tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5462661750471434032024-03-05T03:08:41.175-05:00c u smyle~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.comBlogger160125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-3471668169336453072009-08-19T12:08:00.004-04:002009-08-19T12:20:46.928-04:00For Everything<div style="text-align: left;">My blog has served to be a window to my writer-soul and has allowed creative expression of so many things inside of me. I have crafted memories here on the cyber pages of C U SMYLE. It's been a refreshing way to get to meet new people and grow as a writer and a reader. But, as with everything in life, there comes a time for change. And, while it saddens me to say goodbye, I realize that the time has come to close the blog. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Thank you so much for your readership, comments and encouragement. You've made this such a fun project! ;)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">*** *** ***</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to be born, and a time to die;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to kill, and a time to heal;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to break down, and a time to build up;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to weep, and a time to laugh;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to mourn, and a time to dance;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to seek, and a time to lose;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to keep, and a time to cast away;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to tear, and a time to sew;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time to love, and a time to hate;</div><div style="text-align: center;">a time for war, and a time for peace. </div><div style="text-align: center;">- Ecclesiastes 3:1-8</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-29559975013814588252009-08-17T11:45:00.002-04:002009-08-17T11:47:40.061-04:00CloseYou know when there's that thing out there that you just know if you could get close enough to it it would be so life-changing?<div><br /></div><div>....I'm getting close.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope to tell you about it soon. In the meantime, Happy Monday, friends. ;)</div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-76498590058076323992009-08-14T18:31:00.003-04:002009-08-14T18:40:48.352-04:00A One Minute PostI love the <a href="http://oneminutewriter.blogspot.com/">The One-Minute Writer </a>site and I often use it as a quick, fun creative outlet. I haven't had much time to post here lately but I wanted to share with you a response I wrote to one of the prompts on that site.<div><br /></div><div>The prompt: Create a pick-up line.<div><br /></div><div>And, so ....</div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Did you see that?</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div><i><b>Did you see how quickly I went from so-put-together and confident woman to the giddy, awkward, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">omg</span> I need to talk to you kind-of-girl when you walked into the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ro</span></b><b>om?</b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div><i><b>Please tell me that I can relax now while you buy me a drink? </b></i></div><div><br /></div><div>I should have used that when I met Mr. Smart Guy! But, instead, I was falling all over myself with this weird nervousness and the inability to create logical sentences. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">lol</span> Thank goodness he liked me anyway! ;)</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><br /></div></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-13884902761908593952009-08-11T14:55:00.002-04:002009-08-11T14:58:25.125-04:00Thoughtful Tuesday"Love isn't a feeling, it's an ability."<div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>-from the movie </i><b><i>Dan in Real Life</i></b></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-55925749061713909862009-08-06T14:16:00.002-04:002009-08-06T14:26:22.430-04:00Diary of a Young Woman: Restricted<i>September 25, 1978</i><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>I'M ON <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">RETRICKSHONE</span> for going to the library.</i></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>*** *** ***</b></div><div><br /></div><div>Apparently, I didn't hone my spelling skills until much later than this diary entry. It's funny the way I capitalized the punishment and not the action or the cause that provoked the punishment.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ahhhh</span>....just a young girl willing to risk it all to gain one more minute inside the glorious walls of a library and grab the opportunity to discover another world within the pages of someone <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">else's</span> writings.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dangerous, eh? ;)</div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-41929163603122895332009-07-31T13:53:00.003-04:002009-07-31T13:59:47.547-04:00A Boat in the Water<i>A little fiction for the day. ;) I posted this over at Pictures, Poetry & Prose with a photo prompt of a boat sitting in the harbor. Hope you enjoy it.</i><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">*** *** ***</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That brother of mine! What does he know?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Comes into town all highfalutin and showing off all of his fancy electronic toys and sleek looking car. You'd think he was a superstar on tv the way this town is acting about him. The whole town's done lost their minds! Hmph! If they even had 'em to begin with.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now, don't get me wrong, there has never been any real competition between John and I. We're just cut from different cloths, I guess. He preferred to run to the big city and become a hot-shot-whatever-he-does and I chose to stay right here and run the family boat.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I never did have much taste for wanting much out of life besides what I have...which I think is everything. My wife, my kids, a decent man's work and a roof over our head.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Well, some may say I'm simple but there's nothing like this moment right here. Ready for the first wakes out into the water just anticipating a big catch for the day.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ahhh! There ain't no salt in the city like this!</div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-59026638680574489672009-07-30T10:57:00.006-04:002009-07-30T11:24:25.323-04:00Catching Up on Thank You's<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypQsd4zKI9hfiXKQ9ZnNBhIST-g205b8PNtlYKN_PoHJYxtVJgCJIagTmis3IMV-VLPt3UgjrkLL5qmCEXFiemGLtR_Hv_ziWTnN3nwJIeXuAGWqUx2GHxI0bxQ9yffiEx2BKHuqHUKyv/s1600-h/IMG_067_blogsize.