tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10827737447039650402024-03-13T11:29:48.916-06:00Mimi Boling = Michelle CollettMimi Colletthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15879880111595536353noreply@blogger.comBlogger891125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-26455968388281617612024-02-20T15:25:00.005-06:002024-02-20T21:59:54.655-06:00Marshmallow<p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0EolV5MUfGEgI6NgA4i-6qC7MuieNGL6E99zRxMHMH75s7_PiqTCD3nRgoh8C1j_O7touSEmP1sLSy8QO3UV8sQORB8SZNoC-o_P_1sQjjdhgtTwnGjzcSZDaeFziaLZDnWXiJ_VYtaNSDyP9xDIy5qTaIlIfzk5bc7brJTRepWykHUARWn_5KeB/s2448/IMG_9415.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBkiFVc4XTo63OXVN4bw6cxVhwdfJcTPb5k9Djsss8OSKWaUND7hH0gtYAeGQBs7FKiTkcMuI4aqar2Mitf36ddP8f-AA97t8NKfypJN32LZ3EK5eAbUAWEoF_zkBSzUSOmHdVxlxweLISh892yD3OgKzz7jbGNTbx8ZZV47ewJLESLY8cTdBeW6j/s4032/IMG_9268.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBkiFVc4XTo63OXVN4bw6cxVhwdfJcTPb5k9Djsss8OSKWaUND7hH0gtYAeGQBs7FKiTkcMuI4aqar2Mitf36ddP8f-AA97t8NKfypJN32LZ3EK5eAbUAWEoF_zkBSzUSOmHdVxlxweLISh892yD3OgKzz7jbGNTbx8ZZV47ewJLESLY8cTdBeW6j/s320/IMG_9268.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixz1XYayqHCvT7wuoN_rBMO9ehlTWUQ_5HToHfCJgIvTYF9EbLmS2Z1fcGRna15KwtDJFYkggRhYtPjDkE1nI_rwv9mOLV4aCMcLMz5DBBrtH1GnaL10hLQhifi90gxbiKEjgrGXylxj4erQ22GTr3dZO3SwY5Hg4rt2PI6QJOIG2KNSI9xEsJ9YPZ/s4032/IMG_2491.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixz1XYayqHCvT7wuoN_rBMO9ehlTWUQ_5HToHfCJgIvTYF9EbLmS2Z1fcGRna15KwtDJFYkggRhYtPjDkE1nI_rwv9mOLV4aCMcLMz5DBBrtH1GnaL10hLQhifi90gxbiKEjgrGXylxj4erQ22GTr3dZO3SwY5Hg4rt2PI6QJOIG2KNSI9xEsJ9YPZ/s320/IMG_2491.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>My heart is breaking right now as I whisper these words into the sweet little ear of the softest cat I’ve ever loved.<div><br /><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><i>No matter how long I hold you,</i></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><i>You won’t come back.</i></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><i><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></i></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><i>No matter how long I pet you,</i></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><i>You won’t purr.</i></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><i><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></i></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><i>No matter how much I long for you,</i></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><i>You are already gone.</i></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><i><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></i></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><i>Your matter is still here, still warm;</i></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><i>Your soul is free from what was the matter.</i></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><i><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></i></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><i>No matter how long a goodbye lasts,</i></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><i>It still ends.</i></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><i><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></i></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><i>All that matters in the end </i></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><i>Is how much I loved you.</i></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;">Goodbye, Marshmallow.</p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;">Thank you for six and a half wonderful years.</p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></p></div>mimihalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596098434801690649noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-15574689580963055232023-12-05T19:19:00.000-06:002023-12-05T19:19:09.933-06:00Hermanas<p></p><p style="text-align: left;">She ate the tuna and the avocado marshmallows.</p><p></p><p>I ate all the mushrooms—twice.</p><p>We both polished off the Sachertorte.</p><p><br /></p><p>My blue was as light as my eyes, </p><p>and your purple was the majestic night sky.</p><p>Our smiles matched,</p><p>Our heels were high,</p><p>And our jewelry was full of reminders.</p><p><br /></p><p>You lit all the fires.</p><p>I bossed all the bossing—</p><p>Relieved to know the flames were alive,</p><p>Knowing I can always count on you.</p><p><br /></p><p>I walked over the edge of the cliff,</p><p>And you zip lined upside down.</p><p>You admired ancient rock drawings,</p><p>And we climbed a pyramid—</p><p>Amazed at what people did then </p><p>and what we can do now.</p><p><br /></p><p>I talked of turkeys, </p><p>and you spoke of Olmecs.</p><p>Honestly, doing anything with you is fun.</p><p><br /></p><p>We went to the amusement park,</p><p>Little knowing that the true stomach churning thrills would be the car ride home.</p><p><br /></p><p>For eleven precious days, </p><p>I was a sister, </p><p>and I had a sister. </p><p>And she was all mine.</p><p><br /></p><p>Thank you for sharing.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfLXaoj9cYtAU-FFcUL1cay4_cpkqQisBavdgoSEK5LuSHQnLSwplKJw45aKct6AnQzTpQFAxIITrCrdGlkiBOfiRBfkeszDVi4A6fQV8LPZq4r5A13qy5xy94Il2BlwQC2HRkLaZoE8rGe3vW8tzwpCGKb-0o-oFgYMorwnewWmEzoDN_KlrQEKKqZIg/s1600/b495513f-fcd8-440e-81ca-79f87479c079.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfLXaoj9cYtAU-FFcUL1cay4_cpkqQisBavdgoSEK5LuSHQnLSwplKJw45aKct6AnQzTpQFAxIITrCrdGlkiBOfiRBfkeszDVi4A6fQV8LPZq4r5A13qy5xy94Il2BlwQC2HRkLaZoE8rGe3vW8tzwpCGKb-0o-oFgYMorwnewWmEzoDN_KlrQEKKqZIg/s320/b495513f-fcd8-440e-81ca-79f87479c079.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p>Mimi Colletthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15879880111595536353noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-40542531875735492192023-09-22T23:14:00.001-06:002023-09-22T23:14:52.463-06:00Missteps and Sure Strides<p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">A mom was tired as she walked the gentle slope toward the light. Her arms were laden, and her burdens were heavy. Her boys were ahead—happy, excited. Starting the fire, they thought of food and camping and fun.</span><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The mom stumbled on. It is good for the fire to get going. It would take more walking to go get her boys and ask them to carry items. She was a very strong mom after all. She could carry it all. Of course.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">She wandered forward. Eyes to the ground, the flashlight fading slowly. In the periphery, the bright light was ahead, so she stepped and stepped again. Hunched over, to balance the broken backpack on her back, she walked on with heavy bags in each hand. It felt so much further this time.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Set the bags down, readjust, and keep walking. She’s sure she’ll be with her boys soon! The bright light is right . . . there.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Wait. This is not . . .</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Where . . .</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Oh.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Back there.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Focused on the weight she carried and eyes fixed to the ground, relying on the bright light in her periphery, the mom missed the mark and marched far past her destination. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">So she sighed, readjusted again, and retraced the path as best as she could.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The ground was uneven; the plants were pokey; the rocks were unexpected. Shuffle and grasp, getting closer. Hearing the laughing, seeing the small light, carrying the burden, she was almost there.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And then she was.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">There.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Mama, don’t miss your mark by focusing only on your toes. You may end to find the path you trod was not the path you meant. Following the flashiest brightest light could make you miss the low dim glow of where your family is waiting for you. You can make it back to them eventually, but the journey will be hazardous and take longer than if you had directly gone to the goal you actually wanted. Lastly, yes, you are a strong mom, but just because you can does not mean you should, and burdens are meant to be shared.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Have a wonderful weekend camping, dear mama. I love you, missteps and sure strides and all. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwjobNqlFWzlesiyot-66YtVwnbpvuRRlAVfokdAoY732ZjkGZc76SJVUzuxIeY1NlAnIS4Ojzf0Xq1kYE1wX4xDlVBsqiyVobqmpL8SkCWwBLquEzRPspCFRcKFAcgKyqRwSsy4h9jSFjD_R_7wByjqSDjiYAoph4wJ9xMPMA4qurW7VJdTAeqI-JFI8/s1600/100e36d8-d9c4-4d4e-a492-7cff80ab1508.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwjobNqlFWzlesiyot-66YtVwnbpvuRRlAVfokdAoY732ZjkGZc76SJVUzuxIeY1NlAnIS4Ojzf0Xq1kYE1wX4xDlVBsqiyVobqmpL8SkCWwBLquEzRPspCFRcKFAcgKyqRwSsy4h9jSFjD_R_7wByjqSDjiYAoph4wJ9xMPMA4qurW7VJdTAeqI-JFI8/s320/100e36d8-d9c4-4d4e-a492-7cff80ab1508.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span><p></p>Mimi Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13951823063670279689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-41551084968482590912023-09-21T22:42:00.002-06:002023-09-21T22:46:35.505-06:00Growth<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OuA5XZiMrXtwSeAaS8YphkxJiUx3wVmoRlrkAfls9g10MgpMp-EM2C94cnuHPQG6ig-JCkmJTWia31zXYyfld5oV4-8yWroajmoAz7ZxtthI5vwfu09aLFIsNlAz5BL2M_3UBIZbwDupymfaZlJPlW_SRICZcF5OvNK31gZpIygU-QLyyWExFLgnQ-g/s4032/71431636508__94B54806-4290-4BEE-9D66-93B390A3DF41.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OuA5XZiMrXtwSeAaS8YphkxJiUx3wVmoRlrkAfls9g10MgpMp-EM2C94cnuHPQG6ig-JCkmJTWia31zXYyfld5oV4-8yWroajmoAz7ZxtthI5vwfu09aLFIsNlAz5BL2M_3UBIZbwDupymfaZlJPlW_SRICZcF5OvNK31gZpIygU-QLyyWExFLgnQ-g/s320/71431636508__94B54806-4290-4BEE-9D66-93B390A3DF41.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> I am usually an open-book kind of person. I often joke that I am incapable of summary, and that no matter what I am asked I will find a way to give that person a long version of the answer. I am frequently found apologizing for rambling.<p></p><p>Today I was chatting with a new friend. I went to her house to check on her, to see how she was doing. During our conversation I alluded to certain sensitive topics in my own past, and she asked me what had happened.</p><p>She ended up “checking” on me.</p><p>And she listened so very well.</p><p>And so I spoke and spoke and expressed some more.</p><p>When I finished, I was surprised at how much time had past.</p><p>But when I realized I had told her all those private, personally difficult things, I traded surprise for awe.</p><p>Why amazement? It was old news to me. Same old story of my life and personal journey.</p><p>No, the amazing part is that I didn’t cry.</p><p>Today is literally the first time I have ever shared that many details about those circumstances without crying.</p><p>I am grateful that I noticed! It took me about an hour to recognize that I was talking about things that always guaranteed tears—but not today. I’m not going to make the claim that time can heal all wounds. Honestly, I lean more toward the idea that God can heal wounds if we are welcome to it. </p><p>I am so grateful for being in the right place at the right time. It is yet one more lesson regarding the importance of each small choice that paves the way to your big decisions.</p><p>Thank you to friends who listen.</p><p>Thank you for pain that fades away, becoming a duller throb each year, no longer the sharp piercing stabs.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mimi Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13951823063670279689noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-70836689573241113662023-09-14T10:00:00.004-06:002023-09-14T13:51:46.851-06:00Pets<p>I almost titled this post “trauma.” But then I felt guilty like trauma should only be used for the really awful horrendous things. Not the “no big deal” things I deal with. And then a different part of me says “hey you can respect the sorrows you’ve lived through even while understanding life could be worse.”</p><p>So I battled for a while and ended up calling it “pets.”</p><p>I was with a friend this morning and our dogs. We were walking circles in the dog park. Gabo prefers to just smell stuff. If she engages with other dogs, her favorite game is to run in circles. At the dog park, she has no interest in the wrestling games where other dogs put their paws and weight on her. She does have a few friends she will wrestle with, but it is not her thing mostly.</p><p>So Gabo walked in circles with me, sniffed a few things, and tried to get a beagle to run with her, but two bigger dogs always came along, and Gabo would growl not wanting them to get on top of her. So she mostly just stayed with me.</p><p>When it was time to go, I crouched down, and she ran over. I leashed her and waited for my friend. My friend’s dog was playing with another dog.</p><p>Then suddenly it was four or five dogs, and two were being really aggressive. And I froze. Do I separate them? Is a dog going to get hurt? Should I help? Where ON EARTH are their owners? And then one of the dogs (with similar coloring and stature (but smaller) of the dog who attacked Gabo last year) opened its wide powerful jaws attached to its muscular neck and got on top of another dog, and I picked up Gabo and ran.</p><p>I flew through the fence gate, raced across the street, fled behind the bushes, set down my dog, collapsed, and just sobbed. So many people were staring at me, walking by with their baby strollers and their shopping bags, with their canes and their own dogs, and I just couldn’t stop crying.</p><p>My friend got her own dog out, found me, and let me cry. Gratefully, she was able to share the report that all the owners showed up and no dogs were injured.</p><p>I was able to stop crying, and we walked home. And my beautiful dog is next to me unhurt.</p><p>The terror is still circling in my chest. The tears are still threatening to overflow. The memories of this morning mixed with a year ago are swirling like a sandstorm through my brain. My fear that Gabo could die. That I could get hurt. My guilt that I didn’t protect my dog. All the pee—all the poop—covering the dogs, the floor, me. The blood. Mine. Hers. Two of my children screaming. One of my children trying to help me get the dogs apart causing more fear that the dog might let go of my dog and attack my child instead. One of my children sprinting to a neighbor to ask for help. My own dog terrified and biting at anything to stop the pain but the only thing she could reach was me since I was on the ground with them trying to get the other dog to release its jaws from my dog’s chest/neck. My fear, my fear, my fear. My guilt. My fear.</p><p>Still so fresh. Hurtling around and hurting inside my chest.</p><p><br /></p><p>I am grateful no human or dog was hurt today. I am grateful for a friend who let me cry with compassion and concern rather than judgement or derision.</p><p>And I’m surprised at how quickly those feelings and memories came back and rendered me powerless.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzhykVxWcoi9cQgONwc9DKXT0Lbtuk5JFLp2hHfFpYLmcsCDGX28XsnpO-f-iTsSl_ww9NaMZ3GZi-lGANo3hkJYM7zfVQw68Bg5BctzNPefwq4DJO9Bz6xp64O82364f-Mk0zvqwGl1LG-sdURfbPTaZLgBXpBtfxPtoZWATJkw04MIRfeSiUS3nB47I/s3088/69043428926__328E4DBD-7BA8-4D14-B249-A2EE4D250D40.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzhykVxWcoi9cQgONwc9DKXT0Lbtuk5JFLp2hHfFpYLmcsCDGX28XsnpO-f-iTsSl_ww9NaMZ3GZi-lGANo3hkJYM7zfVQw68Bg5BctzNPefwq4DJO9Bz6xp64O82364f-Mk0zvqwGl1LG-sdURfbPTaZLgBXpBtfxPtoZWATJkw04MIRfeSiUS3nB47I/s320/69043428926__328E4DBD-7BA8-4D14-B249-A2EE4D250D40.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfg7h2-Umr5e0RrN-p3LNOOH-tI7nq9nxFGxQ_I6Ox2h7dxLH8lJv4_nVP4ZYq8Qnwul7WWt9n-nPe9zp5aLfgjKSl-SWc2AVrq7v2TswLVheeXtzqKD82qk2LJBizrHp6QsBElUYebneLewYDVvXBR6XpwRvN1xZkMvdBtqRvnCNrYiqHtWKUkgbOLw/s4032/IMG_9763.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfg7h2-Umr5e0RrN-p3LNOOH-tI7nq9nxFGxQ_I6Ox2h7dxLH8lJv4_nVP4ZYq8Qnwul7WWt9n-nPe9zp5aLfgjKSl-SWc2AVrq7v2TswLVheeXtzqKD82qk2LJBizrHp6QsBElUYebneLewYDVvXBR6XpwRvN1xZkMvdBtqRvnCNrYiqHtWKUkgbOLw/s320/IMG_9763.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEvJn_Z8RKZSZNz97VX7s9uiaWJyoy8IYHvx43_vhZFTN2lX9VDd1tArTaUTqwQ1Nalklzxum_Nh9nzhLSCrBkk27-1VsFOe1uim3mwa05s0TOB8OtmgTO9LBvcEYDjUKWDVmJ41AES6abwt2KfqOa4V_nehDvwmf7wKqUyKjZzDfs8G_CK9sapkmHHI/s4032/IMG_9764.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEvJn_Z8RKZSZNz97VX7s9uiaWJyoy8IYHvx43_vhZFTN2lX9VDd1tArTaUTqwQ1Nalklzxum_Nh9nzhLSCrBkk27-1VsFOe1uim3mwa05s0TOB8OtmgTO9LBvcEYDjUKWDVmJ41AES6abwt2KfqOa4V_nehDvwmf7wKqUyKjZzDfs8G_CK9sapkmHHI/s320/IMG_9764.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Mimi Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13951823063670279689noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-70762794894776177642023-06-19T21:36:00.012-06:002023-06-22T22:08:46.582-06:00Shame<p>I'm exercising again. Exercising in a way I really never have before. I've been active most of my life. Lots of soccer playing and some soccer coaching. Then also dancing and running. Some years of being terrible at gymnastics but certainly trying. A tad bit of swimming and a few years of tennis. Zumba here and there with some yoga mixed in. At one point I took a weight lifting class, but it was pretty much all machines. And occasionally cycling has made an appearance in my life.</p><p>But basically for the last year and a half, I've done nothing. I had an injury and then the pandemic and the move and then depression and lack of motivation and running sporadically but really nothing.</p><p>Then a neighbor invited me to exercise with her.</p><p>I didn't want to.</p><p>But I also did want to.</p><p>You know?</p><p>But I knew I should. Part of the point of quitting other stuff was so that I could have time to exercise.</p><p>So I did.</p><p>And my neighbor is really, REALLY kicking my butt.</p><p>I have never done much of anything with bands and dumb weights and the bar. I don't think I've ever tortured myself with box jumps, and apparently I don't know how to to properly jump rope, let's not even discuss burpees, and I never knew any of the names to all of these things.</p><p>The other women know all the names of all the things and know the forms and just are basically not clueless.</p><p>They're also all my friends and incredibly nice and supportive. So while I'm like "what's a dead lift?", they are incredibly patient and don't mind that our exercise sessions basically have twenty minutes added to each one as I am told what the names mean and as I try to get my brain to work with my body to have the proper form.</p><p>Also, counting is impossible. Just on a side note: I'm really good at counting. In general. Until I have to also remember to hold my body in whatever position it is supposed to be in and I can only add a number when I've done whatever the thing is and I have to stop my mind from wandering to other topics. I basically add one more rep for however many times my mind wandered. So it is possible I am doing like five more of each thing than I should, but since I'm really only competing against myself, the worse thing that happens from doing more is that I get stronger faster, right?</p><p>Well, today, I was introduced to something called "cleans." </p><p>Guys. My body could not grasp all of the steps. She had me try it with the bar (with no weights so 35 pounds). She had me try it with dumb weights (20 pounds) (or maybe 15 pounds?). She had me try it with a medicine ball (14 pounds). Finally I just ended up doing it with a broom stick, and my form was still all wrong, and I was doing it SO slowly with each like muscle movement separate as my brain tried to correctly get all the muscles to do what they needed to do.</p><p>And it was so incredibly hard not to cry. I felt so stupid. I felt so embarrassed. And when I was trying with the actual bar, I felt fear. I haven't felt fear in exercising for a really, really long time. Not since I quit gymnastics actually. I had a lot of fear in gymnastics, which is one of the reasons why I was pretty terrible at it. You can't conquer the beam or any apparatus if you're afraid of getting hurt. And trying to do cleans with the bar brought that fear rushing back.</p><p>And everything added on top of all the rest. I felt stupid because I couldn't figure out what looked so easy when my neighbor did it. And then I felt stupid for feeling stupid. Everyone was so nice to me. Everyone knows it is new to me. Everyone also had their own learning curves for different moves. Everyone was supportive and encouraging, and it was all I could do to not sob out loud.</p><p>All these negative emotions kept churning inside me, and I knew—I KNEW—that they were all internal. Every single one of them was coming from inside me. None of those women there would have called me any of the names I was calling myself. And my eyes were filling with tears, and it was hard to concentrate, and it became even harder to do the muscle movements I was trying to do.</p><p><br /></p><p>It made me think of parenting. How often am I teaching my children something that I've done many, many times. Things I've done so many times that they are natural to me, instinctive. But my kid just can't get it. Am I as nice to my kids as my friends were to me? Am I as encouraging? I hope so. But I probably am not always. But even when I am as nice as my friends were, my kids might still cry just like I was crying. Because it's an ugly feeling to not understand something, to not succeed, to keep failing, to be afraid of hurting oneself. It's terrible. And I'm an adult who has all these words to describe how I'm feeling, how to explain what is churning inside me. My kids are still learning these words, are still learning to understand what they are feeling.