tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14055245974308123552024-02-07T21:54:37.454-05:00Just a figment of your Nervous SystemUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-51961439986525235422019-04-08T23:41:00.002-04:002019-04-10T10:47:41.733-04:00Pastry Shop Apple TartI love to watch instructional cooking shows.<br />
<br />
Usually, I watch them while I eat, via Youtube. It's getting harder and harder to find episodes of shows I haven't already seen because I am dependent upon other posters for content. This means that I've had to get creative and be open to other shows.<br />
<br />
I have been known to engage in some "Autoplay Roulette", falling at the mercy of the Youtube algorithm.<br />
<br />
For this, I am wildly thankful because it brought me to Laura Calder and "French Food at Home".<br />
<br />
I have watched every video, read every book. Laura's approach to cooking was mesmerizing. Simple, easy...yet beautiful and elegant.<br />
<br />
Most things are done by hand, without the aid of gadgets and fancy tools. Ingredients are (sometimes) imprecise. The focus is on the experience of enjoying the food, in every aspect: shopping, preparation and cooking. Not just eating.<br />
<br />
As a extra little shot of sunshine; the jaunty French background music makes me smile.<br />
<br />
I remember looking for a recipe exactly like this for a cooking competition. I had entered all of the categories; one being "pie"...and I suck at pie. I was trying to find a way around "pie" because I wanted a winner (I hate to lose).<br />
<br />
Weeks of internet searching brought me to <a href="https://www.foodnetwork.ca/recipe/easy-pastry-shop-apple-tart/10319/">Laura Calder's Easy Pastry Shop Apple Tart</a>.<br />
<br />
It was perfect; not a cake and not a pie. <br />
<br />
I have made this dessert a thousand times. It is the perfect dessert to make when you don't know what to bring and are short on time. <br />
<br />
The filling is very plain, meant to compliment the apples and cinnamon. It can literally take any flavouring you care to throw at it and works with almost any fruit.<br />
<br />
I have made a thousand variations of this tart usually based on whatever I have in my pantry when I need it (which is usually at the very last minute).<br />
<br />
<b>Variations tried:</b><u><b><br /><br />Peach and cranberry</b></u> (cream layer spiced with mace, cinnamon, fresh grated ginger and Peach Schnapps - in place of the vanilla)<br />
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<b><u>Peach and raspberry</u> </b>(cream layer spiced with nutmeg, cinnamon, fresh grated ginger and Peach Schnapps - in place of the vanilla): In this variation, I had some raspberry pie filling left from a galette. I heated it and mixed it with a shot of raspberry vodka and put this on the bottom of the crust, before the cream layer. I took it to a dinner party at my<a href="https://justafigmentofyournervoussystem.blogspot.com/2019/04/corny-bread.html"> favorite cousin </a>'s house. I didn't get a picture of it (sad face), but I did hear someone say, "who made this? This is fucking phenomenal!". I cried all the way home, in the car.<u><b><br /><br />Pear and Almond</b></u>: I made this with a package of bosc pears I bought from the "reject rack" at Food Basics ($1.50 for about 10 pears). Pastry layer made with added almond extract, cream layer spiced with nothing at all but I did add a generous splash of Disarronno (almond liqueur). The pears were tossed in brown sugar, cinnamon, slivered almonds and a scant pinch of star anise. Danny said it was the best dessert I ever made. I also cried.</div>
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<u><b>Cranberry, Orange and Chinese five spice</b></u>: I put three generous tablespoons of orange zest (and orange extract in the pastry dough. In the pastry cream, I used a generous teaspoon of Chinese five spice and a quarter cup of orange marmalade I thinned with Grand Marnier. I added 2 tablespoons of dark brown sugar to the filling to balance the bitterness of the orange marmalade.</div>
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No photo of this one. Too many complaints about having to take "a stupid photo, when we're just gonna eat it, anyways."</div>
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In case you're wondering: yes. It stomped on my joy. Also, having had my joy stomped upon, it did not taste good. Everyone else said it was great. To me, it tasted heavy and sad.</div>
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<u><b>Blackberry and Apple</b></u>: Recipe as written for apple, with added cinnamon, mace, cloves and nutmeg. Splash of (frighteningly expensive) Calvados (apple brandy) in the pastry cream.</div>
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Notes on variations and additions:</div>
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My tarte pan is 13". I always double the filling and the crust, to make sure that I have enough.</div>
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This tarte can take a lot. Don't be afraid to play with it. </div>
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Love.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-40664875229304986782019-04-07T23:21:00.000-04:002019-04-07T23:21:38.824-04:00Corny BreadCorn bread. Nothing goes better with a steamy hot bowl of <i>chili con carne</i>.<br />
<br />
When your favorite cousin calls to say, "hey, c'mon over to my house for dinner and hangouts!", you say yes. If you're anything like me, you ask what's for dinner and what you can make.<br />
<br />
Usually, she says, "bring nothing. Just bring you". Of course, that never flies with me. I never show up at a dinner party (no matter how casual) empty handed. I was raised better than that.<br />
<br />
I always get a half hearted tongue lashing about "not listening" and "not doing as I am told". But so far, I have never gone home with less than an empty plate. Hint taken.<br />
<br />
I'm a dessert master and I always bring something sweet and delectable.<br />
<br />
But this time, I wanted to bring something to go with the main.<br />
<br />
I don't eat much chili. I don't eat a lot of tomatoes (heartburn) and I spent a week racking my brain to come up with something to take to dinner and couldn't come up with a thing.<br />
<br />
So, off to the Internet I went. I consulted friends in a cooking group, who all said, "cornbread!'. A Google search returned thousands of results; ninety nine percent of them "corn bread". It was as if the universe was trying to tell me something.<br />
<br />
I know when to take the hint: corn bread it is. All the recipes (and everyone in the groups I cross-posted to) said that cornbread <i><b><u>must</u></b></i> be made in a cast iron skillet for best results.<br />
<br />
Of course, I didn't have a cast iron skillet but I wasn't prepared to let that deter me from the best side dish for <i>chili con carne</i>, ever.<br />
<br />I went immediately, looking for a recipe to start with as a base, with the added requirement of no cast iron. I settled on <a href="https://barefootcontessa.com/recipes/jalapeno-cheddar-cornbread">Ina Garten's Cheddar Jalapeno Cornbread</a>.<br />
<br />
I sought out the episode that shows Ina's demonstration of the cornbread. Because I had never made it before, I watched it a number of times (probably more than ten) and took copious notes. You can also watch the episode here, if you like: <br />
<br />
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/m_lysCbI5ZY/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/m_lysCbI5ZY?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
I always make the recipe exactly as indicated the first time, taking
notes on what worked, what didn't, how and what I would change the next
time I make it and things that would make the process easier/faster.<br />
<br />
The recipe (see link above) struck me as very bland.<br />
<br />
In the base recipe, there is no spice component whatsoever, with the only flavor additives being salt, scallions and jalapeños.<br />
<br />
When I made it again, I decided to play with spices, adding things I would normally add if I were making a pot of <i>chili con carne</i>.<br />
<br />
I thought a lot about the fact that<i> chili con carne</i> is a campfire food...a meal a cowboy would eat; hearty and satisfying after a long day of being outdoors and being active. There's a flavor that <b><u><i>only</i></u></b> campfire cooking can add... which is smoke.<br />
<br />
Keeping that in mind, I added:<br />
<ul>
<li>onion powder</li>
<li>garlic powder</li>
<li>chili powder (repeat and reinforce the smoky flavor)</li>
<li>chipotlé powder (chipotlés are smoked jalapeños. I wanted to reinforce and repeat the smoky flavor and echo the jalapeños, again)</li>
<li>cumin</li>
<li>chili flakes </li>
<li>smoked sea salt (repeat, reinforce)</li>
<li>ground black pepper (black pepper hits different areas of the tongue; used for layering of flavor, not heat)</li>
<li>smoked paprika (repeat, reinforce. Paprika also acts to color the cornbread that gives a beautiful "orange-y" color)</li>
</ul>
Here again, I will repeat my note on spices: <u><i><b>spice and heat are not the same</b></i></u>. Do not be afraid of spices. Spices mean flavor. Layered, reinforced flavors. This is what all those celebrity chef shows are talking about when they say things like, "depth of flavor"...."complexity of flavor".<br />
<br />
Spices. Use them. Know them. Love them.<br />
<br />
The batter is very easy to put together. It's a quick dish to make, with not many steps to follow. When I did it, I measured all of the dry ingredients into my mixing bowl and then made a well.<br />
<br />
I mixed all of the wet ingredients together in a glass measuring cup. This means measuring once and dirtying only one dish.<br />
<br />
Pour into the well you've made and mix thoroughly. You may find it helpful to lift up the bowl and check the bottom to make sure all of your flour is mixed in properly.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Notes on additives</u></b>: <br />
<ol>
<li>I used marble cheddar, because that's what I had on hand, when I made it. I also tried the recipe with the white cheddar as indicated. I preferred the taste of marble, overall.<br /></li>
<li>Ina's recipe did not call for fresh garlic. I love garlic, so I added several cloves, finely chopped.<br /></li>
<li>The original recipe called for the jalapeños to be seeded (the seeds and ribs have all of the heat). If you do not like spice, remove them and be careful not to touch your face, eyes or mouth when so doing. I like heat, so I left the seeds in and chopped them <i>superfine</i> in a miniature food processor. I used two whole jalapeños. I added them to the batter with the wet.<br /> </li>
<li>This batter can withstand the weight of additions without adding density. I used about a half cup of cooked, crumbled smoked (see what I did, there?) bacon. Interesting little bite, if you're into bacon. </li>
</ol>
<u><b>Notes on baking without Cast Iron:</b></u><br />
<br />You do not need a cast iron pan to make this recipe. It will still be good if you bake it in a standard 9x13" cake pan. Cooking it in cast iron allows you to achieve that crispy, crunchy crust on the outside but keeping the soft, springy texture on the inside. This is because cast iron can take (and hold) a lot of fucking heat. <br /><br />When I made this the first time, I used an oven safe stainless steel skillet (Lagostina, baby!) rated to 500⁰F. This is very important (obviously). Your skillet must be oven proofed.<br />
<br />
Here's what I did:<br />
<ul>
<li>Heat the oven to the highest temperature rating your pan will allow (500⁰F, in my case) and heat it for approximately 30-45 minutes. Heat the pan <b><i>DRY</i></b>.</li>
<li><u><b><i>Carefully</i></b></u> take it out of the oven, and add a few tablespoons of oil. It will start to shimmer immediately, which means it's hot. </li>
<li>Add the batter. You will hear it sizzle, which is what you want. The sizzle is what gives you the crispy, crunchy crust.</li>
<li>Turn the oven down to the indicated temperature and bake as usual.</li>
</ul>
I didn't like that the top of the bread was crusty and the bottom was not. So, when the cook time was done, I flipped it out onto a plate, inverted the bread back into the pan with the bottom up and allowed the bottom to crisp.<br />
<br />
This is unnecessary; I'm a nitpicker and I wanted it to be perfect, because I like the "oohs" and "aahs" I get when I make something for people. <br />
<br />
When I took the cake to my cousin's, she said it was "the best cornbread she'd ever had". I honest to God cried.<br />
<br />
To me, this means so much more because she lived and worked in Louisiana for a long, long time. She knows her Southern Food.<br />
<br />
Yes, Ma'am.<br />
<br />
I must say though, Ina is remiss making the corn bread in a cake pan but we'll just pretend
I didn't say that. The corn bread is 1,000 times better when made in
cast iron.<br />
<br />
I got a Cast Iron pan for Christmas, this year. What a game changer. My cornbread will never be the same.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Notes on cast iron cooking</u></b>:<br />
<br />
The heat is *no joke*. I wear two oven mitts on each hand and it is still screaming hot. Hot, hot hot!<br />
If you accidentally touch it unprotected, even for just a second, you will know it.<br />
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<br />
I have a permanent scar. It took six weeks for that to properly heal. The skin broke twice and re-blistered. No matter: that cornbread will be worth it, every time.<br />
<br />
Cast Iron is HEAVY, even when it is empty. If you are not confident in your upper body strength, get someone to help you. <br />
<br />
When it is done, it looks like this:<br />
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<br />
It's beautiful. I have made this at least a dozen times since, and have made some additional modifications. They are:<br />
<br />
- adding one extra egg<br />
- adding one half cup extra cornmeal. I use medium grind.<br />
- increased baking temperature to 400⁰F and increasing the baking time to 40 minutes.<br />
<br />
Allow to cool sufficiently before turning out and cutting, or your bread will crumble and break apart....if you can wait that long.<br />
<br />
I usually can't.<br />
<br />
Love. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-34480756242017348202019-04-07T03:21:00.002-04:002019-04-07T03:28:09.507-04:00Costco carrotsThis post was born out of a need to do something with the biggest bag of carrots I have ever seen and could not resist, purchased at Costco.<br />
<br />
On the other side of "what to do with 25 pounds of carrots that are about to go bad?" is "I need a recipe that will look great on my new platter" while taking the two liter bottle of tahini inhabiting the back of my refrigerator into consideration.<br />
<br />
Yes, I also bought it at Costco. Frankly, I am sick of hummus (in every one of its incarnations) and I needed something different.<br />
<br />
So I started Googling things.<br />
<br />
There were so many recipes for roasted carrots with tahini sauce (and other accoutrements of varying degrees of fanciness), that it was hard to pick one.<br />
<br />
I settled on a mashup of several recipes, starting with this one, from Katie's Bright Kitchen:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://katiesbrightkitchen.com/2017/11/07/turmeric-roasted-carrots-w-tahini-drizzle-pistachios/" target="_blank">Katie's Bright Kitchen, Roasted Carrots with Tahini Drizzle</a><br />
<br />
Katie's Bright Kitchen has adapted recipes for no sugar and no flour, making it gluten and dirty Keto-diet friendly.<br />
<br />
It also looks as if diabetic exchanges have also been included <br />
<br />
She's worked out all of the mathematics for this dish so you don't have to. Frankly, I just like my food to taste good, so I wasn't into thinking about it all that much. But, if that's the kind of chef that you are...this is likely the recipe for you.<br />
<br />
Neither did I like the idea of <i>not peeling </i>my carrots, so that was strike two.<br />
<br />
A stark absence of pistachios meant the end of this recipe, in my kitchen.<br />
<br />
I also considered this recipe from the Forked Spoon, taking into
account the 10,000 cans of chickpeas clogging my pantry (also Costco):<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.olivemagazine.com/recipes/healthy/roast-carrots-with-crisp-chickpeas-and-tahini/" target="_blank">Forked Spoon, Carrots with Chickpeas</a><br />
<br />
Then I found Simply Scratch's version of a similar recipe. It was written much more approachably (if my opinion counts for anything at all) and didn't appear to have been a poster ad for Whole Food's million dollar organic carrots.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.simplyscratch.com/2016/03/turmeric-roasted-carrots-lemon-tahini-dressing.html" target="_blank">Simply Scratch Turmeric Roasted Carrots</a><br />
<br />
I really liked the idea of using turmeric. I had some in the fridge that I had bought on a whim and now had a reason to use it. Huzzah!<br />
<br />
I set about peeling many, many carrots...<br />
<br />
Sidebar: have you ever noticed the deeply meditative quality of vegetable peeling? I love peeling carrots. I glean tremendous enjoyment from the sound the peeler makes, sliding across the skin, whispering, "clean! Clean! Clean!" with every scrape of the blade.<br />
<br />
(This may simply be a glaring indicator that I need to get out more?) <br />
<br />
I love the way that carrots look, immediately after they've been peeled: bright, shiny and glistening. Almost as if peeling them has allowed their carrot-y awesomeness to finally be seen! <br />
<br />
I peeled the remainder of the bag; easily four pounds. Quartered them and put them in a freezer bag to mix with oil and spices (so much easier - and cleaner - than messing around with tongs and a bowl!).<br />
<br />
We won't talk about the fact that I lost steam after prepping them all and left the bag of prepped veggies in the fridge to be cooked the next day (or two) later.<br />
<br />
When I made them (finally), I didn't follow the recipe, really. I just jotted down the spices as indicated on the back of a scrap of paper and went to the kitchen to play.<br />
<br />
A note on spices: I am not afraid of spices; flavor not heat. The two are not mutually exclusive. Generally people believe "spicy" to mean "hot". This is not the case. Spicy means that things have been spiced, or had spices added to them.<br />
<br />
Cumin, for example, adds a distinctive flavor that adds no heat.<br />
<br />
Also, I never really measure spices. My general rule of thumb is, "go til you can smell it".<br />
<br />
In addition to the spices called for in the recipe, I added a few of my own.<br />
<br />
To the carrots, I added (with the oil)<br />
<ul>
<li>fresh grated ginger (about 1 tsp)</li>
<li>turmeric (a generous tsp)</li>
<li>onion powder</li>
<li>garlic powder</li>
<li>black pepper</li>
<li>paprika</li>
<li>oregano</li>
<li>chili flakes (pepper and chili flakes hit different spots on your tongue; different kinds of heat)</li>
<li>mild chili powder (for the smoked flavor and color)</li>
<li>cumin </li>
<li>sea salt</li>
</ul>
I also added approximately 1 head of whole, peeled garlic cloves to the bag with the carrots. I like a lot of garlic. I also like what happens to garlic when roasted in the oven with oil. If you like less, use less.<br />
<br />
Massage the carrots and oil and spices together in the bag until everything is lovely and coated. Your cooking oil will turn a lovely, marigold color and will become exceptionally fragrant.<br />
<br />
The turmeric will dye the garlic cloves yellow. But it's such a lovely taste, you really shouldn't miss it.<br />
<br />
I baked them at 425 for about 40 minutes. the edges of the carrots were just starting to caramelize and were just browning (remember: I had a lot of carrots).<br />
<br />
I did not use the second baking sheet on top of the carrots (simply because I hadn't remember to do so). They turned out great.<br />
<br />
Afterward, I transferred to my pretty new plate and topped with the sauce.<br />
<br />
The sauce was easy to put together and was really, really tasty. I might have made it a little thin.<br />
<br />
Next time, I plan to sprinkle the dish with some toasted sesame seeds, to really reinforce the sesame flavor. Thinking on it now, I might have used sesame oil to coat the carrots, rather than regular cooking oil.<br />
<br />
Notes for my cooking journal, for next time.<br />
<br />
Here's a picture, should you be interested after all that reading.<br />
<br />
Love.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHpDJUef9v7UJwQpGPAGhfNlAGDtmPEXsdX1PtKrGZVQZKWLXuCb4sYBxm8dpvK_ds60pCaqmNkRmVamAJkg0pHTUs-j8oc7aEezYrpZdirLDFmHTZggEjwx41jhAwH71kERsABdU849w/s1600/56386470_1495687343899612_4812416116779384832_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHpDJUef9v7UJwQpGPAGhfNlAGDtmPEXsdX1PtKrGZVQZKWLXuCb4sYBxm8dpvK_ds60pCaqmNkRmVamAJkg0pHTUs-j8oc7aEezYrpZdirLDFmHTZggEjwx41jhAwH71kERsABdU849w/s400/56386470_1495687343899612_4812416116779384832_n.jpg" title="Finished dish" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPdmg71P5qJ8EmbqmUj-YoNWU0Ab_llXb6-cX00swhER1odUEsMZTxCS8ns7Ll6pXZktQ6WBbOSZVHGITpVa6MMJ_wg_PV3LVP49hoEyz_HLHqYofzW2RpaFDtyf8YT-1rINRWhg-Q9nU/s1600/56573542_637950136676543_4176847912879259648_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPdmg71P5qJ8EmbqmUj-YoNWU0Ab_llXb6-cX00swhER1odUEsMZTxCS8ns7Ll6pXZktQ6WBbOSZVHGITpVa6MMJ_wg_PV3LVP49hoEyz_HLHqYofzW2RpaFDtyf8YT-1rINRWhg-Q9nU/s400/56573542_637950136676543_4176847912879259648_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-42930026765225271822017-05-01T14:45:00.000-04:002017-05-01T14:45:05.135-04:00Move over *NSYNC: "Dirty Pop", Ashley style!Hello, friends!<br />
<br />
I successfully wrote and published one blog in the year 2016. I'd like for that to change: I like writing and I enjoy blogging.<br />
<br />
I started several posts and never finished them, so perhaps this is the start of something new?<br />
<br />
So, I thought that I would use my blog as part of my efforts to change myself and my life (for the better), using the internet (and all eleven of my regular readers - *<b><u>thank you!</u>*</b>) to help keep me accountable.<br />
<br />
<i>What is she talking about</i>, you ask?<br />
<br />
This year, I gave up soda pop for Lent. It was literally a spur of the moment decision I made after seeing that another Facebook friend of mine had done the same.<br />
<br />
"<i>It can't be that hard</i>," I figured. <i>It's only forty days. I can give up soda for forty days. I've done much harder and come out fine.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Lent, for those of you who don't know, is a religious observation within Christian/Catholic doctrine that involves "giving up" or abstaining from something enjoyable for the forty days before Easter in recognition of the sacrifice made by Christ. It begins on Ash Wednesday and ends with Easter.<br />
<br />
If you would like to know more about the Lenten season and what it is, <a href="http://www.umc.org/what-we-believe/what-is-lent-and-why-does-it-last-forty-days" target="_blank">read here</a>.<br />
<br />
Making the switch from regular pop to "zero-sugar" was difficult. It was actually this video that convinced me to make the switch:<br />
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/OBzvN9FLx4Q/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OBzvN9FLx4Q?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
After having made the switch to "zero" cola, I noticed the taste of the extra sugar and what the drastic difference in sugar content did to me. I no longer enjoy the taste of regular soda. It tastes like sugary syrup to me, which it basically is.<br />
<br />
If you need more convincing, I invite you to watch this:<br />
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/d5iESuGhL-A/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/d5iESuGhL-A?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
But giving it up totally was so much harder than I ever thought that it would be. No soda at all? You've got to be kidding me. You might as well ask me to climb Mount Everest or go SCUBA diving. But I basically SCUBA'ed myself into not drinking soda; because going whole-hogged, cold-turkey was the only way for me.<br />
<br />
The first few days were awful. There were times I wanted a pop so badly, I thought I would cry. There were times I <i>did </i>cry. Not drinking pop is much harder than you think it is.<br />
<br />
Soda pop is literally <i>everywhere</i>. It was even in my own house. I couldn't dare ask my PB to stop drinking it. It was literally all he drank. <i>He</i> wasn't observing Lenten abstinence, so why should I make him? It was <i>that much harder</i>.<br />
<br />
To quote my own Facebook post:<br /><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">"</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px;">The struggle is real, people. Pop is everywhere: restaurants will give you as much pop as you want for the same price but charge for juice by the glass.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A bottle of water or still anything is twice the price of a can of pop...</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Much like a nice, cold beer on a hot day...for some things, only a soda will do: a burger and fries is somehow not quite as great with a glass of ice water. Root beer floats without soda is just ice cream in a glass."</span></div>
<br />
But I found substitutes: I drank juice. Lots of juice. Deeply watered down frozen concentrates, usually, because I can't stand the taste of aspartame, so Crystal Light was out.<br />
<br />
I made it to the end of Lent: I thought that I would crack a can the second the clock struck midnight. But I didn't. I and I still haven't.<br />
<br />
Disclaimer: I will be completely forthcoming and say that I have had a couple of sips, accidentally picking up PB's glass instead of my own...but I will also say that I spat it directly onto the table. Go ahead and stare, onlookers! I am not ashamed! I am keeping a promise to myself!<br />
<br />
Ash Wednesday was March 1, 2017. Today is May 1, 2017; this means that I have not had soda in two months. Sixty days and counting, carbonation free.<br />
<br />
I posted this, yesterday, on my Facebook page,<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6csbZnM-Uv7hJG9SnQwpVJWFAGyuBFBlwaZMvdTxZmKkM72ETPKY5ckEMN04Evu1fF4LiEwEspNOtNJEH8Fxcc70Rk7puA5t861lbv4DGZo7rKLAi8lDuB6KCFeV4_NVv0BbBGI5jUo/s1600/soda1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6csbZnM-Uv7hJG9SnQwpVJWFAGyuBFBlwaZMvdTxZmKkM72ETPKY5ckEMN04Evu1fF4LiEwEspNOtNJEH8Fxcc70Rk7puA5t861lbv4DGZo7rKLAi8lDuB6KCFeV4_NVv0BbBGI5jUo/s320/soda1.png" width="220" /></a></div>
<br />
