tap water, sift the white flocking powder onto the tree, and then mist again to set the powder.<br />
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All while sporting a Martha-Stewart-esque smirk of what a good thing it is.<br />
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About three weeks ago, I commandeered our garage, drop cloth in tow and started to flock the tree. Soon, the garage was filled with a fine white mist, making the space look like a haunted house fog machine. Then I understood why the instructions suggested that I should probably be wearing goggles and a dust mask.<br />
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As I set the flocking to the branches, it did indeed stick pretty well. To everything. Including the soles of my shoes, about 1/4 thick of white paste-y goop on them. Nevertheless, I was committed at this point. Section by section, I flocked and made junior high jokes, about what a flocking mess it was, and what the flock, etc. Finally, I was finished. The instructions recommended that I let the tree dry at least 24 hours, I opted for 48, determined not to haul the mess into the house. Hubby was unhappy enough with the garage mess in his man-space. Forty-eight hours later, again with a determination to contain the mess outside the house, I took the leaf blower to the sections, hoping to blow off any loose flocking. (that wasn't part of the instructions).<br />
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Satisfied that all the loose flock was gone, I carried the sections into a spare bedroom until I was ready to decorate the tree. There the sections lounged in their snow simulated glory until Friday, for the day after Thanksgiving decorating.<br />
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It was as if Jack Frost took a page from Hansel & Gretel and left a trail of flock as I carried the sections to the living room. As I assembled the tree, I started to cough and wheeze and remembered the dust mask. Every time we touched a branch, our living room simulated a snow globe. We realized that putting a lot of lights on the tree would probably create 8-10 inches of living room snow, so we opted for a handful of big LED lights.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiujVzr7A5yw-QOpB7QMeyW3EeTsiBJaohblynQjixvBDJJfNVk54YwYK2oEsZJTyxLbzS8mel1YjLVUi0qtFV48FBvVq2Jngh98YbqRKguBSsaRnG6q36vu2CHr1xxaVqqqW1-ponk_77T/s1600/image000001+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiujVzr7A5yw-QOpB7QMeyW3EeTsiBJaohblynQjixvBDJJfNVk54YwYK2oEsZJTyxLbzS8mel1YjLVUi0qtFV48FBvVq2Jngh98YbqRKguBSsaRnG6q36vu2CHr1xxaVqqqW1-ponk_77T/s400/image000001+-+Copy.jpg" width="300" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiujVzr7A5yw-QOpB7QMeyW3EeTsiBJaohblynQjixvBDJJfNVk54YwYK2oEsZJTyxLbzS8mel1YjLVUi0qtFV48FBvVq2Jngh98YbqRKguBSsaRnG6q36vu2CHr1xxaVqqqW1-ponk_77T/s1600/image000001+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></a>My husband brought the shop vacuum in the house trying to keep up with the indoor blizzard but as the exhaust from the shop vacuum hit the tree, more snow flew as he was cleaning up the initial flurry.<br />
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Our junior high flock jokes stopped being funny and we possibly mispronounced flock, substituting a "U" for the "LO". Cursing and sweating, coughing and wheezing, and trying to contain the mess, I resembled a "Before" image for a Head & Shoulders dandruff control advertisement.<br />
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If you've read this far, I appreciate your dedication to the whole story as much as I was dedicated to finishing what I started. At one point, I almost ran out and bought the new tree, but sometimes you are so far into an adventure, that you must stay the course.<br />
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I do like the way our tree looks and I am grateful that we no longer have a dog to brush by the tree with every prancing footstep. It's a perfect storm waiting to happen.<br />
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I will never again flock the halls, the tree, or any other part of our decorations. The irony when you really step back? We get so caught up in appearances that it's easy to forget that there probably wasn't a whole lot of snow the first year in Bethlehem, and there certainly weren't baubles and beads hanging off tree branches.<br />
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Instead, was something more precious and beautiful than all the gold, frankincense, and myrrh in the world.<br />
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Instead, there was a promise.<br />
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<i>"When they saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy." </i>~Matthew 2:10.<br />
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<br />FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-6942571197153516572019-08-19T16:42:00.001-04:002021-08-18T16:37:43.138-04:00Wisdom from the past<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been thinking about my Grandma Ree today, my grandmother on my mom's side. Today is her birthday, 5 days before mine. She was born 105 years ago, in 1914.<br />
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When I was a little girl, I used to go and spend the week of Easter Break with her. Grandma was a devout Catholic, and every day we would go to the Stations of the Cross and say the Rosary. But we also would make cookies and play cards and visit.<br />
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Grandma Ree was always a widow in my eyes. My grandfather died before I was born, and she was this strong, fiercely opinionated woman who did everything she could for the people around her.<br />
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When I was about 6, she moved with my Uncle and his family to Texas, when he had a job opportunity. After that, we didn't have our Easters together anymore, but she would come up every summer for a month and about every other Christmas. And like a good granddaughter, I took up my rosary beads during those times, and she took up Ouija Board games with me.<br />