</p><p>I hope the next time I am teaching my children something that they are struggling with that I can remember that I cry too when I'm struggling and that it feels horrendous to not be good at something.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzyuTcEqGq0Uc-aEE5S7cODvvqDFk9dwBy0dr199LFgDVphCWYltyRfSSQhNd808B7BoZC4JDTVvHOeg1kvs3xg9LAhyl5MI9Qv1q6vaEgP2mWZ0n8OSJRhdLPyDG3gIpDiZk7F-XfoIyGwxhiQc7DRmuQGlPpJjGxtAoi79O0op9Mm2DFjRGMMyks_sQ/s6912/No%20matter%20how%20weak%20I%20began,%20I%20get%20stronger%20every%20week..png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="6912" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzyuTcEqGq0Uc-aEE5S7cODvvqDFk9dwBy0dr199LFgDVphCWYltyRfSSQhNd808B7BoZC4JDTVvHOeg1kvs3xg9LAhyl5MI9Qv1q6vaEgP2mWZ0n8OSJRhdLPyDG3gIpDiZk7F-XfoIyGwxhiQc7DRmuQGlPpJjGxtAoi79O0op9Mm2DFjRGMMyks_sQ/w400-h200/No%20matter%20how%20weak%20I%20began,%20I%20get%20stronger%20every%20week..png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Mimi Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13951823063670279689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-12447764883256698822023-06-02T18:09:00.011-06:002023-06-03T12:41:16.090-06:00Sleeping is my Super Power<p>My grandma had narcolepsy. And my mom does. And at least one of my uncles does.</p><p>I never thought that I would. I'm just really good at sleeping. I like to joke about how it is my super power. I have lots of funny stories about times I've fallen asleep when I shouldn't have. I may have told you some of them before! Hilarious.</p><p>Times like when I'm driving. Or singing. Or reading. Or listening to a conversation. Or sitting in a waiting room. Or riding in an Uber.</p><p>And I keep bottles of caffeine pills in my purse. And my glove box. And my husband's glove box. Just in case. You know, like everyone does.</p><p>And my daughter routinely has the job of pinching me when I start nodding off at the wheel. Many teenagers have this job, I'm sure.</p><p>It's really normal to fall asleep in public spaces. And safe. Nothing ever happens to you. I bet you did that just last week.</p><p>If I asked, I bet I'd find out that no one I know uses cruise control just like I don't, because they also find it very risky. Remember that accident in 2012? Yikes.</p><p>And it never hurts any friend's feelings if you can't follow the important things she's telling you because you're using all of your energy to stay awake.</p><p>Many people prefer to stand in the back of rooms instead of sitting, because moving helps. And it's normal to take notes of everything said, because you probably won't remember it later, and note taking helps us all stay alert. Really. Many people do.</p><p>Probably like at least half of the people in this world can fall asleep almost as soon as their heads hit the pillow. And think their dreams are real. And get stuck in nightmares. And see things out of the corners of their eyes.</p><p>What, me? I'm just exhausted because I take church classes before high school and then play sports and have clubs after school and then stay up late finishing my homework.</p><p>Oh, no worries. I'm just taking lots of extra credit hours to graduate college faster, and I don't always go to bed when I should.</p><p>Ugh. Mommy zombie. I'm just tired because I had four babies in six years, so that's a long time of pregnancy, breastfeeding, and caretaking of small humans.</p><p>Yeah, confession: I've been depressed, and there is a lot going on with my kids, and that makes people tired. And sometimes I binge watch dramas later than I should.</p><p>Definitely fatigued these days because I never say no and I keep volunteering for more things. Go, go, go—that's me! Maybe I should take a break.</p><p>So, I'll quit some volunteering responsibilities. I'll start saying no. I'll go to bed earlier. I'll exercise.</p><p>Why do I fall asleep all the time?</p><p>Oh, my sister had the courage to test, and she has narcolepsy.</p><p>Wow, that's a lot of narcolepsy in my family.</p><p>Good thing I don't have it though. </p><p><br /></p><p>Wow. I got tested. And I have narcolepsy, too.</p><p>I . . . lied to myself for decades. </p><p>I'm sorry, Mimi. I love you. We'll figure this out.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKDz8cZWX3HnvKJeW4pUbzfY8ty-vP2OQBhKLH1IYZerEOrpQQtA3xauIxNNXDjlEywQyF-FXGLFRceuRsLy3qAawdTMoeWmKs5yK-T5GnxxGC3p3fIYLa20-aNI6hVU3B4eHw6sin_7CLtOJZaDyGQ-p03RLL93PYAkAWPtArGjcU5iLnsxT60l2/s6912/sleep%20sloth.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="6912" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguKDz8cZWX3HnvKJeW4pUbzfY8ty-vP2OQBhKLH1IYZerEOrpQQtA3xauIxNNXDjlEywQyF-FXGLFRceuRsLy3qAawdTMoeWmKs5yK-T5GnxxGC3p3fIYLa20-aNI6hVU3B4eHw6sin_7CLtOJZaDyGQ-p03RLL93PYAkAWPtArGjcU5iLnsxT60l2/w400-h200/sleep%20sloth.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Mimi Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13951823063670279689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-57335927420548231572022-02-25T21:18:00.017-06:002023-06-02T18:13:49.580-06:00Friendship Profile<p>I finished a book last night. It was a book I read with one of my book clubs, but this week was really full for me (me!), and I ended up missing the meeting and being behind in my reading.</p><p>So I finished it and near the end, a song from the musical <i>The Secret Garden</i> is mentioned. It is “How Could I Ever Know.” I was already crying because of what was going on at that point, and then the song was mentioned. I haven’t sung that song in years! I hadn’t even remembered it when I have been singing through my memorized songs. But then I was singing it, and I still had the whole song memorized. It is such a beautiful, sad song. My first reaction was to comment on the book club chat like “hey! Did you notice the mention of that song? I know that song!” And I thought wow if I had been at book club and had finished the book I might have even sung them the song.</p><p>And then I thought wait. No one in book club knows that I sing. At least I don’t think they do. How could I sing in front of them? I almost recorded myself and sent it to one book club friend, but then I didn't, because I don't think she even knows that I sing. But singing is such a big part of me. </p><p>I have been singing very little recently. I blame it on the pandemic. Since singing is such an effective way to push our breath around, it was basically outlawed for a while. This is the first place I’ve lived where I haven’t been in a choir. I tried for a while last year. I joined a choir that was meeting online due to COVID. And I enjoyed it; as much as a virtual choir could be enjoyed. But they meet Thursday evenings, and I received a church calling for Thursday evenings, and it just became too difficult, so I quit the choir, and I haven’t found a new one. I miss singing. My diaphragm, lungs, and voice are really “out of shape” right now. My range has shrunk. Can that come back or is losing it just part of malpractice and age? It’s gone once it’s gone? Maybe I’ll find out someday.</p><p>In the book, a dying wife writes dating profiles for her husband to use after she passes, because she wants to encourage him to find love again. Reading those dating profiles made me think of what I would write if I needed a friendship profile. What would I want a potential friend to know? What are these puzzle pieces that make up Mimi that a longterm friend would know?</p><p>I sing. From what my family says, I have always sung. I was told once that on a train between Chicago and Detroit when I was too young to have memories, I walked up and down the train car singing to all of the passengers. I remember I joined my first choir in third grade, and until now I’ve always been in a choir. Even as a college student or when pregnant or as a young mom, I’ve always found time for choir and singing. Until now.</p><p>I read. I’ve always loved to read. I used to say I was looking for myself in books. Now that I’m older I don’t think I’m looking for someone like me anymore, but I appreciate encountering new ways to think about life. I'm looking for other people, you could say. Along with learning, I also like being entertained and laughing. I also read books that make me cry. I love stories. I can remember multiple sleepovers with friends where my friend would find me sitting by the bookshelf reading her books instead of doing makeovers or modeling or watching a movie. “Just borrow it and read it at home! Come play with me.”</p><p>My favorite sport to play is soccer. I was on my first soccer team in kindergarten, and I was on a soccer team every year until I graduated high school. After that I found intramural and club teams to play on. I took a break for about four or five years. But in Virginia, Juarez, and Libreville I found teams or groups of friends to regularly play with. I’ve coached soccer teams in two different countries. I’ve never had amazing ball handling skills or tricks, but I was tenacious. I was very aggressive, and I was in shape. In high school, I started every single game from ninth to twelfth grade, usually always as the left midfielder. I have not found a team here in CDMX. I miss playing soccer. My cleats are just gathering dust.</p><p>I was actually pretty athletic in general. I competed in track (usually 800 meters and 1600 meters and sometimes the 4x8 relay). I also competed in gymnastics (but while enthusiastic, I was never very good. I let fear get in the way). I competed in dance: jazz, ballroom, and hip hop. I really miss dancing. I also competed in cheerleading, basketball, and volleyball. I was never very good at basketball or volleyball. I love Zumba, but I rarely do it now. As an adult, I’ve done a little yoga, and I’ve picked up basic skills in tennis. But, honestly, looking at me now you would not guess that I used to be athletic. I have struggled to prioritize it.</p><p>I watch Asian dramas. It’s funny—before picking up this hobby, I was actually kind of disdainful of television. Jeff and I would start series, and I would usually get bored of how it was dragged out forever, and I would just go online and read the recaps like a book and “finish” the series while Jeff kept watching the rest. But then in the fall of 2018, I was depressed, and for some reason Netflix recommended <i>Meteor Garden </i>to me, and that was that. Then I had no idea how deep this rabbit hole would be, but I’m still enjoying the dive now. I take it as seriously as my reading. After I finish a book, I go on Goodreads and rate it, share my favorite quotes, and review it. When I finish a drama or film, I rate it; record the details about dates, actors, and country; and I review it. It’s all in a spreadsheet. This record is how I know that I’ve now watched 993 hours of Mandarin, 1,370 hours of Korean, and 72 hours of Japanese since that fateful day, October 1, 2018. I’ve learned so much about those cultures, and I just really enjoy how they craft their dramas. I could be wrong since I haven’t watched a lot of US television, but I honestly think they utilize landscape, interior scenery, and soundtrack songs in a very different way. It’s art. I love it. A lot of my family watches, too, and we all bond over them and share the spreadsheet.</p><p>I like acting. The first full play I was in was in elementary school as a munchkin in <i>The Wizard of Oz</i>. I’ve also performed in <i>The Brave Little Tailor</i>, <i>The Canterville Ghost</i>, that one whose name I can never remember but my character was God, <i>Teen</i>, and <i>Little Shop of Horrors. </i>My favorite roles were being Annie in <i>Annie </i>and Lucy in <i>The World According to Snoopy. </i>We even got to compete in a drama competition with that one! As an adult, I have not made time to act, but I have been able to volunteer at my kids' school as a drama instructor. When COVID hit, I was a co-director of the upper primary play with Jill as one of the actors. Of course it was canceled, and we never got to finish. It would be a dream to get to act again. I wonder if I would be any good at it now.</p><p>I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was born in the religion, and I chose to be baptized and to receive my endowment. I attend every Sunday and serve in my congregation. Right now I teach the nine year old Sunday School class, and I co-lead Thursday night activities with the eight to eleven year olds. My faith in God is something I choose, and the precepts of the religion form the foundation of my life. I’ve never drunk alcohol, coffee, green tea, or black tea. I’ve never smoked or done any drug that wasn’t purchased in a pharmacy. I’ve never used profanity, and the strongest vulgar words I use are “sucks” and “crap.” I also haven’t had meat since December 2019, but that is a personal decision not a religious one, but it seems relevant as I'm discussing other thing I don't do.</p><p>I’m a citizen and national of the United States of America. I lived in New York, Michigan, and Ohio for almost four years each. I lived in Utah for five years. I spent a summer in Maine. I lived in Virginia for two and a half years. I lived in Indiana for seven years. I also lived in Brazil for four years and Gabon for three years. I’ve now lived in the country of Mexico for three and a half years (two years in Ciudad Juárez and the rest in Mexico City). </p><p>I’m a volunteer. I’ve always been one. I grew up seeing my parents volunteer, and I went along with them. It’s part of me now. My church provided many opportunities to serve and lead, and I’ve always been able to find a way to volunteer. I’ve been an aide in a middle school special education classroom. I’ve been a hospice volunteer. I’ve led children’s and adult choirs. I’ve taught English classes. I’ve been a leader in a sea turtle conservation group. I used to attend college classes with students with disabilities, taking notes for them on their lectures, editing their papers, and being their hands or eyes during tests. Volunteering is something I still do. I am currently on the board of two charity social clubs. I’m a Girl Scout troop co-leader, and I help out with Boy/Cub Scouts. I volunteer at a girls’ shelter here, at a foundation that makes meals for impoverished seniors, and with a group that makes blankets for babies at a local hospital. It’s always been a way to meet people I would otherwise not meet, and I find it valuable to learn from them.</p><p>I have a temper that I have worked my whole life on figuring out how to control. I used to hit and kick a lot as a child. Thank heavens as a parent, I am in much better control of myself. I can be a good listener, but just as often I am a talker, and sometimes I interrupt people. I am working hard on that. I’d like to think I’ve gotten better, but I’ve still got a ways to go. When I’m down, I am an extremist. I fall into all-or-nothing thinking. My immediate reaction is blaming myself and assuming it is my fault. Partly because I’m often so bossy that things literally are my fault because I muscled my way into a leadership role. I prefer to apologize and maintain relationships than to be “right” and sacrifice relationships. Sometimes I forget what things I’ve been told are secrets, and then I feel terrible afterwards, so much that I sometimes wish I were never told any secrets because I am not as good as I’d like to be at keeping them. I am not 100% honest all the time. I used to think that the adjective I wanted to describe me more than any other was enchanting. Now I’m not sure which adjective I want more than any other. Perhaps earnest. I’m working on deserving that description. And sometimes I honestly don’t know how to be a mother and wife, but I don’t give up, but some moments have been very dark. I am proud of how well I fill my roles of sister and daughter. It is really, really hard for me to say no. I carry guilt for things I should probably let go. I prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt and see the best in them.</p><p>My favorite game is Rummikub. I also enjoy Othello, Spot It, Euchre, President/Scum, and Phase Ten. </p><p>Professionally, I am an editor and text designer. I am a native speaker of English and studied English in college. My next strongest language is Spanish. I used to be really good at Portuguese, but I don’t have many opportunities to keep it up now. While in Gabon, I could get by in French, but it has definitely taken a backseat to Spanish now.</p><p>I wish I could play the piano better but not enough to spend the necessary time to actually become better at it.</p><p>I love bright colors, and I love jewelry with stories and memories attached. I hate shopping. I don’t understand why so many of my friends love shopping. I can only stomach it when I have a specific purpose that forces me to shop. I like seeing beautiful, interesting items, but shopping makes me feel guilty, which is an unpleasant feeling. </p><p>I don’t enjoy making dinner, but I’m fine with breakfast and lunch. Probably because my kids want the same things every day for those meals, and it is “allowed,” but it feels against the “rules” to make the same dinner every day. Friends spend hours blending flavors and perfecting textures, and then people eat it, and then our bodies use it as fuel and turn the leftovers into poop. So we spend hours cooking to create . . . poop. I often dream of having a food like what I feed my bird, dog, Guinea pigs, and cats. Is that a weird wish? To go to the store and find a bag labeled “human” and then just eat the amount I’m supposed to each day but still being healthy and strong.</p><p>When I was young, I honestly believed I could be good at anything. I was convinced that I had the capacity to be anything I wanted to be and that if I tried to do something, eventually I would be able to do it. I’m not sure where that confidence came from, but because of it I tried a lot of things and actually gained a lot of skills. Life has taught me that there are a lot of things I actually have no innate talent at, but I’ve been so fulfilled by all the things I’ve tried.</p><p>I started journaling in 1998, and I started this blog in 2004 as a way to keep in touch with all the friends I left when I went to college. For some reason I still write in it, and I’m kind of amazed that in two years this blog will be TWENTY years old. I tend to write poetry when I’m sad.</p><p>So hi. Maybe let’s be friends? I have a song I’d love to sing for you . . .</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8tGZBazOvP8phfk9nOWi5RXHvRpTKsk6VJEaW9d1uhVsiaBh-a_o-dNqgOI2ZKSTAaYAU1Lzy31OShcf7worMBSk-SQvGni28vNWCMcQKQxkZujCosj5tBJ8I9sOf336mzvwQ4IP9RTF6FRTtYv2pP-b3bgKfRE2ljwv1gy0koVYXLWi4-RjT8fUW=s3088" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg8tGZBazOvP8phfk9nOWi5RXHvRpTKsk6VJEaW9d1uhVsiaBh-a_o-dNqgOI2ZKSTAaYAU1Lzy31OShcf7worMBSk-SQvGni28vNWCMcQKQxkZujCosj5tBJ8I9sOf336mzvwQ4IP9RTF6FRTtYv2pP-b3bgKfRE2ljwv1gy0koVYXLWi4-RjT8fUW=s320" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I’m quite good at braiding hair </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">but not great at making cotton candy.</div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Mimi Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13951823063670279689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-37817509838377891802022-02-11T15:18:00.019-06:002022-02-14T16:38:44.614-06:00I saw you today<p>I had two appointments today in different parts of town, so I spent about two hours driving through Mexico City. </p><p>A man helped me find a parking spot, and then when it was time to leave, I couldn’t find him. A car had parked behind me very closely, and I wasn’t actually sure I could get out. As I sat in my car wondering where the man was and whether I should just stay there until one of the cars left, a pedestrian started waving at me. She proceeded to guide me back and forth, telling me to stop before I hit either car, until I was finally free. I saw you. I'm grateful for you. And I was never able to give the man his tip for finding me a spot on the street. I'm sorry.</p><p>I saw you, too. By your clothes, I think you are a security guard. You were chatting on the phone on the side of the busy road. Someone must have said something funny, because you threw your head back and smiled with so much joy that it made me want to be your friend.</p><p>I know you saw me. You were standing on the side of the street with four kids, and you waved down the taxi in front of me. Your kids were climbing in first, taking a while, because they're kids, and there were four of them, when a car behind me honked. I'm a mother of four; I would never honk at you, but you looked at me. I swear it wasn't me! I'm sorry someone honked at you. You are allowed your time, too.</p><p>I saw you as well. I was there to pick up my sewing machine and my friend’s machine. I had other bags also, and you offered to carry the machines for me. I thought you just meant on the stairs, but then you carried them all the way to my car and then said goodbye. I appreciate your kindness.</p><p>You were there. You were in such a rush that you didn’t notice that your little sandy dog had his leg up, peeing, as you pulled him down the path.</p><p>I saw you and you and you. We waved and nodded and signaled as we navigated the careful dance that is driving in Mexico City. You let me go there, and I let you go there, and we all moved forward together, a little closer to our next destinations.</p><p>Oh, and I won’t forget you! I met you for the first time at breakfast today. We chatted and learned what we like to do and whether we have pets or kids (and me with both!). I’d love to chat with you again.