Just look at this picture of me (taken yesterday) in a comparison to this one, taken in April of 2016:<br />
<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/AVvXsEg69c-Zjy506Z5vZBBXwmLAG__rQe1CH002DZkme5WLQrZp5nmDztT4hiRTs8Gl7RyfId4AXEzu1_kY0eXx4kR46tgenCvsjiISVI_oYXvm_tVSVsvG5r14y9akIrzAynjhiCLY_y9yf5A/s1600/soda3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg69c-Zjy506Z5vZBBXwmLAG__rQe1CH002DZkme5WLQrZp5nmDztT4hiRTs8Gl7RyfId4AXEzu1_kY0eXx4kR46tgenCvsjiISVI_oYXvm_tVSVsvG5r14y9akIrzAynjhiCLY_y9yf5A/s320/soda3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Left taken April 2016. Right taken yesterday, 60 days soda free.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The difference may be negligible to some. Yes, I know: either way, I am still fat. But for me, this isn't about fat, or skinny. <i>This</i>, this is about me. <br /><br />This is about keeping a promise to myself.<br />
<br />
If soda pop is the new cigarettes (and so far, everything I have read, watched heard and witnessed tells me it is), then I'm out.<br />
<br />
Now if you've made it to the end of this post you're probably thinking, <i>Holy crap. Is she done yet, or what?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
The short version of that answer is yes and no.<br />
<br />
The long version is much harder to explain: is this post finished? Yes. Am I finished with this? Is not drinking pop simply the end? I'm not sure.<br />
<br />
I'm considering a sugar detox, with a goal of cleaner living or at the very least a drastically reduced sugar intake. To quote myself, again:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">"</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 14px;">So, I'm counting each pop-free day as a victory. I'm looking toward the next challenge. I'm considering a sugar detox - eliminating sugar from my diet - at least for a little while.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm doing the research and planning. As a baker, this seems near to impossible.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I have serious doubts: I love ice cream. Like a clandestine lover: it's a pleasure and indulgence that, for me, nothing else compares to..."</span></span></div>
<br />
I'm not sure what it will look like, or entail but I want to try it. And I plan to write about it here.<br />
<br />
The good, the bad and the ugly: it will be here. You can secretly snicker and laugh if you like. I'll never know. If you'd like to share some encouragement or tips, tricks/cheats, leave me a comment, here or on my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ashleyairen" target="_blank">Facebook page</a>.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading, and thanks for all of your love and support.<br />
<br />
xo: <i>Little Miss Sunshine</i><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-12283112953142906842016-01-21T00:40:00.001-05:002016-01-23T09:27:23.979-05:00Pretty Paper...Dolls!<br />
Hello, cyberlovelies!<br />
<br />
It's my birthday today. I'm thirty-two. A thirty two year old who has earned every wrinkle, would be grey hair and memory.<br />
<br />
Which makes me think about gifts. The gifts you give, and the gifts you get.<br />
<br />
Some of my fondest gift memories are those made by the people I love: my grandmother's patiently knitted hats, scarves and mittens...the way all of my aunts and grandmother raved at my Mama's handmade pine cone wreaths...making harried Christmas Eve goody plate deliveries to each of our family's friends...<br />
<br />
It was never the things we bought that I remember. It's the hand-made, "My-Mom-made-this-special-just-for-me" things...I miss them with wistfulness, now that I'm an old hag of thirty two.<br />
<br />
In that same spirit, I try
to do something home made for each of my nieces and nephews every year
for Christmas. There is so much hustle-bustle and a huge focus on what
we buy for each other. I don't really do birthdays, but I try hard to do it up for Christmas.<br />
<br />
I spend months planning, prepping and actually making gifts for the five best love-muffins in the whole world (which, honestly translates to an excuse to scroll Pinterest, Reddit and facebook crafting groups and videos and still feel like I did something productive and useful....five or six hours later. Fellow crafters totally know what I'm talking about, right? Of course you do). <br />
<br />
I get so excited to see them open and enjoy their gifts; sometimes they get them early and then I end up scrambling to come up with something else (like when I made David's "Sharknado!" sweater. More on that, later).<br />
<br />
This year, I went searching for something that all three of the young ladies in my life could do together; yet still be fun and engaging for a wide age range.<br />
<br />
About three weeks before Christmas, I came across this. It was a kit to make your own paper dolls:<br />
<br />
<img alt="greylustergirl_paper_doll_kit.jpg" class="mt-image-none" src="http://i2.wp.com/cdn.makezine.com/uploads/2011/12/greylustergirl_paper_doll_kit.jpg?resize=629%2C629" height="586" width="586" /> <br />
<br />
I thought this was perfect: it was a way for each of the girls to make and do crafts and it could be tailored to each kid.<br />
<br />
I found it through Pinterest when I googled DIY gifts for kids. It took me to this site:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://greylustergirl.com/" target="_blank">Grey Lustre Girl's Paper Dolls</a><br />
<br />
When you go to the site, it takes you to the most recent blog entry. The kit entry is hard to find. But if you google "12 days of DIY Christmas + paper doll kits", this should come up.<br />
<br />
But, I looked at a picture of the kits contents and it inspired me:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><img alt="greylustergirl_paper_doll_kit2.jpg" class="mt-image-none" src="http://i1.wp.com/cdn.makezine.com/uploads/2011/12/greylustergirl_paper_doll_kit2.jpg?resize=629%2C629" height="586" width="586" /> <br />
<br />
I thought that the kit looked pretty simple to make. It wouldn't take much time and would be an easy project that was relatively cost effective, considering that I had to make three of them.<br />
<br />
I didn't like that the kits were housed in a basket/box made out of paper. It would be too flimsy for travel or mailing and was pretty basic. So I decided to skip that part. If you like the paper box-holder, there is a pattern for it on the Silhouette online store.<br />
<br />
I had purchased some plastic lunch kits over the summer that I had planned to personalize and give to them as "Back to School" gifts. They went shopping for school stuff and bought lunch bags. So that was the end of that. I put them in the closet and promptly forgot about them.<br />
<br />
Then, the idea for the kits came and I realized that the lunch boxes would be perfect - they were sturdy and could hold a lot. They look like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP91eN4v-U84eFllMy_5WcDhyphenhyphenpCO7P6EieJSLVzvquwFT-TmGir-GOAl4jKLF9pGgbFxFJIVt-sTNTe6fZudLq6o_WfTWOB9msLO4Ke5wiMIZKmo6gHNh-0-TjkepE2z8bQyFm6LawBTc/s1600/lunchbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP91eN4v-U84eFllMy_5WcDhyphenhyphenpCO7P6EieJSLVzvquwFT-TmGir-GOAl4jKLF9pGgbFxFJIVt-sTNTe6fZudLq6o_WfTWOB9msLO4Ke5wiMIZKmo6gHNh-0-TjkepE2z8bQyFm6LawBTc/s320/lunchbox.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The ones that I chose did not have the Disney characters on them. They were plain plastic. I knew that I was going to alter them, so I didn't want to have to contend with peeling off labels, etc. This is the closest facsimilie (because I didn't take a before picture) that Google could come up with. The structure is the same. The shape is slightly different.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
I got 5 of them for $2 each.</div>
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I used the original box as a jumping off point. I felt like the supplies included in the original kit were a little lacking and not as much fun. So I made a plan and went nuts at the dollar store in the crafting section. </div>
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I bought "crafting sticks" that were painted in rainbow colors, like this:</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
because I thought that the plain ones were boring. They came in a package of 100, so each kid got 20 or so (extras in case you make mistakes or want to double them up for sturdiness), bundled up with raffia. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I bought pompoms in every color and size I could find. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiecGDONz7E6RzUPOZysNP4Jgk6c25vQD-CWBZqJIUh0Oi6J9ROY5rRZ0nqp_fDr2v2CEt2AqPbchhhhcd52mFOWlPaAwlKW-DsCcSOT9M-sle1ZF1i5_gLurKG2USgLSFR0maeQdYgjkk/s1600/pompoms2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiecGDONz7E6RzUPOZysNP4Jgk6c25vQD-CWBZqJIUh0Oi6J9ROY5rRZ0nqp_fDr2v2CEt2AqPbchhhhcd52mFOWlPaAwlKW-DsCcSOT9M-sle1ZF1i5_gLurKG2USgLSFR0maeQdYgjkk/s1600/pompoms2.jpg" /></a></div>
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I had some pipe-cleaners left over from another project. But when I found metallic ones (yay, sparkles!), I just couldn't resist. Because I cut the pipe cleaners to fit the containers that I was storing them in, I only used 2-3 of each color (cutting each into thirds) So there was plenty left over for another project.</div>
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I added feathers, also. I wanted the girls to have lots of options to personalize their dolls. The package included lots of different sized feathers in several different colors, including some metallics.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhulsTx-EEJ5ccnZAfPlbfqW3CU0PN_zyG21j2ezklJdq1Id7rhM1kCgW9DkywRq_xVJhvLwsyIGptJKMtDm3BY306Od_5UfdZsvGlA612NPtkxZRzWIQ4xq-9fmhKtHdVBksRWounfcWA/s1600/feathers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhulsTx-EEJ5ccnZAfPlbfqW3CU0PN_zyG21j2ezklJdq1Id7rhM1kCgW9DkywRq_xVJhvLwsyIGptJKMtDm3BY306Od_5UfdZsvGlA612NPtkxZRzWIQ4xq-9fmhKtHdVBksRWounfcWA/s320/feathers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I bought a bag of mixed colored sequins, also. I had some red ones,
already, but I felt like a jewelled dress needed more than just red.
There are other great colors, too! Then, I mixed them together.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mwH1DwY_NzY441iih3dguhvzgqCPWOoYlaA4W5XjiXmaCeB9L_Pd2mvM-UYAiyd_AQIGy5uT8hB6KAXoCgCbj6Kuv-mZifKfRVjJ1m4jF5E4vjBGLTUeMZQqyv0UpCjuKgYsA8s8zi8/s1600/sequins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mwH1DwY_NzY441iih3dguhvzgqCPWOoYlaA4W5XjiXmaCeB9L_Pd2mvM-UYAiyd_AQIGy5uT8hB6KAXoCgCbj6Kuv-mZifKfRVjJ1m4jF5E4vjBGLTUeMZQqyv0UpCjuKgYsA8s8zi8/s1600/sequins.jpg" /></a></div>
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I purchased a 4 pack of glue sticks (only came in multiples of 4) and a 3 pack of small bottles of white glue. Sometimes, you need different kinds of glue for the job!</div>
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I purchased all of the craft supplies at Dollar Tree for $13 for the lot. I didn't need nearly as much as I had purchased. I had a great deal left over that I'll use for future projects.</div>
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I went to a beading store, and purchased three bags of randomly mixed seed beads for $4. The beads available at the dollar store were too large and would have been too heavy to glue to a paper doll.</div>
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I mixed them all together in a large bowl when I got home. More on packaging follows...</div>
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I also included a set of scented paints (that I found at another dollar store). They came in a set of 3 for $2.50 and looked like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiblBtT1cuEPKnjNVWPE3psrjr76hkOAj3SIk3SJTYSgO3q0i_y2YOQtZ3SDwM3x_2dQ8LOSkPB9oDcopoPTcFVBcMeHm9B38V6VDmlBJMCQi5PWb07zfIUQbp8U38cLYZwqOfe_qGQTPk/s1600/paints.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiblBtT1cuEPKnjNVWPE3psrjr76hkOAj3SIk3SJTYSgO3q0i_y2YOQtZ3SDwM3x_2dQ8LOSkPB9oDcopoPTcFVBcMeHm9B38V6VDmlBJMCQi5PWb07zfIUQbp8U38cLYZwqOfe_qGQTPk/s320/paints.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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I also included a paint brush in each kit. A package of 5 was $1 and I got to keep the left overs.</div>
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I put in a strip of about 30 mini stick on "diamantes": sometimes, a dress just needs a little bling! I already had them; just raided my scrapbooking supplies!</div>
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The entire shopping trip took about two hours, including both stops. Thinking on it now, the only thing I didn't include was 'eyes', which I had and regret not including</div>
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To make the actual dolls (bodies, hair and dresses), I used a die-cut pattern that I downloaded on clearance from the online store for my cutting machine (the Silhouette Cameo). Cost for the patterns (which I get to keep forever) was $5.</div>
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The bodies for the dolls looked like this:</div>
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Each girl got 15 doll-body patterns. Ten planned dolls, and 5 extras for do-overs.</div>
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There were three patterns for different hair styles, that looked like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZDigA7P76Mt_nJytEXFXtZcgnD_mpF4OBnC2Vj-9NdVdK-B5mexQ6T_dDh3Bh6DMJOR2Y_6AaHKKOME-_QD1sJmqlT_89Yac-nDZyhclrCFxLjB_fS2uTSIyTWQmNPCUKMIB1UwKzEo/s1600/hair3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZDigA7P76Mt_nJytEXFXtZcgnD_mpF4OBnC2Vj-9NdVdK-B5mexQ6T_dDh3Bh6DMJOR2Y_6AaHKKOME-_QD1sJmqlT_89Yac-nDZyhclrCFxLjB_fS2uTSIyTWQmNPCUKMIB1UwKzEo/s1600/hair3.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuDF4whTET35ka1Q0V97zSAAxlg0b5YYbzcEMXEfa1UUQdlbJLvcHsVf-LF93ZV1cpSElG_NxS8fM6c6U0uyGWGM06fqZmaQZJ8U3MO4dSeFSsQnWRUlGgW9jiqWiC1Hr7so3jFPPf8W8/s1600/hair+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuDF4whTET35ka1Q0V97zSAAxlg0b5YYbzcEMXEfa1UUQdlbJLvcHsVf-LF93ZV1cpSElG_NxS8fM6c6U0uyGWGM06fqZmaQZJ8U3MO4dSeFSsQnWRUlGgW9jiqWiC1Hr7so3jFPPf8W8/s1600/hair+2.jpg" /></a></div>
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I cut doubles of each so that there was a front and back to the head. I cut each in brown, black, yellow and "red", so that there would be plenty of choices. </div>
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I downloaded several options for outfits....pants, shoes, bathing suits... but settled on "just" dresses. I thought that the other options had pieces that were too fussy and might be hard for little fingers to manipulate. This is the dress pattern I chose:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSTLQkD10WhXMcFXoGAWQvpmPgsiyx_A4YcRoYdNAERHPo7Rd0HE314622ePs9E14LagRsBU5p3lIH5VSuYH5f6pOan1KJ1zvhqaN3s3lAssX1Ug1thDfHMAElVByosQiQfU6Y-yXC1DI/s1600/dress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSTLQkD10WhXMcFXoGAWQvpmPgsiyx_A4YcRoYdNAERHPo7Rd0HE314622ePs9E14LagRsBU5p3lIH5VSuYH5f6pOan1KJ1zvhqaN3s3lAssX1Ug1thDfHMAElVByosQiQfU6Y-yXC1DI/s1600/dress.jpg" /></a></div>
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I cut several dresses from different patterned 12"x12" scrapbooking paper that I already had. I used some solid cardstocks and other "fancier" papers (purple leopard print, sparkly florals).</div>
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Each girl got duplicates of each dress, so that she could personalize them, or have extras for do-overs. I am a *BIG* fan of crafting do-overs! </div>
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I chose not to include the shoes. They didn't cut well and were hard to remove from the mat, so I left them off. I also felt like they were too delicate for little hands!</div>
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The cutting process for all of the pieces took about two hours.</div>
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I sorted each of the pieces into snack sized ziplock bags and labelled them with printed lablels I created using an Avery program. I already had the labels.</div>
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Sorting and labelling took about one hour. </div>
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To store the supplies, I wanted something more than a bag, stapled closed, as featured in the original kit. I could see that spilling out into a mess that receiving parents would hate me for.</div>
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So, I up-cycled a pile of old pill bottles that were given to me. It was easy to clean them and peel the labels.</div>
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I painted the bottles and lids with different colors of Krylon (plastic adherent spray paint - there was no way I was going to do all of that with a brush!). I didn't really *need* to paint them, but I felt like it gave the kits a little something special.</div>
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You can get Krylon in about 400 colors (some sparkly!) for about $6/can at Wal-Mart (which is where I got it), in the paint section. If you are a person who shops by labels, here you go:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9g9OxZ_ItercU1kHEXeGgV8HLVTd_FQCUYTVQX5RJa8BSGws6yZ0qMv3FDcUH9zeyl87IlbyR170epxrxlPJq6L0HPL4FwV6xCfyiZIG4fVfozwCysHHJ5LskRBe72FH_-kPd_GX8ck/s1600/krylon1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9g9OxZ_ItercU1kHEXeGgV8HLVTd_FQCUYTVQX5RJa8BSGws6yZ0qMv3FDcUH9zeyl87IlbyR170epxrxlPJq6L0HPL4FwV6xCfyiZIG4fVfozwCysHHJ5LskRBe72FH_-kPd_GX8ck/s1600/krylon1.jpg" /></a></div>
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I <u><b>strongly</b></u> reccomend specifically purchasing the bottles that say "bonds to plastic" right on them, like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH44AUpPkji5fkOAvVRG2bcop11dAMrADJ9AozJbiRQUKuLfA6mD8RpupVlJ6g6u2acnlLIOHuBqTkv6y92uie6Ozl9cg1VEWi1vaMWJsRxdwfI10C8-vq6TzlcEnpgKxUJLgAWif6iQU/s1600/krylon2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH44AUpPkji5fkOAvVRG2bcop11dAMrADJ9AozJbiRQUKuLfA6mD8RpupVlJ6g6u2acnlLIOHuBqTkv6y92uie6Ozl9cg1VEWi1vaMWJsRxdwfI10C8-vq6TzlcEnpgKxUJLgAWif6iQU/s1600/krylon2.jpg" /></a></div>
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They generally adhered better and coated better also. </div>
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The ColorMax and ColorMaster varieties did not do as nice of a job, so don't be tempted by the array of options. (Bottes look like this):</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6d9n_9z_qijBJfQ3sVY27c6GTYAI3vaANNlb9knXQeDY7fmLnTl_Rjks1flXFuDNW2r-1NEIOwrd9LPLtb4y6eylJ9terSzPdrC_g7CPXLdQDQiiEBlbifPBsv2phY__OjrZfe8vq8o8/s1600/krylon3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6d9n_9z_qijBJfQ3sVY27c6GTYAI3vaANNlb9knXQeDY7fmLnTl_Rjks1flXFuDNW2r-1NEIOwrd9LPLtb4y6eylJ9terSzPdrC_g7CPXLdQDQiiEBlbifPBsv2phY__OjrZfe8vq8o8/s1600/krylon3.jpg" /></a></div>
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But, they were paints I already had from another project, so I used them.<br />
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Because I had to paint two coats (which meant waiting for them to dry),
the painting process for all of the pieces took about three hours, over
two nights.</div>
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Here is a shot of the painted bottles (filled):<br />
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You can see that some of the paint didn't totally adhere to the lids (I'm hoping the girls didn't notice!). You can also see my kitchen/crafting table, covered in a rainbow of Krylon. I haven't had time to clean it, to this day.<br />
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***Side note:*** I have a bottle of Varsol somewhere in the depths of my
craft supply box(es) that I intend to clean this table with! </div>
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The following shot is all of the kit pieces together, including the die cuts:<br />
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There were things added after I had taken the content picture. Each kid got a bottle of glitter for their dolls also. I was going to mix it together so that each one was the same, but I reasoned that they would likely be making them together and could therefore share with one another.</div>
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The actual physical containers took not very much time at all. By the time I was ready to paint them, I had already figured out that I needed to use the bottles of paint that said "bonds instantly to plastic!" for the fastest, easiest and smoothest application.</div>
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Painting them took about 1.5 hours, simply because I had to wait for each to dry individually (including second coats), before I could paint the next. My table was just not big enough!</div>
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In reality, individual painting time was about 5-8 minutes per coat. I did not paint the insides (as you will see in shots that follow).</div>
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Here is what the boxes look like, fully packed. I put the sticks, brushes and glue stick inside of the water bottle, to ensure that I had enough room for everything. I cut the paints in half (groups of 3) so that they would fit in the kit. All of the die-cuts and bags are underneath:</div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Vwm6RnUzNKPueiFB5jBc5wxcWRfRq7uDj2eIeUu9f1QMNZTK-z1dJAP06gS27M8-6kUTsmG6PEDTqTR5-_Exi7A-_KdObxq5qi0Ua6M4ye0Zq77xFRUtxHJNbyWR5aJ78CF_oDghydQ/s1600/20151216_175257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Vwm6RnUzNKPueiFB5jBc5wxcWRfRq7uDj2eIeUu9f1QMNZTK-z1dJAP06gS27M8-6kUTsmG6PEDTqTR5-_Exi7A-_KdObxq5qi0Ua6M4ye0Zq77xFRUtxHJNbyWR5aJ78CF_oDghydQ/s320/20151216_175257.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I chose not to paint the bottles.</div>
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I cut each of the girls' names with fonts associated with my cutter. I tried hard to pick fonts that I thought reflected them.</div>
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I started with Kayleigh's. It looks like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4_1Z2lDVeE1nllT8SNjrSUNtxfT43YtXdD5LOPVHMrA4W4v3CDo1p9qW2SlCXgx8iEyI5G68jxkUzJV4W7KEvih3OXYG_n6EBNZK9jjwO5ONY3L_y5nQwNqHoIL-gPl1VmG4hLueMEo/s1600/20151216_141555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4_1Z2lDVeE1nllT8SNjrSUNtxfT43YtXdD5LOPVHMrA4W4v3CDo1p9qW2SlCXgx8iEyI5G68jxkUzJV4W7KEvih3OXYG_n6EBNZK9jjwO5ONY3L_y5nQwNqHoIL-gPl1VmG4hLueMEo/s320/20151216_141555.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355&pli=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355&pli=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355&pli=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355&pli=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355&pli=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355&pli=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>The font is called "LD Fill-in".</div>
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I didn't center the letters so when I finished it, it looked odd. So I added an embellishment I dug out of my scrapbooking supplies.</div>
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This is Hannah's:</div>
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The font is called "Cricket Font". </div>
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To embellish hers, I used foam stickers I got in a Valentine kit I bought at Target, but ended up having no use for. I was glad to find a use for them - the bag of stickers was still unopened!<br />
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This is Shaelene's: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVj_czet9WZ8j7JRV5eA-3C9NS0JBac1EOZd4ZlcszmAVHhwEC06jWP99IMEbkLD9mp2tkU4GD88f4fR8Qrn-FmXmZWdB_0IvQ5GEdQjygW9UWThbCcMAjp3p2Ksinhe4UQ181KMqbPWk/s1600/20151216_141710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVj_czet9WZ8j7JRV5eA-3C9NS0JBac1EOZd4ZlcszmAVHhwEC06jWP99IMEbkLD9mp2tkU4GD88f4fR8Qrn-FmXmZWdB_0IvQ5GEdQjygW9UWThbCcMAjp3p2Ksinhe4UQ181KMqbPWk/s320/20151216_141710.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The font is called "Daisy". </div>
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It is my favorite, and the only one to feature a cleverly disguised finger print. </div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355&pli=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355&pli=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355&pli=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355&pli=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355&pli=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1405524597430812355&pli=1" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>In this case, the embellishment was simple, and was also pulled from my scrapbooking supplies. I love it.</div>
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I applied and sealed all of the letterings and embellishments with Mod-Podge matte sealant (I wanted the glossy stuff, but that was all that was stocked at Wal-Mart). It costs about $6 for a medium-sized bottle.</div>
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I applied it liberally (and still had 3/4 of the bottle left over) with a sponge brush. It took about an hour to dry with no tack (don't test: you'll get finger prints that you'll have to conceal. Trust me. Just leave it). </div>
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I packed them all carefully and wrapped them for Christmas. Of course, they got to open their gifts early.... within seconds... doll kits everywhere!<br />
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Total cost for all 3 kits: $40.50 or $13.50 per kit. Which I think is pretty amazing when you consider what it costs for a good art kit, paying retail! </div>
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Pictures of completed dolls pending....</div>
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Good night, friends. Thanks for sticking your head in my little corner of the web!</div>
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Love to you! xo </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-85105435224357089352015-04-30T23:36:00.001-04:002015-05-01T00:01:51.290-04:00Carrying Moonbeams Home in a Jar: The Christmas Jar ProjectHello, friends!<br />
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The blog detailing my mosaic adventures was so well received, I decided to write one for the jars I made for my nieces and nephews for Christmas.<br />
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It all started with a late-night Pinterest browsing session (Pinterest is the Devil. The Devil, I tell you!). I was looking for something that was super-cool and could be uniquely customized for each kid.<br />