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We always called her "The Yellow Rose of Texas", because, within a few years of moving to Texas, my uncle and his family moved back, but Grandma stayed. She had made quite a life for herself in Arlington. She worked as a housekeeper and nanny for several members of the 1970s Texas Rangers baseball team, including relief pitcher Sparky Lyle and third baseman Buddy Bell. We had so much stuff that they'd autograph for us. I wish I had realized the value to future collectors. In the day, we just shrugged.<br />
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Anyway, over the weekend, I was cleaning (something I've been doing a lot more of these days for some reason) and discovered a perfectly formed letter that she sent me on my 14th birthday.<br />
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It was right after my parents divorced and from a distance, she sensed my struggles and would send me the most heartfelt letters.<br />
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Here is an excerpt from 1980 to her 14-year-old grandchild,<br />
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<i>"Dear Kim, The events of these past few years have forced you to grow up much faster than I would have liked. You are now faced with new responsibilities. You have matured much this past year and I feel certain you are quite capable of handling whatever life hands out to you.<br /><br />Learn to sift out the bad things and adhere to all that is good.<br /><br />It is my sincere prayer that your character will be flawless, that your heart will be full of love for your fellowman, and that you find peace of heart...</i><br />
<i><br /></i> <i>(left out the part about going to church and saying the rosary...) </i><br />
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<i>Grandma is proud of all your past achievements and will be cheering you on to a brighter and more secure future.<br /><br />Remember we all love you. Stay sweet and lovely always.<br /><br />God Bless You, Grandma Ree"</i><br />
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I just want Grandma to know, I found her letter yesterday and I think her prayers were mostly answered. She was so wise. Thank you for all the love over the decades and happy birthday to our beautiful yellow rose of Texas.<br />
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We all love you, too, Grandma Ree.<br />
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<img alt="Yellow Rose, Flower, Nature" height="638" itemprop="contentURL" src="https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2013/10/16/16/59/yellow-rose-196393_1280.jpg" style="border-image: none; border: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 30, 0.3) 0px 1px 3px; color: #333333; display: block; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; height: auto; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0px; position: relative; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; width: 100%; word-spacing: 0px;" width="960" /><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
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<br />FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-29170387476769196892019-08-02T18:10:00.003-04:002019-08-02T18:14:00.363-04:00The happiest day of my lifeI'm looking forward to a special weekend. Both our children now live out of state, but tonight they both are heading back to the homestead for the weekend for a special wedding.<br />
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I've come to increasingly appreciate those snippets in time when we are all together, because they become more rare with time. We gave our children wings. we must watch them fly.<br />
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But this weekend is special. A young lady, who I've known since she was 2, when her and her mom were in our preschool "Twos Class" at our church, is getting married. Just as becoming friends with a fellow mom was a milestone, seeing the first of our Twos Class marry is another milestone.<br />
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While I contemplate "I'm old", I simultaneously consider, "Wow, I've watched the generation grow up!".<br />
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In 2007, my grandmother was 94 years old. We had just relocated to a new home, less than a month prior. It was late October. I hadn't taken photos of the house, but hoped to have them in time for Christmas. Other scattered family members were in town to visit, so we had an impromptu reunion at her assisted living facility. It was an "Indian Summer" type of day. We sat outside in the sunshine, several generations visiting. My oldest was 12 years old and practicing her knitting, which I had taught her from the way Grandma had taught me.<br />
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Grandma was so delighted to see her great-granddaughter knitting. In fact, every moment of that afternoon was so delightful that her announcement at the end of our visit still resonates.<br />
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She said, "This is the happiest day of my life."<br />
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Say it again for the people in the back, At over 94 years old, having seen a lifetime of joy and sorrow, that moment, she confidently announced it. "This is the happiest day of my life."<br />
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I never have forgotten her words. They were spoken the last time I saw her alive. On her HAPPIEST DAY.<br />
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I've thought about that a lot since that day. I have no doubt that she had many happy days. I know she did. She had 4 children, a wonderful husband, and not so modestly speaking, terrific grandchildren. She was our matriarch and she was adored. She had celebrated births, weddings, and accolades. She lived an incredible life.<br />