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypQsd4zKI9hfiXKQ9ZnNBhIST-g205b8PNtlYKN_PoHJYxtVJgCJIagTmis3IMV-VLPt3UgjrkLL5qmCEXFiemGLtR_Hv_ziWTnN3nwJIeXuAGWqUx2GHxI0bxQ9yffiEx2BKHuqHUKyv/s320/IMG_067_blogsize.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364273044983701714" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">Remember way back when <a href="http://cusmyle.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-am-joining-so-many-others-in-my.html">Woofstock</a> was happening and Copernicus and I were raising money for a local animal shelter? Well, I didn't formally thank those of you who donated on our behalf so I'd like to do that now, albeit a little late. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Thank you! </b></div><div><br /></div><div>We raised $130 for the Richmond Animal League which contributed to the over $9,000 that was raised that day so that animals can continue to receive love, get healthy and enjoy safe living conditions while the animals wait for their forever home.<div><br /></div><div>One of the coolest things that day was a photographer came up to us and said, "May I please take a picture of you and your dog?"<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Beaming, as any proud Miniature Schnauzer parent would be, I said, "Of course."</div><div><br /></div><div>She took a few pictures then handed me her business card and told me that my photos would be up on her website by the end of the day. I was so elated! None of my friends were with me that day to take pictures of us do the <i>Strut Your Mutt </i>walk so having a photographer take our picture was so cool!</div><div><br /></div><div>Zee, the photographer, has a pretty <a href="http://www.zee-sage.com/">amazing website</a> so please take a moment and go check it out. Don't you just love how she captured us that day? Thanks, Zee!</div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL25nsB-6xfeU2PXzqzmpQ-UWdNZ-GqMl0lvO4DHdOcMlH9fY28ZridtJttNh-EBSBglzU4VbQwr-SzyO3fwZ37Eog5VlQ4FzSrBGoGeb-AcLFavC20tbZC3GXQxJRiuWKtl9lCkF48C5L/s1600-h/IMG_066_blogsize.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL25nsB-6xfeU2PXzqzmpQ-UWdNZ-GqMl0lvO4DHdOcMlH9fY28ZridtJttNh-EBSBglzU4VbQwr-SzyO3fwZ37Eog5VlQ4FzSrBGoGeb-AcLFavC20tbZC3GXQxJRiuWKtl9lCkF48C5L/s320/IMG_066_blogsize.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364273037469808402" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div></div></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-33773498604383931082009-07-24T18:27:00.004-04:002009-07-24T18:49:50.839-04:00On the Road Again<div style="text-align: left;">In the words of Willie Nelson...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"On the road again, I just can't wait to get on the road again."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;">It's a Prius with a view! ;) </div><div><div><div><div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_HMVALFl4bBL069PyIBXTUevV15OaYdwNpmOTNCUZHMyOU_b6saiqXMeVqJQOnqr0IiPjbMuq-iJ7625kx4NGjNq7HEUDgKO9u3ZU3yUB0D0Zd6wzXmUptqpbzPVetrjyrbRmbLYuAuq/s1600-h/IMG_0784.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1_HMVALFl4bBL069PyIBXTUevV15OaYdwNpmOTNCUZHMyOU_b6saiqXMeVqJQOnqr0IiPjbMuq-iJ7625kx4NGjNq7HEUDgKO9u3ZU3yUB0D0Zd6wzXmUptqpbzPVetrjyrbRmbLYuAuq/s320/IMG_0784.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362158167791624274" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></div></div></div></div></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-79813436991270015042009-07-20T12:24:00.004-04:002009-07-20T12:45:57.439-04:00Happy MondayMonday I rise<div>with sleep in my eyes</div><div>ready to face the day!</div><div><br /></div><div>No plans made yet</div><div>I'm ready to let</div><div>The hours have their way!</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope to be</div><div>a girl - carefree</div><div>Allowing joy to stay!</div><div><br /></div><div>Sweet peace and love</div><div>a day that's full of</div><div>Contentment all my day!</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; ">Have a happy Monday, my friend! ;)</span></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-62724755566451288012009-07-18T11:56:00.001-04:002009-07-18T12:02:38.099-04:00Looking Forward<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzo6VcSqKhG9j_-xwlnH_YAd2WemBheN2WEkJ5PwUDFGkcTFsUerf8HXixFvJlRAXvdN7DwNR3kgi2qm4Kd-mcVMH6M4VSifdEILG2F0n7VnPmgMZcvDmNUNwZU6R8rAdcB0Y66ep25xd9/s1600-h/DSC03364.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzo6VcSqKhG9j_-xwlnH_YAd2WemBheN2WEkJ5PwUDFGkcTFsUerf8HXixFvJlRAXvdN7DwNR3kgi2qm4Kd-mcVMH6M4VSifdEILG2F0n7VnPmgMZcvDmNUNwZU6R8rAdcB0Y66ep25xd9/s320/DSC03364.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359831044841827442" /></a><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>What's your light at the end of the tunnel?</i></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-80614432052955507762009-07-15T14:11:00.008-04:002009-07-16T21:46:53.135-04:00Calling All Botanists!<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNKl8oXoj3bwK6lZwuUpRHmUuAiMEtpZDXcg9rDmOCT8AV2BOU8zYxq61Y2Km8S7WJoyY5BdRW8EIigg2qwkJBJcLmhX4a7kxpKJsS9XNvnGMA8TYhHMAlldf2_DVVepDhwBYAFCqUxEz6/s1600-h/DSC03413.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNKl8oXoj3bwK6lZwuUpRHmUuAiMEtpZDXcg9rDmOCT8AV2BOU8zYxq61Y2Km8S7WJoyY5BdRW8EIigg2qwkJBJcLmhX4a7kxpKJsS9XNvnGMA8TYhHMAlldf2_DVVepDhwBYAFCqUxEz6/s320/DSC03413.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358753844960717890" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Can you name this plant?</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It looks and feels similar to an aloe <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">vera</span> plant but in a smaller, wider version.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpux_6LBd8M4gpebyxY47Rm2cj_C46-rZXHdVAZAJVzGbNkSisT5azznmCmKO1qSMJ-62rfkJN_N2pKh57fxxd2aQMz-UskPwmM1QCMC5WPGTq8MSHWseX-POlCyPKg7xG5Fd_3E-vAq_H/s1600-h/DSC03407.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpux_6LBd8M4gpebyxY47Rm2cj_C46-rZXHdVAZAJVzGbNkSisT5azznmCmKO1qSMJ-62rfkJN_N2pKh57fxxd2aQMz-UskPwmM1QCMC5WPGTq8MSHWseX-POlCyPKg7xG5Fd_3E-vAq_H/s320/DSC03407.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358753065299660930" /></a><br /><div><div>It was discovered on an impromptu yet hilarious trip to Santa Cruz, CA yesterday. <a href="http://cusmyle.blogspot.com/2008/11/can-you-fix-this.html">Copernicus</a> was actually the first one to investigate the plant or ground cover or whatever it is because it was everywhere! He was in search of a place to go, if you know what I mean, and he was having a difficult time because California landscape is not what he's used to and change is not his forte. </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqkP6mNGdVZDNVmzgZ0Ahg9QWU3EhqokFOLZeRdhUnxkiKzu21NJTl8ejQ6zxkaxhFtkGreiGre_Z_zQjDWpm4Opq8Al_8tQYMvtDnAZZq8L5CmXEGGM5EtSl-u-G9ZdfHr-9b9FFtEm_j/s1600-h/DSC03416.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqkP6mNGdVZDNVmzgZ0Ahg9QWU3EhqokFOLZeRdhUnxkiKzu21NJTl8ejQ6zxkaxhFtkGreiGre_Z_zQjDWpm4Opq8Al_8tQYMvtDnAZZq8L5CmXEGGM5EtSl-u-G9ZdfHr-9b9FFtEm_j/s320/DSC03416.