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The inspiration came from "Teacher Thank-you Gifts", from this blog: <a href="http://www.livinglocurto.com/2013/07/diy-teacher-gift-printable/">DIY Teacher Gift in a Jar</a>. I thought that the description was good, the pictures were appealing, the steps were explained pretty well. Each step came with pictures and I figured only an idiot could screw this up.<br />
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Here's a picture of the featured finished project that started it all:<br />
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I knew I could make them to look however I wanted, and I didn't need to follow the steps exactly. I used it just as a jump-off.<br />
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Little did I know - Pinterest LIES! - but more on that, later...<br />
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I already had five glass jars (I save them for putting stuff in: yay for recycling!). They were all similarly shaped, with about the same volume capacity. They were tall salsa jars, like these:<br />
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Before I could start decorating them, I had to remove the labels. I washed them in hot, soapy water repeatedly with little success.<br />
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I tried soaking them in hot, soapy solution (in a bucket) for several days. Most of the label came off, but I couldn't get rid of the machinated lines of glue...even after putting them through an industrial sterilizer/dishwasher.<br />
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Finally, I ended up just using a boxcutter blade to scrape it off (I was worried about scratching the glass, but this was not to be). It worked better and faster than all the previous methods I had tried.<br />
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I really wish I had done that first. <br />
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When all the glue was scraped cleanly off, I washed them again. Then I cleaned them with glass cleaner (inside and out). I wanted to make sure that the paint adhered *very* well.<br />
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From start to finish (including all three attempted methods), cleaning all five jars took approximately 6 hours total (spread out over about a week). If I did it again, I would skip cleaning three hundred times and go directly to scrape-off method.<br />
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I would guess about half that time would be required from start to finish for cleaning, depending on your scraping speed (and if you don't watch TV while you do it, like I did).<br />
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I already had several bottles of acrylic paint (purchased at a dollar store. I had primary colors, white, black, silver and gold). You can get them anywhere. I used "Crafter's Acrylic" brand. Label and bottles look like this:<br />
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Having these colors as a starting point allows you to mix and make any color you like.<br />
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I started off eager, squirting gobs of paint into the first jar, expecting it to roll and coat easily, like this video I found on YouTube said it would:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/2_gCXPB14v8/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2_gCXPB14v8?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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It did not. I tapped and smacked the crap out of those jars to get the paint to move. At one point, I was worried I might slam my hand through the base of the jar.<br />
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Reflecting on it now, I think I should have thinned the paint out somehow. Perhaps it wasn't viscous (runny) enough.<br />
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I also watched this one on tinting - and considered aborting the painted method in favour of this:<br />
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Until I discovered I did not have a bottle of Modge Podge. Also, I wanted the jars to be opaque, because I was stuffing them with gift items: I didn't want the surprise ruined.<br />
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So back to the painted method I went.<br />
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I used the same method as detailed in both the videos; squirting paint into the bottom and strategically along the sides (later on) and rolling it to coat the insides. Adding aforementioned smacking. <br />
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When I started, I didn't really have a plan. I was just painting. I was having a grand old time making a huge mess (forgetting that I would be the one to clean it up). It was very un-thirtysomething of me.<br />
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I kind of had an idea of which colors I wanted to put together, but that was about it. I was playing, just having a good time. I layered colors on top of each other to see what would happen if I rolled them into each other or around each other.<br />
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But then I started to run out of paint. I really didn't want to buy more supplies for this project, so I had to really think about what I was doing and the colors I was using in order to use only the resources I already had.<br />
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When painting, I tipped out the excess back into a container. If the colors were mixed in an unpleasing residual, I threw it out after draining it onto newsprint.<br />
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When I was done painting, I set them bottom-up on top of newspapers to dry and allow any extra paint to dribble out. I set it next to an open window to dry.<br />
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The entire painting process took about 5 hours, spread over about 3 days.<br />
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Drying the paint took about three days, which shocked me.<br />
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I wanted the jars to be completely dry inside (because I was filling them and didn't want paint on candies, etc). They were tacky for a very long time.<br />
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I thought that putting them open-end down might be hampering their drying speed, so after I was sure that there wasn't going to be any more dripping paint, I put them right side up on the windowsill.<br />
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It made no difference whatsoever in the drying time. It did, however, give me a cold.<br />
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Painted all of the lids (except one) with a "wet black" paint (that I already had, specifically for metal).<br />
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When I painted David's jar, I forgot to shake the gold paint. So I ended up with watery residue with glitter (kind of like the goo that comes out of the mustard bottle) on my paint. I squirted it alongside another color. The water caused it to wash out, so I had a painted glass look, like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpHZb1gghKxgwdUcsxgslrf5DTuTb7Z6Jxk1HZdL7YVSySGLyNr64SsRoFyYlHLyGs_8Sbe2GBqvLNLaYyNaCnBot5qazdpb1AwusmuFp-ClCVcXbSbP4XPD1DQeoIrM3tvuX4mD0VB0/s1600/DSC05789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVpHZb1gghKxgwdUcsxgslrf5DTuTb7Z6Jxk1HZdL7YVSySGLyNr64SsRoFyYlHLyGs_8Sbe2GBqvLNLaYyNaCnBot5qazdpb1AwusmuFp-ClCVcXbSbP4XPD1DQeoIrM3tvuX4mD0VB0/s1600/DSC05789.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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It washed out most of the side of the jar. I was really mad about it, too, because I thought that it would mean having to start all over again.<br />
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Moral of the story: always shake the paint.<br />
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But I left it for the night and went to bed.<br />
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When I came back to it the next day, I decided that I would use comic strips that had like colours to cover up the botched paint job. It would look like I meant to do that, and my nephew would never know the difference.<br />
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I looked through a stack of discarded comics on a for-purchase table at the Public Library until I found some pictures that matched what I was going for (yes, I brought the jar with me!).<br />
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I paid 50 cents for five comics. I used what I wanted. I kept the scraps for future projects as I only used a page or two from each of the books.<br />
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I cut the pictures that I wanted and used glue to adhere it.<br />
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I used leftover "No More Nails" (from another project), by LePage ($7/tube, Home Depot) which looks like this:<br />
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Construction adhesive is probably overkill for this project, but I found that the pointed tip made applying delicate pieces easier. Also, using a stronger adhesive assured me that none of the little bits and pieces would fall off when I boxed, wrapped and transported them.<br />
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For the topper, I used a collectible toy statue of 'Thor' that I broke the base off of and glued down. I purchased it for $1 at Target. I thought it was a lot bigger than it turned out to be; I might have added a few more.<br />
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Here is a top-down shot: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8PP3VrRy51mYVvL1kbZb_wE_IALDvu71kFnzatDfG3xAyDjgkTNibZnfDnFwJXnfR9vV3WPU7bp5yJa9NHTvJSaQ7AQTCS1JLQ2LUorE8BmlqFs_4tjGuASJ0NsPx0Bv-Nb83QfHPDrY/s1600/DSC05793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8PP3VrRy51mYVvL1kbZb_wE_IALDvu71kFnzatDfG3xAyDjgkTNibZnfDnFwJXnfR9vV3WPU7bp5yJa9NHTvJSaQ7AQTCS1JLQ2LUorE8BmlqFs_4tjGuASJ0NsPx0Bv-Nb83QfHPDrY/s1600/DSC05793.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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For Kayleigh's jar, I deliberately incorporated colors that I knew were her favourites (as told to me by her dad): sparkly blue and a bit of green and white. I wanted it to be girly, but not too girly.<br />
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To decorate the outside, I used some lavender die-cut flowers (1' dia. and 1 1/2' dia.) that I dug out of my scrapbooking box. I used smaller flowers (in orange and pink) in the centers of each flower, layered on with glue.<br />
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They were cut from heavy cardstock. I chose these deliberately because I didn't want them to bend or crease. I wanted them to stand in relief from the jar. Like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6avc-nqS7irJPDD9y0ix422iwf1yRl7CdYHe8Ph27TGcBle_EappdgDBrVis5ZdyhKOi0bxFESpu_okcGU7TsrYafoTraSc2sOkkh5o9Fkhjrb7knaBAiTVQiSoZSiggtZVA0UidC5ik/s1600/DSC05781.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6avc-nqS7irJPDD9y0ix422iwf1yRl7CdYHe8Ph27TGcBle_EappdgDBrVis5ZdyhKOi0bxFESpu_okcGU7TsrYafoTraSc2sOkkh5o9Fkhjrb7knaBAiTVQiSoZSiggtZVA0UidC5ik/s1600/DSC05781.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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When the flowers were attached, I felt like they were missing something. I found a bag of sparkly red sequins that had spilled into the bottom of a craft box and decided that they would be perfect.<br />
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As above, I placed one sequin at the end of each petal and one in the center of each smaller flower.<br />
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The construction adhesive was too heavy for this step. It drug the sequins down until they fell off. So, for this step, I used plain white glue and applied each sequin with a toothpick.<br />
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I repeated the sequin patterning on the lid and added a die-cut as well. Here is a closer shot of the lid, from the top down:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZs7KNatrmfRDqCPH5gHw6i3MR9vE2ABLL6cGPTVHr4oddwqiM-j5QJB7oH1ojjGmC6r8ZEOoDgLM_5g26MpRPO6JggcgMTupfIfwxjQbclHiN64cCEr8Oq-b_BAvJdl_m7FTsMHf0GvI/s1600/DSC05784.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZs7KNatrmfRDqCPH5gHw6i3MR9vE2ABLL6cGPTVHr4oddwqiM-j5QJB7oH1ojjGmC6r8ZEOoDgLM_5g26MpRPO6JggcgMTupfIfwxjQbclHiN64cCEr8Oq-b_BAvJdl_m7FTsMHf0GvI/s1600/DSC05784.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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The sequins dried quickly when I put them next to the open window.<br />
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I was very pleased with how this one turned out. I thought that it was a good match for her personality: lively and gregarious. Fun and a little bit girly.<br />
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Here is the finished product:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI3zQnBZCUcz_QTLhu7JOpJXoOw_06Zr4ZG3FFMFKSP_DAX2vh6MvScVZ26FZCrGrUFHwqbtw1IMedRtgotV047GbxaPR8l7Op_C3XZd-8eiRVudhTPe3aSFHpGYweYG8MTIT6mZpfXzE/s1600/DSC05782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI3zQnBZCUcz_QTLhu7JOpJXoOw_06Zr4ZG3FFMFKSP_DAX2vh6MvScVZ26FZCrGrUFHwqbtw1IMedRtgotV047GbxaPR8l7Op_C3XZd-8eiRVudhTPe3aSFHpGYweYG8MTIT6mZpfXzE/s1600/DSC05782.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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For Shaelene's jar, I knew that I wanted something girly and pretty and princess-y. She likes to get her nails done and wear dresses all the time, so I wanted this to be very simple but beautiful and lady-like. Like Shae.<br />
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I started with red; the bottle was almost empty and the air inside helped to create the 'flecked' look I liked so much. I added white paint, and rolled it around, then layered in some pink I mixed together in a snack cup (so I could throw it out when I was done).<br />
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When I tipped the jar upside down to dry, the running helped accentuate the red flecks; I was thrilled about that.<br />
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For the topper, I used two silk roses. I took the rose off of the stem and threw the rest away.<br />
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I tried to keep the green plastic bits on the bottom, because I liked the color contrast, but I couldn't get them to sit flat like I wanted. So I removed the green plastic.<br />
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The petals separated into layers of fabric, so I had to press them on one at a time. I held them down in the center to make sure they stuck to the base (and to each other), which is why they look as if there's a well in the center when you look at it from the top down. <br />
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For this step, I used the construction adhesive, because I wanted to make sure they stayed on. I used two disassembled artificial roses to achieve the look I wanted. Here is a top-down shot:<br />
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Here is a shot of the completed jar:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo8x1kBuqG898i-O8NG6O9ylLEd9RkymSPL5Nrz18AB8fIjxgJBezn8dqt_aw0Wjj3i0sJzUGZo33wFihzmFDx9jHzUTowNWNZgKibWV-obT4_qABkPReh_K_JB0J8cSE-kCZXV4Kjllw/s1600/DSC05797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo8x1kBuqG898i-O8NG6O9ylLEd9RkymSPL5Nrz18AB8fIjxgJBezn8dqt_aw0Wjj3i0sJzUGZo33wFihzmFDx9jHzUTowNWNZgKibWV-obT4_qABkPReh_K_JB0J8cSE-kCZXV4Kjllw/s1600/DSC05797.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I painted the jar for Mason first of all. It was the largest jar (a pickle jar). Because this jar was a bit larger than the others, it took more paint to cover the inside.<br />
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When it was done, I spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out what I would decorate the outside with. Then I found a bag of sparkly foam star stickers I had bought for another project, but never used.<br />
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I liked that they stood in relief against the jar. I also liked that the glitter on them made them bumpy and tactile. <br />
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I purchased it at Wal-Mart in the scrapbooking section for about $3. There were three sizes and colors of stars in the package and matched the colors I had chosen.<br />
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They were sticky-backed, but the adhesive would not take to the glass. So I put a little bit of NMN on the back of each one and held it until it was stuck. It bonded solid in 24 hours.<br />
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I glued three stars to the top, as a topper. <br />
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Here is a top down shot:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8rPdctgK9G8DZ55UFVp0jMCTPwqBRTOoXGiuUxIJxNNCctNwo-1NwSV8pQdMxQhI5c7VPcOBrk5HDs3SVKdatqPof884dkbDM_rPPYuZmETSwDZf24jIG0H5p8eFxdGMioNvDHyDBvVo/s1600/DSC05794.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8rPdctgK9G8DZ55UFVp0jMCTPwqBRTOoXGiuUxIJxNNCctNwo-1NwSV8pQdMxQhI5c7VPcOBrk5HDs3SVKdatqPof884dkbDM_rPPYuZmETSwDZf24jIG0H5p8eFxdGMioNvDHyDBvVo/s1600/DSC05794.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I did not take a shot of the completed jar, because you couldn't see the topper anyway, so it would have just been a shot of what you see here.<br />
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Hannah's jar was painted the quickest, and took the least time. I used black paint for hers (the same I had used on the lids of the others). It was quite viscous and runny (not acrylic) and coated the jar in about ten seconds.<br />
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I added some "plastic diamonds" (I don't know what else to call them) that I had left over from another project. Wal-Mart had packages of them for about $4 each, like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJHqqTmYjTXaWp2C-oRh3mTPhQ2YZzOMVrhChjlM6U9itm27C8SKZb_CcuYAMzsIWNERf3tDXtodZJiMVGM7R226IXrDC5ZEFTEh-fMSKWS_qmYJMVTUM0t0ASUqe7Gx0aRWVDW42D57o/s1600/beads.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJHqqTmYjTXaWp2C-oRh3mTPhQ2YZzOMVrhChjlM6U9itm27C8SKZb_CcuYAMzsIWNERf3tDXtodZJiMVGM7R226IXrDC5ZEFTEh-fMSKWS_qmYJMVTUM0t0ASUqe7Gx0aRWVDW42D57o/s1600/beads.jpg" /></a></div>
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The ones I used were similar to this, but larger, with no adhesive backing. I got them at a beading and jewelry making store. There were about 40 in bag for $1.25.<br />
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The shape of Hannah's jar was narrow at the neck and in the middle, like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQuyStMVPBucra_KWGBUFsgaU-KKkoiedg0x2o2cgHWQmzBhQOiASAYFmZbWl-tI4ofCPME7O6fivl8YUzef3lKq31dw23GiziUibnwBO7GGy0FhLLC6bGv0ff_YBBIIuOuMBIGd_Qrn8/s1600/jjar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQuyStMVPBucra_KWGBUFsgaU-KKkoiedg0x2o2cgHWQmzBhQOiASAYFmZbWl-tI4ofCPME7O6fivl8YUzef3lKq31dw23GiziUibnwBO7GGy0FhLLC6bGv0ff_YBBIIuOuMBIGd_Qrn8/s1600/jjar.jpg" height="320" width="155" /></a></div>
It kind of reminded me of a dress-maker's mannequin. I thought that the shape was elegant and lovely, perfect for a young lady.<br />
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Plus, I also figured that she would be the most flexible about a jar that looks skinnier...which might be perceived as less full (more on that later)!<br />
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So when I decorated it, I kind of had a fancy dress design in mind.<br />
I used a "wet black" paint that (I already had) to coat the inside. This time around (of course the last time!), painting it was much easier. The paint was thin and viscous, coating the inside of the jar in literal seconds. I almost dropped it from surprise. I was expecting it to be much more time consuming to paint, like the others.<br />
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Because the overall color was black, I decided that painting the lid black also was too much. I chose white. <br />
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I had some wired ribbon left over from another project that I tied around the middle of the jar. I thought that this made the dress look as if it were 'belted'; like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDEjGRxFCgtBGbN0hcJ_keiV83DBRrJDaIUqqycGvyhFn0vGp21ejRi4ut8malzoEQuVS8KJTH6RGmLh4QTjljWMI-7KixEPtcFcN3zR5ZTlzdID1ghcrFHhwMZZzKIFF9sLsamHPhkpc/s1600/DSC05798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDEjGRxFCgtBGbN0hcJ_keiV83DBRrJDaIUqqycGvyhFn0vGp21ejRi4ut8malzoEQuVS8KJTH6RGmLh4QTjljWMI-7KixEPtcFcN3zR5ZTlzdID1ghcrFHhwMZZzKIFF9sLsamHPhkpc/s1600/DSC05798.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I put the "plastic diamonds" in two rings around the neck of the jar (to look like a fancy necklace). In actual fact, I used two layers of jewels to disguise the uneven finishing line of the paint inside. The jewels went to the top of the jar neck, flush with the lid, concealing it perfectly.<br />
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They were adhered with NMN, as with other external decorations. I wanted the hold to be permanent.<br />
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I didn't put a topper on this jar. I tried several different options and didn't like any of them. I decided I liked it better plain, so I left it.<br />
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All told, the painting and decorating process took about three hours per jar (the detail-y pieces were very time consuming) for a total of fifteen hours, spread over about two weeks, not including paint-drying time. <br />
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Which brings me back to "Reasons why Pinterest Lies!": This was indicated as a beginner's project that could be done in one afternoon. *One*. With an adult doing everything, no small hands...no giant messes.<br />
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Beware, newbies! Beware.<br />
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Moving on. The part that had nothing to do with Pinterest:<br />
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I knew I couldn't give a kid an empty jar if I really wanted the wow factor; no matter how much time I spent making them look cool. An empty jar is definitely not as cool as a full one.<br />
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So I decided that I would fill them up with presents. Most of the things I got in the One Spot ($1) section at Target. They had some cool holiday stuff!<br />
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Some of the things were Christmas-y, like these reindeer glasses, which I modeled:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucPl_8pAK7gANJqpZ5JZo1iecLhuNl2fqlRU3WEG0SqtUROS_iEOiiThN5NXKprk0dGJLVVfcuUv_IEHGCZzvFZHkEo23Je6rPPYGifBN3HPtWCEE6FrwwQitH-wEKzsYRTZdC7BL2eQ/s1600/DSC05758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucPl_8pAK7gANJqpZ5JZo1iecLhuNl2fqlRU3WEG0SqtUROS_iEOiiThN5NXKprk0dGJLVVfcuUv_IEHGCZzvFZHkEo23Je6rPPYGifBN3HPtWCEE6FrwwQitH-wEKzsYRTZdC7BL2eQ/s1600/DSC05758.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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There were Christmas themed pencils (which I had to cut the end off of to fit in the jars). I wrapped them with a cute little curlicued ribbon. Like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE4AZ_dlGUSNwrZdzJuvb8O0OAmfW8_0teE3hI-x5t1nrkjUZyVSHv4yJI4wRAJ2mtDoT-lns4kC-_muPJEpjIjEYtnajoOy7wT6jy9h8Q20gBHrPO3Ss9iqtWDCQYgp0JWglGbesZuY4/s1600/DSC05757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE4AZ_dlGUSNwrZdzJuvb8O0OAmfW8_0teE3hI-x5t1nrkjUZyVSHv4yJI4wRAJ2mtDoT-lns4kC-_muPJEpjIjEYtnajoOy7wT6jy9h8Q20gBHrPO3Ss9iqtWDCQYgp0JWglGbesZuY4/s1600/DSC05757.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I found a package of silicone finger puppets that I loved. There were five in the package, which I got for $1 at Target. I was worried that the kids wouldn't know what they were for, so I took a pic that I intended to include with a letter that I never inluded. But here is a picture, just for you:<br />
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I filled the jars with candies, some I stashed from visits to restaurants, some I bought (stick candy from Bulk Barn, 5/$1):<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbjIzk5NAATEr5cV4yxELRyN_emK-RR-T2pLvjmtUJ72eX8gMtfiduW0uhB-5G98RMXSdeyBuE_b4Y7gV-vYNoXZkX2dTD6s27nbbYJc0REjchmOBNljNAsnqATgVyDloReIjMKHT4d1U/s1600/DSC05775.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbjIzk5NAATEr5cV4yxELRyN_emK-RR-T2pLvjmtUJ72eX8gMtfiduW0uhB-5G98RMXSdeyBuE_b4Y7gV-vYNoXZkX2dTD6s27nbbYJc0REjchmOBNljNAsnqATgVyDloReIjMKHT4d1U/s1600/DSC05775.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are my favourite after dinner suckers from East Side Mario's - before the boycott - I had about 30 of them.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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This is a photo of Kayleigh's finished jar, including the contents, before I filled them all:<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/AVvXsEjKt6KYOYOlk1q1mtjAU3R6MHXq8fw2G7Jb_WLJcHj6bR6jnHS5UBsoM0ys_EWWVMQsUMFaPx0iz4aUn97ko6uDMiYwztxYpVkJsANOe1CzrWE_zNO9bCxM62B17SZVtrAkE7M6MLDGwxY/s1600/DSC05787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKt6KYOYOlk1q1mtjAU3R6MHXq8fw2G7Jb_WLJcHj6bR6jnHS5UBsoM0ys_EWWVMQsUMFaPx0iz4aUn97ko6uDMiYwztxYpVkJsANOe1CzrWE_zNO9bCxM62B17SZVtrAkE7M6MLDGwxY/s1600/DSC05787.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Candies, pencils....my favourite piece was the little hand. It's a clapper that has a glowstick for a handle! Each kid got body wash..."Hello Kitty" and "Avengers". I may or may not have had to replace one I kept for myself.</td></tr>
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Total cost for the jar fill contents was $20/$4 per jar.<br />
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Some items I got for free. Rubber promotional bracelets, etc.<br />
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I continued to pick up little things I thought would go well in the jars (that are not in the pic) right up until I wrapped them.<br />
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When I was done, there was *no* more room for anything else. Here are all five, finished:<br />