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Yet, somehow, that particular day, she said, was "The Happiest Day of her Life."<br />
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Then I realized, she just grew happier. If you were not happy yesterday, you would be today. If you found a reason to be happy each day, it stands to reason, that each day would be the happiest day of your life.<br />
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Grow happy, increase joy, love your life.<br />
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Because if you're like my grandma, you can announce with sincerity, "This is the happiest day of my life."<br />
<i><br />I dedicate this post to my grandmother, Gertrude. She was amazing and I strive to live each day to be happy. I'll always miss you, Grandma. You are the queen. </i><br />
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<br />FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-5436863800528383342019-05-14T17:37:00.000-04:002020-02-04T08:36:43.471-05:00Is there an answer? Today, I spent the day in an inner-city classroom teaching 4th-grade students the basics of entrepreneurship.<br />
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We discussed some local success stories, some youth success stories, and how with a good business plan, they also can grow up to be entrepreneurs. We even discussed that 4th grade isn't too early to start and I heard ideas for babysitting, lawn mowing, cookie baking, and dog walking. I was charmed by my single-digit aged students and their enthusiasm was contagious.<br />
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I also talked to a young person with an old soul and a story that we forget is commonplace once you leave the cloistered suburban life. The story is so compelling that I want you to hear it and think about it for a while. Consider what the days and nights are like for this person who is not even 10 years old.<br />
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During a classroom break, I asked her if she was looking forward to summer. My student said that she was not sure what summer would be like, but that she would be going back and forth between her mom and dad's house. I nodded and said, I know that can be tough, my parents divorced when I was just a little older than you are.<br />
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She nodded and must have felt at ease with me because I heard a story that shocked me, but I just listened. She went on to tell me about a tremendous age difference between her parents. Her father is 25 years older than her mother. He had a stroke last year. And she said that she loves him because he does the best he can for her, but cannot do as much as he used to. She also said he has had trouble finding a job, not just due to the stroke, but also because he used to be in prison. She said that he beat a man with a baseball bat in a restaurant. I inhaled sharply upon hearing this but also didn't want to compromise her need to talk with my shock.<br />
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I asked her if she had any brothers or sisters and my well-spoken friend said she had several half-siblings. That her mom was expecting a baby in October, and then she said she hoped it would be better than her two-year-old sibling who was born at 24 weeks and spent months in the hospital.<br />
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I resisted the urge to fill in any blanks and took what she shared with me at face value. It was a stark reminder that we rarely know nor can we even begin to imagine the story behind the people we assume so much about so often. We assume that we know what the life of a student in an inner-city school is like. We assume we know solutions for families and how they should live. We assume far too much about people we know nothing about.<br />
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This is what I know. This young lady told me how she has a brother that she loves, even if she has not seen him since she was two. She said, "Because that's what family does." She told me that she loves her dad because he does his best. She said she hoped her mom's pregnancy was easier than her last one because that was scary.<br />
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As a writer who loves a good story, I wish I could have sat and talked all day with my new friend. I asked her if she ever wrote about what she saw and knew. She told me that she writes every day, and pulled out a torn spiral notebook sheet filled with tidy cursive writing filling all the lines. She had titled it, "The Story of Me".<br />
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I encouraged her to keep writing because when she was a famous entrepreneur, people would want to know her story and that some people may even want to know it before then. Like me.<br />
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And I realized, I want to tell her story. I want you to know the story of a quiet young lady, with a serious gaze and dark eyes. Just in case she gets too busy surviving to tell the world her story of an old soul. Old before her time, but filled with love and goodness.<br />
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Because we should never assume. Instead, let's hope. Let's wrap this young woman and hundreds like her around our nation in our collective optimism. But let's do more than hope.<br />
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Let's listen to their stories. Maybe, somewhere... there is an answer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8KpkN6q0Qc_CZcJpiANPRvVrD8LVJ_ujt-jqxA63a3hMmyd7ssyAzndWDDH_YyBC9umUXauLjipdiDWDRENPazQFy9xn8toH9xU_hX5Fj36NjugLvUr2seljy-q3V24NgrO-TbXWtaAUg/s1600/school-bus-600270_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: left; color: #0066cc; float: left; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></a><br />