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358753051616505970" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>So with all the business out of the way, we stopped for a few photo opportunities.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-Yy4uHWAkA9_6M5eLfznLQrftHyxPcBIflKUXbCE98I0OCDWJkwSTb0bXdZasHA_zrpugNsvao0RyI726qxF1F7GFXk3Hj3hc1s0IovY-KaHONN8V4MPEamZW7fuaf_NjCbtv1BG8jHu/s1600-h/DSC03417.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 301px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-Yy4uHWAkA9_6M5eLfznLQrftHyxPcBIflKUXbCE98I0OCDWJkwSTb0bXdZasHA_zrpugNsvao0RyI726qxF1F7GFXk3Hj3hc1s0IovY-KaHONN8V4MPEamZW7fuaf_NjCbtv1BG8jHu/s320/DSC03417.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358753063427191074" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-c_hnyrLBlZGmA4AAtiN1k4LOsVswuEM3a28OoGJOc4xt7C4g65qSGNSDsGQxmow6X5nGNmi_GdaQH6Wg2TxiMZ7jRhjtRhzNGd37-IUPN6CZ97rdlZeZmJjoDNUvm4Bdggmkb8bBJGA/s1600-h/DSC03411.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-c_hnyrLBlZGmA4AAtiN1k4LOsVswuEM3a28OoGJOc4xt7C4g65qSGNSDsGQxmow6X5nGNmi_GdaQH6Wg2TxiMZ7jRhjtRhzNGd37-IUPN6CZ97rdlZeZmJjoDNUvm4Bdggmkb8bBJGA/s320/DSC03411.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358753853556155906" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 314px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>We were thrilled that we got to fit another hot spot into <a href="http://la-mywords.blogspot.com/">her</a> vacation! But, we only had 15 minutes to be there and had to come back to catch her flight. So...</div><div><br /></div><div>On the way back through the windy, curvy, hilly, oh-no-it's-nauseating trip, my eyes started watering. One eye started twitching. And, then, it was full blown allergic reaction. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>My eyes swelled. My throat was tight. I felt like I was going to pass out.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>After grabbing two <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Benadryl's</span> and a shower, I started to stabilize. I am still feeling some after effects today but ....</div><div><br /></div><div>I really need to know what the plant is. And, I promise, I won't touch it ever again! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">lol</span> ;)</div><div><br /></div><div><i>*** Just a quick update ***</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>My mom, a long-time Californian, let me in on what this disastrous plant is. It's called California Ice Plant and now I shall forever stay away from it. Thanks, Mom!</i></div></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-8018779871962000772009-07-09T13:21:00.004-04:002009-07-09T14:01:57.874-04:00Just Who Will You Be?<div>I picked up the book on my latest trip to the library, surveyed how small it was and then began to assess whether or not it would be worth reading. Its mere 91 pages that were bound in a 4"x6" format weren't that impressive to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>...but it was the title, not the author, that hooked me. And, so I borrowed it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I immediately found myself connected with Maria Shriver, the author, when she described certain phases of life where she lost her identity. Driven, ambitious and full of energy to accomplish much in life, she defined herself in many ways that were similar to ways that I have defined myself in the past.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Her book was written based on, and includes, a speech she gave at a high school graduation that revolved around the question,</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Just Who Will You Be?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The emphasis was on <b><i>who</i></b> not on what. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">....and I find myself in that question. I find myself feeling stripped of identities that provided me with a full sense of myself. The question of who will I be is profoundly applicable.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am no longer "busy" with </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>small children </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>or a career </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>or anything</i> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">that might appear to give me a title or a sense of purpose. And, in that regard, I think am a little lost.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This idea of <b><i>who</i></b> not <b><i>what </i></b>I will be has planted itself within me at a startling apropos time. Maybe its the springboard for my future?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Just Who Will I Be?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>"I've finally learned after all these years that I don't need to define myself with a certain job or a certain name or a certain role in order to tell myself who I am. I've learned that all my roles are simply a <i>part</i> of me - but they're not <i>all</i> of me. <div><br /></div><div>I've learned that by looking at myself apart from my roles - by softening and taking off some of the armor I put on as a child and wore my whole life - I can more clearly see and feel the people around me. Now that I'm not obsessed about whether I measure up to other people's expectations, I've found a new gentleness and kindness in myself, for myself and for others.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Just Who Will You Be</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">- Maria Shriver</div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-23836989645317338222009-07-08T14:41:00.005-04:002009-07-08T14:53:44.933-04:00UnbalancedI bought the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Wii</span> Fit right before all the packing, moving and coastal craziness started. I was so excited because I love my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Wii</span> and I had heard nothing but great things about the new <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Wii</span> Fit. <div><br /></div><div>Well, things have finally settled down so I decided it was time to begin my new workout schedule.<div><br /></div><div>Little did I know that as soon as I entered my height and weight and all of that great information, my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Mii</span> got lumpy and was given love handles. Oh! I guess that's really me ??</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Ok</span>, well...so I shook off that small insult and went through the balance game section that the system took me to. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6yCQlLd15Es2A9M5AGYiB4mPSL0ntuKDaGorDpxhn3YjIhdhfRpWyatX4uku6aNzlV7-Rw4IjoIkwSrPz9Mv-MObts1mHiH96XW-J-nNh9l7BEJVko1i0OSytzOVQy-VXZeY5S-VDv_of/s1600-h/IMG_0637.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6yCQlLd15Es2A9M5AGYiB4mPSL0ntuKDaGorDpxhn3YjIhdhfRpWyatX4uku6aNzlV7-Rw4IjoIkwSrPz9Mv-MObts1mHiH96XW-J-nNh9l7BEJVko1i0OSytzOVQy-VXZeY5S-VDv_of/s320/IMG_0637.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356162191016710626" /></a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">OMG</span>!!! How does it know that? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Agghh</span>...</div><div><br /></div><div>But, regardless of the reality checks Nintendo provided me with, I'm still a fan. I love <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Wii</span> Fit and am so glad I have it.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Wii</span>, anyone?<br /></div></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-2250306065226360552009-07-07T08:00:00.000-04:002009-07-07T08:00:36.213-04:00Thoughtful Tuesday"Not in the goals but in the transitions man is great."<div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>- Ralph Waldo Emerson</b></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-83175081352802731632009-07-05T18:56:00.006-04:002009-07-05T19:30:50.837-04:00Celebration!<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFirHE5MLOMN4LV1FZtXoxOXdLNPHgcoJVSr-1S6OVBIucFXg2-_ZT7i-GLbXVxoOEDUs99rqUa0TWRdmafLXNKFNyIrRDpdNl16HNFZxizobb-b0ZqCf_1zvg8KPgA1Vdg9_huQq9IxrK/s320/IMG_0672.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355118368068751778" /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><b>The stadium wasn't what I expected at all!</b><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>... oh, this is a single A team and not a AAA team? </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><b>There wasn't much to eat.</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>... at least for me, </i><a href="http://cusmyle.blogspot.com/2009/05/change-1.html"><i>the vegetarian</i></a><i>.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><b>I knew I was supposed to "watch out for the ball!!"</b></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>... and I was, but my rear end still became the target for said such ball??</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yes! It really did and I have quite a nice 'shiner' to show for it but thought I should spare you the visual scariness of proof. ;) <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">lol</span> Please accept this photo of the actual ball that hit me as solid proof as well as the testimony of Mr. Smart Guy who witnessed the event. </span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrqYpA58Ati0dwGpzXxz_WoE6s3ktQmOK_mvQ8A1X0tjCkfA5OmfNOPMDEgngxn_Ek_HgXp9iq_6vyCgIaVabOeJ5HgSuFllHn2AJ9mtGkXwZiKlof5PREV0cWBJu5MfmUtXY9Nto_txRS/s320/IMG_0676.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355118612989693954" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ahh</span>...but it was still a great celebration amidst those minor details. I hope yours was just as fabulous... but without a bruise on your rear end! ;)</div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-1942348264784739202009-07-04T16:21:00.005-04:002009-07-04T16:53:57.058-04:00God Bless the USA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7QKAxFZY0YFIm84DFeGGEgKv6EOVJd8gGPqavXKOwqb4nxwj5Zxf2hWeozAChYF0WCevUBz_zyJnkL9GnlFvw9U4N4vPz3EfBbJeoCefeSYdRb25A8PSvDuUfPQq6b8UgY8eCxkWL8r4W/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 100px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7QKAxFZY0YFIm84DFeGGEgKv6EOVJd8gGPqavXKOwqb4nxwj5Zxf2hWeozAChYF0WCevUBz_zyJnkL9GnlFvw9U4N4vPz3EfBbJeoCefeSYdRb25A8PSvDuUfPQq6b8UgY8eCxkWL8r4W/s320/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354704078600878290" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: georgia, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><br /></span></a><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>We already know what will happen.</i></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In just a few hours, we'll head out to enjoy our local AAA team's baseball game. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">We will cheer our team on with lots of oohs and shouts! We'll eat lots and lots of food! We'll get to know the new players and guess at whether they'll be any good. Innings will pass.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: italic; ">...and hopefully, we will have won.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">But as soon as the game ends, the fireworks display will begin. He'll take my hand and we'll sing. We'll sing loud and with all our hearts. We'll sing because we both believe in freedom and liberty. We 'll look at each other with thankful eyes that we have had the honor of defending those very things.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><i>...and, like always, I will start to cry.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia, helvetica, sans-serif; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">T</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; ">he fireworks display and blasting patriotic songs will stir up my patriotism. For it is truer than true, tears will spill down my cheeks as I sing along with a stadium full of people to Lee Greenwood's God Bless the USA, and I will mean every word I sing!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "><i>...I will gladly stand up, </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "><i>next to you </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "><i>and defend her still today. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "><i>For there ain't no doubt, </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "><i>I love this land.... </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; "><b><i>God bless the USA!</i></b></span></div></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-48805336056562542972009-06-19T10:05:00.002-04:002009-06-19T10:08:31.827-04:00Round and Round<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHtxdB5usURhlH-qCXiatYL6Rv3lb8R5hMzgjKR6QR0o3-U9bcsSsU9EoiSji-M-hQY1dw8eJk4nC2t1QNguoCLWMdXomUAQLNw3sGe3QetUFaKHTaEZMknnofaJeKGKbTEB08I9aqg0Qe/s1600-h/IMG_0561.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHtxdB5usURhlH-qCXiatYL6Rv3lb8R5hMzgjKR6QR0o3-U9bcsSsU9EoiSji-M-hQY1dw8eJk4nC2t1QNguoCLWMdXomUAQLNw3sGe3QetUFaKHTaEZMknnofaJeKGKbTEB08I9aqg0Qe/s320/IMG_0561.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349040274196346514" /></a><br />.... or what caption would you use to describe it?~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-41720804658636288262009-06-11T12:41:00.005-04:002009-06-14T09:28:49.843-04:00Clah-Clunk<div>I put the key into the lock, took a deep breath ... and twisted it to the right. </div><div><br /></div><div>The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">clah</span>-clunk of the releasing mechanism announced that I could enter while the smallest of squeaks emanated from the front door when I pushed it open and stepped inside the foyer. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was there for one fairly straightforward and simple reason; to make one last walk-through in the house to make sure we hadn't left anything behind before I signed the documents that transferred ownership to the new owners. But, instead....just as quickly as I entered the foyer, grief came tumbling all around me and memories streamed through my mind's eye and I was drenched in sobbing breaths and fast, salty tears that were a torrent down my cheeks. </div><div><br /></div><div>I stepped onto the carpeted stairs and moved one slow, heavy foot up the steps in front of the other until I got to our bedroom and stopped. I stood in the center of the room, admiring the calming celery green color that Mr. Smart Guy had picked for the wall paint, and I listened. </div><div><br /></div><div>And ... </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I heard us talking about and praying for our boys over the years. I heard us maturing and figuring out how to love each other better. I heard the last conversation we had in this room finalizing the <a href="http://cusmyle.blogspot.com/2008/12/coastal-craziness-beginning.html">Coastal Craziness plan</a> and how we knew it would be hard but we knew it was the right choice. </span></div><div><br /></div><div>But, as I stood there, I don't think either one of us knew the depths of difficulty and the emotional toll it would take on us. I closed the doors quietly shut on the room and turned down the hallway.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">**sigh**</div><div><br /></div><div>I went to the laundry room, still able to smell the fresh linen scent and I watched.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I watched <a href="http://cusmyle.blogspot.com/2008/04/4162007-shortly-after-i-woke-up-phone.html">Army Guy, in for the weekend from Virginia Tech,</a> grab his clothes off the clothes rack and head off to put them away. I saw Dan the Man open the dryer in search of his then-favorite shirt at the time to see if it was clean yet so he could wear it. I heard Theatre Dude yelling from the laundry room to see if I had washed and/or dried all of his guitar picks that might have been in his jeans pocket when I did laundry 'cause he couldn't find any of his picks. And, I could see each of our puppies on their first day with us and how we lovingly set up their crated homes in the laundry room. </span></div><div><br /></div><div>I stepped outside of the laundry room and stood on the landing and just looked at all of the open bedroom doors and both of the stairways that went downstairs. None of the rooms were ever just one boys room. The rooms have always been interchangeable and have morphed into whatever our family needs were at the time. </div><div><br /></div><div>And, I saw them become ...</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">bedrooms, offices, music rooms, guest rooms, reading rooms, foster guy rooms, Katrina family rooms and ... anyone who needed a safe place to stay for the night away from the chaos of their life kinda rooms. </span></div><div><br /></div><div>And, I could feel my heart swell with love for each person that has been in our home. I pray that their memories of staying here have made a small but lasting difference in their life.</div><div><br /></div><div>I began to descend the steps into the <a href="http://cusmyle.blogspot.com/2008/03/transformed.html">living room</a> that opened up with the kitchen. I could already see the many ...</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">birthday bashes, cancer-free celebrations, chick nights at the house, Prom pictures, Superbowl parties, Smart Guy and his friends discussing their conspiracy theories, the movies we've watched, Homecoming nights, and, most importantly and most heartwarming, the conversations we've had. The talks of politics and current events and shopping finds and new recipes and cool new bands and rock concerts and heartbreaks and conflict and careers and purity and freedom and boundaries and love and God.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Lastly, I stood in the foyer. I thought about how many times in the past years I had stood in that very spot saying <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">hello</span> or <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">goodbye</span> to people I love. And, even though I was still sobbing, a smile began to emerge on on my face. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">My family has lived a lot of life within these walls. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><div>I put the key into the lock, took a deep breath ... and twisted it to the left. </div><div><br /></div><div>The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">clah</span>-clunk of the locking mechanism announced that the door was indeed locked and I was no longer permitted to enter. <br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div>And, now it's their house. </div><div><br /></div><div>They don't know it but I prayed for them while I walked into each room of the house. I asked God that he would bless their family with the fullness of love and joy that we have found while we lived here. I asked that their pantry would always be full and they would not be hungry beyond their means. I prayed that their children would find friends in the neighborhood and that they would love going to school and learning. I prayed for the marriage ... that it would only get better in the years that they call this house their home. </div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-34091385400366477832009-06-03T23:05:00.004-04:002009-06-03T23:55:37.985-04:00GivingI saw him from a distance with a small cardboard sign in his hand even though I couldn't make out what he had written on it. He reminded me of <a href="http://cusmyle.blogspot.com/2008/12/that-man.html">that man I saw in San Francisco</a> a few months ago. This man, though, stood facing the cars that were coming in the opposite direction of where I was waiting at a stoplight. I watched him hold the sign up gingerly and wait patiently. And, I thought... <div><br /></div><div><ul><li>He looks pretty clean and well kept for a street beggar.<br /></li><li>His shoes were in fairly decent shape which is odd.<br /></li><li>His clothing wasn't ripped nor earth stained, both of which are indicators of a homeless lifestyle.<br /></li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div>I thought to myself, "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Well, he doesn't look that poor so I guess I won't give him any money</span>." And, then... I remembered what I read yesterday!</div><div><br /></div><div>"Who are you to pass judgement on the servant of another? It is before his own master that he stands or falls. And he will be upheld for the Lord is able to make him stand." <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Romans 14:4</span></div><div><br /></div><div>I was embarrassed and humiliated by how quick I was to judge this man, this stranger, as though God needed me to decide if the man was poor enough for my standards to receive my help. Gosh, moments like this one can be so heart leveling and I was leveled! I was reminded that we all need help in one way or another and it is not our place to decide the worthiness of the recipient but to always be ready to love and to give what we can every chance we get.