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I sent each of them a Christmas activity book that I put together with .pdf's and puzzles that I found on the internet. It took me about 10 minutes of searching, . I send some kind of activity book or coloring pages with each package I send them. <br />
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I put their names on each one (so that they would be able to tell which one was theirs once they got going) and put them in an envelope that I decorated with some glitter (I already had) and drew on some funky lettering.<br />
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As always, I sent a movie (usually just a copy of something cool). This time I sent "Secondhand Lions", with Michael Caine. It was a great movie. You can watch a clip, here:<br />
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I tucked it all in with a little love note and some stamps so that they could write me back.<br />
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Here is a shot of all five completed jars, with the decorated envelope:<br />
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Happy Christmas, my little love muffins! Pay no mind that I wrote this in April! Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-13793601793993953672015-04-26T23:48:00.001-04:002016-01-20T17:59:45.445-05:00Mosiac MadnessHello, my dear sweet followers:<br />
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I haven't blogged in a long time, and I thought that now was a good time to start. The fog is lifting after the sudden, shocking death of my DSH. I am coming back to myself.<br />
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I'm starting to feel better in my skin. <br />
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I've started cooking again, finding joy in the nourishment that creating dishes gives me and the nourishment that eating them gives others. <br />
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In November, I started a crafty project. I decided that I would make some mosaic tile mirrors for my three nieces for Christmas. Something that they could keep forever: that would be cool at age five or twenty-five. My mom always made hand-crafted gifts for us, and I wanted to do something like that for my five favourite kiddos!<br />
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I gave myself just over six weeks to complete five mirrors: 2 small ones that I eventually gave as a Christmas gift, and one large mirror for each of my nieces, ranging in age from nine to five.<br />
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I figured that six weeks would be enough time, that it couldn't possibly be that hard - the people on Pinterest and YouTube make it look so easy that a monkey could do it - I could do it, too!<br />
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I started with five mirrors, all found at the Goodwill, and luckily all the same size (3 large, 2 small). They were all Ikea mirrors with a large wood framing, like this:<br />
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This mirror is called the "Rakuten". It came in a package of two, and was unopened. I paid $2 for both. I used this model for the smaller ones I gave to my co-worker.<br />
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The three larger ones were decorated already and I had to spend a bit of time cleaning off the old stain and some stickers. But I was thrilled to find three the same size. I paid $4 for all three large mirrors.<br />
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I used recycled dishes (20 plates @ $1 per plate, purchased on 50 Friday. I paid $10) in shades of blue, green, red and yellow. I purposefully chose plates with texture - I thought that they looked cool and added some interest to the pieces.<br />
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I broke them up with a hammer. I folded an old shirt over the dishes as I was breaking them to keep shards off of the floor (and your eyes and other bodily orfices Pinterest fails to mention.) I discarded the shirt when I was done. I suggest using a stainless steel bow to keep your pieces in, as I have done here. <br />
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I used LePage "No More Nails" construction adhesive, which can be purchased for approximately $7 per tube at any construction store. The product I used comes in a tube, so it's good for applying to tight spaces, or precision application. I used 2 tubes.<br />
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I used this because it seemed like a stronger option to plain white glue, which the professional and well-spoken web videos suggest. I was worried about having pieces of tile fall off knowing it would be going to little kids. It held rock solid after 24 hours. I was very impressed. <br />
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If you are a person who shops by what labels look like, this is for you, in solidarity (the people at Home Depot certainly don't shop that way...so they were no help):<br />
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I pre-planned the design on each of them, drawing directly on the frame with a permanent marker. I drew over a design if I didn't like it, and just darkened the lines.<br />
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I deliberately used a dark color contrasting to my tile color scheme. I found it made following the pattern easier as the mosiac got fuller. Someone suggested using a design program, but that seemed kind of technical to me, and a lot less fun.<br />
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Fitting the pieces together was kind of like doing a puzzle. I wasn't very precise about breaking my dishes, I was just wailing at them with a hammer (which turned out to be exhausting...but still kind of satisfying. Now I know why everyone likes to smash dishes in movies!) and so I ended up with a lot of random pieces.<br />
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I did learn how to go gently with the hammer to kind of "make it" break, sort of the way I wanted it to. Here's an example of the pre-dawn pattern and piece-working it together:<br />
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When I drew the pattern the first time, I didn't like it, so I turned the mirror.<br />
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This is an example of the pre-drawn pattern on the smaller set of two mirrors:<br />
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The completed, ungrouted mosaics looked like this (these were the two smaller ones, meant to go together):<br />
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Who can tell what this says? Little poll. See the difference grouting makes...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bToKnV_vKPo8SjceV4pnCNe8L_K2RD2Gtey01_UgpFW_hE6V_EDbr142gPFSA3IPAEfVxXLMPZZzJ4kYV9ejJB1pkyqTkiEuSluDFA-ro7YODSXNTM6-jg8grGKA02IBY6z7pIiOAds/s1600/DSC05730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2bToKnV_vKPo8SjceV4pnCNe8L_K2RD2Gtey01_UgpFW_hE6V_EDbr142gPFSA3IPAEfVxXLMPZZzJ4kYV9ejJB1pkyqTkiEuSluDFA-ro7YODSXNTM6-jg8grGKA02IBY6z7pIiOAds/s1600/DSC05730.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Shaelene loves to wear pretty dresses...every day. She's my favourite pretty princess! I wanted to make her a pretty princess mirror, so I used mostly red and gold on this one. I tried to make the corners pointy, like jewels. This one took some planning, because her name is the longest.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaX_KEtVh9BKjn7LXeZIdJTnv4Xns_DbnCy1513hT23CdcngqcITo7lAXsthwJwvMbnfNQNJjSUcma4oFeC-1-gkOihQAhoc4RnUJsRM7n7xCXpBMwoO47ZtCb16huAFP5BGnx86GXKvM/s1600/DSC05754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaX_KEtVh9BKjn7LXeZIdJTnv4Xns_DbnCy1513hT23CdcngqcITo7lAXsthwJwvMbnfNQNJjSUcma4oFeC-1-gkOihQAhoc4RnUJsRM7n7xCXpBMwoO47ZtCb16huAFP5BGnx86GXKvM/s1600/DSC05754.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hannah's was the only one I used the dark green on. The plates are textured to look like leaves. I wanted her to have something special and distinctive about her mirror. Also, I felt like the darker colors gave it a little bit of "grown-upness".</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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All told, the tile-laying process took about 20 hours total for all five (spread out over approximately 10 days). The adhesive I used allowed for re-placement of tiles for up to five minutes. After 24 hours, the bond is permanent.<br />
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I didn't take any photos of the grouting process because I didn't want to dirty up my camera. The crusty old guy at Home Depot who told me that it was too dangerous for a person in a wheelchair said that I would be foolish to take pictures unless I wanted concrete on my camera (which I did not), so I left it.<br />
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But I have never grouted (ever) before this project, so I had no idea what to do. I watched several Youtube videos that made it look just as easy as pie, so I figured, "okey doke, no worries. I can do that". If you'd like to have a look at the videos I used to teach myself:<br />
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This is Karen Silton's, "How to Grout A Mosaic Piece of Art". I was very jealous of her tiling room, and wished that I'd had one. I also noted that her grout wasn't "the consistency of runny peanut butter," like the guy at HD said... <br />
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And neither did this guy's....until the end. I wished I'd watched this one first. I actually used his method of mixing grout the second time around and had much more consistent results.<br />
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He was also joking around with the camerawoman while mixing his grout, which made me feel better. <br />
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I didn't use any of the tools recommended for the application of grout. The tiles were uneven and I found it was more effective to use my fingers to push the grout as deeply into the cracks as I could get it.<br />
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I used "PolyBlend Sanded Grout". Here is what the box looks like:<br />
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I chose "Pewter" originally, because I thought it would be dark, to make the letters 'pop', but not too dark. It actually turned out a medium grey as opposed to the metal color I wanted.<br />
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Polyblend has a range of colors to choose from. Most of them are available at HD in stock, but you can special order them if you wish. Here is the PolyBlend color chart:<br />
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Here is an example of what the grout looks dry, before it is mixed:<br />
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Here is an example of what the Pewter-colored grout looks mixed, applied and dried. These are the smaller mirrors.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlhZxxQJdxkq0D1nAYEBe0arMuKO5GYl-yX6PPm7dD0rQ7UjJMq7rD2vDm2md_vCDBIxdA4PIO2fiugsXGdfCYxP06-vvnbK-46D9TGbsLWSlgmyoJPpzkD4QX8jnoKJxeHcqVwDMoPI/s1600/DSC05753.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlhZxxQJdxkq0D1nAYEBe0arMuKO5GYl-yX6PPm7dD0rQ7UjJMq7rD2vDm2md_vCDBIxdA4PIO2fiugsXGdfCYxP06-vvnbK-46D9TGbsLWSlgmyoJPpzkD4QX8jnoKJxeHcqVwDMoPI/s1600/DSC05753.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I wanted to use a different shade of grout to more closely match the black finishing paint I already had. So I went with a black shade for the second round. PolyBlend - charcoal. Here is an example of what the charcoal-colored grout looks mixed, applied and dried:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7egIB-a2RqvX0YjWvzctpzc2UunEGh0pDppR7gPU8AmbTOacCS715Kdw3_-9ynocIz67yEmGFEukNPlFr6ngddlWlNom68Q7zx8iP4PJRmekj13rmOlF0DUS-OXCPzoNb4fAwr2am0Vc/s1600/DSC06064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7egIB-a2RqvX0YjWvzctpzc2UunEGh0pDppR7gPU8AmbTOacCS715Kdw3_-9ynocIz67yEmGFEukNPlFr6ngddlWlNom68Q7zx8iP4PJRmekj13rmOlF0DUS-OXCPzoNb4fAwr2am0Vc/s1600/DSC06064.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
It took approximately 1/4 of the pewter bag for the two smaller mirrors and approximately 1/2 of the charcoal bag (20 lbs. each; available @ $20per box. Both of my boxes of grout were leftovers from a professional job done by a friend's dad. I got them for nothing).<br />
<br />
It was mixed by 'guestimation' because the directions included were for the whole box, which I knew I wouldn't need.<br />
<br />
I used plastic dishware from the dollar store, which I threw out afterward.<br />
<br />
I applied the grout liberally in handfuls, spreading it into the cracks with my fingers. All of the videos said to wear gloves. I did at first, but found that they tore very quickly and easily. It was also just easier to apply with my bare hands.<br />
<br />
I taped off the glass of the mirror before I started (with green painter's tape) because I was worried about scratching the glass. It turned out that I didn't have to worry about this at all.<br />
<br />
I made sure that the tiles were completely covered. Like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp8SMXoIA04GH7zSZyelj2LJDvZgEW0LlPW4lUtpcDBkbr7APT7XXkivk5wiTARFX3ZJPhWDkVom10iZudiyAET4b14JVvDRurvqtBV_dv4fDeUqp748hHnkRasqr3wwOVhiQL8IOiPA4/s1600/DSC06067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp8SMXoIA04GH7zSZyelj2LJDvZgEW0LlPW4lUtpcDBkbr7APT7XXkivk5wiTARFX3ZJPhWDkVom10iZudiyAET4b14JVvDRurvqtBV_dv4fDeUqp748hHnkRasqr3wwOVhiQL8IOiPA4/s1600/DSC06067.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The entire grouting process for all five mirrors took about an hour, spread out over a week or so (plus a trip to HD to talk to the tiling consultant, which turned out to be an incredible waste of time)!<br />
<br />
I failed to understand that you are not to allow grout to completely dry. Because when it does, it dries as hard as concrete. It is impossible to 'wipe off'...went to the bathroom...had a snack. Bob's your Auntie and it was dry. So I went to bed. <br />
<br />
I figured that the grout wouldn't get any harder now, so I left them. It was exhausting and I was tired of looking at it. I needed a break from mosaic-ing. But I had nowhere to put them, and didn't want to spread the mess around. And so they sat, monopolizing my kitchen table for several weeks. I lived around them. The bustle of Christmas came and went; I was absorbed by other projects.<br />
<br />
Shaelene's birthday came. And I decided I was going to get them done...come hell or high water. I wanted these things out of my kitchen. I wanted them gone. The plan was to give it to her for her birthday, along with a box of Easter care packages for the other kids. You may have seen it on my facebook page:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj81IHxdgzpwmuOkUOCZr-vNin6Q_Q9LilBzni3IapZr4-YeuqmgTaYa9Jk0sdphAuLQy3f47z-PQEbuy9f-LKg5KP4jTQWpjw1-CH9E9JB_Yq8q0C53hD1L0mrGg-0zYy7eSU3sScsaGk/s1600/DSC06055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj81IHxdgzpwmuOkUOCZr-vNin6Q_Q9LilBzni3IapZr4-YeuqmgTaYa9Jk0sdphAuLQy3f47z-PQEbuy9f-LKg5KP4jTQWpjw1-CH9E9JB_Yq8q0C53hD1L0mrGg-0zYy7eSU3sScsaGk/s1600/DSC06055.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXF8MiZGJ1OUU19-dfvLdNKDeh8c3vxFmZzlyczBQyw5fPPUxBL1Rym9EWDGnXVBVC-JGcjRAxlbmiA3TS1NyPoZvnfAcqOMInoimBUDZTbtmoVGlPs8mMg4yKKy0-giXYtwJWHzh3wU/s1600/DSC06056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQXF8MiZGJ1OUU19-dfvLdNKDeh8c3vxFmZzlyczBQyw5fPPUxBL1Rym9EWDGnXVBVC-JGcjRAxlbmiA3TS1NyPoZvnfAcqOMInoimBUDZTbtmoVGlPs8mMg4yKKy0-giXYtwJWHzh3wU/s1600/DSC06056.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
I was very motivated. But the grout was very stubborn. It was hard to get off. So I used the photo of the pre-grouted design to clean each singular tile, individually with a paring knife and a toothbrush.<br />
<br />
It took hours; I was exhausted. Shaelene did not get the mirror for her birthday and I was crestfallen: I was never going to get these done....<br />
<br />
Then, I went to "Google" and searched 'remove grout from tile'. And I
found this video...he talked about the cup brush and I nearly cried with
relief: <br />
<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/EKOvpvf_VbM/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EKOvpvf_VbM?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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Then I watched this second one. He talked about not being able to find the Nyalox brush at any hardware store.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Zqz0MF5DJjc/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Zqz0MF5DJjc?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />
I had no idea where I would get this brush - I didn't even have a drill. And what was I thinking? I was going to drill something? Yeah. Okay. But, it seemed that this was the only way that these mirrors were going to make it off my list. <br />
<br />
I borrowed a power-drill and ordered the brush from Amazon ($14, shipping included). The guy in the video was right. None of the big guys (Home Depot, Home Hardware or even Wal-Mart - shock of all shocks! - ) had this brush.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtnvCN1z-TixsgvG48dgEY22_G9A2bVM3aLxLadgyq60kBTbGG1OeNE-KKlxDbRtXXmAw9wL7bUf6U17Ff3_pHZPUBMV90_tUhZFareLg9h14HGTuJwicHY4-L1PORu_TwQUkK7ddraXU/s1600/nyalox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtnvCN1z-TixsgvG48dgEY22_G9A2bVM3aLxLadgyq60kBTbGG1OeNE-KKlxDbRtXXmAw9wL7bUf6U17Ff3_pHZPUBMV90_tUhZFareLg9h14HGTuJwicHY4-L1PORu_TwQUkK7ddraXU/s1600/nyalox.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Then I had to wait for it to arrive. So they sat on my table for another three weeks while I waited for this brush.<br />
<br />
And then it came. I nearly shrieked with joy - I was going to finish these things! The end was near! - I had waited so long. And I just wanted my table back. I was not giving up...<br />
<br />
I got the drill, an N95 dust particulate mask, and went to town.<br />
<br />
I got the
mask from the dollar store and strongly suggest you don't go rogue like I
did. Buy it. The cold/sinus infection you get from breathing the dust
is not worth it. Here are some photos of me, using a power drill for the
very first time, ever, in my whole life: <br />
<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/AVvXsEiA6KdpE4h7GBIH1RFsIPDR1sSGiS841y3cLmEOKAK6GJ7QO6seinCPQJJIHtj7QFIquPRP91fd62aeKSs32lWDXu23S3Kv2HVtOAaqAFGqtbG9y2KIwzO7UwUSx2oqfRMI8Rcp3qyNCBU/s1600/DSC06098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA6KdpE4h7GBIH1RFsIPDR1sSGiS841y3cLmEOKAK6GJ7QO6seinCPQJJIHtj7QFIquPRP91fd62aeKSs32lWDXu23S3Kv2HVtOAaqAFGqtbG9y2KIwzO7UwUSx2oqfRMI8Rcp3qyNCBU/s1600/DSC06098.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grout removal underway! I plugged in my headphones and went to town. It was actually kind of fun! I learned the hard way to tuck my headphones into my shirt. I lost a pair of purple earbuds that way. Lesson learned.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEiDHYnmb2ttkV5hLmGrg9LKBMIhOHZbI0xLsQVEkKh0RW6DsBBhNL0nM7PuKEkYZpoT6QbsGzNorbKj_gd6JDjICFauNgZyTL_Sw5X0VQOc2zpZ2M6wp1_Zn1RnAGaUbktH6l4Zb9yPQgg/s1600/DSC06099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDHYnmb2ttkV5hLmGrg9LKBMIhOHZbI0xLsQVEkKh0RW6DsBBhNL0nM7PuKEkYZpoT6QbsGzNorbKj_gd6JDjICFauNgZyTL_Sw5X0VQOc2zpZ2M6wp1_Zn1RnAGaUbktH6l4Zb9yPQgg/s1600/DSC06099.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There was a lot of kickback from the drill. My arms were very sore afterward (and still are). It was quite awkward positioning. I was constrained by the cording. It didn't allow me the flexibility of movement that I wanted, but a cordless drill relies on batteries, and I wanted to get this finished. The thought of waiting for a battery to charge between rounds was enough to help me get over the annoyance of the corded drill.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEikymZT6ZJPKYxE9N2dP2TuJHZE_OPWNkrHwcjz8tul-HukY50wttzxKBSlkhisUf9tCMkqiVmkhXFqZdUcVNKkj_WwX9Z5f2NdBkBw60R311jwYz2juuAJQKGFRCXiNKuYkHlo8kndX-A/s1600/DSC06091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikymZT6ZJPKYxE9N2dP2TuJHZE_OPWNkrHwcjz8tul-HukY50wttzxKBSlkhisUf9tCMkqiVmkhXFqZdUcVNKkj_WwX9Z5f2NdBkBw60R311jwYz2juuAJQKGFRCXiNKuYkHlo8kndX-A/s1600/DSC06091.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">License to drill, baby!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
All told, the process of using the drill to remove the excess grout took about 4-5 hours for the three large mirrors. Here are before and afters, for the buffed mirrors and the unbuffed mirrors:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7egIB-a2RqvX0YjWvzctpzc2UunEGh0pDppR7gPU8AmbTOacCS715Kdw3_-9ynocIz67yEmGFEukNPlFr6ngddlWlNom68Q7zx8iP4PJRmekj13rmOlF0DUS-OXCPzoNb4fAwr2am0Vc/s1600/DSC06064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7egIB-a2RqvX0YjWvzctpzc2UunEGh0pDppR7gPU8AmbTOacCS715Kdw3_-9ynocIz67yEmGFEukNPlFr6ngddlWlNom68Q7zx8iP4PJRmekj13rmOlF0DUS-OXCPzoNb4fAwr2am0Vc/s1600/DSC06064.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finished buffing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEiF9qyvaZ_lOnc0j4LDjx60rE4sjEKVQvvJNXnEIEs-eHOx6c9cSa0SEwVfxnaMTyNkmLHpDZ6huUD3qv1lYXOK3eC62oMfuALcvPR-MpWOBS-Y0bE7AYe7NIUO9mxcH4_8-C0XNGeiIhU/s1600/DSC06061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9qyvaZ_lOnc0j4LDjx60rE4sjEKVQvvJNXnEIEs-eHOx6c9cSa0SEwVfxnaMTyNkmLHpDZ6huUD3qv1lYXOK3eC62oMfuALcvPR-MpWOBS-Y0bE7AYe7NIUO9mxcH4_8-C0XNGeiIhU/s1600/DSC06061.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mid-way through. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhp8SMXoIA04GH7zSZyelj2LJDvZgEW0LlPW4lUtpcDBkbr7APT7XXkivk5wiTARFX3ZJPhWDkVom10iZudiyAET4b14JVvDRurvqtBV_dv4fDeUqp748hHnkRasqr3wwOVhiQL8IOiPA4/s1600/DSC06067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp8SMXoIA04GH7zSZyelj2LJDvZgEW0LlPW4lUtpcDBkbr7APT7XXkivk5wiTARFX3ZJPhWDkVom10iZudiyAET4b14JVvDRurvqtBV_dv4fDeUqp748hHnkRasqr3wwOVhiQL8IOiPA4/s1600/DSC06067.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Completely un-buffed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When the mirrors were finished, I cleaned the mirrors with a tile haze remover. I used AquaMix Professional Tile Haze Remover. Purchased at Lowe's for $4 (who also had the cup brush you apparently couldn't get in Canada!). It looks like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6OJlV9o6P-vZtcSbwaJgzoqY4AS2Sn13JcKUFgpEMwaqSjkZx13ltboD3N8KTmDX9dI5B1hszI30lkCKC3UI_LQnp0OBNtmF4xZQa6T7BvxMJkzENJK3RdEqQpEVvTKRMTceCdfFvcvc/s1600/cleaner.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6OJlV9o6P-vZtcSbwaJgzoqY4AS2Sn13JcKUFgpEMwaqSjkZx13ltboD3N8KTmDX9dI5B1hszI30lkCKC3UI_LQnp0OBNtmF4xZQa6T7BvxMJkzENJK3RdEqQpEVvTKRMTceCdfFvcvc/s1600/cleaner.png" width="237" /></a></div>
<br />
It's easy to use and took no time at all. Worked like a dream. I have more than 1/2 of the bottle left after using generously to clean all of the mirrors well. The entire process took half an hour.<br />
<br />
I painted the edges (of the frame and any exposed tile) with a "wet black" water resistant paint. I got paint everywhere. Like this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWuYSIopSY0Wm3WXGncx9sxZ-ffYJmnKv6-JsuQ4mSZjWp15JYfQKvtSpntuCNvhhqdBW0wjBfFRP8Dk3L-QZwDYLieeCElPCRWYRDV57AuVDbynswTOIMr-q7xYJpjjnUhq9YsPT75U/s1600/DSC06109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyWuYSIopSY0Wm3WXGncx9sxZ-ffYJmnKv6-JsuQ4mSZjWp15JYfQKvtSpntuCNvhhqdBW0wjBfFRP8Dk3L-QZwDYLieeCElPCRWYRDV57AuVDbynswTOIMr-q7xYJpjjnUhq9YsPT75U/s1600/DSC06109.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wear something you don't mind throwing away when using waterproofed paint.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was also my first time using solvents to remove paint from my hands. Varsol. My house still stinks.<br />
<br />
Once they were dry, I signed them all with a silver Sharpie and took
photos to remember. I wrapped them generously with star-patterned paper and stowed them in the car for delivery. I felt like I was sending my babies away.<br />
<br />
Here are
the photos: I wrote personalized notes on the back of each of them, for each of my special girls. <br />
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<br />
I gave them to the girls today. I literally did a happy dance, walking out of The Market.<br />
<br />
They're done. I did them, and they are beautiful. I am so proud. Here is a shot of all three, together:<br />
<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-959479440550045502013-09-16T10:48:00.001-04:002016-01-21T21:34:30.527-05:00I am still here.Hello, blog-land friends....<br />
<br />
I hope you've not missed me much. The last time I posted, my life was drastically different than it is today. I'd just turned twenty-nine. I ate a steak and watched <i>Anna Karenina </i>with my husband and one of my closest friends.<br />
<br />
Life was good. I was blessed. Truly, well blessed. And I knew it. We planned a trip to Montreal. It was to be the honeymoon we never took.<br />
<br />
One day after arriving home from our trip...that I painstakingly planned for months...my sweet husband was dead. In the most violent, horrifying way I could ever conceive; my whole life was upside down. It would never be the same. Ever.<br />
<br />
I lived in a daze for days after he died. The days melted into each other with the help of heavy doses of Ativan and crying myself to sleep. My sweet, beautiful <i>DSH </i>was gone. And he would never be back. No matter how I pleaded with God. Offered my own life in exchange for his. There was no going back on this one.<br />
<br />
On February 26, 2013, I did something I never, ever imagined I would ever do. I gave a eulogy for the light and joy of my life. I said goodbye to a man who captured my heart; and I believed he'd taken it with him. I was convinced I'd died, too.<br />
<br />
Many, many people came to his funeral. I was surrounded by love, and light. To celebrate the life of a great man who made my dreams come true, without fail, every single day.<br />
<br />
But for those of you who could not be there and wanted to be, I share this here with you.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><b><i>Eulogy for my Husband</i></b></u></div>
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">I wanted
to start this by thanking the Academy, but before I even wrote it down I
could see my Mom's face. Then I swore I heard you laugh, my heart, so
there it is. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">From wherever you are - and I hope it's somewhere with lots
of food that isn't quite as good as mine - I hope you laughed. I hope
you saw that I wanted to laugh for even a moment and that it made you
happy. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">Everything about you made my heart sing, and everything about this
moment makes me ache.