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<br />FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-68307259504597614732018-04-13T09:00:00.001-04:002018-04-13T16:27:58.373-04:00Privacy versus intimacyI used to often muse about life and share my thoughts on a daily blog. It was under a pen name so that I didn't reveal myself to folks and let them know what I was "really thinking".<br />
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It's interesting how much that concept has changed in the 10 plus years since I did that. Privacy is seemingly compromised. We worry that someone may learn too much about us. I wonder why that has become a concern. I understand that is a little creepy and takes some adjustment to the fact that strangers know us. Yet, I liken it to the advent (in my lifetime) of caller ID. How disconcerting it was to have someone answer the phone with your name! Hi Kim, they would say.<br />
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I wonder why being familiar with each other is considered a taboo. Why is that uncomfortable? Why do I shudder at the idea that someone may have a reason to talk to me because they know we have common interests?<br />
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The opposite of privacy is intimacy.<br />
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Think about that for a moment.<br />
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If you aren't private, you are intimate. Which do you prefer?<br />
<br />
Do you prefer being in a room of strangers or a room of friends? Do you prefer something that will facilitate conversation or for it to grow organically, albeit awkwardly.<br />
<br />
Personally, I've learned how much I appreciate social media because I have conversation points when I run into someone I don't see as often.<br />
<br />
"Oh, I saw your post about such and such... tell me more!"<br />
<br />
"Your trip looked wonderful, what was your favorite part?"<br />
<br />
"What did you like at X restaurant?"<br />
<br />
We are so quick to vilify social media without realizing the social capital it gives us. Personally, I prefer intimacy to privacy.<br />
<br />
I'm strong enough in my convictions that if a marketer buys my data on the guise of pretending intimacy, I can make up my own mind, without seeing an advertisement.<br />
<br />
We stress about the wrong things. This huge concern over privacy is akin to saying, "I don't want people to know me."<br />
<br />
I'm more about intimacy.<br />
<br />
Know me, read what I say, and tell me what you think.FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-20441722054778333942018-02-14T07:22:00.000-05:002018-02-14T07:22:30.948-05:00Don't Cry for Me, Argentina! Back in December our family took a multi-generational trip to Budapest and this photo was taken on a walking tour of the city. It is entered in a contest to win a trip to Argentina! I would be honored to have your support. Just a simple Facebook "like" is all you need to do to vote for this photo.<br /><br />Thank you in advance!<br />
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/en.trip.me/photos/a.902935649831705.1073741884.218647211593889/902935773165026/?type=3&theater" target="_blank">Click to like this photo! </a></h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVE8RIakIpgE71T0nYzsUghL39L879NVV4yifUcls9CvjXRJyKuW1GVYrQRJgKI37hg7kdxU1rJBIo7ZSGjMhAqT0ZOno0ljmlKLj-zN9Gk0AWRzcsaY5xtoV9bhd5AsMjOWuyKrq_WTSL/s1600/Budapest.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVE8RIakIpgE71T0nYzsUghL39L879NVV4yifUcls9CvjXRJyKuW1GVYrQRJgKI37hg7kdxU1rJBIo7ZSGjMhAqT0ZOno0ljmlKLj-zN9Gk0AWRzcsaY5xtoV9bhd5AsMjOWuyKrq_WTSL/s640/Budapest.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-80117553878489820192017-11-21T09:12:00.003-05:002017-11-21T09:12:58.988-05:00Just another #MeToo storyWho hasn't seen that one? <br /><br />My early career was in retail and it was a busy environment. There were so many times I felt uncomfortable about the comments made by the men. We women shrugged it off, said we should be flattered, or felt prude and uncool if we expressed offense. <br /><br />I was in college at the time and my manager was sitting in the back of the office watching me from behind as I waited on a customer. After the customer left, he asked me if I had been a cheerleader in high school. I was the furthest thing from that, so I looked at him with a baffled expression. He said, I couldn't help but notice how toned and muscular your legs are. I bet you would have been something to watch. <br /><br />I never wore a skirt to work after that. He even remarked on that. My co-workers used to tease me that they wanted me to wear a skirt again so that he would be in a good mood. <br /><br />That was only one time I felt uneasy. I had another manager who had the least subtle way in the world of trying to look down my blouse. He was tall and would come and stand next to me while I was doing paperwork, glancing down my shirt.<br /><br />I talked to a trusted male and he said something like, "It's only harassment if you don't want the attention, so don't dress in a way that asks for attention." Victim blaming at its finest. Especially since what I was wearing was the dress code that the company dictated. Unless I bound my chest or butt, there was no way to conceal what was underneath my clothing. <br /><br />Over and over, I felt like my appearance and not my professionalism was how I was evaluated at work. At one point, someone higher up invited me to lunch to discuss a possible promotion. He tried to kiss me at the end of the lunch and I awkwardly turned it into a very weird hug. He called me the next day and asked if I would be interested in attending an out of town conference that would offer some good networking opportunities for me. The whole incident made my skin crawl. But I never said anything. (I didn't go to the conference, either).