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, the light turned green and I pulled up to Starbucks to get my coffee. I thought about giving that man on the corner some money, now that my heart was in the right place, but I didn't have any cash on me at all. Well, lo and behold, I was getting my debit card out of my wallet and peeking out of one of the pockets was the corner of a $20 bill! A miracle really because I had no idea it was there. So, I decided to pay for my coffee with the cash and then give the man on the corner the rest of the change.</div><div><br /></div><div>In order to make my way to the side of the intersection that he was on, I needed to go out of my way and not go directly on the path that would take me to my next destination. To say the least, I was inconvenienced. And, so it goes with giving to others. There should be lots of times when our giving is inconvenient and sacrificial and done with honor towards another. It moves our motives for giving to be in the place it's supposed to be .... in loving our neighbor more than ourselves.</div><div><br /></div><div>I weaved through the parking lot to get to the corner that the man was standing on and pulled into the lane nearest him. I rolled down my window and waved at him. Thankfully, he saw me and began to make his way towards me. And, I thought ....</div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>His skin looks so weathered and dried out.</li><li>His walk shows a lopsided gait that favored one side.</li><li>He had been crying and I saw the shame in his eyes.</li></ul></div><div>I put the dollar bills in his hand and he could barely speak as I greeted him with a "good morning". He said softly, "It will be now". </div><div><br /></div><div>And, at that moment, I was reminded that I'm never too busy or overwhelmed to help someone. </div><div><br /></div><div>I pray tonight that he finds shelter, food, friendship and that when you see him ... you'll give much more freely to him than I did.</div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-47561789088625093332009-05-28T09:38:00.009-04:002009-05-28T10:57:04.966-04:00Change #1It happened innocently enough. <div><br /></div><div>There was no motive behind my purchase other than I was out of reading material and needed a new book. I mean, I had heard a few people talk about it in the past and they raved about how it radically changed them for the better. The topic didn't fall within my normally sought after genres <a href="http://cusmyle.blogspot.com/2008/10/butim-bookworm.html">that I bury myself in</a> but, still ... I picked it up off the shelf even though I cringed at the crude and brash title. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.skinnybitch.net/">Skinny </a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.skinnybitch.net/">(insert the letter that comes after A and before C) </a></span><a href="http://www.skinnybitch.net/">itch. </a></div><div><br /></div><div>It was the subtitle that got me (like they always do). </div><div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">"A no-nonsense, tough-love guide for savvy girls who want to stop eating crap and start looking fabulous".</span></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Ok, I do! </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> I bought it. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I saw me in the subtitle. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Don't hand me "soft" and "easy" but give it to me straight! </div><div><br /></div><div>It did ... and I will never be the same again.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's what happened. I read the book and within hours was completely horrified at the way I've been eating or, to be more exact, at the nonexistent attention that I have given to what I've been eating. No, I'm not talking protein, carbs and fat content here or diet mamby-shmamby... I am talking - where did the food come from in the first place and what is the process of how it gets to my dinner plate. </div><div><br /></div><div>The book has a lot of spicy language with some funny jabs at the reader to keep it pretty sassy. But, the big deal for me, was the book made me stop and really think about the statement - you are what you eat. And, I realized I was eating crap!</div><div> <br /></div><div>So, I've made one radical change, Change #1, with a few others up my sleeve in the upcoming weeks and I'll keep you posted. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Hang on to your forks and knives, friends, because .... (light drum roll, please)</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I am now a vegetarian.</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Or, as Mr. Smart Guy laughed and said, "veg-a-freak-0"! </span></div><div><br /></div><div>Here's why and I've listed the page numbers of the book if ya wanna check it out for yourself:<br /></div><div><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">The USDA does NOT protect the population with pure motives and is untrustworthy</span>. "Many high-ranking staff members at the USDA were employed by, or are otherwise affiliated with, the meat and dairy industries. And if the group responsible for the safety of meat, poultry and egg products is run by people from the same industries they're supposed to be protecting us from...well, that would be a conflict of interest. And it is. An enormous, ridiculous, outrageous, catastrophic conflict of interest." (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">p93) </span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">The EPA is allowing us to eat an insecticidal protein deemed unsafe for human consumption. </span> "But the Environmental Protection Agency allows the use of StarLink for livestock feed. Let humans eat the animals who ate the corn? That's safe? Duh." <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">(p110)</span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">The meat we put on our table most likely came from a slaughterhouse</span>. "Humane protocol calls for animals to be "stunned" before they are slaughtered. For cows, this means getting a metal bolt shot into the skull and then retracted. When done properly, using working equipment, this renders the cow unconscious. But time is money, and slaughterhouses operate at lighting speeds, some killing one animal every three seconds. Because thousands of frightened, struggling cows are not easy to stun, it is extremely common for a "stunner" to miss his mark. Panicked hogs, also difficult to "hit", are stunned with an electric device." <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">(p66) </span> The book goes on to explain the disturbing "bleed rail", hogs thrown into 140-degree scalding water to remove the hair from their bodies, and chickens with their beaks literally chopped off their faces so that won't peck each other and workers because of stress.</li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">You are what you eat.</span> "Assuming you started with a healthy animal (highly unlikely), you've now eaten hormones, pesticides, steroids, antibiotics, fear, grief, and rage. You are what you eat." <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">(P77)</span></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Antibiotics are not an appealing appetizer.