There is no way to explain or make meaningful a life that turned my
existence into life, a house into a home, or a smart-ass into a wife. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">You brought me to life, DSH. I had closed the door on life. Closed the
door on happiness and joy. You yanked that door open and brought in
life. My sunshine rose and set by you, because, wherever you went, you
brought the light with you. For the first time in 25 years, I cared
about the kind of person I was, and the kind of person I wanted to be,
because of you and for you. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">You are not a person of grand gesture - in spite of how hard I tried to
make you one. But I realize now, how important the little things are.
How lovely and beautiful all of those little things are, that they are
the things I already miss most. You cherished me in ways I didn't even
know. That is the grandest gesture of all. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">I could stand here all day and talk about all of the things that make
you the wonder you are. You are the kind of husband who carries his our
wedding vows in his wallet. You are the kind of husband who says "I love
you too" every single time (even the times I was testing you).</span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">You are
not the kind of man who would have left if given the choice. I believe
that with all my heart.
You deserved more than what happened to you. But you are more than that.
You are so much more than what happened. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">I wanted everything for you,
and I wanted to give you everything.
I hope that what I did give you, above and beyond all was knowledge that
you were chosen. You are special. In every sense of the word, I chose
you. From the moment we met, I knew I was your wife. Even when you
didn't know it. I was yours from the moment I laid eyes on you. It was a
life-changing, gob-smacking movie moment. But it was real. And it's
ours. Forever. Not many people get the kind of love that we do. But we
got it, my sweetheart, and it's beautiful. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">If the truest love that's
ever found is for yourself, I found love for me in you.
I asked you to back a horse good for glue. You took the horse good for
glue and gave her wind and drive to run. I was free. God, I loved that
you loved me. I picked you. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">Wherever you are, I love you. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">Someday, I
will look into those eyes again, those eyes that know my soul without a
word, and I will remind you that you are chosen. Because you are
special. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">You are a resplendent example of the love of one for another. A
good husband, and a good man. You believed it was you who was
undeserving. In reality, it was I who did not deserve you. Unworthy of
love so deep and devoted, that sometimes, I didn't know what to do with
it.
But everyone here, and so many not here, already know what you did for
me and why you are the wonder you are. That is why they are all here.
They grieve you as I do, miss you as I do, and each and every person in
this room wishes that they were not here today, not for this. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">Only you and I know what was really between us. I didn't always give you
the steadfast support you gave me, my darling. I made it hard for you
to love me sometimes, but you did it anyway. I didn't understand that I
wouldn't be able to tell you forever how important you are to me, what
you gave to me and that, really, you saved me from myself. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">I wanted to tell you, here and now, in front of all who love us, that
your life will not be defined by this moment or the moments of the day
you died. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">As I always do, I will carry on even if it means I will never
again feel your breath on my neck, or hear you say my name the way you
do. I will carry on with a glorious and shining example of love and life
that I got to be a part of, that I am so proud of and would never trade
anything for, except maybe just one more day with you. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">To everyone here today, I want you to know and to understand how much
you mean to me. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">To my parents and brother and sister, who are amazing
each and every day in so many ways, that inspire me and make me want to
be more: You have been more amazing than I could have ever dreamed, if
my dreams were as big and as beautiful each of you. Mom and Dad have lost a son, and my sister and brother have lost a brother. I
will never know what that feels like, but I do know that you have given
me grace and dignity in a horrible situation. That kind of love is so,
so hard to come by. I am better for it, and I thank you.
Thank you for all that you have done to make sure that I have the
strength to carry on with determination for life. Not just today, but
every day. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">I am who I am today because of all of the people who
redefined possible. DSH was possibility redefined. He was my dream come
true. Few people get to say they had that. But I did. With you, DSH. If
you ever get lonely in Heaven, waiting for me, come and talk to me. I'm
waiting to hear your voice. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">For my Irish family: thank you for giving DSH to me, without reservation
or hesitation. For giving him whatever he needed to be the husband and
friend that he was to me. He has touched the lives of so many, and that
is no small credit to you. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">To each of you, who show your love every day, but especially today: I
love you. DSH loved you, and we are better people - together and apart -
for your presence in our lives. I wish for each of you the kind of love
that DSH gave me. May each of you know what it feels like to love this
way. It is real. It is true. We are living proof. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">There will never be enough words to communicate how much I loved you,
but I will put it on my list of things to do. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">When I leave here today, the fact that DSH's life on Earth is over will
be real. Carved in stone and indelible on my heart. <br /><br />The tiny Band-Aid of
comfort that this provides for the gaping wound on my heart is no match
for your love, DSH. Your laugh, your beautiful beaming smile are no
match for the momentary pain of today.
I cannot talk about you without talking about me because I feel like you
are as much a part of me as my eyes, or my hands or my heart. </span></i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="null">But for
now, I carry your heart. I carry it in my heart.</span></i></b><br />
<div class="_kso fsm direction_ltr _55r0" data-jsid="message">
<b><span class="null"><br /></span></b></div>
I remember: after reading this, that my mom sat next to me with tears in her eyes and told me that what I'd said was beautiful.<br />
<br />
I saw my Dad cry, for perhaps the second time in my life.<br />
<br />
We left the funerary space. When everyone was gone, I wrapped my arms around that urn and cried with a ferocity I have never before felt. And for the very last time, I told you I loved you and kissed you good-bye.<br />
<br />
And I walked into the arms on my family (some I am related to and others I am not). Without them, I would surely be dead.<br />
<br />
I post this for you, for them...but most of all, for myself. A reminder that I must continue. I am still here.<br />
<br />
Thank you, cyber friends, for sharing this space with me. <br />
<br />
All my love to you. xxUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-80211265558353004002013-01-17T18:40:00.000-05:002016-10-14T19:37:55.488-04:00Paradoxical Birthday CommandmentsHello, my cyberfriends!<br />
<br />
Today is a special day. It's Thursday. I have the day off of work. <br />
<br />
It's also my birthday. I'm 29.<br />
<br />
I'm sad. I should be planning all kinds of shenanigans to celebrate another year in my life. The things I have done, will do and want to do. There are many things to celebrate and many reasons to be very happy. I know how blessed I truly am, and I am happy for that.<br />
<br />
I am happy to live in a country where I can do what I want and be who I want to be. I am proud that our home is a place where everyone is welcome to come, and be whomever they want to be. We have worked hard to foster that.<br />
<br />
But today I am sad.<br />
<br />
Today is my birthday. It is true. It's my Mom's birthday, too, really. Your first baby's birth is what made you a Mama, and my Dad. Happy birthday to my parents.<br />
<br />
It's also a death day. Today is the day that my Mom and Dad mourned the loss of the baby I should have been. The healthy, able-bodied baby that was born exactly on time, maybe a little late. Because she likes to sleep in. <br />
<br />
My birthday makes me sad. Sad to think about what I could have been and the things that I could have done without any chains. My chair is my chain: the very thing that gives me the freedom to move and be independent is seen by others as something to be embarrassed or ashamed of.<br />
<br />
I talked to my Mom today. I talk to my mother every day...but today I cried. And I told her how sad my birthday makes me, of all the things I could have done, or the kind of person I might have been, had I not been sentenced.<br />
<br />
It's a crime no one committed, but I am serving time. I got a life sentence, and this is my jail. It was an accident. Something that happens; there is nothing I can do but live my life the best way I can and hope that at the end, it was worth all of the things my very young mother gave up to make sure I grew to be healthy and happy.<br />
<br />
I know what little of what she gave up. She would never tell me that it was a sacrifice for her to raise me. She wants me to know that she did it because she wanted to, no sense of obligation or requirement. She has tried so hard to help me learn to love myself - as myself. She tells me all the time (as do many others) that she would 'never trade up', and that I am the person I am supposed to be: "<i>Little Miss Sunshine</i>", she said, "you still haven't learned to accept yourself".<br />
<br />
My father's approach to life is simple. He says "fuck them. Live your life for you. People are assholes." It is a cleaner, Dad-like way of saying, "I love you. So who cares? Jimmy crack corn and we don't care". My dad and I would never have the "my birthday makes me sad" conversation. He doesn't know how to live his life based on what other people care about or think of him.<br />
<br />
Isn't that amazing? I wish I knew how to do that. To say that I really don't care what you think of me, and to live my life that way.<br />
<br />
Everywhere I turn, there are messages (silent and spoken) barriers (real and attitudinal) and general disdain for the lives of people who are different - not just disabled.<br />
<br />
How do I tell my mother that I have learned to accept everything and everyone else because I want so badly to be accepted by everything and everyone else? You can give unconditional love, but you are never guaranteed that the love you receive in return comes without conditions. Mother Theresa's paradoxical commandments say, "love them anyway".<br />
<br />
So...I love anyway. Because I have great examples of love.<br />
<br />
I have spent most of my life defying what everyone said I couldn't do. I will freely admit that some of the things I have done, were just a "so there! Just because you said I couldn't...give me one good reason and I will do it anyway!"<br />
<br />
Maybe that's a bit of my Dad in me.<br />
<br />
To everyone celebrating a day of birth today, you are loved. I love you, even if I have no idea who you are. You have no reason to want to be anything more than the wonder you are. You are accepted and loved by me, a perfect stranger..because we're given "faith hope and love. The greatest of these is love".<br />
<br />
I hope to find love this year. For myself.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday.<br />
<br />
Love. xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-44205410441885570372012-09-04T20:55:00.001-04:002016-10-14T19:41:55.300-04:00The first Ever World Cerebral Palsy Day!Hello friends!<br />
<br />
Today is World Cerebral Palsy day. The first. Ever.<br />
<br />
<b>Disclaimer: I'm a bit crankier than normal today.</b> Here's why: as a present for World Cerebral Palsy Day, my doctor gave me antibiotics and a urine test. For a kidney infection that I have apparently had...for weeks. The knife hot pain in my back at 4 am was enough to wake me up and go to hospital.<br />
<br />
So while I wait for the next dose of pain meds, here's a little something for YOU for WCP Day.<br />
<br />
Part of me wants to jump and down, the rest of me wants to stuff World CP Day.<br />
<br />
Here's why: we have: <a href="http://canadapost.ca/hope">Mental Health Day.</a> <a href="http://www.blackhistorycanada.ca/">Black History Month.</a> <a href="http://www.autismawareness.ca/">Autism week</a>. <a href="http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/.../FutureNEDAwarenessWeekDates">Eating disorder awareness week.</a> We have <a href="http://www.r-word.org/">'spread the word to end the word'</a> - the anti-'r' word campaign. <br />
<br />
If there is a minority anywhere in our culture, we have a whole day on the freaking calendar dedicated to you and whatever affliction, non-WASP culture, environment, religion, belief or moray you subscribe to or come from. <br />
<br />
Where is the 'Yay! You're *NOT* special!' day? Oh, right. Every <i>other </i>day is Yay! You're not special day! Yay, you're not different day! <br />
<br />
See, here's the thing: I am so torn about this. Lots of people would say that they are proud of who they are and whatever condition, package or make-up they come in. And they should be. I am proud of who I am and who I will grow to be... <br />
<br />
I am <i>not </i>proud to have CP. I am <i>not </i>proud to have something that makes me so obviously different from you. A birth defect is not a source of pride. <br />
<br />
If you buy a television and it is <i>defective</i>, you take it to the store and they give you your money back and apologize to you. A store clerk says, "I'm sorry about that. Here. Let me get you <i>another one</i>". <br />
<br />
They don't tell you to be proud of your broken television. There are no 'World Broken Television' days. They have a spot for them, though. It's called the <i>dump</i>. Where broken things go that no one <i>wants</i>.<br />
<br />
This is not advocation for eugenics.<br />
<br />
No one ever apologized to me: '...sorry that you are part of a culture that sees you as broken, and that this culture views broken things as disposable. Sorry that you are talked to with disdain and abject pity. Sorry: no matter how hard you try or what you accomplish it will never be good enough.'<br />
<br />
<b><i> I seem to apologize an awful lot, without much to be sorry for.</i></b><br />
<br />
No one ever apologized to my mother and father: '...sorry that you have to raise a daughter whom other people will treat as <i>different</i>, weird and <i>unworthy</i>. She will have special designations, labels and treatment her whole life. Sorry about what that will do to your marriage, your lives together as a couple and the strength of your family. <br />
<br />
<b><i>What ever happened to that doctor? I bet he still has a license. I doubt I ever cross his mind.</i></b><br />
<br />
No one ever apologized to my brother and sister: ...'sorry. Sorry that everything takes longer and is more time consuming. Sorry that you feel like your needs as kids, and maybe even adults are sometimes overlooked and/or forgotten because there is so much that your <i>special</i> sibling needs just to get through life. <br />
<br />
<b><i> I hope that you get what you need now. </i></b><br />
<b><i></i></b><br />
In spite of never getting an apology or seeing the people I love most get the apologies they deserve so very much: I don't want one. <b>I don't need one</b>. <br />
<br />
This is not a pity party. <br />
<br />
If it's not an advocation for eugenics and it is not a pity party, then what is it? <br />
<br />
It is an admonishment. It's a great big: <b>f*** haters!</b><br />
<br />
Things like Black History Month, Mental Health Awareness Day, Gay Pride, Spread the Word to End the Word exist because we, as a culture do not treat people as they deserve when they do not fit our tight little impossible, wheelchair-inaccessible-mentally/physically healthy-gender secure-"beautiful"- English speaking-heterosexual-intelligent-wealthy-non-smoking/drinking/addictions of any kind-<b><i>you get the idea</i></b>-mold.<br />
<br />
They are salves. They are 'let's just forget all that and move on because we know better now' salves that stink. Putrefaction in a pretty package. <br />
<br />
It is real. It is there. Even for those of you who do not see it. And <i>especially </i>for those going through it. Denying it does no good. Celebrating it underscores (at least for me) and highlights the "I am different from you in a way that no one wants to talk about without being uncomfortable".<br />
<br />
So we accept it for what it is and we try as hard as we can to move forward, but not <i>on</i>. No matter what you do you can't move on. Moving <i>on </i>suggests leaving 'it' there and moving <i>on </i>without 'it'. You move <i>forward</i> and you drag it with you. Because you have to. You haven't a choice.<br />
<br />
So we have one day. In some cases a month or a week. What are we to do the other 364 days, 11 months or 51 weeks every year?<br />
<br />
We will do the same thing we always do. Wait for the next elevator....take a 45 minute detour because the subway stop is not accessible....be unemployed/under-employed. Bristle at empty compliments and praise exalting bravery for common-place things. Sometimes, we will cry, rage, and triumph. I will pretend not to know that you look at me and feel bad for me - whether you admit it or not. We will forgive your ignorance because you supposedly don't know better. Or you should. <br />
<br />
Today, on World Cerebral Palsy Day, I choose to see it as moving <i>forward</i>.<br />
<br />
But it's not pride.<br />
<br />
I am not awesome because I have Cerebral Palsy. I am not awesome in spite of the fact that I live with Cerebral Palsy. I am awesome. Full stop.<br />
<br />
Good-night, lovelies! xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-76092628597075943702012-06-18T20:19:00.001-04:002012-06-18T23:04:29.111-04:00Frontline on the ShoreBonjour, blog friends!<br />
It is a steamy, smoggy city evening. I am writing, enjoying a quiet evening with DSH. But I've been thinking....<br />
<br />
Usually, when I think...you get to read about it! <br />
<br />
Last night, I was up late. <em>Really, really late</em>. Tossing and turning, thinking about eating toast and peanut butter for the sake of increased serotonin...hopefully leading to sleep. Instead, I did what I have been doing a lot of lately: watching documentaries. I watched seven or eight of them consecutively, ranging in subject: entymology and the agricultural importance of honeybees, colony collapse disorder as a result of monocrops and agribusiness (in honeybees), neuroplasticity and the treatment of OCD, PTSD and schizophrenia....you get the idea.<br />
<br />All of this learnedness with the swipe of a library card. Oh, dear! I <strong><em>love, love, love (!) </em></strong>that you can type virtually <em>any </em>subject into a library search engine and get a few hundred call-number returns! There is something so satisfying about making a choice to watch something that will shape or change your understanding of the world and how you fit in it - and it's free! <br />
<br />I can't imagine choosing '<em>Jersey Shore</em>' or '<em>Big Brother 29</em>' over '<em>The Nature of Things</em>' or PBS' '<em>Frontline</em>'. Can you? Maybe you can. I don't know.<br />
<br />At any given time, there is a stack of 10 to 15 books on the bedside table that scream to be read as fast as my eyes can fly across the page. I use and abuse (using the term abuse with levity and as much deference as can be afforded!) the library to a point where it has become almost embarassing. I go to book sales, tag sales and thrift stores; read a chapter or two of a book (DSH will not book shop with me anymore), then, if I like it, put it on hold at the library. I have not paid for a book since 2007.<br />
<br />Sometimes, the librarians will save things that they know I would be interested in, or that they have read and want to hear my sass-mouthed opinion about (don't even get me started on all that <em>Bella Swan </em>garbage, all you Twi-hards!) - it's the best kind of provocation ever. Other times, the library's digital collection will send me alerts of new, interesting things that have come out that I might like.<br />
<br />A few weeks ago, I got a 'you might like this' message from the library database. The library computer-bots thought that I would enjoy a documentary called 'How to Die in Oregon'. I agreed with the computer-bots and put it on hold. <br />
<br />Thus, the documentary-marathon at Casa Sunshine began...<br />
<br />
You can watch the official HBO trailer here:<br />
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<br />The video discusses the 'Death with Dignity' law passed in the state of Oregon in 1994. Later, I-1000 passed in Washington, is heavily covered. </div>
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<br />I started to think about what I would want to happen in the event of a terminal diagnosis or catastrophic medical event where there was no hope for my long-term survival with compromised dignity and quality of life. I wonder do you out there, cyber friends, know what you would want? </div>
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<br />Then I thought some more. Something like this requires some heavy thinking, I think.</div>
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<br />Back to the library...where I found this:</div>
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<br />This trailer is for a video called 'The Suicide Tourist', about a man with motor neuron disease (aka ALS or Lou Gherig's Disease) who travels to Zurich to die. He uses the services of Dignitas, where physician-assisted suicide is legal for people with terminal illness. </div>
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I felt most for his wife. It was clear she loved him, and accepted him the way that he was. I am not sure she would have been able to go on caring for him forever, but I got the sense that she would have tried - doggedly - because of the love she had for him. It was obvious, at least to me. She supported his decision as his own, with grace and humility, love and peace in the knowledge that her husband was doing what he thought best for himself. <br />
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<br />It reminded me a lot of my relationship with DSH. I call him a Saint because he <em>is</em> one. He accepts my body and my limitations for what they are and would never want (I hope) for me to be different than I am. I strongly believe that he would rather have me in his life as a physically limited person than not at all. He accepts the barriers, inaccessibility and condescension of others for what it is. We snicker at the stupidness and ignorance of others.</div>
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<br />But in the back of my mind, I wonder: at what point will all the laundry and the sickness and the helping and the <em>burden </em>of it being burdensome become so much for me that I just can't punish him anymore? No matter what he loves about my mind or my sass-mouth. Is that what Craig Ewart was thinking? I can empathize with that. I've been there. Done it. Blogged that. </div>
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<br />I spoke with my dear friend Marguerite*, who is an active member of the 'Death with Dignity' movement in Canada after supporting her mother and sister through terminal illnesses. I was sure that this was something that I supported - if it is your body, it is your choice - and wanted to get involved.</div>
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<br />You all know that I am Little Miss Super Volunteer...wherever I can lend a hand I always will. This seemed to make sense - I was sure that I wanted this kind of option available if ever I were to need it.</div>
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<br />I needed more information. So I went where I always go. My friendly library branch.Too bad there aren't DVD's on how to be a mayor without alienating everyone. I know at least one person who could use that. Then again, he probably doesn't have a library card. </div>
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<br />Then, I saw this:</div>
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This documentary follows a woman named Lisette. She is eighty, in good health and completely lucid. The doctor supporting her stated many times that she is healthy and has 10-15 years of excellent health, etc ahead of her. <br />
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<br />She purchased pills to commit suicide overseas; and has purchased enough to kill herself two or three times over.</div>
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<br />She repeats over and over that 'eighty years is long enough to live' and that she is 'bored'. She had the idea that she did not want to live longer than eighty years in her head and was going to die before then (she states this multiple times as well). She refused any kind of counselling or intervention that would concentrate effort on how to ease her boredom.</div>
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<br />Your body, your choice. Right? Right. Here's the thing: I have a problem with this. </div>
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<br />The doctor himself states that he has reservations about supporting this suicide because of the message she is sending. </div>
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<br />What is the message? Vanity? A weariness of life? Apathy?</div>
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<br />I feel like Lisette is a fulcrum: how I felt before seeing it and how I felt after. Death with Dignity legislations were hard-fought by people who were staring down death and did not want the embattled route. They were sick and wanted desperately to be alive: to meet grandbabies, teach their daughters the secret Christmas bar recipe. They did not go gently into that dark night. They raged against the dying of the light (Dylan Thomas).</div>
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<br />In another 'Frontline', called '<em>Facing Death</em>', we see a cancer paitent, knowing he has only days - if not hours to live - agreeing to another round of chemotherapy for myeloma, wanting a shot at even a miniscule chance to live. What would he say to Lisette?</div>
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<br />You can watch the trailer for '<em>Facing Death</em>', here:</div>
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<br />What am I saying, here? I have no idea. Do you? Leave me a comment, if you do. </div>