<br /><br />Shortly after that, I became pregnant with our first child. I thought long and hard about whether I wanted to continue working and truthfully, I think part of the reason I walked away was that I didn't think my career would go forward if I wasn't willing to be a plaything. <br /><br />Fast forward to middle age, restless housewife. I've reached the point in my life that I am more or less invisible. At 51 and a little chubby, I don't get cat-calls and I don't worry that I'm only getting noticed because I have cleavage or nice legs. And that feels a little weird, too, if I'm being honest.<br /><br />What makes me even happier? My oldest is now a college graduate. She experienced a "MeToo" moment and was outraged. OUTRAGED! I was so proud of her for not being confused or thinking she had done something wrong. <br /><br />Progress, albeit slow, but progress. <br /><br />Women, speak up. <b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-71505987229773383252017-11-14T09:43:00.000-05:002019-08-18T09:12:48.831-04:00Capsule Wardrobe for 10 Days in the Winter<a href="https://www.getyourguide.com/paris-l16/eiffel-tower-climbing-experience-t125360/?partner_id=CIGBCV6&utm_medium=online_publisher&utm_source=kimurig%40hotmail.com&placement=content-top" target="_blank">Our family is spending time away this winter</a>. We will be reuniting with Baby Bird #1 as she finishes her final study abroad program in Europe. She has been there four months. We organized a family trip as a final send off to the exciting new world awaiting her.<br />
<br />
We typically travel in the summer so room for clothing hasn't ever been much of an issue. Shorts and sandals take up a lot less room than sweaters and boots. I've done some traveling and have compiled several tips, but this was a new challenge for me.<br />
<br />
I want to leave a lot of room in my suitcase for whatever items my daughter has accumulated in her four months as well as picking up souvenirs. (Tip: Take a larger suitcase than you need and fill the empty space with bubble wrap for any delicate souvenirs you may pick up). Additionally, I am pretty stringent about not exceeding the airline weight limit of 50 pounds for two reasons. Who wants to lug a heavy bag around and who wants to pay that extra fee? Not I, said the Mama Hen.<br />
<br />
I've got myself organized. I researched quite a bit and realized that my staple wardrobe of blacks and tans will work quite well. I did have to pick up a few items to round out my capsule, but in the interest of saving money, I shopped <a href="https://refer.swap.com/s/kimurig" target="_blank">Swap.com</a> to find secondhand items. I love shopping Swap because it's easy to filter size, brand, and item of clothing and the selection is huge. The link I've added contains a referral code and you will save 20% off your first purchase. I also purchased one of my items from a local friend's boutique, <a href="https://amberlynn.stevierep.com/" target="_blank">Shop Stevie</a>. Versatile & comfortable clothing. <br />
<br />
I've stuck to neutral colors, with a smattering of patterns, and a few colorful pieces for some pizzazz. I also will be swapping out statement accessories to mix it up. Essentially, I have 3 slacks, 5 tops, 5 vests/cardigans/blazers, and 2 scarves.<br />
<br />
Without further ado, this is what I'm packing for our 10 day trip. Want to see how I'm going to dress differently each day?<br />
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Itemized clothing list: (see captions for what is mixed and matched)<br />
<ol>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://refer.swap.com/s/kimurig" target="_blank">White long sleeved t-shirt</a></div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://refer.swap.com/s/kimurig" target="_blank">Cream long sleeved t-shirt</a></div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://refer.swap.com/s/kimurig" target="_blank">Heather grey turtleneck sweater</a></div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Black sleeveless t-shirt</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://refer.swap.com/s/kimurig" target="_blank">Black & white striped t-shirt</a></div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Silk blouse in muted tans & greys</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Black pull on slacks</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Tan pull on slacks</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Black & white herringbone patterned leggings</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Tan & black blazer</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Black sweater vest</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://refer.swap.com/s/kimurig" target="_blank">Red cardigan</a></div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Grey draped cardigan</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://amberlynn.stevierep.com/" target="_blank">Tan draped cardigan</a></div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Black & blush patterned infinity scarf</div>
</li>
<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Turquoise fringed wrap scarf</div>
</li>
</ol>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWS9BeEh0CWFEgHQwxoguL40rWR3QXAAAq9mRJcAzWyi_R9bvj5Fk9KyB6venzxP4_3l1e7ywK6IZbp_JtF_qbB0wqqtPfey56710ouj0gzk39w4Sq208VZpq3QUU7ls7cNol9MoA0W52J/s1600/9and10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWS9BeEh0CWFEgHQwxoguL40rWR3QXAAAq9mRJcAzWyi_R9bvj5Fk9KyB6venzxP4_3l1e7ywK6IZbp_JtF_qbB0wqqtPfey56710ouj0gzk39w4Sq208VZpq3QUU7ls7cNol9MoA0W52J/s400/9and10.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">l to r, (3, 11, 9 and 10, 4, 7)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0SQMuBG4l7TlRNe0yfTmX1zoRLVRXmOM2jJFaQcJoJH38Vf98kJ_j461b9UkAmB4tObmHMU4jYW0zAjMIgxvVbpRgJIoP9UadIc6eTetfU4vuGJLJrju4JgjbIuflqH2-_-lAba5yo_rP/s1600/5thru8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0SQMuBG4l7TlRNe0yfTmX1zoRLVRXmOM2jJFaQcJoJH38Vf98kJ_j461b9UkAmB4tObmHMU4jYW0zAjMIgxvVbpRgJIoP9UadIc6eTetfU4vuGJLJrju4JgjbIuflqH2-_-lAba5yo_rP/s400/5thru8.