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><i>So many humans on the street for me to meet.</i></p><p><i>Brown and blue, many of each hue.</i></p><p><i>Black and green, all waiting to be seen.</i></p><p><i>Me and you: I can only meet a few.</i></p><p><i>Back home again—now with new friends.</i></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEieUpIEX2BkkbzWN1M-unmZnMHWM2569I7fVSrdrTqRKctaqoXLXRLzBStjICvLTEIXctWToE-3SKu24urF5bPZUzuNZqiNjJ_h9d_9112ROpLQ6kduWdzkxgbj0hPQ3Gz50_CaahD9tYSO2i4fEuJ2wq0pKDJ5mSFs8BaPVVbpzsLzdFbjotuRmg=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEieUpIEX2BkkbzWN1M-unmZnMHWM2569I7fVSrdrTqRKctaqoXLXRLzBStjICvLTEIXctWToE-3SKu24urF5bPZUzuNZqiNjJ_h9d_9112ROpLQ6kduWdzkxgbj0hPQ3Gz50_CaahD9tYSO2i4fEuJ2wq0pKDJ5mSFs8BaPVVbpzsLzdFbjotuRmg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsx-5kW40dxIR16bTUo8-rW46UXCgcUlcdLrcN79BeTqqlxAIYXFYwJApdciaS7KgiHD1CRWdTjOmQpxeC5yri5UPQHmAy5I3BdakFYwJirMdAFBcpxUXp0onnzGfxkAjkLKL4sidmBUHNzRFbsB-lM_Ng6lGMtJnud9rtwMUO6WHYjXnHvBONYg=s3088" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsx-5kW40dxIR16bTUo8-rW46UXCgcUlcdLrcN79BeTqqlxAIYXFYwJApdciaS7KgiHD1CRWdTjOmQpxeC5yri5UPQHmAy5I3BdakFYwJirMdAFBcpxUXp0onnzGfxkAjkLKL4sidmBUHNzRFbsB-lM_Ng6lGMtJnud9rtwMUO6WHYjXnHvBONYg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimDEVb1oHYWKIV9QMCmvBBGorjOR7Rl4FbJHFUxLfYzc0Cg_Bl5V36xwsCflHdvK9JP7v_IdVnC2h4q9ifyA06Ki8H-dMlDw797DLQvZwqWt9JR8VvjEByxrEb8c3TBSbBzTgci95vDttQwbq7OyxCLg6MabuuprEarDJ-fF4PMLLaoMc4GuSoeQ=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimDEVb1oHYWKIV9QMCmvBBGorjOR7Rl4FbJHFUxLfYzc0Cg_Bl5V36xwsCflHdvK9JP7v_IdVnC2h4q9ifyA06Ki8H-dMlDw797DLQvZwqWt9JR8VvjEByxrEb8c3TBSbBzTgci95vDttQwbq7OyxCLg6MabuuprEarDJ-fF4PMLLaoMc4GuSoeQ=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjwYy2NtnaJOJeLtAoJ2m-z4zV2Svr28JXT2mBMVeKOrFrSnc0VzWe6PsvCP9EfFbu7cWOcAzwGxzElWazy4slbtnwMnajl8hw4oggzP3gu01wnWrfY2m1wBcdHRYk4xa1_ODWj_pqXJMfY3yhqwoJ21Kjo_9W3ytTclYhCT5pI0y5_jdzkOmbsw=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhjwYy2NtnaJOJeLtAoJ2m-z4zV2Svr28JXT2mBMVeKOrFrSnc0VzWe6PsvCP9EfFbu7cWOcAzwGxzElWazy4slbtnwMnajl8hw4oggzP3gu01wnWrfY2m1wBcdHRYk4xa1_ODWj_pqXJMfY3yhqwoJ21Kjo_9W3ytTclYhCT5pI0y5_jdzkOmbsw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggBOZRHmfhJvb1gY1KBkRq85WSiff5gdHoOolkoKNNSwSCACIH4N_jVMH8fMQtVVCLdv5kyFrXes9rc0mLZVv2rOxKDjkrkx2GLiEnkC8n6_70w9O0u_C8D32m7JQX0JKHv5edeN6Z5NzAttEytQjauXOEgYeYAA-8EHmV7kAfIF-txtMXq5avTg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>mimihalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596098434801690649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-86804511381289516182022-01-27T12:26:00.001-06:002022-01-27T17:22:51.204-06:00Christmas carol about a boy riding his bike<p>When I was in middle school, I sang a solo at a Christmas concert. My song was "Silent Night," but in Portuguese rather than English. I was on stage by myself, singing the song, when suddenly in the second or third verse, I forgot the lyrics. I had very little time to figure out what to do, but I have always known that you have to keep doing <i>something</i>. Audiences want a show; they don't want to see you fall apart, and they never seem to mind when you go off script. </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>"Just keep singing." "Just keep smiling." </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>No matter how badly you messed up—you can pull it into something that functions.</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>This motto has worked very well for me during my moments on stages. </i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>(Save the tears for your friends backstage and your family at home.)</i></p><p><br /></p><p>So in the split second or two that I had after realizing I forgot the next line of lyrics and before I had to start singing again, I made the decision to keep singing. And so, to the melody of "Silent Night," I sang about a boy riding his bicycle. (Still in Portuguese, of course.) (I spoke Portuguese, because in elementary school I lived in Brazil.)</p><p>The song ended, everyone applauded, and I left the stage.</p><p>I have no idea how many people in that small audience of Muncie, Indiana, spoke Portuguese and wondered why instead of singing about Baby Jesus, I was singing about a boy riding his bicycle. </p><p>I'll never know.</p><i>Soren Kierkegaard wrote, "Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards."</i><div><br /></div><div>At the time of the musical memory loss, I was nervous about messing up and determined to keep going. I didn't think much else about it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now looking back, I view the experience differently.</div><div><br /></div><div>I see myself in a difficult situation where I didn't know everything I had hoped to know, and I did not let that stop me. I used what I did know (even with the lyrics forgotten, I still knew the melody, and I still knew Portuguese!). I kept going until I found myself in the familiar footing of the chorus where I could once again sing the actual lyrics. </div><div><br /></div><div>So many times these days, I feel like I don't have enough information. How worried should I be about covid? How strict should I be with my children? How lenient should I be with my children? Will my child grow up to be a confident, positive person, because I let him play with friends before doing his homework? Will my child grow up to be someone who never sets goals or strives to be better, because I forced him to do his homework before playing with friends? How much time should I give to my hobbies? How much time should I give to my family? What is "right"? What is "wrong"? How much ice cream should an active six year old eat???</div><div><br /></div><div>My brain has so much to think about. All the time. </div><div><br /></div><div>And sometimes I get stuck in these holes of everything that I don't know. And I stop "singing the song" just because of a few "lyrics" that I don't know. I forget to have confidence in the fact that I know the melody and I know the language. What are a few mislaid lyrics compared to that foundation of knowledge?</div><div><br /></div><div>Even if I am not sure whether lights out at 8:00 or 8:30 makes me a terrible mother, I can still just make a decision based on what I do know: sleep is important, I am their mother and I get to make these decisions, I can talk to them about how tired or energetic they feel depending on how much sleep they get, I can even choose one way and then change my mind if it wasn't working, etc. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>As long as I remember that what I don't know doesn't have to be more powerful than what I <i>do</i> know, I can just keep singing, making mistakes here and there, but still performing my own beautiful song.</b></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIElNx2F1nMwVysyVhAxh7FTaDs2QgkUrBc5yiUsyYBNQWqi2jk3UpxMdAzRdn21hHFp0t0nuWsEcjupaSdYwOBWMS3eQV9GXCe-KH4pRSTq51A9thr74-xpWkkTvjvTOc4xYJUewXWxIhizAPehJYFvbR3SiQxeptr7qKKRtHnSrb3EN_lkb2-gFb=s1080" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhIElNx2F1nMwVysyVhAxh7FTaDs2QgkUrBc5yiUsyYBNQWqi2jk3UpxMdAzRdn21hHFp0t0nuWsEcjupaSdYwOBWMS3eQV9GXCe-KH4pRSTq51A9thr74-xpWkkTvjvTOc4xYJUewXWxIhizAPehJYFvbR3SiQxeptr7qKKRtHnSrb3EN_lkb2-gFb=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Mimi Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13951823063670279689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-733614577653546512021-12-08T00:24:00.006-06:002022-01-27T12:00:49.973-06:00Shuffle all yet always me<p><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">I recently accidentally pushed to shuffle all the music in my iTunes library instead of just shuffling one of my current playlists. (Yes, I still buy music instead of paying for a streaming service. I’m stubborn? I like to be in control of what I’m listening to instead of letting an algorithm choose music for me based on my history. Why? I have no idea. It doesn’t really make sense to be stuck in 2010, but here I am.) (And I know it is called Music now, but iTunes is such a habit to say.)</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And since that accidental entire music library shuffle, I have a few times intentionally shuffled my entire music library when I am alone in the car. And it brings such powerful memories.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">A VeggieTales song will come on, and I’m brought back to my childhood, of singing those silly songs as a teenager while hiking with friends or jumping on trampolines.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">A Disney story comes on, and I’m reminded of how many hours my children used to listen to those audiobooks. Whenever I didn’t want them to watch tv, but they were bored, I would play those stories in the background, and they would listen as they colored or played.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">A song in French comes on, and suddenly I’m in my first year in Gabon. I’m trying to acclimate to life without a clue of how much I would grow there, of what I was capable of becoming as a woman once finished with childbearing, or of how much I would love the people I met.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">A song in Portuguese plays, and I’m in the car stuck in traffic in São Paulo with my family listening to Radio Rock singing along with everyone to see who had figured out the most lyrics to that particular song.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">A song by Maná or Juanes pours out of the speakers, and suddenly Jeff and I are dating again, and he is sharing with me the Spanish culture he got to know on his mission and how much he loves it.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">All these songs in this music library that I’ve been building for almost two decades are flowing around me as I drive from one place to another, and wow. It is hard not to cry.</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And the tears are a bit sad but also a bit happy. I’ve grown and changed. I have regrets from some choices, and I have great pride in others. And everything will keep changing, and that is hopeful and overwhelming at the same time.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">It feels like the versions of myself that I have been before I changed are all still around. There isn't just one me, and I was like </span><i style="font-size: 17px;">that</i><span style="font-size: 17px;"> before, and I am like </span><i style="font-size: 17px;">this</i><span style="font-size: 17px;"> now. But that I'm carrying around all of the kinds of me. And different situations require different kinds of me, and just like pushing shuffle on the entire music library, I push shuffle on my selves.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">And because I'm thinking about life, a poem came out.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><b>Always Me</b></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">Small, round,</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">under the ground,</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">light as cream,</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">its potential a dream.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">Brown and furry,</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">my future coming in a hurry.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">Covered in dirt!</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">Does change always hurt?</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">Reaching—I'm strong,</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">but bright light feels so wrong.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">. . . not wrong—just new.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">The sun is a cue.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">A cue, a sign,</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">development is nigh.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">Wind pushes me around,</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">and rain shoves me down.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">Yet I bend and not break.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">I learn what I can take.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">New branches emerge.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">Can I handle that surge?</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">Unrecognizable yet me—</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">what does it mean to be?</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">Always a tree.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">I'm more than you see.</span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtFu67Ntb5ctS2nlCKuPnFS0je2gVEankcsrAyf5wU46H74FHb8bDucHefcR8__pj5NaTLfGebKqgR6okv29DZCMr7mNyCBsageXhHaTyHPIBWF0qU4RISoL5gvZv7zw45gjGv73XFnDNp_24awv8bWrJvNqnqKMBcJaAuCrb9CfAn42ZXXdJ85NB5=s2508" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1254" data-original-width="2508" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtFu67Ntb5ctS2nlCKuPnFS0je2gVEankcsrAyf5wU46H74FHb8bDucHefcR8__pj5NaTLfGebKqgR6okv29DZCMr7mNyCBsageXhHaTyHPIBWF0qU4RISoL5gvZv7zw45gjGv73XFnDNp_24awv8bWrJvNqnqKMBcJaAuCrb9CfAn42ZXXdJ85NB5=w640-h320" width="640" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /><span style="font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span><p></p>Mimi Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13951823063670279689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-16246936860521492492021-09-26T12:26:00.003-05:002022-01-27T12:40:16.269-06:00Spiritual Promptings<p><span style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px;">When I was nineteen, I spent a lot of time wondering how to recognize the promptings of the Spirit. I thought, but how do I know if something I think or feel is just from me or if it is from God? One day during a religion class, I came across Moroni 7:13.</span></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><i>“But behold, that which is of God inviteth and enticeth to do good continually; wherefore, every thing which inviteth and enticeth to do good, and to love God, and to serve him, is inspired of God.”</i></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I realized at that moment that when I had an idea to do something good, I didn’t need to waste any time wondering whether that was Mimi’s idea or God’s idea or my mom’s idea. I only need to think about how to do it, and then do it. The end.</p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Was that actually the end?</p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Not really, and I don’t know if there ever will be an end. But at that moment, it was exactly what I needed to stop wondering and start doing.</p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I may not know the end, but I can tell you the beginning.</p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I believe that before we came to this earth, every single one of us was a spirit. We were in the presence of our Heavenly Parents and one another. While we were there, Jesus Christ offered to enable God’s plan by coming to the earth to live, die, and then live again as our Savior. </p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Every single spirit that has been born on this earth comes with the Light of Christ inside, because of His sacrifice for us.</p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I return to the words of Mormon as recorded in chapter 7 verse 16 of Moroni:</p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>“The Spirit of Christ is given to every man, that he may know good from evil; wherefore, I show unto you the way to judge; for everything which inviteth to do good, and to persuade to believe in Christ, is sent forth by the power and gift of Christ; wherefore ye may know with a perfect knowledge it is of God.”</i></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This Light of Christ, or Spirit of Christ, exists in us all. Through its influence, we are lead to seek after truth and good. It helps us recognize the truth once we find it and guides us to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ. It prepares us to receive the Holy Ghost.</p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">After accepting the gospel of Jesus Christ and repenting and before receiving the Holy Ghost, there is an important step we must take.</p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Baptism is a covenant everyone is invited to make. In this covenant, or promise, we agree to take Jesus’s name upon us, to keep His commandments, and to serve Him to the end. </p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Nephi taught about baptism in 2 Nephi chapter 31, verses 17 and 18.</p>
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“The gate by which ye should enter is repentance and baptism by water; and then cometh a remission of your sins by fire and by the Holy Ghost. And then are ye in this strait and narrow path which leads to eternal life; yea, ye have entered in by the gate; ye have done according to the commandments of the Father and the Son; and ye have received the Holy Ghost.”</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">These are God’s promises to us: to receive the Holy Ghost and eternal life. </p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This moment of covenanting with God has two parts: baptism and confirmation. Men who hold the priesthood will place their hands on the person’s head and confirm that person a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and direct that person to “receive the Holy Ghost.” To receive.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I have had the opportunity this year to witness my daughter Alice’s baptism and to be present in the temple twice with my daughter Jill as she did proxy baptisms. After Alice’s baptism and after the proxy baptisms performed by Jill, <b>all</b> were followed by confirmations, along with the direction to receive the Holy Ghost.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">From that moment of reception, the relationship that we cultivated with the Light of Christ inside us from our youngest years of memory guides us into a relationship with the Holy Ghost. From that point, we begin a friendship with the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost can warn us, comfort us, and influence us. The more that we listen and respond to the Holy Ghost, the better we become at hearing the promptings of the Holy Ghost. We can make the Holy Ghost feel welcome in our lives by living in a way that allows us to hear and listen.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When my parents were visiting us here for Alice’s baptism, we spent a few hours at Centro Santa Fe. If you’ve already been there, then you know firsthand how incredibly large that mall is. My parents, children, and I were by the ice skating rink where some of my children were taking lessons. I needed to go to Chedraui. I left my kids with my parents and went off to find the store. Eventually I checked a map and discovered that I had walked much too far and was on the wrong level. I turned around and started heading toward the store when my mother was suddenly in front of me. I was incredulous—how could she have found me? I had gone past the mark and was not on the floor of the ice skating rink nor the grocery store. It was especially nerve-racking for me to find her there, because she did not have cell phone service while she was visiting, so if she had gotten lost in that five story mall, she would have been very lost indeed. I asked her how she found me, and she looked at me and replied, “Mimi, you’re my daughter. I will always find you.” She said she just listened to the Holy Ghost and walked. She didn’t search the map for the store where I said I would be or have any directions; she trusted the Holy Ghost more than the map and more than my word of where I said I would be, and the Holy Ghost was right.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">My mother is a woman who has cultivated a relationship with the Holy Ghost. She lives her life in a way that invites the presence of the Holy Ghost, and she acts when she feels a prompting.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When I was in middle and high school, my mother was something of a collector of lost teenagers. She was known as someone who would let you sleep on her couch, someone who would feed you, and someone who would love and accept you no matter what your mistakes might have been. One day, she felt a prompting that she needed to find one of my brother's friends. She could have called his house phone. She could have said to herself: well, surely he’ll be in school right now. She could have driven her car to his neighborhood. But she didn’t. She listened to the prompting, and she walked to the main street, and she caught a bus. And then she rode that bus until eventually my brother's friend boarded that same bus. He was very surprised to see my mom. I don’t know if she had ever ridden a city bus in that town before. I don’t know what they talked about that day, but I do know that my mom felt she should find him, and she was told how to find him, and then she did find him. </p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I have said that my mother is an example to me of someone who invites the Holy Ghost into her life. By that I mean that she strives to make her body and her home somewhere the Holy Ghost can dwell. She keeps her body clean by being careful about what she feeds it and what substances she allows in. She is cautious about what she reads and watches, so she can control what thoughts and ideas enter her mind. She keeps her home tidy and when conflicts arise with my dad or other family members, she acts a peacemaker, saying sorry when she’s at fault and accepting apologies when others have erred.