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<br />Either you support it fully - for everyone, even those whom you think may be misdirecting the cause, or you don't. Right? The question is, in polarizing issues such as these, is there ever a middle ground? Can I support people like Craig and Cody, yet dissent in cases of people like Lisette or am I making a judgement or a statement of worthiness in so doing?</div>
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<br />DSH says he doesn't know what it means, if anything. Except, maybe, that a little '<em>Jersey Shore</em>' might be a nice break from all of this information.</div>
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<br />I wonder if you can get that at the Library....?</div>
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<br />Good night, lovelies....xo</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-77778545256124726822012-01-01T12:48:00.002-05:002012-01-03T17:46:14.533-05:00Auld Lang Syne...Hello, blog firends...<br />
<br />
Greetings, and Happy 2012! Blessings and good wishes to all of you. <br />
<br />
It has been a while, and I have been feeling the urge to blog. I have been sitting here, thinking, "do I write about this? If I put this out there for the world to read (and hopefully proffer comment upon), does it negate the good of what has happened? <br />
<br />
I guess now would be a good time to explain what it is that I am talking about before my head explodes from all of this "what if'"-ing.<br />
<br />
We have a friend across the street. He is an older man, from Ireland. I think he has some kind of chronic illness (of this I am also unsure). He has two sons (who are old enough to work) and a live in friend (who is also capable of working - these may or may not be important facts: I have yet to decide).<br />
<br />
I have always sent over my baking run-offs (extras), and little nibbles of new recipes I'm working on. I believed I was being neighbourly - and we always have extra baking that I hate to see go bad. I know that things are tight for them. I know what that feels like, and I always appreciate the little gestures from the people in my life who love me and want to bring a bit of sunshine to a cloudy day.<br />
<br />
Then, a few months ago, the oldest boy came to our house with a note. The note said that they were hungry and had no food. It asked if I could spare a loaf of bread. <br />
<br />
I was stunned into silence. I could not imagine how humbling an experience like that must be. I didn't know what to say. Except for, "of course. We don't have any bread, but I will give you something to eat." <br />
<br />
We took a shopping bag full of food and sundries, whispering hushedly on departure for home that we had been truly fortunate to be in a position to help a friend, no questions asked.<br />
<br />
And then, it happened again.<br />
<br />
And again.<br />
<br />
And a few more times after that. Then, after the last time, I gave him the contact information for an intake worker at a city foodbank.<br />
<br />
Each time, the oldest boy would come to my door and stand silent while I read another note. Each time, Dear, Sainted Husband would silently implore me to say no. I would direct DSH to fill a bag with whatever we could spare¸ and be thankful that we are able to spare it.<br />
<br />
And he would continue to stand there silently; collect the food and leave without a word. <br />
<br />
DSH and I would then fight: he would say that we should stop feeding them. He would tell me not to be so naive and trusting that it was coming from need and not convenience. I would argue that we are constantly trying to be good people and do what we believe is right and good. Why turn away from an opportunity to practice what we've been preaching?<br />
<br />
Just before Christmas, DSH and I hosted a turkey dinner for a friend and her new partner. We ate only about a quarter of the turkey. After our guests had left, we packed up the turkey and all the leftover trimmings and brought them over to the neighbours across the street.<br />
<br />
I'd felt very good about myself: spreading a little cheer during the holiday season. They'd seemed excited to have a turkey dinner. I was happy to give it to them: I surely wasn't going to be able to eat it, and would be having yet another delicious dinner with all the trimmings in just a few short days.<br />
<br />
Fast-forward to Thursday: another wordless note passed through the door. Silent collection and departure. <br />
<br />
I talked to my Mom about this once before. And I can't help thinking that her comments were remarkably similar to those of DSH.<br />
<br />
And now I wonder: is this what they mean about teaching people to fish? Or, should old acquaintance be forgot?<br />
<br />
What do you think, cyberlovlies?<br />
<br />
Love to you...xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-36508963014474018572011-09-21T21:05:00.001-04:002011-09-21T21:19:44.848-04:00Seeking: Volunteer hair!Hello, my friends --<br />
<br />
It's raining today. The clouds are dark and heavy. The sound of rain hitting the ground sounds like relief; it reminds me of someone sighing as they unload a heavy bag. I feel that same relief tonight. I am sitting here, watching a movie. I ate. I'm watching and doing nothing else. I am allowing myself the indulgence of doing nothing for one night: no meetings. No volunteering. No flurry of rushed e-mails and trying to cram as much as I can into my days as I can.<br />
<br />
It's nice to sit. It's nice to take care of me for a few hours and to do nothing but enjoy myself. It's nice to sit and blog. <br />
<br />
I have started writing this blog about a hundred times in the last month. I tried to write it during a training session where I learned that forty percent of Canadians are semi- to functionally illiterate. I've tried to write it after several disappointing wheelchair-related mechanical failures. I have tried to write knowing that there are people out there who really and truly read my blog (that are not my Mom!) and who really and truly <em>like </em>my blog (who are not my husband). I wish that, in and of itself was enough for me to blog every single day like a teenager with a diary. What a feather in my cap!<br />
<br />
Here's the big question: how do I write about the things that affect and effect me without becoming redundant or preachy? It is my personal blog battle: to make issues that are important to me; important to everyone without becoming one of those people that nobody listens to anymore.<br />
<br />
My battle as a blogger also translates itself into my personal life: how do I remain a staunch advocate for the things that I believe in and support without alienating people? Where is the line between advocate and whiner? Where and when do you draw that line? I'm not sure we always know the answer to that.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I feel like I spend so much time advocating that my voice gets lost among all of the other advocates out there. So, I sat back and thought about it: how else can I get it out there? I need to find another way to advocate for myself and for the things that I believe in. So, I decided that <em>this</em> is what my blog should be used for. Social reflection. Thinking about what social action and social activism means to me, and using the blog as a spot to do that reflection.<br />
<br />
After reflecting, you must be willing to act. To dust off, and get down to it. To be a part of the change that you want to see in the world, not just sit back and hope that it will happen someday. So I started volunteering again. I made a commitment to myself to become a bigger and more involved part of my community - to support the causes that are important to me; but also to support causes that are not as important to me so that I might learn about what it means to be someone who is not in my position. <br />
<br />
So: I joined a choir. The Big Gay Choir. I wanted to align myself with people for whom I thought it was important to fight. By standing as an ally in a cause I had no vested, personal interest in to say, "what is important to you is important to me, because you are important".<br />
<br />
And then BGC snowballed: I joined every committee I could to help support the choir. Committees turned into Pride; Pride to Second Harvest... 6 St. Joseph House, the Weekend to End Women's Cancers... you get the idea. Now, I look at my calendar each day...each week, and see nothing. No blank space. I have a meeting every night this week. I have a meeting every night next week (7 days, not 5). Today, while on the phone scheduling an intake meeting for a volunteer tutoring program, I was astounded to see (actually, physically <em>see</em>) that I have no free evenings until the first week of November. Really?!<br />
<br />
And then, I went to the ladies room. And I cried. I cried so hard I shook. I've cried not for the loss of my free time (we don't have cable anyway), but for the fact that there is no real proof that any of the lost sleep; rushed e-mails and always being the first to say "I will take care of that" is doing one damned thing to change this world, or to change the lives of others.<br />
<br />
At what point does it become less about giving back and more about leaving clumps of hair in the shower drain?<br />
<br />
The good thing about clumps of hair in the shower drain? They give you the time and pause to stop and think: "tonight? I'm going to eat dinner, watch a movie and spend the evening with my husband". I'd volunteer for that any day.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-81600042897320260002011-06-22T23:33:00.000-04:002011-06-22T23:33:02.238-04:00The pen is mightier than the Transit Service!Hello, my friends...<br />
I have been ruminating over my recent selection of blog-worthy fodder. What should I post? What is my motivation for choosing to write on what I do? Is my aim to be impactful, funny or to use my blog as a medium for social consciousness and activism?<br />
<br />
Like choosing doughnuts for a party pack: doughnuts are good no matter what they're sprinkled, stuffed or glazed with. Right? You'd think so. But it turns out that not all doughnuts are created equal. Some taste better than others. Some look pretty in the display case, but taste bad in your mouth (you'll recall the 'sour cream chocolate glaze'). Others, they taste so good, you'll happily eat one every morning. Then suddenly, there's a new flavour introduction, and the doughnut romance is on the outs.<br />
<br />
Isn't it interesting? We fall so madly in love with the new and interesting so quickly, and just as quickly we fall out of love. Newer and faster; bigger and better. A taste sensation that will blow your mind and change your life. Funny, but all this pastry talk reminds me of politics.<br />
<br />
Politicians: pick me! Pick me! I am better than the other guy! I look better than the other guy! I talk better than the other guy; I do more, spend less, and you get more for your money. Like a Timbit 10-pack for $1.99. How's that for political participation? I look at the people chosen to represent me and see a discount box of doughnut run-offs.<br />
<br />
You might wonder what it is that I am getting at. Doughnuts and politicians. Well, here's the thing: one day after eating doughnuts every morning with your Orange Mocha Frappuccino, you discover biscotti. There are other options. They are part of the pastry family, but they walk the walk and talk the talk.<br />
<br />
Last Friday, I discovered biscotti, in the form of Ms. Kathleen Wynne. After purchasing my Frangelico for hazelnut <em>pots des cremes</em>, we walked past Ms. Wynne en route home. I recalled my letter to the now infamous <em>Regional Transit Company that shall remain nameless.</em><br />
<br />
I copied that letter to every Member of Parliament and Member of Provincial Parliament in my local riding (not to mention every media outlet that I could think of, the Prime Minister and the Human Rights Commission), hoping to get some kind of resoultion and recognition for what I felt was an affront to my right to dignity and fully realized personhood.<br />
<br />
It turns out that Ms. Wynne is also the Minister of Transportation (how's that for efficiency; killing two birds with one stone?). She got two copies of the letter (so I guess it wasn't that effective). I showed that letter to <em>everyone</em>. I wanted everyone to know what had happened to me; moreover, that it had happened and I was <em>not</em> taking this lying down. I would use the tools at my disposal to take a stand. For me and for everyone else who had endured being subjected to judgements based on the values of others. <br />
<br />
People laughed (Yes. They laughed). They told me that I was wasting my time; all this letter writing was taking away from the beauty and joy of my life. I could make better choices for my spirit and sense of self by sloughing it off and chalking it up to the stupidity of others. But I was like a dog with a bone. I couldn't let this go.<br />
<br />
I sent it. And I waited. And I waited some more.<br />
<br />
And then it came: 'I have been in contact with the company. It is my position that the matter has been resolved satisfactorily. No further intervention from this office is required'. Or something like that. I was crushed. It seemed no one wanted to stand up and say that it was not okay to say that disabled people are a waste of space.<br />
<br />
I left it alone. I thought maybe those people were right. My letter accomplished nothing.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to election time. Rob Oliphant came to my door. He asked for my vote.<br />
<br />
I told him that he would under no circumstances, get my vote. He seemed incredulous. I explained about <em>The Letter</em> and that I'd not received a response, even a perfunctory one. I showed him a copy. He said he'd never seen it (now it was my turn for incredulity: I knew enough about the letter writing process to know that MP's are legally bound to respond, even if it's perfunctory) I was very clear about my position: how can I support your candidacy or your positions if you aren't aware of mine?<br />
<br />
I closed the door in his face. I admit it wasn't the most lady-like thing I could have done. I will also admit that I felt completely justified, maybe even a little vindicated.<br />
<br />
I rejoiced in it! My belief in the power of the written word was renewed (even if only marginally)! Constituents have power! What we do and what we say <strong><em><u>means</u></em></strong> something. To some, it appears only as a drop in the bucket. To me, it was a <strong><em><u>VICTORY</u></em></strong>!<br />
<br />
Fast forward again to <em>pots des cremes</em>. There she was, there in the mall. And I was conflicted: should I say something to her or should I just let it die (already!)? <br />
<br />
The stand up and fighter in me said 'no way'. So, I talked to her. It went something like this. This is not, by any means, a verbatim relay.<br />
<br />
ME: Hi. My name is <em>Little Miss Sunshine</em> and I am a voter in your riding. I wanted to talk to you about my letter. A letter that I sent to you about a year ago. <br />
MINISTER: I'm sorry. What letter? You'll have to remind me.<br />
ME: I wrote you a letter about <em>Regional Transit Company.</em> I was abused, degraded and humiliated on a public vehicle. I sent you a letter. I asked you for your understanding. <br />
MINISTER: Yes.<br />
ME: I wanted to tell you that I was really disappointed by your response. <br />
MINISTER: What was my response?<br />
ME: You sent me a response saying that you thought they had done enough. Did they tell you what their solution was?<br />
MINISTER: No.<br />
ME: It was the cost of my ticket. $6. I felt like you were telling me that my dignity was worth only $6. I know you as an MP, and I know about the things that you stand for and the efforts that you have made on behalf of this community; I was expecting more. I felt let down.<br />
<br />
We spoke for about 30 minutes. She apologized many times over (which I really didn't think was necessary). She also explained to me that she signs all of her letters personally (which apparently is not <em>de riguer. </em>I knew this.) We talked about some of the realities facing disabled travelers who chose not to employ parallel transportation options. That, in spite of millions of dollars in funding and retrofitting, accessibility is differently defined by those who are disabled and those who are not. <br />
<br />
I told her about what happened with Mr. Oliphant. How I felt so empowered in doing what I had done. My feelings of empowerment had been reinforced by this conversation, being able to confront my disappointment and having it openly and respectfully acknowleged.<br />
<br />
She encouraged me to continue my letter writing; that it is not futile. She looked me in the eye and shook my hand. I haven't felt that tall in a long time.<br />
<br />
Good night, lovelies....xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-66109031990447486352011-02-13T12:38:00.001-05:002011-02-13T12:40:20.439-05:00A thank you to Myrlie EversHello, my friends...<br />
<br />
Here I sit, on a gloomy Sunday. Alone with my thoughts, and "The Ghosts of Mississippi" in the background - courtesy of the Toronto Public Library. I have watched this movie over and over and over. There is something about it that calls out to me. Demands to be watched; to be heard and to be understood. It holds my rapt attention; yet I can't seem to figure out why. <br />
<br />
Is it the cinematography? Maybe. It is a beautiful picture. The acting? There certainly is something captivating about seeing Myrlie Evers brought to the screen. Each and every time the music from the opening sequence brings an ache to my soul and a twist in my gut. <br />
<br />
But something tells me that there is more to the way I am feeling than the scenery, the music and the acting. Ms. Evers carried on her husband's fight for equality, peace and justice for more than 25 years after he was killed by Byron de la Beckwith. She and others, stood firm on what was right and fair. For as long as it took. The second time I watched this, I wondered if Ms. Evers felt the hopelessness and futility of her battle; if she ever wanted to just lay down the battle axe and let Medgar rest. I've wondered if she has ever been overcome with despair; thought that the destination just wasn't worth the journey.<br />
<br />
I can't comment on that. I don't personally know Ms. Myrlie Evers. I don't know what she felt in the quarter century after her husband's death, and journey to justice.<br />
<br />
An "aha!" moment, I think. It's not the pictures, the acting or the music. It's the fight. Taking a hit; falling down. But always getting back up. Toothless and bloody - but standing up nonetheless.<br />
<br />
I have had many, many moments in my life where I have felt that the battle is not worth fighting. Its futility is all too clear to me. The challenge is insurmountable - you may as well ask me to cure cancer. <br />
<br />
President Kennedy said, "those who act boldly recognize right as well as reality." You must be willing to take bold, and uncompromising steps to stand for what is right.<br />
<br />
Does what you do boldly still count when your 'steps' are taken sitting down?<br />
<br />
I worry. I worry that it does not, or is at least diminished.<br />
<br />
Have you ever wept on a subway train? The hurt becomes so overwhelming that you feel like you'll explode, ripping from the inside out. And yet, you are powerless to push back against the weight holding you down; your soul feels so heavy that you wonder if you will ever feel lightness and joy again. <br />
<br />
I have. <br />
<br />
Lately, I've felt as though the weight of the world is upon me. I am a strong, educated woman. I am a lucky woman. By most measures, most people would see me as successful. I have a job that I love, a strong and healthy marriage. Our home is a nurturing one where everyone is safe to be whomever they please. I am so proud of that fact, in and of itself. <br />
<br />
But in all of this, I feel that my own steps are diminished.<br />
<br />
So where am I going with this? I'm not sure that even I know that. But I know that somehow, it comes back to what I thought was "Paying it Forward".<br />
<br />
I have thought about and spoken out about the idea of "Paying it Forward". Every day acts of kindness that have the power to change someone's life. Do they really? Or do they have more diminishing and dehumanizing power than we realize? Are we really cognizant of the fact that what we think might be kindness is really undermining personhood?<br />
<br />
I didn't think of this possibility until that day, on the train. I was feeling defeated in my efforts to try and leave my mark on this world - to help people help themselves to change their own lives. <br />
<br />
Then a young man standing next to me said, "here. Take my mitts." I told him that I already had some, and I "didn't need them". I was overcome with shame.<br />
<br />
I remember that man, standing outside of Shopper's Drug Mart when I gave him my gloves and hat on a winter night in 2008. I remember the woman I gave my earrings to...the woman I gave a subway token to in the grocery store...the man I invited in to a restaurant for lunch. Did they feel the same shame that I did? <br />
<br />
I will always wonder about that now.<br />
<br />
Then, the young man asked me if I would like him to "pray for me". Usually I am quite good at kindly and politely declining requests for prayer. My shame was intensified in a way that I have never experienced before. I could feel all of those eyes on me; each and every one of them filled with pity.<br />
<br />
Charles Evers told Bobby DeLaughter about Robert Johnson, the night before the final trial. Robert Johnson, King of the Delta Blues, was a blues guitar player whom was rumoured to have 'sold his soul to the devil to play guitar like that'.<br />
<br />
In that moment, I would have sold my soul. To get up and walk away from that chair; I would give anything. I wanted to die.<br />
<br />
It is my prison. I am imprisoned; but part of a world that pretends I am free. That I am equal. <br />
<br />
President Kennedy said in his 1963 Civil Rights address, that "if a man cannot enjoy a full and free life, who among him would be content to have the color of his skin changed?"<br />
<br />
If I cannot be free to enjoy a full and free life who among me would be content to trade places with me?<br />
<br />
I expect that I will receive a great many comments about just how fortunate I really am. I do not turn away from my blessings, nor do I fail to recognize the struggles of others and their own pain. I will be right there with you to carry it, should you want me there.<br />
<br />
My struggle is plain. There for the world to see. I have no choice. <br />
<br />
No choice but to pick up, carry on, and keep on fighting. To be one of "those who act boldly, recognizing right as well as reality."<br />
<br />
No matter how long it takes. I guess I have Myrlie to thank for that.<br />
<br />
Goodnight, lovlies. I love you all, very much...xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-44198937680544700082011-02-03T22:41:00.000-05:002011-02-03T22:41:49.345-05:00Paying it ForwardHello, beauties!<br />
<br />
Today marks my first official blog of the new year - 2011! Happy New Year to each of you! I trust that the holidays have found each of you well, and that you are taking good care of each other. <br />
<br />
Dear Sainted Husband is out at a production meeting for his new play. So, I am taking this time to figure out which of my closest causes warrant space in my very first blog of the year. This, while my rice pudding bubbles away as a soul-warming treat for the man who warms my soul.<br />
<br />
Thinking about the wonderful fortune of my love life makes me think about the less than wonderful fortune of others, romantic and otherwise. I often think about people in need, and what I can do as one small person, to make a big difference. It is a daunting thing, really. The idea of one tiny person trying to change the world is enough to make anyone back off and say, "forget it. This really isn't a job for me. There are other people who are better at this kind of thing than I."<br />
<br />
My thinking has been greater solidified by a number of things - not least of which is reading Catherine Ryan Hyde's "Pay it Forward" in the last couple of days (seriously - awesome read. Worth missing your subway stop for). Sure, it's a work of fiction, but can you imagine the kind of change we could see in this world if we were all willing to work together to be a part of it?<br />
<br />
I have been turning ideas over and over in my head - how do I make myself part of the change for a better world? Is it volunteering? Is it supporting people in their struggle as simply an ally and nothing more? Does it really require the sweeping actions of the Pay it Forward Movement?<br />
<br />
There is no easy answer. There are pros and cons for each, and each works better in some situations than others. <br />
<br />
It really is harder than you might think to make the sweeping kind of Pay it Forward gesture. Consider the example of my friend, "Joe".<br />
<br />
Joe lives in a supported living situation, where a governmental organization pays the people he lives for his care. His financial means are limited by his situation and the rules of the organization.<br />
<br />
After the failure of my planned European tour, I wanted to take the money that I'd been refunded and give some of it to him; so he could do something really cool with his summer - build some memories in his life that were just for him.<br />
<br />
DSH and I discussed this at length. He agreed that it made sense. He would support me. We presented the idea. We were shut down, most unceremoniously. No matter which way you cut it, policy says no.<br />
<br />
Policy-schmolicy, right? That's what I thought. No matter who I screamed and bellyached at about how nonsensical this was, it seemed my bellyaches were falling on deaf ears.<br />
<br />
I couldn't - and still don't - understand. As a staff member at an organization supporting people with complex needs and never enough money, we struggle to find ways to make people's dreams come true; help them build memories. Never in my (short) career have we had someone do anything like this. I thought it would be easy. Just offer it, and they would take it. Done. <br />
<br />
No siree, Bob. We like our terrible and completely unfair system just the way it is, thanks. Move along, and take your silliness with you.<br />
<br />
Silly. I know. But that's what it feels like. I can't wrap my head around it. My very intelligent head. No comprendo, senor.<br />
<br />
I have turned this over and over in my mind, to try and figure out if there was anything that I could have done differently to ensure a different result for Joe. No matter which way, I work it, I can't find a new solution. <br />
<br />
Then I read "Pay it Forward". A new idea - or rather, a very old one - burbled to the surface of my brain. An idea that was bigger than policy and vacation. Or so I thought.<br />
<br />
What if, like 'Trevor', I gave someone a safe place? A warm place to sleep, with a hot shower, some clean clothes...a meal? I have the space. Lord knows, I have plenty of food.<br />
<br />