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">l to r, (2, 12, 8) (6, 14, 8) (9, 13, 1) (5, 12, 7)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhobxqTNxlPgWPtNTVtXqTuOn8PmfG5FMSjxPsAprjpT9HQ3aKFIpi0gB-96L7-Kbbx4PGaTvberj3GuopTsNnrRK5M2YYqp8VQxB6v-PGgJFw63zdKxzGDmLGpRm_HDsCBwgDu8aKzvX3Y/s1600/1thru4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhobxqTNxlPgWPtNTVtXqTuOn8PmfG5FMSjxPsAprjpT9HQ3aKFIpi0gB-96L7-Kbbx4PGaTvberj3GuopTsNnrRK5M2YYqp8VQxB6v-PGgJFw63zdKxzGDmLGpRm_HDsCBwgDu8aKzvX3Y/s400/1thru4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">l to r, (1, 16, 9) (3, 7) (2, 10, 8) (4, 7, 13, 15)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I also have a few wild card items not shown: a knit dress that rolls to nothing, pajamas, a swim suit for the hotel, shoes (short black boots and a pair of hiking shoes), socks, and undergarments. I am also bringing a set of long johns for layers on cold days and a roll up puffer jacket. I will follow up with a photo of my fully packed suitcase before we leave. </div>
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Can you think of other ideas to mix 'n' match? Maybe I'll stay longer! </div>
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FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-6238898077624465762017-08-28T10:19:00.001-04:002020-06-27T08:12:34.615-04:00Turns out... <div style="text-align: center;">
Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. ~John Lennon</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Last August, I began a noble journey of "getting used to the empty nest". It was to be a weekly digest of how I was feeling each week I didn't have a child at home. <br />
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I diligently blogged each week and reached the end of my prescribed time frame. I had a tidy outline of 18 weeks to correspond with 18 years. At the end of 2016, I wrapped up my blog series and set about the book process. I interviewed experts and specialists. I talked to beta-readers, I solicited feedback, I had a publisher lined up, I was ready to market, and then... <br />
<br />
I stopped. <br />
<br />
I didn't do a thing. Not a single thing.<br />
<br />
I took my notes and curled them into a makeshift telescope, peering into the unknown. <br />
<br />
You see, I wasn't nearly as "ready" as I told myself I would be. <br />
<br />
I had a lot of things I was still working through. That is the beauty of growth. You don't get to anticipate the changes. They just appear to you.<br />
<br />
A year later, I am pondering all the changes the universe put in my path. Adjusting my perspective and trying to make peace with the phrase, "Be Careful What You Wish For". I actually did find a job. I am working with children non-stop and all the minutiae that accompanies it. I am picking up, cleaning up, straightening up, up, up, up up it seems, as I keep a space tidy for their consumption.<br />
<br />
I reflect on the things I was truly missing because surely I wasn't missing the continual stage setting and straightening for children to discover. I just finished 20 some years of that. This forces me to dig deeper and figure out what really is happening.<br />
<br />
It's about the passing of time. When your children are home, you are so busy with them that everything seems to swoosh by with a barely imperceptible breeze. And yet, in the midst of that immersion, nothing stops.<br />
<br />
I think the empty nest syndrome, while part of the mourning of a sense of purpose, is also about the reckoning of time that flew by. Somewhere in the past 20 years, seemingly insurmountable losses have piled up. In my own universe, I lost grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, and parents. The gradual nature that such losses accrue hits like a sledgehammer upon reflection.<br />
<br />
I've found myself remembering almost as often as I breathe, with a borderline irrational fear that if I stop remembering, it will no longer exist. I don't want to forget all the beautiful people who went before me, I don't want to forget the people who touched my world. I dread the memory fade of things that impacted me.<br />
<br />
It's a delicate balance of remembering the past, staying in the present, and anticipating the future. I'm discovering that during the year-long breathing process.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
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FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-66251575225832098972017-08-24T13:30:00.001-04:002017-08-24T13:30:59.046-04:00Area 51-- the Empty Nest series continuesIt seems apropos that on the day I end my 51st trip around the sun, I post about the theorized site of aliens visiting Earth. The previous year of my life certainly has had moments of other-worldliness. I've felt like an alien in the story of my own life as I've adjusted to several rapid fire changes that seemed to have crashed into my world like a comet.<br />
<br />
Today, I revisit the story I began to write a year ago about <a href="http://freshfreeemail.blogspot.com/2016/08/the-nest-has-emptied-week-one.html" target="_blank">surviving the empty nest</a> and finding myself again. It's been a year of searching and self-reflection, a year of discovery. Something I realized in this past year as I've slowly shed the pounds I picked up in middle age is that I've begun to shed some of the emotional baggage and angst as well.<br /><br />A year ago today, I was wringing every last ounce of emotion out of feeling so lost and confused. My menopausal, empty-nest, lost-a-parent, just-was-invited-to-the-AARP self was in a tailspin. I blogged each week through the end of the year with the intent of turning those 18 weeks of reflection into a book.<br /><br />I set out a timetable to deal with everything and set about it with utmost efficiency. But I was rushing myself and the process, and I hit a wall. I decided to set everything aside and just let it age gracefully. <b></b><br />
<br />