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">In 1 Corinthians 3:16, we read: <i>“Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?” </i>In the book of Helaman, we learn about a time when the members of the Church began to choose iniquity and to disbelieve the prophets. In verse 24 of Helaman 4, we read:<i> “the Spirit of the Lord did no more preserve them; yea, it had withdrawn from them because the Spirit of the Lord doth not dwell in unholy temples.”</i> From that, we learn that our bodies are temples, that we can have the Spirit of Christ inside of us, and that the Spirit will leave if we sin. There are, I have found, other reasons that can disconnect us from the Spirit.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When I was around twenty-five, someone I love left the Church. I remember having one of my friends ask me about this person, and I replied something like, "well, that person must have been sinning, because if you sin you can’t feel the Holy Ghost, and if that person hadn’t been sinning then the Holy Ghost would have been felt and that person would not have left the Church.” Around that same time, I stopped feeling the Holy Ghost.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This loss lasted months. I would pray and feel no comfort. I would read scriptures and feel no inspiration. I was dark inside, a fake. I kept doing what I had done my whole life to feel God’s love, and yet I never felt it. It was a difficult time for me. I don’t know why that happened, and since then I have had stretches of time where the same feelings have repeated themselves, but I do know that I have more empathy now. There are reasons that have nothing to do with sinning for why one might not feel the Holy Ghost. It could be depression, exhaustion, pain, or illness, for example. Our spirits are connected to physical bodies on this earth, and I think the physical can overpower the spiritual sometimes. </p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">What I have learned and what I now know is that it is just as important for me to read my scriptures, say my prayers, attend church, visit the temple, spend time with my family, repent, and forgive during the times when I am on spiritual highs as it is during the times when I am in spiritual slumps. The act of choosing the right even when there is no immediate reward of feeling good is a vitally important act of agency, and it keeps me on the correct path to feel the Holy Ghost’s reassuring warmth and promptings eventually.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">When I was twenty-three, my grandmother and I went to the hospital on the same day, half a country apart from each other. I was in Utah, and I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant with Jill when I suddenly had severe pre-eclampsia and delivered Jill with the help of forceps and a lot of drugs. My body was in very bad shape. My grandmother was eighty-four years old, and her body was in very bad shape. She refused surgery and asked to go home with hospice care to give her mortal body a rest and return to heaven. Her children and many grandchildren gathered at her home in Indiana, and on Mother’s Day that year, my first Mother’s Day as a mother, my grandmother passed away. My body was still healing from high blood pressure and stitches, and I could not fly to her funeral despite knowing that she had wanted me, my sister, and one of my cousins to sing her favorite hymn. I felt sadness at losing her, guilt for not attending her funeral, and loneliness for not being there to comfort my mom and to receive comfort from all of my relatives at the funeral. A few months later, we moved, and an elderly woman whom I had never met passed away. Surprisingly I was asked to sing at her funeral. When I sang, I felt the Holy Ghost testify that my grandmother was still alive in spirit, that she loved me, and that she was listening to me sing right then. It was a strong, undeniable feeling. I am so grateful for those moments and for other impressions like that. Those memories are oases in the landscape of my life.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It is vitally important that we learn to recognize the influence of the Holy Ghost in our lives. When we feel the urge to act, and we then act upon it, we must remember to give credit where it is due—remember, all good things are inspired of God. When we have needed comfort, and we have felt it either welling up inside of us or being given by the actions or words of others, we should remember that both are from God. The Holy Ghost can help us feel comfort on our own, and the Holy Ghost can prompt the people in our lives to act in a way that will comfort us. All good things are inspired of God. When we have questions or doubts that we wrestle over and need answers to, we might suddenly hear the answer in our mind, or find the answer in our scripture reading, or learn the answer in General Conference or while talking to a friend. Whether by using others or not—all good things are inspired of God and that is the ultimate source. Give credit where it is due and recognize the Holy Ghost’s presence in your life. Cling to those buoys of memories, so you can withstand the storms that will inevitably come.</p>
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<p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I testify that the Holy Ghost provides us with comfort, with instruction, with promptings on how to help others, and with confirmation of truth. I endeavor to live in a way that makes the Holy Ghost feel welcome in my home and my mind, which consists of choosing the right and repenting whenever I have chosen the wrong. I hope that all of you listen to the light of Christ inside of you and strive to receive the Holy Ghost in your lives. I close my words in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.</p><p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkg4aRPJXfE45FaS4xEmbbWqp1C3hPdjYH5H52yYgX3yZhUnIRzuFaU93aiLLk48JYxdpZSlMmb7FRVjXl_Bn4NYCGhrZ5918Rm1g1x093ct0G1vcD3gNdKwmLJvik8y37lJZai62Ah9lTMlIGmKMcOLibJd1B1ZzxcqfaaWAnSS2sQEB2Rvv5w0YT=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkg4aRPJXfE45FaS4xEmbbWqp1C3hPdjYH5H52yYgX3yZhUnIRzuFaU93aiLLk48JYxdpZSlMmb7FRVjXl_Bn4NYCGhrZ5918Rm1g1x093ct0G1vcD3gNdKwmLJvik8y37lJZai62Ah9lTMlIGmKMcOLibJd1B1ZzxcqfaaWAnSS2sQEB2Rvv5w0YT=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="font-family: Avenir; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p>Mimi Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13951823063670279689noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-53201199352498900262021-05-26T23:11:00.004-05:002021-05-27T09:53:56.008-05:00We've been waiting forever, and now it feels like it is happening too fast.<p>There are so many things I should be doing right now: my paid work, my volunteer work, housekeeping, my hobbies.</p><p>And yet, I'm frozen. My brain is stuck in a loop, and I am feeling so many emotions that I do not know how to express, so I'm turning to my blog as I so often do to try and figure out how to move on from the current moment.</p><p>The president of Mexico announced that schools will open on June 7. The last day of school for elementary school is July 7, so that gives the children a month of in-person school this year.</p><p>In the past almost fifteen months, my dear children have attended two different virtual schools, had one home schooling experience, and have lived in three countries. It has been hard on them and on our family.</p><p>Really hard.</p><p>I feel so stupid for saying it has been hard. Like I'm weaker than I should be. </p><p>Despite the multitude of ways this year and a quarter could have been worse, it still has been really hard. </p><p>It hit one of my children extremely hard. It has affected all three of them to different degrees.</p><p>I feel like a completely different person.</p><p>That's an exaggeration.</p><p>I feel like a changed person.</p><p>Aspects of my personality that before were overpowered or stifled have now been able to emerge. Parts of my personality that once flourished now lay dormant, and I wonder if they will ever recover.</p><p>I feel nervous about being in groups. I feel awkward speaking. I wish I could type to people, so I could read and read again my words before sharing them. Before meeting people, I worry about what I will say and do that will be stupid or rude or inappropriate, and then after being with people, I worry about what I did do or say that was stupid or rude or inappropriate.</p><p>I have no gauge as to whether I actually was stupid or rude or inappropriate. None of the people here know what I used to be like, so anything I do can't be compared to how I used to be. Now I imagine "Oh Mimi, yeah she's just like that. Be patient with her." Instead of "She must not have meant that; that isn't like her." Who knows what <i>is or isn't</i> like me??</p><p>Maybe I'm great in-person still. Maybe I always say the right things and make everyone feel comfortable around me. Maybe I still know how to converse in a group and lead people.</p><p>But I doubt it.</p><p>I'd like to believe it.</p><p>But my memory of how events unfold won't allow me.</p><p>Remember<a href="http://mimihalley.blogspot.com/2020/03/silly-self.html" target="_blank"> this post?</a> That post from March 2020 when I had barely a clue of what covid would mean for me personally and for the world? </p><p>I still miss "silly me."</p><p>And now I'm just sitting here typing and crying.</p><p>My kids will go back to school. It will be hybrid. And it will only be for two weeks, because I had actually given up hope on in-person school happening this school year. (Surely, I thought, surely we wouldn't return with so little time left.) So I signed my kids up for summer camps with their cousins back in the States, and we were going to zoom from Michigan for the last two and a half weeks of school. Excellent plan. Why not be with grandparents if it is virtual school?</p><p>Until suddenly it is half not.</p><p>My kids will attend school two days one week and three days the other week. For two weeks. </p><p>And I'm crying. Why am I crying? Where's the excitement for the school we have so longed for?</p><p>I'm sure I'll find that excitement soon.</p><p>Right now I'm just scared? Stressed? Overwhelmed?</p><p>Maybe I'm finally processing emotions I've been repressing since this began?</p><p>I fought so hard for our routine. I battled for a schedule that worked. I attacked and defended and compromised to figure out how to get my unmotivated children to actually do their assignments and pretend to pay attention to some of their zooms. I retreated to process how to handle the emotions my children were feeling and throwing at me or hiding from me. I gained ground as I managed to get smiles and completed assignments from them.</p><p>And now. Now it is time for a new routine. A new schedule. For packing lunches and going to bed earlier and waking up earlier and not hearing everything their teacher is telling them. For extricating myself partially from their learning experience. For not being with them almost 24/7. Some days maybe they will all have the same hybrid schedule and be at school at the same time. Then I'll be home. And Jeff will be at work. And I'll be home. That's what I've been wanting, right? Some solitude? Some time to myself that isn't between 9:30pm and midnight? </p><p>Why does it sound so lonely?</p><p>Why can't I stop crying?</p><p><br /></p><p>Okay. About twenty minutes has passed. I'm not crying anymore. I think I just need to give myself a little time to separate and figure out how to shut the door on this period of time. There have been some really wonderful moments and some really dark ones, and they both deserve their weight. </p><p>On Sunday, we will be able to attend church in person for the first time in the same amount of time, almost fifteen months. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>We've been waiting </i>forever,<i> and now it feels like it is happening too fast.</i></span></p><p>Here are some photo memories of the last six months.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6lpSX3SLA8OCuivJK5qn7032efoqlsYfCA2auDEx6UvrbGq8LOuwHqhN2PI1dlk-Vuys-bTzmvdhhjRFFzGYeNDHRrHlC6XCy7SDzxLzPTnuPSz03TewUwhoNw4a4GeTn77vaXl4jpCY/s2048/63286917788__3E0B0A2E-5F50-4FB7-B12C-4047D0197B54.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6lpSX3SLA8OCuivJK5qn7032efoqlsYfCA2auDEx6UvrbGq8LOuwHqhN2PI1dlk-Vuys-bTzmvdhhjRFFzGYeNDHRrHlC6XCy7SDzxLzPTnuPSz03TewUwhoNw4a4GeTn77vaXl4jpCY/w300-h400/63286917788__3E0B0A2E-5F50-4FB7-B12C-4047D0197B54.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnKUsERcFRiTXE9798ySbth6puj4dmcN99MQvFwaFSVZj6f585VPgW8I5nsL3GRvGkybEb71D-7RaEoirJV-eVPjr53ORKY4f4Jhuv592tzUXvOUFzdq991jEOdNQd3psX30pYVZG0B8/s754/Screen+Shot+2021-05-26+at+10.58.06+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="291" data-original-width="754" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnKUsERcFRiTXE9798ySbth6puj4dmcN99MQvFwaFSVZj6f585VPgW8I5nsL3GRvGkybEb71D-7RaEoirJV-eVPjr53ORKY4f4Jhuv592tzUXvOUFzdq991jEOdNQd3psX30pYVZG0B8/w400-h155/Screen+Shot+2021-05-26+at+10.58.06+PM.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Goodbye <i>almost</i> to 6 hours a day and 5 days a week of virtual school. You did your best. We did, too.</p>Mimi Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13951823063670279689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-24565375108634276902021-03-31T17:10:00.008-06:002021-05-26T23:42:20.068-05:00Guilt and NightmaresI woke up from a nightmare. In my nightmare, I was with a small group of people. I was shy and quiet. These people were connected to me somehow. I don't know how or why. They seemed liked normal people, and then they decided to kill a woman. I was assigned with providing a weapon to knock the woman out. So I showed up on the assigned night and gave the people a bar to use. Then after they used that bar to knock the woman unconscious, I took it back and left. I set off the alarm to the building by leaving, so the people only had time to kill her and hide her body.<div><br /></div><div>Then in my nightmare, I was in another group of people, and one of them was in love with that deceased woman. They were all wondering where the woman had gone. No one had found her body yet, and they assumed she had run away. They didn't know yet that she had been murdered. I sat there quietly thinking of my guilt, lamenting the loss of the woman’s life, regretting the role I played, and contemplating the pain I would inflict on Jeff and my kids when I turned myself in.</div><div><br /></div><div>I woke as I was walking to the police station to confess my involvement. <br /><br />I awoke feeling sick to my stomach and just all around terrible.<br /><div><br />I lay in bed awake wondering where this nightmare came from, and I came to the conclusion that it was an expression of the guilt I feel for all of the people I can’t help and how sometimes I feel like I am part of the problem. Jeff and I have savings. Why do I save money instead of feeding homeless people or setting up apartments for repatriated refugees or adopting children who need homes? The list of all the things I don't do is seemingly endless, and I tell myself I shouldn’t feel guilty about them. It is enough to help who I can when I can, and I am not physically capable of helping everyone all the time. But sometimes? Sometimes I tell myself that<br /><br /><i>I’m part of the problem.</i><br /><br />My family, parents, friends and I got to visit some of the nearby pyramids. It was an amazing archeological site, and I would love to learn more about it. Amidst my admiration for the accomplishment of those ancient people, I cried three times. The historical location was populated by almost as many vendors as tourists.</div><div><br /></div><div>Repeatedly during our visit, my heart fell to my feet, and my eyes filled with tears, because I felt so guilty about not being able to buy things from everyone. </div><div><br /></div><div>And I tell myself: none of them are starving, but then I respond maybe starvation looks different when your body has been fed some of the time. </div><div><br /></div><div>And I tell myself: so many people wouldn’t choose this job as vendors if it weren’t profitable. They would go find a different job, but then I respond what if there are no other jobs or what if it usually is profitable but it isn’t currently due to covid reducing tourism. </div><div><br /></div><div>How arrogant of me to have said: "It is nice to be here when there are no crowds!" What does it really mean to have no crowds? Having no crowds means less money for everyone whose livelihood depends on the tourism. Having no crowds means I’m alive during a pandemic—not poor and well fed—while thousands of people have died or have lost their jobs.<br /><br />So I buy from this person and that person and those people over there. But then I run out of cash, and I like having savings, so I don’t want to use my credit card, and I honestly don’t want my house full of that many knick knacks, so I don’t buy from everyone, and wouldn’t people want me to buy from them because I like their wares and not because I pity them? But maybe not wanting to be pitied is a comfort only the comfortable feel. Maybe a hungry person who has five kids at home who have basically learned nothing all year because their school is from books and TV instead of teachers and the parents are gone from the home working all day, maybe a person like that would sell his pride to make a sale to bring home money to his family.<br /><br />And then I’m left trying to hide my tears as I walk through a dusty thoroughfare trying to politely tell people I can't purchase their items and to calmly convince my children that they aren’t as hungry and thirsty as they think they are and that this actually is a wonderful trip.</div><div><br /></div><div>Like in my nightmare, I have never murdered anyone. But does my lack of assistance provide a "weapon"? Does it contribute to death and suffering? Does my "liking" a post or reading an article simply "sound an alarm" after the damage has already been done? </div><div><br /></div><div>Too little. Too late. Is that all I do?<br /><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I guess my feelings have to go somewhere, so they turn into a nightmare.<br /><br />And I probably need counseling, because the amount of guilt I carry for being "wealthy" and "healthy" and "white" is probably destructive. </div><div><br />But who has time for counseling when you're technically under stay-at-home orders and you're busying translating school for your four children?</div><div><br /></div><div>I feel better after writing.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>So thank you for listening.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And I promise I'm not miserable all the time. But when I am, my feelings run around in circles until I stop them by turning thoughts into script. Thank you, blog, for collecting them.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Photo credit: Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/chepenicoli-10921285/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=3965330" target="_blank">Chepe Nicoli</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=3965330">Pixabay</a>. This is what Teotihuacán usually looks like.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv156SeW2dC0iv78wKI1XEXe8ByZkeBd5gSVVC6BA7XQYALuWHVaK-22zcWuUh80WoROMcP0ZeKAu2l9EoScJwnZb7aPwOQGkXgqQGENYtKdRQ1Ws6KXJ3r-vx6oB-1kyewot0_CDpYsY/s1280/ancient-3965330_1280.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv156SeW2dC0iv78wKI1XEXe8ByZkeBd5gSVVC6BA7XQYALuWHVaK-22zcWuUh80WoROMcP0ZeKAu2l9EoScJwnZb7aPwOQGkXgqQGENYtKdRQ1Ws6KXJ3r-vx6oB-1kyewot0_CDpYsY/w640-h426/ancient-3965330_1280.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Three of my kids in Teotihuacán earlier this month. The archeological site opened again last month, but we are prohibited from climbing it do to covid restrictions. It really is amazing, and the history is fascinating.<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZp6kwOZiuTnSGQR4yinWc_ce_vIpc_YtILfxFVfHzBkoY9rDEGe0Pr23HSFeo36xgZJdD27612_7atfyliPNzAwQ78BlhIZPZuNro97PvZN8vnnYlAYtfxuopbu5ETU3or4SBDCLMYuw/s2048/IMG_0528.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZp6kwOZiuTnSGQR4yinWc_ce_vIpc_YtILfxFVfHzBkoY9rDEGe0Pr23HSFeo36xgZJdD27612_7atfyliPNzAwQ78BlhIZPZuNro97PvZN8vnnYlAYtfxuopbu5ETU3or4SBDCLMYuw/w640-h480/IMG_0528.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Help me put my guilt somewhere. Will I ever believe that it is okay that I can't do everything?</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0JvPBwStYX65TwD59hsyHuKtvlaa0xHYQ4AbHFtHjgK-cttl_PCVdWBspwcJppGWCpRFP6srzH0mpiodBjepD1l0FxhUE0JJB0_zv-C9ybXaa4hq0N54hHhqCtnv3IeuJjmo68gm884/s2048/IMG_3537.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1539" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi0JvPBwStYX65TwD59hsyHuKtvlaa0xHYQ4AbHFtHjgK-cttl_PCVdWBspwcJppGWCpRFP6srzH0mpiodBjepD1l0FxhUE0JJB0_zv-C9ybXaa4hq0N54hHhqCtnv3IeuJjmo68gm884/w640-h480/IMG_3537.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div></div>Mimi Chttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13951823063670279689noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-51406767800623504622021-02-11T16:00:00.000-06:002021-02-20T10:11:27.087-06:00The First Tooth<h2 style="text-align: center;">Two Puppies and a Boy</h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMknLYg79IW4hNyU4obr6QAWIIUY_FRedEJDVr1g5TXkGEbj-xkVXLqX1ztS5kT8ocMEI_WK32IfqaJxmRAUNKLBBFoqZRSP440f5_fFywoOLk-uN2rEmb22B5ch2xMuEwb8OGhv_eEAU/s2048/IMG_2879.