I often walk by people on the street and wonder what to say. What to do. I have also walked up to people on the street and, more than once, taken off my hat/gloves/both and given it to them. I have seen the looks on people's faces when I do it, too. Stunned. There is no other word for it. <br />
<br />
Riding the subway en route to Pride 2010, a woman commented that she liked my earrings. So I took them off and gave them to her. Dear, Sainted Husband stared at me, incredulous. As did the woman. I can still remember her face; to this day:<br />
<br />
"Why would you do that?" Incredulous Woman asks, jaw agape.<br />
"Because you like them."<br />
"Yes, I do. Don't you?"<br />
"Of course I do. I have lots of earrings. You can have these ones."<br />
<br />
Why wouldn't I? It was obvious that she was surprised. Clearly no one had ever done that for her before. But maybe someday, she will think back on it, and remember a complete stranger who did something nice for someone else, just because she could.<br />
<br />
I remember when someone did that for me. On the subway. I was having a really awful day. I was not trying to hide it. A woman took off her scarf (purple - my favorite color) and gave it to me. She said, "you look like you could use something to smile about". I smiled all day long after that. Each time I wear it, I think of this woman, who wanted nothing more than to bring a little light and joy to a spirit downcast.<br />
<br />
Imagine the implication of saying to someone, "come. Sleep safely. Eat your fill. Take some warm clothes." <br />
<br />
I've thought about this many times over the years. Wondering if it really would work. If I could really walk up to someone sleeping on the street and say, "I will not step over you like you are not there. I see you. And I want to share a meal with you. Know you as a person." <br />
<br />
Maybe that's all a person would need to scrape up the last bit of fight that they had and push forward. Maybe. Who knows? No one. But nothing happens if you do nothing. <br />
<br />
I've only ever shared this idea with one other person (two, counting Dear, Sainted Husband). Her reaction was what I expected. She expressed her concern for saftey - of my self my home and my belongings. She told me that I was noble, but naive and misguided: "you never know what could happen".<br />
<br />
It stopped me. I never did act on it. <br />
<br />
But she was right: you never know. You just never know what someone is going to do with a chance to change their life. <br />
<br />
The thing is: I'm not worried about stuff. Stuff is just <em>stuff</em>. I didn't come with it, and I can't take it with me. There is the potential for great loss on my part. I know that. But I believe that people are going to screw up no matter what you do - but you should still trust them with the opportunity and choice to do the right thing. <br />
<br />
I have talked this over and over: with people at work, late at night tucked into bed with DSH, with people I know will tell me I am crazy (just to see what they say) and now here (just to see what you say).<br />
<br />
Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "Wise men put their trust in ideas and not circumstances."<br />
<br />
<br />
So I guess the big, Hamlet-esque question is: "Am I completely crazy, or am I 'Paying it Forward'?"<br />
<br />
Good night, lovelies. xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-52687767894953525132011-01-03T21:49:00.000-05:002011-01-03T21:49:27.796-05:00The Benefit of the Doubt?Hello, most wonderful cyber friends!<br />
<br />
Happy New Year! It is 2011. Or, as I like to think of it, only ten months left until my passport expires. Only ten months left to fill up those pages with lovely, beautiful stamps. Sigh. Low guy on union totem pole does not get to do six country tour of Europe this year. Blast!<br />
<br />
Ah, well. Always next year. For now I remain rooted to my tiny little pseudo office, occasionally peeking over at a photo of nieces and nephews....pretending that I am working on something really important while I sip this lukewarm mug of cranberry tea and patiently await my peanut-buttered toast.<br />
<br />
Ah, creature comforts. There's nothing quite like it in the world. Feeling warm, safe and taken care of. I am most blessed to have Dear, Sainted Husband... not to mention peanut butter toast. There are just some things in life, that no matter how fancy everything else gets, it all comes down to peanut butter toast.<br />
<br />
Remember when you were a kid? <br />
<br />
You know, back when wrestling on TV still looked real, kids said 'please' and 'thank you' and peanut butter wasn't a ticket to Immune System Apocalypse....<br />
<br />
Your Mom packed your lunch every day. It was great. At lunchtime, you'd open up your blue plastic Zeddy the Teddy lunchbox, and there it was: a peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwich. Made just the way you liked it; cut on the diagonal, with just enough jam. <br />
<br />
It's funny how no one else could ever make it like Mom did. Not even Dad. Bless him for trying. But let's be honest: it could be the same bread, jam and peanut butter- but something just wasn't <em>right</em>. It didn't taste the way it does when Mom makes it for you. And if it isn't cut on the diagonal? Well, you can pack that in my sister's lunch, 'cause that <em>ain't</em> mine.<br />
<br />
It's the mother's touch. The secret ingredient that makes broccoli taste good, turns your science mess into an 'A' project and makes you feel as if no one else could make you feel as whole as Mom does. <br />
<br />
I thought about that today as I was walking to work. After I heard someone screaming... and upon walking closer, realized that it was a mother, yelling at her crying, and obviously embarassed daughter. She was not trying to hide her anger at all, and clearly didn't care who heard her screaming at this kid. <br />
<br />
<u>Disclaimer alert:</u> I know that everyone is going to tell me that 'I don't know the circumstances' and 'I don't know what their relationship is like'. Or, that 'I didn't see what happened before'. I know all of that. And yet, a bigger part of me just can't leave this alone. <br />
<br />
No matter what the 'circumstances', their 'relationship' or what 'happened before', there was no need for what happened to happen. At all. And I can't get the thought of this weeping kid, begging her mother to 'stop yelling at me' out of my head.<br />
<br />
Apparently, this kid was riding the city bus to school. And got off at the wrong stop (this, I gathered from the mother's screaming), which, in the mother's opinion, makes this kid a 'useless retard' (among other things). <br />
<br />
Excuse me? <br />
<br />
My objections to your bigoted comments about disabled people aside - what is wrong with you? How can you say such hateful things to your own daughter? There is a time and a place for correction. I do not believe that the middle of the street, at the top of your lungs, is the time nor the place.<br />
<br />
What is there for her to learn from this experience? Shame? I think that was pretty well covered. Embarassment? Most certainly. Humiliation? Probably.<br />
<br />
I tried very hard not to impose myself on a situation where I had no business...for all other reasons previously mentioned. But I really couldn't help it. I have been the kid in that situation (adjectives aside) and I know what that feels like. I couldn't let myself not say anything.<br />
<br />
"What you are doing is abusive".<br />
<br />
Her response: An open (actually gaping) mouth, and stunned silence. As if she were surprised that I would say something at all.<br />
<br />
Then: "who are you to tell me how to raise my kid? I bet you can't even have any". Points for the rebound, my friend. But you were already in Check.<br />
<br />
Me: "My reproductive status notwithstanding, the way you are behaving is not appropriate and certainly not acceptable. I have no stake in telling you how to raise your kid, but I can say that what you are doing is not okay."<br />
<br />
I crossed the street fully expecting her to chase after me and give me yet another piece of her mind. But nothing. Just standing there.<br />
<br />
Relaying this to a co-worker later, I was told that it was likely I made the situation worse for that girl. Part of me fears that I did just that. But the bigger part of me fears for what would have happened to her spirit if no one was willing to take a stand.<br />
<br />
I was. <br />
<br />
Even if you don't know who I am, and we never meet again. <br />
<br />
I do not think that you are useless. <br />
<br />
I sincerely hope that there was more to that than what I saw, and that I really don't know what your relationship is like. Being a mom is hard. I am sure.<br />
<br />
Giving the benefit of the doubt? For me, it's harder.<br />
<br />
I will now brace myself for all of those 'You don't know the whole story' comments.<br />
<br />
Good night, my beauties. xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-35008453759874720512010-12-19T21:28:00.000-05:002010-12-19T21:28:07.896-05:00Glutinous Miracles...Hello, my friends...<br />
<br />
Here I sit, on yet another frosty December night, surrounded by the remnants of my latest gift-wrapping blitz. Tidings of good cheer and sparkly ribbon abound! I have exciting news to share (which I will get to, in about 12 paragraphs of faux soul-searching and sardonic introspective).<br />
<br />
I have just returned from yet another (but the final!) exhausting round of Christmas shopping. I find it astounding that even when one comes armed with a list and with a plan of attack, that you can still become beleaguered. Why? Why? Is a Chicken Dancing Elmo really going to make or break your childhood? Some would say that it might, but why are we worried about something, that for most kids, is less interesting than the box it came in?<br />
<br />
I went to my local mall, list in hand (I did get a few things that weren't on it - I confess), expecting to spend a leisurely afternoon choosing thoughtful gifts for the people that mean most to me. Haha. Ha. Ha! This after a beautiful and quiet lunch date with Dear, Sainted Husband. I was lifted. Ready. I was giddy and singing. Excited to be prepared for Christmas. Like a grown-up. A married woman. I was so eboullient that I wished a 'Merry Christmas' and a 'Happy Diwaali' to everyone I saw!<br />
<br />
Enter the Mall (also known as the Missing Circle of Hell). Where people are running around like squaking, headless chickens with Mastercards. Snatching up merchandise and arguing with one another. No mind: I knew that would happen. So I brought my iPod. I was wailing my favorite tunes from 'A Rosie Christmas', paying no mind, even smiling at the wailing children who usually grate upon my nerves so easily. Progress, indeed.<br />
<br />
Until the lurching of my belly interrupted my Christmasy reverie (Note to readers: what follows...is just plain gross). I dropped everything and charged for the bathroom... Apparently, my lunch wasn't as 'Festive' as our favorite local rotisserie claims. Because it promptly vaulted out of my belly and onto the floor....<br />
<br />
End of festivities, friends. <br />
<br />
However, in the true spirit of Mass Consumerism, I soldiered on (really, someone should consider giving me a medal). Marching my purchases and my face, green as our favorite Dr. Seuss character, straight up to the check-out line. I was not about to abandon the list!<br />
<br />
Thank Goodness for Dear, Sainted Husband. He collected me from the mall and trudged home with my purchases, reassuring me that all was not lost (He, brave soul that he is, claims that I am 'gorgeous as always' when splashed with partially digested Festivity; that I smell 'wonderful', 'beautiful' and 'magnificent' (right, Dear); and that anyone who has a problem can...you know.)<br />
<br />
He ever so kindly and patiently reminded me that I should keep up that optimism and positive attitude in mind for my pie dough making, later that night.<br />
<br />
Right. Fuck (sorry, Mom). I forgot. Pie dough.<br />
<br />
Fast forward about three hours and a shower later. I am happily ensconsed in my kitchen with the ingredients for said dough laid out in front of me (ever so lovingly - thank you, Saint Husband). He kisses the top of my head and says, "I know you don't like to hear this, but...(does he know me or what?) relax. Stay calm and enjoy. And in his best Julia Child-falsetto impression, he says, "you're alone in the kitchen. Who's to see?" (We've been watching a lot of 'The French Chef on DVD lately. God, I love PBS).<br />
<br />
Then he leaves. I am left to endure the pie dough saga alone. Cue the terrifying-drudgery music.<br />
<br />
For those of you who don't know, or don't read my blog regularly (which you should!), the last time I made pie dough, It was a mess. More specifically, I was a mess. A weeping, disconsolate, irate mess. I was so upset that my dough didn't turn out just 'perfectly delicious' (another Julia-ism) that I threw soapy water on it and tossed it in the trash. Did I mention that I have never made pie dough in my life (before then)? Uh huh. Apparently I missed the "you gotta crawl before you can walk" speech. Screw that. I was gonna sprint, straight off - and it was going to to be 'Martha Stewart Living' perfect/worthy. <br />
<br />
Standards, much? Yes, for those of you wanting to know: I am a Capricorn. And a perfectionist. <br />
<br />
Uh huh.<br />
<br />
Anyway. Cue kitchen scene:<br />
<br />
I measure the flour and salt. Add the lard....mush, mush, mush.<br />
<br />
So far, so good.<br />
<br />
Egg and vinegar? Check. Zen master. Add the water. Right on. Ohhhhmmmm.<br />
<br />
Bit by bit, I add the water mixture, with shaky hands and an overwhelming trepidation. The little voice in my head is quivering, admonishing me: "don't screw it up, don't screw it up, DON'T SCREW IT UP!"<br />
<br />
I mix. My hands shake (really, they do. It's 8 pm. The grocery store is closed and there is no more lard. If this fails, there will be a National Emergency Situation (NES) in my tiny, little kitchen.) I mix a little more. And then just a bit more, for a little insurance. Startlingly, it looks<em> just like pie dough</em>. This is exactly how I imagine pie dough should look. I am so excited, I am near tears. I call Saint Husband. Actually, it was more like the bleating of a sheep being stunned prior to slaughter.<br />
<br />
He dashes in the kitchen. Fight or flight mechanism on overdrive....<br />
<br />
"LOOK! HOLY SHIT! IT'S PIE DOUGH!" He looks at me like I have recently grown a tail. Then he passes me a tissue. <br />
<br />
"Of course it is, dear. Isn't that what you went in there for?" Like I was expecting chicken livers, or something. Reassured that there is no deadly fire or man-eating snake in the kitchen about to ingest his wife, he departs. <br />
<br />
Saint Husband. A Saint, indeed. God. I love you.<br />
<br />
So tonight, we've experienced a Christmas miracle. There is pie dough chilling in the refrigerator. And no one's crying. Happy days! <br />
<br />
Stay tuned: we'll see if it rolls out or not. Don't uncross your fingers just yet.<br />
<br />
Good night, my beauties. xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-85983184320677491112010-12-17T00:15:00.000-05:002010-12-17T00:15:29.776-05:00Origami: The art of "Duh"...Hello, lovely friends...<br />
<br />
The DVP is calm tonight, and there is no snow. Not much to report on the silliness of Toronto drivers. Sadly. No clever musings tonight. Well, I'll see what I can do.<br />
<br />
The weather here has been quite cold. Welcome to Canada, my friends. True North strong and free indeed. Where everyone has chapped lips and alligator elbows from January to April. Hat head and scarf static. No point in hair-doing before work, let me tell ya.<br />
<br />
The good news is that Alligator elbows are easily cured by my favorite uber cheap lotion. Here I sit, slathered in Sugared Grapefruit body butter, happy fed and jammin' to the newest library find. Personally, I think that butter should be spread on toast, but I digress.<br />
<br />
Family Christmas festivities are underway...or in the works. There is something about Christmas time that makes me feel like a kid for a good majority of the month of December. There are some that would argue that there isn't much change from the other eleven months of the year...<br />
<br />
Good thing my Mother never reads this. <br />
<br />
It seems like everyone is in a charitable frame of mind. Drivers let me pass without honking....the rental company holds my rent cheque hostage for an extra three days....people smile and wish me "Season's Greetings" while they stare....<br />
<br />
Ah, Christmas.<br />
<br />
There are Christmas parties at work - where people pretend to like each other even more than they do every other working day of the year... we cook lovely treats for each other and exchange gorgeous cards... then promptly return to status quo January 1.<br />
<br />
Ah, Christmas.<br />
<br />
Sadly, no Christmas raise. Damn. I feel like that Cratched guy. "Please. More coal." I just won't say that really, I just want a marble mortar and pestle, and those babies are not cheap. Channeling some Julia, there. I guess there's Valentine's Day.<br />
<br />
I really have nothing to complain about. Sometimes being funny really isn't that funny. I work with a great team. For the most part, we know that we're doing something awesome each and every day and that Christmas really is no exception to the work that we do. Yay for us!<br />
<br />
But then something happens to open your eyes to something else that you've been missing. It changes what you do, even on a level so tiny that no one else can see it.<br />
<br />
I support people with disabilities. I work really hard each and every day to battle my own disability-realted demons. I go to work and tell the individuals that I work with that their demons are conquerable, too. Sometimes, I really wonder if I believe what I preach.<br />
<br />
I work with one gentleman who has severe communication impairments. He has some really strange habits that put people off, and create barriers for him to make friends. I think he is fantastic. Although, I admit to a soft spot.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, we were making Christmas decorations. I watched him cut out a super intricate pattern with a pair of giant scissors in about 30 seconds without breaking the paper. It was a marvel. I was stunned. Floored. <br />
<br />
I took some home last night to try it. Melt-down City, friends. Holy bananas, Batman!<br />
<br />
Such a small thing. But a marvel. I could not speak. Honestly. I had no idea I was signing with an Origami Master of the Freaking Universe. Get out. Are you kidding me?<br />
<br />
Now, I sit here. Reflecting. Wondering how many other Freaking Awesome Things there are that I don't know about this guy (Actually, I thought about it yesterday. This blog has been percolating for a bit. Yup. New level of nerd.). Which got me to thinking - am I really doing as awesome a job as I think? Why didn't I know this already?<br />
<br />
How many people look at me and marvel much the same way I did him, when I present a perfect Lemon Poundcake, or order my eggrolls in Mandarin (ps. Dialect Police: the lady at Mulan - the best dumpy Chinese takeaway in Toronto - speaks Mandarin)?<br />
<br />
Which led me to reflect some more: I know how much it pisses me off to look at people and see that "oh, poor gimpy girl" look on their face. And I tell them. What if I couldn't - and I was stuck sucking up other people's stupidity for the rest of my life?<br />
<br />
God help me. And you...<br />
<br />
I think he thought that I was a moron for being so surprised. He had this look on his face like, "of course. Of course I can do this. Duh. Why are you so surprised? Um<em>....duh</em>."<br />
<br />
And that was exactly how I felt for reacting the way I did. Duh.<br />
<br />
Consider my socks knocked off, dude. And rightly corrected. <br />
<br />
How's that for taking your work home with you?<br />
<br />
Good night, my beauties. Happy Thursday night. The weekend is almost here... xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-37256690378409163862010-12-08T21:12:00.001-05:002010-12-08T21:18:03.392-05:00A Case Study in Battle Weariness: The Rolling SoldierHello, my lovelies!<br />
<br />
The holidays are upon us. Christmas... Kwaanza... Chanukah... Solstice... Eid... Festivus for the Restivus....whatever you celebrate; may you too gain twenty pounds of holiday party fat and get an itchy sweater that you don't want.<br />
<br />
Happy holidays to you and yours from your very favorite blogger!<br />
<br />
I have delegated all of the less than fantastic tasks of the season (licking Christmas card envelopes) to Dear Sainted Husband to spend a few hours playing useless video games (I hear they're good for making essential neuronal connections relating to fine motor control and visual-spatial relationships. It might be a load of shit, but who cares? That's my story and I'm sticking to it!) and writing a long, boring blog that no one will read (save for Dear, Sainted Husband, whom I will park in front of the computer and bite my nails anxiously whilst he soaks it in)<br />
<br />
I have not blogged in a while. Here I sit, hopped up on my favorite carcinogen in a can (aka Coca Cola), contemplating the big, esoteric things in life. The Don Valley Parkway is lit up like a Christmas tree on crack and Dear Sainted Husband has vacated the premises in favor of a leisurely stroll in that fresh -13 degree air...so I figure it's a good time to write.<br />
<br />
Why is it that two inches of snow turns city drivers (most of them) into accidents waiting to happen? It seems that every night there's a backup as long as my intestines. I wonder about these people (and worry for their safety) when the real snow hits. Real snow - you know, the kind your grandparents tell you about...they walked to school in it. "Uphill. With bread bags on our feet because of the holes. If we were lucky enough to have boots. And a Coke was a nickle. If we had a nickle." You know exactly what I am talking about.<br />
<br />
Anyway. I digress. I don't drive, so I guess I have no right to comment. But, I'm just sayin', is all.<br />
<br />
Here at Casa<em> Figment</em>... we are busily preparing for Mass Consumer Day (ie. Christmas). We sent out our Christmas cards (okay, some of them), wrapped our gifts (some of those, too. We'll probably wait until 2 or 3 am Christmas Eve in reverance to tradition) and have been drooling over Christmas-related confection over which to file for divorce (or not quite - see earlier blogs, new readers). <br />
<br />
I must be experiencing some post-academic withdrawal-Christmas shopping shock. I am a wreck. How does Santa deal with this crap?<br />
<br />
Hire me some elves. I'm in. <br />
<br />
Really. The "cold" (talk to me about cold at 8 am on a Monday in February in Thunder Bay) must be affecting my ability to function properly. Consider: strangely weird dreams that wake me up to my own mumblings in what I believe to be Mandarin, and cravings for things like McDonalds (barf!) "Jolly Green Apple" nugget sauce (dramatic heaving barf!). <br />
<br />
Trust me. Don't go there. It's a lot less jolly over the toilet heaving at 3 am. Thanks, Ronald McDonald (ps. bionic slime colored <em>jam</em> is not for chicken, Sir! What would the great Julia Child say? Definitely not <em>haute cuisine francaise</em>!)<br />
<br />
I had a dream that I was at my own funeral. (How "meaning of life" is that?) I saw everyone there - my parents, and all of my lovely friends...all of whom seemed to be rather indifferent at my passing. Anxious for the tea sandwiches and Tang.<br />
<br />
How many times in our lives do we sit back and take stock of what we've accomplished? Does it ever measure up against what we had planned as idealistic and naive five year olds who thought that the world was our oyster? <br />
<br />
I wanted to be a Supreme Court Justice. The Chief Justice, actually. The Big Kahuna of the Canadian legal world. Righting the legal wrongs of a justice system misaligned. I imagined myself showing up to work every day, taking on Goliath and prevailing, because it was <em>right</em> and <em>just</em>.<br />
<br />
Pass me a barf bag.<br />
<br />
But it set me to thinking: isn't that really what's happening with each letter I write, blog I post, debate I lose sleep over - demanding fairness and equality for everyone: on a bus, in an elevator, an accessible bathroom, old age home, blood bank, piercing parlour or at a Pride parade? It was a regular American woman who refused to give up her seat on that bus, because she refused to <em>tolerate</em> being treated that way - not any judge. How funny that she <em>sat down </em>for what is <em>right</em>?<br />
<br />
Is it possible that I am right where I should be, writing letters that other people couldn't be bothered to...arguing the argument that some don't want to hear...smoothing the road less travelled for those who follow?<br />
<br />
There are people that take each step and revolution of a wheel with me. I know that. I know who you are, and I love you. Each of you, in your own way, supplement my desire to carry on and push forward. It is for you that I fight, and for the people out there who do not have the strength to mount battle.<br />
<br />
But let me tell you something: I was drafted.<br />
<br />
Conscripted into a battle that appears to have nothing to do with me but with what everyone thinks is wrong with my existence.<br />
<br />
I've been assigned a tour of duty that appears endless and the battle exhausts me. This equality soldier is tired. I feel like I need to give the battle axe to someone else for a while. It has crossed my mind more than once. <br />
<br />
What will people say about me after I have taken my last breath? Am I to be remembered for the things that were important to me...or things that I don't even know I've done?<br />
<br />
This year, I've been to four funerals. Each of those people fought horrible battles: three with cancer and one with life-long disability <em>and then</em> cancer. Every person at those funerals said something along the lines of "fought hard; never gave up". <br />
<br />
So what of the soldier who wants to pack it in and go home? Is there a purse for the boxer who quits; a medal for the soldier who surrenders his weapon? No one ever talks about the people who fight and just can't take it anymore. No front-page spread or honorable mention for them. They're remarked upon with pity, an embarassed bashfulness.<br />
<br />
Shakespeare - bless his heart - once said, "Some are born great; some achieve greatness; and others have it thrust upon them". <br />
<br />
Which begs the question: which is it, and how do we know for sure?<br />
<br />
I guess I'll have to wait to find out. <br />
<br />
Happy Christmas; but war is not over.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My love to each of you. I am thinking of you. xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-34058428326302512572010-10-06T20:49:00.001-04:002010-10-06T20:54:35.978-04:00Reach out and touch someone.Hello, friends!<br />
<br />
I have just arrived at my evening class - a thought provoking if not interesting discussion of Human Sexuality. Heads up, guys - the top two thirds of a woman's vagina are nerve ending free. So, all that stuff they say tidal waves and oceanic movement really is true. There's something I didn't know before, and will definitely change the way I notice men's shoes.<br />
<br />
Moving along.<br />
<br />