I wasn't done telling the story or discovering who I am. I wasn't quite ready to look past my empty nest. I thought about who I am and what I need to feel fulfilled. Now I'm ready to explore more about surviving the empty nest, because I indulged myself with the gift of reflection and time.<br />
<br />
As I glance out my window at the changing leaves, through the bouquet of flowers, I realize I'm ready for change, too.<br /><br />Stay tuned as we continue the journey together. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdJw9GSPhQRuYCOnC7aX1lw1XXeU6gGYtsLHpuDpdTjOlL4brVeriuQ0IbD9sk67kFl-v4sx6lpO72Qc-ppazKla-xtuWdTk4hB0v5iYHXs9c_3HOuwGOq7xNqr1VrdHJESh84NWrgE6hN/s1600/DSCN1446.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdJw9GSPhQRuYCOnC7aX1lw1XXeU6gGYtsLHpuDpdTjOlL4brVeriuQ0IbD9sk67kFl-v4sx6lpO72Qc-ppazKla-xtuWdTk4hB0v5iYHXs9c_3HOuwGOq7xNqr1VrdHJESh84NWrgE6hN/s320/DSCN1446.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-86062301926412002772017-05-25T14:39:00.000-04:002017-05-25T14:39:10.077-04:00Ask me anythingOne of the ways I fill my time as a freelance writer and lover of children is by substitute teaching. When my client load is low or my need to be surrounded by sticky little hands and whiny voices is untapped, I accept opportunities to substitute teach. <br />
<br />
I jest a little. I thrive on being around children and feed off their energy and curiosity. My imagination runs wild as I glimpse faces from the past. There is a little boy who could be a dead ringer for my now 19 year old daughter's second grade best friend. There is another little boy who could be my little nephew. I see these faces and smile thinking of young friends I adored from a different time and place. <br />
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Inevitably, at the end of the day, we've done all our work and there is time, usually only about 5-10 minutes, because I'm pretty good at sticking to and following the schedule. That 5-10 minutes can seem endless if you aren't ready for it. <br />
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Additionally, as a substitute teacher, you don't even know their regular routine or where the teacher keeps the "bag o' tricks" for those down times. It's okay. John Berryman once wrote a quote that has become a lifetime mantra, "Ever to confess you're bored is to confess to no inner resources." <br />
<br />
That quote reminds me to dig deep. When I encounter that dead zone of <b><i>what the heck do I do now, </i></b>I fall back on a game called "Ask Me Anything". The students must raise their hands and they are allowed to ask me anything they want. Because I teach elementary school, I'm not too concerned that I won't have an answer, or at least be able to make them laugh if I don't. <br />
<br />
Typical questions include: <br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Do you have kids? (yes)</li>
<li>How many? (2)</li>
<li>Girls or boys? (both girls)</li>
<li>Do you have a dog? (yes)</li>
<li>What is your favorite kind of ice cream? (vanilla)</li>
<li>How old are you? (50) </li>
<li>Where do babies come from? (their parents)</li>
</ul>
<br />
So it goes. "Ask Me Anything" usually fills the rest of the time and keeps the kids engaged. <br />
<br />
Sometimes, however, I get a monkey wrench, typically with the follow-up question. <br />
<br />
Isn't it rude that someone asked your age? (No, I invited the question). <br />
How do the parents get the babies? (That's a question for a scientist). <br />
What if they didn't have vanilla ice cream? (I'd probably order coffee with chocolate chips)<br />Do you like cats? (the hardest one of all, because I don't usually, but meet exceptions on a regular basis). <br />
<br />
The ask me anything game is sort of indulgent for me as well because I get to assuage my ego that "I know everything". Then came the time the game got the best of me. As we were filing to leave for the day, a young girl with a twinkle in her eye asked me, "Do you teach all the subjects?" (yes). She smirked and said, "Well that means you teach science, so you can tell us how the parents get the babies." <br /><br />Just then the bell rung and the bedlam of getting the bus ensued. <br /><br />I learned the meaning of saved by the bell. <br /><br />But in the spirit of the game, I now invite my readers... "Ask Me Anything". <br />
I might even answer. <br />
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<br />FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-21555156270553619152017-03-20T15:46:00.003-04:002017-03-20T15:46:33.818-04:00First Day of School/SpringIt is only apropos that I find myself composing today's post on the first day of Spring. I have filled so many of my days with obligations that I hadn't been able to accept many substitute teaching jobs. In fact, the last time I was called and could accept was back in September. <br /><br />But last night, around 9 PM, my phone rang and I was asked if I could teach today. I hesitated for a moment, as I was supposed to meet a friend for lunch, but I also knew that my friend would understand and we could reschedule. I was giddy as I said yes, I would be there, knowing that I would spend my day with a roomful of young people. <br /><br />I am not sure how I can describe how much I love being in schools. I suppose you could call me a teacher groupie. I haven't gone through the work to be one, but I cannot really picture myself doing anything else. While I do not have a teaching degree, instead I fill my days with ways to be around young people. I am a confirmation sponsor at my church, I volunteer teach for Junior Achievement, and I coach speech and debate for a local high school. Oh, and I also babysit for my neighbors 2 mornings/week. <br /><br />In other words, if there is anyone in the world who loves being around young people, it is me. Heck my own college daughter said in a quiz about how well she knows her mom, that my favorite thing is to talk with young people. <br /><br />So today, knowing I was subbing all day, I sprung out of bed at 5:30 AM. My husband was teasing me, said, First day of school? At 50 years old, I blushed and then nodded knowingly, yes, I was going to school for the day. <br /><br />I am not sure I can appropriately explain how magical a school building is to me. It's just this place of wonder and amazement. I walk in and see so much promise. I'm surrounded with potential. I am enveloped with hope. It is a beautiful thing. Lesson plans, students, notebooks, minds, oh those minds! Such gorgeous vessels waiting to be filled!