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMknLYg79IW4hNyU4obr6QAWIIUY_FRedEJDVr1g5TXkGEbj-xkVXLqX1ztS5kT8ocMEI_WK32IfqaJxmRAUNKLBBFoqZRSP440f5_fFywoOLk-uN2rEmb22B5ch2xMuEwb8OGhv_eEAU/w400-h300/IMG_2879.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">One warm almost-spring day</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">a puppy came over to play.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Run and run and run!</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">The puppies had so much fun.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">A little boy wanted to join in the fun. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;">He wasn’t a puppy, but he wished he were one.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">He got on the grass to try and play;</div></div><div style="text-align: center;">the puppies were too busy to notice where he lay.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Zoom</i> went the dog—</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">the boy fell like a log.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is the honest truth:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Pop!</i> Out fell the first tooth.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCstoS3Lu50dzIsQK7hjuswpcTfe7wXNUwVjxUn2Adm3KABtQquoYjgmpqKsBciKseOagHGTCbaL3cCclLIArUt4-I7Ucqjbx-vhrzry2WWb74Is_d8CjE8WuUtO4tTWHSBYoNf-dfzp0/s2048/IMG_2883.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCstoS3Lu50dzIsQK7hjuswpcTfe7wXNUwVjxUn2Adm3KABtQquoYjgmpqKsBciKseOagHGTCbaL3cCclLIArUt4-I7Ucqjbx-vhrzry2WWb74Is_d8CjE8WuUtO4tTWHSBYoNf-dfzp0/w300-h400/IMG_2883.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div>Mimi Colletthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15879880111595536353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-18488438084460538672021-01-23T13:26:00.010-06:002021-02-20T09:58:39.521-06:00Floating<p>How are you?</p><p>How</p><p>Am</p><p>I?</p><p>That question, so simple, made me pause. It is such a common expression for Americans. We use it like others use "hello" or "good day." It's a greeting, an exchange, an acknowledgement of shared humanity and space; however, it isn't always stripped of literal meaning. Sometimes—sometimes—people actually want to know <i>how</i> you are.</p><p>A friend asked me that yesterday, and it made me think. How am I?</p><p>As a parent, I spend many hours trying to teach my children how to use words to express their emotions. It is so much more complicated than I expected. Their inclination is to use their bodies. Hug and smile and laugh means one thing. Hide means another. Hit and throw and scream means entirely something else. But to turn that into words? Some days it feels like I'm demanding calculus from a five year just to get a verbal expression of internal emotion. And I know it is my job to teach them, to give them words, to model healthy traits. I'm the mom around here.</p><p>Now instead of me asking my kids and requiring them to turn inwards and be able to share outwards, someone was asking me.</p><p><i>"How are you, Mimi?"</i></p><p>After much thought, I responded that I was floating. I'm not drowning. (I spent months last year feeling like I was, so I am very grateful to no longer feel that way.) So, not drowning; yet, also not swimming. I am usually so busy, so full of purpose and goals. I still have goals, and my life has meaning, but most of them are not mine. They are my family's. And I always have family purpose, but usually I get to have my own, too.</p><p>Right now, I'm not swimming. There are no strong, sure strokes moving me toward completing my projects and fulfilling my aspirations—no fluid kicks propelling me forward into new roles and challenges. I am a person who derives great happiness from helping others, and I haven't really felt like I have helped anyone in a long time.</p><p>But I'm not drowning anymore! We have stayed healthy. My husband has a job. My country provides stimulus checks. My child who has really struggled with this move is finally doing better (not "normal," but such progress since August and September!). We have steady internet and multiple devices to allow my kids to do school from home and my husband to work from home. Hey, we even have a home! We didn't have one of those for many months last year. We have food to eat. I am definitely not drowning.</p><p>I'm just . . . floating. That could be viewed as relaxing. It has been that sometimes. This year has meant a lot of family time. So much family time. (Too much family time?)</p><p>But floating is not as relaxing as you might think it would be if there are drowning people everywhere you look. If every week brings news of someone you know having lost someone due to covid. News of someone you know being hospitalized due to covid. News of people all around you who have been out of work for months. News of children stuck out of school and adults unable to pay bills. And that's just the covid complications. That doesn't even touch racism, riots, ethnic cleansing, terrorism, abuse, and wars in various parts of the world.</p><p>Honestly, I imagine that it feels like living during WWI, WWII, the Great Depression, and the Spanish influenza all at once and being practically untouched by it all, which is a terrible feeling; it is a guilty feeling. Do I want someone I love to die? Do I want my husband to lose his job? Do I want to get sick? Would I feel better then? No. Of course not. What I really wish is that no one else was or did. But so, so many are or have. And what do you do with the guilt of having a pretty okay life yet still feeling miserable but not feeling like you deserve to feel miserable, because things aren’t as bad as they could be? Where do you put that feeling?</p><p>And so I continue to live with the weight of floating while others are drowning, of floating while I wish I were swimming, of floating while holding onto the hope that I won't float forever. Some day my kids will go back to school, and my husband will go back to work, and fewer people will be dying alone of a highly contagious disease, and I can go back to swimming. There will always be suffering in the world, but at least when I'm swimming I feel like I'm doing a small part toward alleviating it. </p><p>I feel like if I learned one thing in 2020 it is that being nice isn't enough. But what is?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16rZeaI8r-e25rbiQr8PLAB7fajeapqaHCMrTB9iWUkCtqm3UeTRRP92kcxK1lfwZ8-n3KMMXX8_ThA033JPzx779mF7_Cu5W6NCFuFdRYAI6yLn2fzj4TONg-mWkPQCFjHtTyMF65ao/s1762/IMG_8596.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="882" data-original-width="1762" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16rZeaI8r-e25rbiQr8PLAB7fajeapqaHCMrTB9iWUkCtqm3UeTRRP92kcxK1lfwZ8-n3KMMXX8_ThA033JPzx779mF7_Cu5W6NCFuFdRYAI6yLn2fzj4TONg-mWkPQCFjHtTyMF65ao/w400-h200/IMG_8596.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I'll end with some of Amanda Gorman's words, because they are more uplifting than mine, and they have comforted this floating girl.<p></p><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">“We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour.”</div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">“So, while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe, now we assert, how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?”</div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">“For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.”</div></div><div class="o9v6fnle cxmmr5t8 oygrvhab hcukyx3x c1et5uql ii04i59q" style="caret-color: rgb(5, 5, 5); color: #050505; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, ".SFNSText-Regular", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0.5em 0px 0px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">—Amanda Gorman</div><div dir="auto" style="font-family: inherit;">Excerpts from <i>The Hill We Climb</i></div></div>Mimi Colletthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15879880111595536353noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-76680957382422654632021-01-21T22:00:00.000-06:002021-02-20T09:58:49.915-06:00we'll all fly again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORNMvM7uDd4-KEvvjOjQ1AIz3MLtVJJq80_L42Y5kLtK7C9Oa-tH1msTZIZqRu2CgMhR-__DjiTq2C6b1O3EpNU0VpKx3calzP6pdlJ1Ni_4wmPtaDzggO6883ur4Hy3qy5M8SHDIIRI/s960/plane+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORNMvM7uDd4-KEvvjOjQ1AIz3MLtVJJq80_L42Y5kLtK7C9Oa-tH1msTZIZqRu2CgMhR-__DjiTq2C6b1O3EpNU0VpKx3calzP6pdlJ1Ni_4wmPtaDzggO6883ur4Hy3qy5M8SHDIIRI/w300-h400/plane+tree.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>That is my son’s airplane in the tree by our house. It feels like me right now: trapped yet fully capable of flying if I weren’t stuck. </div><div><br /></div><div>If I look away from the branches holding the plane or the covid complications in my life, I would see beautiful flowers, children playing, and a gorgeous sunrise in the canyon every single day. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe being stuck and slowing down has its perks, too. </div><div><br /></div><div>Some day a breeze will blow that plane out of the tree or a ball will knock it down, and some day life will move out of this covid nightmare. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hospitals won’t always be full. Human contact won’t always carry the risk of deadly contamination. </div><div><br /></div><div>We’ll all fly again. And I will hug my friends without fear.</div>Mimi Colletthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15879880111595536353noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-55333134117961280402020-12-31T21:22:00.046-06:002021-02-20T10:11:39.410-06:00Good riddance.<br /><br />You may have noticed that in my gratitude post for Thankgiving, I never mentioned specifically being grateful for my children. That is because I really struggled at the second half of 2020 to feel grateful to them, or to not feel guilty toward them. There were times—too many times—when I felt that I had made a terrible mistake and that I had been terribly prideful in deciding to have four kids. Who did I think I was? Clearly I didn't realize back when I was family planning that I would be such a terrible failure as a mother. I spent a lot of time in these dark thoughts, quite a few months. <br /><br />Here is a poem I wrote that kind of encapsulates how I felt all too often during the second half of 2020.<br /><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"></blockquote><i>Friends see what I share,</i><br /><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"></blockquote><i>And it’s happy, happy, happy. </i><br /><i><br /></i><i>If friends could see what is inside</i><br /><i>They would surely stare.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>“Die, die, die.</i><br /><i>Mama, I want to die, die, die.”</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>Why?</i><br /><i>But why? Why? Why?</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>The reasons change.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>They shift. They meld. They disappear.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>Anger sometimes. Sadness others.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>And in between those?</i><br /><i>Happy, happy, happy.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>I share the happy with my world.</i><br /><i>It is what I want to remember.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>And it is real.</i><br /><i>But it isn’t all.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>Not nearly. Not even close.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>Stop screaming at me.</i><br /><i>Stop throwing things at me.</i><br /><i>Stop hitting me.</i><br /><i>Stop kicking me.</i><br /><i>Stop tearing my heart out with your terrible words.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>But deep down, I don’t think the enmity is actually directed at me.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>Stop. Hating. Life. Please.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>I’m in an abusive relationship.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>With my child.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>Happy, happy, happy.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>Die. Die. Die.</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>How long is it okay to not be okay?</i><br /><i><br /></i><i>Be. Be. Be</i><br /><i><br /></i><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Me.</i></div><div><br /> </div><div>So good riddance to 2020. There were highlights and good moments. I loved the extra time that I got to spend with our parents, and that's about it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Goodbye, 2020. Here's to 2021 where my kids keep doing better, and I keep feeling better, and fewer people in the world will die lonely deaths. That isn't too much to ask for, is it?</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifc1UMWaEmAxDZLiPDVy_nK5WFiUAPgsof8-qgKXs9Tt7-ON9LCemjQHsYFF_pyZdMttnShGUOV8hFMpfL0of2rqx9Qhnk_3J0gkbQDyY6gAwWim8Zsn4hw2l8CZkkcV-QN1iksbv_AQw/s2048/IMG_9208.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifc1UMWaEmAxDZLiPDVy_nK5WFiUAPgsof8-qgKXs9Tt7-ON9LCemjQHsYFF_pyZdMttnShGUOV8hFMpfL0of2rqx9Qhnk_3J0gkbQDyY6gAwWim8Zsn4hw2l8CZkkcV-QN1iksbv_AQw/w300-h400/IMG_9208.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>Mimi Colletthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15879880111595536353noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-40048091556592585432020-11-26T21:16:00.011-06:002021-02-20T09:59:17.555-06:00Thanksgiving<b>November 21, 2020</b><br />I am grateful it is not colder outside than it is. I loved the cold growing up, adored cute boots and warm sweaters, and enjoyed fun in the snow. But now I have a puppy. There would be a lot more pee and poop inside my house if it were colder outside. So we spend a lot of time outside waiting for the pee and poop. I appreciate above freezing temperatures.<br /><br />I’ll add that I’m also grateful for my house and blankets that protect my family from the cold at night. <div><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8AiS7_F3uDUDr1fZBkRcYcYba08JDRzelqvA9EHBNF2fo158En2zYNEq34vmsc5FAglmHbmXQ3J2j6y7djtprEUw77ysywyhr2gshPNeKd55WGOTfGzazDJcyYCpVWNjyhbLZfJfJ-bM/s934/126294170_10106257776338029_6000156016543733509_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8AiS7_F3uDUDr1fZBkRcYcYba08JDRzelqvA9EHBNF2fo158En2zYNEq34vmsc5FAglmHbmXQ3J2j6y7djtprEUw77ysywyhr2gshPNeKd55WGOTfGzazDJcyYCpVWNjyhbLZfJfJ-bM/s320/126294170_10106257776338029_6000156016543733509_o.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><b>November 22, 2020</b><br /></div>I'm grateful for my siblings. Here is a poem I wrote in August 2019.<div><br /><i>I try to be funny,</i><br /><i>and you laugh like it's the funniest thing you've ever heard.</i></div><div><i>Around you, I'm more fun.</i><br /><i><br /></i></div><div><i>I lose my temper so quickly,</i><br /><i>and you forgive me even faster.</i><br /><i>Around you, apologies are simple.</i><br /><i><br /></i></div><div><i>I cry, because life can be cold,</i><br /><i>and you hold me until I'm warm again.</i><br /><i>Around you, I don't have to be strong.</i><br /><i><br /></i></div><div><i>I act like someone else,</i><br /><i>and you still recognize me.</i><br /><i>Around you, I'm reminded of who I really am.</i><br /><i><br /></i></div><div><i>I wish</i><br /><i>I could always be</i><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i>around you.</i></div><div><br /></div>Thank you, Vickie and Phil, Mama and Pappy, for the gift of siblings. Now that I have four children of my own, I know how difficult it could have been to raise us, and my thankfulness that you did it and persevered knows no bounds. If my children like each other as much as I like my siblings, then I will feel like I have succeeded.<br /><br />I love you, Daniel, Amy, and Peter, forever and always.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxK9s-AbEdw2CFBtrW4ZhuoTTStVFNdICviH1yukCq3qNcMD8bgA16gQtZhGEzFVYaLql41k8U1MRzVXgNztsJw96Uhdcf2IQsRTA332_3s7EhHGu6thVlFd32RoSQ0cXfVqmBLvGqOGo/s593/125826331_10106260599205979_7539044920996740891_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="395" data-original-width="593" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxK9s-AbEdw2CFBtrW4ZhuoTTStVFNdICviH1yukCq3qNcMD8bgA16gQtZhGEzFVYaLql41k8U1MRzVXgNztsJw96Uhdcf2IQsRTA332_3s7EhHGu6thVlFd32RoSQ0cXfVqmBLvGqOGo/w400-h266/125826331_10106260599205979_7539044920996740891_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>November 23, 2020</b><br />Recently I’m grateful for my personal experiences with depression. Even when those periods have lasted for months, they have always ended eventually, and that gives me a light of hope in the darkness that if I’m patient, new and future periods of depression also will not last forever.<br /><br /><br /><b>November 24, 2020</b><br />I am grateful for family time when no one is screaming or crying. Despite what you often see on my social media, things are not always great over here. (I only share what I want to remember, and the memories I cherish are usually the happy ones.) The last few months have been more contentious than normal in our household, so I am especially grateful for times when we are all together and enjoying it. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CiAIo-iJKD8TV2GDNpFlp23hqrVyIPC5FyP8UcIQHrohUI_5vPICzYFHAL4WYqUX0kteGdJgTOUWp3N-LSqDjjs295wPOOdxYvqvP7-mZWSe3N3PTUGwJf6G91PpYDnmYPMAjI-z7po/s720/126863004_10106265773162329_7486353875635356958_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CiAIo-iJKD8TV2GDNpFlp23hqrVyIPC5FyP8UcIQHrohUI_5vPICzYFHAL4WYqUX0kteGdJgTOUWp3N-LSqDjjs295wPOOdxYvqvP7-mZWSe3N3PTUGwJf6G91PpYDnmYPMAjI-z7po/s320/126863004_10106265773162329_7486353875635356958_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div></div><div><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div><b>November 25, 2020</b><br />I am grateful for my Jeffrey.</div><div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div><div><i>For all the laughs and for all the tears. </i></div></div><div><div><i>For holding me in your arms to keep away my fears.</i></div></div><div><div><i>For every fight and every sorry.</i></div></div><div><div><i>For providing security against worry.</i></div></div></blockquote><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I am so grateful that you chose me almost fifteen years ago. Thank you for loving and supporting me, for constantly striving to be better, and for just being a good man.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFSc3hZngo-9OBY_7L3amP3Tu82m1xsLn0AZTsyu1U9VwsLL8LXCGJka7F7phlHssyA-rcw7Znbe9QRXjRYMSF8Tfe5neVC2mHxkio5D_9NKeafFh763R6lz6KqRrq-R307TnhpVFmtY/s960/127785674_10106268394723699_4589511599872346143_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="721" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFSc3hZngo-9OBY_7L3amP3Tu82m1xsLn0AZTsyu1U9VwsLL8LXCGJka7F7phlHssyA-rcw7Znbe9QRXjRYMSF8Tfe5neVC2mHxkio5D_9NKeafFh763R6lz6KqRrq-R307TnhpVFmtY/w400-h300/127785674_10106268394723699_4589511599872346143_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><b>November 26, 2020</b><br />I am so grateful to my husband and the US Department of State for sending us to Gabon. <br /><br /></div><div>Au Gabon, j'ai rencontré un nouveau moi. J'ai appris plus sur qui je suis et ce dont je suis capable. Merci pour ce cadeau.</div><div><br />I loved working with Tortues Tahiti Gabon. Thank you, Marie Claire, Tim, Laura, Stefanie, Sinta, Olivia, Yasuko, Kiyomi, Scarlett, and more for a wonderful season of turtles. I love seeing your updates of what you’ve accomplished this year.</div></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjl-Kc-sMY3SqohaayVJEnnyHNdFSy0Xu2tk8dFPWIP43wo5tJyJU4Tt8De9_G7Y_ZvhFL23l69pPwOVNHMtz9P3GLnMAXcVVoP1_pGOxkqZVN4dlMlkY0SIyFPfuNyb7R8ZX2PWnrin0/s206/87877886_10105587681353749_794177777023582208_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjl-Kc-sMY3SqohaayVJEnnyHNdFSy0Xu2tk8dFPWIP43wo5tJyJU4Tt8De9_G7Y_ZvhFL23l69pPwOVNHMtz9P3GLnMAXcVVoP1_pGOxkqZVN4dlMlkY0SIyFPfuNyb7R8ZX2PWnrin0/s16000/87877886_10105587681353749_794177777023582208_o.jpg" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div>#givethanks #DaGracias #RendreGrâces #sergrato</div>Mimi Colletthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15879880111595536353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-17219775734906122852020-10-05T21:10:00.010-05:002021-02-20T09:59:24.419-06:00exhausting 2020<p>Covid-19 has altered this year. To some, it has meant the death of loved ones. To others, it has meant detrimental, mysterious health defects that have lingered and continue to linger. To many, it has meant a disrupted life: loss of job, loss of companionship, isolation, constant fear. To some, it has meant time to investigate new hobbies or to relax.</p><p>I have had friends who have fought covid-19. I have not lost any loved ones. Yet it has altered so, so many aspects of my life.</p><p>When covid-19 emerged in the international conscience, I was living in a small, somewhat isolated country—Gabon. Covid-19 sounded far away and scary. I felt sad for my friends who were being evacuated and worried for those who had fallen ill. I wondered if it would reach my home. <a href="http://mimihalley.blogspot.com/2020/03/what-month-that-week-was.html" target="_blank">Then it did</a>. We were given the choice to stay or leave. We chose to stay. We were comfortable in our home, and we had so little time left there that we wanted to finish it out. We also were fairly confident in our ability to shelter in place and stay away from the virus. Then we no longer felt like we had a choice, and we left. </p><p>We were able to stay together, our whole family. We weren't separated from Jeff, and we were even able to bring the cats. We went to stay with my parents and later with my in-laws, and it was an unexpected gift to have this extra family time when we usually live so far away. While enjoying this time with our family, I still mourned the <a href="http://mimihalley.