</span> "Half of the antibiotics made in the United States each year are administered to farm animals, causing antibiotic resistance in the humans who eat them. A study at the University of California-Berkely linked eating beef to urinary tract infections (UTIs) in women. It just so happens that the most common infectious disease in women is UTIs. You do the math.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> (p45) </span></li></ul></div><div>... and there's so much more information in the book! I know some of it's pretty gross...but I hope you'll think about what you're eating today. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Remember, you are what you eat.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Signed with love,</div><div><br /></div><div>~ a one-week vegetarian ~</div></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-34489892267945289682009-05-22T15:36:00.004-04:002009-05-23T11:57:48.514-04:00I Met So-and-So<div style="text-align: left;">A few years ago, I was traveling on business and I sat behind him on the plane. His accent was undeniable but I wasn't quite sure it was him....I mean...was it really <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">HIM</span>??!! He had aged quite a bit and I just wasn't sure I could say with 100% confidence that it was him. We engaged in a little small talk as we gathered our things from the overhead bin on the plane and that was it. As I exited the plane I leaned over to the stewardess and asked politely, "Who is that?" She smiled wide and like an informant overspilling with a juicy tidbit she replied, "Robert Plant".<br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Robert Plant? You mean, the Led Zeppelin kind-of Robert Plant?</span></div><div><br /></div><div>So I made my way in the small airport to the baggage claim area and there he was. As I stood next to him, I stole the quick I-don't-want-to-be-seen-gawking kind of glimpses of him while I tried to act nonchalant. But, inside... I was trying to build up enough courage to ask for an autograph but all of my brain cells were saturated with star-struck immobility. The baggage rolled off of the conveyor belt, we each picked up our things and parted ways.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">*sigh*</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I just met Robert Plant.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>I quickly called home to relay what had just happened and my elated emotions quickly began to deflate with each skeptical question that was posed to me:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Did you take a picture? You have a camera phone, ya know!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Did you get his autograph?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">So....you have no proof that you actually met and talked to Robert Plant?</span></div><div><br /></div><div>I tried to explain as best I could that I got completely and utterly star-struck and that was why I had no proof. I only had my story and my word that this is indeed truth!</div><div><br /></div><div>Then, a few months passed and our family was at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum when Mr. Smart Guy spotted Donald Rumsfeld, the then Secretary of Defense, who was enjoying the museum with family and friends. Instantly, Mr. Smart Guy and our boys became stalkers trying to get the best picture possible of him. Plans were quickly being formulated by Dan the Man and Theatre Dude to approach Mr. Rumsfeld and ask for his autograph. But, in the end, no one had the courage to approach him nor get a photograph with him.</div><div><br /></div><div>I quickly brought the story back full circle to my encounter with Robert Plant so that they would understand why I had no autograph or photo of him. I guess sighting someone who is influential in our world does strange things to people, eh?</div><div><br /></div><div>So, imagine my surprise when just yesterday, I sighted another celebrity in the airport. My trip back West wasn't planned...it was just a spur of the moment, my-heart-emergency and I needed to be with Mr. Smart Guy! </div><div><br /></div><div>My itinerary was simple:</div><div><br /></div><div>3:30am - leave the house.</div><div>5:30am - plane leaves for Philadelphia.</div><div>7:10am - plane leaves for San Francisco.</div><div><br /></div><div>Easy enough, right? NO! </div><div><br /></div><div>I made it to Philadelphia and my flight to San Francisco was cancelled due to maintenance issues. I stood in line at the customer service counter for 2 and a half grueling hours with my co-passengers in an effort to get re-booked on other flights. <a href="http://cusmyle.blogspot.com/2009/04/not-so-glamorous.html">Flying is not glamorous!</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Lo and behold, there were no more flights that day on that carrier and so they switched me to a different carrier. Sadly, I had to wait 6 hours in the airport before we left and to top off the best of the day, I was making a connection in Chicago. Did I mention that I was awake at 3am that morning?</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">** ugh **</span></div><div><br /></div><div>I finally left Philadelphia and, without any issues, thankfully made it to Chicago. I had a 2 hour layover and was waiting for my flight to San Francisco when <a href="http://cusmyle.blogspot.com/2008/03/crazy-good-worship.html">I spotted him.</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Still though, I wasn't quite sure it really was him. So, I took a picture just in case it was. </div><div><br /></div><div>And, then .....</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzHM1CDQDFBztvDWJVotkpcZKIfwwHNYIzLynViakQYfSf8YG9isO2qTCWbriqJGo1hcGG_zuRjv-pZAW0BeCJkdlbXGc8J0v3pPGK2iHRSndgPCxwk-Dc3eefrSiiJHVi9uBctDDeLM8/s1600-h/IMG_0383.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzHM1CDQDFBztvDWJVotkpcZKIfwwHNYIzLynViakQYfSf8YG9isO2qTCWbriqJGo1hcGG_zuRjv-pZAW0BeCJkdlbXGc8J0v3pPGK2iHRSndgPCxwk-Dc3eefrSiiJHVi9uBctDDeLM8/s320/IMG_0383.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339043573999562194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 121px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">It was him! It was him!</span></div><div><br /></div><div>....and I jumped out of my seat and approached him ....</div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm so sorry to bother you but I love worshipping with you and you are amazing! ... um, can I take a quick pic of us?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Ever gracious and truly humble, he obliged and I took our photo. I shook his hand. I smiled and complimented him. And I wished him well.</div><div><br /></div><div>My friends, I met <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">David Crowder!</span> </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO03Och9Dvynly-lV0Qxy0XgLYh4D3DAMss5jwrk9og68fRvRCAtmg3IhhTHHsJ5CCTAQnEtHYtsiywiDfwEIWwdYZY7d0bqQ8xOUcB3DA8MMeEmaDb7sSAeDhWBtD_VzHjDpm8qwcPRxp/s1600-h/IMG_0384.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO03Och9Dvynly-lV0Qxy0XgLYh4D3DAMss5jwrk9og68fRvRCAtmg3IhhTHHsJ5CCTAQnEtHYtsiywiDfwEIWwdYZY7d0bqQ8xOUcB3DA8MMeEmaDb7sSAeDhWBtD_VzHjDpm8qwcPRxp/s320/IMG_0384.