<br /><br />I am realistic. I'm a substitute teacher. I'm just a place holder who comes in and imparts a little knowledge that their regular teacher has set in place. What I do believe though is that a good substitute can bring a new energy and enthusiasm to a classroom -- a fresh face, and different perspective. There was a young man in the front of my classroom today who announced how he was in a bad mood and that I shouldn't expect anything from him. <br /><br />I looked at him and firmly said, "I expect you to do your work, because a job has nothing to do with your mood." The rest of the classroom piped in and quickly informed me that the regular teacher always makes him do stuff, even when he doesn't want to. I quickly discerned that there was more going on with this student. I think that is what a good sub does -- read the situation and adapt. <br /><br />By the end of the day, he was smiling and fist bumped him for getting rid of his bad mood. Oh yeah, and he did the work he was supposed to do. I call that a winning day. <br /><br /><br /><br />FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6020462371198312827.post-6605631022531268412017-01-03T11:41:00.000-05:002017-01-04T14:15:56.966-05:00Here they are, there they go: Week 18 (final installment)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMWNrWGVberFxL4myfpX79SKCr_if7hgdvx44eUoR1VCdxhsdaFkv57xuDyqAb34TvCwjzvNBdd68FVYMueBoDwErq4gYDU0k3V8MCMsTz9CRMAe7WQNnLq2K1g9kuGhUYxTdhsraq8Wsj/s1600/people-247459_640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="big family" border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMWNrWGVberFxL4myfpX79SKCr_if7hgdvx44eUoR1VCdxhsdaFkv57xuDyqAb34TvCwjzvNBdd68FVYMueBoDwErq4gYDU0k3V8MCMsTz9CRMAe7WQNnLq2K1g9kuGhUYxTdhsraq8Wsj/s400/people-247459_640.jpg" title="family gathering" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">The holidays got in the way of wrapping up my empty nest series. We were traveling out and folks were traveling in, our kids came home, we hosted a family get-together, we attended several family get-togethers. We need a holiday from our holiday. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As the dust settles on the holiday season for 2016, I have some time for reflection and offer some realistic observations. The past two weeks were a prospecting mission to foresee what future interactions between adult family members will be like.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: calibri;">What strikes me most profoundly is the complete lack of homogeneity, and yet, we are united by blood. Each member of our family is different and unique and at no time was that more apparent than when we were all gathered in the same space.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We saw cousins that we don't often see, and realized that as the family grows, our time commitments get more thin. We pledged to do better at keeping in touch and crossed our fingers that we make it a priority. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The greater extrapolation of an empty nest is the realization that we had several generations of families who have all experienced children becoming adults at one time or another. Yet, we still gather and enjoy spending time together. I suspect that is the truest glimpse of the future. Years ago, my siblings and I left our family nests. We still congregate with each other when we can and appreciate the family time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We hosted mom at our house and realized now it’s our turn to take care of things for her when she’s in our home. We stocked up on her favorite coffee, put extra blankets in the room, set out favorite family photos. We want to make her feel at home with the same graciousness we feel when we visit her home. </span></span><br />
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</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzJcaAVwCyWpXXY8LvQB4tdSL-_MUnxtR7PA7WAtOQ2KZkggZEVPUz5oQUs1AnaFtZ3rJgT6_IxeTT003JCQWkce4pHXFHkrUbQYtfp15jB4Tf9DYti3zJj4HvawM21ImNXHerjeJWdog/s1600/nest-1179492_640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img alt="family togetherness" border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzJcaAVwCyWpXXY8LvQB4tdSL-_MUnxtR7PA7WAtOQ2KZkggZEVPUz5oQUs1AnaFtZ3rJgT6_IxeTT003JCQWkce4pHXFHkrUbQYtfp15jB4Tf9DYti3zJj4HvawM21ImNXHerjeJWdog/s400/nest-1179492_640.jpg" title="empty nest survival" width="400" /></span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">The difference when we visit our childhood home is a built in sense of familiarity. My brother found the spot on the wall that he etched his undying devotion to a grade school crush. We walked around marveling how much smaller it seems today than when we were kids. We were threatened with punishment if we opened a door to a messy room. Though we laughed, we realized that mom's “Board of Education” still stings in our minds if not on our behinds. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We surrounded ourselves with touchstones to the past, made memories of the present, and looked forward to the future. And that is the note to close this series. I'm looking forward to the future. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>This 18 post series will be expanded upon and compiled into a book. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Projected availability is July 2017. </i></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>FreshGreenKimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12815693641933892148noreply@blogger.com0