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-farewell-i-would-have-had.html" target="_blank">goodbye-that-wasn't</a> to our home and our dear friends, the loss of everything I had planned for those months.</p><p>Thrust back into America, aside from the enjoyment of time with family, there were many stressors. <a href="http://mimihalley.blogspot.com/2020/06/dear-black-friends.html" target="_blank">I was learning</a> for the first time what many of my black friends experienced as some were sharing painful details of their lives. There were protests. There were some riots. There were political divisions. There was so much ugliness in the country I call home. The country that is full of millions of people who share a vision of a better place, of improved lives, of welcoming differences, of finding strength in diversity. But too many others were suddenly louder than ever before, and it was shocking. My rose colored glasses were removed, and it was hard to witness what I had never noticed before. <a href="http://mimihalley.blogspot.com/2020/06/im-not-ally-i-thought-i-was.html" target="_blank">Even looking inside myself,</a> it was painful to see how at times my actions have not contributed to a better America.</p><p><a href="http://mimihalley.blogspot.com/2020/08/pues-ahora-estamos-en-mexico.html" target="_blank">Then we moved to Mexico</a>, and we were as welcomed as can be during a pandemic. My kids are able to play outside with neighbor kids, running around and wearing masks. The neighbors rallied around us providing rides, meals, and treats when Gordon had a concussion and cracked his skull. We've joined Scouting troops and an athletic class. We're very close to adopting a puppy. </p><p>There is no in-person school, so I deal with my children's frustrations and their tears and their tempers and their boredom from 8:00am to 3:00pm as I try to get them to interact in Zooms and complete their school assignments, half of which are in Spanish. My husband works from home three days a week. <a href="http://mimihalley.blogspot.com/2020/09/defeat.html" target="_blank">One of our children is receiving therapy now</a> due to struggling with all of the changes of this past year. My existence is so different from a year ago. </p><p>I liked going out, and I like staying home. I miss having the choice. I miss not worrying whether I've gotten sick without knowing it and if my mere existence could harm someone else. I'm exhausted.</p><p>I laugh. I smile. I don't sing very often anymore. I feel like crying every day, and I cry probably two or three times a week. This is better than last month. I have hope that next month will be even better than this month. Moving is always hard. Moving during a pandemic has been especially hard. Thank you for your friendships, no matter how far away you are.</p><p><br /></p><p>Our small shipment from Michigan arrived. That little squished box down at the bottom right? It had some of my grandmother's china in. I call this picture: <i>If 2020 were a moving box . . .</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqXJ_roYeRmrBwsNr9ztfF3a2lq20kYFJxKOxzJ5IAbB2qPRDT1YPlC2TaJwYD3S-DW5N1R25T9Wgvl2lCq0I4t-bRBUPHRZ0m-g2i5SV4gHfpuTMryfv1dX3noiF0fHbtcer7Oe-ItA/s960/120420403_10106147736448849_364157742001404357_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="676" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqXJ_roYeRmrBwsNr9ztfF3a2lq20kYFJxKOxzJ5IAbB2qPRDT1YPlC2TaJwYD3S-DW5N1R25T9Wgvl2lCq0I4t-bRBUPHRZ0m-g2i5SV4gHfpuTMryfv1dX3noiF0fHbtcer7Oe-ItA/w450-h640/120420403_10106147736448849_364157742001404357_n.jpg" width="450" /></a></div>mimihalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596098434801690649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-37223018816023403012020-09-22T12:47:00.007-05:002021-02-20T10:11:06.437-06:00Defeat<div>I don’t</div><div><span class="s2">Know</span></div><div><span class="s2">how t</span><span class="s2">o be your mom.</span><br /><span class="s2"><br /></span></div><div><span class="s2">I don’t </span><br /><span class="s2">Know </span></div><div><span class="s2">how t</span><span class="s2">o give you what you need.</span><br /><span class="s2"><br /></span></div><div><span class="s2">The books aren’t helping.</span><br /><span class="s2">Prayers aren’t helping.</span><br /><span class="s2">Talking to psychiatrists didn’t help.</span><br /><span class="s2">Staying calm isn’t helping.</span><br /><span class="s2">Showing my love isn’t helping.</span><br /><span class="s2">Being strict didn’t help.</span><br /><span class="s2">Being gentle isn’t helping.</span><br /><span class="s2">Teaching control tools didn’t help.</span><br /><span class="s2"><br /></span></div><div><span class="s2">Nothing.</span><br /><span class="s2">Helps.</span><br /><span class="s2"><br /></span></div><div><span class="s2">If this is how it feels to fail as your mother,</span><br /><span class="s2">How must you feel, trapped inside of your body?</span><br /><span class="s2"><br /></span></div><div><span class="s2">I can’t give up.</span></div><div>There is too much life ahead.</div><div><span class="s2"><br /></span></div><div><span class="s2">But</span><br /><span class="s2"><br /></span></div><div><span class="s2">What</span><br /><span class="s2"><br /></span></div><div><span class="s2">Can</span><br /><span class="s2"><br /></span></div><div><span class="s2">I </span></div><div><br /><span class="s2">Do?</span><span class="s2"><br /></span></div><div><span class="s2"><br /></span></div><div><span class="s2">In a moment like this, I am utterly defeated.</span></div><div><span class="s2"><br /></span></div><div><span class="s2">I just don't know.</span></div><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpkqKndujdhdr8CAS_2fc0PmwqVD0M0qPWW9VoPARi0HeWjSymMXS-msFVsma4W4UWPBhG5ruO5saNwCBWXvM55q_rw5-8QdSxroGI8wkhkykyafAB8brCU7V29Ov-0DEBRkDlUUy00Y4/s2048/IMG_0563.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpkqKndujdhdr8CAS_2fc0PmwqVD0M0qPWW9VoPARi0HeWjSymMXS-msFVsma4W4UWPBhG5ruO5saNwCBWXvM55q_rw5-8QdSxroGI8wkhkykyafAB8brCU7V29Ov-0DEBRkDlUUy00Y4/w300-h400/IMG_0563.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><br /><span class="s2"></span></p>Mimi Colletthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15879880111595536353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-55466889701754569452020-08-31T21:09:00.009-05:002021-02-20T10:18:28.153-06:00Pues ahora estamos en MexicoIt happened. We made it to Mexico. After months of having no idea when we would be allowed to move on to our next post, suddenly it happened. It came down pretty close to the wire. I think we found out about a week before going that all the Is were dotted and all the Ts were crossed, and we would really get to go.<div><br /></div><div>2020 is an incredibly memorable year. We were evacuated. We had the opportunity to live with my parents and my in-laws for longer than we had ever been with them for years. It was the first time to visit the US and not see a single friend. I am grateful for the time we had with family though. It has been a year of waking up to a heightened understanding of racism. It has been a very divided political race. It has been a year of not getting to see smiles and not getting to receive hugs. It's been quite a year. We began it in Gabon, spent the middle in America, and now we'll end it in Mexico.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Off we go! One purse, one suitcase, two cats, </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>five backpacks, six humans, and twelve rolling duffle bags</i></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFXSy30I5VS0z8PXMBmKIIXsJKJl385RJSuRGNRcPKpWcKyRuf2P2fMQGuwIOir1Iv-yu2XYN_jMbmUvWKiAV6R9-PBmCJs6Cl2nyyDqLUWAheDdoNBw8vMJUNMVYkBFk_f43z6BcrvA/s640/IMG_0141.jpeg" style="text-align: left;" width="640" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>We had a lovely direct flight from Detroit to Mexico City. Delta kept its promise and every middle seat was left empty between strangers. (As a family, we still got to sit next to each other.) The flight was definitely not full. My kids are pretty used to wearing masks, so it wasn't an issue to wear them for all of the travel time.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNRloZkp9XVzfPsh44xkQ0cSrLWPfeYoZzpuXIZB4JIwbzpfipikrI9Y33WFjn9uxRHNmBnNMtXhnChPRhWvUOdxlc4pz9O-WDjTlwPWv1F-Sne80AIGChFoobgJi_iHndIINLW3P0Fw/s1200/cdmx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNRloZkp9XVzfPsh44xkQ0cSrLWPfeYoZzpuXIZB4JIwbzpfipikrI9Y33WFjn9uxRHNmBnNMtXhnChPRhWvUOdxlc4pz9O-WDjTlwPWv1F-Sne80AIGChFoobgJi_iHndIINLW3P0Fw/s640/cdmx.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>Our house was not ready for us yet, so we stayed in a hotel for the first week. It was interesting to spend some time in a different part of town than where we now live, to see more of the city. As soon as we arrived, a family from the Embassy showed up and dropped off a homemade meal. It was a delightful welcome.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Yum flautas!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUYplbat6MKtksS0hy2rUnatvg29NKGJ4RP28E7IiK4dlnmvwLOtL3QX0xHVUHEtXGtZAI9TurCNGxTeenjUOeMEOXfMWb-y4eBXmQ1QKzheAd3E3bF7jHYirLCM3OLz6Wm2Kzgv6qfw/s640/IMG_8815.jpeg" style="text-align: start;" width="640" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>We were moved into our house, and it's pretty much a big, empty house. Conveniently it comes with basic furniture and necessities, so we had beds to sleep in and tables to eat on. It is a very rounded house and even has some rounded furniture, so that has been interesting to try and rearrange. I am not sure how it will all end up being configured. We have a loooooooong wait until our stuff comes, so I'll have plenty of time to think about where I want things. Just picture a very white, very concrete and tile house. We do have our own backyard with real grass. That's a first for us with Foreign Service housing. We have been thrilled to discover an orange tree, mandarin tree, and two lemon trees. I'm still not convinced those things will ripen into mandarins though. I think they resemble limes. We'll see. I can confidently say we have four citrus trees. We now live in an active earthquake zone, close enough to active volcanoes that we can be affected by ash fall, on the edge of a canyon, and in an area with pretty bad pollution some parts of the year. How exciting!</div><div><br /></div><div>We have really wonderful neighbors. Most of our neighbors are also US Embassy. We have been fed meals. We have been lent toys. I have been taken to the store three times. I sent out a request for more reading material for my kids, and books poured in. Every afternoon before dinner, the kids are just outside playing and running around. It would almost feel normal if they weren't wearing masks and not allowed in anyone else's houses.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYcZKSJZJxfpiwr7k4_ZU_EJe-CeIgQ0dSR_3GkRjcJLPrZXARaJDys05Q5HZvLEWdgPl-31I8jDsLHwRHh_9ooMsrFL99-FzuRp6ivCxdLArXJbxjrfJx1tPwcFbkDrPdFkXV3cSBUw/s640/IMG_8940.jpeg" style="text-align: start;" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our neighborhood has a tennis court. It is covered with a fake grass. I haven't played on it yet. I'm intrigued by the turf. You can kind of get an idea of the canyon we live on by looking past the court.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTnl-O7Q48AwuWRY2_LczK2_T47v7y-WE3Te5iQEUQ93bgIqO7HOWLJbj16W7T5XdkUGAZVYe-JJPV8MXdxLb_aoU4U4p_SVMRC2XD3eOJZpXwas2oa1CU3ZrIOD1FyfTH1R6HB3NfHA/s2048/IMG_9083.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTnl-O7Q48AwuWRY2_LczK2_T47v7y-WE3Te5iQEUQ93bgIqO7HOWLJbj16W7T5XdkUGAZVYe-JJPV8MXdxLb_aoU4U4p_SVMRC2XD3eOJZpXwas2oa1CU3ZrIOD1FyfTH1R6HB3NfHA/s640/IMG_9083.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>There are so many kids in this neighborhood. It seems like the standard family size is four kids, and the vast majority of them are boys! It is fun to live somewhere where things like random soccer games happen.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrY74tz_uY1GHCuEcpK4OC2ilDwnyzGx2P6KzD06hHebGBTRgKAx0tDEEZujlyzzTOe62DQJSSaoRmiEIjS-JtKmy8Tk8pvevvZAZ05GSH9AssH0U8gWGmqIe0NLb86QuAmZDAgMoJjQ/s2048/IMG_9082.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrY74tz_uY1GHCuEcpK4OC2ilDwnyzGx2P6KzD06hHebGBTRgKAx0tDEEZujlyzzTOe62DQJSSaoRmiEIjS-JtKmy8Tk8pvevvZAZ05GSH9AssH0U8gWGmqIe0NLb86QuAmZDAgMoJjQ/s640/IMG_9082.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br />Today was the kids' first day of school. At the end, Jeff asked me how it went. I said, "well, we all survived." And he responded, "that means tomorrow you'll thrive!" I hope his prognostication proves to be true. Spanish is going to be more difficult for the kids than we expected when choosing a bilingual school. We had no idea there would be a pandemic and our kids would end up doing distant learning. I hope it doesn't take them too long to pick it up. Each kid had three Zoom calls today: two in Spanish and one in English.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wonder how long we'll be doing distant learning?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Gordon: kindergarten; Alice: second grade; Daniel: fourth grade; Jill: sixth grade.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Sixth grade is the last year of elementary here, so Jill is not in middle school quite yet.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd8G6ilUinzdJpm0soXzShaNSRgLHrWJHNNqm99trCBwfu3_zNjPTctim0bFbrCJf5BtViTreR8GWgE6cKEc3rIYbvYGjPcTz91DtmJTbYLnlmmFRkJPruHSuIbJLkHxJ5lq0QGZeUZA/s1200/firstdayschool2020.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd8G6ilUinzdJpm0soXzShaNSRgLHrWJHNNqm99trCBwfu3_zNjPTctim0bFbrCJf5BtViTreR8GWgE6cKEc3rIYbvYGjPcTz91DtmJTbYLnlmmFRkJPruHSuIbJLkHxJ5lq0QGZeUZA/s640/firstdayschool2020.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I still cried today missing Gabon, but here we are in an amazing city with kind neighbors and a well prepared school, so I truly have a lot to be grateful for, and that does comfort my heart.</div><p></p></div>mimihalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596098434801690649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-11667005923178163112020-08-10T23:36:00.106-05:002021-05-26T23:24:20.928-05:00Three yearsWe moved to Gabon in the middle of August 2017. In the first week of September, I wrote this poem. I have copied it here below from an earlier blog post. I was literally crying in the bathroom hiding from my children when I wrote it.<br /><br /><i> "I can't," I whisper.<br />"I can't," I cry.<br />"I CAN'T!" I yell.<br /><br />Silence is the only response.<br /><br />"But I have to," I realize.<br />"How can I?" I question.<br /><br />Breathing in; breathing out.<br /><br />"I'll fail," I worry.<br />"I've failed before," I confess.<br />"But not always," I reason.<br /><br />Stolen air, hiding in the bathroom.<br /><br /></i><div><i>Breathing in; breathing out.<br /><br />"Someone has to," I venture.<br />"And that someone is me," I gasp.<br /><br />Knock, knock, knock.<br /><br /></i><div><i>My stolen time has ended.<br /><br />"I need you!" I hear.<br /><br />Breathing in; breathing out.<br /><br />"But what about when I can't?" I moan.<br /><br />I<br />HAVE<br />TO.<br /><br />So, I try.<br /><br />Breathing in; breathing out.</i><div><br /></div><div>Moving there was not a smooth transition for me. The house was more than I could handle on my own, but I struggled with it for a year. French was more complicated than I had hoped. We had difficulties with getting our older two kids in school in the grades we thought they belonged in. There were no playgroups or libraries or community classes for my younger two kids to join. </div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Time went on. I adjusted. I did my best. My older children moved into the grades where I thought they belonged, and we loved the school. For the last two months of that school year, I had Alice and Gordon in preschool twice a week. I volunteered with an English language program with the Gabonese military. I made friends and joined some social groups. I sang in a quartet. I taught the nursery class at church. I made a new friend who ran an NGO and helped her with a service project at an orphanage. I applied for a job at the Embassy and got it. We decided to put Gordon in preschool every day once Alice went to kindergarten. </div><div><br /></div><div>Summer passed and our second year in Gabon began. I hired a housekeeper to wrestle with my amazing, overwhelming house. Gordon loved his preschool. Alice was happy at the big school with her siblings. I had a lot of cool friends to do activities with. I received an interim security clearance, so suddenly I was able to start my job. It was my first job in nine years, coming back after being in baby mode. I was so nervous! I told all of my friends that I would have to scale back my social engagements and volunteering. </div><div><br /></div><div>About three or four days into my job, I made a mistake. A stupid mistake. My blue badge was taken, but my yellow badge had already been destroyed, so I sat in the atrium for hours wearing a red visitor badge while closed-door meetings were held trying to figure out what to do with me and friendly people kept walking by complimenting me on my new job and asking how it was going. In the end, I lost my interim clearance, and I was put on leave. Then I lost my job. The next day, we had a social event at the Embassy, a potluck. I couldn’t face anyone yet, because I didn’t know what to say and I was scared about what I was even allowed to say, so I hid in my husband’s office and cried. When I came out, I discovered that my serving spoon had been put in someone else’s dish, and not a single bite had been taken from my food. Such a silly thing now, but it was painful then. The following day, I was hit by a car. I had some awesome bruises, but other than that I was physically fine. The driver didn't even stop to see if I was okay. It was the first time I realized that my life was worthless to some. A little while later, I had to be formally investigated by the security office. </div><div><br /></div><div>I became depressed. For over a month, I cried every single day. I felt like I didn't know myself anymore. I wasn't needed to teach and take care of my children, because they were at school. I didn't need to do household chores, because I had a housekeeper. I felt like I had outsourced myself out of my life. I had already told my friends I was unavailable, so I was not invited to activities. I've pretty much never gotten in trouble before in my life, and I was investigated. I had always prided myself as someone who followed the rules and didn't mess up, but I had made a mistake that created ripples in the Embassy and affected a lot of people. Being so depressed made me question who I was at my very core. Am I someone who screws up? Am I someone this weak? Does discovering that I am not perfect and that I make mistakes really dissolve me into someone who just cries all of the time? Who <i>am</i> I? Were there any roles left to me to fill? I was losing weight. I wasn't sleeping. I was disdainful of myself. I felt like I had no purpose. How vain and prideful had I been? Why was making one mistake and losing a job shaking me to my soul? Is that all I was made of? Why can't I stop crying?</div><div><br /></div><div>It was so embarrassing to tell people I had been fired so quickly after starting. And since it had to do with classified information, I couldn't even tell anyone what had actually happened. And I couldn't defend myself, because I <i>had</i> actually made a mistake. I discovered Asian dramas and became addicted. I was starting to cry less.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then I got very, very busy, so I didn't have time to sit around and be depressed.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I accomplished a lot. And I touched a lot of lives. I could never done this much if I had been working.</div><div><br /></div><div>I want to record it here, so I can remember that even when times seem to be hard that doesn't have to last. I want a personal testament that when I’m open to it, really wonderful things can happen. So here is a list of things I got to do in Gabon and what I deeply loved and what I truly miss.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>Sea turtles: I was an organizer of the sea turtle patrol for Project Tortues. I handled the recruitment of volunteers and scheduling of patrols. I coordinated a training session for our patrollers by WWF. I scheduled and ran numerous beach cleans for schools, churches, and other organizations. I was the liaison between our organization at the local government’s High Commission for the Environment as well as a local recycling company. I presented on our project’s efforts to various groups and schools. I was part of a team planning an exhibit at the French Institute (that was canceled due to covid-19). I assisted those in charge of the data and documentation team of Project Tortues.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvFAIw9TWz2U5aKnGQFCnWii88mvzvpUTpvBCicl_fsxfbslbe4_8SrcmOj7oGM7Jx-bbn63amohPbj95FGg6NySnlhRHZ-N8fGSX_rF3QNhGoUBx4vRalBuKRgrTLm4TewjYp97VBTQ/s936/Cleaning+the+beach.