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339043571939214946" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-48708708211808781652009-05-19T09:15:00.003-04:002009-05-19T09:45:17.531-04:00Dog-gone Good BookThe subtitle of the book, Adventures in the New World of Prozac-Popping Puppies, Dog-Park Politics and Organic Pet Food, is what really caught my eye and I just had to read <a href="http://michaelschaffer.net/one-nation-under-dog/">One Nation Under Dog by Michael <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Schaffer</span>.</a> It was the most statistically driven book I've read to date regarding the 4-legged friend population and the lengths that pet owners now go to so that they feel their animals are well taken care of. I found myself laughing, and feeling a little guilty, when I found myself within the pages and things quickly came to my attention with how I care for my Miniature Schnauzers:<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Yes, both of my puppies go to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Doggie</span> Daycare.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Yes, both of my puppies luxuriously lounge on the bed with me and Mr. Smart Guy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Yes, Mr. Smart Guy is called "Daddy" and I am "Mommy" to our fur babies.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Yes, the puppies' diet is an "upscale, premium food".</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Yes, the puppies get lots of toys and treats.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>With that being said, I felt right at home within Shaffer's pages. I am "normal" in the current trends of dog ownership. The cool thing about this book though is that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Schaffer</span> takes a look at the ongoing innards of the pet industry, currently a powerhouse $41 billion dollar generating machine, and how products and services cater to the now 60% of U.S. households who own a pet.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you're not a dog lover, this read probably won't be for you. However, if you are like I am and love your dog(s), you'll find lots of information, humor and a reflection of your pet spending habits within the pages of the book. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Michael <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Schaffer</span> has written a thoroughly researched, jaw-dropping, laugh-out-loud expose of our love affair with the pets in our lives. Go find yourself in <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">One Nation Under Dog</span>!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">- Nick Trout, Author</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-16880488657384319112009-05-17T15:45:00.004-04:002009-05-17T23:06:31.164-04:00Happy, er...Crappy BirthdayIt began to rise <div>Within its confines<div>Swelling past the edge </div><div>Then spilling over</div><div>Into one tear</div><div>That turned into many</div><div>Forming a river</div><div>Of sadness</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">... and it was a Happy, er .... Crappy Birthday!</span></div></div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-9900755899908555272009-05-14T09:31:00.006-04:002009-05-14T10:01:45.416-04:00Phobias<div style="text-align: left;">Today, I'm immersed in a different kind of <a href="http://cusmyle.blogspot.com/2008/10/dust-covered-and-discouraged.html">"Dust Covered and Discouraged".</a> Instead of choosing and tossing garments in my closet...I've moved on to the garage and am making different piles this time:<br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Keep ... Junk ... Goodwill ... Need Mr. Smart Guy to Choose</span></div><div><br /></div><div>So, as I've been adding stuff to heaps and mounds of piles, I happened across <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">yet another can of bug spray! </span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhLJeXHaURk04wgKL0EG8F3PJAE2z7eEdvaKzo-Girbw8nAdBBcrDtB_yqmRRt-fu_xZ5QCfrMiOOtdj5Q8m54KUANj2RC5vOM0-8qynfDbJusrRYqKzytfW4XouFdjIFBdK9EsB5ffuk/s1600-h/photo.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhLJeXHaURk04wgKL0EG8F3PJAE2z7eEdvaKzo-Girbw8nAdBBcrDtB_yqmRRt-fu_xZ5QCfrMiOOtdj5Q8m54KUANj2RC5vOM0-8qynfDbJusrRYqKzytfW4XouFdjIFBdK9EsB5ffuk/s320/photo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335676855810239762" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, they're not mine .... they are Mr. Smart Guys! He is the one who has a bee/wasp/hornet/anything-that-buzzes-nearby phobia as is evidenced by my garage findings. I collected <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">ALL</span> of the cans and just smiled because of a funny memory; I remembered a time early in our marriage when we had pulled up to a fast-food drive through. He was driving and placed our order and then coasted up to the pickup window when, all of a sudden ........<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">he freaked out!!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">And, it was just as he was handing me my drink.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>He jumped out of the car and started waving his arms around like a crazy man while I was dealing with a spilled drink all over me. Can't you just see the chaos that ensued after that? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">lol</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Hmm</span>...maybe I should have put a can of spray in the car? ;)</div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-546266175047143403.post-50900287490225097512009-05-13T08:37:00.005-04:002009-07-30T11:02:41.459-04:00A Dog's Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFeASXq9FWvbcldZS4_u-qKJ6O55IW_c4UTZa2jIA1YgQj1wJnXY152Vv1PLies9rgB6ooGMa-LZ8Zf5glK_LFavJetv9_mkJrYHuVmtRJhCW85ZcrTte9mc-wEl13yYgols1yV0yo1Mw/s1600-h/Woofstock09_lg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 117px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeFeASXq9FWvbcldZS4_u-qKJ6O55IW_c4UTZa2jIA1YgQj1wJnXY152Vv1PLies9rgB6ooGMa-LZ8Zf5glK_LFavJetv9_mkJrYHuVmtRJhCW85ZcrTte9mc-wEl13yYgols1yV0yo1Mw/s320/Woofstock09_lg.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335287228329879906" /></a>I am joining so many others in my community to help raise funds for the Richmond Animal League so that they can continue their mission of providing hope, help and homes for animals in need. They really do some great work! ;)<div><br /></div><div>Copernicus and I are participating in the "Strut Your Mutt" walk on 5/30/09 and are asking...um, begging, you for a donation. Our goal is to raise $500... and we hope you'll help us.</div><div><br /></div><div>Please visit our <a href="http://www.firstgiving.com/denisecjohnson">secure, online giving page</a> and throw a couple of bucks our way, won't ya? ;)</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks!</div>~ Denise ~http://www.blogger.com/profile/09206852795849193748noreply@blogger.com3