I arrived at my class tonight after a full day at work, hungry and plaintive. (I have slipped into full Betsy Ross mode - ripping up my old and bleach-stained jeans to make bow-ties. How eco friendly is that?! Totally cool, right?! I know.) Nothing like a hard day at work sewing (badly) to fire up your appetites. Thankfully, I had a most helpful co-worker offer me tasty snacks!<br />
<br />
I bet you're wondering what this has to do with my topic of discussion. Well, upon arrriving for class, I noted a full bottle of cranberry juice and a nearly-whole cheeseburger lying on the ground. I might not have noticed it if it were not in my path to class. But I did, and it made me think. <br />
<br />
Saint Husband and I recently did some volunteer work for an organization called 'Second Harvest' in their 'Harvest for Hunger' campaign. In case you are wondering, Second Harvest is a Toronto-based charity that provides fresh food (perishables - items that you cannot get at a food bank: meat, dairy and produce) to people in need.<br />
<br />
I thought about that again, as I munched on my tasty, tasty snacks: how fortunate we are to be able to enjoy things like smoked Gouda, or <em>tartes aux chocolats</em>. And yet, there is so much waste. How many people will go hungry tonight and would have gratefully eaten that food, and be horrified at the thought of such waste?<br />
<br />
Both Sainted Husband and I stood outside in the frigid cold last Sunday evening, soliciting donations from the community to support the Harvest for Hunger campaign that will feed many families in need. For every one dollar donation, the charity is able to provide <em>two</em> fresh meals. Sounds pretty economical to me! Yay, for waste saving!<br />
<br />
Anyway...<br />
<br />
Picture it: here's me. I am sitting outside of Sobey's on a Sunday night - a very cold night - wearing a sandwich board and a chef's hat. I am sitting in my chair holding a tin can. I am looking very shaky and cold and pathetic. Which apparently makes more people likely to part with their morning coffee money. Cool. I'll take it. I have absolutely <em>no problem whatsoever </em>playing into <em>your </em>stereotypes to help feed hungry people.<br />
<br />
Three hours and $275 dollars later, I am walking home with Dear, Sainted Husband, discussing the experience where one particular patron stands out to mind:<br />
<br />
There I am, standing outside looking sad and weepy with my little tin can, chatting up the customers (I did compliment more than one pair of "fantastic" [read: ugly as sin] shoes to get an extra toonie. Shameless. I know). A woman comes up to me and drops a dollar in my little can. She then comments that my fingers are blue (which they are. It was really cold.) and that "the man looking after me (Saint Husband. He is inside. There is a display inside that needs to be manned. I chose to go outside. I felt that needed to be noted.) should come out and give me his sweater." <br />
<br />
I respond by telling her that "I'm fine", and that it really isn't much longer (It really wasn't). She proceeds to march inside and tell DSH that "that girl in the wheelchair needs a coat. She is going to die of hypothermia" (this, I heard later).<br />
<br />
DSH comes dashing out of the store, panicking that I am gravely ill. With reassurances that my core temperature is well within normal range, I send him back with a giggle and a gentle admonishment for paying such close attention to the silliness of others. <br />
<br />
I assume that she finished her shopping, as she comes out 40 minutes later to ask me why I'm not wearing DSH's wooly sweater, walking away, stating that I am "too nice".<br />
<br />
Is it really possible to be <em>too nice</em>? Especially in relation to making your own choices...really? I'm surprised. Though, I'm not really all that surprised, given my experience with other people and their opinions of what it is that <em>I</em> should be doing.<br />
<br />
Her insistence about the appropriateness of my shivering (please, Mum, if you're reading this: I <em>was </em>wearing socks <em>and </em>a coat <em>and </em>an extra sweater.) is rendered comical (to my mind) by the fact that she was wearing capri-length leggings, bare feet and flip flops (by the way Mum: <em>she </em>was <em>not</em> wearing a coat, either. Just so you know).<br />
<br />
Here, I feel myself asking the same questions I always ask: what is with these people? (I know, <em>just trying to be nice</em>, and all that. But - I ask you: what if someone said/did that to you? Does <em>just trying to be nice </em>still apply?<br />
<br />
Sounds like a double standard to me.<br />
<br />
When I started this blog, I promised myself that it would <em>not</em> become a platform for the way I feel about disability, disability issues, and general soap box jumping. Then, I started showing the blog to people (thank you, Social Networking site!), after the incident with <em>Unnamed-for-fear-of-slander-suit Regional Transit Company</em>, people said, "<em>this </em>is what this blog should be used for. You have a voice. It's a strong one. Use something that can reach people.<br />
<br />
Can you feel it? That's me, reaching out. Touching you.<br />
<br />
Did you like it? Enjoy it.<br />
<br />
Good night, lovelies. xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-59198223734022057122010-10-02T20:16:00.000-04:002010-10-02T20:16:48.677-04:00Being the ChangeHello, friends. <br />
<br />
I have just returned home to my most comfortable abode after a long and difficult day of academic drudgery. It's cold, dark and drizzly and I am so glad to be home, wrapped my ice cubed toes in some of dear, Sainted Husband's wooly socks, and comitting a most delicious pork chop dinner to my waiting, rumbling belly.<br />
<br />
Slagging off to Brampton at 5 am - not even in summer months is the sun up that early - not my first choice when it comes to Saturday morning plans. After spending a sleepless night watching <em>Law and Order: Criminal Intent </em>re-runs, I arose to the plaintive bleating of my alarm...<br />
<br />
Fast-forward a few hours (and transit systems) later, and I am sitting in class talking about the difference between inclusion and integration. What joy! I admit I have a somewhat vested interest in the matter, but I must admit that I remain shocked and taken aback at the lack of passion and vested interest among other parties - namely, my fellow classmates - all of whom work in the field of disability services.<br />
<br />
Why is it that 'inclusion' is a concept reserved specifically for the disabled population? Inclusion (albeit in my tiny mind) is a concept that involves fostering a global community where all people are involved - <em>included</em>. All people are recognized and celebrated for the unique gifts that they bring to our experience as human beings, and how we relate to one another. Inclusion, valued roles and belonging are things that are sought after by the disabled community alone.<br />
<br />
Inclusion, valued roles and belonging are prized possessions of the human condition. There are many examples throughout our history as humankind:<br />
<br />
Women; through the feminist movement, women's lib, and the <em>suffragette </em>movement have fought for the right to be recognized as equal and contributory citizens, to participate in the political process, promote equal pay for equal work and the right to reproductive self-determination. To name only a few.<br />
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People of color; have fought against segregation, deep-seated hatred and racism. They also fought for the right to be recognized as equal and contributory citizens, to participate in the political process, standing together as a culture to proclaim their dreams for the future. <br />
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People who are gay, lesbian, transgendered and two spirited; they too fight against prejudice, religious/ cultural condemnation, vociferously advocating for the rights of full citizenship that heterosexuals take for granted. <br />
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Why have we failed to include all of these marginalized, disenfranchised people when we consider what it means to be inclusive? I acknowlege, right here and now, that there will always be struggle - it is unrealistic to expect utopia. There is a commonality to struggle. There is a commonality among those who experience it, and those who create it.<br />
<br />
We all want the right to be recognized as equal and contributory citizens, to participate in the political process and to receive equal pay for equal work.<br />
<br />
So why isn't it happening? <br />
<br />
Some of my classmates would argue (I, by the way, dissent. Vociferously. Bleatingly.), that <em>inclusion</em> as a global concept - and to one that isolates people with disabilities as those needing to be included - lags because of a lack of governmental involvement...."the government needs to be more involved", "the government needs to make this more of a priority". <br />
<br />
Sitting in class, listening, thinking of all the battles I've fought - where was the government when I was told that I didn't deserve 'to be sucking air', on a public transportation vehicle, by an employee who is paid with funding from the Ministry of Transportation (which, by the way, is governmnent)? Where was the government when my parents fought tooth and nail to keep me in my community school, to be educated along with my peers and siblings?<br />
<br />
Why are we so keen to shirk our responsibility? <br />
<br />
Community awareness and mobilization has nothing to do with the government. It is a grassroots movement of people, standing together to fight for what is <em>right</em>. Coming together as one voice, a voice that stands tall and unwavering in the face of naysayers. Stronger together - catalysts for change. <br />
<br />
To be the change we want to see in the world.<br />
<br />
What would have happened to Martin Luther King's dream, if he had sat by and said, "this is the government's job"? Or, Rosa Parks? If she believed that it was not her responsibility to stand up against hatred and say that what was happening was wrong....where would we be?<br />
<br />
Parents, before the passing of Bill 82 - and still today, ffighting for alternative educational options for their disabled children, educating them in church basements, and at home...what was to become of them had parents not demanded the same entitlements afforded other children? To let "the government be more involved"?<br />
<br />
We've seen what happens. We understand the damage that exclusion can do to a person. To a culture. To a race. CNN News reported yesterday, a teenager who comitted suicide after being outed on the internet. Where was the government in supporting <em>him </em>and <em>his </em>right to live free and unencumbered by the narrowmindedness of others?<br />
<br />
It is <em>our</em> responsibility, as members of the human community. Ours. To stand behind one another, no matter what the struggle, the battle, the war. To send a message that your battle is just as important as mine, and that we are valuable allies to one another in the fight for inclusion. Where everyone belongs.<br />
<br />
Included.<br />
<br />
Goodnight, lovelies...xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-3879978529713356562010-09-30T23:46:00.000-04:002010-09-30T23:46:22.225-04:00People watching at the TSOHello, friends...<br />
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<br />
I hope that this blog entry finds you well - in good health, spirit and state of mind. At present, I can certainly claim to have a good grasp on all three - until my alarm goes off at 6.30 tomorrow morning.<br />
<br />
I was stunned to see upon logging in this evening that I have not blogged since the end of July - oh, what shame! Therefore assuming my zealous personality, I had at once resolved to write a blog of mind-blowing depth and insight. But, it is nearly midnight, and I'm getting old. Book reviews and generalized complaints about the scandalous 'state of things' will have to wait until my next paid vacation.<br />
<br />
Dear Sainted Husband and I have just returned from a lovely evening at the Symphony. Rather high-brow for a woman who eats Kraft Dinner, I'll admit. But, there's just something so alluring that I can't help myself....the swelling rush of a finishing crescendo...plucky, light as a feather legato strings....and, the $12 tickets certainly don't hurt anything, either....<br />
<br />
The trick is just convincing myself that I really do in fact want to go to the Symphony after a full day at work. Sure, all is well and shiny when you're choosing random, far off dates in a season catalog, thinking, "ooh, that sounds nice. Let's go see that one". Sure. Until it actually is that far-off, random day and you've just spent all day at work, have to think about dinner, subway fare, a shower/change and what to do with that mouldy bread in the cupboard. Just for fun, throw in a sudden and intense need for sleep around, say, 4.30 pm for as long as your alarm clock can hold out.<br />
<br />
Yes. Culture. Fantastic, isn't it? I tried very, very hard to offload my tickets to a willing friend. Shocking. No one in my under-40 subset wanted to go and listen to piano concertos for a very reasonable price ($5 intermission coffees notwithstanding).<br />
<br />
Not wanting to disappoint my very-eager-for-a-night-out Saint Husband, I bucked up. Showered, put on clean clothes (and even makeup!) to go along with my bravest "I'm not tired at all" face. Wife of the Year, here, folks! Well, let's not forget that I wasn't about to waste perfectly good symphony tickets...<br />
<br />
After arriving on time (I know. I was shocked, too!), we witnessed a spectacular show - Louis Lotie and the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. It's just too bad I was so distracted by that inconsiderate person rattling, unwrapping and jiggling their Werther's. Imagine the most beautiful sound on Earth, overpowered by the overwhelmingly irritating unwrapping of said confection...<br />
<br />
Thanks, lady. You've got $12 tickets, too, but the difference is - I'm listening. So, please, knock it off! (Saint Husband told me later that he wanted to walk down to her, take the candy from her and stomp on it. I couldn't have been prouder!)<br />
<br />
The only thing I love more than going to the Symphony is....people watching at the Symphony. I love watching the hard-core music buffs (you know, the ones who come with copies of the scores and their own baton) and how into it they are. Then of course, there's the elderly ladies who go to the Symphony who do so because that's what elderly ladies of a particular class just do. But, my favorite of all favorites - the young couples on a date. Girls who go the the Symphony and the men who go with them because they don't really like the Symphony but they do like the women who like it. <br />
<br />
Like children, waiting to spend their allowances in a candy store. How cute. I just couldn't help but smile. I hope dear, Sainted Husband hasn't gotten any ideas.<br />
<br />
Cue the maestro and roll on the timpani. <br />
<br />
Until next time, lovelies. xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-33552584882663124562010-07-25T21:30:00.001-04:002010-07-25T21:38:22.298-04:00An eyeful from Lady ChatterleyHello, friends - near and far, known and unknown.<br />
<br />
Today is yet another sunshiny and gorgeous day. After sleeping in 'til noon, I'd thought it a good idea to go outside and soak up some of that lovely, fresh air. And, you know, the free Vitamin D that the sun gives away....just another penny-pinching tip from Little Miss Sunshine. Always looking out for you - and your wallet!<br />
<br />
Packing up my wallet and my newest library find, "<em>Lady Chatterley's Lover</em>" by D.H. Lawrence, we headed off to the mall for some portable insecticide (read: bug spray). While there, we ran into a neighbor of ours, from Tipperary, Ireland. He's a squat old fella, with sharp wit and a keen nose for the ladies - though I imagine there's more to it than his nose.<br />
<br />
We talked to him for quite some time. He regaled us with tales of home, the women he's loved and the innumerable children said women have borne to him. No stranger to the dirty joke, I learned quite a few new euphamisms for everyone's favorite bedtime activity.<br />
<br />
I'm saving them all for the next big family dinner. <br />
<br />
Then, he told us about his wife. Disabled and diabetic, she died recently. He shared with us how they'd met, fell in love and married. He said something that struck me; stayed with me all day. He said, "all women are beautiful. I always thought my wife was gorgeous, even when everyone else thought I was crazy."<br />
<br />
I said nothing (I know; I was shocked, too!). We chatted some more, and parted ways. <br />
<br />
On the way to the park, I ruminated on his thoughts; talking to no-one in particular, really. It appears to me that the only chance for life-long acceptance, love and happiness for a disabled (heterosexual) woman is to marry an Irishman. Sainted Husband laughed aloud at this (as well he should have, it's funny to me now, just writing it here).<br />
<br />
I asked him: "what is it about you Irish men? You really couldn't give a ----. It's never been about my wheelchair, neither was it for our Tipperarian and his lady love." I further listed several men I'd met on my travels in the Emerald Isle, all who loved and accepted me in quite the same manner. We talked (really, I talked, he agreed - beautiful conversation that!), and I asked yet again. Was it a fluke, or was there something in the Guinness?<br />
<br />
His answer: "I think I smell a blog coming on, my love".<br />
<br />
If current statistics are true; 96% of women with disabilities remain single and unmarried their whole lives. 50% of those that do marry subsequently divorce, which leaves 3% of the entire female disabled population who get married and stay married. <br />
<br />
I bet every single one of them went to Ireland. <br />
<br />
I wasn't originally going to blog. I was going to count myself lucky, roast Dear Sainted Husband a chicken and shut up about it.<br />
<br />
Enter, '<em>Lady Chatterley's Lover</em>'. Well, really just Lord Chatterley. I got as far as page two (not counting Foreword, Preface and Introduction), and stopped dead in my tracks. According to D.H. Lawrence, literary <em>officionado</em> of his time, 'crippled people' have a 'slight vacancy in their eyes'. And I quote.<br />
<br />
Say whaaaaaaat?<br />
<br />
Excuse me, Mr. Lawrence, but the vacancy of which you speak is most certainly not in my eyes. It is in my mouth. Where those words used to be. You stole them, and now I'm speechless.<br />
<br />
Apparently the whole point of this story is that poor, sad Lady Chatterley has married a man who is 'sterile' as a result of war injury and can no longer satisfy her in chambers. So, Lady Chatterley takes up with the handsome and robust groundskeeper to quench her corporeal thirst. <br />
<br />
He is of course, the subject of many 'ilicit' bedroom scenes of 'pornographic nature' (oooh, did you do it with the lights on? Go on with your <strong><em>BAD</em></strong> self!). So says Lawrence Durrel, author of the Preface. If 'caressing the secret wonderland of her waist' is porn, then I am Pamela freaking-Anderson, okay? <br />
<br />
For real? This is the 'literary pornography' that is banned from libraries and public reading for hundreds of years, on account of its 'moral questionability'? <br />
<br />
Rich lady taking up with the gardner. How unoriginal. How very "Desperate Housewives". I am appalled. Actually...I'm laughing. <br />
<br />
But still appalled.<br />
<br />
But I must admit for one guilty, self-indulgent moment, That it made me think. I'm the poor, sad, 'sterile' Lord. Do people look at my Dear Sainted Husband and wonder? They must.<br />
<br />
But I think, for now I need to put the book down, step away and remember that 'all women are beautiful'. Even the ones who take up with the gardener.<br />
<br />
It's just a book, and my eyes are quite full, thank you very much.<br />
<br />
Later, I will read...and see if I can work some of Lady Chatterley's 'moral questionability' into our friend's zingy one-liners.<br />
<br />
So much for low-brow comedy.<br />
<br />
All my love, friends.......xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1405524597430812355.post-36186382822144173402010-07-24T18:27:00.001-04:002010-07-24T18:31:05.776-04:00Cows udders and Child-beastsHi-dee ho, good Bloglanders!<br />
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Today, for a change, the sun is not beating down upon us in all it's lovely, sunshiny glory. It is overcast and grey. The clouds are heavy - they remind me of the udders of a milking cow - heavy, sagging and waiting to be relieved of the burdensome weight held within. So much for the picnic lunch and plans for reading in the park...<br />
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I guess there's a silver lining - even in clouds that remind me of a cow's udder. We made our daily stop at our local library branch to return the pile of DVD's we'd borrowed the previous day to get us through the cloudy - yet somehow sweltering - day, and found some gorgeous, buttery leather chairs to sit in and read the latest literary jewel.<br />
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Quite the idyllic picture, isn't it? Even those of you who aren't voracious readers want to curl up in this picture with...well, anything. Just so long as there are words. Perhaps some pictures. If you're into that. Don't you? You do. I know you do. It's okay. You don't have to tell me that your inner nerd is whooping for joy.<br />
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Well, let me ruin that for you. Imagine this gorgeous picture....close your eyes and see it, in beautiful detail. See yourself sitting there, reading - or not reading - enjoying. Now, insert about 60 of the <strong><em>loudest</em></strong>, <strong><em>most obnoxious</em></strong>, <strong><em>nerve-gratingly disturbing </em></strong>child-beasts you have ever come across with foul mouths (that would clearly put me to shame, which is quite the feat!) and the poorest (read: non-existent) manners or sense of general courtesy for the people around them that you have ever encountered in your entire life.<br />
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I am not a stereotypical singleton/child hater. I neither love them in that I-want-to-run-my-own-daycare way, nor do I belong to the children-should-be-seen-and-not-heard camp. I do expect 'please' and 'thank you' and perhaps that someone should tell you that you are in <strong><em>a library</em></strong>,<strong><em> so please keep your obnoxious, foul-mouthed SCREAMING to a necessary MINIMUM! </em></strong><br />
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Childhood should be filled with lots of giggles, laughter and play. Please, go ahead. Play. Sometimes, even loud, obnoxious play is good too...It is my belief (however incorrect) that play should never have to include profanity as verb modifiers or adverbs. Nor does that need to occurr at <strong><em>the top of your lungs</em></strong>, kiddies!<br />
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But there are other public spaces for that - they are called parks. Why should a park be desolate and silent, and a library full of children screaming at one another and running about? Go there! It's right outside. In fact, the City spent 18 months and hundreds of thousands of dollars to renovate this space...so that you wouldn't be here, screaming while I am trying to READ!<br />
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Of course, complaining to the over-wrought librarian is of no use whatsoever. Her response to my statement that there was no place <em>quiet</em> to <em>read</em> in a space designed for <em>quiet reading</em>? "Tell me about it." <br />
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Tell you about what, Madam? The noise? Clearly you can hear that. The hoardes of children - clearly under five - who are <em>not</em> supervised? You can see them, and you instituted that rule, babe. How the designated wheelchair spaces are <em>filled</em> with people who are clearly <em>not</em> disabled? Well, Madam librarian, before you go on at me about hidden disabilities...let me point out that this person has their feet on the table, wearing an iPod so loud that you and I can both hear it, and are apparently 'reading' 50 comic books all at once.<br />
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I get the point: this is a library, and not a daycare. You are not here to babysit the neighborhood children. But you are the adult in charge here. Act like it. Please.<br />
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Thanks for nothing, lady.<br />
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Whatever happened to the neighborhood library of my childhood? I remember it like yesterday. It was so quiet you could hear your feet touch the floor, and make the old wood floors creak. The library staff were always sure to help you with whatever you needed (and a little extra, if you were a regular), but they always made sure that the library space was treated with respect. You spoke with respect, and you spoke quietly, if at all. <br />
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I miss those days. When you could find a place to read, and lose your place in the day. I miss the libraries of my childhood. <br />
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I guess the secret joy is that you get to take a little piece home with you. Borrowing a library book to me, is like borrowing a piece of tradition. You borrow, you read, you return. I relish the satisfying 'thwack' of a book hitting the bottom of the 'returns' bin. One book down, a million more to read. Millions of pages of delicious words and gloriously satisfying knowledge. Such power to weild with a tiny little square of plastic. My library card; my sword.<br />
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Unless of course, you're reading Canadian Literature. But, I digress.<br />
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Today, while pointedly ignoring throngs of screaming child-beasts, I found the most gorgeously poignant piece of literature I've read in a long time. <em>"Life on the Refrigerator Door</em>" by Alice Kuipers (which, by the way, though it's classified as Can-Lit doesn't count because she was born in London, England. Phew. You're lucky, Ms. Kuipers) is a fantastic book. <br />
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I will tell you that it was so good, I read it in a couple of hours (not bad, considering its 230 pages). What I will not tell you is what it's about. You must go and read it. You will not regret it. <br />
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Write yourself a note. Post it on the refrigerator door, to remember. Put it on a little scrap of paper. Whatever. Just go and get it. Read it, and then give it to your friends so that they can read it. <br />
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Beauty. <br />
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Beauty, surrounded by screaming child-beasts. All is possible with the Almighty Library Card.<br />
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Thank goodness for cloudy days.<br />
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All my love to each of you.....xoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0