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="702" data-original-width="936" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvFAIw9TWz2U5aKnGQFCnWii88mvzvpUTpvBCicl_fsxfbslbe4_8SrcmOj7oGM7Jx-bbn63amohPbj95FGg6NySnlhRHZ-N8fGSX_rF3QNhGoUBx4vRalBuKRgrTLm4TewjYp97VBTQ/s640/Cleaning+the+beach.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I recruited a handful of volunteers to donate money and food for a Lion’s Club event raising money for school supplies for impoverished children.</div><div><br /></div><div>I recruited about 25 volunteers to represent their countries, preparing and donating food, as well as dressing in their national costume and preparing posters of photos from their cultures, at an event held for children from two local orphanages in coordination with the local television station and three other NGOs.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25HF5nlcKMjGxItQaIrKvmp2VLsr7N3o6WRfr1o1K-DkVS4Guc08Fpuy9LiOse1qGfMb133oT8eAGZLmhVS2RVWhJXGjfR2b0HoBilKstAEJg5er6zJZd0Cgq20EMDdxzjRnOrQ18Og/s1080/International+buffet.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg25HF5nlcKMjGxItQaIrKvmp2VLsr7N3o6WRfr1o1K-DkVS4Guc08Fpuy9LiOse1qGfMb133oT8eAGZLmhVS2RVWhJXGjfR2b0HoBilKstAEJg5er6zJZd0Cgq20EMDdxzjRnOrQ18Og/s640/International+buffet.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I donated my money and raised funds from my friends to supply the government-run nursing home with food and supplies in coordination with a friend’s NGO. When we visited, I personally visited with twenty residents and sang a song to each one of them.</div><div><br /></div><div>I raised funds from my friends and donated money along with a friend’s NGO to procure and install swing sets at five local elementary schools.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGpHQuuVntonv2-ntP6O8QYMADvzdAW-x3sbQl1i2j51tKi22v5l-BuQ3hv4QKaP9h8f0bSIA0ylV4xtMaR4GJ0Z8QkjTy0R8R9dQxKhnzF5jYfW4pzyvZEnvVo79dF_7E-OOJ19U-yw/s2016/Swing+sets+for+schools.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGpHQuuVntonv2-ntP6O8QYMADvzdAW-x3sbQl1i2j51tKi22v5l-BuQ3hv4QKaP9h8f0bSIA0ylV4xtMaR4GJ0Z8QkjTy0R8R9dQxKhnzF5jYfW4pzyvZEnvVo79dF_7E-OOJ19U-yw/s640/Swing+sets+for+schools.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I raised funds from my friends and donated money along with a friend’s NGO to convert the front room of a home shared by three disabled single mothers into a hair salon. We also put a swing set in front of their home.</div><div><br /></div><div>A friend’s NGO was training children at two orphanages to perform at the French Institute. I donated and raised funds and received food donations from friends to provide them with water and snacks at their rehearsals, as well as pay for their transportation to and from the Institute and a beach outing.</div><div><br /></div><div>For AOEDA orphanage, I worked sometimes privately and other times with NGOs, Marines, US Embassy friends (American and local staff), and expat friends. For the septic system and bathrooms, I used funds from The J. Kirby Simon foundation. We donated food on many occasions. We took one boy to receive medical treatment for a skin condition. We donated beds, mattresses, an oven, and a refrigerator. We dug a well and donated the pumps and motors needed. We paid for a septic system, an additional toilet, and a water collection system to be installed. About thirty children lived in that orphanage.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was a member of Mekôm Choir, which sang a mix of classical, French, and African songs often at free concerts to share choral music with the general public. The choir was attached to a music school that offered lessons (at charge) to locals who had interest in playing the violin and piano.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz96PPDR3xusO0GnHDcbLEbRu7Hb2EKQqua2Gh4lDuz2TbkZEGOqie0ndoQy83Rd3B9ha_EsXPi2i6InKOSpxrKLv0N7DY4BQedyGCyxkjn8MeOb3tnXNlO5nGl-Cfx635xWN82oiDVQ/s960/Traveling+with+the+choir.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz96PPDR3xusO0GnHDcbLEbRu7Hb2EKQqua2Gh4lDuz2TbkZEGOqie0ndoQy83Rd3B9ha_EsXPi2i6InKOSpxrKLv0N7DY4BQedyGCyxkjn8MeOb3tnXNlO5nGl-Cfx635xWN82oiDVQ/s640/Traveling+with+the+choir.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I led a choir at church with adults, in addition to teaching them new music, I also tried to teach them the basics of reading music. I held a workshop to teach young adults how to read music and how to direct a piano accompanist and congregation singing. I also led a children’s choir and tried to teach them some basics of singing.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCnL5KeYUw_Bfkg8yYA2gAduImW9gbZhFIRWyt-dmn0p9av39YyNGruYuupGlWPK7q1-tepHzd3-kzPOwrBn8EOnDJEOf2SUgXW_4Hh2lmCyzmMG_OA865jbRiSsxiHgiUaPXUpTOXg/s960/Children%25E2%2580%2599s+choir.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCnL5KeYUw_Bfkg8yYA2gAduImW9gbZhFIRWyt-dmn0p9av39YyNGruYuupGlWPK7q1-tepHzd3-kzPOwrBn8EOnDJEOf2SUgXW_4Hh2lmCyzmMG_OA865jbRiSsxiHgiUaPXUpTOXg/s640/Children%25E2%2580%2599s+choir.JPG" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I volunteered with my children’s school as a drama teacher for secondary students and the primary musical director with the primary students.</div><div><br /></div><div>I volunteered as a soccer coach at my children’s school with primary students.</div><div><br /></div><div>I volunteered on the PTA at my children’s school and was a vocal member for improving the environment for our American kids and all students. I also created an unofficial parent group with over 100 members who would meet and discuss school issues and support new parents in the community.</div><div><br /></div><div>A friend of mine had a lot of yarn and wanted to craft, so she asked me if I could organize a group. I started a group of about eighteen ladies. Those who didn’t know how to crotchet or knit were taught by those who did. We made about ninety baby caps. We also donated money and purchased bibs and binkies. We donated them to the infants at Jeanne Ebori Hospital.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFuXxpyC6OoxWftcTQisMKqdfOHtyEqX68GPbr1MSQLeI_Sgyn_xBdy1BgdCoxulogouhWn-sMvSnq8bDzb_KjjTv2tmP-m4I6AWdjDRfNPdjTlI6uQ4c0gwusZAfygnqcrGCz9ifu4w/s1080/Knitted+hats+for+hospital.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="810" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFuXxpyC6OoxWftcTQisMKqdfOHtyEqX68GPbr1MSQLeI_Sgyn_xBdy1BgdCoxulogouhWn-sMvSnq8bDzb_KjjTv2tmP-m4I6AWdjDRfNPdjTlI6uQ4c0gwusZAfygnqcrGCz9ifu4w/s640/Knitted+hats+for+hospital.JPG" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>When our CLO was out of town or when we did not have a CLO, I organized two Embassy Halloween parties, two Easter parties, and many EFM breakfasts. I also was a main member of the decorations committee for a Fourth of July party.</div><div><br /></div><div>I founded a baby group. It had about fifteen women with babies three and under, helping to connect isolated expat moms.</div><div><br /></div><div>I founded a tennis program at the Embassy, lining up those interested in playing, creating a lesson schedule, and finding two coaches to come to the Embassy to provide lessons.</div><div><br /></div><div>I organized the English-speaking Ladies’ Club of Libreville. It has over 100 women. I planned events, organized outings, facilitated friendships, and created a support network for women. I also created mini groups within that organization. These included the crafting and baby groups I already mentioned, as well as a cooking group where we taught each other dishes from our national cuisines, a book club where we met monthly to discuss ideas, a service club where I received donations of time and money from my friends, a tennis club to meet up with other players of various levels to have friendly matches, an Asian drama watching club (television in Mandarin, Korean, and Japanese) that met weekly to watch tv shows and discuss food and culture, and an Indian dancing club where we met weekly to teach each other new dances.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also allowed a tailor to come to my house two to three times a month to meet potential clients, receive orders, and deliver finished products. I usually had two to five women there for him. I received no compensation or discounts for this.</div><div><br /></div><div>For one year in Gabon, I was a member of a Portuguese club that met once a month to eat and speak Portuguese.</div><div><br /></div><div>For all three years, I was in a Spanish club that met bimonthly to eat and speak Spanish.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was a member for two years of a French club that went on excursions all over Libreville, did volunteer service, and taught workshops.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was a Relief Society teacher for six months, a nursery leader for a year and a half, a branch choir director for three years, and the primary second counselor for a year and a half.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>I could not have accomplished that if I had been working. Maybe some of it, but not even half of it. I am so grateful that I didn't have a job.</div><div><br /></div><div>My time in Gabon ended so abruptly due to covid-19 and being evacuated. This took away my ability to say goodbye how I normally do. However, because I couldn't say goodbye in person, the goodbyes were all said through email and messages, so I actually have a written record of them. I love that. I don't want to lose those words. Especially now that I am looking a new move in the eye and soon I will be starting over again. What friends will I make in Mexico? What will I get involved in? How well will my kids transition? What mistakes will I make?</div><div><br /></div><div>Here are the loving goodbyes and messages of appreciation from my friends in the order I received them. It is a bit like reading notes in a yearbook. I removed names and edited a bit for privacy. I treasure these words.</div><div><br /></div><div>----</div><div><div>Dear Mimi. I am really touched by your poem and your kind words. I will always remember your kindness and your enthusiasm for helping and sharing. You are an inspiration for me and I really wish we will see each other again somewhere. The world is small.</div><div>----</div><div>My dear Mimi. I am grateful to God for having allowed us to meet. You have been inspiring. I'll always remember you. Thank you so much for being such a nice and helpful girl. May God keep you safe and strong. Go Mimi!</div><div>----</div><div>I’m thankful to having met you and Jeff. Thanks for all the support you gave me here. You and your family are great to have as friends. God bless you and wish you all the best.</div><div>----</div><div>You've been such an amazing friend and so kind and selfless since we got here, you really made my arrival easy, and I thank you for that. You inspired me every day to be the best I can be, be kind to others and enjoy life. The world is small, let's keep in touch.</div><div>----</div><div>Thank you for everything Mimi!! You are my favorite and best person here, we will miss you.</div><div>----</div><div>Aww, Mimi. Thank you so much. You made us feel welcome in this community, and I always admired your dedication. I wish you all the best in your next adventure in Mexico, and please please take care yourselves, and be safe. I will keep checking the WhatsApp group, and let's keep in touch!!</div><div>----</div><div>Thank you Mimi—you are so generous with your time and talents. I am glad the kids got to say good bye; this was such a formative tour for them. I wish you and your family all the best until we meet again!</div><div>----</div><div>Your work here has been amazing. I hope you like Mexico as much as here. I know it is hard to start over every few years but you have a knack for making friends and influencing people.</div><div>----</div><div>Hi Mimi, You are also an example of resilience and strength. Thanks for your friendship and see you in México.</div><div>----</div><div>Thank you Mimi. It's a pleasure being your friend and knowing your family. Having a diverse group of friends opens worlds and minds. I admired your social networking, your commitments to helping others, and your energy (how do you do it?). I wish you and your family the best, I know you will have an impact on others' lives wherever you journey. Cheers and onward we go!</div><div>----</div><div>I have heard from so many this sentence "this lady brought joy in my life." Yes, Mimi, you bring joy and happiness in many hearts. Thanks for your many efforts and caring to all of us. You are a sunshine in many lives. Sunshine to your family and your friends. Stay as you are. We love you in all your roles for the mimis who can 't express themselves at the moment; maybe they need some rest and maybe the closest one needs you more. Mimi, we will all miss you so much. Your valuable friendship will be a big gap. Hope you arrive home safe. I was expecting this news, but I am sure we will see each other. Inshallah. You have made lots of lives happier with all your gatherings. And I am one of them. I wish you all the best, Mimi. You're a wonderful friend, an inspiring lady. Michelle, to be truthful, I confess that my heart is broken. Really you mean a lot to me here in Gabon. You are a friend, a sister, and an inspiring woman—an example for me. Yes, that is what you mean to me. From the deep of my heart, thank you so much to have met. You brought so much into my life. Thanks, Mimi.</div><div>----</div><div>Mimi. You are the sweet and adorable person in and out. I've never seen any person in my life like you. You are simply amazing. Whenever I think about you, I always feel energetic and positive. Always get inspiration from me and will pray for you and your family for safe fly and stay healthy forever.</div><div>----</div><div>Dieu bénisse ton amour ta générosité ta gentillesse et ton ouverture. Tu es vraiment une belle personne.</div><div>----</div><div>Oh Mimi, we can't imagine life here without you and your kids. You are a part of us and all of us will miss you like crazy. Thanks Mimi for all the wonderful things you have done for us. God will protect you guys as you travel and help you reach your parents' place safely. I remember meeting your dad when he was here. Please do keep in touch. I will be praying for you.</div><div>----</div><div>Hello, hope you are doing fine. I agree fully with all the ladies: You are an amazing and lovely person!! You will be truly missed! All the Best to you and your family for your going home! Kiss!</div><div>----</div><div>Hello Mimi. j'espère que tu te portes bien. je viens te souhaiter un bon retour en Amérique. je suis très contente d'avoir fais ta connaissance.. tu nous manquera beaucoup! j'espère qu'on se reverra encore...merci encore pour ta présence. Mekôm est et restera toujours ta famille. Good Bye MIMI!</div><div>----</div><div>Nous sommes aussi triste que tu partes. Tu vas nous manquer mon amie et sœur merci pour ton amour envers nous. Nous avons eu beaucoup de joie en ta compagnie. Tu es une merveilleuse sainte des derniers jours.</div><div>----</div><div>Tu nous manques déjà et tes merveilleux enfants. Nous resterons en contact. Dieu te bénisse ainsi que toute ta famille. C'est un plaisir de vous avoir connu. Nous vous aimons.</div><div>----</div><div>Soyez en paix. Merci pour le service rendu à nos enfants. Que Dieu vous garde.</div><div>----</div><div>Bonjour Mimi, merci d'avoir été cette merveilleuse sœur parmi nous. Que le Seigneur se souvienne de vous.</div><div>----</div><div>Oh no say it ain’t so, you’re leaving and we can’t even say goodbye! You truly will be missed here, you’re one of the shining lights of Gabon. Your warmth, friendliness and generosity truly are unique. So sad.</div><div>----</div><div>Got the news of your anticipated departure. I’m kind of sad to see it though I knew you had a few months left. But at the same time, just thinking: It's the kind of person I'll try to see again. I shall stay in touch by any means. I promise. Do you? Love, love, always. Stay safe and healthy and keep your beloved family far from any harm and sickness. God bless you all the way ahead. </div><div>----</div><div>Hey Mimi! Your sudden departure is sooo sad. We are truly going to miss you. All these groups and interactions wouldn’t be same without you. You kept so many things going without us realizing the time and effort you put into this. It is really heartbreaking that we will not be able to say a proper goodbye to you. Hope to see you somewhere sometime in future.</div><div>----</div><div>We will all miss you here and what a pity that we cannot get together to make a nice goodbye party. It was very nice to meet you, a very big thank you for all the times you reminded me of the notifications about the school and all the times you have helped me. I hope your return is going well, take good care of yourself, see you very soon I hope and give us news when you can! I kiss you all 6.</div><div>----</div><div>Sorry to hear you're going, Mimi. You've been a great part of the ERV community and such a motivator for us all to get involved in things outside school also. I hope the next adventure is fun for you all. Stay in touch!</div><div>----</div><div>ERV will miss you, turtle community, and other communities will miss you and your family a lot. We knew you were going to leave but it is sad to hear that it might be sooner and before we have a chance to hug again!!</div><div>----</div><div>Dear Mimi, We are sad to learn of your imminent departure from Gabon, robbing us of an opportunity to hold a proper send off. Nevertheless, we are grateful to have had a chance to know you and share some moments of laughter as well as tension, while navigating through the meanders of school life. All the best to you and you family in your future life adventures!</div><div>----</div><div>Dear Mimi! It will be a really great loss not only to ERV but for a lot of communities here! You and your family will be missed here enormously! You are a wonderfully beautiful person! Your voice is sooo special!!!! Wish you all the best !!!! And have a lot of fun in your new adventure. Kisses and hugs.</div><div>----</div><div>Mimi, it goes without saying that the turtle group is going to miss you so very much! Thank you for all you have done in organizing “turtle patrol” and bringing us together as a group. What a season it has been! You have rescued mama turtles and reburied exposed eggs, investigated overdue nests, and braved the wilds of Zone G (and F and E!) on an almost daily basis. You are an inspiration and it has been such a pleasure to work with you throughout the season. Thanks for everything, you will be greatly missed my friend!</div><div>----</div><div>Hi Michelle, we never got a chance to meet in person, but you have become a family member through your participation in turtle patrol and lot of other activities which you took lead in organizing. You are and will always be the "busy bee" of our group. You will be missed.</div><div>----</div><div>I really value our friendship too and I really miss you.</div><div>----</div><div>Ok Mimi pour nous aussi ce fut un plaisir de t'avoir eu parmi nous d'avoir fait ta connaissance et d'avoir chanté à tes côtés. Nous ne cesseront de te dire merci pour ton abnégation pour ta loyauté ton courage malgré la difficulté de la langue. Tu ne manqueras et resteras à jamais gravé dans nos cœurs. Bon retour à toi et bon continuation dans le monde professionnel et musical *GOOD BYE*</div><div>----</div><div>Hey Mimi! What a sad news! Tu vas beaucoup nous manquer également. Avec cette histoire de confinement nous ne pouvons même pas te faire un au revoir comme il se doit. C’est très dommage mais sache que nous te garderons toujours dans nos cœurs. Bon retour aux USA et nous garderons le contact via Facebook.</div><div>----</div><div>This is the end of a great chapter! Tu vas beaucoup nous manquer Mimi. J’espère que tu t’en vas avec des superbes souvenirs du groupe. Je suis sûr que là où tu vas tu ne trouveras pas de groupe aussi cool et fun que nous. All the best for you and your family.</div><div>----</div><div>It's the end of a beautiful story.. Oui je pense que c'est normal ce que l'ambassade a décidé pour vous et cela en dit long derrière ses mots et à reflechir (tous les américains à rentrer aux USA). Mais sache que tu vas nous manquer et que nous allons continuer avec le Maestro à faire évoluer le groupe. Prends soins de toi avec toute ta famille. I hope we'll see each other there someday. </div><div>----</div><div>Nous sommes ravis de t'avoir connu merci pour cette belle rencontre!!! Peut importe la distance tu sera toujours dans nos cœur.</div><div>----</div><div>Merci pour ton grand cœur et ta générosité. Ce n'est qu'un au revoir, à bientôt très chère Mimi!</div><div>----</div><div>This is so sad that your leaving us early, I’m so blessed to have met, you made my life so easy here in Gabon. I’m going to miss you big time. Have a safe journey back home and wish you only the best. Till we meet again my friend, love you much. All the best for you and your family.</div><div>----</div><div>We wish you and your family well Mimi! Will definitely miss you! Will remember you as an inspiration for many things forever in our hearts.</div><div>----</div><div>Mimi, you are an amazing person. We are definitely going to miss you. Have a safe trip and good luck!!</div><div>----</div><div>Such a selfless kind person you are, Mims. So glad I met you and will cherish all the memories we had together. Till we meet again.</div><div>----</div><div>This is the most sad thing I heard days ago. I cannot kiss you and say goodbye. You are truly a creative person in your personal life and your dealings with others in a pure heart. I do not want to lose you, you are my friend for all the coming long years that I wish you happiness, joy, love and success in everything.</div><div>----</div><div>Mimi I'm gonna miss you a lot. Some people come in your life and quickly go but you have surely left your footprints on most of our hearts. We all are going to cherish the times and memorable memories of a wonderful, kind, caring, compassionate, and faithful friend like you. You truly are our "Hero." Even though I didn't get much time to spend and share my thoughts and time with you, but you have a great regard in my heart forever and always. I wish you all the very best for your present and future endeavors and from the bottom of my heart I wish you get whatever you aspire in your life. Lots and lots of love to your family and kids.</div><div>----</div><div>Some people I wish know them from a long time ago. You are one of them, Mimi. I introduced you as the mother, the friend, the volunteer, and the owner of ideas and quick solutions. You have an angel voice. All dictionary of words has ended for your description. I think the world is so small and we can meet again. I wish you and your family a safe journey and a happy life.</div><div>----</div><div>I am glad we have gone through the 2019 turtle season, enjoyed dancing at the Christmas charity gala you organised. This year, pool partying for the turtle group and going out to enjoy the sunset of LBV for the farewell before everything shuts down. And the slumber party you hosted! Thanks—As if we knew what’s coming. Thanks also for all the kindness and friendship from your daughters for mine. I appreciated your choice of words, your teaching me all these nuances of words where possible. We all just struggle to find or replace what’s lost due to COVID - 19 at this crazy time.</div><div>----</div><div>Vraiment nous avons été ravis de chanter avec vous nous vous souhaitons un bon retour chez vous.</div><div>----</div><div>Mimi, Just read your message you're leaving. Sorry I have not been able to say goodbye to you. I remember how we met the very first time, first day of school at Kiddy Planet. You made my start in LBV much easier and introduced me to many people. Thank you for your help, time, and support in the last few months. Have a safe flight back and a good start in Mexico. We will definitely miss you a lot.</div><div>----</div><div>Hi Mimi. Hope you and family are doing good and staying safe at home. My kids were so sad when they knew that your kids will go back to America for good. Thank you, Mimi, for everything. You taught my kids football, and your kids were good friends to mine. Keep in touch, yeah? One day you reach Kuala Lumpur just say hello us.</div><div>----</div><div>Hola Mimi! Te deseo de todo corazón que te vaya muy muy bien en la vida. Disfruta de tu familia, de tu marido, hijos y padres, es lo más importante. Todo esto pasará y Dios en su infinita bondad, nos ayudará a salir de esta. Vienen tiempos muy difíciles para todos, pero resistiremos. El mundo después de todo es pequeño, y quien sabe, a lo mejor algún día volveremos a vernos.y sino es lo mismo, porque nos hemos conocido. Gracias por abrirme tu casa, en esos espléndidos desayunos, y ser mi amiga, gracias por ser parte, en algún momento de mi vida. Eres una persona generosa y buena, te deseo lo mejor. Muchísimos besos y este es mi número de wuasap. Guardarlo, y de vez en cuando nos saludamos y así se mantienen vivas las amistades. Mucha suerte Mimi.</div><div>----</div><div>Dear Michelle, I don’t know how to express it but you and your family are going to be missed so much.</div><div>----</div><div>Mimi, I'm still trying to absorb the news that you are already leaving. (Although I am also leaving at the end of the school year.) You will be sorely missed. We learned to depend on you for everything. "Mimi had all the answers." Managing a group like ours certainly required a lot of tact and expertise. Some posts did require a lot of patience and calm before responding and you did it with poise and elegance. It will be very difficult to replace you in the group, but mostly as a friend. Although, we didn't interact very often, I've seen you in action. What I like about you is your openness to others, the way you embrace other cultures. It was amazing watching you in action. Mimi, I know how you were enthusiast about your next post, hope you'll be able to go and enjoy it. Personally, I think that life as we know it, will never be the same after Covid-19. I wish you the very best in the future, enjoying your family and friends, and leaving your positive marks in others' lives. Hope to stay in touch.</div><div>----</div><div>Hello, Mimi. It’s really sad to find out that you and your whole family is leaving. We will really miss you. You are a wonderful person with an amazing heart, and my daughter will miss yours a lot. We haven’t talked or met each other often, but you were very helpful and such an amazing person. We hope you all stay safe and have a safe journey. Stay safe.</div><div>----</div><div>J'ai pas bien vu ton message sur le groupe mais je viens te dire merci d'avoir fait parti de l'aventure MEKÔM et te rassurer que tu sera toujours la bienvenue parmi nous. *_Ce n'est qu'un au-revoir!_*</div><div>----</div><div>Thank you, Michelle. My English is still weak. But in french we say: " toi et ton mari vous êtes des personnes bien. Pour peu de temps que je vous ai rencontré vous m'avez enrichi! Vous allez beaucoup me manquer. Que le Seigneur Vous garde et vous protege.</div><div>----</div><div>Have a good life wherever you are. May God bless your family abundantly. You are a hero in my eyes and will be an integral part of my memory about my Gabon days. Your blog about the farewell and your song was sooo touching. The world needs people like you. Live your life to the fullest and continue touching many peoples’ lives. Love you!</div><div>----</div><div>Mimi, only you could do a perfect virtual farewell like that, so beautiful. You will be missed. Have a safe journey home and send us pictures when you arrive. Big kisses to you and all the family.</div><div>----</div><div>You are the only person I have come across in my life so far whom everyone is going to miss. You are truly incredible Mimi. Words can only express so much.</div><div>----</div><div>Bonsoir ma sœur. J'ai appris que ta famille et toi voyagez demain. Je vous souhaite un excellent voyage et un bon retour dans votre pays. Que notre père céleste vous assiste, vous accompagne et vous protège.</div><div>----</div><div>C'est dommage on ne s'est pas vu mais vous restez dans nos cœurs et les réseaux sociaux nous permettront d'être en contact.</div><div>----</div><div>I will miss the frequent breakfasts in your home. You are the one who knows how to connect people with different cultures. You are truly missed by all.</div><div>----</div><div>Hey just to say goodnight and ‘courage’ for the morning. I know we’ll be in touch perhaps even more than during some of the crazy busy times here, and I’m serious about visiting you again some day. For now though, I will really miss you in Gabon. I’ll still remember when you drove me round the whole day long and it felt like you were the first person I’d really spoken to in weeks. You are part of Libreville for me in so many ways, and sadly we have all lost that freedom. Keep being you, look after your beautiful babas, and keep safe. Bon voyage.</div><div>----</div><div>Oh dear sweet little Mimi. I just read and watched your good bye and you got me! I love that you sang such a meaningful song that is as true as can be for you and your family. I love that you leave a big Mimi mark where ever you live! I can tell you loved the people there and they loved you back. Thanks for being the ambassador that you are by nature—loving everyone and loving their way of life, not trying to change them but help them and make a difference in their little corner of the world. So glad I have known you and I am better because of it! Love to you.</div><div>----</div><div>Hi Mimi! I hope you and the family are adjusting OK. I am so sorry you had to leave Gabon the way you did without the traditional rituals of saying farewell. I hope you can take pride in the tremendous contributions you made to both the embassy community and the wider international community as well as to the host country. You touched the lives of many people and institutions from schools and orphanages to individual Gabonese and expats. Your energy, curiosity, and willingness to so fully engage is a gift to any community you belong to. Your next post will be very fortunate to have you and I am sure Libreville was sad not to be able to say goodbye before you left.</div><div>----</div><div>De rien madame ce fût un honneur pour moi de l'avoir fait j'espère que nous nous reverrons un jours merci pour tout vos bien fait a mon égard que Dieu puisses vous bénir pour cela fait un bon voyage.</div></div><div>----</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Gabon, I will miss you. So, so much.</i></span></div>mimihalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596098434801690649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-85027933057554953432020-07-31T12:43:00.013-05:002021-02-20T09:59:54.648-06:00Check my privilegeI have been reading a lot of books recently, and one of them challenged its readers to "check their privilege." I had seen this phrase tossed around on social media, but I had never really understood what it meant.<div><br /></div><div>Here is an excerpt from the book:</div><div><br /></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><i>. . . I've found from my conversations and from witnessing the conversations of others that very few people actually know what privilege is, let alone how they would go about checking it. . . . Not only is the concept of privilege integral to our real understanding of issues of race in the West, it is crucial to the success of any efforts towards social justice that we make. . . . The definition of privilege is in reality much simpler than a lot of social justice discussions would have you believe. Privilege, in the social justice context, is an advantage or set of advantages that you have that others do not.</i> </div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35099718-so-you-want-to-talk-about-race" target="_blank"><b>So You Want to Talk About Race<i> by Ijeoma Oluo.</i></b></a></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"> </div></blockquote><div>So what are my privileges? Trying to unpack them doesn't mean they are "what makes me better than you" or "what I feel guilty for having" (although knowing me, guilt always tags along). It should mean acknowledging that everything I have is not solely due to my own hard work. I did not earn everything that I have. Some things I just . . . have. This is an exercise to help me consider that what you have or don't have is not solely because you worked that hard or didn't work hard enough. It could be because you started in a different place than I did and because there were more opportunities for me to take advantage of, advantages that were barred for you.</div><div><br /></div><div>I guess first off I'll start with race since that has been weighing on my mind the last few years. Part of my privilege is that for a lot of my life, race is not something I have thought about. I will confess that when I was in high school, I really didn't understand (not that I fully do now) racism. I remember that every February, Black History Month would roll around, and teachers would attempt to educate us. Once our high school had a speaker come in to discuss something about race. The speaker was black. I don't remember what was said, but I remember thinking "race isn't an issue at our school. We're all friends. It is only when old people come and remind us of what happened in the past that anything becomes an issue. Can't they just let my generation move on?" It's so embarrassing now. But it is what I honestly thought. I thought we were past racism. Done with it. And why did I think that? I guess because I was white and while I had friends who were black, I must not have ever had black or brown friends who were comfortable enough to share with me at that time how racism affected them still. Now. In the present. Not a past tense activity. So just the fact that for most of my life, I have never thought about the color of my skin when making decisions about how to act or what to wear or where I could be or how I should speak has been a privilege.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll go on to say that being a woman is also a privilege in some ways. It is assumed that I will be gentle and kind. Strangers who know nothing about me assume that I am not a threat or could not physically hurt them. That implicit trust that others give me based on nothing other than my gender has been a privilege. Along with that, I will say that it is a privilege that my brain and my anatomy agree regarding my sex/gender. It is a privilege to simply walk into a building and use the bathroom without an inner debate about which door to push open and uncertainty as to how I might be viewed by others who judge my appearance.</div><div><br /></div><div>My sexual preference is also a privilege. I have never been excluded due to being straight. I have never lost friends or family members' approval. I have never had my right to marriage debated in court. If I wanted to adopt or foster, there would be no additional burdens in my way. Being straight is a privilege.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is also a privilege that I have been generally healthy. I was not born with any irregularities. My organs and limbs function as expected. There is the small exception of having bad eye sight, but even that is countered by the privilege of glasses. My ears can hear. My legs can walk. My fingers can hold pencils. My mouth can speak. My brain can remember and process. I do not have the challenge of mental illness or physical ailments. It is such a privilege to have a functioning body. And on top of that already great luck, I've also usually been on the slender side, and I have general pleasing features. What a privilege to have a face that doesn't make people uncomfortable or look away. What unearned chance.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have the privilege of a supportive family. I grew up with two parents. I have siblings. In addition to that, I'm also the youngest, so there was less responsibility of being a good example and there were more people around willing to help me. Both of my parents have college degrees, and I never had homework questions that they couldn't answer. And if it was really obscure and they didn't know the answer, we owned a full encyclopedia set, and by middle school, we had internet and computers in my home. My dad had a job that paid for a roof over our head, food on the table, and other comforts. We were middle class. We had savings, and we had extended family that were in the position to help us if anything did happen to my dad. Also we had life insurance! And my dad genuinely cared about me and supported my hobbies. My mom did not work, so she was always present. She knew who all of my friends were. She attended every field trip. She volunteered at my school. She attended every parent-teacher conference. She never had to choose between providing for our family or being with our family. And not only did was she a stay-at-home mom, but she loved that role. It was her choice. She was not miserable or stuck. When I reached high school, she started working part time, because she wanted to. Having two loving parents and seeing my mother's example of choice was a privilege.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have the privilege of a college education. I graduated with no loans, because between a scholarship, my student jobs, my parents, and my grandparents (along with choosing a less expensive university), everything was paid for. I also managed to get my degree within three years (so I didn't have to pay for a fourth or a fifth year!). I was able to graduate in three years, because I received college credit for some of my high school AP classes, I chose a major and minor with fewer graduating requirements than other degrees, I received special permission from my guidance counselor to take extra classes over the semester course load limit, and I took classes during the spring/summer terms. Did I work hard? Yes. But were there still a lot of factors that I did nothing to earn that helped me graduate? Yes. It was a privilege that without those factors would have been much, much harder to achieve.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's where I'll leave this blog post today. This is not a comprehensive list, but it does illustrate for me that I did not earn everything I have. There are advantages in my life that did not come because of my hard work. They were just there due to pure chance, in part, and in other cases due to systematic favoring, intentional benefits, and traditional stereotypes. </div><div><br /></div><div>As I try to tackle and understand why America is where it is today, I will continue to check my privilege and consider that I wouldn't have the life I have without my privilege. From there, I can begin to be more understanding when listening to others who did not go through life with the same privileges and why that is an important distinction.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrXggnptO_XZv0HjFPW-PD3blXRruWmT1mXfD5Vu4OBfBlgYQcV4ZN3v8HPGmpQfuGYyIkVdlpWmiUe01ER1ihTQTuP-APA7z3iPiNEzQyJT75_EjDKIoqZEmSrSDToinK0B-PgUerpQ/s418/57624856_10104934486556359_5663664848001564672_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="418" data-original-width="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrXggnptO_XZv0HjFPW-PD3blXRruWmT1mXfD5Vu4OBfBlgYQcV4ZN3v8HPGmpQfuGYyIkVdlpWmiUe01ER1ihTQTuP-APA7z3iPiNEzQyJT75_EjDKIoqZEmSrSDToinK0B-PgUerpQ/s0/57624856_10104934486556359_5663664848001564672_o.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>mimihalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596098434801690649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1082773744703965040.post-87789914079140549362020-06-24T06:12:00.010-05:002021-02-20T10:54:34.233-06:00I'm not the ally I thought I was<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy37x9MY-qEv2RdjZXAwud5epMl2-wZwb8RgORj_xfuk7WEAWwmIeVzD7z48f-999NvCybK5NIZv_CxUwiHax-z2WQeQtS3iyYAZXf_9biZaLP0Ltbz5Pc2zIfcvUcWpIjHKrSxQNCz6M/s2048/Pink+Black+Lives+Matter+Instagram+Post.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy37x9MY-qEv2RdjZXAwud5epMl2-wZwb8RgORj_xfuk7WEAWwmIeVzD7z48f-999NvCybK5NIZv_CxUwiHax-z2WQeQtS3iyYAZXf_9biZaLP0Ltbz5Pc2zIfcvUcWpIjHKrSxQNCz6M/s320/Pink+Black+Lives+Matter+Instagram+Post.png" /></a></div><br /><div>A core characteristic of mine has always been to give people the benefit of doubt, to assume the best about them. All people. Not just my friends and family but everyone I see. My inclination is to assume the best of intentions.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've thought that this was a positive trait of mine.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've realized that it isn't always.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can think of a few instances where I have been in an all-white group, and someone said something that made me uncomfortable. It wasn't outright, blatantly racist, but it could have been, and I haven't been sure what the speaker meant. In those cases, I am usually silent, as my brain tries to figure out what was meant and how to respond. If it had the negative meaning, then I couldn't agree, but what if it didn't? I want to assume that my friends and acquaintances wouldn't be racist, so it must not mean what it could have meant. I probably should ask for clarification, but by then I've usually been quiet for so long that the moment has passed.</div><div><br /></div><div>And what did my silence mean?</div><div><br /></div><div>Could the others see how uncomfortable I was as I tried to mentally process the interaction? Or did they just register that I didn't disagree, which must mean that I agree, and that it is okay to say things like what they said?</div><div><br /></div><div>Or what if I'm overthinking this?</div><div><br /></div><div>Or what if I've never thought hard enough about it all, because aside from making me feel sad for my friends or making me feel uncomfortable, it has never actually affected me?</div><div><br /></div><div>I speak up and disagree when I hear something blatant or obvious. But what about these subtleties? I am not good at them. I can never tell when someone is being sarcastic. I am very gullible. I tend to believe literally whatever is said. But words are not only literal. There are often undercurrents of meaning.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so, I think I've let opportunities pass me by to stand up for my friends of color and to help my white friends consider the implications of what they've said.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not the ally I thought I was.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I'm ashamed.</div><div><br /></div><div>I guess I only have your back sometimes.</div><div><br /></div><div>So here is my apology.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sorry that I didn't take the chance to educate. I should find out what was meant. If it was derogatory, I should have taken a moment to explain why it was unkind, false, and inappropriate. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sorry that I have left the burden of teaching white people to you. How exhausting—to feel the insult and then be the only one willing to explain why it was a insult.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sorry for my silence.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll keep trying.</div>mimihalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05596098434801690649noreply@blogger.com0